I've got a quick, fun one for you today.
When I was in high school, I wanted to become a Creative Writing teacher. This was, in part, because I hero-worshiped my own teacher, who was genius. I thought it would, without doubt, be the best class ever because people chose to be there, so they'd want to be there. I pictured a room full of eager people drinking up every word I said as though I were the god of writing. It would be wonderful.
When I was at BYU and in education classes, they would have us write often about the classes we'd like to teach. I always wrote down Creative Writing. Every time. And every time, just about everyone else did too. Suddenly I realized: the Creative Writing teaching position would be given to maybe one teacher in any given school. I'd probably have to work my way up the ladder.
And now, by some awesome stroke of luck (or was it?) I ended up at a school my second year of teaching that decided to offer a Creative Writing class that I would teach. Score!
Now I'm in my third year of teaching Creative Writing classes. I love it. Mostly. There's a bit of a battle to get kids to realize that they have to (gasp!) write in a writing class, but it's still a pretty great gig. And there are some days when I really do get to bask in the awesomeness of having students take everything I say as gospel.
Next Tuesday, they are going to learn the gospel of names.
See, we've entered our fiction unit. They've created characters. They live in Utah. Which means their character names are something like this:
Not. Everyone. Does. This.
I consider it part of my civic duty to assist in naming characters normally. Or at the very least, readably. Also, since I can't stop crazy parents in nursery wards of hospitals, I may as well save the billions of potential fictional people from an unpronounceable death. And if you haven't watched that video yet, then do, because it's fantastic.