You have heard of Stephanie Meyer, right? She’s a mom who doesn’t live on either coast that grew up reading Jane Austen but likes Orson Scott Card, too.

Oh yeah, she wrote this small little book called Twilight, as well. Anyway, I wonder if there is something she can teach us about what it means to be a writer? After all, anybody who can get teens to line up in front of bookstores waiting for the stroke of midnight to hit so that they can get their hands on their latest 700 page release (no pictures, either) might have something valuable to say about the act of writing for young adults, no?

Here’s what she said about what’s next for her?

Is it the purchase of a private island? A yachting trip around the globe? Perhaps she wants to buy an NFL football team? (Okay, I am projecting here.) So, what’s next for someone with the immense success of Stephanie Meyer in their back pocket?

Well, more writing, of course. She says…

I plan to then write Midnight Sun, which is Twilight told from Edward’s perspective. After that, I may write some sequels for The Host, or a may pull another outline from my files to play with. I won’t stop writing; there are too many stories I want to tell.

For writers, the joy is in the work. There is almost no real end goal, no one book that ever gets completed so that, “Well, that’s enough… I’ve done all there is I want to do.”

If there’s still ink the pen, writers want to write. Teachers are kind of like that as well. I mean we never say, “Well, Jimmy now knows how to align his subjects with his verbs so my work in this profession is done.”

We look for more ways to work with Jimmy. Or Janet or Cindy or Michael or Todd.

Cause there is always more to do when the work you are doing is meaningful.

Make your work meaningful and your job won’t really feel like a job at all… but rather it will feel like an aspect of your personhood that resonates with purpose.

That’s may sound all new age and flakey but it’s not. It’s what makes getting up in the morning – at least, for me – feel rewarding instead of dreadful.

You can’t make this stuff up.

My 2 1/2 year old is in pre-school now. Today she picked up a cell phone and pretended to have a conversation.
“Who are you talking to,” asked her teacher, Cindy.
“I’m talking to daddy,” she replied proudly.
“Oh,” said Cindy. “Is your daddy at work?”
“My daddy doesn’t work,” answered my daughter. “He’s a teacher.”

LOL, right?

Apparently, the anti-tenure, union-busting, down-with-the-bums, teacher movement has already infiltrated deeper inside Sitomer territory than I ever imagined.

But funny as my daughter’s comments were, I realized, in a way, she is kinda right. I mean of course, I work. But I don’t really view teaching as work. It’s more than that. It’s my profession. It’s my vocation. It’s my avocation. It’s what I love. It’s where my passion exists, my interests lay, and where a part of my soul gets filled. Sure, I’d love to have 100 million in the bank so that I did not need to teach, but I do not want to not teach. I just get too much out of it.

It’s dorky, I know.

I guess I am just one of the lucky ones in that I do not dread when the alarm clock rings and it’s time to go to “work”. That’s probably why my daughter had no idea about what the teacher was referring to. Every day when I kiss her goodbye in the a.m., it’s because daddy is always off to go “teach” — never “work”.

Though it is work, it’s also so much more.

I work hard NEVER to give up on a kid. NEVER. But my school sports about a 45% dropout rate and sometimes it makes me bananas when I have students who are so clearly on the wrong path… and refuse to help themselves before their lives derail and they end up leaving this institution without a degree.

It’ll make a teacher go loony.

Let’s call her Debbie. (Trust me, her name’s NOT Debbie.) Smart. Social. Outgoing. Vibrant. Missed an entire week of school last week, 4 of the previous 11 days prior to that and comes into class today without even bothering to offer up an excuse as to why she was out. Nor does she approach me to ask for make-up work. Just sits down, bombs on an assignment and knows she’s lost but also knows that school is like whatever to her. She’s lying to herself, telling herself she’s trying but everyone in her life knows she’s not.

I’ve tried being nice, being blunt, talking with calm and common sense, and flipping out — nothing gets through to this student. She is SO CLEARLY on her way out… and she’s only 14 years old. A freshman.

And while she says she cares, her actions show that she does not. I’ve called her house (no answer; no return call) spoken to the guidance counselor, conferred with other teachers — no one can get through. If Debbie is here at the start of her Junior year, I’ll be amazed.

And the thing is, I have so many other kids to teach, so many other students that want to learn, so many other folks who need what I do, want what I have to offer, willingly embrace the things I am trying to teach them that the question enters my head, “At what point is Debbie someone I can no longer deeply toil over?”

On one hand, there is the school of thought that says, “You can’t give up on this kid.” However, for people who do not actually teach for a living in an urban school, that sentiment is MUCH HARDER than you think. I mean how do you make a horse drink once you lead it to water?

Having said that, if I give up on Debbie, it’s a slippery slope. Cause then I’ll give up on Max and Tom and Cindy and Jennie at some point, too, right? Giving up is Pandora’s box and once it’s opened… well, we know how that story goes.

So Debbie fails, Debbie won’t buy in, Debbie seems to be having a heck of a fun life (though deep down, it’s obvious she’s sad, self-destructive and could probably use counseling — but funds for that dried up eons ago and America’s willingness to finance public education and all its various components to the extent America ought to is self-evident).

So what does a teacher like me do? If this were Hollywood, the miracle solution to all this kid’s ills would pop into my head, the music would swell and we’d cut to an inspirational montage of Debbie doing her homework, Debbie in the library, Debbie high-fiving me as she shows me an A on her math exam. (Because, of course, once I get through, she’ll improve in ALL of her classes and not just mine.)

But this ain’t Hollywood. This is what I face. I can’t give up on Debbie but I don’t seem to be getting through. And like I said, I have to move on because there are scores of other kids to teach.

Oh yeah, bubble tests that measure the effectiveness of our school are coming up soon. Hmm, I wonder how Debbie is gonna do?