"The Road Was a Ribbon of Moonlight, Over the Purple Moor..."

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I suddenly remembered that in the very near future, I will be teaching a bunch of 6-12th graders "how to write". I will be attempting to teach them genre, writing styles, con crit, self-critiquing, description, dialogue, inner monologue, research, and excercises in discipline and control (i.e. drabbles), if they don't laugh me out of the building.

I'm trying to remember why I wanted to do this.

God, I'm too short. *_* I could do this if I was taller. Every kid there is going to be taller than I am.

Although, considering the kids there.... I'll be really lucky if anyone signed up for the class at all.

Ooooh, hell. I need to make a lesson plan. I need to organise. I need a brain. Auuuugh.

Why do I do these things? Why don't I think?

Okay, no, so I'm likely going to love it once I'm there, but still. I'm so scared of the idea. I cannot look the idea in the face and laugh. I can only shake.

Yeah. I wish 'the near future' was nearer. If I didn't have so much time to worry about it...

Ack. Ack ack ack.