Russian Reader

In my stats, I have noticed a faithful Russian readership, and it appears to be human readership, not just crawling. And maybe it's a proxy, although what situation you must be in to choose Russia as your proxy, I don't care to guess.

I sound like I know what I'm talking about when it comes to the mysteries of the internet, and I assuredly do not. All this to say that I appreciate you, Russian friend(s). Thanks for reading for the past six years.

If I Had it to Do Over...

If I could sit myself down in late July 2016, I would have listened to my very legitimate worries about how to say goodbye, what to pack, and what to do about money. After just listening to all that, December Me would have told July Me the following important information:

1. When it comes to packing, remember, people live there. They either know how to do it or are surviving without doing it. (This apparently does not apply to shoes. Bring ALL your shoes.)

2. Bring a journal from before you left. You were a person quite different then, but still a whole, dignified person. It's good to remember those days when you understood the world around you.

It's also good to see the holes and questions you had before the move. Moving has brought new pain, but it has answered some of your questions, deepened your dreams, changed your life.

3. You don't have to go everywhere and experience everything right away. Reading books is still an acceptable pastime, no matter the continent.

4. You're going to write again. And you're going to love it.

Creative Energies Transformed

"Why haven't I been writing?" I ask myself, and one or two of you have asked me, too. One part of not writing has been the fear of it. If you refuse to stop and reflect, you don't have to make any changes to your life. You can just keep going forward until you hit a roadblock.

So I let myself fill up my schedule with visiting. (I've been around. You've seen me.) And while that's mostly been a positive change since this time last year, the lack of quiet for my mind has crippled my ability to compose creatively.

When I do become introspective, cataracts of thought open wide, and out flows something different than before: a desire to sing, to play an instrument, to run, to laugh with you, to do something brave, to call you, to finally get back to watching Lost, to coach a Bible Quiz team, to plan a friend's wedding, to visit my sick grandpa and my outspoken grandma, to see a good friend far away, to plan a baby shower, to read that book... by the way, it was Wuthering Heights this month, and it drew me in like the sea, and rescued me, too.

It occurs to me that time is short; if I want to do any of those things, I had better do at least one right now.

I do still write, though, in my journal a few times a month. I write emails. I write advertising copy. I write quiz questions. All taken together, it is satisfying me for now.

I Think This is Why I Haven't Been Writing

Free Write Notebook

In my writing class, I require 10 minutes of most days be devoted to free writing. I try to participate in this time, as well. After 2.2 years of teaching this class, I have finally completed my first free write notebook, filled with prompts and my own responses. I'll be mining it and posting my favorite entries with the label "notebook." Especially if you're a writing teacher, find the prompts I use highlighted at the top of notebook posts.

Here is one:

Prompt: Respond to "Fog" by Carl Sandburg. How have you experienced nature recently?

The rain fell like it does: indifferently.
The streams rose and rose.
Falling asleep under down I heard
each passing car play its lullaby of tires,
water, road.

In our small tent, I woke up to the crashes of thunder. At first, they had not mattered. They were just background rhythms in my dreams. But then, we were all awake. Angela looked about; I could see her fright in the lightning flashes. And, for no good reason, this was hilariously funny to me. I began to laugh hard. We had to decide whether we would remain in the tent, dry, but perhaps electrocuted, or retreat to the car, getting soaked, but staying whole, and with less danger of trees crashing on our canvas-covered heads.

I stopped laughing when I was shivering in the car, unable to sleep.

Casting Vision

A friend recently told me that there is "blog culture." I had no idea. If I had ever thought of it, I guess I would have known. My vision for this blog is that it be a repository for thoughts, so I don't have to keep them completely inside, where they usually blur, and disappear, and that it be a repository for important events, usually in the form of poetry. With all this, I hope to somehow keep my mom updated with the workings of my life, so she can feel like she didn't waste her time raising me.

Evening Confession

Tonight, you don't know me.
You don't.

