“The English may not always be the best writers in the world, but they are incomparably the best dull writers” (11).
Chandler, Raymond. The Simple Art of Murder. New York: Vintage Books, 1988.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Ha!
“The English may not always be the best writers in the world, but they are incomparably the best dull writers” (11).
Chandler, Raymond. The Simple Art of Murder. New York: Vintage Books, 1988.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
When inspiration strikes...
...you just go with it.
I've had these two small(ish) but important writing tasks that have been on my daily to-do list all day long. And I kept putting them off, doing every other thing on the list. At around 9:00, I thought to myself, "Well, I guess they just won't get done today."
So why in the world do I, all of the sudden, start working on both of them, at the same time, at nearly 10:00 p.m.? That just isn't the way I work anymore. Those late-night, writing-all-night efforts? I left those behind in my early grad-school days. Granted, 10:00 isn't "late" by lots of people's definitions, including my own, but it is certainly past my writing timeline. I can read, grade, even do some research after 10:00, but in general, there ain't a lot of writing getting done. So this is weird.
But again, when you've been waiting all day for the urge to get these things done and the urge suddenly hits, you go with it, I suppose.
I've had these two small(ish) but important writing tasks that have been on my daily to-do list all day long. And I kept putting them off, doing every other thing on the list. At around 9:00, I thought to myself, "Well, I guess they just won't get done today."
So why in the world do I, all of the sudden, start working on both of them, at the same time, at nearly 10:00 p.m.? That just isn't the way I work anymore. Those late-night, writing-all-night efforts? I left those behind in my early grad-school days. Granted, 10:00 isn't "late" by lots of people's definitions, including my own, but it is certainly past my writing timeline. I can read, grade, even do some research after 10:00, but in general, there ain't a lot of writing getting done. So this is weird.
But again, when you've been waiting all day for the urge to get these things done and the urge suddenly hits, you go with it, I suppose.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Structuralism, houses, lists...
I am taking a temporary break from finishing up a powerpoint presentation for my students on Structuralist Criticism. I know, I know, you are jealous.. Seriously, though, this is not late-night work for a tired brain!
It's been a long day, starting early this morning when I had to get ready for my biggest home-ownership purchase since buying the house itself: replacement of the HVAC unit. After years of worrying about the old unit giving up the battle in the dead of winter, I decided on a preemptive replacement. The crew arrived today at just after 8:00, although I had to be ready for them much earlier, since I was told "they'll be there between 7:00 and 8:00." The guys worked hard and were done by 2:20 and I am now the proud owner of a new unit *and* a shiny new touchscreen thermostat.
Having people here in the house most of the day made it hard to get anything done that required extended, uninterrupted attention (including anything to do with structuralism). But I did get lots of other tasks done, the kind that I could work on in 10 or 15 minute intervals: all my advising prep, a observation report for an adjunct, tons of emails, some department documents, and a couple of letters of recommendation. It always feels good to cross a bunch of items off of my to-do list.
This HVAC replacement has been weighing on my mind as a kind of "big and stressful day" to get through. Now that it's done, I am breathing some sighs of relief.
(Rather boring post, I know. It's mostly a powerpointing-break!)
It's been a long day, starting early this morning when I had to get ready for my biggest home-ownership purchase since buying the house itself: replacement of the HVAC unit. After years of worrying about the old unit giving up the battle in the dead of winter, I decided on a preemptive replacement. The crew arrived today at just after 8:00, although I had to be ready for them much earlier, since I was told "they'll be there between 7:00 and 8:00." The guys worked hard and were done by 2:20 and I am now the proud owner of a new unit *and* a shiny new touchscreen thermostat.
Having people here in the house most of the day made it hard to get anything done that required extended, uninterrupted attention (including anything to do with structuralism). But I did get lots of other tasks done, the kind that I could work on in 10 or 15 minute intervals: all my advising prep, a observation report for an adjunct, tons of emails, some department documents, and a couple of letters of recommendation. It always feels good to cross a bunch of items off of my to-do list.
This HVAC replacement has been weighing on my mind as a kind of "big and stressful day" to get through. Now that it's done, I am breathing some sighs of relief.
(Rather boring post, I know. It's mostly a powerpointing-break!)
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Midterm grades: DONE!
Another set of midterm grades done. I've still got a ton to do by tomorrow, but it feels pretty good to have this hurdle cleared.
Chair-dancing music...rocking it old school today!
Chair-dancing music...rocking it old school today!
Friday, October 11, 2013
ENGL 102 theme...
