Yvonne Battle-Felton

I want to be a Doctor—I think.

Not a life-saving, disease-curing, blood-splattered doctor. Not a doctor who writes prescriptions, but a doctor who writes.

It takes a certain type of passion, dedication and selflessness to become a doctor.

I don’t have that.

What I do have is passion, dedication and the belief in the selfish pursuit of my craft.

There are PHDs, MFAs and MAs who studied writing to inspire other writers to appreciate, respect and achieve their craft; to find and pursue what interests them on the page. I had such a professor. Johns Hopkins’ Joanne Cavanaugh Simpson recognized the pursuit of my craft and encouraged me to appreciate that which I admire and aspire to achieve in other writers. She encouraged me to submit pieces for publication and researched publications for me to submit to.

Joanne became more than a teacher; she became my unofficial mentor and advisor, my writing enabler, my friend.
If I were to teach, I would want to take such an interest in my students that I recognized their strengths and weaknesses. I would want to be a professor who critiques works with the eyes of an editor and the goal of helping each student make each piece publishable. I would want the vision to help each writer I touch realize what they most admire about their craft and strive to develop, hone and cherish it.

But I worry I am too selfish, right now, to teach.

I do not want to face a mound of manuscripts to my left while cradling my own in my lap. I do not want to have to put off ‘one more minute’ to critique a piece for fear of losing the tone of a dialogue. I am not ready to put my words behind those of my students.

I know myself intimately, and so I will not teach.

Instead, I will continue to learn, to craft, to practice, to write. I will continue to build a network of writers, to appreciate language and psychology within words, and to be fascinated by endings.

I may or may not pursue my Doctorate in Creative Writing. Afterall, I just want to write, a place to write, and a community of writers to indulge in.

Still, I am taking French lessons just in case I decide to pursue my PHD. There is something sexy about Dr. Yvonne Battle-Felton.

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Over the years I have lived in homes with cable television, yet I have never subscribed to cable service. It seems a luxury—a frivolous one—that suggests I spend far too much time at home and dependent on a box for entertainment than I actually do, or am.

For years, I have avoided committing to cable.

My job has cable and while I enjoy CNN, I enjoy it much better when the television is not frozen, when I can't see the reporters' mouths moving out of sync with their words, or when I don't see boxes of digitally enhanced flesh, background and noise scrambling to formulate a picture. In a few weeks, I will be forced to make a commitment to a service I do not want and that I am not certain is at all committed to me.

I have not missed cable television, though legislation pushing for the digital switch suggests that cable has missed me.

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1. I am far too competitive for my own good.
2. It’s not about the merchandise, it’s about the game.
3. It doesn’t matter who wins, as long as it’s me.
4. Always read the item description.
5. Read the seller feedback: if no one else had a good experience with the seller, you won’t either.
6. Calculate the shipping.
7. Ask for clarification before you bid.
8. Never bid on impulse.
9. Never bid more than you can afford to pay.
10. Propose the unexpected bid: $4.56, $7.97, $11.26—I have won things I wanted (and didn’t want) by bidding the unexpected.

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“What kind of films do you make?” Porn, I think.

“Just films about different things.”

I nod.

I mistake his evasiveness and momentarily forget my own.
As a writer, I seldom talk about a piece until it is finished—sometime after its final revision, submission, rejection and/or publication. Dissecting language, character, voice, and plot are far more intricate and intimate conversations than those I would have with people who would ask, “What are you working on?”

People who would not ask are writers.

People who don’t know me must think I write porn.

“What do you want to do after graduation?” A friend asks.

“I just want to write,” I say and mean—but not really.

I do not want to write manuals, business letters, or the story of someone else’s life.

I want to write short stories with characters who reflect people and the choices we make and the consequences we live with. I want to write creative nonfiction pieces about injustices, opportunities, life. I want to make people think, act, cry, care. Power issues aside, I want to incite a change.

I write more personal essays than I am comfortable with. I sift through the cyber pages of my life and while I justify it by writing press releases during the day, I cannot justify it when people ask, “What are you working on?” And while I think, a piece that shows the choices I’ve made on the path to who I have become. And I say, “Something for my blog.” I mean—nothing of consequence.

My eality—my cyber footprint—is a bit somber. My reality on the other hand, is full of promise and opportunity and always facing forward.

So while I smile as I think, What would Jesus Write, I mean it’s time I got back to writing not just about my world, but about your world, our world—as I see it.

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1. The FedEx box arrives within a few days of talking to David.
2. My daughter packs the IPOD Touch in the box and sends it off while she frets over how long she can survive IPOD-Less
3. I receive an email that the IPOD has been received and is undergoing diagnostics
4. A few hours later, I receive an email that her IPOD is dead, Apple is sending her replacement.
5. A day or two later, the package arrives, daughter and IPOD are reunited (well, sort of) and all is well with the world, until
6. My daughter receives an odd phone call from Aaron claiming to be from Apple regarding a mix up at the post office and the need for her to return the IPOD.
7. I get on the phone.
8. The misunderstanding is understood as soon as an adult gets on the phone; “Aaron” was probably not from Apple or was he a disgruntled Apple store employee a bit miffed that we went around procedure?
9. Contacted David to let him know all was well and mentioned the odd phone call.
10. While he didn’t address the phone call (either it happens all the time or he didn’t want to get into it), he followed through and has earned Apple 3 potential IPODers.

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As I sit here reading my Twitter response to the ethics of flirting for business, I am momentarily stunned as I realize I have posted my ethics for the entire world to see.

Momentarily because “the entire world” reflects my 482, followers who I can at any time pretend are 482 readers (translation fans).

Perhaps, I should be embarrassed to admit that my ethics on such things as sales, prospects and clients is evocatively evasive. My reasons for not indulging in business flirtations are more personal than professional: I do not want to deal with someone I flirted with just to get a sale in any other capacity once the sale is made.

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