But sometimes teaching makes a good buffer between the writer and the neuroses of writing. The trouble is, like writing and mothering, it can be an endlessly thirsty sponge. The only limits on your efforts are those you place yourself.
Is it harder for women teachers and writers who let their motherly urge to give and give some more dominate?
The hardest thing is being unable to see the fruits of our labours. At least not any time soon.
The long haul, the hanging-in. Persevering.
Being able to look at drizzle the Maritime way: Hey, at least it's not snow.
And the essays are short.
And while I'm digging myself out of the marking pit, a brilliant idea will rise out of the murk. Turn drizzle to dew.
At least, let's hope.