The semester is fantastic, teaching fiction writing a gift beyond reason. I knew I loved teaching, but teaching this activates my better--best self as teacher.
Caught up in versions of self lately. The life of teaching--reactivated after a summer at rest. Now the writer-me sleeps, rests, restless in the back of my mind. Melody (my character in novel 2) is whispering to me. Trying to tell me things, but I can't listen now. Love (or the possibility of love) activates it all--me at highest volume, all parts screaming to be heard. A tangle of selves that surely isn't just noise. A chorus maybe. Singing gospel.
Thank you for making me think. Giving the writer-me a moment to breathe, and drink in what you wrote.
Cheers
*go to my friend's blog for the inspiration to this: http://spectorgant.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Loathsome Predictability
Listening to reggae affects me the same way as students who think 101 and 102 are a waste of time. At first, I barely notice the back beat of complaint. We don’t need to learn to write we already know how. If the level of their writing was equal to that of a college student there’d be no requirement—they would have placed out of first year English. But I resist the urge to reply and try to tune out the noise.
The beat continues, wah-wah, wah-wah, wah-wah. They say, we’re here to become nurses, engineers, graphic designers, accountants—we want to take classes in our majors. But a college education includes the liberal arts to develop the whole person; it is not simply a trade school for acquiring certain skills. If students don’t develop the ability to think, problem solve, and speak clearly and persuasively, they’re unlikely to advance at work, if they manage to get hired at all.
The repetitive beat is tiresome. Even their actions are predictable. They never try very hard on the first assignment. They figure they can pass with a C if they turn in all the parts. As if life is like kindergarten and effort is a factor in success. Of course it can be, if the effort produces results. But this is college and results are the only thing that matters. Do they think their boss is going to care that they tried when they really screw up?
I can feel the heat flushing my face, I can’t ignore it anymore. I probably never could. And now I’m angry. The voices may change, but they all sound the same. Every semester there are students here who want to learn and they are hindered by the resistors—those who want a degree without an education. How long until they commit to learning or drop?
The loathsome predictability makes me queasy. Reggae is easy, I turn it off. But in the classroom I teach to the best and wait for rest to decide their own fate. To recover from the droning I purge my system. I play a song I like, really loud. One with a beat that makes me get up and dance and lyrics so well-said, I sing along.
The beat continues, wah-wah, wah-wah, wah-wah. They say, we’re here to become nurses, engineers, graphic designers, accountants—we want to take classes in our majors. But a college education includes the liberal arts to develop the whole person; it is not simply a trade school for acquiring certain skills. If students don’t develop the ability to think, problem solve, and speak clearly and persuasively, they’re unlikely to advance at work, if they manage to get hired at all.
The repetitive beat is tiresome. Even their actions are predictable. They never try very hard on the first assignment. They figure they can pass with a C if they turn in all the parts. As if life is like kindergarten and effort is a factor in success. Of course it can be, if the effort produces results. But this is college and results are the only thing that matters. Do they think their boss is going to care that they tried when they really screw up?
I can feel the heat flushing my face, I can’t ignore it anymore. I probably never could. And now I’m angry. The voices may change, but they all sound the same. Every semester there are students here who want to learn and they are hindered by the resistors—those who want a degree without an education. How long until they commit to learning or drop?
The loathsome predictability makes me queasy. Reggae is easy, I turn it off. But in the classroom I teach to the best and wait for rest to decide their own fate. To recover from the droning I purge my system. I play a song I like, really loud. One with a beat that makes me get up and dance and lyrics so well-said, I sing along.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
The Agony of Disnial (or Change Is Good--Right?)
President Bush said something yesterday (2.12.07) that really made me think (gasp):
“Asked outright if he [President Bush] had changed at all in the last six years, he said no: "You'd better ask Laura, but I feel like the same fellow who came up from, uh, Texas. I don't feel changed." (Melinda Henneberger for the Huffington Post)
He hasn’t changed in six years as President of the United States? Jonathan Lethem has a great article in Harper’s this month (http://harpers.org/TheEcstacyOfInfluence.html) that illuminates the impossibility and lack of insight embedded in the President’s statement. Lethem’s article explains that people are collages—each one of us is in essence, a pastiche of our experiences: who we know, what we read, what we watch on TV or hear on the radio—a walking talking bundle of influence. As such, we develop and grow with every waking moment. Every time we take in any form of influence (a conversation with a friend, listening to a new song on the Ipod, reading the newspaper…) we are changed.
What does it mean when the man who has been our commander in chief for the last six years believes that he hasn’t changed? Obviously, there are countless issues that could be raised to counter his claim. In the last six years, we have all changed. In fact, we’ve changed in the last six minutes (if we’re awake). As sentient beings, we’ve been influenced (changed) every waking moment of every day in the last six years. We’ve learned the difference between a tidal wave and a tsunami, felt fear and horror and rage as we watched two buildings tumble, listened to the MSM as it built the current administration’s case for war with none of the journalistic integrity that involves questioning sources and facts for verifiability and truth—actions that had consequences (war), although the MSM remains unable or unwilling to accept or understand their culpability.
