So the semester is finally over.
It's Christmas Eve and the work is mostly done. Bring it on.
I've been getting a lot of heartfelt e-mails in the past couple of days, and really since the end of the semester, letting me know that you enjoyed the course and that it meant something to you, regardless of the grade you got. Please know that I truly appreciate it and that I wish there were words to describe the feeling I get when I receive such a note from a student. It makes me feel that I'm doing something good, that I'm connecting with people, and helping make a difference in the lives of people who will themselves make a great difference in the world some day. Sure, it's only literature, but for those of you who "get" it, it's about more than that. It's about life itself, about getting the most out of it by thinking pro-actively about our lives, about the lives of others, about the world around us and the human condition. Thought can change lives and make the world a better place. I really believe that. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do what I do and insist on helping people articulate their own thoughts more precisely, for the greatest impact--to give you the tools, or help sharpen those tools, to best enable you to make the most of your life.
Lofty thoughts, but it's the only goal I can allow myself to have as a teacher.
It's going to be a good Christmas, full of family, food, music, and friends--everything that the season calls for. It's not politically correct to say so, but I do love Christmas. It's got little to do with the religious aspect of it, but very much to do with a spiritual aspect, if you will. It's a time when the world slows down a little, when people try to be a bit kinder to each other, to make sure those who are in need have something to call their own. People become more conscious of their actions, thoughts, and words this time of year--aware of how their words have an impact on others and the world around them. That can only be good.
Sure, it can also be a time for having fun, whatever that means for you. It means that for me too, in fact. It means many things, as it does for most people.
Now I'm rambling.
I really just wanted to say thank you to all of you who still read this blog, particularly those who have been my students over the past year. Believe it or not, regardless of whether the impact was good or bad, each of you has had an effect on me and changed my life in some small way.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Have a great Christmas, everyone. I'll see many of you in January.
Thank you for a great year.
GC
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Change in Office Hours
Change is inevitable.
And so, I've had to re-schedule my office hours to Thursday, 10:00 a.m. to 12:45 p.m. So if you're hoping to see me about something related to the final exam or whatever, that's where I'll be and when I'll be there.
I'll have more to say about final exam preparations as the day draws closer. So keep checking this space.
GC
And so, I've had to re-schedule my office hours to Thursday, 10:00 a.m. to 12:45 p.m. So if you're hoping to see me about something related to the final exam or whatever, that's where I'll be and when I'll be there.
I'll have more to say about final exam preparations as the day draws closer. So keep checking this space.
GC
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Poetry In-class essay
So I no longer have to talk out of both sides of my mouth here on this blog. I'm talking strictly to my students here, particularly in English 1080. Anyone else can go to my other blog at http://gerardcollinsblog.blogspot.com/.
The poetry in-class essays are due on Friday, and I'm not getting the sense that too many people are fretting over it, which I hope is a good sign. I've talked a lot in class about how to go about writing them, but I'll go over the basic idea once more and maybe toss in the occasional hint about how to proceed.
First, this is not a research essay. Do not research your poem of choice on the internet or anywere else, or else you will be considered a plagiarist. I do have ways of knowing. The signs are extremely obvious to me, so please, for your own sake, don't attempt to get one by. It's just not worth it. These are short essays and can easily be done in a day or two, even if you're being extra meticulous about your ideas and phrasing, which I hope you are. That's not a moral question for necessarily, but a matter of me wanting you to do really well on this essay. Please do well.
You can use a dictionary, hardbound, on-line, or otherwise to look up literary terms and that sort of thing. Or if there's a word you don't understand, or a word you just want some ideas or clarification about. That's fine. Just don't research the poem itself or the poet. The idea is to show that you know how to offer a critical analysis of a poem you've not necessarily seen before.
Make sure you start with a thesis statement, but be willing to revise that statement after you go. Don't write a statement about poetry in general (for example, "Poetry sometimes has imagery about relationships"). Write something about the poem you're actually discussing: "Theodore Roethke's poem, "My Papa's Waltz" is about a father and son who..." and go from there. I won't finish it because I always find that student either repeat exactly what I said or they find that I used up their idea and now they feel they can't use it. So I'll use another poem as an example:
In 'Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening," Robert Frost depicts a man who pauses on his journey to reflect on his situation in life.
Then, follow with an explanation of who the man is, what the journey is exactly, and what precisely he is reflecting upon. You might want one more sentence, then, to say which poetic techniques in particular you think he uses to convey that theme.
Your essay, since it's only 500 words could look something like this (remember, this is only an example. There are many other ways):
Paragraph 1: Introduction (including brief statement about what the poem is about, literally).
Paragraph 2: Dominant imagery
Paragraph 3: Figurative language (symbols, metaphors, personification, and that sort of thing)
Paragraph 4: Sound (including rhyme scheme, meter, and/or the actual use of sound, such as consonance, assonance, alliteration, and so on. These subjects can all go together in one paragraph or you can discuss them in separate paragraphs. Your choice. There are a lot of ways to write an essay. I'm just providing examples.)
Paragraph 5: Conclusion. Sum up what your main point has been and say one final thing about the poem that you want the reader to know, but is in keeping with your thesis. No new information or quotes here.
Remember, each paragraph should follow a pattern something like this:
1. Make a statement (topic sentence).
2. Give evidence (BRIEF quotes or details).
3. Discuss evidence (talk about the quotes directly. By that, I mean discuss individual word choices of the poet.)
Make sure you put the title of the poem in quotation marks whenever you mention it. After you use the full name of the poet once, you need only use his surname (last name) from then on.
For "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," you really should address the major imagery, symbolism, and diction of the poet. There's no other way to do justice to that poem. Do you see any patterns? Do you see any anomalies, or differences, or breaks, in the pattern? The title is a strong clue of what the poem is about, what kind of relationship is being set up there and how the speaker feels about his situation.
How the speaker feels about his/her situation is always the key to understand a poem.
In "My Papa's Waltz," how do you think the speaker feels about his/her situation as alluded to in the title of the poem? You'll have to discuss rhyme and meter to do a decent job of this poem, mostly because of the subject matter. Also, is this mostly a negative poem or a positive poem, or can you really decide? If there is ambiguity, don't ignore it. Try to suggest a reason for it.
In Leonard Cohen's poem, "A Kite Is A Victim," try to peel the layers from that poem to see what he is actually saying. What's his true subject in this poem? What's he trying to say about it? And why does he use so many metaphors and certain kinds of images to get his point across? The line length and rhythm of that poem play a definite role in how you read the poem.
That's what rhyme and meter do, by the way: they dictate how you read the poem, which creates a certain feeling or mood, which almost always reflects some kind of theme: a bigger, overall idea of what the poem is about.
Your biggest clue as to what that "bigger idea" is (which many of you missed on the in-class essay): the title. That's where the poet always makes it known what his true subject is. The last line is also a large clue.
I think I've said enough. These blogs are exhausting to write when you're already pretty depleted.
Good luck with this assignment. Because it's so short, you can concentrate more on just getting the words just right. That's what I'm trying to teach you: be clear in your writing. It will improve the quality of your thoughts and of your life in the long haul. I promise.
For now though, just show me that you get what the poem is about and how the poet achieves his goal.
Godspeed.
GC
The poetry in-class essays are due on Friday, and I'm not getting the sense that too many people are fretting over it, which I hope is a good sign. I've talked a lot in class about how to go about writing them, but I'll go over the basic idea once more and maybe toss in the occasional hint about how to proceed.
First, this is not a research essay. Do not research your poem of choice on the internet or anywere else, or else you will be considered a plagiarist. I do have ways of knowing. The signs are extremely obvious to me, so please, for your own sake, don't attempt to get one by. It's just not worth it. These are short essays and can easily be done in a day or two, even if you're being extra meticulous about your ideas and phrasing, which I hope you are. That's not a moral question for necessarily, but a matter of me wanting you to do really well on this essay. Please do well.
You can use a dictionary, hardbound, on-line, or otherwise to look up literary terms and that sort of thing. Or if there's a word you don't understand, or a word you just want some ideas or clarification about. That's fine. Just don't research the poem itself or the poet. The idea is to show that you know how to offer a critical analysis of a poem you've not necessarily seen before.
Make sure you start with a thesis statement, but be willing to revise that statement after you go. Don't write a statement about poetry in general (for example, "Poetry sometimes has imagery about relationships"). Write something about the poem you're actually discussing: "Theodore Roethke's poem, "My Papa's Waltz" is about a father and son who..." and go from there. I won't finish it because I always find that student either repeat exactly what I said or they find that I used up their idea and now they feel they can't use it. So I'll use another poem as an example:
In 'Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening," Robert Frost depicts a man who pauses on his journey to reflect on his situation in life.
Then, follow with an explanation of who the man is, what the journey is exactly, and what precisely he is reflecting upon. You might want one more sentence, then, to say which poetic techniques in particular you think he uses to convey that theme.
Your essay, since it's only 500 words could look something like this (remember, this is only an example. There are many other ways):
Paragraph 1: Introduction (including brief statement about what the poem is about, literally).
Paragraph 2: Dominant imagery
Paragraph 3: Figurative language (symbols, metaphors, personification, and that sort of thing)
Paragraph 4: Sound (including rhyme scheme, meter, and/or the actual use of sound, such as consonance, assonance, alliteration, and so on. These subjects can all go together in one paragraph or you can discuss them in separate paragraphs. Your choice. There are a lot of ways to write an essay. I'm just providing examples.)
Paragraph 5: Conclusion. Sum up what your main point has been and say one final thing about the poem that you want the reader to know, but is in keeping with your thesis. No new information or quotes here.
Remember, each paragraph should follow a pattern something like this:
1. Make a statement (topic sentence).
2. Give evidence (BRIEF quotes or details).
3. Discuss evidence (talk about the quotes directly. By that, I mean discuss individual word choices of the poet.)
Make sure you put the title of the poem in quotation marks whenever you mention it. After you use the full name of the poet once, you need only use his surname (last name) from then on.
For "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," you really should address the major imagery, symbolism, and diction of the poet. There's no other way to do justice to that poem. Do you see any patterns? Do you see any anomalies, or differences, or breaks, in the pattern? The title is a strong clue of what the poem is about, what kind of relationship is being set up there and how the speaker feels about his situation.
How the speaker feels about his/her situation is always the key to understand a poem.
In "My Papa's Waltz," how do you think the speaker feels about his/her situation as alluded to in the title of the poem? You'll have to discuss rhyme and meter to do a decent job of this poem, mostly because of the subject matter. Also, is this mostly a negative poem or a positive poem, or can you really decide? If there is ambiguity, don't ignore it. Try to suggest a reason for it.
In Leonard Cohen's poem, "A Kite Is A Victim," try to peel the layers from that poem to see what he is actually saying. What's his true subject in this poem? What's he trying to say about it? And why does he use so many metaphors and certain kinds of images to get his point across? The line length and rhythm of that poem play a definite role in how you read the poem.
That's what rhyme and meter do, by the way: they dictate how you read the poem, which creates a certain feeling or mood, which almost always reflects some kind of theme: a bigger, overall idea of what the poem is about.
Your biggest clue as to what that "bigger idea" is (which many of you missed on the in-class essay): the title. That's where the poet always makes it known what his true subject is. The last line is also a large clue.
I think I've said enough. These blogs are exhausting to write when you're already pretty depleted.
Good luck with this assignment. Because it's so short, you can concentrate more on just getting the words just right. That's what I'm trying to teach you: be clear in your writing. It will improve the quality of your thoughts and of your life in the long haul. I promise.
For now though, just show me that you get what the poem is about and how the poet achieves his goal.
Godspeed.
GC
Monday, November 23, 2009
New Blog
For anyone who's interested, I've started a new blog that's mostly just about me and my writing and whatever else I choose to talk about.
It's not related to academia, English lit, university, or anything of that sort. I've had a lot happening with my writing career lately and was beginning to feel strange about even mentioning it on "Literary Pursuits," which is a shame because I always thought I could do both. But this has become a blog that's mostly devoted to teaching English, and I have plenty of other stuff I wanted to talk about.
I'm aware that lots of people besides students and former students check out this blog, and some get a little bored with all the talk of grammar and that kind of thing. So this is a new page, a brand new blog for me to talk about...myself. If that very thought offends you, don't worry: you don't have to go there. But if you're halfways curious, check it out, whoever you are.
Here's the link: http://gerardcollinsblog.blogspot.com/
Meanwhile, I'll continue to blog here at "Literary Pursuits" for my students. Next up, I'll discuss some poetry assignments that are due on Friday. The cool thing now is that I don't have to keep saying, "For those of you doing my courses this semester." If you're looking for me and my more personal, creative stuff, go to my other blog. That's where it's at.
GC
It's not related to academia, English lit, university, or anything of that sort. I've had a lot happening with my writing career lately and was beginning to feel strange about even mentioning it on "Literary Pursuits," which is a shame because I always thought I could do both. But this has become a blog that's mostly devoted to teaching English, and I have plenty of other stuff I wanted to talk about.
I'm aware that lots of people besides students and former students check out this blog, and some get a little bored with all the talk of grammar and that kind of thing. So this is a new page, a brand new blog for me to talk about...myself. If that very thought offends you, don't worry: you don't have to go there. But if you're halfways curious, check it out, whoever you are.
Here's the link: http://gerardcollinsblog.blogspot.com/
Meanwhile, I'll continue to blog here at "Literary Pursuits" for my students. Next up, I'll discuss some poetry assignments that are due on Friday. The cool thing now is that I don't have to keep saying, "For those of you doing my courses this semester." If you're looking for me and my more personal, creative stuff, go to my other blog. That's where it's at.
GC
Thursday, November 12, 2009
November 18
I've said this in class a couple of times, but wanted to say it here in writing for those of you who haven't been around lately: the English 1080 in-class essay on poetry has been moved to November 18th (Wednesday) because of my illness last week.
The next two classes (Friday and Monday) will focus on preparing you for the in-class and, to some extent, the final exam.
GC
The next two classes (Friday and Monday) will focus on preparing you for the in-class and, to some extent, the final exam.
GC
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The Days After
It's the hardest part of the job.
Okay, well, maybe the second hardest part. Yesterday, I gave back the English 1080 comparative analysis essays. I know some of those grades hurt, especially those of you who failed this assignment. It bothers me whenever I have to assign a failing grade, but I know that does nothing to help you.
What I hope does help are the comments I made on all of those essays. That's what they're for. Read them line-by-line and figure out what you're doing wrong, as well as what you're doing right. Make adjustments. It really is as simple as that...sort of.
I know English is not a favorite subject for a lot of you. That might be an understatement. In fact, I'm sure it is. That might even be part of the problem.
However, I am assuming that English is the first language for almost all of you, and it's not a bad idea to know how to use it well. Equally important, it's a grand idea not to be ill-used by the language because I guarantee that if you're not proficient with it, there will be many times in your life where that lack of expertise is going to cost you in some way--whether it's manipulation by a politican or lawyer, a media outlet, or a union negotiation, contract, or letter of some kind. Somewhere along the way, you're going to wish you understood a little better how to understand the nuances of what's being said to you. Or that you knew how to use the language a little better to get your own way in some way.
