I hope she was kidding. But it’s really hard to tell. So if it’s a joke, it’s not really funny because we can’t tell whether she’s kidding or just demented. Like most people, I’d like to think Sheryl Crow is pulling our collective legs when she says we should reduce toilet paper use down to one square per visit to the [insert euphemism here].
One square? Talk about minimalism. Even the folks on “Lost” probably use more than that on their deserted island. Granted, that’s fiction. I mean big Hurley hasn’t lost any weight yet either and they’ve been on that island for months. On the other hand, if island living made you thinner I wouldn’t have to go jogging tomorrow and I’d probably eat every food that was bad for me for every meal.
When I was growing up (as I’ve said before, I’m a Recovering Catholic), we gave up certain things for Lent. You know, things we really enjoyed, like television, candy, chocolate bars, teasing our younger sister, or giving the babysitter a hard time. Besides, it hardly ever lasted anyway. And rightfully so. Giving things up is an exercise in self-control that might be put to better use by just trying to be a better person or volunteering in the community or something like that.
Still, maybe self-denial is good for the soul. But Sheryl Crow isn’t talking about any forty days and nights in the desert here. She’s saying cut your toilet paper usage back gradually until eventually you are using the very bare minimum…forever. I assume she means for “one” to be the bare minimum, because I don’t think that most of us are ready to live in a world without toilet paper. It would be Communist Russia all over again, where the lineups for toilet paper were longer than those at Motor Vehicle Registration in Mount Pearl (which reminds me: why is the DMV in Mount Pearl and not in St. John’s? Shouldn’t there be one in both cities? And if CBS, Gander, Corner Brook, and Lab City don’t have one, they should be there as well). But I digress.
Sheryl says it’s “a good thing just that we’re all talking” about this issue. By “this issue,” I assume she means the environment and not just toilet paper.
It’s her way to get us thinking about the things we use every day without thinking about how we are destroying the environment, leaving a legacy of devastation behind us for our children, so to speak. Something to think about next time you use the toilet.
I also heard this week that the frequency from cell phones is destroying the ability of honeybees to produce honey, which is not only creating a shortage of honey (no more Honeycombs! Oh, the humanity!) but driving up prices of the honey that’s been made. First oil and gasoline, and now honey. What’s next?
I know, I know: toilet paper. I’m willing to bet there’s going to be a toilet paper tax eventually just like there is on cigarettes—and the more you use, the more you pay. I’m not kidding. So if you’ve got a bad addiction to Cottonelle or that luxurious White Swan stuff, you’re really in for a tough time of it in the Brave New World. I mean, it’s worse than crack (pardon the pun)—you can’t just give up the soft stuff overnight and start buying that cheap budget t.p. that can be used to sand down the walls before plastering. It’s going to take serious time and effort to wean yourself off your current habit.
It just seems to me that we’re being asked to give up everything or cut back on everything. It’s like those medieval monks who were into self-flagellation and self-denial—no sex, no wine, no speaking, nothing pleasurable at all until all you’re left with is the bare minimum.
But I’ll bet they never gave up toilet paper. (Or whatever they used to vanquish their holy crap.)
I’m all for helping out the environment in any way I can. But if this is what it comes to, I’ll voice my opinion in the next election, and if this becomes a political (t)issue, I know exactly what I’ll do.
I’ll vote the bums out.
Gerard
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Making the Grade
Good luck to all of you receiving your final grades this afternoon. I hope you get what you deserve, not only in English, but in all courses.
These in-between days are weird. No snow in sight (yet), and I woke this morning to see a blast of sunshine on my bedroom wall around 6:30 a.m.. Then it disappeared and now it looks and feels very much like a gray, dull kind of day is developing.
I have a theory that these are the days when you find out what you’re made of. Anybody can leap out of bed, ready to take on the world on a spectacular, sunny day in July. But it takes true heart to slog through the gray days of April and still feel like you accomplished something worthwhile.
My wife and I watched Spiderman yesterday afternoon because, with the new movie coming out in early May, we thought it would be fun to re-visit and remember what the first instalment in the series was all about. And it was just as good as I remembered, if not better. Spiderman is one of those rare comic-book movies that gives the characters a decidedly dark edge, making the protagonist all-too-human, meaning that he is vulnerable, makes mistakes of judgement and action and even suffers the consequences for it. Spidey hurts the ones he loves even more than he hurts those loathes. Oh, and I couldn’t help but notice the dual personality of The Green Goblin a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—the mad scientist who creates a secondary, evil creature that he soon finds he is unable to control. Of course, isn’t that what Spiderman is all about?
Funny how all heroes need to wear masks. Most of them anyway. I mean, sure there’s Superman who takes off his glasses, shows off his blue tights, and tousles his hair in a slightly different mode (I can’t tell the difference; can you? Only his hair dresser knows for sure). The wearing of a mask would only take away from his natural good looks, and that’s partly what his character is about. There are others, I guess, who don’t wear masks, but the majority of them do. Batman is a gazillionaire by day, who couldn’t dare to let the world know that he is the caped crusader in tights, a cowl, and a codpiece. I guess I wouldn’t be too eager to share that information either.
And they all have their reasons for being secretive. Partly, it has to do with the necessity of keeping the world at bay so that the superheroes are free to save it in their own way. It would be pretty hard to save the world if the bad guys knew where you lived and all the rest of it.
But I think it also has to do with the idea of the secret lifestyle—the idea that we all have a hidden side of ourselves that’s just waiting to come to the surface. Sometimes that hidden side is better than our “real” selves (the one we present in public); but most times it’s a side that is darker than the face we present to the world. Comic book heroes struggle with such broad, seemingly disparate concepts as “good” and “evil” as if there were no shades of gray. Fair enough. It’s only entertainment, after all.
But most of us in the so-called real world don’t have that luxury of recognizing good or evil in stark, unwavering, clearly identifiable terms. Sure, we know that school shootings, rape, and genocide are acts of evil (though more and more, the g.d. media presents us with the voice and manifesto of the monster and thereby creates literal sympathy for the devil among certain people who are probably bent that way anyway). But it can all get so confusing—you might find yourself recognizing humanity (a cry for understanding, a plea that “society drove me to it”) in the monster’s voice and, even though you know he/she is still a scourge upon society, there is that twinge of doubt in your mind—that part of you that wonders: did I have any part in this? Did the things that I believe in, that society believes in, our intolerance of difference, our pursuit of personal wealth and happiness, and all the rest of it, play some role in the creation of this monster?
The questions are worthwhile, but potentially damaging. They can blind us to formerly stable concepts such as truth, justice, and (cough, cough) the American way. We’re more and more becoming a society that is incapable of meting out justice because we are handcuffed by our own moral quandaries, while the “bad guys” feel free to mete out their own justice without fear of consequence. Sometimes alienation, death, and martyrdom are exactly what they want more than anything; it is often what they are.
Spiderman has similar dilemmas. But he at least tries and is rarely handcuffed, though, like most of us, occasionally finds himself entrapped in a web of his own making.
Days like these (by which I mean every day), we each have the potential to be heroes in our own lives. (I distinguish heroes from superheroes in the same way that I distinguish models from supermodels, sizes from super-sizes, and dupers from super-dupers: the “super” version has powers that are way off the charts and immeasurable in their potential for both good and bad.) I mean, you can wake up in the morning (or whenever you wake up) and you can decide: will I take out the garbage today or let it pile up in the corner until the town officials break down my door and declare me a nuisance to society? Will I be nice to the cashier at Wal-mart who’s just having a hard day or will I be a part of the problem by being nasty right back at her/him?
There are lots of ways to be a hero. And most of us choose that route without even knowing it. I’m always impressed with people who constantly do the right thing, who make themselves get up and go to work every morning and usually manage to keep a genuine smile on their face. There’s a very ordinary kind of heroism involved there. It only takes a school shooting or a daylight robbery, or some idiot setting fire to a warehouse or scribbling grafitti on someone else’s storefront to make us realize that normal isn’t as bland as it appears to be. Normal sometimes takes a lot of courage, especially when we are constantly bombarded with examples of extraordinary evil or just evil in its many shades.
Sometimes, I believe, the most heroic thing you can do is just choosing to be a good person who does your job well and performs your function as a decent human being, friend, and family member to the best of your ability—regardless of the other, myriad possibilities for your life.
Anyway, whatever grade you get today in your various courses, I do truly hope you are able to reconcile yourself with its implications about whether or not you “showed up” and did the work. But only for yourself and not for anyone else. True heroism, I believe, is shown when you are tested and there are no real, obvious consequences for doing good or bad. When you look in the mirror, how do you grade your own performance? That’s more important than any official grade from anyone else.
Regardless, I don't believe the axiom that you're only as good as your last grade. Life carries your average forward. It's an accumulative grade, earned every minute of every day. Academia, however, is not so different. The grade is made, not just at the big, showy final exam (metaphoricaly speaking, as well) or research paper; it's also made on that snowy Friday in early February when you chose whether to show up or not, having read the book or not, with something to say or not. You decided that, and I'm not saying it's either good or bad, no matter what you chose. It's beyond good and evil. It is what it is.
