Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
The following is a piece of writing submitted by Angela on June 18, 2010
"Author has recently rediscovered this site. The last time she wrote anything was in 2008. That was quite a long time ago. Admittedly, she has gotten a bit rusty and this is not one of her better works. But, she is glad to say that she will write more and more often from now on. Constructive criticism is always welcome (and needed). "
Miss Grady
I sighed quietly to myself. At least, I thought I was quiet... The man in the elevator turned and looked at me with a kind, but slightly puzzled, expression on his face."I'm sorry," I apologized. "I've had a bad day at work."
"Things not going too well in the office?" He joked.
"Oh, no. I'm a substitute at Fresh Waters High. I think they officially hate me now. Being a substitute teacher is really quite a strain. If you're not too strict, they walk right over you. But on the other hand, if you try to do your job right, you get labeled as 'too harsh'."
The elevator stopped; the man apologized and politely excused himself by saying that this was his floor. I paused my tirade, nodded and smiled as expected, but in my head my thoughts roared on.
Pausing to take in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. "Sure, people think, 'You're a teacher. A professional. It shouldn't bother you what the students think.' Oooooh-ho, but it does! I don't want to be the bad guy. I hear what they say about me when I walk down the halls. 'Ew, no. That Grady lady is the worst sub to have, she'll give you busy work to do or make you read stuff.' Oh... because reading is just so horrible," I huffed angrily. "I wake up at 5 every morning to be ready for class by 6:30. A good half an hour before class starts. I wear uncomfortable professional clothes. I sit at a tiny desk and grade papers. Students who know me will look at me in contempt. The next day, the teachers whom I substitute for will write notes asking about missing papers and all I can say is that students don't turn in their assignments."
The elevator pinged again, reaching the ground floor. As I stepped out of tiny compartment and walked out of the lobby of my apartment complex I heard someone shout my name.
"Miss Grady!"
"Yes?" I turned around... and was confronted by a young girl who looked oddly familiar.
"Hi, Miss Grady. I didn't know you lived here. Well, anyways, I just wanted to say thanks for the extra help on that essay last week. I had a really hard time trying to find the symbolism in Gatsby's book but I got my paper back and I got an A!"
I smiled at the girl... I think her name was Bethany. "Congratulations on the good grade. I'm glad I made things easier to understand."
"Thanks! Anyways... I just wanted to say thanks." Sensing the awkwardness of the situation, Bethany smiled and slipped away.
I suppose today was just another regular day then. And then I remembered why I wanted to teach.
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