writewrite

No, I haven’t been updating my blog. Here’s a list of what I’ve been doing instead of writing anything here lately:

1. I took home the dog that a student gave up, the dog that Kurt kept for quite awhile, the dog that incited the fight that made Kurt almost lose a finger, the dog that didn’t know how to be a dog, and I gave this dog lots of love and attention, and found hm a good home where he could be the only dog.

2. There’s this horse I have who demands a lot of attention. He’s like an irascible old man: loves his routine, and when he doesn’t have his routine, look out. Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy. 1200 pounds of grumpy is a lot of bad mood. So, I’m out at the barn a lot more lately.

3. The book. I’m up to chapter four.

4. Three classes. One senior project. A slew of committees. The sturm und drang of academic politics. “Tempest in a Teapot” as my mother used to say. Unfortunately, there seem to be a lot of teapots lately.

5. Grants. I keep finding people who will give me money if I write a lot of words on a page and send them my supplication. I mean, application.

6. Kurt. It’s 84 miles from my house to his. 74 miles from my house to his work. 79 miles from his house to the barn. 72 miles from his work to my work. I’m logging a lot of miles, and so is he. Not that I mind, nor does he, not a bit, but there it is. A lot of time on the road.

And that’s why I haven’t been writing a lot here lately.

7. Oh, and this: everything interesting that I have to say right now either
a) goes in the book, OR
b) will get me into big trouble so it goes straight past GO and into my journal.

I bet you’re curious now, aren’t you? You’ll just have to wait for the book.

And, nope, you can’t see my journal.

A student I had years ago at another institution far away wrote to me recently with thoughts and questions about writing. Here’s some of what I wrote back to him…

I have often thought — and said — that it took me about ten years to get over my MFA in creative writing. I’m very glad I have the degree, the experience, and the training in writing. But. My writing during the MFA program, and in its immediate wake, was not my own. It was writing that paid attention to the markeplace, to the notions of some of the more insistent voices teaching in the program, and it was at least in part “competitive” with my fellow students.

I wrote, as a graduate student, and in the years immediately afterward, stories that wanted not to tell a story, but stories that wanted to get published. A couple did. That was nice, but the victory felt hollow. I was not writing what mattered to me. I kept paying attention to what was being published in The New Yorker, and Story, and whatever the hot lit mag of the moment was. I paid attention to the faculty voices in my head that said “a story must have conflict” and a story had to “have something at stake” even though I didn’t believe that was necessarily true. In my heart, I knew that a story is sometimes a mystery, a cipher, a lens — sometimes cloudy, sometimes clear — upon the world. Sometimes the conflict can be so subtle it only becomes apparent after we put the story down, walk away, and realize the story is following us through the hours and days of our life. Sometimes what is at stake cannot be held out for inspection. It’s interior, fleeting, momentary. Read the rest of this entry »

We have a lot of snow on the ground here in Indiana. A lot of snow for Indiana, that is. About, oh, 14 inches or so after two snowstorms in the last week. It’s not the depth of the snow that matters out here; it’s the wind that blows the snow across wide open fields into big drifts that really makes the difference. And there has been quite a bit of wind.

So, today, for the third day in a row, we have a snow day. No school, campus closed. It’s a nice reprieve from teaching, meetings, meetings, and more meetings. Mostly the meetings. I don’t miss those one bit.

I would be willing to bet that the progress of work will not be slowed at all by the loss of three days of meetings. In fact, I’m getting a LOT more work done because of no meetings. I imagine everyone else is too.

Will this be an object lesson, one that anyone who has anything to do with setting up meetings will pay attention to? Probably not. In fact, I would be willing to bet that someone, perhaps right now, is sipping a second cup of coffee, gazing out the window at the blowing and drifting snow, musing upon the wide open spaces of time that have appeared in the last few days.

Hmmm, they will say to themselves. All this wide open time because of no meetings.

A swirl of snow will swoop across their yard. They will be inspired by the wind, and the snow, and of course, the coffee. An idea will begin to rise up.

What if… they will think. …what if we investigated how much time could be saved by not having so many meetings. Think of the possibilities…

And now, yes, I can see them sitting at their desk, coffee cooling, idea burning. They are typing, quickly, eagerly, an email, one that will go out to half a dozen colleagues. An email that expresses much enthusiasm, this brand new idea. An email that ends with this request: Can we meet next week?