Gerard
These in-between days are weird. No snow in sight (yet), and I woke this morning to see a blast of sunshine on my bedroom wall around 6:30 a.m.. Then it disappeared and now it looks and feels very much like a gray, dull kind of day is developing.
I have a theory that these are the days when you find out what you’re made of. Anybody can leap out of bed, ready to take on the world on a spectacular, sunny day in July. But it takes true heart to slog through the gray days of April and still feel like you accomplished something worthwhile.
My wife and I watched Spiderman yesterday afternoon because, with the new movie coming out in early May, we thought it would be fun to re-visit and remember what the first instalment in the series was all about. And it was just as good as I remembered, if not better. Spiderman is one of those rare comic-book movies that gives the characters a decidedly dark edge, making the protagonist all-too-human, meaning that he is vulnerable, makes mistakes of judgement and action and even suffers the consequences for it. Spidey hurts the ones he loves even more than he hurts those loathes. Oh, and I couldn’t help but notice the dual personality of The Green Goblin a la Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—the mad scientist who creates a secondary, evil creature that he soon finds he is unable to control. Of course, isn’t that what Spiderman is all about?
Funny how all heroes need to wear masks. Most of them anyway. I mean, sure there’s Superman who takes off his glasses, shows off his blue tights, and tousles his hair in a slightly different mode (I can’t tell the difference; can you? Only his hair dresser knows for sure). The wearing of a mask would only take away from his natural good looks, and that’s partly what his character is about. There are others, I guess, who don’t wear masks, but the majority of them do. Batman is a gazillionaire by day, who couldn’t dare to let the world know that he is the caped crusader in tights, a cowl, and a codpiece. I guess I wouldn’t be too eager to share that information either.
And they all have their reasons for being secretive. Partly, it has to do with the necessity of keeping the world at bay so that the superheroes are free to save it in their own way. It would be pretty hard to save the world if the bad guys knew where you lived and all the rest of it.
But I think it also has to do with the idea of the secret lifestyle—the idea that we all have a hidden side of ourselves that’s just waiting to come to the surface. Sometimes that hidden side is better than our “real” selves (the one we present in public); but most times it’s a side that is darker than the face we present to the world. Comic book heroes struggle with such broad, seemingly disparate concepts as “good” and “evil” as if there were no shades of gray. Fair enough. It’s only entertainment, after all.
But most of us in the so-called real world don’t have that luxury of recognizing good or evil in stark, unwavering, clearly identifiable terms. Sure, we know that school shootings, rape, and genocide are acts of evil (though more and more, the g.d. media presents us with the voice and manifesto of the monster and thereby creates literal sympathy for the devil among certain people who are probably bent that way anyway). But it can all get so confusing—you might find yourself recognizing humanity (a cry for understanding, a plea that “society drove me to it”) in the monster’s voice and, even though you know he/she is still a scourge upon society, there is that twinge of doubt in your mind—that part of you that wonders: did I have any part in this? Did the things that I believe in, that society believes in, our intolerance of difference, our pursuit of personal wealth and happiness, and all the rest of it, play some role in the creation of this monster?
The questions are worthwhile, but potentially damaging. They can blind us to formerly stable concepts such as truth, justice, and (cough, cough) the American way. We’re more and more becoming a society that is incapable of meting out justice because we are handcuffed by our own moral quandaries, while the “bad guys” feel free to mete out their own justice without fear of consequence. Sometimes alienation, death, and martyrdom are exactly what they want more than anything; it is often what they are.
Spiderman has similar dilemmas. But he at least tries and is rarely handcuffed, though, like most of us, occasionally finds himself entrapped in a web of his own making.
Days like these (by which I mean every day), we each have the potential to be heroes in our own lives. (I distinguish heroes from superheroes in the same way that I distinguish models from supermodels, sizes from super-sizes, and dupers from super-dupers: the “super” version has powers that are way off the charts and immeasurable in their potential for both good and bad.) I mean, you can wake up in the morning (or whenever you wake up) and you can decide: will I take out the garbage today or let it pile up in the corner until the town officials break down my door and declare me a nuisance to society? Will I be nice to the cashier at Wal-mart who’s just having a hard day or will I be a part of the problem by being nasty right back at her/him?
There are lots of ways to be a hero. And most of us choose that route without even knowing it. I’m always impressed with people who constantly do the right thing, who make themselves get up and go to work every morning and usually manage to keep a genuine smile on their face. There’s a very ordinary kind of heroism involved there. It only takes a school shooting or a daylight robbery, or some idiot setting fire to a warehouse or scribbling grafitti on someone else’s storefront to make us realize that normal isn’t as bland as it appears to be. Normal sometimes takes a lot of courage, especially when we are constantly bombarded with examples of extraordinary evil or just evil in its many shades.
Sometimes, I believe, the most heroic thing you can do is just choosing to be a good person who does your job well and performs your function as a decent human being, friend, and family member to the best of your ability—regardless of the other, myriad possibilities for your life.
Anyway, whatever grade you get today in your various courses, I do truly hope you are able to reconcile yourself with its implications about whether or not you “showed up” and did the work. But only for yourself and not for anyone else. True heroism, I believe, is shown when you are tested and there are no real, obvious consequences for doing good or bad. When you look in the mirror, how do you grade your own performance? That’s more important than any official grade from anyone else.
Regardless, I don't believe the axiom that you're only as good as your last grade. Life carries your average forward. It's an accumulative grade, earned every minute of every day. Academia, however, is not so different. The grade is made, not just at the big, showy final exam (metaphoricaly speaking, as well) or research paper; it's also made on that snowy Friday in early February when you chose whether to show up or not, having read the book or not, with something to say or not. You decided that, and I'm not saying it's either good or bad, no matter what you chose. It's beyond good and evil. It is what it is.
Gerard
Friday, April 20, 2007
Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime, Summertime!
What is UP with this fog, cold, wind, and downright crappy weather. It’s like the sun has left and is never going to come back.
I admit that it’s been affecting my mood this week. Too many gray days in a row can just suck the energy right out of me. I’ve been pecking away at the keyboard every day—just showing up—and am managing to make progress in my novel. It hasn’t been the great week that I had hoped for, but I’ve gotten about 25 new pages or so done so far, and I know I’ll do more tonight and tomorrow. It’s all progress and that’s something to be grateful for. I had to backtrack in my writing this morning because I had a (supposedly) brilliant idea last night as to what I SHOULD write, as opposed to what I DID write. But if I’d never written the first draft, I would never have thought of how to write it differently.
This is not something I normally do. Usually, I like to just keep going until the novel is finished. But this was something that would affect the rest of the story and really highlight one of the big themes that, so far, the novel had been lacking. So now when I start writing again later this morning, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. It’s really beginning to feel like it’s coming together. I can see exactly where it’s going now and how it has to end. More importantly, I’ve written enough fresh material that I now know who the characters are. I’ve had to get re-acquainted with them because it’s been a few months since I spent any time with them.
This is pretty much how my summer will go, I’m sure. I’m still aiming to finish this novel (Darwin Day) by the end of May. Then I’ll revise and finish my other one (Finton Moon, which won the Percy Janes First Novel Award a few years ago), and all will be right with the world. Then they both get sent out to editors and/or agents, hopefully before the end of summer. We’ll see about that, I guess. (I’m hoping that “summer” is one of those words like “Candyman”—if you repeat it enough times, it’ll appear.)
One of these days, maybe I’ll post an excerpt or something, in case anyone’s interested. I’m not usually much for sharing my work before it’s done, but maybe I should do that, since I’ve been talking about it so much.
I’m thinking that exams are pretty much over now. I’m not sure of the exact last date, but I guess the summer break starts for a lot of you this weekend. Granted, summer is not exactly bursting out all over. But there are signs. The snow is mostly gone, all except for a few mountains of it here and there throughout the city. There’s garbage everywhere you look. Most of my favorite t.v. shows are in re-runs, preparing for the last few shows of the season to run in early May. Soon, there’ll be no more NCIS, Lost, or Jericho. And the hockey playoffs are in full swing. Wish they were over. It’s no fun for me to watch unless the Bruins (my team) or Leafs (my wife’s team) are in it, and they just aren’t. But I’m not bitter…
American Idol is almost done, thankfully. The talent just isn’t there this year. There’s nobody with any star power like in past years. I’m quietly rooting for that young Jordin chick because she’s got the whole package (for retail purposes). But at least Mr. Smiley-face Sanjaya is gone. Maybe I’ll watch it every week now until it’s over. He just irked me. When he smiled, it was like his teeth took over his whole face and he looked like one of those those big Yahoo! smiley faces.
