the english department

Students at the University of Pennsylvania removed a portrait of Shakespeare from their English department and put up Audre Lorde instead

This action comes a few years after the English Department originally voted to relocate and replace the portrait in favor of more diverse options. Students, however, were tired of waiting. The department’s reaction was actually pretty admirable.

Modern AU that follows the ups and downs of a college English department:

  • Mary Shelley, the slightly morbid Brit lit professor who specializes in Gothic literature, and always has her students read the creepiest pieces
  • Edgar Allan Poe, the awkward, but lovable poetry professor who all the students either love or hate. 
  • Emily Dickinson, the other poetry professor, who no one seems to have classes with, despite the fact that she’s been at the school for years…and when are her office hours again?
  • Oscar Wilde, the Shakespeare professor, who teaches not only two lit classes focusing on Shakespeare, but also teaches a drama class. Everyone loves him.
  • Ernest Hemingway, the hard-ass creative writing professor, who rips everyone’s writing (and self esteem) to shreds.
  • Charlotte Bronte, the Brit lit professor who lives and dies by the canon and thinks YA is an affront to literature.
  • Louisa May Alcott, the American lit professor who goes off on tangents during lectures and loses her train of thought. People like her because she’s an easy grader.
  • Mary Ann Evans, the feminist American lit professor, constantly at war with Charlotte Bronte over what constitutes literature, and desperate to be taken seriously in the academic world.
  •  Fyodor Dostoevsky, the visiting professor from Russia, who teaches a specialty class on how different translations change the meaning of a work. The class is completely full.
  • Annabel Lee, the encouraging, sweet professor who teaches English 1, the composition class required for gen ed. Most of her students are freshmen.
  • H.G. Wells, the creative writing professor you want to get. He always encourages his students to be as creative and imaginative as possible, but he still manages to give them constructive criticism. His science fiction class is always full.
  • Lenore, isn’t an English professor. Lenore teaches History of Fashion, among other things. But she’s helped Oscar with costuming on a few plays, and she’s currently working with Mary Ann Evans on a specialty class that focuses on the ways that clothing plays a part in literature. She hangs out in the English department a lot, because her office is in the history department, and history professors “are, like, totally boring.”
Tales of Iron & Paper: Gajevy #1 Fiction of the Iron Slayer

Author’s Note: The first of my Gajevy (or Gale) drabbles & short stories.  These will be published under the overall title “Tales of Iron & Paper”.

Prompt: [from @eliz1313 / eliz1369]  Gajeel & Levy in college… maybe stuck in an English/creative writing course together? :)

Words: ~ 1600  || Fanfiction Link

Fiction of the Iron Dragon (or, Secret Art of the Iron Dragon)

Levy was undeniably excited about her creative writing course. It was an invitation-only class, and invitations were only issued to students in their second or third year at Magnolia University who had demonstrated a talent for and an interest in writing during a prior year. Levy had always been a shoo-in, along with her best friend Lucy, but she hadn’t fully believed she’d get in until the letter from the Chair of the English Department had arrived in the mail over the summer.

Levy and Lucy arrived early for the class and grabbed good spots by the windows not too far from the front. There was only one other student in the room, a guy a little older than they were who looked like he’d probably just stayed after an earlier class. They assumed that he would be heading out as soon as more of their own classmates arrived. Nothing about his multiple piercings, sleeveless navy T-shirt, or elaborate black Mohawk suggested an honours English student. He eyed them as they came in, but then went back to his book.

The rest of the students arrived in twos and threes, and Lucy eventually noticed that she’d lost her friend’s attention. Levy kept looking back at Black Mohawk.

“What’s up, Levy? I’m sure he’ll figure it out once the class starts. Why do you keep staring at him?”

“I’m not staring,” Levy replied, frowning. “It’s more that… I recognize him now, and I feel kind of weird that I didn’t say hi when we walked in.”

“Um, he kind of stands out—how come you only remember him now?”

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In honor of the Carleton College Beowulf-a-thon.

