Last week I suddenly was blessed with the opportunity to move into a new rental house, freshly remodeled.
At the exact same time, I was also blessed with the opportunity to teach high school English full time, taking over Sophomore English and Creative Writing, and told that I needed to come up with lessons–quick!
All the while trying to move out of the house we had been renting, but which had sold. Another blessing.
If I encounter any more blessings, I will collapse from the marvelous stress of it all. Last night I was so exhausted I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. like I’m 92 years old.
So I promise Books 7 and 8 are still on their way, once I get lesson plans for three classes secured and read a handful of novels. No biggie. (insert sarcastic whimper of despair) I’m frantically running to catch up, and my own books and web page have to take a back seat for a few weeks.
But in the meantime I had a stroke . . . of brilliance, that is. (A real stroke will surely follow, though.) In prepping for my Creative Writing class in less than an hour, I remembered a horrible short story I wrote once a couple of years ago. I’ve decided to make it available as a .pdf, and I’m requiring my students to read it as a textbook as to what NOT to do. 2016 Really Bad book
I wrote the entire thing in three days a couple years ago. Cover, formatting, editing–everything. I couldn’t be prouder. Or more humiliated.