It’s not that I care about American Idol, any more than I care about any particular t.v. show. It’s just entertainment. If we lost cable tomorrow, I don’t think I’d be lost© or anything. I’d just find something better to do. Like watching the Blue Jays. And I don’t mean the birds that have returned from down south only to wonder why. Damn instincts. There’s got to be a better way.
Gerard
I admit that it’s been affecting my mood this week. Too many gray days in a row can just suck the energy right out of me. I’ve been pecking away at the keyboard every day—just showing up—and am managing to make progress in my novel. It hasn’t been the great week that I had hoped for, but I’ve gotten about 25 new pages or so done so far, and I know I’ll do more tonight and tomorrow. It’s all progress and that’s something to be grateful for. I had to backtrack in my writing this morning because I had a (supposedly) brilliant idea last night as to what I SHOULD write, as opposed to what I DID write. But if I’d never written the first draft, I would never have thought of how to write it differently.
This is not something I normally do. Usually, I like to just keep going until the novel is finished. But this was something that would affect the rest of the story and really highlight one of the big themes that, so far, the novel had been lacking. So now when I start writing again later this morning, I’ll be on the straight and narrow. It’s really beginning to feel like it’s coming together. I can see exactly where it’s going now and how it has to end. More importantly, I’ve written enough fresh material that I now know who the characters are. I’ve had to get re-acquainted with them because it’s been a few months since I spent any time with them.
This is pretty much how my summer will go, I’m sure. I’m still aiming to finish this novel (Darwin Day) by the end of May. Then I’ll revise and finish my other one (Finton Moon, which won the Percy Janes First Novel Award a few years ago), and all will be right with the world. Then they both get sent out to editors and/or agents, hopefully before the end of summer. We’ll see about that, I guess. (I’m hoping that “summer” is one of those words like “Candyman”—if you repeat it enough times, it’ll appear.)
One of these days, maybe I’ll post an excerpt or something, in case anyone’s interested. I’m not usually much for sharing my work before it’s done, but maybe I should do that, since I’ve been talking about it so much.
I’m thinking that exams are pretty much over now. I’m not sure of the exact last date, but I guess the summer break starts for a lot of you this weekend. Granted, summer is not exactly bursting out all over. But there are signs. The snow is mostly gone, all except for a few mountains of it here and there throughout the city. There’s garbage everywhere you look. Most of my favorite t.v. shows are in re-runs, preparing for the last few shows of the season to run in early May. Soon, there’ll be no more NCIS, Lost, or Jericho. And the hockey playoffs are in full swing. Wish they were over. It’s no fun for me to watch unless the Bruins (my team) or Leafs (my wife’s team) are in it, and they just aren’t. But I’m not bitter…
American Idol is almost done, thankfully. The talent just isn’t there this year. There’s nobody with any star power like in past years. I’m quietly rooting for that young Jordin chick because she’s got the whole package (for retail purposes). But at least Mr. Smiley-face Sanjaya is gone. Maybe I’ll watch it every week now until it’s over. He just irked me. When he smiled, it was like his teeth took over his whole face and he looked like one of those those big Yahoo! smiley faces.
It’s not that I care about American Idol, any more than I care about any particular t.v. show. It’s just entertainment. If we lost cable tomorrow, I don’t think I’d be lost© or anything. I’d just find something better to do. Like watching the Blue Jays. And I don’t mean the birds that have returned from down south only to wonder why. Damn instincts. There’s got to be a better way.
Gerard
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Jehovah’s Witness Protection Program
It must be springtime—as I was returning home from the Post Office this morning, there was a thin-boned, impeccably-dressed, elderly woman standing at my door as if she knew I would be home at any moment. She’d been just about to knock, pretending she hadn’t seen me coming and didn’t know that I lived behind that door.
“Oh!” She pretended to be shocked that I was standing before her in the flesh. I was afraid she might have a heart attack or something.
“Yes?” I asked, just to assure her I wasn’t a ghost.
“Good morning.” She was about to go into her spiel without taking a breath, just as she’d been trained to do. But I wasn’t having it.
“Yes, it is a good morning. How are—”
“I’m just going around talking to people about yesterday’s tragedy in Virginia. Have you heard about it? These are horrible times we’re living in, aren’t they.” She was shaking her head sorrowfully. “I mean, who knows but the next monster is living right her among us?”
I resisted the urge to say how appalled I was at her gall, the audacity she had to exploit those deaths. “I can assure you that he is.” I smiled winningly.
“Yes.” She smiled, with just a trace of uncertainty in her expression. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
“Can I help you with something? It’s not really a good time for me.”
“When would be a good time?”
“Well, never really. I’m not big on religious discussion.”
“Well, perhaps I can leave you this pamphlet then.”
“I’ve had dozens of those over the years and I’ve never read one. You should save it for someone who can appreciate what you have to say.”
Disappointed (or angry?), she put it back in her purse.
“But you have a good day anyway,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“I wish you well in your day’s work.” I was putting the key in the front door and turning the knob, opening the door as I started to step inside.
“Oh. Yes. Well, thank you.”
And that ended my two minutes today with the lady from the Jehovah’s Witness Protection program. I have nothing against the JWs. I’m sure they’re mostly good (though somewhat misguided), well-intentioned folk who think the majority of us are going to hell on a slow-moving train.
But why do they keep showing up at my door? When I was younger, I actually would stand and listen to them. Back then, they sent good-looking young women to my door. I think they’ve kept up with my aging process through their super-spy software and figure I’d be more likely to talk to an older woman now. Not true. I’m not really likely to talk to any of them. Sometimes, in the past, I would invite them in, offer them a cup of tea, and debate the existence of God with them or discuss whether Jesus would actually like the idea of people going door-to-door and using his name to discuss the ravages of war in the Middle East or the immorality of certain political figures or people “living in sin.”
Now, I just politely say I don’t have time. And still they stand there. And stand there. And smile. And wait for me to miraculously open my heart and mind to their message. Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe I’m too harsh.
But it got me thinking: when does anything good ever come to your door? Think about it. Vacuum salesmen (always men, never women), urchins collecting beer bottles, people looking for money for one debatably good cause or another (some I always give to, others not so much). Or someone might knock on your door to tell you your house is on fire or someone next door has been stabbed and needs you to call 911. Or some longlost, anonymous relative might show up looking for shelter. Or, if you’ve lived a life of promiscuity, some young person might show up calling you “daddy” when you had no idea when you left Buchans seventeen years ago that, well, I digress…. I hope the nice JW lady doesn’t read that last thought tonight when she’s searching me on her super spyware.
All I’m saying is that the cliché is wrong: opportunity, most definitively, NEVER knocks. All good things do NOT come to those who wait. That which comes to my door generally wants something from me.
If I want opportunity I have to go find it. Make it. Hunt it down. Make something of it. Myself. It never comes to me of its own volition. If I want to win the lottery, I’d better buy a ticket. If I want to win Canadian Idol, I’d better audition.
Another way of saying it is that the Lord helps those who help themselves.
I suppose the Jehovah’s people kind of see it that way too. After all, they want recruits or converts; they want to make the numbers strong and, less cynically, I suppose they want to spread The Word. Just because I don’t particularly enjoy their version of The Word doesn’t mean they don’t see me as one big walking opportunity.
But I’m getting a little tired of being put on the defensive, of always having to say “No thank you” to people I don’t even have a relationship with. It all gets a little negative, creating bad karma (if you believe that sort of thing, which I sort of do. Consider karma to be a god. Or God is Karma. Whichever and maybe neither).
I mean, how many times are you just going along, having a great day and minding your own business, and then someone walks up to you, puts their hand on your sleeve and asks “Have you found Jesus?” or “Can you spare fifty bucks for a phone call?” or “Would you please do our survey because, well, you don’t know us, but you do owe us some of your time.” And you’re forced out of your happy place into another, relatively darker place.
The first time is probably not so bad. You might even fish in your pocket for a dollar so that a homeless man can buy a smoke or a sandwich. You might even smile and say “Yes, thank you, I have” to the woman who asks if you’ve found Jesus. (I once said I didn’t know he was missing and I sure hope they do find him because we could sure use him right now. Then I tipped my baseball cap and kept going.) But after the third or fourth or fifth time that day, you might finally blow a gasket. Or you might just find yourself inexplicably in a bit of a down mood, not really knowing why, which of course might carry over into the next discussion you have with some unsuspecting person who’s also had to deal with the fire brigade’s annual ball, the girl scouts’ cookies, and a seniors’ walkathon all in one day. They’re all good causes, but you can’t really say yes to all of them.
Of course saying “yes” puts you in a better mood. So maybe that’s just easier. You’ll be poorer of pocket, but richer of spirit. Assuming you don’t feel like a bit of a pushover.
Anyway, it’s funny what a “chance” encounter at the front door can make you think of. I’ve thought of how the Jehovah’s and I really have had a good, long run together. I feel like they’ve been with me since I left home at the age of eighteen. If only my poor, devout Catholic mother knew what they were trying to get me to believe! She’d certainly pray even harder for my soul, such as it is.
