Writing...

So we have been talking a lot about writing lately in my graduate classes. I don't teach English anymore, but my work with film classes has taught me that many of the elements of a good writing class can be applied to film. We have been talking about being authentic, having a voice in your writing, and being a writer. I feel like this blog is sometimes just a report of my weekend...nothing wrong with that, but I want to do some writing too...Not that I have time, but I want to try and write more, and put down some more real writing on here. If I am going to ask my students to write, produce projects that are authentic, put themselves out there, I should do the same.

Here is some writing I worked on recently...I am going to try and get more on here...Feel free to let me know what you think.

Chasing Orion:
The clouds this morning were pushed slowly over the coast range somewhere in the night, “a marine layer” they say. It will burn off soon, but this morning my ride is grey and cool. Each ride is unique and has its own feeling, its own mood. On mornings such as these I ride slow, take my time to look at the sleepy houses I roll by, study stars through breaks in the clouds, and watch the coast range come in and out of view through the trees as I roll west.
During the winter it’s another story. Dark and wet are with these rides perpetually. Commuting by bike during January and February in Portland, OR is a unique experience. Each winter morning I put on my armor…layers of capalene, shells, gloves, booties, an array of bike gear, and toss my bag over my shoulder. I have my last sip of strong coffee and step into the darkness. On the rare morning that it is clear I step out of the garage to see Orion on the horizon at the end of my driveway. I imagine that he has been waiting for me, he taunts me to give chase. Knowing full well that I can’t catch him I begin the pursuit. He is with me on my ride, through neighborhoods, into trails, along the creek, up hills full of traffic, and he manages to stay just ahead as I sprint the last 300yds to work. Even on mornings when I wake up to the sound of rain battering the windows and wind in the tall pines behind the house I imagine he is there. And he is, somewhere above he sends his ancient light down onto the clouds and beneath there is me. Sometimes I am him, looking down from above. I see myself darting though rain drenched streets and trails, sending up a spray behind me as I go.
On mornings when its raining hardest, when you have to squint and put your head down to bare the force of the storm, commuters pass each other with a silent nod and if its really raining sometimes a raised fist. After the first 2 or 3 minutes water fills my shoes. Soon grime from the road is in my eyes and my gloves soak through. It is mornings like these that I most enjoy my ride, not so much during the ride, but when I pull up to my classroom, hang wet gear behind my desk, get a shower, some dark coffee, and begin my day. If students or co-workers ask me with raised eyebrows “you ride today?” I smile politely back and tell them “sure did, it was great”.