Critical analysis and rhetoric are part and parcel of the same package: if you repeatedly exercise the part of your brain that allows you to analyze language and its various effects and uses, you also become more proficient at the art of rhetoric, as well as defending yourself against it.
Consider me your "Teacher of the Dark Arts," except not in a Harry Potterish sort of way. The things I'm trying to teach you might not save your life in a battle against a Dark Lord. I would never be so bold as to assume that it would. But then, I wouldn't bet against it either. Knowing how to communicate properly to a doctor, firefighter, police dispatch, or 911 operator has saved many a life, I am certain. The ability to converse, orally or in writing, with a lawyer, accountant, landlord, government bureacrat, or contractor might save you tons of money, perhaps--in the extreme--even jail time and embarassment even of the smallest sort.
There's no downside here; that's what I'm saying.
As I've been saying all week (when I was able to speak): learn to communicate clearly and life will be immensely easier for you.
I've seen people try to communicate with government ministers' offices for the right to have medicine for their deathly ill spouses, and the request was turned down because of a misunderstanding of the how dire the need is. Or for some other reason. You see, you are constantly being judged by how you speak and how well you listen. It's just the way the world works.
Enough about that. It's important for you to know that I want every student to pass. I wouldn't be much of a teacher if I didn't. I want the students who work hard to get A's. I want everybody's grades to go up and up.
But sometimes it doesn't work that way. Sometimes, you take a step or two backwards before you can move forward again. I think that's what's happening with a lot of you. Don't worry: just do something about it. Read my comments until you understand what I'm saying to you. I would never intentionally rob you of grades you deserve. If I gave you a low grade, it's because I thought your PAPER (not you, personally) deserved it. But it's only one paper. There will be others.
It's like losing a battle. The lessons learned from that battle should teach you how to prepare for the next battle. The scars you've earned can help you win the overall war.
Don't approach these next essays with fear or trepidation. Sure, a little fear can be your friend sometimes. But it's best to strive for somethng positive--for the grade you want or, better yet, to communicate something vital about the human condition. Yes, I said the human condition, for that's what all great literature is about. Don't turn up your nose or roll your eyes, because right now you're immersed in the human condition. It is you and it is about you, and we all have our little dramas going on that both separate us and join us together at the same time. They unite us in our humanity: when we analyze literature, that's what we're doing: looking for the humanity.
I don't think we're looking for someone to tell us what we "should" do. That would be arrogant and presumptuous of any fiction writer or poet. But they are trying to highlight some aspect of being human, trying to inflict understanding upon the reader. He or she is not trying to teach us, necessarily, but to show us. If in seeing, we learn something, then that's a private matter.
And it is our private matters that define us. Our public matters too often are more hype, gloss, and mask than personal or human. It is when literature touches us personally, pokes us where we live, that its stories and poems and songs have performed well. And it is when we find the words to express that moment of being touched that we are, perhaps, most human. Having said that, I also understand that some of the most profound moments in one's life can leave you speechless. But those who recover their sense in time to express their thoughts and feelings are the ones who inspire us in a way that we truly need: Lincoln, Kennedy, Mandela, and recently Obama, among others. They all have suffered. They all have found words in tragedy. They all have been humiliated. They each have triumphed. And they have done so through words.
That is how they inspire.
These are your words too. With the exception of George W. Bush, who should not be "misunderestimated" in his importance in history, very few such people resort to making up new words. They don't have to. Like any good carpenter, they can take the tools that are given and build something awe-inspiring.
These are the same tools at your disposal. They're only words. Learn how to use them. Pick them up. Learn how to wield them. Don't be afraid. You have something inside of you that will allow you to inspire, if only you can choose just the right words. But you have to be clear: if you are not being understood, your words will fall on deaf ears. They will "fork no lightning".
Okay, so I get a little melodramatic as a I go. But I believe it all. It's just that most people don't take time to say such things and most of us wince at the sound of such truths. Not my problem. I say what I mean. I just want you to do the same.
And for that, we have words. Use them wisely, and they will serve you well.
I hope to get time to post again tomorrow, probably with some thing a little more specific.
This is more of a pep talk, really, and just keeping the lines of communication open.
I care how you do in this course. I want every student to succeed. To me, success means improvement. There is no other way for a conscientious teacher, or a caring student, to measure it. It means you're moving forward at least.
If you didn't move forward this time, then you begin again and take the hill next time. With only a month left in the semester, it's time to double the effort, to not give in because of one or two bad grades.
"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Okay, well, maybe the second hardest part. Yesterday, I gave back the English 1080 comparative analysis essays. I know some of those grades hurt, especially those of you who failed this assignment. It bothers me whenever I have to assign a failing grade, but I know that does nothing to help you.
What I hope does help are the comments I made on all of those essays. That's what they're for. Read them line-by-line and figure out what you're doing wrong, as well as what you're doing right. Make adjustments. It really is as simple as that...sort of.
I know English is not a favorite subject for a lot of you. That might be an understatement. In fact, I'm sure it is. That might even be part of the problem.
However, I am assuming that English is the first language for almost all of you, and it's not a bad idea to know how to use it well. Equally important, it's a grand idea not to be ill-used by the language because I guarantee that if you're not proficient with it, there will be many times in your life where that lack of expertise is going to cost you in some way--whether it's manipulation by a politican or lawyer, a media outlet, or a union negotiation, contract, or letter of some kind. Somewhere along the way, you're going to wish you understood a little better how to understand the nuances of what's being said to you. Or that you knew how to use the language a little better to get your own way in some way.
Critical analysis and rhetoric are part and parcel of the same package: if you repeatedly exercise the part of your brain that allows you to analyze language and its various effects and uses, you also become more proficient at the art of rhetoric, as well as defending yourself against it.
Consider me your "Teacher of the Dark Arts," except not in a Harry Potterish sort of way. The things I'm trying to teach you might not save your life in a battle against a Dark Lord. I would never be so bold as to assume that it would. But then, I wouldn't bet against it either. Knowing how to communicate properly to a doctor, firefighter, police dispatch, or 911 operator has saved many a life, I am certain. The ability to converse, orally or in writing, with a lawyer, accountant, landlord, government bureacrat, or contractor might save you tons of money, perhaps--in the extreme--even jail time and embarassment even of the smallest sort.
There's no downside here; that's what I'm saying.
As I've been saying all week (when I was able to speak): learn to communicate clearly and life will be immensely easier for you.
I've seen people try to communicate with government ministers' offices for the right to have medicine for their deathly ill spouses, and the request was turned down because of a misunderstanding of the how dire the need is. Or for some other reason. You see, you are constantly being judged by how you speak and how well you listen. It's just the way the world works.
Enough about that. It's important for you to know that I want every student to pass. I wouldn't be much of a teacher if I didn't. I want the students who work hard to get A's. I want everybody's grades to go up and up.
But sometimes it doesn't work that way. Sometimes, you take a step or two backwards before you can move forward again. I think that's what's happening with a lot of you. Don't worry: just do something about it. Read my comments until you understand what I'm saying to you. I would never intentionally rob you of grades you deserve. If I gave you a low grade, it's because I thought your PAPER (not you, personally) deserved it. But it's only one paper. There will be others.
It's like losing a battle. The lessons learned from that battle should teach you how to prepare for the next battle. The scars you've earned can help you win the overall war.
Don't approach these next essays with fear or trepidation. Sure, a little fear can be your friend sometimes. But it's best to strive for somethng positive--for the grade you want or, better yet, to communicate something vital about the human condition. Yes, I said the human condition, for that's what all great literature is about. Don't turn up your nose or roll your eyes, because right now you're immersed in the human condition. It is you and it is about you, and we all have our little dramas going on that both separate us and join us together at the same time. They unite us in our humanity: when we analyze literature, that's what we're doing: looking for the humanity.
I don't think we're looking for someone to tell us what we "should" do. That would be arrogant and presumptuous of any fiction writer or poet. But they are trying to highlight some aspect of being human, trying to inflict understanding upon the reader. He or she is not trying to teach us, necessarily, but to show us. If in seeing, we learn something, then that's a private matter.
And it is our private matters that define us. Our public matters too often are more hype, gloss, and mask than personal or human. It is when literature touches us personally, pokes us where we live, that its stories and poems and songs have performed well. And it is when we find the words to express that moment of being touched that we are, perhaps, most human. Having said that, I also understand that some of the most profound moments in one's life can leave you speechless. But those who recover their sense in time to express their thoughts and feelings are the ones who inspire us in a way that we truly need: Lincoln, Kennedy, Mandela, and recently Obama, among others. They all have suffered. They all have found words in tragedy. They all have been humiliated. They each have triumphed. And they have done so through words.
That is how they inspire.
These are your words too. With the exception of George W. Bush, who should not be "misunderestimated" in his importance in history, very few such people resort to making up new words. They don't have to. Like any good carpenter, they can take the tools that are given and build something awe-inspiring.
These are the same tools at your disposal. They're only words. Learn how to use them. Pick them up. Learn how to wield them. Don't be afraid. You have something inside of you that will allow you to inspire, if only you can choose just the right words. But you have to be clear: if you are not being understood, your words will fall on deaf ears. They will "fork no lightning".
Okay, so I get a little melodramatic as a I go. But I believe it all. It's just that most people don't take time to say such things and most of us wince at the sound of such truths. Not my problem. I say what I mean. I just want you to do the same.
And for that, we have words. Use them wisely, and they will serve you well.
I hope to get time to post again tomorrow, probably with some thing a little more specific.
This is more of a pep talk, really, and just keeping the lines of communication open.
I care how you do in this course. I want every student to succeed. To me, success means improvement. There is no other way for a conscientious teacher, or a caring student, to measure it. It means you're moving forward at least.
If you didn't move forward this time, then you begin again and take the hill next time. With only a month left in the semester, it's time to double the effort, to not give in because of one or two bad grades.
"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I'll be back in the classroom tomorrow morning (Friday) if all goes well. While I'm definitely not 100% well and my voice is pretty awful, I need to give back the essays for English 1080 so you can at least know where you stand in the course with a month to go.
The strange thing about being sick is that you feel disconnected from everything. I keep sending messages out, but it's rare to hear back from someone once in a while. It's like being on a space station.
I haven't rested all that much, not at all, in fact. It's been nine straight days of grading essays frin 7 a.m. until 9:30 p.m. or so. It's slower than usual because of the whole flu thing and all that that makes you feel (sorry, no details--it's not my desire to gross anybody out).
But I'm finally finished as of this afternoon. Tonight, besides blogging and answering e-mail, I'll be resting. Maybe watch some t.v.--Fringe and a little bit of hockey. More likely, I'll fall asleep watching one or the other. (Don't you hate it when someone wakes you and tells you to go to bed? Just sayin'.)
The semester feels a little fragmented at the moment, but it'll work itself out fine. This is the first class I've had to cancel for sickness in about ten years, but I've seen worse things happen during a semester. Sure, the H1N1 virus has made everyone a bit shaky, especially people who've been struck with it, and it's good to be cautious. But life goes on and the quicker we can get it back to normal, the better. I'm not sure what "normal" means, but for the rest of the semester, we might require a new "normal".
I'll be figuring that one out over the weekend. For now, I must go rest. Oh, and there was one other paper I just remembered in one of my folders. I swear they're multiplying.
Hope you'll forgive my shaky voice tomorrow. It's all I've got for now, but it's better than none at all.
Ciao for now.
Gerard
The strange thing about being sick is that you feel disconnected from everything. I keep sending messages out, but it's rare to hear back from someone once in a while. It's like being on a space station.
I haven't rested all that much, not at all, in fact. It's been nine straight days of grading essays frin 7 a.m. until 9:30 p.m. or so. It's slower than usual because of the whole flu thing and all that that makes you feel (sorry, no details--it's not my desire to gross anybody out).
But I'm finally finished as of this afternoon. Tonight, besides blogging and answering e-mail, I'll be resting. Maybe watch some t.v.--Fringe and a little bit of hockey. More likely, I'll fall asleep watching one or the other. (Don't you hate it when someone wakes you and tells you to go to bed? Just sayin'.)
The semester feels a little fragmented at the moment, but it'll work itself out fine. This is the first class I've had to cancel for sickness in about ten years, but I've seen worse things happen during a semester. Sure, the H1N1 virus has made everyone a bit shaky, especially people who've been struck with it, and it's good to be cautious. But life goes on and the quicker we can get it back to normal, the better. I'm not sure what "normal" means, but for the rest of the semester, we might require a new "normal".
I'll be figuring that one out over the weekend. For now, I must go rest. Oh, and there was one other paper I just remembered in one of my folders. I swear they're multiplying.
Hope you'll forgive my shaky voice tomorrow. It's all I've got for now, but it's better than none at all.
Ciao for now.
Gerard
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Absence
So I'm down sick. Not sure exactly for how long, but I am hoping to be in class again on Friday. Those of you who were supposed to do the AF-10 poetry reading today (Wed.) will now be doing it on Friday.
I'll have more to say soon, but just am not feeling up to much at the moment. I mostly just wanted to get in touch and also to apologize to those of you who showed up for class this morning at 9 a.m. I've been told there was no notice on the door, even though I did contact the university at 7 a.m., around the same time I sent out an e-mail to everyone. I hope not all of you showed up or stuck around too long. I did my best, but sometimes, that's not enough, unfortunately.
I'll have to see how this whole sickness thing plays out and if it goes a while longer, I'll blog again as soon as possible. I'm also slogging my way through all those essays right now, so finding time to blog has been difficult.
Take care of you. Go listen to some good music. :-)
Gerard
I'll have more to say soon, but just am not feeling up to much at the moment. I mostly just wanted to get in touch and also to apologize to those of you who showed up for class this morning at 9 a.m. I've been told there was no notice on the door, even though I did contact the university at 7 a.m., around the same time I sent out an e-mail to everyone. I hope not all of you showed up or stuck around too long. I did my best, but sometimes, that's not enough, unfortunately.
I'll have to see how this whole sickness thing plays out and if it goes a while longer, I'll blog again as soon as possible. I'm also slogging my way through all those essays right now, so finding time to blog has been difficult.
Take care of you. Go listen to some good music. :-)
Gerard
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Last-minute thoughts about comparative analysis
I've got a little bit of a break from e-mails and other work, so I just wanted to share a few, brief thoughts about the comparative analysis essay that's due tomorrow for my English 1080 students.
First, in case there's any confusion, I'll repeat that the format of your essay should go something like this:
Paragraph #1: Introduction
Paragraph #2: Discuss Story A
Paragraph #3: Discuss Story B
Paragraph #4: Discuss Story A
Paragraph #5: Discuss Story B
Paragraph #6: Conclusion
Yes, you can have more than six paragraphs, if you choose.
Also, as I keep saying, it's NOT wrong to discuss both stories in the same paragraph. My point in suggesting a separation (one story per pargraph) is you need to give yourself time and space in which to fully explain your ideas. Sure, paragraphs #2 and #3 can go together, as can #4 and #5, but it's really not necessary. The problem most students have with comparative analysis is that they have so much to say that they wind up selling some of the discussion short. Remember: each paragraph should have topic sentence, evidence, and a full discussion of the evidence (which might even include reference to the other story, remarking how A and B are similar to each other). The main thing is not to let your paragraph get away from you. Yes, you can mention the other story, but don't let it take over your paragraph if you're supposed to be discussing Story A.
