Like a flower
I had a very odd French teacher in my second year of Cegep. She reminded me of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When she talked about literature, her face was glowing with passion. She was very interesting to listen to. But when she was speaking about academic tasks, she was bitter and nasty. It seemed to me like she had accepted a teaching job but hated it. Sometimes, when she forgot she was teaching, we saw the real her. I was glad for those pleasant interludes because in her Mr. Hyde form, she was absolutely vicious.
After studying Beaudelaire's "Les Fleurs du Mal" for a couple weeks, she gave us an assignment. All she wanted is for it to be about some important themes covered by Beaudelaire. The actual form was up to us, be it essay or short story. She did, however, want us to have our project "pre-approved" by her. I thought about it for a little while and went to her to get my project approved. "I want to do a dialogue between Boredom and Death, in verse." She raised an eyebrow dubiously. "In verse?" I nodded. "100 verses minimum," she said, with her most malefic smile. I welcomed the challenge. "You got it."
I worked hard on the poem. The night before the due date, it wasn't done. Some parts were clunky and I really didn't want to submit it until I was proud of it. The next day, when all the papers were handed in, she immediately noticed that I hadn't submitted anything. An ugly, victorious rictus spread across her face. "And where is your paper, Nathalie?" Her voice was like poison diluted in honey. Everyone was silent, staring at me expectantly. "It's not ready. You can't rush inspiration. Like a flower, it has to blossom in its own time and not a second before." The class exploded in laughter. The teacher waited for the noise to die down, so that her words would be understood by all. Any semblance of affability was gone from her voice. That low rumble spoke of raw rage. "That'll cost you 10 points a day." I nodded. The usual penalty was 5.
That happened on a Friday. Which meant that the minimum penalty I would incur was 30 points since my next chance to see her was only on Monday. I did turn it in on Monday and I was very pleased with my work.
I ended up with a 68. 98 minus the penalty of 30. It seems like it was Dr. Jekyll who graded it, the lady that loves literature, not the vicious monster. She read it in front of the class and asked me for permission to make a copy of it so she could distribute it among her other classes in the future. Never in my life did 68 taste so sweet.
Inspiration seems to be coming back to me slowly. After a dry spell that has lasted for years, I'm getting ideas that I think I should put down on paper. It's still a fragile bud of a flower though, and I must purposefully pace myself, for fear of drowning it in my eagerness to make it grow faster.
After studying Beaudelaire's "Les Fleurs du Mal" for a couple weeks, she gave us an assignment. All she wanted is for it to be about some important themes covered by Beaudelaire. The actual form was up to us, be it essay or short story. She did, however, want us to have our project "pre-approved" by her. I thought about it for a little while and went to her to get my project approved. "I want to do a dialogue between Boredom and Death, in verse." She raised an eyebrow dubiously. "In verse?" I nodded. "100 verses minimum," she said, with her most malefic smile. I welcomed the challenge. "You got it."
I worked hard on the poem. The night before the due date, it wasn't done. Some parts were clunky and I really didn't want to submit it until I was proud of it. The next day, when all the papers were handed in, she immediately noticed that I hadn't submitted anything. An ugly, victorious rictus spread across her face. "And where is your paper, Nathalie?" Her voice was like poison diluted in honey. Everyone was silent, staring at me expectantly. "It's not ready. You can't rush inspiration. Like a flower, it has to blossom in its own time and not a second before." The class exploded in laughter. The teacher waited for the noise to die down, so that her words would be understood by all. Any semblance of affability was gone from her voice. That low rumble spoke of raw rage. "That'll cost you 10 points a day." I nodded. The usual penalty was 5.
That happened on a Friday. Which meant that the minimum penalty I would incur was 30 points since my next chance to see her was only on Monday. I did turn it in on Monday and I was very pleased with my work.
I ended up with a 68. 98 minus the penalty of 30. It seems like it was Dr. Jekyll who graded it, the lady that loves literature, not the vicious monster. She read it in front of the class and asked me for permission to make a copy of it so she could distribute it among her other classes in the future. Never in my life did 68 taste so sweet.
Inspiration seems to be coming back to me slowly. After a dry spell that has lasted for years, I'm getting ideas that I think I should put down on paper. It's still a fragile bud of a flower though, and I must purposefully pace myself, for fear of drowning it in my eagerness to make it grow faster.
posted by Nathalie at 9:41 AM
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