Just a snippet, cuz I'm mean and want to have original content when I'm in class.
As teachers, we are not failing these students by not enforcing our will onto them. Instead, were we to force them to try to write, to torture themselves into producing something that exists only because we demand it; that would be failing them. Every person has a niche, and our job as teachers is to help them find it. Though we may be here to become writing teachers, this does not mean we should assume every person can find their niche in writing.
Another New Start
Cuz we don't have enough unfinished stories here.
He woke with a start. His breathing and heartrate were as if he'd just sprinted a mile. The nightmare had returned again. It always did, even when he tried to drink himself into an alchohol-induced coma. His staff glowed softly again the wall, practically underneath him. He apparently hadn't wanted to risk losing it last night. He couldn't tell. As he stumbled out of the alley, staff in hand, he noticed how cold it was. A quick burst of warmth emanated from his staff, eliminating that problem quickly and efficiently. He didn't fully understand how the thing operated yet, but it was amazingly useful. The only thing it couldn't do was stop the damned nightmares. Or if it could do that, he certainly hadn't figured out how to get it to. His staff was a recent aquisition, picked up at a flea market for the bargain price of way too much money. The only reason he'd bought it was to get a full examination of the runes carved into the dark wood. His fascination with the occult had been a constant source of frustration in his life, until this staff. He'd long ago lost track of the money he'd wasted on fraudulent claims and visually pleasing fakes. This staff, now warming his entire body, made every single penny spent absolutely worth it.
He woke with a start. His breathing and heartrate were as if he'd just sprinted a mile. The nightmare had returned again. It always did, even when he tried to drink himself into an alchohol-induced coma. His staff glowed softly again the wall, practically underneath him. He apparently hadn't wanted to risk losing it last night. He couldn't tell. As he stumbled out of the alley, staff in hand, he noticed how cold it was. A quick burst of warmth emanated from his staff, eliminating that problem quickly and efficiently. He didn't fully understand how the thing operated yet, but it was amazingly useful. The only thing it couldn't do was stop the damned nightmares. Or if it could do that, he certainly hadn't figured out how to get it to. His staff was a recent aquisition, picked up at a flea market for the bargain price of way too much money. The only reason he'd bought it was to get a full examination of the runes carved into the dark wood. His fascination with the occult had been a constant source of frustration in his life, until this staff. He'd long ago lost track of the money he'd wasted on fraudulent claims and visually pleasing fakes. This staff, now warming his entire body, made every single penny spent absolutely worth it.
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