What should go in the Introductory Paragraph?
I would begin with a thesis statement that combines Story A and Story B, showing how they have one major, umbrella theme in common. The second sentence should be about Story A. The third sentence should be about Story B. The fourth sentence should combine A and B again, forming sort of secondary thesis statement, one that sums up what you're going to be proving in your essay.
Your essay should then follow through, paragraph by paragraph, on the main points you promised to discuss, according to your introductory paragraph.
Also, as I've already said in class:
1. No first drafts
2. Title pages are okay, but not necessary
3. Use a title of some kind.
4. Avoid using really long quotes. Use the parts you need, and make sure your quotation is done properly. Lead in to it, "just as I've said in class." (That was an example of a direct quote.)
5. Staple your pages.
6. Use 12-point Times New Roman font.
This might help some. Hope it does. For now, though, it's all I have time to write.
Gotta fetch my car from the garage. Life goes on.
Good luck on your papers, which are due at the beginning of class tomorrow.
GC
First, in case there's any confusion, I'll repeat that the format of your essay should go something like this:
Paragraph #1: Introduction
Paragraph #2: Discuss Story A
Paragraph #3: Discuss Story B
Paragraph #4: Discuss Story A
Paragraph #5: Discuss Story B
Paragraph #6: Conclusion
Yes, you can have more than six paragraphs, if you choose.
Also, as I keep saying, it's NOT wrong to discuss both stories in the same paragraph. My point in suggesting a separation (one story per pargraph) is you need to give yourself time and space in which to fully explain your ideas. Sure, paragraphs #2 and #3 can go together, as can #4 and #5, but it's really not necessary. The problem most students have with comparative analysis is that they have so much to say that they wind up selling some of the discussion short. Remember: each paragraph should have topic sentence, evidence, and a full discussion of the evidence (which might even include reference to the other story, remarking how A and B are similar to each other). The main thing is not to let your paragraph get away from you. Yes, you can mention the other story, but don't let it take over your paragraph if you're supposed to be discussing Story A.
What should go in the Introductory Paragraph?
I would begin with a thesis statement that combines Story A and Story B, showing how they have one major, umbrella theme in common. The second sentence should be about Story A. The third sentence should be about Story B. The fourth sentence should combine A and B again, forming sort of secondary thesis statement, one that sums up what you're going to be proving in your essay.
Your essay should then follow through, paragraph by paragraph, on the main points you promised to discuss, according to your introductory paragraph.
Also, as I've already said in class:
1. No first drafts
2. Title pages are okay, but not necessary
3. Use a title of some kind.
4. Avoid using really long quotes. Use the parts you need, and make sure your quotation is done properly. Lead in to it, "just as I've said in class." (That was an example of a direct quote.)
5. Staple your pages.
6. Use 12-point Times New Roman font.
This might help some. Hope it does. For now, though, it's all I have time to write.
Gotta fetch my car from the garage. Life goes on.
Good luck on your papers, which are due at the beginning of class tomorrow.
GC
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Hope you're enjoying Thanksgiving weekend. It's been a rainy, cold one here in St. John's, but it's sure nice to have a couple of days off from classes and grading essays.
I returned the marked essays in my English 1080 classes on Wednesday, so I imagine the shock has had a chance to settle in for most. As always, some people did way better than they expected, partly because expectations for first-time essays is generally low. Others certainly performed worse than they are used to, but most of the students who've contacted me are pretty realistic about it and know they just have some work to do. The most important thing, for me, is for you to know that grades almost always go up as the semester goes on. Of course, that depends on you--grades don't go up if you don't put in the work and pay attention to what I'm trying to teach you. That's just a natural law.
These weren't the best essays I've ever graded, but they were far from the worst. In fact, I was very encouraged, hoping to see an above-average number of A's and high B's this time around. The average number of A's, for what it's worth is anywhere from 1 to 3. But in any given semester there might be 4, 5, or 6. It really depends on the class itself. If I had 30 students in a class who deserved an A, I would have no trouble allotting them. That's just so you know. I have no expectations except that you will listen, work hard, and reap the benefits. And there's less than two months before the semester is over on December 4th. Now that's something to think about.
I told you I'd post the list of abbreviations I used (though I did explain them on the essays as well):
sp. means "spelling mistake"
t.s. means "tense shift"
c.s. means "comma splice"
s.f. means "sentence fragment"
Later, I'll post an explanation of what these terms actually mean and show you how you can fix them.
Other than that, I want to reinforce that I'm truly trying to teach you how to be better writers and thinkers. It's not about grades for me. You're at MUN to receive an education, and I want you to be able to look back on your three months in my class and say you learned something. If you can have some fun doing it or enjoy classes, that's bonus. To me, that's all a part of a good learning environment. But if you can learn something that will make you a better writer and perhaps help you see the world around you a little more clearly, then I've done something useful, and so have you. So let's work on it together. "The hour," as Dylan says, "is getting late." It always is.
That's all for now. It's Saturday night, and I'm going to get some fiction writing done before I settle in to watch some Leafs-Penguins action.
Happy Thanksgiving. Hope you've got a lot to be thankful for right now in your life and that you're the kind of person who is capable of being grateful for what you've got.
Talk to you again soon.
GC
I returned the marked essays in my English 1080 classes on Wednesday, so I imagine the shock has had a chance to settle in for most. As always, some people did way better than they expected, partly because expectations for first-time essays is generally low. Others certainly performed worse than they are used to, but most of the students who've contacted me are pretty realistic about it and know they just have some work to do. The most important thing, for me, is for you to know that grades almost always go up as the semester goes on. Of course, that depends on you--grades don't go up if you don't put in the work and pay attention to what I'm trying to teach you. That's just a natural law.
These weren't the best essays I've ever graded, but they were far from the worst. In fact, I was very encouraged, hoping to see an above-average number of A's and high B's this time around. The average number of A's, for what it's worth is anywhere from 1 to 3. But in any given semester there might be 4, 5, or 6. It really depends on the class itself. If I had 30 students in a class who deserved an A, I would have no trouble allotting them. That's just so you know. I have no expectations except that you will listen, work hard, and reap the benefits. And there's less than two months before the semester is over on December 4th. Now that's something to think about.
I told you I'd post the list of abbreviations I used (though I did explain them on the essays as well):
sp. means "spelling mistake"
t.s. means "tense shift"
c.s. means "comma splice"
s.f. means "sentence fragment"
Later, I'll post an explanation of what these terms actually mean and show you how you can fix them.
Other than that, I want to reinforce that I'm truly trying to teach you how to be better writers and thinkers. It's not about grades for me. You're at MUN to receive an education, and I want you to be able to look back on your three months in my class and say you learned something. If you can have some fun doing it or enjoy classes, that's bonus. To me, that's all a part of a good learning environment. But if you can learn something that will make you a better writer and perhaps help you see the world around you a little more clearly, then I've done something useful, and so have you. So let's work on it together. "The hour," as Dylan says, "is getting late." It always is.
That's all for now. It's Saturday night, and I'm going to get some fiction writing done before I settle in to watch some Leafs-Penguins action.
Happy Thanksgiving. Hope you've got a lot to be thankful for right now in your life and that you're the kind of person who is capable of being grateful for what you've got.
Talk to you again soon.
GC
Thursday, September 10, 2009
It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life...
Okay, so what happened to summer? I woke up this morning to find that everything was cold, just a couple of degrees away from frost on the ground and ice in the toilet. Seems I went to sleep in summer and woke up in autumn. It’s been cold for over a week now, and my brain has already clicked into autumn mode.
And so yesterday was the first day of classes at Memorial University. The strangest part about being back on campus was that it felt as if I’d never left. The summer was brutally short—I just have vague memories of a lot of writing and some family events, interspersed with cold weather and occasional warmth.
Walking from my office on the fourth floor of the Science Bldg. to my first class on the fourth floor of the Education Bldg., I was thinking about what I would say to my students. I mean, you walk into a class and see all these new faces, some eager to be starting something new and challenging, a new chapter in life, and others wishing to God they’d stayed in bed and maybe applied for the military or a Academy Canada. Sometimes, you get both, of course—the person who knows this is a great experience but already wishes it was Christmas so they could just go home and be with their families.
But it’s the same every fall. Mostly, the students have trepidations and yet are in this for the long haul, ready to get something out of it, knowing that—unlike high school—these really are the best years of most people’s lives. They really are. I don’t mean that every person’s experience is completely positive. Some people even go through some pretty serious stuff. But everything you do in first-year university is heightened and seen somewhat through a glass, darkly at times. It’s a bit like Christmas in that it doesn’t feel quite real to be here doing all this cool stuff and scary stuff and all the amazing thing you ever dreamed of, planning the rest of your life and hanging out with people of your choosing, rather than just the ones you happened to find yourself sharing a locker with or living next door to.
I know I’m an optimist, but I’m old enough now that I know it’s a permanent condition. Sure, I’m a realist and a skeptic. For example, I take a wait-and-see attitude towards ghosts, aliens, and the Maple Leafs ever winning the Stanley Cup again. And yet I’m optimistic enough to think that both ghosts and aliens could be out there somewhere. I just need to see for myself because I don’t rely much on other people’s experiences to inform my own reality.
But I do believe the best in people, and just from looking at the groups I have in my classes this year, I can already tell it’s going to be fun. It won’t all be great and there will be plenty of times of worry and concern, both for me and for my students, but I’m looking forward to an extremely enjoyable semester. Plenty of students smiled as I called their names and a lot of them stopped and said a few words or, again, just smiled on their way out the door. That lets me know that they’re at least not scared of me or of the situation—or if they are, they are at least willing to give it the old college try.
I’ve been told a lot in my teaching career that you should “never let them see you smile on the first day”. Well, you know what? That’s the most foolish piece of advice I’ve ever heard. To me, the best advice is to try to be natural and yourself, and that way you don’t have anything to make up for, or apologize for, later. Being yourself is probably about the hardest thing there is to be, especially in a public situation—and I’m not just talking about me. I’m mostly thinking about people in general and students in particular.
The hardest thing about it, really, is just figuring out who you are in the first place. And sometimes that is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing at this point, in first-year university: figuring out who you are. Sure, you have a good idea by now, or at least I hope so. But you’ll encounter a lot of course options, people options (should I sit near the same crowd as last time or find a crowd that at least has something in common with who I think I am?), credit card options (to apply, reject, spend, over-spend, pay the minimum, or pay it off completely each month), and what to do with your time (studying, working, playing, relaxing, movies, and any number of adult-type activities). It’s all up to you. And every choice you make, and how you ultimately react to the consequences of that choice, decide not only who you are, but who you are on your way to becoming.
I always pose a question to my students on the information sheet I asked you to fill out and pass in: “Why are you here?” Most just say they want to get an education and get a job. Many say they want to learn to be better writers. Others say they haven’t a clue while others say the course was recommended by a friend or family member. The occasional student says something about wanting to find out what to do with their lives and to experience as much as possible in life, including talking about great literature and great ideas. It’s all good. What I mostly look for is how you interpreted the question and whether you acknowledge or recognize that there are multiple possibilities available to you: choices. How you interpreted it says more about you than what you said.
The answers might change in time; they usually do. But the questions are often eternal.
Have a truly great semester.
If you’re one of my students this semester, keep checking back here now and again. There’ll be lots of stuff on here that might interest you or help you out a little in your endeavours to become a better writer and thinker.
If you’ve been following all along and are no longer a student of mine (or never were), hang in there. I’ll still be riffing on everything from why anyone should care about Jon and Kate marathons to why is Bob Dylan doing a Christmas album. Or maybe the questions themselves serve my purpose. Maybe it’s best not to dwell on certain subjects. Could lead to a headache.
Talk to you soon.
GC
And so yesterday was the first day of classes at Memorial University. The strangest part about being back on campus was that it felt as if I’d never left. The summer was brutally short—I just have vague memories of a lot of writing and some family events, interspersed with cold weather and occasional warmth.
Walking from my office on the fourth floor of the Science Bldg. to my first class on the fourth floor of the Education Bldg., I was thinking about what I would say to my students. I mean, you walk into a class and see all these new faces, some eager to be starting something new and challenging, a new chapter in life, and others wishing to God they’d stayed in bed and maybe applied for the military or a Academy Canada. Sometimes, you get both, of course—the person who knows this is a great experience but already wishes it was Christmas so they could just go home and be with their families.
But it’s the same every fall. Mostly, the students have trepidations and yet are in this for the long haul, ready to get something out of it, knowing that—unlike high school—these really are the best years of most people’s lives. They really are. I don’t mean that every person’s experience is completely positive. Some people even go through some pretty serious stuff. But everything you do in first-year university is heightened and seen somewhat through a glass, darkly at times. It’s a bit like Christmas in that it doesn’t feel quite real to be here doing all this cool stuff and scary stuff and all the amazing thing you ever dreamed of, planning the rest of your life and hanging out with people of your choosing, rather than just the ones you happened to find yourself sharing a locker with or living next door to.
I know I’m an optimist, but I’m old enough now that I know it’s a permanent condition. Sure, I’m a realist and a skeptic. For example, I take a wait-and-see attitude towards ghosts, aliens, and the Maple Leafs ever winning the Stanley Cup again. And yet I’m optimistic enough to think that both ghosts and aliens could be out there somewhere. I just need to see for myself because I don’t rely much on other people’s experiences to inform my own reality.
But I do believe the best in people, and just from looking at the groups I have in my classes this year, I can already tell it’s going to be fun. It won’t all be great and there will be plenty of times of worry and concern, both for me and for my students, but I’m looking forward to an extremely enjoyable semester. Plenty of students smiled as I called their names and a lot of them stopped and said a few words or, again, just smiled on their way out the door. That lets me know that they’re at least not scared of me or of the situation—or if they are, they are at least willing to give it the old college try.
I’ve been told a lot in my teaching career that you should “never let them see you smile on the first day”. Well, you know what? That’s the most foolish piece of advice I’ve ever heard. To me, the best advice is to try to be natural and yourself, and that way you don’t have anything to make up for, or apologize for, later. Being yourself is probably about the hardest thing there is to be, especially in a public situation—and I’m not just talking about me. I’m mostly thinking about people in general and students in particular.
The hardest thing about it, really, is just figuring out who you are in the first place. And sometimes that is exactly what you’re supposed to be doing at this point, in first-year university: figuring out who you are. Sure, you have a good idea by now, or at least I hope so. But you’ll encounter a lot of course options, people options (should I sit near the same crowd as last time or find a crowd that at least has something in common with who I think I am?), credit card options (to apply, reject, spend, over-spend, pay the minimum, or pay it off completely each month), and what to do with your time (studying, working, playing, relaxing, movies, and any number of adult-type activities). It’s all up to you. And every choice you make, and how you ultimately react to the consequences of that choice, decide not only who you are, but who you are on your way to becoming.
I always pose a question to my students on the information sheet I asked you to fill out and pass in: “Why are you here?” Most just say they want to get an education and get a job. Many say they want to learn to be better writers. Others say they haven’t a clue while others say the course was recommended by a friend or family member. The occasional student says something about wanting to find out what to do with their lives and to experience as much as possible in life, including talking about great literature and great ideas. It’s all good. What I mostly look for is how you interpreted the question and whether you acknowledge or recognize that there are multiple possibilities available to you: choices. How you interpreted it says more about you than what you said.
