Writing, writing, writing

I studied English in college because I like to read. It's that simple. When you study English in college, people frequently assume you want to be a teacher. They ask clever questions like, "Do you want to be a teacher?" I did not want to be a teacher; I just liked to read. Now I'm a teacher (of more than nine years), and it is very fulfilling.

When you study English in college, you get to write. A lot. I didn't mind because I wanted to improve my writing skills. While most of my papers were probably mediocre, I enjoyed writing enough to accept an offer for a part-time job as a technical writer during my senior year (Thanks, Scott!), and I continued at it for a year after college. I think I was a decent writer, but it gave me no great pleasure, and I never aspired to write more than what was required.

Quantum leap 15 years forward (Make the sound, Doug.), and writing has become one of the most satisfying things I do. I enjoy searching for the perfect combination of words and sentences to capture what I am thinking and feeling. I like grammar and the mechanics of constructing sentences and paragraphs. And I love reading my final product; in fact, I usually read and reread what I've written more than a dozen times simply for the pleasure of reading something I constructed (and to check for mistakes - I detest mistakes!). Also, since I discovered a super simple method to teach it (Thanks, Jill!), I really like teaching writing to my elementary school student. It is all very satisfying.

The problem is, for someone who claims to like the process and end product so much, writing isn't an easy, carefree process, especially when I'm not inspired, so I don't do it very often. Also, out of all the different types of writing, I don't write fiction because it's difficult and intimidating (witness my spectacular failure at last year's NaNoWriMo) because there are simply too many variables and choices that are totally up to me to decide. What is right? My reticence notwithstanding, I would love to add the ability to write fiction to my set of skills. What is a writer to do?

The answer came recently when a friend asked me to write a story just for her. In a couple sentences, she framed the parameters of the story by identifying the characters and the story ending, leaving the genre, content, and setting up to me. I thought on it for a week or so, then after a spark of inspiration came, I laid on my bed with my laptop one Saturday afternoon and in several hours pounded out a 5,000 word short story, and I liked it.

I could enumerate all the ways it was a rewarding experience, but I'd rather just state two happy discoveries.

• I found my fiction writing groove, and suddenly I believe I can do all the unique parts of fiction I previously doubted I could do. 
• Writing for someone else, at their request, was the key to quashing my fear and prior inability to write because it narrowed my focus by removing some of the thousand decisions you have to make when you write, and I had a patron (instead of just passive readers) who would specifically approve or disapprove what I wrote.

It gave me a smashing idea. I would like to practice writing again, but my old self doubt about writing fiction is waiting in the wings, I fear. I believe I can overcome it with another dose of outside inspiration. Another friend recently offered to hand make something to the first few people who expressed an interest on her Facebook page. I'm making a similar offer now.

If you are interested in your own short story, and you're game to overlook my shortcomings, complete the following two steps:

1. Email me or post online a unique picture of you and me (or at least me - because I'm just that vain). Unique means I probably don't already have a digital copy of it, and the older, the better.
2. Choose two characters (they don't have to have names) and a story start or ending, and send them to me in an email. 

I'll write the first five successful applicants a minimum 4,000 word short story by the end of this year. Then I'll cross my fingers and hope you like it. I'm not doing this for my own self-aggrandizement. Rather, I expect to find people who appreciate writing and handmade things. Is that you?

Your turn, my turn

As the weather has turned so spring and pleasant (unlike still snow plagued Utah), I spent an afternoon studying Korean and visiting with friends in the small neighborhood park around the corner from my apartment. Like parks at home, this one had a pair of swings, a few sets of monkey bars, benches, several seesaws, a slide, and a merry-go-round. A few hours passed and the park grew busy with a dozen or so elementary age children. After watching a couple children trying to turn their friends on the merry-go-round, I thought it was time to be a hero. I excused myself from chatting with my friend and told the kids to all hop on while I gave them a spin.

We may have had a language barrier, but they immediately understood. Looks like fun, huh? This ride was old and in need of some oil, so it didn't go as fast as I've liked, but their screams of delight and the looks on their faces told me they were having fun.

Of course, after I turned them, it was time for me to have some fun. I ordered them all off the merry-go-round and told them it was my turn. Language differences aside, they understood again and made a valiant effort to turn me for a minute or two. It was pretty cute.

And that's how I spent my Sunday afternoon.

Tablet goodness spotted in the wild

With so many great tablet options coming out this year, I'm anxious but patient to get one of my own. Here in Korea where iPhones seem particularly popular, I've seen very few iPads but increasingly more Galaxy Tabs and what might be other iterations of tablet goodness.

