Saturday, July 26, 2014

FREE**** WRITING

( The aim of these writing prompts is to encourage freewriting. This is writing without stopping and without censoring. Writing in this way can help to break through blocks like self-criticism and fear of failure, to find your own, unique voice.

Choose a prompt and decide how long to write - ten minutes is a good length of time to begin with. Try to do one freeballing
exercise a day. )

http://writingexercises.co.uk/subjectgenerator.php

Generate A Subject:  (Here Goes:)
"Write About Your Teachers"

(Here Goes, for 10 minutes, totally freeballing)
[& honestly, all editing done, post race]

I have had several "favorite teachers" during my lifetime.  My First Grade teacher was Mrs. Miller, and my best memory of her is that she didn't ever deny me going to the boys' restroom, after that first, unpleasant episode, there in class, when I peed between our desks on the floor, closing down school for the rest of the day.
I also remember when my grandfather unexpectedly showed up on a Monday morning, asking if I could be excused from class for awhile, so I could show him where I had hidden all the keys to the various Oklahoma Highway Department vehicles, the prior Saturday morning, when we two visited his workplace there~!  
They could not move one inch, since I had hidden all the equipment keys I'd found in ignitions, in their big gravel pile.

My seventh grade English teacher, "Miss AJune", was instead 'Penthouse" magazine's Miss December that year.  
(an i kan pruve et) ~!

In the seventh grade, I had my first male teacher, Mr. Anderson, who both taught me U.S. history, and was my JV football coach, and my neighbor, across the street from my house.  I loved Mr. Anderson alot, because I could get away with SOOOO much in his History classroom, since I had the dirt on him and his loud, late-night, high school-athletic-visitors to his home. 
I wasn't at all sure that Mrs. Anderson, 'Marie', was there...
 but I saw alot of Coach Anderson for two years.  
He sometimes invited me to come to the field house on Saturdays, when there was nobody there but us two, to sit in the spa.  I said 'No', after that first time.

(2 minutes, 05 seconds)
In the ninth grade, my algebra teacher was Mr. Pickle. He was an older man, looking forward to his retirement in just months....  Mr. Pickle didn't care if you could do quadratic equations, OR find your ass with your two hands, on a dare.
He was set-up well, just coasting till the end**.  Of Algebra, all of his class that I remember well, is his frequent usage of the words "CONTINGENT", and "INCUMBENT", FWIW...

In High School in Poteau, Ok, I loved many of my teachers.  My Chorus Teacher called me 
"Super Bass" in my 11th grade yearbook (i sang bass in the choir)... 
Only, she combined the words 'Super Bass' into a broken line, calling me a "SUPERB ASS". 
 TRUE STORY.

I mostly screwed off my Junior and Senior years in Pot High, OK.

Except for my Senior English teacher, and Yearbook 'Advisor', mr cutsinger.  "Mr. Cutsinger" was the ABSOLUTE, WORST TEACHER I EVER HAD.  PERIOD. DOUBLE SPACE.  END OF SENTENCE.

mr cutsinger was a tiny little frail girly man barely 5'0",with big hornrim glasses an with an attitude  mr cutsinger my english teacher didnt like to use any grammar shortcuts like commas or periods or capital letters or paragrahic notations instead he preferred run on sentences like this one which killed me as i was both the official photographer of the high school yearbook and one of its editors with all my former education behhind mee screaming out loud at us and at me for what we had decided to do to abandon that for this my senior year yearbook

I WAS CALLED INTO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE ONE AFTERNOON, TO ANSWER FOR MY THREAT TO KILL MR. CUTSINGER.  WITH A KNIFE.  OR THE GUN IN MY TRUCK'S GUN RACK.
THIS IS A TRUE STORY.  BUT, that was in the Eighties,
during the good times, the Reagan years.

(Elapsed time 5:58 min)

I was a weed-smoking', any hole-pokin', NDN moron
during my first year at Oklahoma University in Norman.

What I mostly remember from that academic period of my life is that one late night, Director of Bands at the University of Oklahoma, Dr. Gene Thrailkill, knocked on my dorm room door, personally,
about 10:30 at night. WTH??

Once he came in, he invited me to become a member, to try out for a position on the "Pride of Oklahoma" band.  He'd heard of my """""vast experience, playing Tuba, at Pot High, OK ~!""""""

I tried out and became a Member of the BEST PERIOD OF MY LIFE Band, The Pride of Oklahoma, marching for THE University of Oklahoma~!

Gene Thrailkill. Is. My. Favorite. Teacher.  A Band Leader.  In My Freshman Year of College.

"Coach" Thailkill did not kill me, did not molest me, did not equalize me, did not cajole me.

COACH THRAILKILL DISCIPLINED ME, FINALLY. 
HE WOULD POINT ME OUT, HE WOULD CITE ME OUT, HE MADE ME BE BETTER, BETTER THAN I EVER THOUGHT I COULD PERFORM, ARTICULATE, MANEUVER, FIGHT WITH AND WIN, FIGHT WITH AND LOSE.  GENE THRAILKILL TREATED ME FINALLY LIKE THE MAN I WAS BECOMING, AND UNLIKE THE BOY I WAS LEAVING BEHIND.  HE TOOK PRIDE IN SHAMING ME, AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO SCREWED UP.  AND HE TOOK CARE TO LIFT ME UP AGAIN, AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO SCREWED UP.

WE WERE AN AWESOME MARCHING BAND.

(elapsed time 9:35)

I have taken in the best of all my teachers, I think, from Mrs. Miller, Mrs. White, Mr. Anderson, Mrs. Bratton, Mrs. Smith, mr dickswiller Coaches in Track, Baseball, Football along the way through High School, then the best from my less focused, i.e., remembered Professors of Logic, Chemistry, Physics, Meteorology, Earth Sciences, Geology, Business Communications, Marketing, Accounting, Accounting, Accounting, Accounting, Economics, Economics, Economics, Statistics;  but Band Stands Out.

(elapsed time 10:39)

Thank God that I didn't receive "Write about a train journey."  
I've had only two train journeys, and on one of them, the first of which, "I Had to Drive the Damn Thing Since My Uncle Bill, The Engineer Passed Out Drunk While Showing Me The Engine Compartment", and the other time I jumped a train and rode, clinging on the ladder of a freight car, half way from Poteau to Norman.

** Coming home one afternoon to Poteau from Ft Smith,Arkansas, in 2003, I looked over to the north, along the old highway 112, and saw Mr. Pickle's house engulfed in flames.  I pulled over and called 911 on my cellphone to report the fire in the CONTINGENT, and as a result, it was INCUMBENT upon Mr. Pickle to thank me for my assistance.

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