The answers might change in time; they usually do. But the questions are often eternal.
Have a truly great semester.
If you’re one of my students this semester, keep checking back here now and again. There’ll be lots of stuff on here that might interest you or help you out a little in your endeavours to become a better writer and thinker.
If you’ve been following all along and are no longer a student of mine (or never were), hang in there. I’ll still be riffing on everything from why anyone should care about Jon and Kate marathons to why is Bob Dylan doing a Christmas album. Or maybe the questions themselves serve my purpose. Maybe it’s best not to dwell on certain subjects. Could lead to a headache.
Talk to you soon.
GC
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Could be fun.
"Summer has come to pass/the innocence can never last/ Wake me up when September ends."
Yeah, I guess that's my mood at the moment. Where the heck did summer go?
Oh yeah, I was busy. Can't believe I never did take a vacation this year. I started out with good intentions. Back in early May, I had eye surgery to make me see better, but that didn't quite work out. For two months, I couldn't drive and, worse, wasn't able to read. The driving has come back, but the reading is still pretty iffy, though it's a lot better than it was. Might still need reading glasses when all is said and done just to get through all those essays and, of course, the literature itself when I start teaching next week. It's a bummer, but that's life. So now I can see the color of a mosquito's irises 100 yards away, but if he comes up close I can't even tell what kind of creature he is. Sort of a good news/bad news situation.
Somehow during June, I was able to finish my short story collection. I wasn't able to read/revise/edit my own work very well, but I managed, and I hope prospective editors will forgive any grammatical and spelling errors. First time in my life I've ever really had to contend with those. But I feel good about getting the collection (called Moonlight Sketches, as I've mentioned before) out to publishers. It makes for a good summer's work.
The novel is coming along, but it obviously won't be done before Sept. 9 when I start teaching, so I'll be working on that as the semester goes along (yeah, right).
Other than that, I did do some acting this summer. I spent one entire 11-hour day on the set of The Republic of Doyle, doing some stints as a security guard. It was kinda cool, dressing in the uniform, wearing the bulletproof vest (might like to have one of those for those really hard days), the walkie-talkie, the big ol' hat, and all the rest. They shot me in a couple of scenes that included Shaun Majumner from "This Hour Has 22 Minutes"), but I have no idea if they'll actually use them. They promise they'll call again, but they've only called once and I wasn't able to make it. The best part was hanging out on the set all day, though it was pretty long and occasionally boring. I met lots of new people who all had different reasons for trying their hand at being an "extra" on a nationally broadcast t.v. show. Some were serious actors while others were just looking for a cool experience. As for me, I was just looking for the experience and to see if I liked it enough to want to do more. I did like it and, in fact, spent an entire week this summer rehearsing lines for an audtion for a speaking role. I didn't get the part (for various reasons, I'm sure) but it was fun to try and to stretch myself in that way. I've always wanted to give it a go, wondered if I even had to capacity to remember lines and to give them the proper inflection and facial expression to be an "actor". Now I don't have to spend the rest of my life wondering if I should give it a try. The answer is: of course.
I'm also working on a short film for a director-friend, but that has yet to really start shooting. Probably this fall.
So for those of you wondering what I did all summer, now you know: writing, acting, hanging out, lots of barbecues, beaches, long walks, playing some music, and, of course, running. Love running in warm weather. Not so fond of the cool weather jogging. It makes me wish I was wearing mittens and a snow suit.
So now it's September, and it's back to teaching. What a bizarre transition that will be, not just for me but (I'm sure) for all my students as well. More to say on that next week. But for now, I just thought I'd say hi to all of you who've been reading this blog all summer--despite my neglect of it-- and welcome to autumn. It's my favorite time of year, so that makes up for a lot. Plus, I'm looking forward to seeing a lot of the old familiar faces and a multitude of fresh, mostly eager faces as well.
Could be fun.
GC
Yeah, I guess that's my mood at the moment. Where the heck did summer go?
Oh yeah, I was busy. Can't believe I never did take a vacation this year. I started out with good intentions. Back in early May, I had eye surgery to make me see better, but that didn't quite work out. For two months, I couldn't drive and, worse, wasn't able to read. The driving has come back, but the reading is still pretty iffy, though it's a lot better than it was. Might still need reading glasses when all is said and done just to get through all those essays and, of course, the literature itself when I start teaching next week. It's a bummer, but that's life. So now I can see the color of a mosquito's irises 100 yards away, but if he comes up close I can't even tell what kind of creature he is. Sort of a good news/bad news situation.
Somehow during June, I was able to finish my short story collection. I wasn't able to read/revise/edit my own work very well, but I managed, and I hope prospective editors will forgive any grammatical and spelling errors. First time in my life I've ever really had to contend with those. But I feel good about getting the collection (called Moonlight Sketches, as I've mentioned before) out to publishers. It makes for a good summer's work.
The novel is coming along, but it obviously won't be done before Sept. 9 when I start teaching, so I'll be working on that as the semester goes along (yeah, right).
Other than that, I did do some acting this summer. I spent one entire 11-hour day on the set of The Republic of Doyle, doing some stints as a security guard. It was kinda cool, dressing in the uniform, wearing the bulletproof vest (might like to have one of those for those really hard days), the walkie-talkie, the big ol' hat, and all the rest. They shot me in a couple of scenes that included Shaun Majumner from "This Hour Has 22 Minutes"), but I have no idea if they'll actually use them. They promise they'll call again, but they've only called once and I wasn't able to make it. The best part was hanging out on the set all day, though it was pretty long and occasionally boring. I met lots of new people who all had different reasons for trying their hand at being an "extra" on a nationally broadcast t.v. show. Some were serious actors while others were just looking for a cool experience. As for me, I was just looking for the experience and to see if I liked it enough to want to do more. I did like it and, in fact, spent an entire week this summer rehearsing lines for an audtion for a speaking role. I didn't get the part (for various reasons, I'm sure) but it was fun to try and to stretch myself in that way. I've always wanted to give it a go, wondered if I even had to capacity to remember lines and to give them the proper inflection and facial expression to be an "actor". Now I don't have to spend the rest of my life wondering if I should give it a try. The answer is: of course.
I'm also working on a short film for a director-friend, but that has yet to really start shooting. Probably this fall.
So for those of you wondering what I did all summer, now you know: writing, acting, hanging out, lots of barbecues, beaches, long walks, playing some music, and, of course, running. Love running in warm weather. Not so fond of the cool weather jogging. It makes me wish I was wearing mittens and a snow suit.
So now it's September, and it's back to teaching. What a bizarre transition that will be, not just for me but (I'm sure) for all my students as well. More to say on that next week. But for now, I just thought I'd say hi to all of you who've been reading this blog all summer--despite my neglect of it-- and welcome to autumn. It's my favorite time of year, so that makes up for a lot. Plus, I'm looking forward to seeing a lot of the old familiar faces and a multitude of fresh, mostly eager faces as well.
Could be fun.
GC
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
How I’m Spending My Summer Vacation
Well, it’s the end of another summer month and, though I still haven’t taken a vacation, it’s been a pretty good run. The weather’s been cracked, but that’s not new. Mostly, I’ve spent the summer so far working on my writing. I finally got my short story collection finished once and for all and shipped off to a prospective publisher. It might take a while to publish because short story collections are a tough sell. So you might ask: why write one if it doesn’t sell?
Fact is, I didn’t start out wanting to write a short story collection. Heck, about seven or eight years ago, I didn’t even consider myself a short story writer. I write novels, so I figured the best way to learn how to write novels is to actually write novels. Writing short stories will only teach you how to write short stories.
That might still be true, but it does teach you to be a better writer. There’s a challenge in writing a short story that is totally different from writing a novel. Don’t get me wrong—writing a novel is still a lot harder simply because of the sheer effort, discipline, and sustained creativity it takes. But the short story requires focus, storytelling skills, and attention to the perfect word choice.
A few years ago, one of my stories (about a fictional town called Darwin) won an arts and letters award. Then, the next year, I wrote a novel about Darwin that won the Percy Janes Award for an unpublished manuscript. But I still had tons of Darwin stories to tell. Three more years in a row (2006, 2007, and 2008), I wrote brand new Darwin stories just before the deadline and submitted them to the arts and letters awards, and each one of them won. So, really, around 2006 or so I started realizing that I was working on a collection. Last year, I got an arts grant to finish the project, and I did. I wrote a bunch of new stories, and this year, still not satisfied with the quality, I wrote several new stories. On and on it went until, at last, I finished it this summer. Now the waiting begins. It won’t be easy to sell it, but I’ve got a list of publishers I want to sell it to.
Meanwhile, I’ve had interest from an agent in B.C. about a gothic novel I’m working on called “The Two Sisters,” so that’s what I’m working on now every day. For an unpublished novelist, it’s a rare thing to get that kind of interest for a book that hasn’t even been written yet, so I’m stoked to try and get it done by the end of summer.
Beyond that, I’m acting in a short film for a friend who’s making her very first film. It’s a good match because it’s my first time acting. I’m not sure I’m any good at it, but I’m at least enjoying it. It’s a film noir kind of thing, set in a 1940s sort of St. John’s, a bit of a parody of classic films like Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon. Just my kind of thing. There’s other acting stuff too, and hopefully I can talk about that in a later blog.
It’s been a busy summer—looking for a house too, which is time-consuming, but the thing is to just roll with it and enjoy the process, like everything else. Que sera, sera.
There’s a whole month left in this thing, and I intend to enjoy every bit of it. Hope you do too! I’m looking forward to the fall semester, but as The Trews say: “I’m not ready to go!”
Fact is, I didn’t start out wanting to write a short story collection. Heck, about seven or eight years ago, I didn’t even consider myself a short story writer. I write novels, so I figured the best way to learn how to write novels is to actually write novels. Writing short stories will only teach you how to write short stories.
That might still be true, but it does teach you to be a better writer. There’s a challenge in writing a short story that is totally different from writing a novel. Don’t get me wrong—writing a novel is still a lot harder simply because of the sheer effort, discipline, and sustained creativity it takes. But the short story requires focus, storytelling skills, and attention to the perfect word choice.
A few years ago, one of my stories (about a fictional town called Darwin) won an arts and letters award. Then, the next year, I wrote a novel about Darwin that won the Percy Janes Award for an unpublished manuscript. But I still had tons of Darwin stories to tell. Three more years in a row (2006, 2007, and 2008), I wrote brand new Darwin stories just before the deadline and submitted them to the arts and letters awards, and each one of them won. So, really, around 2006 or so I started realizing that I was working on a collection. Last year, I got an arts grant to finish the project, and I did. I wrote a bunch of new stories, and this year, still not satisfied with the quality, I wrote several new stories. On and on it went until, at last, I finished it this summer. Now the waiting begins. It won’t be easy to sell it, but I’ve got a list of publishers I want to sell it to.
Meanwhile, I’ve had interest from an agent in B.C. about a gothic novel I’m working on called “The Two Sisters,” so that’s what I’m working on now every day. For an unpublished novelist, it’s a rare thing to get that kind of interest for a book that hasn’t even been written yet, so I’m stoked to try and get it done by the end of summer.
Beyond that, I’m acting in a short film for a friend who’s making her very first film. It’s a good match because it’s my first time acting. I’m not sure I’m any good at it, but I’m at least enjoying it. It’s a film noir kind of thing, set in a 1940s sort of St. John’s, a bit of a parody of classic films like Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon. Just my kind of thing. There’s other acting stuff too, and hopefully I can talk about that in a later blog.
It’s been a busy summer—looking for a house too, which is time-consuming, but the thing is to just roll with it and enjoy the process, like everything else. Que sera, sera.
There’s a whole month left in this thing, and I intend to enjoy every bit of it. Hope you do too! I’m looking forward to the fall semester, but as The Trews say: “I’m not ready to go!”
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Show Must Go On
I figured it was about time I blogged again. It's been a strange summer, but then living in St. John's, Newfoundland, it's always a strange summer. The weather has been more like autumn, and not a very nice autumn at that. Tons o' fog and drizzle, heavy rain, some thunder and lightning, and even a few really nice days.
All this blah weather does strange things to the head. This morning, I'm trying to write a new short story for an idea that's been stuck in my head all week. I'm all finished my short story collection called Moonlight Sketches, but I can't help feel that it needs one more story, something that it's missing to make it feel more complete. My brain is stuck in sleepy mode, though, with the road crews working outside my office window, and I just can't seem to get anything worthwhile down on the screen. So I figured a little blogging wouldn't hurt.
I've sorely neglected this blog for a few weeks now, not for lack of anything to say but simply for lack of time. The media seems enthralled by the whole Michael Jackson fiasco, but I find I can't work up any enthusiasm or feeling.
He died while I was out having coffee with a friend of mine who's going through a rough time of it. I got home about ten thirty or so to find out that MJ had kicked the proverbial bucket. My response was "Oh." No surprise. I guess he was talented, but his carnival personality over-shadowed all that. It gets really hard to separate one from the other, and so my feeling is that, yeah, he had a lot of talent for music, but he didn't endear himself to me with anything else, so why should I give a rat's behind?
The thing is, I genuinely care about humanity--the lost tribe. Most people, as Thoreau said, do live lives of quiet desperation, and I think Michael Jackson was one of those. How could he not be? Assuming he's human, of course. He'd write songs saying, "Leave me alone!" and then he'd dangle a child over a balcony like she was part of a Cirque du Soleil trapeze act. (Great show, by the way. The Cirque, not Michael, I mean.) He'd complain, "Nobody understands me!" and then he'd pose for pictures with Bubbles the Chimp on the Neverland Ranch or go shopping with his mask on and a full entourage in the middle of Beverly Hills. Or he'd give interviews and then refuse to answer questions, or just give daffy answers that made you think the guy was mental.
Fine. He was mental. He possibly did have severe psychological problems. To which I say, so what?
As for the child molestation charges, I don't know what to believe, but I can't deny that they have tainted whatever opinion I might have had about the man. I try to be objective, but who can manage that, given all the circumstances and conjecture? If he was the kind of person who was capable of looking you, or the camera, straight in the eye, and explaining how it all went down and that he was perfectly innocent in every sense of the word, then I could probably say he was as victimized as anyone. Fact is, I don't know that.
So I'm left feeling nothing about whole thing. Not conflicted, not bemused, not perplexed or even numb. Just indifferent.
May he rest in peace. And may that be said for any man or woman or child who ultimately succumbs to the inevitable good night. Farrah Fawcett (I remember doing a jigsaw puzzle with her and the other Angels on it). Ed McMahon. That "pitch" guy who died last week. Karl Malden (my dad and I used to watch him on "The Streets of San Francisco" when I was a kid). And anyone else I may have missed. Oh, and then there's David Carradine. I hope he's thanking MJ, wherever they both are. For a while, the media was about to swallow its own tongue in excitement over the whole Carradine auto-erotic asphyxiation thing (allegedly). But as soon as MJ died, they forgot all about the sordid Bangkok affair, at least for now.
And now MJ sells more albums in death than he did in life. Now who could have seen that one coming?
