so_out_of_ideas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
so_out_of_ideas) wrote2006-11-01 09:25 am
so_out_of_ideas) wrote2006-11-01 09:25 am
...I wasn't talking about this...
So this is what Nanowrimo and Dunkachino do to one's brain....
When I was in high school, I had this teacher. If you've had one, you'll know exactly what I mean. He wasn't one of the ones that everybody loved--nor was he one that students all hated right off the bat. At least most of the time. He was one of those whom you either loved or hated--and even if you loved him, sometimes you really, really hated him. If you hated him, I'm willing the bet that at some point in your life, you look back and realize that you actually loved him.
Our school had different "wings", which were basically particular hallways where certain subjects were taught. The 300 wing was Math, which I probably remember because I despise math; the 600 wing was English, which I remember because that's where I pretty much spent high school-- when I wasn't ditching class. The 600 wing was a late addition to the building waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off at one end. Whereas the rest of the place was a maze of interconnected corridors, there was only one way to get to the english wing, and students had to walk about 350,999 miles to get there (okay, slight exaggeration.) Mr. Sullivan was so loud that when he taught--just in his normal, every day teaching voice--people could sometimes hear him all the way down by the front office. We heard him in the cafeteria on a regular basis. When he yelled, I could hear him at my house.
He loved Shakespeare. He was this big, stocky, booming, obnoxiously loud guy who loved Shakespeare so much that he wore a full suit and tie to school only during the times of year that he taught Romeo and Juliet to his English classes. He's the reason I learned to love Shakespeare rather than be afraid of the way it's written. I don't think I ever told him that, either. If one can imagine the aforementioned huge, booming old guy standing in a suit and tie on top of one of those student desk things with the chair attached, leading the whole class in a resounding chorus of "I---HATE---TYBALT!", one might understand, at least partially, why I came to love Shakespeare.
He was probably the first teacher--if not the first person, period--to encourage me as a writer. In fact, he taught me more about writing (and how not to write) than anyone I've learned from since. As an example, when I started writing this, I was going to be lazy and address the reader as "you". Not because I don't know not to do that, but because this is my LJ, not an english assignment and the few people who'd even notice wouldn't care anyway. HOWEVER, then I realized I couldn't possibly write about Mr. Sullivan and do that. So, I had to go scouring the last four paragraphs to make sure I'd changed them all.
I won't go through a list of all the various ways that my writing changed and developed because of him. I'll just say that I am 30 years old and literally every time I sit down to the computer to write, sooner or later, something will happen and I'll smile to myself and think, He'd love this... or God, Dar, he'd have killed you if he spotted that.
One might ask why on earth I'm writing this. What inspired it, and why in the world am I stopping to write it all down now at 9:00 on the first day of Nanowrimo, when I should be ploughing away full steam on my story? Well, I actually started writing about 1 AM this morning, and I'm going on like 2.5 hours sleep here, which might have something to do with it. I needed a last name for one of the minor characters, whose name happened to be Frank, and my overtaxed brain refused to let me call him anything other than Frank Sullivan. Then I started cracking up over memories of myself down by the office or in the cafe and clearly hearing that unmistakable voice.
From there, my brain started bouncing all over the place, and I somehow started thinking about the way my stepfather used to call the show Bonanza "Banana-Banana". (Don't ask. I honestly don't know.) So, I figured that if I at least wrote about Mr. Sullivan, it would give my brain something writing related to focus on.
Last night,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cha_aka and I were doing a count-down to Nano over IM. Her cat hit her keyboard and typed Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu7, which we decided was the new Nano battle cry. I'm sure no one else will want to adopt it, but take note, dear flist. You'll likely see me using it quite often for the rest of the month.
There. Now that that's all out of my system, I'm going to go and try to finish the first chapter.
When I was in high school, I had this teacher. If you've had one, you'll know exactly what I mean. He wasn't one of the ones that everybody loved--nor was he one that students all hated right off the bat. At least most of the time. He was one of those whom you either loved or hated--and even if you loved him, sometimes you really, really hated him. If you hated him, I'm willing the bet that at some point in your life, you look back and realize that you actually loved him.
Our school had different "wings", which were basically particular hallways where certain subjects were taught. The 300 wing was Math, which I probably remember because I despise math; the 600 wing was English, which I remember because that's where I pretty much spent high school-- when I wasn't ditching class. The 600 wing was a late addition to the building waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off at one end. Whereas the rest of the place was a maze of interconnected corridors, there was only one way to get to the english wing, and students had to walk about 350,999 miles to get there (okay, slight exaggeration.) Mr. Sullivan was so loud that when he taught--just in his normal, every day teaching voice--people could sometimes hear him all the way down by the front office. We heard him in the cafeteria on a regular basis. When he yelled, I could hear him at my house.
He loved Shakespeare. He was this big, stocky, booming, obnoxiously loud guy who loved Shakespeare so much that he wore a full suit and tie to school only during the times of year that he taught Romeo and Juliet to his English classes. He's the reason I learned to love Shakespeare rather than be afraid of the way it's written. I don't think I ever told him that, either. If one can imagine the aforementioned huge, booming old guy standing in a suit and tie on top of one of those student desk things with the chair attached, leading the whole class in a resounding chorus of "I---HATE---TYBALT!", one might understand, at least partially, why I came to love Shakespeare.
He was probably the first teacher--if not the first person, period--to encourage me as a writer. In fact, he taught me more about writing (and how not to write) than anyone I've learned from since. As an example, when I started writing this, I was going to be lazy and address the reader as "you". Not because I don't know not to do that, but because this is my LJ, not an english assignment and the few people who'd even notice wouldn't care anyway. HOWEVER, then I realized I couldn't possibly write about Mr. Sullivan and do that. So, I had to go scouring the last four paragraphs to make sure I'd changed them all.
I won't go through a list of all the various ways that my writing changed and developed because of him. I'll just say that I am 30 years old and literally every time I sit down to the computer to write, sooner or later, something will happen and I'll smile to myself and think, He'd love this... or God, Dar, he'd have killed you if he spotted that.
One might ask why on earth I'm writing this. What inspired it, and why in the world am I stopping to write it all down now at 9:00 on the first day of Nanowrimo, when I should be ploughing away full steam on my story? Well, I actually started writing about 1 AM this morning, and I'm going on like 2.5 hours sleep here, which might have something to do with it. I needed a last name for one of the minor characters, whose name happened to be Frank, and my overtaxed brain refused to let me call him anything other than Frank Sullivan. Then I started cracking up over memories of myself down by the office or in the cafe and clearly hearing that unmistakable voice.
From there, my brain started bouncing all over the place, and I somehow started thinking about the way my stepfather used to call the show Bonanza "Banana-Banana". (Don't ask. I honestly don't know.) So, I figured that if I at least wrote about Mr. Sullivan, it would give my brain something writing related to focus on.
Last night,
cha_aka and I were doing a count-down to Nano over IM. Her cat hit her keyboard and typed Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu7, which we decided was the new Nano battle cry. I'm sure no one else will want to adopt it, but take note, dear flist. You'll likely see me using it quite often for the rest of the month.There. Now that that's all out of my system, I'm going to go and try to finish the first chapter.
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