The semester is now in week #2, and I admit: already, I’m wondering how I will get everything done that I want to, have to, need to get done. A short list:

*** a conference presentation next week, in of all places, Las Vegas. Am I ready? No. Not yet.
*** a plan for a new literary magazine, a plan I need to hatch, including among other things budget, calendar, marketing, and yes mission and vision, (oh, ew, how I hate those overused words)
*** three classes to teach, three different levels, and an independent study for a senior project. Eighteen books total. And that is not even counting the other reading to do for historical/social/cultural/critical context. I like to read, but oh my.
*** maybe a grant project to work on…I’ll know Monday. If I get it? The project is due, oh, in May.
*** a sabbatical to plan for, which means applying for as many writing residencies as I can find
*** a book to write
*** a horse to train
*** and all the rest of life to live

It’s the “rest of life” that is the siren call right now. I’d like nothing better right at this moment than to sit in front of the woodstove, read a book purely for pleasure. Bake a loaf of bread. Make a big batch of soup from a complicated recipe. Play with Owen. Read some more. And if it ever is warm enough again, ride my horse. Then maybe do frivolous things: go to Big Lots. Knit a voodoo doll. (yes, that) Watch a bad movie. Eat cheese cubes. Drink wine.

Oh my. I shouldn’t even write that stuff. I can feel myself wanting to jump ship, abandon all work, and swim toward those lovelies.

Not today, Jean. Not today.

My sister posted a long entry on her blog recently detailing her objections to Facebook. I was intrigued enough by what she wrote to be moved to reply, somewhat point by point. So, here goes.

The objections on her blog post are, first:

It minimizes human contact, so that people are communicating via little badly written blurbs and comments. I like talking to people, face-to-face and on the phone. I don’t like trying to sound clever and cute in a one sentence update on my life.

Sure. If the only contact you have with other human beings is, indeed, through Facebook then your human contact is pretty flat. However, if you use Facebook as a communication tool (one of many), it augments face-to-face contact. For instance, I often send out messages on Facebook about upcoming events at school, or ask questions of my students, or ask for general advice (like where to get a good, cheap haircut, for instance), or post notes on significant things that have happened (like when my cat died).

Most of the people I have “friended” on Facebook live near me, I work with them, or they are my students. These are people I see much of the time; the Facebook phenomenon I have noticed is that when we see each other face-to-face, we have a more up to date knowledge of how one another is, what has been happening, and our real-time conversations are that much richer.

Additionally, Facebook helps me stay up to date on what is actually happening in my community. I know about events, gatherings, visiting speakers, calls for social action, etc. Our local newspaper and radio stations are woefully inadequate to this task. Facebook, however, with the network of “friends” I have there, keeps me in the loop.

A second objection:

It brings people back into your life who have long since moved on, and who have moved on for good reason. Many friendships have a shelf life, and once the friendship has expired, it’s in everyone’s best interest to let things go. I probably don’t have much in common now with the friends I had in my late twenties. But I have new friends now with whom I share quite a bit.

No, Facebook doesn’t “bring people back into your life.” You do. There is no Facebook rule that says you must friend someone. I have seen old boyfriends on Facebook, former mean girls from high school, weirdo colleagues — and I look, and make no contact. The beauty of Facebook is that you get to choose reconnections. Just as you do in life.

A third objection:

It encourages a highschool popularity mentality, even when you’re resisting that trap. I’m way past highschool, and would like to think that I’m mature, but when I see that both of my siblings have over a hundred friends each, and I only have five friends, I start to feel my ego shrink and my posture change and I feel again like the braces-ridden runty highschool freshman that I once was. No thanks. I don’t need that.

Only if you “count” your friends, and value that number. I don’t. I choose friends because they are neighbors, colleagues, students, real friends present or past. I’m pretty discriminating.

For what it’s worth, I went on Facebook originally as part of a research project I’m doing which involves looking at useful ways to integrate social networking media into the classroom. I’m finding that a nuanced usage of Facebook has some good effects: It humanizes me as a teacher for my students, first of all. They know when I have a cold, or my cat throws up on the sofa, or the awful day the sewer backed up into my basement. Secondly, I can communicate with my students in a low-key, conversational manner, often sharing ideas about books, events, ways to navigate the academic system, etc. Thirdly, I get wind of student frustrations and problems and can often find ways to offer assistance or guidance.