Who among us would be totally shocked if it turned out next week that MJ actually faked his own death so he could be like Elvis, the other "king"?
I'm not saying he did, but I'm just saying that this circus has gone on way too long, and I wouldn't put anything past him or his money-grabbing people. Nothing.
Enjoy the show.
I think I've cleared my brain enough to be able to do some fiction writing now. No crowds, please, and no pictures. Nothing to see here. Just a man at work.
GC
All this blah weather does strange things to the head. This morning, I'm trying to write a new short story for an idea that's been stuck in my head all week. I'm all finished my short story collection called Moonlight Sketches, but I can't help feel that it needs one more story, something that it's missing to make it feel more complete. My brain is stuck in sleepy mode, though, with the road crews working outside my office window, and I just can't seem to get anything worthwhile down on the screen. So I figured a little blogging wouldn't hurt.
I've sorely neglected this blog for a few weeks now, not for lack of anything to say but simply for lack of time. The media seems enthralled by the whole Michael Jackson fiasco, but I find I can't work up any enthusiasm or feeling.
He died while I was out having coffee with a friend of mine who's going through a rough time of it. I got home about ten thirty or so to find out that MJ had kicked the proverbial bucket. My response was "Oh." No surprise. I guess he was talented, but his carnival personality over-shadowed all that. It gets really hard to separate one from the other, and so my feeling is that, yeah, he had a lot of talent for music, but he didn't endear himself to me with anything else, so why should I give a rat's behind?The thing is, I genuinely care about humanity--the lost tribe. Most people, as Thoreau said, do live lives of quiet desperation, and I think Michael Jackson was one of those. How could he not be? Assuming he's human, of course. He'd write songs saying, "Leave me alone!" and then he'd dangle a child over a balcony like she was part of a Cirque du Soleil trapeze act. (Great show, by the way. The Cirque, not Michael, I mean.) He'd complain, "Nobody understands me!" and then he'd pose for pictures with Bubbles the Chimp on the Neverland Ranch or go shopping with his mask on and a full entourage in the middle of Beverly Hills. Or he'd give interviews and then refuse to answer questions, or just give daffy answers that made you think the guy was mental.
Fine. He was mental. He possibly did have severe psychological problems. To which I say, so what?
As for the child molestation charges, I don't know what to believe, but I can't deny that they have tainted whatever opinion I might have had about the man. I try to be objective, but who can manage that, given all the circumstances and conjecture? If he was the kind of person who was capable of looking you, or the camera, straight in the eye, and explaining how it all went down and that he was perfectly innocent in every sense of the word, then I could probably say he was as victimized as anyone. Fact is, I don't know that.
So I'm left feeling nothing about whole thing. Not conflicted, not bemused, not perplexed or even numb. Just indifferent.
May he rest in peace. And may that be said for any man or woman or child who ultimately succumbs to the inevitable good night. Farrah Fawcett (I remember doing a jigsaw puzzle with her and the other Angels on it). Ed McMahon. That "pitch" guy who died last week. Karl Malden (my dad and I used to watch him on "The Streets of San Francisco" when I was a kid). And anyone else I may have missed. Oh, and then there's David Carradine. I hope he's thanking MJ, wherever they both are. For a while, the media was about to swallow its own tongue in excitement over the whole Carradine auto-erotic asphyxiation thing (allegedly). But as soon as MJ died, they forgot all about the sordid Bangkok affair, at least for now.
And now MJ sells more albums in death than he did in life. Now who could have seen that one coming?
Who among us would be totally shocked if it turned out next week that MJ actually faked his own death so he could be like Elvis, the other "king"?
I'm not saying he did, but I'm just saying that this circus has gone on way too long, and I wouldn't put anything past him or his money-grabbing people. Nothing.
Enjoy the show.
I think I've cleared my brain enough to be able to do some fiction writing now. No crowds, please, and no pictures. Nothing to see here. Just a man at work.
GC
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
First Taste of Summer
found myself on a beachskimming flat stones
on the surface
against the inrushing north atlantic
one threatening august afternoon
while smelly kelp wrappers clung to my heels like memories of you to my head
and broke
with a hiss on the sand
stealing pebbles unnoticed
leaving flotsam jetsam driftwood and more
than it could ever take
while smelly kelp wrappers clung to my heels like
memories of you to
me.
(from "Found Myself On a Beach" by Gerard Collins, August 2002)
At least for now, it feels like summer. It’s been the warmest and sunniest Victoria Day weekend we’ve had in a lot of years, and I took full advantage. We didn’t go camping or anything silly like that. As much as I love the outdoors, the idea of sleeping on the ground has lost its appeal for me.
It just doesn’t make sense to me like it did when I was younger. Back then, I didn’t care where I slept—the more uncomfortable and less familiar, the better. But now, I like familiar, comfortable sleeping accommodations, preferably a good motel or a five-star hotel.Sure, I used to see the appeal of camping. There’s nothing like a couple of days of getting away from civilization and all its trappings to remind you of your place in the world, of who you are, and you who started out
to want to be. There’s also the wide open space, the big sky, and, of course the fishing—trouting, to be more exact. Even though I haven’t eaten red meat or poultry in over ten years, I still love a good meal of trout, preferably cooked over an open fire or at least on a barbecue. Of course, there’s also the time alone, without cellphones, iPods, cameras, computers, or four-slice toasters. Yeah, right. I’m sure most people still take all of those thinks with them when they camp, especially if they’re travelling in a recreational vehicle.
to want to be. There’s also the wide open space, the big sky, and, of course the fishing—trouting, to be more exact. Even though I haven’t eaten red meat or poultry in over ten years, I still love a good meal of trout, preferably cooked over an open fire or at least on a barbecue. Of course, there’s also the time alone, without cellphones, iPods, cameras, computers, or four-slice toasters. Yeah, right. I’m sure most people still take all of those thinks with them when they camp, especially if they’re travelling in a recreational vehicle.I think it’s mostly the lack of rules, the breaking of the daily tedium that appeals to most people. That said, my wife and I went to the beach Sunday morning, just because it was early and we figured no one else would be there. For close to an hour, we had it all to ourselves. But it was a beautiful day and by the time we left, there were dozens of people and their dogs, all trying to capture a little bit of the outdoors, all looking to break up the routine and get some sun on their faces. Can’t say I blame them.
There is nothing like a beach—unless it’s the quiet of the woods (which I actually prefer)—to help you get your thoughts straight and help you shed a few layers of civility. Beaches never fail to make me nostalgic and to clarify my thinking about something I’m working on or didn’t know I was working on. With their proximity to the ocean, and the surf rushing in on the tide, there is something cleansing and spiritual about a beach. I don’t mean “God” exactly; I mean, if I was looking for my soul, I think that’s where I would find it. I could sit for hours, just listening to the rush and hiss of the water to the shore, and the receding of the waves back to where they came from. And in the process, life somehow looks different. Either sillier or less important, or just different.After a day at the beach, a pancake brunch at my sister-in-law’s, and an evening barbecue at my brother-in-law’s, I feel tired but revitalized. I’m writing this week, as I have been for the past couple of weeks. I had a 
novel that I thought was finished, but had a sudden epiphany about it, and so I’m working on that. Sometimes you just don’t know where life, or summer, is going to take you.
novel that I thought was finished, but had a sudden epiphany about it, and so I’m working on that. Sometimes you just don’t know where life, or summer, is going to take you.Peace.
Monday, April 27, 2009
First Week
Where was I? Oh, yeah. It’s the end of the semester, and I can’t believe the end of April is in sight. The last couple of weeks have been a blur.
After grading the final exams, I have to say that, overall, I was very impressed. A lot of students wrote the best essays they’ve written all semester, which made me feel good. Believe me, it was hard keeping that information to myself. If I wasn’t forbidden from doing so, I would have e-mailed you just to say, “Guess what you did?”
Granted, there were others who were verging on a crash all semester long and who did a free-fall on the day of the exam. For some reason, people sat for two and a half hours and only managed to write a few lines for both essays. As I’ve said from the first day of classes, I can only grade what’s on the page, and if you didn’t give me enough to justify passing you, then I’m sorry. I have to live with my decisions and to be able to sleep at night. I don’t take these matters lightly. But, on the other hand, if you’re one of those students who knows in your heart you just didn’t give it your best effort this term or on the final exam, you are hopefully adult enough to understand that there are no free passes. There is only a certain amount I am willing to take responsibility for. What’s mine is mine, but sometimes there’s stuff that’s not mine. That’s what helps me sleep, especially when I’d prefer to just give everyone an automatic pass anyway.
But that wouldn’t be fair to those of you who worked awfully hard right to the very end of the term. For some of you, the final exam was your chance to show all that you learned in three months. If you attended classes nearly every day and always came prepared, tried to have an opinion on the literature, honestly tried to understand and to come and talk to me if you were having a problem, then you passed. It’s just natural selection.
Enough of all that. I’m tired. You’re tired. It’s time to move on. Grades are available on line this week (possibly today, though I’m not completely sure), and my part in your life will officially be over. I can’t say I’m always happy about that. I like for the semester to end so that I can get on with other things in my life. But I like it when students maintain a connection over the years ahead. It happens a lot, but not nearly enough.
A special note for my English 1080 class this semester: You were easily one of my favorite classes of all time. Most of you, I will never forget. You know who you are.
For those of you whom I got to know this term on a more personal level, it was absolutely my pleasure both to help in any way I could and to get to know you. I enjoy that part of my job more than any other.
It’s been about a week since my grades were finalized and my part of the winter semester of ’09 was done. Since then, I’ve been shredding papers, organizing files, getting my life together. It all tends to be put on hold while I’m teaching and now is time to move forward, into the great wide open.
I attended a book launch last week. Mike Heffernan’s astounding book , Rig: An Oral History of the Ocean Ranger was officially released. I had the pleasure of introducing the author, as well as speaking to many fine people in the local publishing and writing community that evening, including the indomitable Helen Porter (writer), the gracious and talented Lisa Moore (novelist), the affable and also immensely talented Russell Wangersky (writer and publisher), and several people with direct connections to the Ocean Ranger itself. The story these latter people have to tell is still just as enthralling and just as vital as it would have been twenty-seven years ago, which is why Mike’s book is so important to our culture. Mike has become a friend in the past couple of years and I hope we can find some other project to work on in future. I also met his father at the book launch, and he reminded me a little of my own father—a quick wit and a twinkle in his eye, he seemed like a very kind man.
Attending this event was important for me in another way, too, though. It means I am getting back to my other self—the self I am when I’m not teaching. I’m a writer, and sometimes it’s good for me to surround myself with people who think the same way (more or less) and understand what it’s like to be someone who aspires to put the world into words, to dress it in the language that best describes it.
I will be a writer all summer long. It’s been slow going in the past week, but today I’m off to a good start. Just writing this blog entry is a sign that the fog is beginning to lift from my brain and I’m beginning to see things more clearly. Clarity is necessary in order to write well.
And, of course, writing is necessary in order to achieve clarity sometimes. At least for me it is.
Over the coming weeks of spring and (dare I say) summer, I’ll be writing more about writing. I have a couple of novels to finish, as well as a short story collection that still needs a good story or two, and, if I’m lucky, I have another story that needs telling in the form of a novella. More on these as the days go by. I’ll also likely have a few observations and opinions to share about life, politics, culture, t.v., sports, the movies, and anything else that comes into my head.
For now, I’m just glad the sun is shining and fleeting time seems to have paused for a while.
Have a fantastic summer. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
GC
After grading the final exams, I have to say that, overall, I was very impressed. A lot of students wrote the best essays they’ve written all semester, which made me feel good. Believe me, it was hard keeping that information to myself. If I wasn’t forbidden from doing so, I would have e-mailed you just to say, “Guess what you did?”
Granted, there were others who were verging on a crash all semester long and who did a free-fall on the day of the exam. For some reason, people sat for two and a half hours and only managed to write a few lines for both essays. As I’ve said from the first day of classes, I can only grade what’s on the page, and if you didn’t give me enough to justify passing you, then I’m sorry. I have to live with my decisions and to be able to sleep at night. I don’t take these matters lightly. But, on the other hand, if you’re one of those students who knows in your heart you just didn’t give it your best effort this term or on the final exam, you are hopefully adult enough to understand that there are no free passes. There is only a certain amount I am willing to take responsibility for. What’s mine is mine, but sometimes there’s stuff that’s not mine. That’s what helps me sleep, especially when I’d prefer to just give everyone an automatic pass anyway.
But that wouldn’t be fair to those of you who worked awfully hard right to the very end of the term. For some of you, the final exam was your chance to show all that you learned in three months. If you attended classes nearly every day and always came prepared, tried to have an opinion on the literature, honestly tried to understand and to come and talk to me if you were having a problem, then you passed. It’s just natural selection.
Enough of all that. I’m tired. You’re tired. It’s time to move on. Grades are available on line this week (possibly today, though I’m not completely sure), and my part in your life will officially be over. I can’t say I’m always happy about that. I like for the semester to end so that I can get on with other things in my life. But I like it when students maintain a connection over the years ahead. It happens a lot, but not nearly enough.
A special note for my English 1080 class this semester: You were easily one of my favorite classes of all time. Most of you, I will never forget. You know who you are.
For those of you whom I got to know this term on a more personal level, it was absolutely my pleasure both to help in any way I could and to get to know you. I enjoy that part of my job more than any other.
It’s been about a week since my grades were finalized and my part of the winter semester of ’09 was done. Since then, I’ve been shredding papers, organizing files, getting my life together. It all tends to be put on hold while I’m teaching and now is time to move forward, into the great wide open.
I attended a book launch last week. Mike Heffernan’s astounding book , Rig: An Oral History of the Ocean Ranger was officially released. I had the pleasure of introducing the author, as well as speaking to many fine people in the local publishing and writing community that evening, including the indomitable Helen Porter (writer), the gracious and talented Lisa Moore (novelist), the affable and also immensely talented Russell Wangersky (writer and publisher), and several people with direct connections to the Ocean Ranger itself. The story these latter people have to tell is still just as enthralling and just as vital as it would have been twenty-seven years ago, which is why Mike’s book is so important to our culture. Mike has become a friend in the past couple of years and I hope we can find some other project to work on in future. I also met his father at the book launch, and he reminded me a little of my own father—a quick wit and a twinkle in his eye, he seemed like a very kind man.
Attending this event was important for me in another way, too, though. It means I am getting back to my other self—the self I am when I’m not teaching. I’m a writer, and sometimes it’s good for me to surround myself with people who think the same way (more or less) and understand what it’s like to be someone who aspires to put the world into words, to dress it in the language that best describes it.
I will be a writer all summer long. It’s been slow going in the past week, but today I’m off to a good start. Just writing this blog entry is a sign that the fog is beginning to lift from my brain and I’m beginning to see things more clearly. Clarity is necessary in order to write well.
And, of course, writing is necessary in order to achieve clarity sometimes. At least for me it is.
Over the coming weeks of spring and (dare I say) summer, I’ll be writing more about writing. I have a couple of novels to finish, as well as a short story collection that still needs a good story or two, and, if I’m lucky, I have another story that needs telling in the form of a novella. More on these as the days go by. I’ll also likely have a few observations and opinions to share about life, politics, culture, t.v., sports, the movies, and anything else that comes into my head.
