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gwynMan, I know lately it's been a struggle for me, with so many things that keep piling up and piling up on the depression (watching my fandom get eaten alive, constantly getting confronted with these people who hate my fic/me and the really shitty things they say, my pain levels getting worse and worse and no real way out of it, that feeling like everything's falling apart in slo-mo and I don't have anyone left in my life to help me put the brakes on, they're all dead), but I wasn't expecting to have a guest lecture tip me over the edge into full meltdown mode yesterday. I don't know how people who teach for a living do it. My hat is off to you. Seriously. Especially people who teach adult learners who act like they actively don't want to learn.
I used to teach in the editing program at the University of Washington, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it, though there was always a rock star student or two who made it feel worthwhile; then the program wanted to make my optional practicum course mandatory and I was like, nope, not enough spoons, too busy with paying jobs (the sheer volume of work it would have entailed at the laughable compensation they were giving me was ridiculous), and ended up creating a one-day proofreading workshop through the program instead. I really enjoyed that so much more, despite the constant fucking-up the program support staff did on it, and the people who took it seemed to mostly enjoy it and get a lot of useful information. Then the U decided to not offer it, without telling me or involving me in the decision, and so now I just do guest lectures on some of the stuff I used to teach in the practicum at the now-mandatory class. I went a few weeks ago to the first of the spring classes--two different units, one in a.m. and one in p.m., and then the second set yesterday.
And they're completely black and white: what I'm talking about is kind of boring and unpleasant, building an editing career stuff, so I try to make it funny and engaging and lively, and the morning crowd both times was enthusiastic, engaged, laughing at all my jokes, asking lots of questions. Thanking me afterward for coming. The afternoon crowd is…well, dead, my friend who runs the class called it, but it felt almost hostile both times. They sat there unmoving, staring at me, even a couple who had resting hate face maybe but they seemed like they were glaring, unresponsive, never laughed or even smiled except one lone woman, and had no questions. Either time, not a single question. Both times this guy sat sort of right in front of me so I couldn't avoid him in the sight line and he never moved once, just sat there staring at me with what felt like contempt, it was downright creepy.
And something about that just made all this other stuff (and there's a lot of it, not just those things I mentioned) just implode inside me and it was a struggle not to come home and buy a package of double stuff Oreos and a carton of Ho-Hos and a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi and maybe a bottle of vodka and eat until I barfed myself into a coma (I didn't though). I don't even know why that was the final straw, but it just…ugh. And then reading this constant attack on characters I love in the Cap-verse made me wander around the house wringing my hands and urgently texting people my anguish, who couldn't respond because they have, you know, a life.
I have to get the energy/motivation to work on a VVC premieres vid but I'm at sea about what to do with it; I feel like the last couple vids I've made have been pretty abject failures. I came out of Winter Soldier with at least 12 story ideas and a burning desire to write; the closing of the canon in Civil War makes me not even want to finish the unwritten things I have, though I'm officially signed up for the Stucky Big Bang and have sent in my summary, so I have to do that.
Maybe I should take a page out ofsholio's book, which is always a good book to take from: Send me a prompt with Captain America-verse characters and I'll write at least a 100-word ficlet for you in comments. I can't promise it'll be right away, and I can't promise to do all of them (especially if it's not in my wheelhouse) but I'll do my best with my admittedly limited spoons right now.
I used to teach in the editing program at the University of Washington, but I can't say I ever enjoyed it, though there was always a rock star student or two who made it feel worthwhile; then the program wanted to make my optional practicum course mandatory and I was like, nope, not enough spoons, too busy with paying jobs (the sheer volume of work it would have entailed at the laughable compensation they were giving me was ridiculous), and ended up creating a one-day proofreading workshop through the program instead. I really enjoyed that so much more, despite the constant fucking-up the program support staff did on it, and the people who took it seemed to mostly enjoy it and get a lot of useful information. Then the U decided to not offer it, without telling me or involving me in the decision, and so now I just do guest lectures on some of the stuff I used to teach in the practicum at the now-mandatory class. I went a few weeks ago to the first of the spring classes--two different units, one in a.m. and one in p.m., and then the second set yesterday.
And they're completely black and white: what I'm talking about is kind of boring and unpleasant, building an editing career stuff, so I try to make it funny and engaging and lively, and the morning crowd both times was enthusiastic, engaged, laughing at all my jokes, asking lots of questions. Thanking me afterward for coming. The afternoon crowd is…well, dead, my friend who runs the class called it, but it felt almost hostile both times. They sat there unmoving, staring at me, even a couple who had resting hate face maybe but they seemed like they were glaring, unresponsive, never laughed or even smiled except one lone woman, and had no questions. Either time, not a single question. Both times this guy sat sort of right in front of me so I couldn't avoid him in the sight line and he never moved once, just sat there staring at me with what felt like contempt, it was downright creepy.