A final objection:

It’s an absolute time suck. If I were to become a Facebook junkie, I would lose valuable time that I could spend reading, creating, socializing, blogging (yes, I know, I need to be more consistent with that), or taking an afternoon nap on a weekend. Or cooking or cleaning or volunteering or planting a garden or getting in shape.

Well, of course it can be a “time suck.” Anything can. Watching television, playing solitaire, drinking too much wine, braiding your horse’s mane, writing your memoir. Any activity that we allow to overtake a balanced life, an existence that is healthy, measured, and conscious is wasteful. The key is: see Facebook as a tool. Not a life.

Abby ends her blog by asking two question:

How long can something as inane as Facebook survive? And how many of you are mad at me right now?

Facebook is only inane if you use it not as a tool, but as a way of faux-living. It’s just a communication tool. As is writing a blog, writing letters with stamps on them, sending text messages, talking on the phone, sending emails, etc. It’s only a tool. Blame not the tool for inanity; blame the wielder of the tool.

Anger only comes from misunderstanding. Try giving Facebook a different kind of chance. See if you appreciate it differently.

The grammar mailbag had an intriguing question in it recently. Here’s the question, and my answer:

Dear WriteWrite:

Grammar was not one of my favorite endeavors…. I am working on a card for a friend, and want to include this message:
“you never know who you will find at Jack’s Place”
But then, alas, I was told that the proper term is “whom”.

Which is the correct term?
Best Wishes,
Jill

Dear Jill, and by extension, Jack

Well, “whom” is technically correct — direct object and all that rot. However, it is also stuffy and outdated. From a nifty website I found, a good trick:

“As a ready check … simply substitute the personal pronoun “he/him” or “she/her” for “who/whom.” If he or she would be the correct form, the proper choice is who.” If “him” or “her” would be correct, use “whom.””

So, we would do this:

“you will find him/her at Jack’s Place”

Thus, we have a winner: whom. However, there is a stuffiness to this that lands wrong on many ears. For instance, the local paper used to include an information box with stories — they may still do so — that read “Whom to call.” Who says that? The Ghostbusters didn’t. “Who do you call? Ghostbusters!”

Grammar is more flexible and more amenable to bending than most English professors like to admit. For instance, when I answer the phone and someone asks: Hi, is this WriteWrite?, do I say, “It is I”? Not likely. I say: “It’s me.” There is a tonal flexibility in conversation that we employ regularly. So, if I were writing a card for dearest Jack, I might hastily write:

“you never know who you will find at Jack’s Place”

But then…I have never been a fan of “whom.” If one would prefer to avoid the dreaded “whom” question, it might be possible to write

“you never know what you will find at Jack’s Place”

Since, perhaps, “what” could refer to knick knacks, paddywhacks, and, hmm, odd personalities as well. One could also argue, as English professors like to do, that the use of the second person (you) is in and of itself troublesome. That’s where the stuffier still pronoun “one” comes in handy. So an alternative could be:

One never knows what one will find at Jack’s Place

Ick, right? Incredibly stuffy. So for a total stuffy overload, one could do this:

One never knows whom one will find at The Old Book Shop

On balance, it depends entirely on what effect you (the writer) are trying to elicit. If it were my card? I might write this:

You never know what you’ll find at Jack’s Place

And then you will evoke the wrath of those that loathe the contraction (you’ll). One cannot win, my friend. Go for the tone you want, and ignore the grammar police. Except for me. I’m always right.

cheers —
WriteWrite

This year, I’ve decided to read 100 books — new books and old, heavy and light. The list is completely idiosyncratic; it’s got everything on it from Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics and Making Comics, to Moby Dick and Walden, short story collections, new novels and nonfiction, Hemingway, Pablo Neruda, St. Exupery’s war writings, and a great number of horse books. This week I’ve managed to get through three books on the list — a short story collection, a poetry book, and a children’s book. Excerpts and thoughts about each below:

Expletive Deleted
edited by Jen Jordan
2007 Bleak House Books

I got this book awhile ago because it contains a short story by Scott Wolven, who is I think one of the best short story writers around. And a good guy, a real writer, and funny as hell. Scott’s story in this collection — “St. Gabriel” — is beautiful, dark, and haunting. Another story I liked a great deal is “Johnny Seven” by David Bowker. It’s told from the point of view of a kid, always a difficult prospect to carry off. Bowker does it well, managing to keep the kid-voice throughout, with just a tinge here or there of the adult who must be remembering this years later. It’s the kind of story that transports you to another place, keeps a grip on you, and then when it releases you at the end, you are just a little breathless, a little rattled, and not quite sure if you’re still there, or back here. Here’s a short passage (expletives not deleted of course…):

“You scared?” said KC.
“What of?”
“I dunno,” said KC. “I just feel something bad is going to happen.”
“That’s right,” I said. “It’s called the rest of your fucking life.”

