I just ran into my writing-class bud, C, on the street, on her way back from a meeting with our teacher. Apparently, the meeting went really well. C very excitedly reports that she may be a little in love with our teacher, who totally gets it. She thinks this teacher may be for her what our last one was for me. Yay!!! And thus underscoring again that a really good teacher can be the difference between success and giving up before you even try.
C also mentioned something kind of cool our teacher mentioned about how our last class shook out. As you can imagine, we're all flailing about for nonfiction material. And sometimes the more difficult times in your life proves the more rich subject matter to explore. But you're juggling that emotional distance and trying to figure out what will work for a broader audience, so it's tricky. Anyway, C said that one of our classmates--who wrote in class about an assault she experienced as a teenager--told our teacher that she felt like C and I gave her "permission" to write about it. (C had written about things tied to her youth and family, and I had written about death.)