ABSTRACT
I remember the day I discovered that I wanted to teach. After a morning at the typewriter, I walked down the hill in Pacific Grove, California with a full head of words and a heart full of questions. After many pages, lots of rejections, a stint as a reporter, even with a hard-won English degree, I wasn't sure I was a writer. So far, my efforts had garnered meagre results—stacks of manuscripts, some completed, most not, and a collection of slips that said “no” in a variety of encouraging and insulting ways. My days ached with disappointment.
