One career brought me down this week. For the third week running I was told that I’m a shit teacher, and on top of that I had to suspend two students which I feel like arse about. As if I’ve proven that I’m no good at maintaining classroom discipline as I had to resort to suspensions in order to get students to pay attention.
However, I have the support of my manager in my decision, and the two students in question probably needed this short, sharp shock to focus their priorities. And the rest of the class settled pretty quickly afterwards.
So while teaching was a bit of a downer this week, my “other career” provided a high-point.
Two deliveries of books; three titles; all of them featuring stories written by me, and two of them substantially edited by me.
It’s quite an odd sensation. I’m used to seeing my words on the computer screen. Hell, I’ve even printed out some of my stories. But these are properly printed books, with ISBNs, and barcodes, and cover art, and spines, and everything you expect to see in a book.
And I know I’m gushing on again and again about these like I did with yesterday’s post, but I’m just stunned and excited and can’t quite believe it.