Taught my first class of the summer today and I think it went quite well. I was especially pleased with the class discussion. I gave the kids two short pieces to read (a story and a nonfiction essay) and then we had discussion; they had awesome, insightful, interesting things to say, and on the first day of class! It was great.
I gave them an in-class writing assignment, and one of the prompts they could choose was "remember back to a time when your heart was broken. If you had a chance to take revenge, would you?" Out of 21 students, 13 used this prompt, and only one person- one - said she'd take revenge. The other 12 mostly said things like "god/life/fate will take revenge for me," or "I'm getting my revenge, actually, by being happy now and being the better person" (which totally doesn't count as revenge!).
I wonder if they're being honest. Is it true that most people wouldn't take revenge? Is it strange that I'm surprised by this? What compels them all, when they are allowed to write either nonfiction or fiction (where, in theory, they are especially free to write anything they want), to take the moral high road?
I asked one of them to consider writing her essay from the "bad" point of view, because her piece was mercilessly good. She even calls herself a goodie-too-shoes (sic) at the end. As a result, the essay reads like a string of truisms. I recommended she have the "good" and "bad" self fight it out in essay form, just to see what she could come up with (I'm a big fan of playing around with writing, experimenting, and reshaping to see what happens).
Because, okay, I want to be a good person. I work at it. Hurting someone would devastate me. But. Excising demons (to be trite here for a momentito) through fiction? Oh my yes. When else in life does one get that kind of freedom? What makes my kids afraid to explore this impulse? Or do they really not have it?
I guess what I'm getting at here is that I think most of them have to be insincere about this. Or they want to impress me with their goodness. Or maybe we all construct ideas of ourselves that we use as shorthand to answer questions like this. For example, I think of myself as this kind of a person, so no, I'd never enjoy this or that or whatever. I see myself as a good person, so no, I'd never try to get revenge on anyone. But the thing is, there are so many little choices we make every day that are absolutely devastating to other people. The simple choice of whether to go to this restaurant or that one, or whether to buy our clothes from the mall or the thrift store, or etc etc; all these choices matter. These choices have far flung effects that we will never be able to see or really fully comprehend.
I can hear, for example, like all day long (who would be willing to say this to me all day? Ha.) that the lifestyle I'm living is an unsustainable one that causes suffering and torment around the world. Do I see that suffering? Does it feel like it is of me? No.
It's just an issue of ethics, really, to me. That these kids, right? That they can't conceive of getting revenge, or at least they say they can't conceive of it, but at the same time they are a part of this too-large-for-words killing machine and that would probably never factor into the decisions they make, the person they see themselves as, or anything else, really.
So what is my point? I don't think I have one. I don't know why I'm comparing Creative Writing essays and short stories to worldwide suffering and globalization. But I am. In an obscure way, this question reminds me of the hypocrisy of living in the US. I.E. "I'm a good person! I would never hurt anyone! But I don't want jails/mental institutions/trash dumps/etc in my neighborhood. And I don't want to have to give anything up in order to get more $ and more $ and more $."
Whoa. Okay. Thanks for hanging in there with me. It was a really good class. And I'm impressed with their work for the most part. I think this semester is going to be fun.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Paper Skin Glass Bones
I'm coming to you live from my week off in-between semesters. Ah, the joys of being a teacher.
I'm happy to report that one of my short stories is going to be published in an online journal. Check it out: http://www.paperskinglassbones.com/index.html
I'll be in their June launch issue.
Also, I'm going to the National Society of Arts and Letters Literature Competition in Short Story Writing next week. Scary! Here is a link to the competition: http://www.arts-nsal.org/competition.html
If you'll recall, I won first place for my local chapter. This is all just too exciting/nerve wracking.
So, a week off from teaching, but not really. We're doing grade norming in the English Department, so I have to read and grade a set of creative writing papers. I also have to get lessons prepared for the coming weeks so I'm not scrambling. It's going to be a challenge to fit an entire semester's worth of creative writing stuff into six weeks.
And then Interpretation of Fiction for the second half of the semester! Like a crazy person, I've decided that we are going to read a novel (in a week and a half!). My kids are going to have to really buckle down, but I figure that as long as I alert them to this fact, we'll all be okay.