Beowulf goes up to the counter.
“Hear ye,” he cries, with fervent tongue,
I have come to vanquish this beast in your midst,
for I am the greatest warrior in this vicinity,
and I must prove to you my masculinity
lest you get any ideas about me being
unable to vanquish other beasts
should this ever come up again.”
The barista asks for his order.
“Give me whatever’s the manliest,” he shouts,
and hearing him the other customers fall silent.
“Can you please leave?” the manager calls out,
but Beowulf ignores him entirely.
“I am the strongest out of all of you.
I have several tattoos that I got
when I was studying abroad in Norway.
Want to see them?”
The barista says no, so Beowulf takes off his tunic.
“Do you see my glistening biceps?
Do you see them? I can take down any monster,
even if it’s the scariest one anyone’s ever seen.”
Hearing this, the barista opens the back door
and a small chihuahua runs into the shop.
Beowulf screams and sprints out the door and onto the street.
“Did you guys see how I avoided using violence just then,
when that enormous bloodhound was
threatening my life and the lives of others?
Really, when you think about it,
pacifism is the manliest thing of all.”


600 Follower Celebration fic for @lakama15

Summary: You and Dean are teachers in rival departments at your school.

warnings: none

word count: ~1100

You were writing the next day’s ‘Do-Now’ on the board, eager to get home and have a glass of wine after the ridiculous staff meeting that afternoon.  Test scores had come in, and that always meant that the departments were comparing themselves to each other, everyone wanting the students to do better in their subject area than anyone else’s.

Because no, you couldn’t want the students to do well in all subjects, that was just preposterous!

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Editing Services!

Editing Services!

Hello fellow writers!

I’m a recent graduate of the University at Buffalo’s English Department, with a focus in writing. I’m currently looking at delving into the world of freelance editing, and would love to see anything you’re working on. For now, as I’m new to this I’ll work anything up 10,000 words for free as long as you’re willing to write me a blurb/recommendation to help me enhance my reputation. I ask that you consider making a donation into my PayPal account if we work together.

If you have a longer piece that you would like me to edit I am more than willing to negotiate prices.

I focus largely in fiction and poetry, and paper writing, but I will generally work anything as long as I feel can do the job well. I will focus on grammar and syntax, as well as overall content. Please send me an email at IanBrunn@Buffalo.Edu if you’re interested.

Please share this post around as well if you feel inclined! 

Silverflint Mind Reading AU

(Based off this writing prompt: if you can read my mind, cough)

As James Flint’s ass touched the cushioned train seat, he felt his soul escape his body in the form of a loud sigh.  He’d had a tough day at work, with lots of whiny, privileged kids barging in on his office hours to demand a better score on their mid-term exams.  They’d bitch and bitch and he’d explain and explain–honestly, by the end of his office hours Flint was sure he could give his ‘I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but …’ speech in his sleep. So after he finished his office hours, had a meeting with the head of the English department, and sent out a few last minute emails, he hauled ass to the train station.

Cracking his neck to the side, Flint pulled out his phone to set an alarm so he wouldn’t accidentally sleep through his stop. Rolling his shoulders back to rid them of all the tension that had built up in his muscles throughout the day, Flint slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes.  He hoped he’d be able to sleep peacefully until his alarm when off, but when he felt someone bump into his shoulder before sitting down in the seat across from him.  Cursing himself, Flint should have known finding an empty four-seater on the train during rush hour was too good to be true.

The man–Flint assumed it was a man, anyway, based on the smell of cologne–hummed, almost as if he was agreeing with Flint.  Eyes flickering open, Flint looked at the man across from him.  He had long, curly black hair that reached down to his collar bone, more scruff on his face than himself, blue eyes that gazed right back into Flint’s green, and a prosthetic limb where his left leg normally would have been.  That caught his gaze–though the man’s eyes were a close contender, they were that piercing–and Flint had to hold back a wince at the sight of it. It looked relatively new, if the inflamed skin above the metal limb was anything to go by.  The man stretched the limb out, towards Flint’s direction, almost as if he were challenging Flint to ask him about it.  Glancing back up at the man’s eyes, and catching the dangerous glint in them, he decided that would be a terrible idea.  The man snorted, smirked in an all too knowing way, and retracted his leg.