And something about that just made all this other stuff (and there's a lot of it, not just those things I mentioned) just implode inside me and it was a struggle not to come home and buy a package of double stuff Oreos and a carton of Ho-Hos and a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi and maybe a bottle of vodka and eat until I barfed myself into a coma (I didn't though). I don't even know why that was the final straw, but it just…ugh. And then reading this constant attack on characters I love in the Cap-verse made me wander around the house wringing my hands and urgently texting people my anguish, who couldn't respond because they have, you know, a life.
I have to get the energy/motivation to work on a VVC premieres vid but I'm at sea about what to do with it; I feel like the last couple vids I've made have been pretty abject failures. I came out of Winter Soldier with at least 12 story ideas and a burning desire to write; the closing of the canon in Civil War makes me not even want to finish the unwritten things I have, though I'm officially signed up for the Stucky Big Bang and have sent in my summary, so I have to do that.
Maybe I should take a page out of
sholio's book, which is always a good book to take from: Send me a prompt with Captain America-verse characters and I'll write at least a 100-word ficlet for you in comments. I can't promise it'll be right away, and I can't promise to do all of them (especially if it's not in my wheelhouse) but I'll do my best with my admittedly limited spoons right now.
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Date: 2016-06-07 10:53 pm (UTC)"They're surprisingly roomy!" Steve's forced cheer only made the whole thing more insulting. Sam was not putting his sublime ass in that brokedown old thing--he was pretty sure something had died in it, he could smell it even this far away. What did they even have here--raccoons? Badgers? Maybe a hedgehog. "The curved roof gives us lots of headroom."
It was hard to get a read on Barnes but Sam was pretty sure he didn't like it either.
"Maybe the new Beetles these days, but this thing is a hell of a lot smaller and even those don't exactly fit three big guys. The doors are practically falling off it, how much better you think the engine is gonna be?"
"Look, between the two of us we only have so many euros and we can't use cards. I sure as hell don't have my international drivers license on me, do you? This guy's willing to give it to us no questions asked and until we get to Sharon, we're kind of up a creek with no paddle."
Sam glanced at Barnes for backup, but he only shrugged. Asshole.
"Fine, whatever. Shotgun," Sam said, narrowing his eyes at Barnes.
Bucky shouted, "What?" and took a step back, pulse jumping in his throat and his face so stricken Sam almost forgot about the fact that the dude had tried to kill him four freaking times. FOUR.
"It just means who gets to ride in the front passenger seat, Jesus, chill, I'm not asking you to actually use one. How do you not know that, Highlander? It's been around since the stagecoach days. You know, the guy who rode on top with the shotgun?"
"Sam…" Try as he might, Steve couldn't hide the fact that he was verging on a laugh. There was still a lot of trauma here, but flipping Bucky shit seemed to bring him out of himself, and Sam was willing to take his cues from Steve in this respect.
"Because I grew up in New York during the damn Depression, genius. It wasn't like we had a car." His eyes darted to Steve's, as if he was looking for confirmation or something.
"We didn't even learn to drive till we were in the army, either of us." Ugh, the way those two were looking at each other now was so annoying.
"So, what, does he just get to call the front seat and I don't get a say?" Bucky gave Steve his biggest puppy-dog eyes, a really unfair freaking advantage.
Steve heaved a giant put-upon sigh. "Look, I'll say it again. You don't have to do this, Sam. I've got backup coming, you should take care of yourself, get out of this now before it gets any worse. You've been a great friend to us both and you don't need to do any more."
Huffing, Sam said, "And how's that gonna look. Everyone else getting involved and me ditching you when you need it the most. That ain't what friends or colleagues do. That ain't what I do." He raised his eyebrows at Bucky and gave him a half smile.
Steve nodded and looked down at the ground, and he could swear he saw a little glimmer in Bucky's eyes.
"But I am not sitting in the back of the goddamn bus. I am telling you that right now," Sam said emphatically.
"Rock paper scissors?" Bucky offered and Steve just held his hands up, trying to appease.
Sam grudgingly held his fist out, and Steve counted, "One…two…three."
"Ha!" Sam shouted, maybe a little too gleeful at Bucky's crestfallen face. Somehow he'd known Bucky would choose rock. "Bite me. Go get the stupid keys for your stupid car and let's blow this stupid pop stand." Barnes muttered something in a language Sam couldn't identify as Steve grinned and patted him on the shoulder. This was gonna be one loooong-ass drive.
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Date: 2016-06-10 06:37 pm (UTC)Huffing, Sam said, "And how's that gonna look. Everyone else getting involved and me ditching you when you need it the most. That ain't what friends or colleagues do. That ain't what I do." He raised his eyebrows at Bucky and gave him a half smile.
SAM ALWAYS THE BEST SAM. MY HEART. also omg I want road-trip fic, I seriously do
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Date: 2016-06-11 05:53 am (UTC)Sam is always the best Sam.
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Date: 2016-06-11 06:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 11:05 pm (UTC)Heee! This was 500 kinds of adorable, and the Shotgun bit was that perfect note of tragicomedy, but yeah, Steve, you dorknoodle, Sam chose you and he's never leaving you.
Thanks so much for taking this prompt on.