He slides the graded paper across the oak desk. Scratches and gouges imitate rolling, rocky waves as it slides the across the aged surface. His hand mechanically sets the paper in the 'done' tray, swings back across the desk and fumbles to separate the last two papers from each other. The sheets of paper give up their embrace and fall apart, one staying in his hand, the other falling like a orange leaf from a bare tree. The paper barely rustles as it is laid into place. He reaches up and removes the glasses from his face, the index finger and thumb on his opposite hand rub in the corner of his eyes to relieve some of exhaustion he fells creeping into his head. A new resolve pulses through his brain, he returns his glasses to his face, grabs the red, felt tipped marker and starts to read the essay that hulks on the table in front of him.*
* Thinking of doing something like this for my second genre reflection. An semi-extended metaphor for grading papers and finishing the end of the semester. Could use some suggestions.
Thanks,
Gage Gruning
This is a really good start, Gage! I love the intense description and can totally relate to my own recent experience of grading stacks of essays. As for suggestions...it really depends on which direction you would like to go. Do you want to keep the narration kind of externalized and focused solely on the teacher? If so, hearing the slow ticking of a clock to indicate the late hour and the creeping time might be nice. Or would you like to internalize it and provide maybe his reaction to some of the papers he's grading? This could end in a sense of hope for his students (I like my teaching stories to end optimistically). I can definitely see the benefits to going either way with it!
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