I'm worn out.
Dark circles.
Too many carbs. Too much caffeine.
I did all the things I was supposed to today.
I did my research, and got the facts straight;
I did the shopping, baked for the group, hosted it, almost cleaned up afterward;
I wrote a letter, thought about my opinion on a subject;
I changed into sweatpants, and made up my mind to set my alarm early for a meeting in the morning.

And I feel empty, here at the computer.

I'm
Afraid this is who I really am, and even more
Afraid that you do know me, after all.

How the Mighty Pen Will Fall

In West Africa, "traditional" West Africa, to write something down is to kill it. As soon as the story is parted from the human mind, the human heart, the human voice, the story has died. People who can afford it hire a family story teller to keep track of the family and to keep them alive in hearts to come.

In Western contemporary culture, writing is tantamount to immortalizing oneself. Oral history is seen as unreliable, silly even. But written history - don't we see? - is stagnant. It does not keep up with the flow of the river. Writing is a pool all its own, becoming more and more removed from the water that flows. Eventually, the collected debris builds up in the little eddy. And sediment collects to form a thin shaft of land. And the story persists forever in its pool. But fewer and fewer people come to visit.

It is only a matter of centuries before one must study for years to even get at the most elementary meaning of the landlocked text. It gets further inland, further from the flow. But it is immortal. But it is alone.

-----------

Stanley Hauerwas calls ours a culture of death.

We laugh at cultures less ornately technological.
They have witch doctors and poor health.
They have missing eyes, or limbs!
They have a strange growth that the "witch doctor" cannot cure,
It must have come from an angry neighbor,
Never considering food allergies.

We must visit a "real doctor," and have a battery of tests completed.
"Of course a smile will not cure what you have!
Not a hug, nor the air--
This is exceedingly rare!"

Somehow or other, hopefully by regular visits to the prophet doctor
and worshiping at the hospital shrine, we may satisfy death while living,
and never face it head on.

We write a moment so it will go on living forever.
We take a picture so the moment will have the posterity that we do not.
And only the camera's eye will know the moment.
What a shame! that the camera has not our heart!

What a shame the god science has not found a way to transplant a human heart
into a camera, so that the pain and joy - the beautiful transience of the human condition -
will be
perfectly preserved,
forever.

Five Paragraph Essay Example

Carolyn McK
Miss McK
Academic Writing
30 August 2012

Why Every Child Should Watch TV

In the 1950s, television provided a useful tool for broadcasting news bulletins and entertainment. In the 1960s, Americans had the opportunity to see news bulletins that involved real footage from the ghastly Vietnam War. But television has progressed a great deal since then. In the late 1990s, television introduced Americans to what it affectionately called “reality” with the hit show “Survivor.” Ever since, any willing mind has been able to access a wide world of “reality.” Children should be encouraged to watch as much television as possible, for it prevents cancer, discourages excessive imagination, and encourages a broad knowledge base.
If in the sun for too long, the skin is at risk of developing cancerous cells called melanoma. As the earth’s temperature increases from a lack of ozone, UV rays become ever more powerful and harmful. If melanoma is not removed promptly, it is a deadly problem. The television can help children to avoid the damage in the first place by keeping them indoors, in dimly-lit areas, where screen-viewing is optimal.

 Television can also reduce the risk of involvement in hazardous activities. For instance, before the television, and in outlying areas without access to television shows, it has been reported that children would create and enact their own games. The first real harm of this is that thinking of one’s own games and entertainment is a mental exercise: the toll is unfathomable. Playing games of one’s own (indeed, playing games at all) is taxing on the mind and often the body. By the end of the day, one who has been engaged in such play is quite worn out. The second trouble with creating one’s own games is the potential for risk to life and limb. What if an especially eager child takes it upon himself to invent a game called “birds,” and plays on the roof? He will most likely meet his demise. What if an enterprising child discovers that in order to accomplish his aim of imagination, he needs to design and build a treehouse? This is most inconvenient for the parent, who has to supply the necessary tools and support for such an endeavor. What is more, should the child endeavor to set up, say, a lemonade stand, some unfortunate adult would have to teach the child how to make lemonade, collect money, give change, wash glasses, and spend whatever profits wisely (though there most likely are none, what with the overhead). All told, this becomes an extraordinary effort on the part of the adult, not just the child, let alone the likelihood that the child is making himself a nuisance to the neighborhood.