Right?
I'm happy to report that one of my short stories is going to be published in an online journal. Check it out: http://www.paperskinglassbones.com/index.html
I'll be in their June launch issue.
Also, I'm going to the National Society of Arts and Letters Literature Competition in Short Story Writing next week. Scary! Here is a link to the competition: http://www.arts-nsal.org/competition.html
If you'll recall, I won first place for my local chapter. This is all just too exciting/nerve wracking.
So, a week off from teaching, but not really. We're doing grade norming in the English Department, so I have to read and grade a set of creative writing papers. I also have to get lessons prepared for the coming weeks so I'm not scrambling. It's going to be a challenge to fit an entire semester's worth of creative writing stuff into six weeks.
And then Interpretation of Fiction for the second half of the semester! Like a crazy person, I've decided that we are going to read a novel (in a week and a half!). My kids are going to have to really buckle down, but I figure that as long as I alert them to this fact, we'll all be okay.
Right?
Friday, April 30, 2010
Time keeps on ticking ticking ticking
Recently I realized that I have a whole week off in between spring and summer semesters. That week deserves the italics, I care not what you think! A week! Precious, glorious, wondrous week off!
This is exciting. This is. Unexpected? I've been so busy I didn't even think to let it sink in that there are days between this semester and the next during which nothing is expected of me.
This is partly due to the fact that I will not be advising this summer. It should be nice to have a break, although I do enjoy advising (possibly little known fact: at parties/get-togethers/public event type things, I can always fall back on my advising knowledge when talking to people, especially in those lovely little awkward silence moments. Seriously, maybe it's because I'm around students a lot, but there is always someone who needs to know something about college or grad school or the GRE, etc etc. It's great).
Soon enough my kids will be clambering to explain to me that I've graded them wrong, that I missed the point of their essay, that they weren't actually absent from class on 27 occasions, that they did in fact turn in the assignment(s) I'm missing from them.... But not yet, folks. That will probably start on Monday.
I just have to be firm with them. Yes, this is your grade. Yes, surprising as it seems, I do know what I'm doing. No, you are not the first student I've ever had challenge me. And finally, no, I am not going to back down on this! You missed 27 classes, for heaven's sake.
Okay, that's a bit of hyperbole, but still. You get the general idea. This is one of the reasons I'm happy for the week-without-work. One of myriad.
This is exciting. This is. Unexpected? I've been so busy I didn't even think to let it sink in that there are days between this semester and the next during which nothing is expected of me.
This is partly due to the fact that I will not be advising this summer. It should be nice to have a break, although I do enjoy advising (possibly little known fact: at parties/get-togethers/public event type things, I can always fall back on my advising knowledge when talking to people, especially in those lovely little awkward silence moments. Seriously, maybe it's because I'm around students a lot, but there is always someone who needs to know something about college or grad school or the GRE, etc etc. It's great).
Soon enough my kids will be clambering to explain to me that I've graded them wrong, that I missed the point of their essay, that they weren't actually absent from class on 27 occasions, that they did in fact turn in the assignment(s) I'm missing from them.... But not yet, folks. That will probably start on Monday.
I just have to be firm with them. Yes, this is your grade. Yes, surprising as it seems, I do know what I'm doing. No, you are not the first student I've ever had challenge me. And finally, no, I am not going to back down on this! You missed 27 classes, for heaven's sake.
Okay, that's a bit of hyperbole, but still. You get the general idea. This is one of the reasons I'm happy for the week-without-work. One of myriad.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
A quick fix
Three more classes to teach before this semester is over. I cannot believe it. Summer semester starts pretty much right away, so there isn't much time for me to be standing frozen, mouth hanging open (yes, this is how I would spend my free time [or at least what sounds best right now]: standing immobile, silent, eyes slowly losing focus), but still.
I don't understand why some kids wait until the end of the semester to discuss their grades. "You're being unfair," they say, or maybe something more like, "wtf's up with my paper grade?!"
I tell them the obvious; that if they'd talked to me about this sooner, maybe even a mere two or three weeks ago, we could have worked together to address whatever issues they were/are having. But with three classes left? I am no god, friends, and I don't pretend to be one! Maybe it's a compliment that they think there is still time to fix things?