Frowning, Flint’s brows furrowed as he took a closer look at this stranger.  He’d seen him before, on the college campus.  Flint couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man was a Teacher’s Aid in the Psychology department.  He’d seen him on campus, once or twice … a week.  Flint would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t stop what he was doing whenever the man passed by if only to watch him walk away.  If he was being brutally honest with himself, he’d also admit that it was mostly the man’s ass he was watching.  The way the man filled out his jeans would make any model green with envy.  Flint hadn’t noticed, but his gaze had drifted away from the man’s face and towards his groin, and his tongue reached out and licked his now parched lips.  He only realized his slip when the man shifted in his seat and raised a hand to cover his mouth.  A deep burgundy blush inflamed his tan cheeks and reached all the way down his neck and past his shirt collar, but even with that sign of embarrassment, Flint could still see the smile the man was trying to hide behind his hand.

The man pulled his hand away from his mouth, no longer bothering to hide his smile.  It was a shit eating smile, too, Flint decided.  No sooner had he thought that did the man’s smile widen even more so.  “You work at the University, right?”  The man asked, leaning forward to brace his forearms against his legs.  Flint nodded, just once.  “Thought so,” the man reached out a hand.  “John Silver–Psychology department.”

Taking Silver’s hand into his own, Flint’s eyes flickered down at their joined appendages and took notice of how warm Silver’s hand felt in his own, “James Flint–English.”

“Ah,” Silver nodded and retracted his hand to cross his arms over his chest.  “So you’re one of those brooding sort.  You know,” Silver’s voice had taken on a silky tone, and for some reason Flint just knew he wouldn’t like where this was going, “I always think of chickens when I think of the word brooding.  My friend had chickens growing up, actually, and every now and then one of them would brood and peck the living hell out of you if you even looked at them funny while in that state.  Poor things–all they wanted was to be mothers.”  Flint’s eyebrows twitched.  He didn’t know why Silver had decided to tell him about brooding chickens, nor did he particularly like it.  

“There was one in particular–you remind me a little bit of it–who was in an aggressively broody mood when I approached it and it looked at me, well, like you are right now, funnily enough–” Flint grunted, not amused–“and attacked me as if it were possessed by the devil himself.  It’s the reason I lost my leg.” Silver closed his eyes and nodded several times, tapping his prosthetic against the floor of the train for emphasis.

Flint rolled his eyes, “Bull shit.” 

“Well, I may have cut out a few parts, but I swear to you, the chicken was a key factor.”

The train lurched and the conductor spoke over the intercom, informing the train’s passengers of all their intended stops before it departed from the station. Flint sighed and checked his watch.  They were three minutes late and they hadn’t even left the station yet.

“Got a hot date tonight?”  Silver asked abruptly, shifting away from Flint.  

Flint’s gaze flickered between him and his watch, “Not really.”  He was planning on meeting up with Gates for a drink at the bar down the street from his house, but really he just wanted to be as far away from the University as possible after a day like today.  The quicker the better, too.

“Hard day,” Silver nodded understandingly, even thought Flint hadn’t mentioned anything.  He wondered if his face was telling Silver all his day’s woes or if somehow Silver’s history with Psychology magically made him able to read people he’d just met like a children’s book.  “It was like that in the Psych department today, too.  One girl even tried to seduce me for a better test score. She’d bought a ring and got down on one knee and everything!  Said she’d be mine forever if I’d just raise her grade from a C+ to a B-.”

“Bull shit,”  Flint said again, but couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped him this time at the image.      

Silver hummed, smiling faintly with his eyes aimed up towards the ceiling of the train.  “I would have done it, too, but the ring didn’t fit.  I took it as a sign from the heavens that we weren’t meant to be and let her down as gently as I could.” 

Flint smirked.  It was small and dry, but Silver seemed to preen at its presence.  Even thought he knew it was a lie–because, come on–Flint could easily picture that sort of thing happening to this man across from him.  Silver looked like the sort of man who was used to strange and unusual things happening to him, especially in the work place.  He also seemed like the type of man who would play along with a desperate, fake engagement if only to see how far the other person would take it.  Flint wondered about the surely fictitious girl and what sort of ring she proposed with, and then what sort of ring Silver would actually accept.  Eyes glancing down to his fingers, Flint saw they were bare of any jewelry, but his eyes caught sight of a few chains around his neck.  What was hanging on those necklaces, though, he couldn’t tell as they fell below his shirt.