The Golden Key
(part of a longer work, Dealings with the Fairies)
George MacDonald, illustrations by Maurice Sendak,
afterword by W. H. Auden
originally published in 1867;
this edition 1967, Farrar Straus and Giroux

This is a rather sleepy, somewhat maudlin tale of two children in search of first the Golden Key, and then the lock the key will open. Their journey takes years and years, which oddly they seem not to recognize as years, rather as moments, until the very end when it is their time to leave this earthly life. Oh, right. This is an allegory. A rather Christian one, I suppose. At the end (spoiler alert) the children ascend “up to the country whence the shadows fall.” Of course, they are no longer children, now they are grown, old, their work on earth done, having found key, lock, and inserted former into latter (with a moment of moving aside a large rock…hmm), and been assured that death is not the end of life but instead, “more life.”

Okay. I get it. The book is a bit heavy handed, yet there are enough engaging and strange images to make the read (and it is a short one) rewarding. The image of the beautiful fish who want to be eaten so they can turn into fairies was rendered so lovingly that any tinge of horror was quite absent. That alone, and other images just as inventive, make this worth reading.

Here’s a passage:

Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down.
“That is the way,” he said.
“But there are no stairs.”
“You must throw yourself in. There is no other way.”

She turned and looked him full in the face … then threw herself headlong into the hole.

Two by Two (poems)
Denise Duhamel
University of Pittsburgh Press 2005

I love Denise Duhamel’s poetry. It’s funny, smart, sexy, serious, literate, direct, and when you read it, it is as though Duhamel herself is speaking to you, the reader, directly. The voice is authentic and down to earth, confiding and ruminative and smart ass all at once. Happily, I know Denise herself just a bit (I met her at Yaddo, and we bonded over me throwing up violently and passing out at her feet, and her trying really hard not to freak out — but that’s another story). I can say without a doubt that, yes, the voice you hear in these poems is really her voice. She’s one of the most generous writers I know; she works hard at writing and teaching and doing the real work both demand. She’s the real deal.

Here’s a link to several of her poems online; my favorite of this bunch is “Egg Rolls.”

In future weeks, I hope to post more about other books I’ll be reading.
97 more to go…

One of the drawbacks to being a writer is that I can’t help but cast a critical eye on other writers’ writing. The voice, the tone, the details, the structure, all that stuff on the page. And, the means of production of a piece of writing. That matters too. When you can’t quite trust the authenticity of a piece of writing, its genesis, then the whole reading experience — for me — becomes tainted. For example, I have not had the stomach yet to read Elizabeth Gilbert’s mega-blockbuster bestselling memoir Eat, Pray, Love because I have paid attention to the writerly scuttlebutt about how the book came to be.

That scuttlebutt is, essentially, this (I’m passing on bitchy writer gossip here, so take it for what it’s worth): Gilbert was going through a crappy divorce, needed to get out of town, and pitched a story idea to her publisher: how about I travel through, oh, a pretty foreign country or two, eat really great food, get spiritually aware, and write about it? What do you say? Sure thing, crowed the publisher. And here’s a big advance. Have a nice time!

Well. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I suspect Read the rest of this entry »

I do lament the decline of the daily newspaper. However, when I read a sentence like the last one in the paragraph below, I want to retract my lamentation:

The remnants of financial disaster linger. Many neighbors have no credit cards. Repossessed family cars have not been replaced. Vacation destinations remain for most the stuff of advertisements in newspapers from which coupons continue to be clipped.

Huh? I had to read that final sentence a couple of times to get it. It’s not quantum physics, but gee whiz, that’s a convoluted mess.

Okay, writing fans, let’s rip into it then, shall we? Read the rest of this entry »

Indianapolis, Indiana
Currently: 14°F Light Snow
Wind: West at 14 MPH
Wind Chill: -1°F
Sunrise: 8:05 am
Sunset: 5:33 pm