I know I’ve changed. There are the obvious signs: quit my job, went back to school to earn an MA, became a teacher (and now can’t imagine why it took me over 35 years to figure out that this is the work I was meant to do), sold my house and moved to a different state. Then there are the less obvious changes: I’ve made new friends, reconnected with some old ones, fallen in and out of love (ouch), read countless novels and nonfiction, written a novel and started another one (believe me when I say that fictional characters can influence the writer, mainly because as a friend pointed out, characters synthesize the writer’s experience in ways the writer hasn’t consciously been able to—this insight is what drives me to write. Well, that and curiosity about who the characters are and what their story is), watched some seriously bad TV (Survivor addict)—and all of it has been added to the collage of me. I am changed.
I don’t need to ask anyone in my life to decide if I’ve changed in the last six years. Sure, my sisters, parents, friends, and colleagues might add to my understanding, but I get it, I don’t deny I’ve changed. I embrace the ecstasy of growth and learning that is an integral part of being human. Maybe I’ll be more careful about what I add (suddenly parental worries about bad influences expand exponentially and I worry about the crap I’ve let myself read or listen to or watch. See Lethem’s section on “Contamination Anxiety” for more). But the bad influences can’t hurt me if I just remember to filter what I take in; to question and vet the influences as much as I deconstruct the ingredients in a particularly appealing entrée when I’m out to dinner (is it lemongrass or ginger?).
Maybe the President’s wife could help him out, at least remind him that he, like me, changed jobs and moved to a different state in the last six years. Once he gets past the obvious signs, he can consider the less obvious influences. Because he has changed and so has our country and the rest of the world.
“Asked outright if he [President Bush] had changed at all in the last six years, he said no: "You'd better ask Laura, but I feel like the same fellow who came up from, uh, Texas. I don't feel changed." (Melinda Henneberger for the Huffington Post)
He hasn’t changed in six years as President of the United States? Jonathan Lethem has a great article in Harper’s this month (http://harpers.org/TheEcstacyOfInfluence.html) that illuminates the impossibility and lack of insight embedded in the President’s statement. Lethem’s article explains that people are collages—each one of us is in essence, a pastiche of our experiences: who we know, what we read, what we watch on TV or hear on the radio—a walking talking bundle of influence. As such, we develop and grow with every waking moment. Every time we take in any form of influence (a conversation with a friend, listening to a new song on the Ipod, reading the newspaper…) we are changed.
What does it mean when the man who has been our commander in chief for the last six years believes that he hasn’t changed? Obviously, there are countless issues that could be raised to counter his claim. In the last six years, we have all changed. In fact, we’ve changed in the last six minutes (if we’re awake). As sentient beings, we’ve been influenced (changed) every waking moment of every day in the last six years. We’ve learned the difference between a tidal wave and a tsunami, felt fear and horror and rage as we watched two buildings tumble, listened to the MSM as it built the current administration’s case for war with none of the journalistic integrity that involves questioning sources and facts for verifiability and truth—actions that had consequences (war), although the MSM remains unable or unwilling to accept or understand their culpability.
I know I’ve changed. There are the obvious signs: quit my job, went back to school to earn an MA, became a teacher (and now can’t imagine why it took me over 35 years to figure out that this is the work I was meant to do), sold my house and moved to a different state. Then there are the less obvious changes: I’ve made new friends, reconnected with some old ones, fallen in and out of love (ouch), read countless novels and nonfiction, written a novel and started another one (believe me when I say that fictional characters can influence the writer, mainly because as a friend pointed out, characters synthesize the writer’s experience in ways the writer hasn’t consciously been able to—this insight is what drives me to write. Well, that and curiosity about who the characters are and what their story is), watched some seriously bad TV (Survivor addict)—and all of it has been added to the collage of me. I am changed.
I don’t need to ask anyone in my life to decide if I’ve changed in the last six years. Sure, my sisters, parents, friends, and colleagues might add to my understanding, but I get it, I don’t deny I’ve changed. I embrace the ecstasy of growth and learning that is an integral part of being human. Maybe I’ll be more careful about what I add (suddenly parental worries about bad influences expand exponentially and I worry about the crap I’ve let myself read or listen to or watch. See Lethem’s section on “Contamination Anxiety” for more). But the bad influences can’t hurt me if I just remember to filter what I take in; to question and vet the influences as much as I deconstruct the ingredients in a particularly appealing entrée when I’m out to dinner (is it lemongrass or ginger?).
Maybe the President’s wife could help him out, at least remind him that he, like me, changed jobs and moved to a different state in the last six years. Once he gets past the obvious signs, he can consider the less obvious influences. Because he has changed and so has our country and the rest of the world.
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