For now, I’m just glad the sun is shining and fleeting time seems to have paused for a while.
Have a fantastic summer. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.
GC
Monday, April 13, 2009
Famous Final Scene (A Twice-told Tale)
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, a couple of years ago, 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.” Of course, we know how that test turned out.
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 clichés, 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 just past the middle of the gymnasium, 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 (or, in poetry, know your speaker), 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 either of these exams tomorrow (either 1101 or 1080), I simply would know the novels, stories, and/or poems really well. You can pretty much guess what the questions will be, more or less.
Go through each character in each story 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. In 1101, that's the Draper Doyles and the Aunt Phils, the Dr. Jekylls and the Mr. Uttersons and the Edward Hydes. In 1080, that's the Grandmothers and Misfits, the Elisas and the tinkers. And who are all those minor characters? The thieves in The Road and the Father Seymours? The Henry Clervals and the Elizabeth Frankensteins (1101), not to mention (in 1080) Mangan's sister and the Red Sammy Butt! 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.…could it be...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-determination! Freedom! Peace of mind! As elusive as it is. As impossible as it is.
It might even be that the thing we 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. And yet we invent ways to give our freedom away. To a certain extent, as in Blake's "London," we are born into it--like the Harlot's Infant (or, appropriately, Draper Doyle in The Divine Ryans) in that poem--but we are also slaves to our mind-forg'd manacles, to our ideas of right and wrong, God and faith, good and bad.
Sometimes a character attempts to go beyond his boundaries (Young Goodman Brown and the boy in "Araby," or Victor Frankenstein and Henry Jekyll), and what they find is that there are no boundaries--no actual limits, but the transgression of percieved limits comes with consequences. Of course it's only a transgression if you think of such self-imposed or culture-prescribed limitations as moral boundaries. Freedom of thought and action comes with built-in responsibility--unless you're The Misfit or the bad guys in McCarthy's novel. But there still is freedom, if only you can see it. The manacles are forged by the mind, for sure, but when the institutions to whom we've entrusted our freedom fail us, where else can we look to for answers but ourselves? That's what most characters, of novel, of poetry, or of story, face: when you look into the deep, dark woods, who is looking back at you?
And if you see yourself looking back, judging, assessing: who are you, exactly? What does Gabriel Utterson see when he looks into the mirror, in the form of Henry Jekyll? Who does the Grandmother O'Connor's short story think she is? Who is the man in The Road, really, and why does Young Goodman Brown really go into those woods? They are seeking and yet all hiding, at the same time. What we all want most to be understood, but what we all fear most is to be understood. Even by ourselves. Do our thoughts decide who we are, or do our actions define us?
Speaking of which, tomorrow you'll be asked to illustrate comprehension about some stories and/or poems you've read, as well as about the human condition. Seize the opportunity. Carpe diem! Don’t be afraid to say something wrong. Say what’s in your heart to say. But say it in an intelligent, controlled, articulate way: otherwise, it’s like a king in the back row, a bullet that never gets fired, a staff that never gets taken—power that’s wasted. You’ve spent the last four months 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 pieces of literature. If you’ve got nothing to say, well, you’re just not trying (or "doing," as Yoda would say). You know these novels, stories, and poems by now. You’ve lived with them for weeks. You know who their characters are, what they want, what they fear, and how they live. 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, fork some lightning, and wager philosophy. Do not go gentle in that good exam room; rage, rage against the oncoming darkness. Mostly, though, rage against your darkest thoughts and reach for a sliver of greatness.
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
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, a couple of years ago, 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.” Of course, we know how that test turned out.
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 clichés, 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 just past the middle of the gymnasium, 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 (or, in poetry, know your speaker), 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 either of these exams tomorrow (either 1101 or 1080), I simply would know the novels, stories, and/or poems really well. You can pretty much guess what the questions will be, more or less.
Go through each character in each story 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. In 1101, that's the Draper Doyles and the Aunt Phils, the Dr. Jekylls and the Mr. Uttersons and the Edward Hydes. In 1080, that's the Grandmothers and Misfits, the Elisas and the tinkers. And who are all those minor characters? The thieves in The Road and the Father Seymours? The Henry Clervals and the Elizabeth Frankensteins (1101), not to mention (in 1080) Mangan's sister and the Red Sammy Butt! 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.…could it be...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-determination! Freedom! Peace of mind! As elusive as it is. As impossible as it is.
It might even be that the thing we 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. And yet we invent ways to give our freedom away. To a certain extent, as in Blake's "London," we are born into it--like the Harlot's Infant (or, appropriately, Draper Doyle in The Divine Ryans) in that poem--but we are also slaves to our mind-forg'd manacles, to our ideas of right and wrong, God and faith, good and bad.
Sometimes a character attempts to go beyond his boundaries (Young Goodman Brown and the boy in "Araby," or Victor Frankenstein and Henry Jekyll), and what they find is that there are no boundaries--no actual limits, but the transgression of percieved limits comes with consequences. Of course it's only a transgression if you think of such self-imposed or culture-prescribed limitations as moral boundaries. Freedom of thought and action comes with built-in responsibility--unless you're The Misfit or the bad guys in McCarthy's novel. But there still is freedom, if only you can see it. The manacles are forged by the mind, for sure, but when the institutions to whom we've entrusted our freedom fail us, where else can we look to for answers but ourselves? That's what most characters, of novel, of poetry, or of story, face: when you look into the deep, dark woods, who is looking back at you?
And if you see yourself looking back, judging, assessing: who are you, exactly? What does Gabriel Utterson see when he looks into the mirror, in the form of Henry Jekyll? Who does the Grandmother O'Connor's short story think she is? Who is the man in The Road, really, and why does Young Goodman Brown really go into those woods? They are seeking and yet all hiding, at the same time. What we all want most to be understood, but what we all fear most is to be understood. Even by ourselves. Do our thoughts decide who we are, or do our actions define us?
Speaking of which, tomorrow you'll be asked to illustrate comprehension about some stories and/or poems you've read, as well as about the human condition. Seize the opportunity. Carpe diem! Don’t be afraid to say something wrong. Say what’s in your heart to say. But say it in an intelligent, controlled, articulate way: otherwise, it’s like a king in the back row, a bullet that never gets fired, a staff that never gets taken—power that’s wasted. You’ve spent the last four months 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 pieces of literature. If you’ve got nothing to say, well, you’re just not trying (or "doing," as Yoda would say). You know these novels, stories, and poems by now. You’ve lived with them for weeks. You know who their characters are, what they want, what they fear, and how they live. 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, fork some lightning, and wager philosophy. Do not go gentle in that good exam room; rage, rage against the oncoming darkness. Mostly, though, rage against your darkest thoughts and reach for a sliver of greatness.
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
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Office Hours Monday
I'm having office hours (SN-4062) Monday, April 13 from 1 o'clock until 2:30 p.m., in case anyone has questions about the exam.
The exam for both 1080 and 1101 is Tuesday, April 14 at 12 o'clock noon in the Physical Education gymnasium. Sleeping in will not be accepted as a reason for missing it. Few things would be.
GC
The exam for both 1080 and 1101 is Tuesday, April 14 at 12 o'clock noon in the Physical Education gymnasium. Sleeping in will not be accepted as a reason for missing it. Few things would be.
GC
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
New Rock the Vote!
I just posted an updated version of the poll at the top right of this blog. If you were one of my students this semester, I'd really appreciate you taking the time to answer the few questions that are. Some questions are meant for either 1080 or 1101, exclusively, so if the question doesn't apply to you, just skip it. Oh, and it's all anonymous. I can't tell who you are, so please be honest with your answers. Thanks! :-)
GC
GC
Monday, April 6, 2009
Famous Last Words
Oh, and I don't know what my own last words will be. I haven't thought about it, to tell the truth. But on my metaphorical tombstone, it will say: Back in a Minute.
I say "metaphorical" because ain't no one buryin' me in the cold, cold ground.
I say "metaphorical" because ain't no one buryin' me in the cold, cold ground.
Checking in
Lots of people appear to be checking out this blog while I make my way through the mountain of essays I have to grade. In the next couple of days, I'll have conquered it, I suspect. Until then, my mind has turned to mush and I can think of nothing witty or of any consequence.
Oh, I did manage to mangle a quote from Dylan Thomas in class this morning. His supposed last words go like this: "I've had eighteen straight whiskeys; I think that's a record. After 39 years, this is all I've done."
There's much debate over his actual last words, but these will do.
In the next day or so, I'll be posting a new poll, asking students to comment on various parts of the courses I've taught this semester. Hope you'll play along. Right now, I've got a poll from last semester still up there. Feel free to look, but don't vote until the lines are open. :-)
Back soon.
GC
Oh, I did manage to mangle a quote from Dylan Thomas in class this morning. His supposed last words go like this: "I've had eighteen straight whiskeys; I think that's a record. After 39 years, this is all I've done."
There's much debate over his actual last words, but these will do.
In the next day or so, I'll be posting a new poll, asking students to comment on various parts of the courses I've taught this semester. Hope you'll play along. Right now, I've got a poll from last semester still up there. Feel free to look, but don't vote until the lines are open. :-)
Back soon.
GC
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Launch of Rig cancelled
Because of the crash of the oil rig helicopter off the coast of Newfoundland today, the book launch for Mike Heffernan's book, Rig, has been cancelled, to be re-scheduled.
GC
GC
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Book Launch
In my 1080 class today, a student (you know who you are, Brad) read a poem from a young man named Greg Tiller who was one of the 84 men who went down on the Ocean Ranger oil rig when it sunk in 1982 off the coast of Newfoundland. It was a day that those who were alive in this province will never forget. It changed a lot, not only in the oil industry but in the lives and the very soul of this place.
Greg Tiller was an extremely young man and a pretty good poet, who dreamed of something better in his life. I had the pleasure of reading some of his poetry as I read the manuscript by Mike Heffernan, who launches his book, Rig, tomorrow night at Bianca's on Water Street (7-9 p.m.). It's an incredibly moving and important book that tells the stories of those who were left behind, those who knew someone and/or was related to someone who went down on the Ranger on that stormy February night. One of the stories told, though, is that of Greg Tiller, and I thought it was either incredible synchronicity or a sign, or both, that Brad read the poem in class today. I was going to mention the launch anyway because I'll be introducing the author (and, of course, it means one night when I won't be grading essays, which means a pretty late night in the hope of getting those 1080 essays back on Friday, a few days before your next assignment). But in the rush of it all, I almost forgot to mention the launch...until Brad steps up and reads his poem.
Amazing. Even more amazing, Brad used to work on the rigs himself in Alberta and has entered university with the hope of a different life for himself than the one he had. I don't know what he thought of life working an oil rig, but I know he wants something different. I admire anyone who can do that for a living. It's hellishly hard work, from what I know. But I also admire anyone who can foresake the good money and dream of something else, then act upon it. Greg Tiller never got that chance. I can't speak for him. I don't know what he would have done. I just know what he could have done, and he had a poetic soul. All that remains, though, are his poems and his story. Ever since I read the chapter in Mike's book about Greg Tiller, I've been planning to write something in his honour. Something about his young, creative spirit connected with who I was around the time of the Ranger sinking, and how different my life, and my future was from his. So maybe this was another sign to me that maybe Greg's story needs to be told in yet another way. Maybe. I just hope to be up for it and worthy of telling it.
So anyway, yeah, fate's a fickle thing. Hope to see some of you at the launch. It's an unusual launch in that it's a celebration of the talent and efforts of the brilliant young writer and editor, Mike Heffernan, but at the same time, it's a commemoration of the souls and lives touched by the Ocean Ranger, and a single night that binds so many together in ways that can barely be expressed.
GC
Greg Tiller was an extremely young man and a pretty good poet, who dreamed of something better in his life. I had the pleasure of reading some of his poetry as I read the manuscript by Mike Heffernan, who launches his book, Rig, tomorrow night at Bianca's on Water Street (7-9 p.m.). It's an incredibly moving and important book that tells the stories of those who were left behind, those who knew someone and/or was related to someone who went down on the Ranger on that stormy February night. One of the stories told, though, is that of Greg Tiller, and I thought it was either incredible synchronicity or a sign, or both, that Brad read the poem in class today. I was going to mention the launch anyway because I'll be introducing the author (and, of course, it means one night when I won't be grading essays, which means a pretty late night in the hope of getting those 1080 essays back on Friday, a few days before your next assignment). But in the rush of it all, I almost forgot to mention the launch...until Brad steps up and reads his poem.
Amazing. Even more amazing, Brad used to work on the rigs himself in Alberta and has entered university with the hope of a different life for himself than the one he had. I don't know what he thought of life working an oil rig, but I know he wants something different. I admire anyone who can do that for a living. It's hellishly hard work, from what I know. But I also admire anyone who can foresake the good money and dream of something else, then act upon it. Greg Tiller never got that chance. I can't speak for him. I don't know what he would have done. I just know what he could have done, and he had a poetic soul. All that remains, though, are his poems and his story. Ever since I read the chapter in Mike's book about Greg Tiller, I've been planning to write something in his honour. Something about his young, creative spirit connected with who I was around the time of the Ranger sinking, and how different my life, and my future was from his. So maybe this was another sign to me that maybe Greg's story needs to be told in yet another way. Maybe. I just hope to be up for it and worthy of telling it.
So anyway, yeah, fate's a fickle thing. Hope to see some of you at the launch. It's an unusual launch in that it's a celebration of the talent and efforts of the brilliant young writer and editor, Mike Heffernan, but at the same time, it's a commemoration of the souls and lives touched by the Ocean Ranger, and a single night that binds so many together in ways that can barely be expressed.
GC
Monday, March 2, 2009
Reminder for English 1101 essays
To emphasize the point I made at the beginning of class today, in writing your essay about Frankenstein, even though it's meant to be an argumentative piece, that doesn't mean you need to write things like "It is my opinion that" or "I think" over and over. In fact, your essay will suffer from the use of such useless language. Such words generally don't mean anything. It is understood that what you're writing comes from your own mind and, as such, represents your opinion.
Consider the difference between the following two statements:
1. In my opinion, Victor Frankenstein is a neglectful father and scientist.
2. Victor Frankenstein is a neglectful father and scientist.
Sentence #2 says the same thing as #1, except the second one is leaner, more straightforward, and more forceful. It packs more of a punch. When you say "in my opinion" and "I think," you are weakening the impact of your statement (or so I believe). See? When I add "or so I believe," it suggests I have doubts about the strength of my position, when I really don't.
There's nothing wrong, per se, with putting yourself into the essay, though I truly don't see why you need to. It's just wasted words, and when you only have 900 words at your disposal, you can't afford to wasted thirty or more of them telling me what is already implied: your words are your own. You don't need to remind me of that.
Or so I believe. :-)
GC
Consider the difference between the following two statements:
1. In my opinion, Victor Frankenstein is a neglectful father and scientist.
2. Victor Frankenstein is a neglectful father and scientist.
Sentence #2 says the same thing as #1, except the second one is leaner, more straightforward, and more forceful. It packs more of a punch. When you say "in my opinion" and "I think," you are weakening the impact of your statement (or so I believe). See? When I add "or so I believe," it suggests I have doubts about the strength of my position, when I really don't.
