Week 16
He slipped in front of his desk and leaned against it, his sneaker-shod feet crossed at the ankles. "As you have probably guessed by now, I am Professor Heaton. My reputation as an unorthodox teacher may or may not have preceded me. Frankly, I don't care. What I do care about is that in this room you will write and you will write well. Some of you may already the talent, some the drive, others may be here thinking they'll get an easy grade. It's this last group that will be sorely disappointed. Can anyone tell me why I started the class the way I did?"
His students looked at each other quizzically, realization dawning in their eyes that this professor was, as they'd heard, unlike their previous professors. They had no idea yet if this was going to be a good or a bad thing.
Week 17
Heaton looked around again. "No one has the least idea why I refused to talk?" Heads about the room shook negatively.
"Maybe this group won't be quite as interesting as I thought." He stood upright and moved to the seat to the center of the front row. He looked down at the student - a ridiculously young looking boy with white blond hair and pinkish pale skin. "What's your name?"
"Jessie Strater, sir." His cheeks nearly radiated with a red flush at being singled out.
"First rule: no 'sir'." His gaze took in the entire room. "I do expect to be called Professor Heaton, but I loath being 'sir'-d. Yes, I will occasionally make up words, and I have no objection to you doing so, as long as it's done effectively and sparingly. Now, Jessie Strater," he continued, his attention back to the nervous boy in front of him, "tell me, what was your first thought when you walked in and saw me sitting at my desk."
Jessie dropped his eyes to study his hands, reluctant to answer, his face glowing even redder as if his blushing were as compulsive someone unable to stop washing his hands or counting fringes on a rug.
He slipped in front of his desk and leaned against it, his sneaker-shod feet crossed at the ankles. "As you have probably guessed by now, I am Professor Heaton. My reputation as an unorthodox teacher may or may not have preceded me. Frankly, I don't care. What I do care about is that in this room you will write and you will write well. Some of you may already the talent, some the drive, others may be here thinking they'll get an easy grade. It's this last group that will be sorely disappointed. Can anyone tell me why I started the class the way I did?"
His students looked at each other quizzically, realization dawning in their eyes that this professor was, as they'd heard, unlike their previous professors. They had no idea yet if this was going to be a good or a bad thing.
Week 17
Heaton looked around again. "No one has the least idea why I refused to talk?" Heads about the room shook negatively.
"Maybe this group won't be quite as interesting as I thought." He stood upright and moved to the seat to the center of the front row. He looked down at the student - a ridiculously young looking boy with white blond hair and pinkish pale skin. "What's your name?"
"Jessie Strater, sir." His cheeks nearly radiated with a red flush at being singled out.
"First rule: no 'sir'." His gaze took in the entire room. "I do expect to be called Professor Heaton, but I loath being 'sir'-d. Yes, I will occasionally make up words, and I have no objection to you doing so, as long as it's done effectively and sparingly. Now, Jessie Strater," he continued, his attention back to the nervous boy in front of him, "tell me, what was your first thought when you walked in and saw me sitting at my desk."
Jessie dropped his eyes to study his hands, reluctant to answer, his face glowing even redder as if his blushing were as compulsive someone unable to stop washing his hands or counting fringes on a rug.
