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I have been thinking a lot about writing.  Call it that time of year, call it seeing a need, call it teaching middle schoolers who either seem to love writing or really really hate it.  But writing is definitely on my mind.  And it’s about time.

You see, I keep fighting with myself and my own expectation of what a teacher of writing looks like.  The poor English teacher hunched over essays, red pen in hand comes to mind, and yet the teachers of writing that I keep learning from, that I emulate are far from that.  They is so much more than a red pen.  Yet, the old expectations, the old rules, of what I should be continue to haunt the corners of mind, trying to sway me to be something I am not.  I cannot be alone fighting all of these expectations.  I cannot be the only one that…

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