Finally, through television, a child may gain knowledge regarding every aspect of the world. If a child wants to learn about giant squid, she may turn to Animal Planet. If a child wants to learn about indigenous swamp-dwellers of the Florida Keys, she may turn to the Discovery Channel. If a child wants to learn to bake cakes, she may go to the Food Network. The television provides a veritable buffet for the eager sponge that is the young mind. And adults certainly need no longer discuss “the birds and the bees” with their children, for that curriculum is already built into most family shows.

Owning a television should be prerequisite to having children, for all the benefits it provides. However, if one still has reservations regarding the benefits of television on young minds, one might begin with a single show (e.g. Sesame Street, or Caillou), and work one’s way up through the day’s programming, until one is able to live comfortably with merely a full fridge and a remote control.

In Defense of Poetry and Weddings

A man (or woman, for that matter) would never compose an essay to tell his beloved of his affection. Or perhaps some would. But it's my sense that many have tried to write an essay on such a subject, and it has merely resulted in poetry. Poetry has arisen out of a desire to say something, just so, when it really matters, without saying any more than is absolutely necessary. As evidence of the poetic economy of words, I present E. Barrett Browning's “Sonnet of the Portuguese XLIII”: "How do I love thee?/ Let me count the ways. / I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach [...]."  She would not have, could not have better displayed her deepest sentiments in an essay; these thoughts are so laden with emotion that they cannot be researched, and cannot be taught, but are worth relating nonetheless!

Artist Ibiyinka Alao believes that “art is frozen music.” He often writes a poem alongside his artwork: something that could be set to music, or that carries a rhythm of its own, to give another dimension to his work. All people know volumes untold of what good poetry is, because all socialized people have a thousand songs stored in their memories. Music and poetry overlap, intertwine, and become inseparable. But no one suggests that music is clichéd, only that there is good music and bad music, according to taste. And so it is with poetry.

I begin to sound redundant when I say that weddings have also arisen out of the very best parts of humanity, out of the peak of civilization. One may ask what is the point of a ceremony at all? One sociologist explains that "[r]ites of passage often reinforce religious principles for the individuals taking part in them and for the community members witnessing them" (Esposito). He goes on to claim that “[r]ites of passage provide members of a community with an opportunity to reflect on the meaning and purpose of life” (Esposito). Attending a wedding is a physical reminder of life’s transience and beauty.

Every civilization I have ever heard of has some sort of ceremony to unite two people, a universal acknowledgement of  union. Despite such thin evidence as that, it is clear to me that the union derives significance from this acknowledgement. Even cursory attendance at a wedding is very meaningful to the bride and groom. Who but their community of friends and family should bear witness to and affirm, thereby validating, their commitment to each other? Showing up to a wedding is saying that you have witnessed this pledge, and you'll do your own part to ensure its continuation. Though the ceremony itself differs across the globe, the one thing that remains the same is the need for witnesses, the communal aspect of a wedding.

Having said this, why make long trips or go to great inconvenience to attend weddings, when it is possible to visit with the friend(s) at a time and place when both can benefit more directly from the interaction? Firstly, visiting is quite different from witnessing. One goes with different expectations, but both interactions have a value all their own.

The stipulation of geography is notable, however, in that it begs the question of whether the bride/groom are indeed a part of my community. Secondly, then, I might travel across half the country for a family member’s wedding, for the couple will always be part of one’s community, being united by blood and law, as it were. But traveling so far for a friend is a different bag of pretzels entirely. If the friend is bound to remain in that location for an indefinite period of time, it is more possible that he or she will fade from my community, making my attendance at said wedding less important, indeed, little more than sentimental.

Works Cited

Alao, Ibiyinka. “The Music Party.” Visions of True Colors: of Art, Infinity, Eternity and our Hearts. n.d. Web. 4 Dec. 2012.