Silver leaned forward, acting as if Flint had asked him to, and pulled on the necklaces.  There were three of them, though he could hardly pay much attention to them now that Silver was so close.  So close, in fact, Flint could feel Silver’s warm breath against his face which made his stomach twist and coil with half anxiety, half excitement..  “I’m not the biggest fan of rings,” he said, and Flint’s brows rose up into his hair line.  Silver’s eyes flickered to his, a playful glint shining in them, “Unless it’s coming from the right person, of course,” Flint felt his cheeks burn, and he knew his face now matched his hair.

The conductor opened the door to their train car and called for all tickets, forcing the two men to break apart to find their form of payment.  As Flint waited for his ticket to be punched, he found himself thinking–absurdly of a brooding chicken, with its feathers all ruffled and a mean look on its small face.  Silver chuckled quietly across from him while handing the conductor his ticket and something in Flint’s mind spiked with alarm.  His jaw slackened as he thought about his entire conversation with Silver.  How the man had seemed to keep saying what Flint himself was thing, how he responded to thoughts he hadn’t actually voiced.  

Flint had to tell himself that he was being paranoid.  Silver was a Psychologist.  He could read people really well.  That didn’t mean he knew what Flint was thinking.  No one could do that.  It wasn’t possible, and yet … and yet, Silver kept giving him sly glances out of the corner of his eyes as he put his ticket away.  Flint knew he was being silly at best, majorly paranoid at worst, but he had to know. He had to put his mind at rest.  So without looking away from Silver, he thought the words, if you can read my mind then cough

For a moment nothing happened. Silver merely kept smiling at him and Flint was cursing himself as a fool for even thinking someone could read his mind.  But then, slowly and purposefully, Silver brought his hand up to cover his mouth, and coughed.  Flint’s jaw dropped to the ground for a full minute before he began to laugh.

“You little shit.”          

The latest addition to the “Headlines I Wouldn’t Have Believed If You’d Showed Them to Me a Year Ago But At This Point I’ve Stopped Questioning the Things 2016 Has Decided to Throw at Us” cauldron:

So in case you’re not in the English Department at a small liberal arts college, or anywhere else that these sorts of things get gossiped about, Bob Dylan was just awarded the Nobel Prize… for Literature. 

Which of course has prompted all these heated debates about whether or not he deserves it, whether there should be a music category for the Nobel Prize (there isn’t), whether he’s done enough to be placed in the same company as Gabriel García Márquez and Pablo Neruda and, blah, blah, blah.

But the best bit?


That’s right. Bob Dylan isn’t answering his freaking phone. 

Odd Zschiedrich, the administrative director of the Swedish Academy that oversees the Nobel Prize, told CNN “We have stopped trying – we said everything we needed to his manager and friend, he knows about us being eager having confirmation from him, but we haven’t heard anything back." 

Apparently, they’ll still reserve him a space at the ceremony in December, which includes a banquet with the Swedish Royal Family, but they have no idea whether or not he’ll show up.

I can’t stop laughing. What the heck is 2016.

You kiss by the book

Au where Betty and Jughead haven’t talked about the kiss and Shakespeare brings them clarity.

Riverdale’s very own Hitchcock blonde and resident rebel with a golden heart had spoken about to one another after their kiss many weeks ago. The conversations were not ones that focused on said kiss but on other things instead. The murder of Jason Blossom being most of those other things.

In other deaths of not just Riverdale but on going generations the one that had been dying slowly had been Riverdale high schools very own Shakespeare company. It had been dragged through for years as an ever sinking club but now it was really on its death bed. Unlike the Twilight Drive-in the Shakespeare company was one that had been given a vigorous resurrection. It was no longer a club assembled by students, it was now a program ran by the English department. The students of Riverdale we’re the members pushed on to participate.

Shakespeare had written many masterpieces. Macbeth, Hamlet, the Tragedy of Julius Ceaser to name a few. Which did principal Weatherby select, the white bread of all Shakespeare’s work: Romeo and Juliet.

Cliché was a word for it, Ironic was another.

‘Hey there Juliet’ had been the two words Jughead Jones had been regretting since they came out of his mouth at the window sill of a one Miss Betty Copper. He didn’t know if his Juliet had felt the same way, he assumed she did. He could just feel it in the way her lips touched his, he was positive there was something there. It was like two universes being pulled together by a force stronger than gravity. Once they had parted, the car was the first thing on her mind instead of what felt like the kiss of the century to him.

