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."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!”

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

First Taste of Summer

found myself on a beach
skimming 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.

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.

Peace.