But, as I said, I can no longer harbour any ill will towards the JWs. We’re like the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote—inseparably distant and yet somehow, ironically attached, for better or for worse. “Beep-beep!” I say as they are foiled yet again…for now. But they’ll be back with the next tragedy, as sure as the leaves fall in autumn.
Sometimes, though, an opportunity is not to be missed. And I think that’s why I had to write about this.
Gerard
“Oh!” She pretended to be shocked that I was standing before her in the flesh. I was afraid she might have a heart attack or something.
“Yes?” I asked, just to assure her I wasn’t a ghost.
“Good morning.” She was about to go into her spiel without taking a breath, just as she’d been trained to do. But I wasn’t having it.
“Yes, it is a good morning. How are—”
“I’m just going around talking to people about yesterday’s tragedy in Virginia. Have you heard about it? These are horrible times we’re living in, aren’t they.” She was shaking her head sorrowfully. “I mean, who knows but the next monster is living right her among us?”
I resisted the urge to say how appalled I was at her gall, the audacity she had to exploit those deaths. “I can assure you that he is.” I smiled winningly.
“Yes.” She smiled, with just a trace of uncertainty in her expression. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
“Can I help you with something? It’s not really a good time for me.”
“When would be a good time?”
“Well, never really. I’m not big on religious discussion.”
“Well, perhaps I can leave you this pamphlet then.”
“I’ve had dozens of those over the years and I’ve never read one. You should save it for someone who can appreciate what you have to say.”
Disappointed (or angry?), she put it back in her purse.
“But you have a good day anyway,” I said.
“Hmm?”
“I wish you well in your day’s work.” I was putting the key in the front door and turning the knob, opening the door as I started to step inside.
“Oh. Yes. Well, thank you.”
And that ended my two minutes today with the lady from the Jehovah’s Witness Protection program. I have nothing against the JWs. I’m sure they’re mostly good (though somewhat misguided), well-intentioned folk who think the majority of us are going to hell on a slow-moving train.
But why do they keep showing up at my door? When I was younger, I actually would stand and listen to them. Back then, they sent good-looking young women to my door. I think they’ve kept up with my aging process through their super-spy software and figure I’d be more likely to talk to an older woman now. Not true. I’m not really likely to talk to any of them. Sometimes, in the past, I would invite them in, offer them a cup of tea, and debate the existence of God with them or discuss whether Jesus would actually like the idea of people going door-to-door and using his name to discuss the ravages of war in the Middle East or the immorality of certain political figures or people “living in sin.”
Now, I just politely say I don’t have time. And still they stand there. And stand there. And smile. And wait for me to miraculously open my heart and mind to their message. Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe I’m too harsh.
But it got me thinking: when does anything good ever come to your door? Think about it. Vacuum salesmen (always men, never women), urchins collecting beer bottles, people looking for money for one debatably good cause or another (some I always give to, others not so much). Or someone might knock on your door to tell you your house is on fire or someone next door has been stabbed and needs you to call 911. Or some longlost, anonymous relative might show up looking for shelter. Or, if you’ve lived a life of promiscuity, some young person might show up calling you “daddy” when you had no idea when you left Buchans seventeen years ago that, well, I digress…. I hope the nice JW lady doesn’t read that last thought tonight when she’s searching me on her super spyware.
All I’m saying is that the cliché is wrong: opportunity, most definitively, NEVER knocks. All good things do NOT come to those who wait. That which comes to my door generally wants something from me.
If I want opportunity I have to go find it. Make it. Hunt it down. Make something of it. Myself. It never comes to me of its own volition. If I want to win the lottery, I’d better buy a ticket. If I want to win Canadian Idol, I’d better audition.
Another way of saying it is that the Lord helps those who help themselves.
I suppose the Jehovah’s people kind of see it that way too. After all, they want recruits or converts; they want to make the numbers strong and, less cynically, I suppose they want to spread The Word. Just because I don’t particularly enjoy their version of The Word doesn’t mean they don’t see me as one big walking opportunity.
But I’m getting a little tired of being put on the defensive, of always having to say “No thank you” to people I don’t even have a relationship with. It all gets a little negative, creating bad karma (if you believe that sort of thing, which I sort of do. Consider karma to be a god. Or God is Karma. Whichever and maybe neither).
I mean, how many times are you just going along, having a great day and minding your own business, and then someone walks up to you, puts their hand on your sleeve and asks “Have you found Jesus?” or “Can you spare fifty bucks for a phone call?” or “Would you please do our survey because, well, you don’t know us, but you do owe us some of your time.” And you’re forced out of your happy place into another, relatively darker place.
The first time is probably not so bad. You might even fish in your pocket for a dollar so that a homeless man can buy a smoke or a sandwich. You might even smile and say “Yes, thank you, I have” to the woman who asks if you’ve found Jesus. (I once said I didn’t know he was missing and I sure hope they do find him because we could sure use him right now. Then I tipped my baseball cap and kept going.) But after the third or fourth or fifth time that day, you might finally blow a gasket. Or you might just find yourself inexplicably in a bit of a down mood, not really knowing why, which of course might carry over into the next discussion you have with some unsuspecting person who’s also had to deal with the fire brigade’s annual ball, the girl scouts’ cookies, and a seniors’ walkathon all in one day. They’re all good causes, but you can’t really say yes to all of them.
Of course saying “yes” puts you in a better mood. So maybe that’s just easier. You’ll be poorer of pocket, but richer of spirit. Assuming you don’t feel like a bit of a pushover.
Anyway, it’s funny what a “chance” encounter at the front door can make you think of. I’ve thought of how the Jehovah’s and I really have had a good, long run together. I feel like they’ve been with me since I left home at the age of eighteen. If only my poor, devout Catholic mother knew what they were trying to get me to believe! She’d certainly pray even harder for my soul, such as it is.
But, as I said, I can no longer harbour any ill will towards the JWs. We’re like the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote—inseparably distant and yet somehow, ironically attached, for better or for worse. “Beep-beep!” I say as they are foiled yet again…for now. But they’ll be back with the next tragedy, as sure as the leaves fall in autumn.
Sometimes, though, an opportunity is not to be missed. And I think that’s why I had to write about this.
Gerard
Today is the first day of the rest of the week.
So today was my first day of living the dream: being a writer. I slept until 7 a.m.—an hour later than during the semester, which is a real treat. Someday I’d like to sleep until noon. I haven’t done that since…well, ever. I’ve never been much of a sleeper. Even in my days of playing with the band(s), I would get home around 3 or 4 in the morning, crawl into bed and be completely unable to sleep. Next thing I knew, it was time for breakfast. Anyway, some habits die hard, I guess, because I’m still that way. I didn't sleep much last night, wound up watching hockey highlights with the sound muted for a couple of hours. But I still get up at the same time; otherwise, I feel I might miss something (besides sleep, I mean).
After breakfast, which takes all of ten or fifteen minutes, I amble to my home office (aka “the den”) where I check e-mails, MSN news, CBC sports page, and anything else that will assure me that the world didn’t end in a massive terrorist attack overnight. Reassured, I decided it was time to start writing. (To be honest, even if Overaged Relatively Normal Ninja Turtles had bombed downtown Tokyo this morning, I probably would have continued with my day. It's just that I like to be informed, even if the world really has gone to hell.)
And it really was time to starting writing. It’s just that someone forgot to tell my brain that. It’s kind of a huge shift to go from being a teacher and academic to suddenly expecting yourself to be Creative Guy. I’m sure some of you know what I mean. In my early undergraduate years I managed to write a few short stories here and there—none of them very good; I’m not even sure I still have them—but it was hard to just turn it on and off like that. That hasn’t changed either.
I find that music helps. I have my mp3 player nearby always, just in case I need inspiration. (I intentionally don’t have an iPod because they don’t have all the features I want/need, such AM/FM radio and a microphone, essentials to me). Every time I work on a new book or story, I have a “soundtrack” that gets me in the mood for that specific story and the characters that inhabit that world. My current project is called Darwin Day (a novel), and I have two separate soundtracks for it—one is instrumental (the words of others get in the way of fresh thinking sometimes) and the other has pop and/or rock songs, some of the era in which the story takes place. It just gets me in the mood to write.
Or think about writing. Really, what I did today while listening to Rush's "Tom Sawyer" was reading over what I had already done several months ago to remind me of where it was going. I don’t get into that nasty habit of revising the first fifty pages over and over so that the story never moves forward. That’s a trap, and if you’re writing a novel or story of your own, I’d suggest you steer clear of it. Just keep going, on word in front of the last one until you reach the end (of the sentence, paragraph, chapter, or novel). Don’t look back until you’re done, and don’t show it to anyone else when you’ve written ten precious pages and ask, “What do you think?”What if they say, “You suck. What made you think you could be a writer?” Where would that leave you? It could traumatize you forever so that you definitely never would be a writer. I mean, you must have REALLY valued that other person’s opinion or you never would have asked. I’m not sure that people who ask other people’s opinions of their writing really want the truth. Besides, whose truth is it? Who has the right to tell you that your work isn’t worth anything? If you believe in it, just finish it. Ask for input from other people then, sure, but if they tell you it’s rotten to the core, don’t give up on it and throw it in the wood chipper. Just keep writing. And even if they say, "It's great!" it wouldn't mean much. It's only ten pages. The average novel far exceeds that much. It's kind of like pouring cement for a foundation and asking a master carpenter, "So what do you think of my new house?"