I hate that term, by the way. The idea that things, people, anything, everything, can be "fixed." This suggests that with some effort whatever is wrong with the world, a person, a class, etc, whatever the problem is could be removed and the world, person, class, etc, would revert back to however it was before the problem surfaced. Back to something more like perfection. In my thinking, this would involve time travel, because whatever happens to us cannot be undone. We're permanently altered by the people, things, diseases, places, that touch us, and there is no "fixing" that. There is no clean reversion back to an antiseptic norm.
We are messy, confused, failing things, and there is no fix for us. If I could help my student "fix" the problems that resulted in her B- (which, lest you forget! would take much, much longer than three class periods, but anyway); if I could fix the problems, she'd still have other problems rise to the surface and bubble there.
Which is, I guess, my point here, although I'm more than a little wary of saying there is a point to this blog, maybe other than stating my exhaustion (hence the desire to stand unmoving for days).
Maybe I'm wrong and the idea of a fix doesn't imply a return to a previous state of idealized being, and I'm not sure what in the idea suggests this to me, except that I see it on TV all the time. People want scar cream to not only fix, but remove evidence of the scar. We are advertised products that will fix our faces by deleting wrinkles, smoothing pores, etc etc.
But these are false promises, duh, like I have to tell you that. Nothing is fixable. Even the best scar cream can't totally remove all evidence of scarring. We are permanently altered by the people and events that surround us, and no amount of surgical fillers, low fat foods, exercise regimens, spiritual experiences, long contemplative walks, or personal triumphs/failures can undo what we've been through.
I don't understand why some kids wait until the end of the semester to discuss their grades. "You're being unfair," they say, or maybe something more like, "wtf's up with my paper grade?!"
I tell them the obvious; that if they'd talked to me about this sooner, maybe even a mere two or three weeks ago, we could have worked together to address whatever issues they were/are having. But with three classes left? I am no god, friends, and I don't pretend to be one! Maybe it's a compliment that they think there is still time to fix things?
I hate that term, by the way. The idea that things, people, anything, everything, can be "fixed." This suggests that with some effort whatever is wrong with the world, a person, a class, etc, whatever the problem is could be removed and the world, person, class, etc, would revert back to however it was before the problem surfaced. Back to something more like perfection. In my thinking, this would involve time travel, because whatever happens to us cannot be undone. We're permanently altered by the people, things, diseases, places, that touch us, and there is no "fixing" that. There is no clean reversion back to an antiseptic norm.
We are messy, confused, failing things, and there is no fix for us. If I could help my student "fix" the problems that resulted in her B- (which, lest you forget! would take much, much longer than three class periods, but anyway); if I could fix the problems, she'd still have other problems rise to the surface and bubble there.
Which is, I guess, my point here, although I'm more than a little wary of saying there is a point to this blog, maybe other than stating my exhaustion (hence the desire to stand unmoving for days).
Maybe I'm wrong and the idea of a fix doesn't imply a return to a previous state of idealized being, and I'm not sure what in the idea suggests this to me, except that I see it on TV all the time. People want scar cream to not only fix, but remove evidence of the scar. We are advertised products that will fix our faces by deleting wrinkles, smoothing pores, etc etc.
But these are false promises, duh, like I have to tell you that. Nothing is fixable. Even the best scar cream can't totally remove all evidence of scarring. We are permanently altered by the people and events that surround us, and no amount of surgical fillers, low fat foods, exercise regimens, spiritual experiences, long contemplative walks, or personal triumphs/failures can undo what we've been through.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Swoosh
Hello there, trusted and admired friends of mine. This semester is coming to end, and as such, it's also speeding up. It's funny how that works. My classes are nearly in fast-forward right now, and I feel like I have to run to keep up (metaphorical running, of course... Although honestly a rather embarrassingly hefty amount of literal running is also involved).
Which reminds me. Yesterday or the day before or maybe even the day before that, I was riding my bike to school, and as I started going down that little hill that means I'm nearly on campus, I realized that that rushing-down-hill-feeling is something everyone should feel every now and then. I think it's good for people. It's good for me, and I'm a person, right? My logic is infallible, admit it.
