So, unless I'm buried by an avalanche of registration forms over the next couple of days, the writing class is off. Apparently I managed to find the wrong combination of class format and timing, or maybe there just wasn't as much interest as I thought in the middle school. I'm a little disappointed, but not crushed. I'm glad I at least made the attempt, because if I hadn't I'd always wonder and feel a little guilty for not making the effort. Now I know, and I can move on. Failure is God's way of saying, "Nice try, I appreciate the effort, but that's not exactly what I had in mind for you."
I am also taking a hiatus from writing. I'm not sure yet if I'm just burned out and need a long rest or if I have also reached the "Nice try, I appreciate the effort, but this is not exactly what I had in mind for you" point with writing. "The effort" in this case netted me 15 published stories, and I can definitely live with that. Maybe I just need to stop thinking in dollar signs and listen to that little voice that keeps telling me I'm a short story writer, not a novelist. I quit writing for a couple of years previously, and that hiatus also came about after I pushed myself to write novel-length instead of short. I do not yet have enough mental or emotional distance to think about that objectively, however, so I will go back to just saying "I'm on hiatus."
Fear not, I have plenty of (long-neglected) household projects to occupy my time!