Anyway, I’m digressing. I was talking about my first day of writing.I read half of those first fifty pages and felt very satisfied with myself. Then I did laundry (as part of the work-sharing agreement between me and my wife in which she still does the majority), went out to meet a friend for lunch for a couple of hours, came home and answered some e-mails, and then had supper. So it’s nearly 8 p.m. and I’m just settling in to do some writing, again.
I know I’ll really start tomorrow. I promised myself that I would write fifty pages this week, which would be a major triumph for me. I can usually write way more than that, but I’m taking it easy on myself, especially considering tomorrow’s Tuesday already, and this is my first full-time writing in a long time.
I’m reminded of that story about James Joyce (I think it was from Stephen King that I read it in his book On Writing). Joyce was a slow writer, picky with his words. One evening a friend met him walking on the road and had the temerity to ask Joyce how his day of writing had gone.
“I wrote five words,” Joyce said with exasperation obvious on his face.
“Five words!” His friend clapped his hands in glee. “That’s wonderful for you, Jim. You must be pleased with your output!”
“I suppose,” said Joyce, rubbing his chin. “But I just don’t know what order they go in.”
That was a paraphrase, of course, but that’s how it feels some days. I can’t imagine only writing five words in a day, let alone fussing so much over which order to put them in. My best advice—and the advice I almost always take myself—is to just put your arse in the chair and write. That’s the best way to write anything. If you’re showing up, you’ll eventually get it done. If you don’t show up, nothing gets done. Kind of like life.
Of course, when you show up, it’s nice if you have something to say too.
Enough throat-clearing. I must go write my five words.
Gerard
After breakfast, which takes all of ten or fifteen minutes, I amble to my home office (aka “the den”) where I check e-mails, MSN news, CBC sports page, and anything else that will assure me that the world didn’t end in a massive terrorist attack overnight. Reassured, I decided it was time to start writing. (To be honest, even if Overaged Relatively Normal Ninja Turtles had bombed downtown Tokyo this morning, I probably would have continued with my day. It's just that I like to be informed, even if the world really has gone to hell.)
And it really was time to starting writing. It’s just that someone forgot to tell my brain that. It’s kind of a huge shift to go from being a teacher and academic to suddenly expecting yourself to be Creative Guy. I’m sure some of you know what I mean. In my early undergraduate years I managed to write a few short stories here and there—none of them very good; I’m not even sure I still have them—but it was hard to just turn it on and off like that. That hasn’t changed either.
I find that music helps. I have my mp3 player nearby always, just in case I need inspiration. (I intentionally don’t have an iPod because they don’t have all the features I want/need, such AM/FM radio and a microphone, essentials to me). Every time I work on a new book or story, I have a “soundtrack” that gets me in the mood for that specific story and the characters that inhabit that world. My current project is called Darwin Day (a novel), and I have two separate soundtracks for it—one is instrumental (the words of others get in the way of fresh thinking sometimes) and the other has pop and/or rock songs, some of the era in which the story takes place. It just gets me in the mood to write.
Or think about writing. Really, what I did today while listening to Rush's "Tom Sawyer" was reading over what I had already done several months ago to remind me of where it was going. I don’t get into that nasty habit of revising the first fifty pages over and over so that the story never moves forward. That’s a trap, and if you’re writing a novel or story of your own, I’d suggest you steer clear of it. Just keep going, on word in front of the last one until you reach the end (of the sentence, paragraph, chapter, or novel). Don’t look back until you’re done, and don’t show it to anyone else when you’ve written ten precious pages and ask, “What do you think?”What if they say, “You suck. What made you think you could be a writer?” Where would that leave you? It could traumatize you forever so that you definitely never would be a writer. I mean, you must have REALLY valued that other person’s opinion or you never would have asked. I’m not sure that people who ask other people’s opinions of their writing really want the truth. Besides, whose truth is it? Who has the right to tell you that your work isn’t worth anything? If you believe in it, just finish it. Ask for input from other people then, sure, but if they tell you it’s rotten to the core, don’t give up on it and throw it in the wood chipper. Just keep writing. And even if they say, "It's great!" it wouldn't mean much. It's only ten pages. The average novel far exceeds that much. It's kind of like pouring cement for a foundation and asking a master carpenter, "So what do you think of my new house?"
Anyway, I’m digressing. I was talking about my first day of writing.I read half of those first fifty pages and felt very satisfied with myself. Then I did laundry (as part of the work-sharing agreement between me and my wife in which she still does the majority), went out to meet a friend for lunch for a couple of hours, came home and answered some e-mails, and then had supper. So it’s nearly 8 p.m. and I’m just settling in to do some writing, again.
I know I’ll really start tomorrow. I promised myself that I would write fifty pages this week, which would be a major triumph for me. I can usually write way more than that, but I’m taking it easy on myself, especially considering tomorrow’s Tuesday already, and this is my first full-time writing in a long time.
I’m reminded of that story about James Joyce (I think it was from Stephen King that I read it in his book On Writing). Joyce was a slow writer, picky with his words. One evening a friend met him walking on the road and had the temerity to ask Joyce how his day of writing had gone.
“I wrote five words,” Joyce said with exasperation obvious on his face.
“Five words!” His friend clapped his hands in glee. “That’s wonderful for you, Jim. You must be pleased with your output!”
“I suppose,” said Joyce, rubbing his chin. “But I just don’t know what order they go in.”
That was a paraphrase, of course, but that’s how it feels some days. I can’t imagine only writing five words in a day, let alone fussing so much over which order to put them in. My best advice—and the advice I almost always take myself—is to just put your arse in the chair and write. That’s the best way to write anything. If you’re showing up, you’ll eventually get it done. If you don’t show up, nothing gets done. Kind of like life.
Of course, when you show up, it’s nice if you have something to say too.
Enough throat-clearing. I must go write my five words.
Gerard
Friday, April 13, 2007
A Cool Change
I finished grading all the exams late last night, and this morning, I entered all the grades and submitted my final report to the English Department. That’s it. It’s all done and the winter semester of 2007 is officially over for me.
If I have one of your essays and you would like it back, please e-mail me at gnc@nf.sympatico.ca and we can arrange that. I’ll be on campus for a while Monday and in my office for a while. I likely won’t be in that office once the spring semester begins, so e-mail will be the best way to reach me.
Not surprisingly, I already miss teaching. But I have made a conscious decision to take some “me” time over the next few months. I have that novel to finish, another one (okay, two) that need revision before re-submission to literary agents and editors, as well a few more stories to write for a short story collection, so I’ll be plenty busy over the summer. As much as I love teaching, it is a draining sort of job, and I’m really not much of a martyr. Not a good one anyway. Plus, my wife likes to see me once in a while.
I’ll probably be blogging a little bit about how the whole writing process is working for me as the summer goes on. I hope no one minds that. Leave a comment if you want. In fact, I would love it if you did. It lets me know that someone’s listening. I’ve never been a big fan of one-way communication (or the sound of one hand clapping). It’s part of why, sometimes I think I would love the solitary writer’s life, but at the same time, I crave the constant interaction that’s a part of the teacher’s life. I’ll probably wind up teaching creative writing one of these days for the best of both worlds.
Beyond that, I plan to spend the summer remembering who I am, and who I was before I began the six year trek to a doctoral degree that began in September 2000 and officially ended in October 2006. I’ve always been an artistic soul—I used to play music for a living. I love to write songs. I sing and play guitar. I write some poetry. I have amateur interests in painting and photography. Anything that lets me communicate what’s in my soul, I’m game to try it. I think, really, that’s what a writer is. I don’t think it’s something special that separates you from other people—that would be the Writer, with a capital “D”. Capital “Duh”. I think it just means that you have an innate need to express yourself through words. That’s all. I like writing fiction, so it means I use short stories and novels to get across my ideas about the world, about how things are and even sometimes the way I wish they were.
I’m a fairly optimistic person, in spite of my well-honed sense of cynicism. While I’ve grown to expect the worst, somehow (like Charlie Brown gearing up to kick that old football every fall) I always still hope for the best from the world, from people.
I hope some of you will stick around to hear all about the warped, conflicted view that I have. It’ll be strange making the transition from teacher (one who’s trying to shape minds) to regular blogging-type person who just has something to say. But, according to the latest poll, a lot of you plan to check it out now and then, so that’s pretty encouraging. I’ll try to have something interesting to say. But mostly, I’ll just talk and hope that what comes out says something a little bit profound or befuddling, amusing or bemusing.