He wanted to say something about it. Most people in his shoes wanted to but in most cases they never did. He didn’t wanted to ruin things with Betty, he was now skimming for conversation with her but that was better then silence. At least in Jughead’s book.

It was after school and the detective duo sat on opposite sides of the Blue and Gold. Due to slow leaking of information Betty and Jughead had kept themselves occupied in other ways. Juggie had started writing movie reviews for the paper since Jason’s Blossoms killer was really covering his tracks now. Jughead was now doing an in depth review of A Streetcar Called Desire for the paper while Betty was reading through the script.

“You never seemed like the theatrically type, Bets.” He said as she mouthed the words to herself. She had been so sucked in, it had taken her a moment to respond.

“My mom says anything involved with Shakespeare looks good on college transcripts.” Betty said like her whole life depended on Alice Coppers opinion. Everyone knew it didn’t but Betty had been convinced it did. “I guess it makes you look cultured.”

“You don’t have to do things just because your mom wants you to do them.”

“I know, but I need a distraction right now.” She replied, referring to the controversy of her sister’s pregnancy. But Romeo and Juliet was far from a distraction since the relationship Polly Copper and Jason Blossom shared a similar characteristic, they were forbidden. Jughead ended up thinking him and Betty were forbidden too, at least to some extent.

Few people knew of the kiss between the two of them but the reaction he had gotten from the one he knew was discouraging to use the kindest words. The look Archie had given him after he confessed to the kiss was what kept him from telling anyone else. His best friend didn’t look jealous or upset, he just looked confused as if why Jughead was good enough for the girl next door. If Archie Andrews couldn’t understand their chemistry, it seemed like no one in the whole world would.

“How about about I help you run lines.” He suggested.

“I didn’t know you were auditioning?” Betty raised one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Strictly stage crew,” He laughed as Betty handed him her script. Jughead didn’t want to participate in the production but his guidance consular insisted he must get involved. Jughead really couldn’t care less if he wasn’t directing it but he was really being pushed. “But I don’t hate Shakespeare as much as one may think. How about were practice at pops tonight at six.”

“Sounds like a date.” She said getting up from her seat and leaving to the room. Jughead Jones was confused for a split second. She did used the word 'date’ after all but some people were known for saying one thing and meaning another.

Six O'clock sharp they both sat across from one another at there favorite booth. The one by the window where you could see the lovely site called the Pop’s parking lot. They read lines, to Jughead’s surprise Betty didn’t suck at acting. She wasn’t half bad actually, she read the lines smoothly with emotion that was readable with out being done. She was not winning an Oscar anytime soon but he saw Juliet right there.

“Betty that was actually really good.”

“I’m not sure, Juggie.” She mumbled. “I’m not a sure win for Juliet. I’m pretty sure Cheryl’s probably gonna get it.” Betty frowned. He hated it when she doubted herself.

“Do you always do that?” He questioned.

“Do what?” She asked.

“Doubt yourself.” He said pulling a stand of her hair away from his face. “Have you ever been told you’re amazing.”

“You know you’re crazy.” She teased looking back and forth the pages of the script like it was about to be destroyed.

“We are all crazy.” He knew he should have been careful. Last time he said that he kissed her. That didn’t seem half bad to him but he wasn’t one to speak for others. He didn’t live in there heads so obviously he didn’t know what she was thinking. All he knew was that he was going crazy.

She was so far away but literally right there.

“You’re the least crazy person I’ve ever met.” Her cheeks blushed a light pink. She was lying to a small extent.

“My name is Jughead, you can argue if you

“The way you think isn’t crazy at all.” She rebuttals. “The way you write, it’s interesting but it isn’t crazy. Give me a reason why your completely crazy.”

He shot her a look that called all sorts of bullshit. It went of like a loaded gun before she even finished her sentence. “I literally climbed up your window, I lived in a drive-in for most of the summer, and you have met my dad. Give me all the reasons why I’m not crazy.”

“You are crazy, but like crazy amazing.” Her smile drops a little. “You’re just crazy because you think I’m amazing.”

The way her lips moved so slowly but surely gave her an idea. “I think I’m just plain crazy Bets.”