Tonight on a short subway ride in Seoul, I spotted two lasses engrossed in their own toys and couldn't help but stare and stare, a habit I try to avoid because I don't care for all the stares I usually get myself as a big, bearded non-Korean. The gal on the left is playing a game on what I originally suspected to be a 7 inch Galaxy Tab, while the gal on the right was watching a movie or perhaps, more likely, a Korean drama, on a larger device I could not place (don't believe it was an iPad).

Beyond the drooling the devices in the wild induced, I was struck that they were being used by two young women - OK, two, young, attractive women - not who you typically picture as the early adopter types.

My favorite new digital tool

While I typically reserve this blog for posts of an exploratory nature, I want to plug my new favorite digital tool: Dropbox. Dropbox is a file hosting service which allows you to store your files online and synchronize them across computers. Basic accounts come with 2GB free storage.

I have two computers in separate locations at my current job, one in my classroom and one in the communal teachers' room.  Where other teachers shuffle documents and PowerPoint presentations between their computers with USB flash drives, files saved in my Dropbox folder on one machine are 1. automatically backed up online and 2. automatically appear in my Dropbox folder on my other machine. It's terribly convenient.

It's also useful to work on things at home without the worry of remembering to copy and transfer them with a flash drive.

Often, I find myself working at other computers which don't have my Dropbox folder installed. No problem. I go to the Dropbox website, access my account, and I have access to all my synchronized files. Cool, huh?

I've persuaded two coworkers to start using Dropbox, and like me, they've become pretty vocal about how much they like it. If you use it to backup some of your important files (2GB is nice, but hardly enough for everything these days), I suspect you'll like it, too.

Disclosure: if you click Dropbox here and you create and an account and download the Dropbox folder utility, you'll get 2GB free storage plus 250MB additional storage, and I'll benefit with an additional 250 MB, too, and I will love you more than I already do. Or, just go to www.dropbox.com and follow your own path.

Whatever you do, I'd love to hear what sort of digital tools get you excited.

Sunday afternoon snowfall

My thready plans to venture out on Sunday crumbled in favor of staying inside to clean and decompress ahead of the last full week of teacher training at work.  My solid plan to drive my scooter to work to pick up some papers to correct in the afternoon vanished when I looked out the window and discovered falling snow.  Instead, I took a short walk to the neighborhood market for a snack.  The wonder of the quiet inspired me to take out my camera and record my walk home.

Hard-boiled

Before I took my morning shower Friday before work, I put a pot of cold water with 7 eggs on my gas stove and turned the flame on high, figuring I'd have some nice hard-boiled eggs ready to eat by the time I was done with my typical 10-12 minute shower.

Eleven hours later, my work week was finished. I was feeling fine because my lessons have been going well, the Korean teachers we're teaching are fabulous, and before I left work for the day, I'd mastered the line dancing steps to Good Time (by Alan Jackson) ahead of my next dance class with four of my stupendous female coworkers. I drove my scooter downtown to fill up with gas before I started to wonder what I'd eat for dinner, when I suddenly remembered with great horror that I'd never turned the gas off or taken the eggs of the stove!

Scrapping plans to pick up some dinner on the way home, I immediately turned for home and tried not to imagine all the terrible things that must have happened in my apartment while I was blithely having such a good day at work. All the water would have long ago boiled away and the eggs must have been cooking in a dry pan all day. How would the apartment smell? The pan was likely ruined. Would my place be filled with smoke? Was there a fire? Were my multiple computer hard drives, which contain the things most meaningful to me, destroyed? Why, oh, why, was I so foolish? Surely the worst must have happened, and I vowed to never, ever speak of my idiocy to anyone.

I arrived home and dashed up the single flight of steps to my second floor abode, fumbled with the keys, and opened the door to...nothing. No smoke, no odor, nothing. Without removing my shoes, I strode across the kitchen to find my pot of eggs still on the stove and the dial still turned to high, but no flame. Removing the lid, I found the water still at the level it was when I originally filled the pot, and the water was cold. Removing one egg and cracking it open with one hand in the sink, I found the egg was hard boiled and a bit mushy, indicating it was overcooked. So, what happened?

The eggs were cooked, even over-cooked, but most of the water remained in the pot. The flame on the stove was high and strong before I took my shower, but somehow it went out. The pot wasn't burned and my apartment didn't stink of burning or gas. The only other key to my apartment belongs to belongs to my employer, who holds the lease on my apartment, but while they were here fixing my washer the day before, I don't believe they returned the following day, and if they did, why was the dial stilled turned to high? Hmmm...

One of my teacher trainees recently told me I look like Colombo in my new cashmere coat. This mystery may take such a hard-boiled detective to explain why my quest for eggs for breakfast didn't lead to the disaster I feared at the end of my most excellent week yesterday.