There's nothing wrong, per se, with putting yourself into the essay, though I truly don't see why you need to. It's just wasted words, and when you only have 900 words at your disposal, you can't afford to wasted thirty or more of them telling me what is already implied: your words are your own. You don't need to remind me of that.
Or so I believe. :-)
GC
Friday, February 27, 2009
Rock, Paper, Scissor, Lizard, Spock!
Okay, so does anyone else besides me watch this brilliant show?
I mad a passing reference in my 1080 class today to "Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock!" and no one batted an eyelash or broke a grin.
Here's YouTube to the rescue!
My favorite new comedy of the past decade:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mKbnVKdix8
Peace out.
GC
I mad a passing reference in my 1080 class today to "Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock!" and no one batted an eyelash or broke a grin.
Here's YouTube to the rescue!
My favorite new comedy of the past decade:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mKbnVKdix8
Peace out.
GC
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?
Still in the midst of midterm break and enjoying the chance to catch up on some work. That's what breaks are for, really. I've probably gotten more done over the past few days than I usually accomplish in a one-week period. More than one well-intentioned student told me last week to "do something fun" over the break. Well, that hasn't happened so far, but that will happen when the semester is over. There are no days off during the semester, and that's just the way it is.
But I did watch the Oscars the other night. It was one of their better shows, in spite of the fact that I hadn't seen very many of the movies that were nominated. Award shows are strange beasts, though. I mean, why should I really care if Kate Winslet (whom I adore) should win an award over anybody else? Of why would it bother me that Mickey Rourke lost out on his bid for the ultimate comeback within his industry?
It's good to have a perspective on these things--I mean, they're really not that important in the overall scheme of things. They certainly don't affect my life any. On the other hand, I teach literature for a living, and I write literature of my own. And if literature isn't about people, then it's probably not something I'm interested in. Same with movies and songs. Fact is, these celebrity movie stars play their lives out on the big screen and the small screen in front of millions of people. And I think what captivates many people is the fact that these people represent stories.
Sure, I know it's the glitz and glamour too. It's been said that celebrities are our royalty, which I don't really buy. To me, they're more like a continuing story that we get to watch day after day. Granted, I don't like those "True Hollywood Story" types of tabloid shows and I generally despise the paparazzi and any t.v. show or magazine that employs spying techniques. I figure, just let them be. The aspiration to become an actor doesn't necessarily couple with the desire to be stalked and famous. They owe us nothing in that regard. About the only thing they owe us is a good show when we plunk down our hard-earned dough. Reminds me of Yosemite Sam in the Bugs Bunny cartoons: "I came to see Fearless Freep, and I aims to see 'im!" Then Sam sits down in a huff and waits for "Freep" (aka Bugs) to dive into a glass of water from a high tower. We're just here for the show and we want what we paid for.
I like a good comeback story. But that's because I like a good story. Stories are about people, and these movie stars (and athletes, like Barry Bonds or some feel-good story) just happen to be people. Their stories are being told right before our very eyes, and sometimes it's hard not to watch.
So that's why I watch the Oscars. Sure, I liked what this person was wearing and that one was wearing (I though Kate W. looked like a goddess and Amy Adams lit up the screen, but I digress--and for god's sake leave Miley Cyrus alone. Maybe I should do a rant like that "leave Britney alone!" guy. People should just sign up for lives of their own. All of them. All of us). But for me it's about comeback stories, soaring hopes, and triumphant returns. But most of all, I just love the movies. My favorite part is those montages of movie clips from all those movies I've seen or wish I had time to see. I'd always planned to watch every movie ever made, but thanks to grading all those essays, I'm quickly falling behinder and behinder.
And that's what I did on my spring vacation: worked and watched the Oscars.
Hope yours has been good so far.
More to come.
But I did watch the Oscars the other night. It was one of their better shows, in spite of the fact that I hadn't seen very many of the movies that were nominated. Award shows are strange beasts, though. I mean, why should I really care if Kate Winslet (whom I adore) should win an award over anybody else? Of why would it bother me that Mickey Rourke lost out on his bid for the ultimate comeback within his industry?
It's good to have a perspective on these things--I mean, they're really not that important in the overall scheme of things. They certainly don't affect my life any. On the other hand, I teach literature for a living, and I write literature of my own. And if literature isn't about people, then it's probably not something I'm interested in. Same with movies and songs. Fact is, these celebrity movie stars play their lives out on the big screen and the small screen in front of millions of people. And I think what captivates many people is the fact that these people represent stories.
Sure, I know it's the glitz and glamour too. It's been said that celebrities are our royalty, which I don't really buy. To me, they're more like a continuing story that we get to watch day after day. Granted, I don't like those "True Hollywood Story" types of tabloid shows and I generally despise the paparazzi and any t.v. show or magazine that employs spying techniques. I figure, just let them be. The aspiration to become an actor doesn't necessarily couple with the desire to be stalked and famous. They owe us nothing in that regard. About the only thing they owe us is a good show when we plunk down our hard-earned dough. Reminds me of Yosemite Sam in the Bugs Bunny cartoons: "I came to see Fearless Freep, and I aims to see 'im!" Then Sam sits down in a huff and waits for "Freep" (aka Bugs) to dive into a glass of water from a high tower. We're just here for the show and we want what we paid for.
I like a good comeback story. But that's because I like a good story. Stories are about people, and these movie stars (and athletes, like Barry Bonds or some feel-good story) just happen to be people. Their stories are being told right before our very eyes, and sometimes it's hard not to watch.
So that's why I watch the Oscars. Sure, I liked what this person was wearing and that one was wearing (I though Kate W. looked like a goddess and Amy Adams lit up the screen, but I digress--and for god's sake leave Miley Cyrus alone. Maybe I should do a rant like that "leave Britney alone!" guy. People should just sign up for lives of their own. All of them. All of us). But for me it's about comeback stories, soaring hopes, and triumphant returns. But most of all, I just love the movies. My favorite part is those montages of movie clips from all those movies I've seen or wish I had time to see. I'd always planned to watch every movie ever made, but thanks to grading all those essays, I'm quickly falling behinder and behinder.
And that's what I did on my spring vacation: worked and watched the Oscars.
Hope yours has been good so far.
More to come.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
No day like a snow day
Finally: a snow day. Maybe now we can all just relax a bit, feel a little less pressure, and get life in perspective.
I thought I'd take the day off--really wanted to--but I've been spending the morning grading essays, answering e-mails, and trying to get my life in some kind of order.
But I do enjoy a good snow day once in a while. When I was a kid, this meant a day for playing hockey, going sliding on the big hill by our house, or watching the t.v. shows that you usually missed all week. Now, I just stay in bed a little later (7 a.m.), ease into the day a little slower (at work by 8:15) and actually take a lunch break. I love looking out the window and seeing the snow piling up and hardly any cars going up or down the road, knowing that hardly anything is open. Even the mall is closed! But I'll bet Wal-mart and Tim Horton's are open because the staff gets trapped there once they're inside the doors. Might as well work while you're there, I guess is the managerial position.
Now that my work is done, though, I'm going to try to take most of the afternoon off. Unlike my students, I don't have midterm exams tomorrow or later this week.
My students in 1080 and 1101 don't have a class with me now until after the break, since Friday's class has been cancelled. (Don't look at me like that--if you were in class, you'd know it. Oh, and if you WERE in class, you do know it and probably didn't look at me, or the screen, funny at all. Don't make that face. If the wind changes, you'll be stuck with it--especially at 110 kilometres per hour! Nasty.)
So, in 1080, we're finishing "Paul's Case" on Friday, Feb. 27 (first class after the break). Then we're doing "A Good Man is Hard to Find". The comparative analysis essays are still due on March 2.
In 1101, we're finishing Frankenstein in three more classes on Feb. 27, March 2, and March 4. On March 6, we start The Divine Ryans. The out-of-class essay on Frankenstein is still due on March 2.
Questions? Just get in touch. I'll be blogging a bit over the midterm break as I see fit and whenever I sense a disturbance in the force, requiring me to intervene with words of wisdom, encouragement, or absurdity.
Talk to you again soon. Hope the snow day gives you a much-needed reprieve!
GC
I thought I'd take the day off--really wanted to--but I've been spending the morning grading essays, answering e-mails, and trying to get my life in some kind of order.
But I do enjoy a good snow day once in a while. When I was a kid, this meant a day for playing hockey, going sliding on the big hill by our house, or watching the t.v. shows that you usually missed all week. Now, I just stay in bed a little later (7 a.m.), ease into the day a little slower (at work by 8:15) and actually take a lunch break. I love looking out the window and seeing the snow piling up and hardly any cars going up or down the road, knowing that hardly anything is open. Even the mall is closed! But I'll bet Wal-mart and Tim Horton's are open because the staff gets trapped there once they're inside the doors. Might as well work while you're there, I guess is the managerial position.
Now that my work is done, though, I'm going to try to take most of the afternoon off. Unlike my students, I don't have midterm exams tomorrow or later this week.
My students in 1080 and 1101 don't have a class with me now until after the break, since Friday's class has been cancelled. (Don't look at me like that--if you were in class, you'd know it. Oh, and if you WERE in class, you do know it and probably didn't look at me, or the screen, funny at all. Don't make that face. If the wind changes, you'll be stuck with it--especially at 110 kilometres per hour! Nasty.)
So, in 1080, we're finishing "Paul's Case" on Friday, Feb. 27 (first class after the break). Then we're doing "A Good Man is Hard to Find". The comparative analysis essays are still due on March 2.
In 1101, we're finishing Frankenstein in three more classes on Feb. 27, March 2, and March 4. On March 6, we start The Divine Ryans. The out-of-class essay on Frankenstein is still due on March 2.
Questions? Just get in touch. I'll be blogging a bit over the midterm break as I see fit and whenever I sense a disturbance in the force, requiring me to intervene with words of wisdom, encouragement, or absurdity.
Talk to you again soon. Hope the snow day gives you a much-needed reprieve!
GC
Thursday, January 29, 2009
1080 in-class essay (Part 2)
Last few thoughts about the in-class essay coming up on Friday for English 1080:
1. Very important: Avoid plot summary. Don't just tell me what happens in the story. Discuss the implications of those details and events in the story. This can make all the difference in your grade.
2. Write your essay in present tense. Avoid tense shift (i.e. back and forth between past and present).
3. Avoid clichés and colloquial language (slang).
4. Use quotation properly. All quotes should be introduced or set up properly. Use phrases such as: "As the narrator says,...".
I truly hope this helps. See you tomorrow.
GC
1. Very important: Avoid plot summary. Don't just tell me what happens in the story. Discuss the implications of those details and events in the story. This can make all the difference in your grade.
2. Write your essay in present tense. Avoid tense shift (i.e. back and forth between past and present).
3. Avoid clichés and colloquial language (slang).
4. Use quotation properly. All quotes should be introduced or set up properly. Use phrases such as: "As the narrator says,...".
I truly hope this helps. See you tomorrow.
GC
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
English 1080 and Bob Dylan
I promised I'd post the lyrics to Bob Dylan's "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man," but I thought a clip of him performing it would be way better. Doesn't he look and sound like the kind of guy who could inspire Joyce Carol Oates to write a character like Arnold Friend?
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=oTqXizklz3U
GC
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=oTqXizklz3U
GC
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sure, We Can
I am not a cynical person, but sometimes I am cynical. Doubtful. Skeptical: in need of being shown the money instead of just promised the wonderful possibilities.
Yes, we can. But show me the money.
Tomorrow is a big day for the United States and for entire world. Not just because a new president is being sworn in, but because another, who has often been sworn at and leaves office in disgrace not seen since the heady days of Richard M. Nixon, is leaving.
That’s addition by subtraction. The best way to bring positive change to the world right now is to remove George W. Bush from the White House. Should have been done several years ago. He should have been impeached for his many lies and misleading of the American public, dragging the world through wars in Iraq and Afghanistan without hardly a thought, apparently, for the consequences. Then there’s Guantanamo Bay, the torturing of terror suspects, the tapping of people’s phones, and the general gross flaunting of presidential powers and the intrusion of government in places it doesn’t belong. Bush makes George Orwell look like a visitor from the future.
I see plenty of optimism for the new administration, led by Barack Obama, who takes office as the 44th president and the first non-white president of the United States. To me, he represents hope simply because he is so unlike Dubya. He is smart, articulate, open, and well-intentioned. Personally, I don’t care what color his skin happens to be. It matters to a lot of people, though, and I understand why it means so much to them—the election of one of their own to the top of the political heap is a dream worthy of Martin Luther King, perhaps the greatest orator the U.S. has ever seen. Many people thought they would never see this day. I always figured it would happen. It seemed inevitable, but there is so much racial tension in the U.S. and even in Canada that I was beginning to think I might never live to see it. It’s a little like waking up tomorrow morning and realizing that we are being visited by people from another planet. I mean, you sort of know they MUST be out there somewhere, but you wouldn’t quite believe that they would be coming here NOW, out of the blue and onto our t.v. screens.
We’ve seen a lot of things in our time that seemed impossible even twenty years ago. Some of them I wish we’d never seen—the terrible events of September 11, 2001. The breakdown of civilization in post-Katrina New Orleans. The recent crash of world stock markets and people uttering the “D” word. But there’s been good stuff too. I mean, not so long ago, landing on the moon and having someone step onto its surface seemed like pure science fiction. We now have technology which both brings us together and drives us apart, depending on how it’s used and who is using it.
It seems that we now stand on the verge, as a people, of something great. I wasn’t necessarily a Barack Obama fan from the beginning. I actually wanted to see Hillary Clinton get her shot, being more experienced, a good person, and in a position to become the first female president. It would give me great hope to see that women were finally able to break that barrier. As with the racial divide, there is still a long, long way to go in our world before women are seen as the equal of men, regardless of the color of their skin. I believe that what you believe is shown by what you do and not just what you say. And I do believe our world does not treat women equal to men. Nor will it treat black men and women equal to white men and women henceforth. Obama is a beginning, certainly, and he will likely inspire greater civility among people of different colors. But that should not be mistaken for a done deal. Racism (like sexism) is alive and well in the United States and in the world. There is still work to be done.
But there is hope.
In the long eight years that George W. Bush was in the White House, much hope has been lost. People didn’t care to protest the wrongs of the world because no one wanted to hear it. Even the media cast people in an unpatriotic light (hello, Dixie Chicks!) if they disapproved of the war or Mr. Bush. For several years they were on the Bush bandwagon, and now they’re on the Obama Express, riding it out until there’s a glitch in the system. The eight years before Bush, the focus was on Bill Clinton’s indiscretions with various women, including Monica Lewinsky. He was a great president and a misguided person. But his enemies blew it all out of proportion. So a great opportunity was wasted. The people grew pessimistic, expecting only the worst, which is generally what they got, from their politicians, from the media, and from big business like oil and pharmaceuticals.
What I’m feeling tonight is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m cautiously optimistic. I’m proud of the American people. I’m hopeful that there will be Obamas-to-come in Newfoundland politics, Canadian politics, and in the world at large—politicians with open minds, generous hearts, and intelligent bearings. Politicians who have a grasp on what is needed at the moment and are willing to do what it takes to achieve it, if it’s at all possible, for the good of the planet and the people who inhabit it.