Well, it really kind of is. My kids are reading an essay called "Reporting Live from Tomorrow" from the book Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert. The essay is about how in order to accurately predict how you'll feel in any given situation (for example, how happy you'd be as a train conductor), you should ask someone who's already doing that.
He goes on to talk about how we are much more alike than we are different. This is in a section of this essay titled "The Myth of Fingerprints," which is really a lovely title, eh? But anyway, he describes his idea in a funny and engaging way, so I'll quote him here. "Because we spend so much time searching for, attending to, thinking about, and remembering these differences [between people], we tend to overestimate their magnitude and frequency, and thus end up thinking of people as more varied than they actually are. If you spent all day sorting grapes into different shapes, colors, and kinds, you'd become one of those annoying grapeophiles who talks endlessly about the nuances of flavor and the permutations of texture. You'd come to think of grapes as infinitely varied, and you'd forget that almost all of the really important information about a grape can be deduced from the simple fact of its grapehood."
I love that explanation, and the kids really grasp it as well. In addition to these two lucky little facts (look, in CRW we're talking about sound in poetry, so if some alliteration, etc, sneaks in here, you just have to bear with me), the quote above serves to substantiate my claim.
We are, dear reader, quite more alike than we are different, and if this fast-swooshing-down-a-hill-thing can make me so happy, I humbly submit that it will affect you in a similar way.
So what I'm suggesting, really, is that you, from time to time, get on your bike and ride down a hill. The feeling is luscious. If you are one of the poor unfortunates who has is lacking access to a bike or a hill or (gasp) both, just roll down the window next time you are on the highway, preferably while someone else is driving, and put your head out the window, at least a little.
I think it's necessary for survival. It helps me feel like I can keep up with the fast-forwarding of this semester anyway.
Which reminds me. Yesterday or the day before or maybe even the day before that, I was riding my bike to school, and as I started going down that little hill that means I'm nearly on campus, I realized that that rushing-down-hill-feeling is something everyone should feel every now and then. I think it's good for people. It's good for me, and I'm a person, right? My logic is infallible, admit it.
Well, it really kind of is. My kids are reading an essay called "Reporting Live from Tomorrow" from the book Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert. The essay is about how in order to accurately predict how you'll feel in any given situation (for example, how happy you'd be as a train conductor), you should ask someone who's already doing that.
He goes on to talk about how we are much more alike than we are different. This is in a section of this essay titled "The Myth of Fingerprints," which is really a lovely title, eh? But anyway, he describes his idea in a funny and engaging way, so I'll quote him here. "Because we spend so much time searching for, attending to, thinking about, and remembering these differences [between people], we tend to overestimate their magnitude and frequency, and thus end up thinking of people as more varied than they actually are. If you spent all day sorting grapes into different shapes, colors, and kinds, you'd become one of those annoying grapeophiles who talks endlessly about the nuances of flavor and the permutations of texture. You'd come to think of grapes as infinitely varied, and you'd forget that almost all of the really important information about a grape can be deduced from the simple fact of its grapehood."
I love that explanation, and the kids really grasp it as well. In addition to these two lucky little facts (look, in CRW we're talking about sound in poetry, so if some alliteration, etc, sneaks in here, you just have to bear with me), the quote above serves to substantiate my claim.
We are, dear reader, quite more alike than we are different, and if this fast-swooshing-down-a-hill-thing can make me so happy, I humbly submit that it will affect you in a similar way.
So what I'm suggesting, really, is that you, from time to time, get on your bike and ride down a hill. The feeling is luscious. If you are one of the poor unfortunates who has is lacking access to a bike or a hill or (gasp) both, just roll down the window next time you are on the highway, preferably while someone else is driving, and put your head out the window, at least a little.
I think it's necessary for survival. It helps me feel like I can keep up with the fast-forwarding of this semester anyway.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Burgled
In other news, this week has been interesting, in like, a bad way. Our house was broken into on Monday. It was scary, but everything is fine. They didn't even let the cats out. They only took a couple laptops, my sister's Ipod, and our digital camera, so it could have been way worse. I was the one who discovered the break in. Let me break it down for you.
