Squealing in on Two Tires

Writers write. So I am only a writer here by the stretch of the imagination. It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance to talk to you. I have been writing, though, to the joy of some and the consternation of others. Such is the life of a memoirist while the supporting cast is still alive.

It’s that time of year at school when it seems we’ll never make until Spring Break without one of us running naked from the building in the middle of a psychotic break. Please don’t let it be me. My dual-credit students have proven to be exemplary. Some days, they keep me from leaving. The rest of us will get through the standardized drama of HSAP and EOC exams. Always, the students squeal across the finish line and pull it out at the last minute.

I haven’t sent much out for publication, but what I did send out went to the top of the list, and I’m waiting on the rejection letters so I can send them to realistic choices over the break. Wish me luck.

I am still medicated. It’s why my writing is subpar, but I’m working on it. The small death of my former creative self sometimes seems overwhelming, but so far boring has beaten dead. I suppose that’s progress. 

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