Barrett Browning, Elizabeth. “Sonnets from the Portuguese XLIII.” Cummings Study Guide. 2005.

Ed. Michael J. Cummings. Web. 1 Dec. 2012.

Esposito, John L.. "Rites and Rituals." The Islamic World: Past and Present. Dec. 1 2004: n.p.

SIRS Issues Researcher. Web. 02 Dec 2012.

Just Writing

This year I have significant overlap between students in the residence hall and students in class. One such young man came up to me while I was on in the residence hall office to ask about a homework assignment I had given his class: we had already created outlines for the essay, and the rough draft of the essay was due the following day.

Regi: How do I do this? How do I change from outline to rough draft?

Me: That's one of the hard parts of writing.

Regi: Do I just write it?

Me: Yeah, you just write it. You have to sit down with your computer and your brain, and just begin.

Regi: So, I write sentences from the words in the outline.

Me: Yes.

Regi: So, okay, I just write it.

This conversation seems silly to some. But I think I understand the difficulty he was going through: how do I make my thoughts comfortable on paper? How do I breathe life into letters on a keyboard? It looks so impossible, so big. And my only answer as of yet is to respond with sympathy, and tell the people who ask, "Yes, it is as hard as it sounds. That is the work of writing."

More on Hyphens

I kid you not.

Same handout, different problem. I was talking about how with certain prefixes, we add a hyphen to avoid aberrations in the appearance of the word. I used the example "un-American."  Without the hyphen, we have a capital letter mid-word—"the horror of it all!" I said, "This should never happen in English." I said this dramatically, extemporaneously, as I often do in order to wake people up. I mean, it's not like science class where one might get away with threatening immediate danger to life and limb if students do not follow instructions. Honestly, petty annoyance resulting in the loss of a point for proper mechanics is my highest threat. Still, I feel they ought to know... But I should have given my dramatic "never" some extra thought. David took no time at all to respond, "You mean, like 'McKalips'?" Burn. I feebly tried to say that it was Irish, and therefore not applicable.

Let the Wind Blow

What is it about writing that is so personal? Writing is good if it's true. You cannot hide and expect to be liked, or even understood. People are always reading past what you write: they are asking if your writing is a proper mirror for themselves. And they usually know themselves pretty well. It's late. My cough continues. I consider it a personal accomplishment to have done laundry and paid some loans today. I mean, worthy of a plaque, a medal.

The weather was so beautiful today, that I took my blanket and some grading to the park. After the grading, I turned up my hood, curled up in the blanket, and let the wind whip across me. I lay on that hill and fell asleep. I awoke a few times to see the bare trees against a gray and blue-streaked sky. I felt invisible. I felt beautiful.

Hyphens

I thought I should explain how to use hyphens in my writing class. I pulled out my handy copy of Eats, Shoots, and Leaves by Lynne Truss for some catchy example:

"extra-marital sex
extra marital sex"

I had made a brief overhead for the purpose, and revealed this example first, as an attention-getter, and a way to make my main point. Of course they laughed, as I had hoped. I prepared to dig into hyphens: "You guys may laugh," I say, "but I see this every day! [pause] No, well, I mean, I, I see the lack of hyphen..."

By then, no one could hear me for the giggles. Class was five minutes from being over. But class was over.

Crash or Soar

I have not heard good things about our ninth grade class as a whole. The other English teachers I've spoken with have had their hands full trying to make a go of their English 9 classes. Mrs. B said at the beginning of each new semester, you hope for your class to run and take off from the ground. That being off the ground is the learning experience, and it's thrilling. But her last class walked a bit, and—plunk—into the water they dropped and sank. They did not want to learn.

I approached my first ever English 9 class with a good deal of reservation as a result of this and other tragic stories. If we couldn't fly, at least we could stay away from the deep end for the plunk.