These are the steps I went through to realize we had been burgled. Please note that the entire process probably took less than five minutes, but it seemed much longer than that.
1) Upon opening the front door, I realized that the house smelled like beer. "That's strange," I thought, "maybe Bobby spilled when he took out the recycling last night?"
2) Opening the sliding glass door onto the porch I noticed a piece of cement brick on the rug. "Huh," I thought, "now why would Bobby leave that there? That's weird."
3) Upon discovering the utility closet door was closed, and so the cats wouldn't have been able to get to their litter boxes. "Why would Bobby leave that door closed? What a jerk! What about the poor kitties?"
4) Going over to the door to get my bike, I realized the door is not locked. "Oh man, that guy's on a role today! Bobby was supposed to lock this and he didn't. Man."
5) Upon turning around and realizing there is glass everywhere and the cat door is shattered. "Ohhhhhhhh. Not Bobby. Ha. Burglar."
The whole time it was Bobby's fault. I just think that's funny. But anyway, the cops came with the crime scene guy. The most annoying part was cleaning up the broken glass. Bobby makes home brew beer, and he had some in the closet. Apparently when they were rifling through our stuff, the burglar knocked a big bottle of home brew down and it shattered all over everything. There were even pieces of glass in my shoes.
So. I'm about to go teach my last class before spring break. I'm trying to think how I can incorporate this whole burglary into my lecture. Because I think it might be funny. And it speaks to the importance of point of view; imagine this story from my point of view, then from Bobby's, Laura's, the cats, the hamster, the burglar....
These are the steps I went through to realize we had been burgled. Please note that the entire process probably took less than five minutes, but it seemed much longer than that.
1) Upon opening the front door, I realized that the house smelled like beer. "That's strange," I thought, "maybe Bobby spilled when he took out the recycling last night?"
2) Opening the sliding glass door onto the porch I noticed a piece of cement brick on the rug. "Huh," I thought, "now why would Bobby leave that there? That's weird."
3) Upon discovering the utility closet door was closed, and so the cats wouldn't have been able to get to their litter boxes. "Why would Bobby leave that door closed? What a jerk! What about the poor kitties?"
4) Going over to the door to get my bike, I realized the door is not locked. "Oh man, that guy's on a role today! Bobby was supposed to lock this and he didn't. Man."
5) Upon turning around and realizing there is glass everywhere and the cat door is shattered. "Ohhhhhhhh. Not Bobby. Ha. Burglar."
The whole time it was Bobby's fault. I just think that's funny. But anyway, the cops came with the crime scene guy. The most annoying part was cleaning up the broken glass. Bobby makes home brew beer, and he had some in the closet. Apparently when they were rifling through our stuff, the burglar knocked a big bottle of home brew down and it shattered all over everything. There were even pieces of glass in my shoes.
So. I'm about to go teach my last class before spring break. I'm trying to think how I can incorporate this whole burglary into my lecture. Because I think it might be funny. And it speaks to the importance of point of view; imagine this story from my point of view, then from Bobby's, Laura's, the cats, the hamster, the burglar....
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Okay, you win this time, Dentist
So, it's been awhile, eh? So sorry about that, things have been very busy here for me. I know you've been on the edge of your seat, wondering what I have to say about teaching in a circle? Am I right?
I'm right, right?
Thought so!
Or not, but either way, dear reader, please forgive my inattention to this dusty little blog. Okay! For the record, teaching in a circle is interesting. I think it's better for workshopping (yes, it is a verb, you must, you know, learn to deal with that) creative writing than it is for actual lecturing. And it's funny, my kids said as much. We'd been workshopping their creative nonfiction essays for a couple weeks and were returning back to lecture. "I like it better in rows for this," I heard one of them say to another.
And you know what? I agree. It's easier to command their attention, I think, and to get them to focus. This is a bit of an unhappy realization for me, however, as my favorite classes as an undergraduate were taught in a circle.
Maybe after teaching for a few more years.... So, why the weird subject line? It's because today is Bobby and my three year anniversary, and we celebrated in the time worn fashion of getting cavities filled together. So romantic. But now my mouth is k-i-l-l-i-n-g (it's more dramatic spelled out I think) me. To death! So I called my dentist, and he said I might need a root canal instead.
