One of the stranger side effects of testosterone (besides the extremely curly forearm hair) is the distinct lack of happy fuzzy compassion Transman used to have when teaching. Prior to T, he was that teacher who worried over students who didn’t turn in work or who had all manner of trouble getting their shit together. He was John Keating from Dead Poets Society. Transman was going to show each student who walked through the door of his classroom that someone cared; he was going to inspire them to find their voices and sing-sing-sing! to the world.
Not no more.
Transman has turned into a curmudgeon. Transman is now somewhere between Severus Snape and Charles Kingsfield. He figures he gave the students the syllabus at the beginning of the semester and reminds them at the end of each class what is due for the next one. If they need help beyond that, then they shouldn’t be in college. He is not here to hear excuses or to babysit; he is here to teach and engage them in conversation about the craft of writing. He is now a pompous ass who says things like, “Writing is work and if you’re not willing to work hard, then you’re not ready to be a writer.”