Okay: so, after ignoring earlier requests from my department
chair, I had to come up with a 40 character or less title for my upcoming ENGL
102 class theme. All I really had was “Zombies!” Headed over to my friend
Carrie (a creative writer) for help. Five minutes later, I emerge with “The Writing
Dead: Zombies & Composition.” Yay for collaboration and helpful, smart,
creative friends. And you have NO idea how much it broke my heart to resist
using “(de)composition.” But, in terms of character limit and making sense, it
didn’t fit. Carrie said to save it for the syllabus.
Also tossed around “Revising and Reanimating” and “A to
Zombie” (that one was my friend Tim’s).
Don’t contact your local congressman//woman to complain
about “education these days.” The zombie stuff is just a way to get them in the
door and writing about a topic that interests them. Trust me: we’ll be doing
lots of cool, research-based, multi-modal writing.
Also, I think your local congressman/woman is a bit
preoccupied right now.
"Oversharing" and teaching...
This article bugged me.
Look, I get that professors shouldn't air their dirty laundry or too much personal information in class. Point taken. But the idea that we shouldn't talk about our own academic struggles or failures? Baffling--especially when it comes to writing instruction. Maybe that's a misreading or over-reading of the researchers' conclusions (and I suspect that it is the latter--their use of the ominous phrase "engaged with caution" suggests as much). But if it *is* an over-reading, then their message is, essentially, "Hey, don't do too much of these two things." In this case, those things are over-sharing and talking about your failures because they will damage your credibility and lead to incivility in the classroom. But guess what? I don't need a scientific study to show me that's true. Balance is key. We get it.
Look, I get that professors shouldn't air their dirty laundry or too much personal information in class. Point taken. But the idea that we shouldn't talk about our own academic struggles or failures? Baffling--especially when it comes to writing instruction. Maybe that's a misreading or over-reading of the researchers' conclusions (and I suspect that it is the latter--their use of the ominous phrase "engaged with caution" suggests as much). But if it *is* an over-reading, then their message is, essentially, "Hey, don't do too much of these two things." In this case, those things are over-sharing and talking about your failures because they will damage your credibility and lead to incivility in the classroom. But guess what? I don't need a scientific study to show me that's true. Balance is key. We get it.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Sunday afternoon pictures
Wesley looks out the window.
Bing looks at a picture of Wesley looking out the window. :)
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Brodkey's "The State of Grace"
I just heard this story for the first time today, on the New Yorker's Fiction podcast. I was listening to it while cleaning the bathroom. Here's my endorsement: its closing paragraphs, without being cloying or patronizing, made my eyes tear up. Give it a listen.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
"The Nullification Party"
As usual, Andrew Sullivan says it better than most. Give this post a read.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Thinking about River of Earth
Work on another project brought me back to River of Earth, by James Still. I first read the novel when I was in college, in a fantastic Appalachian literature class--the class that made me realize that there is this thing called Appalachian literature and that it's worth reading and studying. I remember loving the book so much that I wrote my final paper for the class on it. That paper turned into one of my graduate school writing samples. (At least one school wanted two samples.)
Anyway, although I hate to admit it, that college class was about 14 years ago, so it had been a long time since I'd read the book. So what a treat it was to return to it! And it amazed me how many lines and phrases I remembered. Still's writing is practically prose poetry in places (how's that for alliteration?), but it's poetry wrapped up in real life--life that is hard and complex and offers no easy answers, especially to those who are barely hanging on, like the characters in this novel. Still finds the beauty and poetry in the speech and lives of these people, much of it richly realized through their dialect.
This passage, which comes a scene in which the (unnamed) main character's parents discuss moving to a coal camp, gives a good sense of what I am talking about. Mother doesn't want to go. She wants to stay where they are, where they've planted a garden, where they can put down roots. But she also realizes how little power she has. Father will make the decision for the family, and he's made up his mind. As a reader, your heart breaks for the mother--you want them to stay--but you also see where the father, who wants to provide for his family, is coming from. And you know that he's also wrong about the mine providing stability. You suspect that he knows he's wrong, too. But he's desperate. And their debate--should we settle down or are we meant to roam?--is central to our culture.
Anyway, although I hate to admit it, that college class was about 14 years ago, so it had been a long time since I'd read the book. So what a treat it was to return to it! And it amazed me how many lines and phrases I remembered. Still's writing is practically prose poetry in places (how's that for alliteration?), but it's poetry wrapped up in real life--life that is hard and complex and offers no easy answers, especially to those who are barely hanging on, like the characters in this novel. Still finds the beauty and poetry in the speech and lives of these people, much of it richly realized through their dialect.