“Prove it.” She mumbled as Jughead jumped up from the sticky booth seat. He grabbed Betty’s hand and jumped up to the front counter bringing Betty up with him. It was Thursday night early in to the evening and half the students at Riverdale high school were there enjoying themselves. It was the only place in town that could be considered a hangout after all.

There had been grand gestures of Love and all that but he was ready to attempt one with only the same time it took to fire a gun. It took less then a split second for everyone to start staring at him. Romeo and Juliet were once a secret; Jughead and Betty were not anymore.

“Then move not, while my prayers effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.” He quoted directly for the script loud and clear for everyone to here.

It took Betty a second to let what was happening sink in but she flawlessly. “Then have my lips the sun that they have took.”

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.”

They stared at each other as the whole diner watched their impromptu Shakespeare flash mob. William Shakespeare had written it himself, he had to kiss her. He put himself up there and if he loved Betty as much as he did he needed to prove it.

That’s when his lips fell on to hers and the whole world stoped for a moment. Her warm hands touched his cool face and he wished to feel nothing else but her warmth for the rest of his life. Their lips came apart and the crowd cheered to slowly cool down.

“You kiss by the book.” She had a smile bigger then the widest valley. They didn’t need to talk about the previous kiss anymore, the one that just occurred said everything. They were not forbidden, they were welcomed.They were not just an invisible moment in time, they were their own form of history. They were not Romeo and Juliet, they were something more beautiful; they were Jughead and Betty.

Namjoon HS headcanon pt 2
  • Ok but try to tell me that teachers haven’t shipped you and Namjoon since your Freshman year
  • Like they deliberately went out of their way to seat you guys together in their classes
  • biology lab partners? y/n and namjoon
  • english seat buddies? y/n and namjoon
  • And you guys are just like ????????????
  • our last names arent even that close to each other
  • but ya’ll pretty much roll with it
  • and like on the low, they have a group chat with all of your guys’ teachers and all they do is update each other on any developments like
  • “omg Namjoon asked y/n for a pencil today.”
  • “Y/n said bless you to Namjoon when he sneezed today!!11!!!”
  • they lowkey write fanfiction/scenarios about you guys in their free time
  • like the english department has a special group chat for their own fluffy drabbles that they share amongst each other
  • and It doesn’t even matter that you two only have these teachers for a year
  • because they just add your new teachers into the chat as soon as the school year ends
  • and by your senior year, nearly the whole faculty is in that group chat
  • like the principal, deans, the janitors
  • yah, maybe the janitor did lock you two in a broom closet for two hours, who knows???? he’s wild man
  • and when you guys finally start opening up to each other, they go bar-hopping in order to celebrate their accomplishment
  • like everyone around them is like “wow these teachers look like they’re celebrating because they were given a presidential award for their outstanding teaching abilities.”
  • but nah, they’re celebrating because their ship is sailing.
  • and man your teachers are hardcore
  • like when they think either of you might have even a slight interest in someone else, they assign a long ass partner project that requires outside work
  • aka going to each other’s houses to work on it
  • or the library
  • or cafes
  • like they’re also the kings and queen of forced, unnecessary interaction
  • need to make copies of a work sheet for the class??? 
  • y/n and namjoon, u two go
  • take a note to the teacher down the hall?
  • bring namjoon just in case you get lost
  • and yeah maybe you guys start getting suspicious
  • but its okay because you two might just enjoy each other’s company
  • maybe
  • ok im done for the night goodbye all

anonymous asked:

Is it okay to ask what you teach or department you are associated with? Also how the heck do you juggle 3 jobs and one of them being a professor!?!

Of course! I teach college writing, in the English department! And how do I juggle?

The speed force is strong with me.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know I'm doing it really well? 🙄

My admin and evaluator who is in charge of the English department and the sophomore class told me she’d come watch my 8th period and give me some advice and pointers on classroom management today. Put it on her calendar and everything.

And then she didn’t show up? So. That’s cool, I guess. Don’t mind me, a baby first year teacher who has a mentor who never meets with her and has had a grand total of THREE new teacher academy meetings to provide her with training and development. But hey, I’ve got my data all uploaded, so who needs classroom management? 🤷🏻‍♀️