Today, my English 9 removed my fear of the plunk. Jay read his personal narrative aloud for our revision circle. It was about his being adopted. It was rife with spelling and grammatical errors. But the heart of it was not the less visible for them: he was glad to be in a safe, caring family that brought him closer to God. He read in a stilted way, not yet a confident reader aloud. But he persevered manfully through the piece. We applauded him, and slowly hands went in the air for commentary. Everyone appreciated his sharing his piece. One girl, Elena, thanked him for writing his story. She, too, had been adopted, but more recently. And she still remembered what it felt like not to be wanted by her father and mother. She told us of the relief and gratitude she felt toward her adoptive parents, the people she trusted so wholly. She ended with a sob. It may have taken all she had to talk about that. But she knew she had to, because Jay had the courage to write about this thing that had so moved her as well.

When she had finished, I, like an idiot, said something to try to draw the attention away from her... I think I was uncomfortable for her. I didn't want her to feel as though she had spoken to an empty room. But I think now that I would have rather just said, "thanks so much for sharing that," and left it.

So, there is a story of how my class lifted off of their own volition, and didn't wobble and crash. They soared.

Hand-written Comments

When I received a paper back from a teacher, the first thing I did was look at the grade. But I barely hesitated before reading the comments all over the piece. Indeed, I barely breathed as I read them. As I read those comments, I learned so much. My favorite teachers of writing were those who wrote a lot on my papers. That was where they proved themselves to me: I can still picture some of those comments. I took that advice and improved.

This is my second post about grading papers. Different ones today, of course. But my own experience leads me to believe there may be other writers just like me, hungry for the ability to communicate clearly and beautifully.

I say go ahead, use red pen!--make the paper bleed! I will try to resurrect it.

William and Dorothy were Brother and Sister, so it's like that

Dear *******,

You will always be the William to my Dorothy Wordsworth. I guess some people are simply meant to write together. I will be the prose. You can make sense of the metrics. I will look at the mist and give you a detailed description of the fauna; and you can become famous after making nature accessible and beautiful for those who will still bother to pick up books.

Student Teaching, Week Six

The free writes I gave this week were not really freeing. I gave a prompt that read, "what was the TV show you couldn't get enough of as a kid? Why was it so intriguing?" By the second period's papers, I had read a lot about the Rugrats. I realized that I should never assign a writing prompt for which I cannot anticipate a wide variation in response--unless I want to stab myself in the fork with my eye.

I took Airborne almost every day this week, from having a sore throat. Talk more, sleep less, go to a high school, and this is bound to happen to you, too.

I have very patient roommates: Washing dishes? Wait, what? I thought we had a little robot maid that just did that while we were away? No, I haven't actually seen her, but... Well, then, who's been...? Ooooh. Thanks, guys.

I really love to listen to TobyMac on my way to school, and Beggar Folk on my way home. Immediately after school, I feel my brain throbbing against my skull. All the thoughts of the day rush in together: Huckleberry Finn, the five-paragraph essay, literary devices, passive voice, job applications, research papers, the CIRQL project¡ai!¡benditoSenor!¿cuándoseterminaestesemestre!? El Cinco de Mayo. Gloria a Dios.

A Student in Fall

Here is a writing exercise for creating smaller, more provocative prose. Think of a place, a time. Take all the words you need to create the picture in your own mind.

Here's mine:

Widget the cat

hot chocolate

sofa chair, striped

purring

peace

wishing for a snow storm

Now, add as few words as you can to create a picture of the moment for another reader.

Here's mine:

Short days have come with fall. I stay inside when the sun is out. I sit with a book, the cat, hot chocolate, and wish for a snow storm to give me peace.

My Niece

Me: Aida, wanna hear some of my really-boring paper?

Aida: Sure.

Me: K. Just say "stop" when it gets too boring for you, alright?

Aida: I will.

Me: "Both Saul Bellow and Jack Kerouac are writing in the post World War II era--"

Aida: STOP. That was really boring.

____________________________________

Me: Aida, I have a question.

Aida: What?

Me: Is there a story about why your dad calls you "Pickle"?

Aida: Sure.

Me: Is it a secret story?

Aida: No. It's 'cause he loves me.