July 9: Hard Work, Keeping at It, Confidence

Andy also found that his spirit was calmed by hard work.  He gravitated to the college newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun.  One of only two dailies published by an American university--and also Ithaca's only morning paper--its eight pages even carried national and international news, complete with an Associated Press feed that came in every night via the telephone line.  It seemed sophisticated.  Andy's long-running connection with the paper raised his status until by his last year he walked across campus with unprecedented confidence...

The "Andy" in the above paragraph is E. B. White.  When White entered Cornell, he was given that nickname by his fellow students, and he embraced his new identity with relish.  Gone was the shy, sickly young boy.  Instead, "Andy" White was smart, talented, and full of confidence.


Sometimes I have that swagger and confidence, too.  I believe that I'm a good writer.  Talented, even.  Other times, I suffer from incredibly low self-esteem.  My poems seem derivative, sentimental.  I dwell on my failures instead of my successes.  Writing is a difficult avocation.  It sort of depends on acceptance.  Yet, more often than not, a writer receives rejection instead.

But you keep at it.  Keep sending out manuscripts to publishers.  Keep entering writing contests.  Keep sitting down with a pen and paper.  Keep writing.  Confidence comes with experience.  I know good writing.  I know when I write something good.  However, getting published is 25% talent and good writing.  The other 75% is simply luck.  Stephen King's wife rescued a manuscript from the garbage and forced him to finish it.  The manuscript turned out to be Carrie.  Luck.

At the moment, my confidence is at a low ebb.  Despite that fact, tomorrow night, I will submit more poems for publication.  Keeping at it.  That's the whole game.

Saint Marty is rolling the dice.

C'mon, daddy needs a publisher

November 5: Concern for Your Future, Observation, Prayer for Strength

"Do you feel absolutely no concern for your future, boy?"

Holden's teacher, Old Spencer, poses this question to Holden at the beginning of Catcher.  Spencer's trying to "put some sense" into  Holden's head.  After all, Pencey Prep is the latest in a line of schools Holden has flunked out of.  The future is not in the forefront of Holden's priorities, to say the least.

I am the exact opposite of Holden.  The future is constantly in my thoughts.  And that is just as unhealthy as not giving a crap about the future.  It causes sleepless nights.  Anxious days.  Distraction.  Unhappiness.  Plagues of frogs.  You get the idea.

My current cause for anxiety is a classroom observation.  As part of my yearly evaluation at the university, I must be observed by a full-time faculty member.  My number is up this Thursday.  I will have a guest in the back of my classroom, taking notes, watching my every move, waiting for me to make mistakes.

OK, I'm exaggerating.  The guy is simply there to do a job.  He told me not to get worried or stressed.  However, being the kind of person I am (Type AAA), I can't really follow his advice.  I have to prepare a lesson plan that makes me look good.  Or at least intelligent.  At the very least, I want to look like I know what I'm doing.

That's my goal.  That's my prayer.

Dear God,

Sometimes I think of You as the guy in the back of my classroom, taking notes on my screwed-up life.  That's not a very comforting image, and it's probably not very accurate, to boot.  Unfortunately, I grew up eating helpings of guilt every day.  I can't help myself.

In the next couple of days, could You please help me out?  I need some strength and courage to make it through my class observation on Thursday.  I'm a good teacher.  I know that.  I shouldn't be worried.  I know that, too.  But, again, I can't help myself.  I'm hardwired for worry, stress.  I can't help myself.

So, strength.  Give me strength.  And confidence.  I could use some of that, too.  Strength and confidence.  You did it for Moses.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

Chapter One:  How to Not Shit Yourself