I started out eight years ago thinking that the world was a good place and anything was possible. I spent nearly three-quarters of the Bush years in grad school, earning my Ph.D. while teaching at MUN. The workload took a heavy toll, as it tends to. I started in the fall of 2000, the year of the American election. By the time I finished my coursework, terrorists had destroyed the twin towers and left a scar on the psyche of a lot people. At that time, there was a lot of hope that people would heal together and get past it. The world reached out to the victims and to America. But the hand that reached back was cold and vengeful. In short order, the world was at war and everyone was worried about terrorists in their own backyard, on airplanes, in universities, in shopping malls. Their own government (and Canada is no exception to this) set out to make people so afraid of each other and of the unseen (but sometimes turbaned) enemy that they voted for Bush again, just so the bad guys wouldn’t be able to hurt them. Eventually, they came to see that the protector was the bad guy and that there was nothing to fear but being so afraid. Because so much fear will cripple you and kill you. By the time I finished my doctorate program, the economy was faltering, everyone was worried about climate change, and people weren’t talking in terms of dreams but of nightmares, both personal and national.
And now people are daring to hope once again. They’re literally dancing in the streets—not proclaiming (as they have a right to) that the king is dead, long live the king! No, they’re actually dancing out of joy and optimism and an outpouring of love and generosity—because one, slight, handsome-ish black man with an intelligent, cute wife, two adorable children, and an undeniable charisma and way with words, told them they could change the way things were being done. And if anyone doubted it, he told them, “Yes you can.”
Well, I have always believed that anyone could do anything and be anything they wanted. I myself have many things left to accomplish and intend to follow through. I’ve never doubted or wavered in my intentions or my beliefs.
But I can’t help but be worried when so many place so much faith in a single individual—as if HE could change THEM, instead of them doing it for themselves.
Instead of being worried about this, of course, I should be inspired. And I am. I don’t even worry about people being let down because I know that one man can only do so much, especially given a four-year time limit, perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. I just hope the people know this for themselves.
Right now, I just want to lay worry and concern aside and buy the message, drink the Kool-Aid, and smoke the peace pipe.
Right now is better than a year ago.
Right now is a good place to be.
Right now, though, I hope everyone’s paying attention. Because the times, as Bob Dylan says, they are a-changin’. And I think it’s for the better.
Come what may.
Change gonna come.
Yes, we can. But show me the money.
Tomorrow is a big day for the United States and for entire world. Not just because a new president is being sworn in, but because another, who has often been sworn at and leaves office in disgrace not seen since the heady days of Richard M. Nixon, is leaving.
That’s addition by subtraction. The best way to bring positive change to the world right now is to remove George W. Bush from the White House. Should have been done several years ago. He should have been impeached for his many lies and misleading of the American public, dragging the world through wars in Iraq and Afghanistan without hardly a thought, apparently, for the consequences. Then there’s Guantanamo Bay, the torturing of terror suspects, the tapping of people’s phones, and the general gross flaunting of presidential powers and the intrusion of government in places it doesn’t belong. Bush makes George Orwell look like a visitor from the future.
I see plenty of optimism for the new administration, led by Barack Obama, who takes office as the 44th president and the first non-white president of the United States. To me, he represents hope simply because he is so unlike Dubya. He is smart, articulate, open, and well-intentioned. Personally, I don’t care what color his skin happens to be. It matters to a lot of people, though, and I understand why it means so much to them—the election of one of their own to the top of the political heap is a dream worthy of Martin Luther King, perhaps the greatest orator the U.S. has ever seen. Many people thought they would never see this day. I always figured it would happen. It seemed inevitable, but there is so much racial tension in the U.S. and even in Canada that I was beginning to think I might never live to see it. It’s a little like waking up tomorrow morning and realizing that we are being visited by people from another planet. I mean, you sort of know they MUST be out there somewhere, but you wouldn’t quite believe that they would be coming here NOW, out of the blue and onto our t.v. screens.
We’ve seen a lot of things in our time that seemed impossible even twenty years ago. Some of them I wish we’d never seen—the terrible events of September 11, 2001. The breakdown of civilization in post-Katrina New Orleans. The recent crash of world stock markets and people uttering the “D” word. But there’s been good stuff too. I mean, not so long ago, landing on the moon and having someone step onto its surface seemed like pure science fiction. We now have technology which both brings us together and drives us apart, depending on how it’s used and who is using it.
It seems that we now stand on the verge, as a people, of something great. I wasn’t necessarily a Barack Obama fan from the beginning. I actually wanted to see Hillary Clinton get her shot, being more experienced, a good person, and in a position to become the first female president. It would give me great hope to see that women were finally able to break that barrier. As with the racial divide, there is still a long, long way to go in our world before women are seen as the equal of men, regardless of the color of their skin. I believe that what you believe is shown by what you do and not just what you say. And I do believe our world does not treat women equal to men. Nor will it treat black men and women equal to white men and women henceforth. Obama is a beginning, certainly, and he will likely inspire greater civility among people of different colors. But that should not be mistaken for a done deal. Racism (like sexism) is alive and well in the United States and in the world. There is still work to be done.
But there is hope.
In the long eight years that George W. Bush was in the White House, much hope has been lost. People didn’t care to protest the wrongs of the world because no one wanted to hear it. Even the media cast people in an unpatriotic light (hello, Dixie Chicks!) if they disapproved of the war or Mr. Bush. For several years they were on the Bush bandwagon, and now they’re on the Obama Express, riding it out until there’s a glitch in the system. The eight years before Bush, the focus was on Bill Clinton’s indiscretions with various women, including Monica Lewinsky. He was a great president and a misguided person. But his enemies blew it all out of proportion. So a great opportunity was wasted. The people grew pessimistic, expecting only the worst, which is generally what they got, from their politicians, from the media, and from big business like oil and pharmaceuticals.
What I’m feeling tonight is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m cautiously optimistic. I’m proud of the American people. I’m hopeful that there will be Obamas-to-come in Newfoundland politics, Canadian politics, and in the world at large—politicians with open minds, generous hearts, and intelligent bearings. Politicians who have a grasp on what is needed at the moment and are willing to do what it takes to achieve it, if it’s at all possible, for the good of the planet and the people who inhabit it.
I started out eight years ago thinking that the world was a good place and anything was possible. I spent nearly three-quarters of the Bush years in grad school, earning my Ph.D. while teaching at MUN. The workload took a heavy toll, as it tends to. I started in the fall of 2000, the year of the American election. By the time I finished my coursework, terrorists had destroyed the twin towers and left a scar on the psyche of a lot people. At that time, there was a lot of hope that people would heal together and get past it. The world reached out to the victims and to America. But the hand that reached back was cold and vengeful. In short order, the world was at war and everyone was worried about terrorists in their own backyard, on airplanes, in universities, in shopping malls. Their own government (and Canada is no exception to this) set out to make people so afraid of each other and of the unseen (but sometimes turbaned) enemy that they voted for Bush again, just so the bad guys wouldn’t be able to hurt them. Eventually, they came to see that the protector was the bad guy and that there was nothing to fear but being so afraid. Because so much fear will cripple you and kill you. By the time I finished my doctorate program, the economy was faltering, everyone was worried about climate change, and people weren’t talking in terms of dreams but of nightmares, both personal and national.
And now people are daring to hope once again. They’re literally dancing in the streets—not proclaiming (as they have a right to) that the king is dead, long live the king! No, they’re actually dancing out of joy and optimism and an outpouring of love and generosity—because one, slight, handsome-ish black man with an intelligent, cute wife, two adorable children, and an undeniable charisma and way with words, told them they could change the way things were being done. And if anyone doubted it, he told them, “Yes you can.”
Well, I have always believed that anyone could do anything and be anything they wanted. I myself have many things left to accomplish and intend to follow through. I’ve never doubted or wavered in my intentions or my beliefs.
But I can’t help but be worried when so many place so much faith in a single individual—as if HE could change THEM, instead of them doing it for themselves.
Instead of being worried about this, of course, I should be inspired. And I am. I don’t even worry about people being let down because I know that one man can only do so much, especially given a four-year time limit, perhaps longer, perhaps shorter. I just hope the people know this for themselves.
Right now, I just want to lay worry and concern aside and buy the message, drink the Kool-Aid, and smoke the peace pipe.
Right now is better than a year ago.
Right now is a good place to be.
Right now, though, I hope everyone’s paying attention. Because the times, as Bob Dylan says, they are a-changin’. And I think it’s for the better.
Come what may.
Change gonna come.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Notes on Classes
Two things:
In English 1080, we'll be starting the short story, "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates on FRIDAY, January 16. (I may have said something different in class the other day.)
In English 1101, there will be no class on Wednesday, January 14. We will be starting on Cormac McCarthy's The Road on Monday coming.
In English 1080, we'll be starting the short story, "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates on FRIDAY, January 16. (I may have said something different in class the other day.)
In English 1101, there will be no class on Wednesday, January 14. We will be starting on Cormac McCarthy's The Road on Monday coming.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Enter the Darkness
January might well be the cruelest month. Stark, cold, and dark. They say the longest journey begins with the first step, and so it is that the month of January presents the first few steps on the long journey of a year.
It’s a hard month for some. The lack of daylight wreaks havoc with the senses and can make it difficult just to function. I know some people who just want to hibernate at this time of year, to just hide under the covers until the sun and warmth return. Another Christmas is long past now, and that seems strange—the season of light and fellowship, gone in the blink of an eye. Nothing to do, it would appear, but to plod on through the dimmest days and do what needs doing.
But I choose to see January in a different light. For one thing, the days are actually getting longer now, with the winter solstice several weeks behind us. Not that I don’t find it a tough month. In some ways, I do. But mostly I equate January with newness. It’s a time to start over, to continue what we began last year, but also to get another chance to get it right. If things went horribly wrong or even slightly astray last year, especially towards the end, now is the time to start in the right direction, to make amends.
When I was growing up Catholic in rural Newfoundland, we might get that same feeling from the strange ritual of going to “confession”. You’d enter the confession box with a litany of sins on your lips and you’d spill them all to the priest as if he could actually forgive you. Then you’d leave the box (like a hockey player after he’s put in his five minutes for fighting), feeling renewed, cleansed—going forth to “sin no more,” as the priest would say.
Well, sinning no more is a nice idea, but we’re human and likely to falter eventually and often. And, of course, I really think the idea is that you really need to forgive yourself. No one else can do that for you. If you gained twenty pounds or lost the game for your team, or just got a "B" when you really could have gotten an "A," just let it go. There's no other way to move forward.
There’s something I like about January. According to one source, January is named for the Roman god Janus (Ianuarius in Latin), and the Latin word "ianua" which means "door." Janus is the god of the doorway, and so January is the door to the year (http://wiki.answers.com/). I like that way of looking at it, of entering the year through a door, looking around a strange, new room filled with possibilities. You see, it's really nearly impossible to enter a new room without leaving an old one behind.
Reminds me of all those home makeover shows on telelvision these days. Got an ugly room or a crappy old house? Just fix it up like new—some paint and materials, lots of time spent, and there you go: all new again. Just move that bus, enter through the front door, and it’s “welcome home, family, welcome home.”
So that’s how I see January—move the bus and welcome to a brand new year. The possibilities are endless.
To my new students this semester, in English 1101 and 1080: welcome. I hope you’ll find the room to your liking, but as with most makeovers, it all depends on what you put into it.
If you didn’t do so well last time, then figure out where you went wrong and resolve to fix it this time. For the sake of four months, it’s worth it. If you’re doing 1080 for the second time, then at least you’re giving yourself another chance—a rarity in life. I’m here to help, but only if you’re willing to help yourself.
For those of you doing the course for the first time (which is the vast majority), I hope to make the journey a good one for you. Again, that depends on you, largely. I intend to enlighten, entertain, education, rant and rave, provoke, prod, and muse aloud on a fairly regular basis—whatever it takes to help you get something out of this course, whether 1101 or 1080. And I hope you'll do the same. It’s not just about the literature, of course because literature—good literature, that is—is most often about life. And it doesn’t get any more serious than that.
But as Oscar Wilde once said, “Life is too important to be taken seriously.”
Happy new year, and welcome to the show.
GC
It’s a hard month for some. The lack of daylight wreaks havoc with the senses and can make it difficult just to function. I know some people who just want to hibernate at this time of year, to just hide under the covers until the sun and warmth return. Another Christmas is long past now, and that seems strange—the season of light and fellowship, gone in the blink of an eye. Nothing to do, it would appear, but to plod on through the dimmest days and do what needs doing.
But I choose to see January in a different light. For one thing, the days are actually getting longer now, with the winter solstice several weeks behind us. Not that I don’t find it a tough month. In some ways, I do. But mostly I equate January with newness. It’s a time to start over, to continue what we began last year, but also to get another chance to get it right. If things went horribly wrong or even slightly astray last year, especially towards the end, now is the time to start in the right direction, to make amends.
When I was growing up Catholic in rural Newfoundland, we might get that same feeling from the strange ritual of going to “confession”. You’d enter the confession box with a litany of sins on your lips and you’d spill them all to the priest as if he could actually forgive you. Then you’d leave the box (like a hockey player after he’s put in his five minutes for fighting), feeling renewed, cleansed—going forth to “sin no more,” as the priest would say.
Well, sinning no more is a nice idea, but we’re human and likely to falter eventually and often. And, of course, I really think the idea is that you really need to forgive yourself. No one else can do that for you. If you gained twenty pounds or lost the game for your team, or just got a "B" when you really could have gotten an "A," just let it go. There's no other way to move forward.
There’s something I like about January. According to one source, January is named for the Roman god Janus (Ianuarius in Latin), and the Latin word "ianua" which means "door." Janus is the god of the doorway, and so January is the door to the year (http://wiki.answers.com/). I like that way of looking at it, of entering the year through a door, looking around a strange, new room filled with possibilities. You see, it's really nearly impossible to enter a new room without leaving an old one behind.
Reminds me of all those home makeover shows on telelvision these days. Got an ugly room or a crappy old house? Just fix it up like new—some paint and materials, lots of time spent, and there you go: all new again. Just move that bus, enter through the front door, and it’s “welcome home, family, welcome home.”
So that’s how I see January—move the bus and welcome to a brand new year. The possibilities are endless.
To my new students this semester, in English 1101 and 1080: welcome. I hope you’ll find the room to your liking, but as with most makeovers, it all depends on what you put into it.
If you didn’t do so well last time, then figure out where you went wrong and resolve to fix it this time. For the sake of four months, it’s worth it. If you’re doing 1080 for the second time, then at least you’re giving yourself another chance—a rarity in life. I’m here to help, but only if you’re willing to help yourself.
For those of you doing the course for the first time (which is the vast majority), I hope to make the journey a good one for you. Again, that depends on you, largely. I intend to enlighten, entertain, education, rant and rave, provoke, prod, and muse aloud on a fairly regular basis—whatever it takes to help you get something out of this course, whether 1101 or 1080. And I hope you'll do the same. It’s not just about the literature, of course because literature—good literature, that is—is most often about life. And it doesn’t get any more serious than that.
But as Oscar Wilde once said, “Life is too important to be taken seriously.”
Happy new year, and welcome to the show.
GC
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)