The American Spectator

The acid churning in my stomach was my body’s natural response to its impending doom, and the invisible wells in my forehead brought buckets of perspiration to the surface.

He means he was trying to write a description theme. Always there’s at least one student who wants to be different by making the assignment itself his topic.

When I grade their descriptions, it takes me about ten hours to get through 20 one-page themes. I have to puzzle over the right choice of words to steer each student away from imbecility without calling any of them an imbecile. I can’t say I’d rather be making movies; after all, when it’s an exercise of disciplined talent, filmmaking probably isn’t all that much fun either. No, rather than grade description themes, I’d much prefer to be doing something indisputably mindless, such as watching CNN or playing video poker.

But when the ghastly chore is over, it feels like time pretty well spent. The description theme and its rewrite aftermath are times of discovery for many of the students — when they first stumble, ass over teakettle, into the wonders of language and the shame of their self-protective scribbling.

Above all, they learn that they are not doing it right unless it makes them feel as if they’d rather be making a movie.