what next?

Yesterday I finished a four-week teaching gig.  It was just one two-hour class a week, so you might think it was not onerous, and it wasn't, really, because the students made it such a pleasant, stimulating experience. And yet today I am tired. I was doing other things, too, of course, so there was a cumulative effect of all my actvities.  No matter. It was delightful. 

I was thinking this morning how privileged I have been to be invited, however briefly, into another mind's creative process.  I've taught creative writing/playwriting before, several times, as a writer-in-library. 

The library usually puts a limit on the number of manuscripts it will receive for the resident writer to read and assess, as well as the number of pages, in the case of a novel.  The limit is usually 60 pages and you multiply that by 60 to 100 writers, you can see that's a fair bit of reading.  I have never received a mere 60 pages of a novel-in-progress; it's always been the entire manuscript. Oh well.  So I usually read and copy-edit the whole thing and then offer an assessment and suggestions.  Some of the work gets published, down the road; some does not.  I've been thinking for some time about the unpublished manuscripts that I have read with the characters, events and insights that have become part of my memory -  my own private library of delights.

This most recent teacher-student event, while brief, was still a revelation.  I had  only 7 (6) writers and they were all passionate, informed, skilled and receptive.  We enjoyed an ongoing, creative conversation, at least, I did.  

So why am I tired?