Thanks to all of you for an absolutely fantastic semester. I enjoyed (nearly) every minute of it and I’m looking forward to seeing (and hearing from) a lot of you again.
You know, when I started this blog, a lot of people/naysayers (friends, family, colleagues) were skeptical that it would really do any good. They said that either no one would pay attention to it or that they things I said would just be ignored. Well, nearly 2,000 posts later, I beg to differ. I consider this blog a great success for a lot of different reasons.
And I’m hoping that it will somehow be a way for some of us to stay connected to each other in the coming months, maybe even years. Time, as always, will tell the final tale.
Back soon.
Gerard
If I have one of your essays and you would like it back, please e-mail me at gnc@nf.sympatico.ca and we can arrange that. I’ll be on campus for a while Monday and in my office for a while. I likely won’t be in that office once the spring semester begins, so e-mail will be the best way to reach me.
Not surprisingly, I already miss teaching. But I have made a conscious decision to take some “me” time over the next few months. I have that novel to finish, another one (okay, two) that need revision before re-submission to literary agents and editors, as well a few more stories to write for a short story collection, so I’ll be plenty busy over the summer. As much as I love teaching, it is a draining sort of job, and I’m really not much of a martyr. Not a good one anyway. Plus, my wife likes to see me once in a while.
I’ll probably be blogging a little bit about how the whole writing process is working for me as the summer goes on. I hope no one minds that. Leave a comment if you want. In fact, I would love it if you did. It lets me know that someone’s listening. I’ve never been a big fan of one-way communication (or the sound of one hand clapping). It’s part of why, sometimes I think I would love the solitary writer’s life, but at the same time, I crave the constant interaction that’s a part of the teacher’s life. I’ll probably wind up teaching creative writing one of these days for the best of both worlds.
Beyond that, I plan to spend the summer remembering who I am, and who I was before I began the six year trek to a doctoral degree that began in September 2000 and officially ended in October 2006. I’ve always been an artistic soul—I used to play music for a living. I love to write songs. I sing and play guitar. I write some poetry. I have amateur interests in painting and photography. Anything that lets me communicate what’s in my soul, I’m game to try it. I think, really, that’s what a writer is. I don’t think it’s something special that separates you from other people—that would be the Writer, with a capital “D”. Capital “Duh”. I think it just means that you have an innate need to express yourself through words. That’s all. I like writing fiction, so it means I use short stories and novels to get across my ideas about the world, about how things are and even sometimes the way I wish they were.
I’m a fairly optimistic person, in spite of my well-honed sense of cynicism. While I’ve grown to expect the worst, somehow (like Charlie Brown gearing up to kick that old football every fall) I always still hope for the best from the world, from people.
I hope some of you will stick around to hear all about the warped, conflicted view that I have. It’ll be strange making the transition from teacher (one who’s trying to shape minds) to regular blogging-type person who just has something to say. But, according to the latest poll, a lot of you plan to check it out now and then, so that’s pretty encouraging. I’ll try to have something interesting to say. But mostly, I’ll just talk and hope that what comes out says something a little bit profound or befuddling, amusing or bemusing.
Thanks to all of you for an absolutely fantastic semester. I enjoyed (nearly) every minute of it and I’m looking forward to seeing (and hearing from) a lot of you again.
You know, when I started this blog, a lot of people/naysayers (friends, family, colleagues) were skeptical that it would really do any good. They said that either no one would pay attention to it or that they things I said would just be ignored. Well, nearly 2,000 posts later, I beg to differ. I consider this blog a great success for a lot of different reasons.
And I’m hoping that it will somehow be a way for some of us to stay connected to each other in the coming months, maybe even years. Time, as always, will tell the final tale.
Back soon.
Gerard
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Voice From the Cave
It’s dark in here. I’ve been grading essays ever since Monday night. Okay, that’s a lie, sort of. By the time I got home Monday evening around 6:30 p.m. with my sleigh full of final exam papers, I was too exhausted to do anything but eat and sit. The grading of essays began in earnest Tuesday morning and that’s where I’ve been at ever since: in the Examination Grading Cave (not to be confused with the Grading Curve, which I never speak of, let alone use. Nasty business.)
I can only imagine how tired y’all must have been. I saw a lot cramped hands (and a few cramped faces too, I admit) and a lot of bleary, red eyes looking up the gymnasium ceiling as if hoping it would rain and the exam would be cancelled.
The exam process for me, as a teacher, is always pretty grueling. Not just physically (I don’t know how waitresses and cashiers do it, standing on their feet all day!), but the worrying, the fear, the hope…and that’s just how I feel for you when you’re writing. I’m always torn between two emotions—there’s the relief that it’s over, that you’re getting to move on to something else, that I’m getting to move on to something else, and there’s also the wistfulness that I feel that it’s over. I watch you all, knowing more or less what most of you have been through in the past four months. I know that some of you have had personal tragedy and difficulty, deaths in families, and sickness for yourself. Some of you even had a hard time just making it to the exam, but I hope you’re glad that you did. I know I am.
Anyway, the grading is going well. I’ll hold off on giving any hints as to how it’s going, except to say that there have been very, very few disappointments so far.
I must get back to work. Just wanted to say hi.
Till next time.
Gerard
I can only imagine how tired y’all must have been. I saw a lot cramped hands (and a few cramped faces too, I admit) and a lot of bleary, red eyes looking up the gymnasium ceiling as if hoping it would rain and the exam would be cancelled.
The exam process for me, as a teacher, is always pretty grueling. Not just physically (I don’t know how waitresses and cashiers do it, standing on their feet all day!), but the worrying, the fear, the hope…and that’s just how I feel for you when you’re writing. I’m always torn between two emotions—there’s the relief that it’s over, that you’re getting to move on to something else, that I’m getting to move on to something else, and there’s also the wistfulness that I feel that it’s over. I watch you all, knowing more or less what most of you have been through in the past four months. I know that some of you have had personal tragedy and difficulty, deaths in families, and sickness for yourself. Some of you even had a hard time just making it to the exam, but I hope you’re glad that you did. I know I am.
Anyway, the grading is going well. I’ll hold off on giving any hints as to how it’s going, except to say that there have been very, very few disappointments so far.
I must get back to work. Just wanted to say hi.
Till next time.
Gerard
Monday, April 9, 2007
New Poll!
I'm considering keeping this blog rolling even after the semester is done, so I'm asking you to let me know (anonymously, of course) if you intend to keep checking here. The results will let me know if it's worth my time and, to some extent, what you're interested in having me write about (if you're interested at all). Thanks for taking the time out. The voter icon is at the top-right of this page.
Also, if you voted last time, thank you! The results really helped me know what to talk about on this blog during the semester, and I think some people benefited from that.
Meanwhile I'll be blogging over the next few days, so this is definitely not my last post.
Good luck on the exam today!
Gerard
Also, if you voted last time, thank you! The results really helped me know what to talk about on this blog during the semester, and I think some people benefited from that.
Meanwhile I'll be blogging over the next few days, so this is definitely not my last post.
Good luck on the exam today!
Gerard
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Famous Final Scene
Maybe you don’t need a pep talk at this point. Maybe you've seen too many of them lately.
I mean, who could put it better than William Wallace in Braveheart when he tells his battle-ready troops before heading off to war with the British: “Every man dies, but not every man lives.” Of course, I guess he meant women too, but then, who knows what lurks in the heart of Mel?
And then there’s Aragorn at the final battle in The Return of the King, leading his weary fellowship against Sauron’s fading might: “I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you, stand, Men of the West.”
Or Mats Sundin to his battle-scarred Leafs on the night of the season’s last game: “There’s nothing left to say. We’ve got to just go out and play hard and try our best to win.”
But then there’s the wise and magnificent, Yoda: “There is no try, only do or do not.”
Which brings me to me. What advice have I left? Do I even have it in me to say the words that you need. (Imagine me saying this with a half-smile on my face, while maintaining an air of earnestness.) What can I say at this point that will make a difference?
Let’s try some sports cliché’s, shall we? It’s do-or-die. Backs against the wall. No holds barred. There is no tomorrow.
Except there actually is a tomorrow. And nobody ever died from writing a mediocre exam. And your backs won’t be against the wall. Your seats are more in the middle of the gymnasium, just to the right, really. So, no, sports cliché’s won’t do. You’ll need something more.
The thing about English is this: just speak truth. Know your characters, but know yourself first and how you respond to those characters and the truth that they represent.
That’s better, but not quite it.
How about this: when I was your age….no, no, no! Can’t say that. Can’t even think that.
Hmmm….
If I was writing this exam tomorrow, I simply would know the novels really well. You can pretty much guess what the questions will be, more or less.