This passage, which comes a scene in which the (unnamed) main character's parents discuss moving to a coal camp, gives a good sense of what I am talking about. Mother doesn't want to go. She wants to stay where they are, where they've planted a garden, where they can put down roots. But she also realizes how little power she has. Father will make the decision for the family, and he's made up his mind. As a reader, your heart breaks for the mother--you want them to stay--but you also see where the father, who wants to provide for his family, is coming from. And you know that he's also wrong about the mine providing stability. You suspect that he knows he's wrong, too. But he's desperate. And their debate--should we settle down or are we meant to roam?--is central to our culture.
Mother was on the rag edge of
crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting down nowhere for good and
all, searching for God knows what,” she said. “Where air we expecting to
draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever I’ve wanted to set us down
in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring, with room to swing arm and elbow,
a garden-piece for fresh victuals, and a cow to furnish milk for the
baby. So many places we’ve lived – the far side one mine camp and next the
slag pile of another. Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He
spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content
on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the
camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on
it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.” (51-52).
The language of this passage is worth lingering over--and it's not even close to Still's most beautiful passages. In fact, that some of these phrases appear right in the middle of ordinary, plain speaking dialect shows just how effortless Still's craft appears to be: "a place certain and enduring, with room to swing arm and elbow," "...never meant for a body to be full content on the face of earth," the syntax of the father's last words.
All that said, you know I'm going to recommend the darn thing. Read it. It's short, beautiful, and, perhaps especially in a week where half of Congress votes to cut the SNAP program, it lingers in your mind.
Work Cited
Still, James. River of Earth. 1940. Lexington: U of Kentucky P, 1978. Print.
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Mother
was on the rag edge of crying. “Forever moving yon and back, setting
down nowhere for good and all, searching for God knows what,” she said.
“Where air we expecting to draw up to?” Her eyes dampened. “Forever
I’ve wanted to set us down in a lone spot, a place certain and enduring,
with room to swing arm and elbow, a garden-piece for fresh victuals,
and a cow to furnish milk for the baby. So many places we’ve lived –
the far side one mine camp and next the slag pile of another.
Hardburly. Lizzyblue. Tribbey. I’m longing to set me down shorely and
raise my chaps proper.”
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Father’s ears reddened. He spoke, a grain angrily. “It was never meant for a body to be full content on the face of this earth. Against my wont it is to be treading the camps, but it’s bread I’m hunting, regular bread with a mite of grease on it. To make and provide, it’s the only trade I know, and I work willing.”
- See more at: http://www.frontporchrepublic.com/2009/08/still%E2%80%99s-river-of-earth/#sthash.lfGOL1cg.dpuf
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Bad blogger (again) and life in general
I hate having these huge gaps with no posts. Here's another promise to try harder. I will say that I am pretty sure my absence doesn't have anything to do with a post-tenure lack of productivity. Truthfully, the end of the summer just flew by, with a conference, a (fun) vacation to Maine, and then all of usual the back-to-school madness intervened.
All in all, things are good. About four weeks in, my classes are fun, sometimes challenging and frustrating in good ways, and always rewarding. Bing and Wes are good, although they are blissfully unaware of my new fascination with getting at least one of them to wear a bow-tie. (I blame the Russians and this cat.) The house is fine, although I am about to spend a large amount of money on a new HVAC system. (That's okay, too--the current system, while still working, is on its last legs and pretty inefficient and fortunately, I have the money.) Fall TV is upon us, which means some great shows are coming back. The Yankees might not make the playoffs, but they've played better than I ever expected considering their challenges and injuries, so I am still (of course) a proud fan. So again, life is good.
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All in all, things are good. About four weeks in, my classes are fun, sometimes challenging and frustrating in good ways, and always rewarding. Bing and Wes are good, although they are blissfully unaware of my new fascination with getting at least one of them to wear a bow-tie. (I blame the Russians and this cat.) The house is fine, although I am about to spend a large amount of money on a new HVAC system. (That's okay, too--the current system, while still working, is on its last legs and pretty inefficient and fortunately, I have the money.) Fall TV is upon us, which means some great shows are coming back. The Yankees might not make the playoffs, but they've played better than I ever expected considering their challenges and injuries, so I am still (of course) a proud fan. So again, life is good.
.jpg)
"What's a bow-tie?"
Monday, August 5, 2013
Wives in the Avocados
The latest episode of the "Poetry Off the Shelf" podcast is pretty terrific. Marjorie Perloff and Curtis Fox discuss "A Supermarket in California." It's a poem I know well and love. Give it a listen.
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