Oh brother. Does he know that next week is spring break? That I hate dentists? That I have so much work to do and no time for mouth pain to distract me? What about me, dentist? Why don't you ever think about my needs?!
Ahem. But yeah. If it's this pain now verses a root canal which will hurt like crazy and then actually stop hurting, then I'll take the gosh darn root canal.
Really, Mary? Really? Gosh darn? So that's where we're at today. It's good that I know this now. You see, it's the mouth pain. It' s worming its way into my brain.
Guess what! I get to teach creative writing again in the summer and then in the fall. I am so happy. And I continue to be happy and grateful every day that I have this job that I love so. Yesterday I was talking to my creative writing kids:
"Are you excited to be going back to the workshop format?"
They all express differing levels of delight and apprehension.
"But, like," one of them says to me, "can I write something weird?"
"That's what we've been talking about, remember? Nontraditional stories and more traditional ones? You can do whatever you want in your short story, as long as the story has earned it."
"What if I want to change the perspective half way through?" another asks.
"Same thing. We learn the rules to better understand writing, but it doesn't mean you can't break them."
"And do I have to, like, use dialogue if I don't want to?" asks another.
"For heaven's sake. No, you don't have to, you can pick from the narrative modes that you want to incorporate, and dialogue doesn't have to be one of them as long as the story works without it."
They are so afraid to break the "rules," and at the same time so excited. I'm looking forward to this second round of workshopping. I know that many of them took the class because they want to write fiction. It should be fun.
That is, if I can enjoy it. If this pain would please-and-thank-you-very-much go away.
I'm right, right?
Thought so!
Or not, but either way, dear reader, please forgive my inattention to this dusty little blog. Okay! For the record, teaching in a circle is interesting. I think it's better for workshopping (yes, it is a verb, you must, you know, learn to deal with that) creative writing than it is for actual lecturing. And it's funny, my kids said as much. We'd been workshopping their creative nonfiction essays for a couple weeks and were returning back to lecture. "I like it better in rows for this," I heard one of them say to another.
And you know what? I agree. It's easier to command their attention, I think, and to get them to focus. This is a bit of an unhappy realization for me, however, as my favorite classes as an undergraduate were taught in a circle.
Maybe after teaching for a few more years.... So, why the weird subject line? It's because today is Bobby and my three year anniversary, and we celebrated in the time worn fashion of getting cavities filled together. So romantic. But now my mouth is k-i-l-l-i-n-g (it's more dramatic spelled out I think) me. To death! So I called my dentist, and he said I might need a root canal instead.
Oh brother. Does he know that next week is spring break? That I hate dentists? That I have so much work to do and no time for mouth pain to distract me? What about me, dentist? Why don't you ever think about my needs?!
Ahem. But yeah. If it's this pain now verses a root canal which will hurt like crazy and then actually stop hurting, then I'll take the gosh darn root canal.
Really, Mary? Really? Gosh darn? So that's where we're at today. It's good that I know this now. You see, it's the mouth pain. It' s worming its way into my brain.
Guess what! I get to teach creative writing again in the summer and then in the fall. I am so happy. And I continue to be happy and grateful every day that I have this job that I love so. Yesterday I was talking to my creative writing kids:
"Are you excited to be going back to the workshop format?"
They all express differing levels of delight and apprehension.
"But, like," one of them says to me, "can I write something weird?"
"That's what we've been talking about, remember? Nontraditional stories and more traditional ones? You can do whatever you want in your short story, as long as the story has earned it."
"What if I want to change the perspective half way through?" another asks.
"Same thing. We learn the rules to better understand writing, but it doesn't mean you can't break them."
"And do I have to, like, use dialogue if I don't want to?" asks another.
"For heaven's sake. No, you don't have to, you can pick from the narrative modes that you want to incorporate, and dialogue doesn't have to be one of them as long as the story works without it."
They are so afraid to break the "rules," and at the same time so excited. I'm looking forward to this second round of workshopping. I know that many of them took the class because they want to write fiction. It should be fun.
That is, if I can enjoy it. If this pain would please-and-thank-you-very-much go away.
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