Go through each character in these novels and ask yourself what they stand for and how can you possibly prove it. Get inside the minds of these characters and ask yourself what they most want, what they most fear, and whether or not they get what they want. Or, as the Stones would sing, do they sometimes just get what they need? That goes for the good and the bad characters. The Draper Doyles and the Aunt Phils. The Dr. Jekylls and the Mr. Uttersons and Hydes. The Holden Caulfields and the Phoebe Caulfields. And who are all those minor characters? The Sally Hayes person and the Father Seymours? The Henry Clervals and the Grandmother Macleods, not to mention the Noreens and the Elizabeth Frankensteins! What do they all desire, and do they get it? What do they each fear?
I think, in the end, we all just want…
…truth?
No. Truth can hurt sometimes. We often can’t handle the truth.
…freedom?
Maybe? Is it freedom we want more than anything? Freedom to do what? To be what? Freedom to choose, to be who we want to be, without restrictions, without anyone else playing the authority figure over us, telling us what to do and how to do it, or what to be. Freedom from persecution. Freedom from lies. Freedom to face the truth on our own terms and decide for ourselves how to deal with, what to do about it.
That’s what these characters want, isn’t it? Self-governance. Freedom. Peace of mind. As elusive as it is. As impossible as it is.
It might even be that the thing fear the most is freedom. Because that would mean we are also responsible for ourselves. We can blame no one for our state of being, whatever is, but ourselves.
Holden Caulfield is really free to do as he pleases; he just can’t see it, and that’s a big part of his problem. Vanessa? Free as a bird. Victor? Could have been somebody. Could have been a contend-uh. He was so smart, with so many privileges, he could have been anything, done anything, he wanted. Dr. Jekyll? Wants freedom, gets freedom, can’t handle freedom. End of story. Draper Doyle Ryan? He and his whole, entire family just want freedom, and it’s there for the taking. So they do.
Up until they get freedom, they’re just afraid of it.
I’m not saying that this entire exam is about freedom. It’s not. Not by a long shot. There's so much more to talk about, as you know. But then again, the bottom line here (pardon the cliché) is that you’re free to choose which questions to answer and how you answer them. You’re even free to choose not to answer any questions, but I hope you won’t go that route. Freedom comes with a price sometimes, unfortunately. It’s built-in like a package deal.
But seize the opportunity. Carpe diem! Don’t be afraid to say something wrong. Say what’s in your heart to say. But say in an intelligent, controlled, articulate way: otherwise, it’s like a king in the back row—power that’s wasted.
You’ve spent four months (eight months really, going back to English 1080) improving your powers of communication. So now’s the time to just say what you’ve been wanting to say all semester long about these characters. If you’ve got nothing to say, well, you’re just not trying (or doing, as Yoda would say). You know these characters now. You’ve lived with them for weeks. You know who they are, what they want, what they fear, and how they live on a daily basis.
So what do you have to say about them?
“This is no place for Hobbits,” Gandalf the Grey has said. And it’s true. The exam is meant to offer you the chance to show what you know, not what you don’t know.
So write what you know.
See you tomorrow. Have some fun with it. And use your nervous energy to blaze truth, wax wit, and wager philosophy.
Don’t play defensively. Come fully armed and ready to wrestle truth to the ground.
But then, I’m not much for speeches.
May the force...oh, never mind.
Gerard
I mean, who could put it better than William Wallace in Braveheart when he tells his battle-ready troops before heading off to war with the British: “Every man dies, but not every man lives.” Of course, I guess he meant women too, but then, who knows what lurks in the heart of Mel?
And then there’s Aragorn at the final battle in The Return of the King, leading his weary fellowship against Sauron’s fading might: “I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of woes and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crashing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you, stand, Men of the West.”
Or Mats Sundin to his battle-scarred Leafs on the night of the season’s last game: “There’s nothing left to say. We’ve got to just go out and play hard and try our best to win.”
But then there’s the wise and magnificent, Yoda: “There is no try, only do or do not.”
Which brings me to me. What advice have I left? Do I even have it in me to say the words that you need. (Imagine me saying this with a half-smile on my face, while maintaining an air of earnestness.) What can I say at this point that will make a difference?
Let’s try some sports cliché’s, shall we? It’s do-or-die. Backs against the wall. No holds barred. There is no tomorrow.
Except there actually is a tomorrow. And nobody ever died from writing a mediocre exam. And your backs won’t be against the wall. Your seats are more in the middle of the gymnasium, just to the right, really. So, no, sports cliché’s won’t do. You’ll need something more.
The thing about English is this: just speak truth. Know your characters, but know yourself first and how you respond to those characters and the truth that they represent.
That’s better, but not quite it.
How about this: when I was your age….no, no, no! Can’t say that. Can’t even think that.
Hmmm….
If I was writing this exam tomorrow, I simply would know the novels really well. You can pretty much guess what the questions will be, more or less.
Go through each character in these novels and ask yourself what they stand for and how can you possibly prove it. Get inside the minds of these characters and ask yourself what they most want, what they most fear, and whether or not they get what they want. Or, as the Stones would sing, do they sometimes just get what they need? That goes for the good and the bad characters. The Draper Doyles and the Aunt Phils. The Dr. Jekylls and the Mr. Uttersons and Hydes. The Holden Caulfields and the Phoebe Caulfields. And who are all those minor characters? The Sally Hayes person and the Father Seymours? The Henry Clervals and the Grandmother Macleods, not to mention the Noreens and the Elizabeth Frankensteins! What do they all desire, and do they get it? What do they each fear?
I think, in the end, we all just want…
…truth?
No. Truth can hurt sometimes. We often can’t handle the truth.
…freedom?
Maybe? Is it freedom we want more than anything? Freedom to do what? To be what? Freedom to choose, to be who we want to be, without restrictions, without anyone else playing the authority figure over us, telling us what to do and how to do it, or what to be. Freedom from persecution. Freedom from lies. Freedom to face the truth on our own terms and decide for ourselves how to deal with, what to do about it.
That’s what these characters want, isn’t it? Self-governance. Freedom. Peace of mind. As elusive as it is. As impossible as it is.
It might even be that the thing fear the most is freedom. Because that would mean we are also responsible for ourselves. We can blame no one for our state of being, whatever is, but ourselves.
Holden Caulfield is really free to do as he pleases; he just can’t see it, and that’s a big part of his problem. Vanessa? Free as a bird. Victor? Could have been somebody. Could have been a contend-uh. He was so smart, with so many privileges, he could have been anything, done anything, he wanted. Dr. Jekyll? Wants freedom, gets freedom, can’t handle freedom. End of story. Draper Doyle Ryan? He and his whole, entire family just want freedom, and it’s there for the taking. So they do.
Up until they get freedom, they’re just afraid of it.
I’m not saying that this entire exam is about freedom. It’s not. Not by a long shot. There's so much more to talk about, as you know. But then again, the bottom line here (pardon the cliché) is that you’re free to choose which questions to answer and how you answer them. You’re even free to choose not to answer any questions, but I hope you won’t go that route. Freedom comes with a price sometimes, unfortunately. It’s built-in like a package deal.
But seize the opportunity. Carpe diem! Don’t be afraid to say something wrong. Say what’s in your heart to say. But say in an intelligent, controlled, articulate way: otherwise, it’s like a king in the back row—power that’s wasted.
You’ve spent four months (eight months really, going back to English 1080) improving your powers of communication. So now’s the time to just say what you’ve been wanting to say all semester long about these characters. If you’ve got nothing to say, well, you’re just not trying (or doing, as Yoda would say). You know these characters now. You’ve lived with them for weeks. You know who they are, what they want, what they fear, and how they live on a daily basis.
So what do you have to say about them?
“This is no place for Hobbits,” Gandalf the Grey has said. And it’s true. The exam is meant to offer you the chance to show what you know, not what you don’t know.
So write what you know.
See you tomorrow. Have some fun with it. And use your nervous energy to blaze truth, wax wit, and wager philosophy.
Don’t play defensively. Come fully armed and ready to wrestle truth to the ground.
But then, I’m not much for speeches.
May the force...oh, never mind.
Gerard
Saturday, April 7, 2007
The End Is Near!
Good Saturday afternoon and Happy Easter to those of you who are inclined towards one.
With classes now over and final exams coming up in a couple of days, there’s some stuff that needs to be said, as well as repeated.
First: The English 1101 exam is in the Physical Education gymnasium at 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon (it's 2.5 hours long). If you’ve been in class in the last few days of classes (as well as all semester long), you’re already fairly well prepared for the exam itself. Make sure that you sit in the right exam area because that will mean that you are writing the appropriate exam. The question sheet should be canary yellow, and my name (Dr. G. Collins) appears at the top.
On the exam, there are two sections (A and B) and there are four questions in each section. You must answer one (1) question from each section, two essays in total. Do not use the same novel in two different questions. Most questions give you a short quote and then a question, asking you to discuss a particular topic.
Mark the question number (e.g. Section A, Question #3) at the beginning of your essay.
The best way to approach something like that is to brainstorm some ideas first. Try to figure out what the question is asking you. What is required by the question? Why is this quote significant? Try to phrase your thesis statement so that you’re not just repeating the quote. There’s not really wrong with doing that, except it sounds stale and repetitive, as if you couldn’t think of anything else to say (which is probably true if that’s what you did). If all else fails, fine, just incorporate the quote into your thesis statement. The main thing is to just get started.
Divide your time equally. Make sure you leave sufficient time to answer the second question. I’ve seen way too many final exams over the years that have gotten an “A” on the first essay, but barely managed a pass on the second essay because the person wrote only a couple of paragraphs or so. Write two complete essays.
Leave time at the end to go back over your essays. If you know there are certain problems you’ve had all semester long (if you’ve been reading the many comments I’ve been making on your essays), then go back and fix as many of those as you can. It could do wonders for your grades.
Oh, and it doesn’t matter if you single-space or double-space.
I won’t go into discussing the novels here because I’ve done that enough in class all semester long and re-capped everything in the last class of the semester. What I would suggest, though, is that you know the characters in each novel really well. Figure out what each one represents. Consider the relationships of these characters to the main character. What do they have to do with what the novel is about and, in particular (when you’re writing the exam), what do they have to do with the idea you’re writing about? Again, brainstorming some ideas will help with this. It might be helpful to discuss each character one at a time, in a separate paragraph for each.
Also, feel free to bring in some other ideas, such as setting and symbolism or, if you’re feeling really brave, narrative technique. I’ve already told you that I’m not asking questions specifically about literary techniques, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use them in responding to exam questions. Bonus points for you if you are able to do so, as long as you’re comfortable talking about them. But it won’t be expected. The focus really is on theme and characterization, but when you're asked about a certain subject, feel free to discuss how that subject is represented in the novel, whether that's through characters, dialogue, setting, narrative point of view, imagery, or symbolism, or whatever.
Still feeling nervous? Don’t over-think it. Just make sure you can visualize the entire novel that you’re going to be discussing. Before you begin writing, try to remember the beginning (the very first scene) and then the ending (the very last image that we get). Think about what changes have occurred for the main characters on that journey and how they got there. Try to recall some of the key moments, images, and scenes. Also, are there any choice bits of dialogue, even a word or phrase, that stuck with you because it perfectly typifies who that character is and what they represent? Most of you, for example, remember Aunt Phil and when she lies to Draper about what the Doberman is doing. That scene says so much about her ability to achieve a kind of false truth of her own through denial, which is what Aunt Phil is all about: it’s power and authority through her own version of the truth, which no one else can see. But is there another moment when we see this too? How about when Draper sees the ghost and we are told that only Aunt Phil is an “authority” on apparitions. In other words, try to build on what you already know for sure by adding another scene or image (or more) to your repertoire of things you can talk about. Whatever parts of the novel you choose to discuss, just make sure it's something that you can use to go into some depth with, showing how it's a scene, image, or moment that relates to what the novel (and/or that character) is about overall.
Anyway, that’s all for now. I’ll be in my office for a while before the exam on Monday, in case anyone wants their essays and revised essays returned. I’ve still got quite a lot of them, and I won’t be holding onto them past the end of April.
I’ll be writing a bit more tomorrow, and I’ll certainly have more to say next week, after you write the exam.
Beyond that, I don’t mind answering e-mail questions, provided that they don’t require me to write an essay of my own.
Good luck on the exam! I imagine you’ll be glad when it’s over.
See you Monday!
Gerard
With classes now over and final exams coming up in a couple of days, there’s some stuff that needs to be said, as well as repeated.
First: The English 1101 exam is in the Physical Education gymnasium at 3 p.m. on Monday afternoon (it's 2.5 hours long). If you’ve been in class in the last few days of classes (as well as all semester long), you’re already fairly well prepared for the exam itself. Make sure that you sit in the right exam area because that will mean that you are writing the appropriate exam. The question sheet should be canary yellow, and my name (Dr. G. Collins) appears at the top.
On the exam, there are two sections (A and B) and there are four questions in each section. You must answer one (1) question from each section, two essays in total. Do not use the same novel in two different questions. Most questions give you a short quote and then a question, asking you to discuss a particular topic.
Mark the question number (e.g. Section A, Question #3) at the beginning of your essay.
The best way to approach something like that is to brainstorm some ideas first. Try to figure out what the question is asking you. What is required by the question? Why is this quote significant? Try to phrase your thesis statement so that you’re not just repeating the quote. There’s not really wrong with doing that, except it sounds stale and repetitive, as if you couldn’t think of anything else to say (which is probably true if that’s what you did). If all else fails, fine, just incorporate the quote into your thesis statement. The main thing is to just get started.
Divide your time equally. Make sure you leave sufficient time to answer the second question. I’ve seen way too many final exams over the years that have gotten an “A” on the first essay, but barely managed a pass on the second essay because the person wrote only a couple of paragraphs or so. Write two complete essays.
Leave time at the end to go back over your essays. If you know there are certain problems you’ve had all semester long (if you’ve been reading the many comments I’ve been making on your essays), then go back and fix as many of those as you can. It could do wonders for your grades.
Oh, and it doesn’t matter if you single-space or double-space.
I won’t go into discussing the novels here because I’ve done that enough in class all semester long and re-capped everything in the last class of the semester. What I would suggest, though, is that you know the characters in each novel really well. Figure out what each one represents. Consider the relationships of these characters to the main character. What do they have to do with what the novel is about and, in particular (when you’re writing the exam), what do they have to do with the idea you’re writing about? Again, brainstorming some ideas will help with this. It might be helpful to discuss each character one at a time, in a separate paragraph for each.
Also, feel free to bring in some other ideas, such as setting and symbolism or, if you’re feeling really brave, narrative technique. I’ve already told you that I’m not asking questions specifically about literary techniques, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use them in responding to exam questions. Bonus points for you if you are able to do so, as long as you’re comfortable talking about them. But it won’t be expected. The focus really is on theme and characterization, but when you're asked about a certain subject, feel free to discuss how that subject is represented in the novel, whether that's through characters, dialogue, setting, narrative point of view, imagery, or symbolism, or whatever.
Still feeling nervous? Don’t over-think it. Just make sure you can visualize the entire novel that you’re going to be discussing. Before you begin writing, try to remember the beginning (the very first scene) and then the ending (the very last image that we get). Think about what changes have occurred for the main characters on that journey and how they got there. Try to recall some of the key moments, images, and scenes. Also, are there any choice bits of dialogue, even a word or phrase, that stuck with you because it perfectly typifies who that character is and what they represent? Most of you, for example, remember Aunt Phil and when she lies to Draper about what the Doberman is doing. That scene says so much about her ability to achieve a kind of false truth of her own through denial, which is what Aunt Phil is all about: it’s power and authority through her own version of the truth, which no one else can see. But is there another moment when we see this too? How about when Draper sees the ghost and we are told that only Aunt Phil is an “authority” on apparitions. In other words, try to build on what you already know for sure by adding another scene or image (or more) to your repertoire of things you can talk about. Whatever parts of the novel you choose to discuss, just make sure it's something that you can use to go into some depth with, showing how it's a scene, image, or moment that relates to what the novel (and/or that character) is about overall.
Anyway, that’s all for now. I’ll be in my office for a while before the exam on Monday, in case anyone wants their essays and revised essays returned. I’ve still got quite a lot of them, and I won’t be holding onto them past the end of April.
I’ll be writing a bit more tomorrow, and I’ll certainly have more to say next week, after you write the exam.
Beyond that, I don’t mind answering e-mail questions, provided that they don’t require me to write an essay of my own.
Good luck on the exam! I imagine you’ll be glad when it’s over.
See you Monday!
Gerard
Thursday, April 5, 2007
The Countdown Begins!
Hi, people.
I've spent the evening crunching numbers and I'm almost done the final calculations for the term grades. I'm finished for the night, though, because my brain won't go no more and I fear making mistakes. So they'll be done in the morning. For those of you who haven't done so already, if you send me an e-mail with "Term Grade" in the subject line, I'll send you your term grade. Otherwise, you can see it on my office door next week or check with me in person.
If there's a paper that you want back, I'll be in the office on Monday from 2 p.m. until 2:30 p.m., just before the exam. You can pick up your paper then. Any other possible times will be posted here.
I'll be blogging at least once or twice over the weekend, especially with the exam coming up. Lots to say.
Till then.
Gerard
I've spent the evening crunching numbers and I'm almost done the final calculations for the term grades. I'm finished for the night, though, because my brain won't go no more and I fear making mistakes. So they'll be done in the morning. For those of you who haven't done so already, if you send me an e-mail with "Term Grade" in the subject line, I'll send you your term grade. Otherwise, you can see it on my office door next week or check with me in person.
If there's a paper that you want back, I'll be in the office on Monday from 2 p.m. until 2:30 p.m., just before the exam. You can pick up your paper then. Any other possible times will be posted here.
I'll be blogging at least once or twice over the weekend, especially with the exam coming up. Lots to say.
Till then.
Gerard
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)