I have requested one-on-one conference time next week with, let's see, four students from one learning support section; another student requested one-on-one time herself without prompting. Interesting, in that this section is shaping up to be delightful to teach but chock-full of weak writers.
When I say "weak," you have no idea exactly what I mean. One student with whom I'm conferencing next week has so many problems we won't have time to cover them all in 20-30 minutes. Her first essay is a microcosm of the most common problems, but all lumped together: sentences that don't hold together, inexplicable punctuation, random capitalization, missing verb endings, wording that just doesn't make sense. Spelling, too, though that's hardly the worst sin.
We have a writing lab on campus, and I'm steering all these guys toward it. They have to pass an exit writing sample at the end of the semester, and writing like this ain't gonna cut it.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Adventures in meme-land, the return.
Okay, here's the latest meme from seabird78. The idea is that you comment on this entry, and I get to ask you five questions, which you answer in your journal, and then I comment on your entry, and you ask me five questions, and the cycle begins.
1. What made you choose poetry as your primary artistic medium?
Because I liked it when I heard it, because I'd taken two great poetry-writing classes as an undergraduate, and...I don't know, just because I thought I might be decent at it. More specifically, this poem was one of the first poems I ever read which made me think, "Wow, I want to write something like that." And because I always opt for the difficult way of doing things.
2. If you could sing only one last karaoke selection, what would it be and why?
Just one?? We'll go with "An American Trilogy" by Elvis. It would be suitably grandiose for my exit.
3. What is the best live concert you've ever seen?
Ooo, toughie. In no particular order: Elton John pre-throat surgery in '86, Sam Bush in the mid-90s, Bob Dylan (thrice), Elvis Costello in '99 and '06, Lucinda Williams (last show of the Car Wheels tour in '98 or so), and John Hiatt with his band (solo he's great too, but he's a different person with his band). I gotta give props to Kingsized, too, who will be playing at our wedding reception; they always put on a solid, straight-up, fun show.
Inexplicably, I've also seen Aerosmith twice, and those shows were more loud than memorable. Like, really loud.
4. Do you plan to stay in Atlanta permanently?
Unless forces greater than me dictate a move, yes. My soon-to-be wife is here, my life is here, my job is here, great restaurants, great friends, etc.
5. What is something you like that might surprise me?
1) The humor of Jeff Foxworthy; 2) Smokey and the Bandit.
1. What made you choose poetry as your primary artistic medium?
Because I liked it when I heard it, because I'd taken two great poetry-writing classes as an undergraduate, and...I don't know, just because I thought I might be decent at it. More specifically, this poem was one of the first poems I ever read which made me think, "Wow, I want to write something like that." And because I always opt for the difficult way of doing things.
2. If you could sing only one last karaoke selection, what would it be and why?
Just one?? We'll go with "An American Trilogy" by Elvis. It would be suitably grandiose for my exit.
3. What is the best live concert you've ever seen?
Ooo, toughie. In no particular order: Elton John pre-throat surgery in '86, Sam Bush in the mid-90s, Bob Dylan (thrice), Elvis Costello in '99 and '06, Lucinda Williams (last show of the Car Wheels tour in '98 or so), and John Hiatt with his band (solo he's great too, but he's a different person with his band). I gotta give props to Kingsized, too, who will be playing at our wedding reception; they always put on a solid, straight-up, fun show.
Inexplicably, I've also seen Aerosmith twice, and those shows were more loud than memorable. Like, really loud.
4. Do you plan to stay in Atlanta permanently?
Unless forces greater than me dictate a move, yes. My soon-to-be wife is here, my life is here, my job is here, great restaurants, great friends, etc.
5. What is something you like that might surprise me?
1) The humor of Jeff Foxworthy; 2) Smokey and the Bandit.
Monday, February 2, 2009
AWP is nigh.
It looms. It's a three-day orgy of readings, panels, boutiques, a bookfair, and hanging out with dear, dear friends. All I'm sayin' is I got $800 travel money from my department, and I'm using it. Reading the schedule is like walking through a ginormous buffet--so much food, so little room--and I am resolved to not let the buffet consume me.
Anyone out there going? What readings/panels are whetting your appetite? I know I'm keen on seeing the session with Stephanie Brown. If you don't know her work, check out this short three-parter from the NEA site. A poet friend calls her "one mean mother."
Anyone out there going? What readings/panels are whetting your appetite? I know I'm keen on seeing the session with Stephanie Brown. If you don't know her work, check out this short three-parter from the NEA site. A poet friend calls her "one mean mother."
Slumdog and writing again.
Slumdog was one whiz-bang ride. It was thrilling in spots, sobering in others, even hilarious at times. And I got all excited again watching that Indian version of Millionaire with the unctuous host (is that for real?)--who would have thought it possible? Oddly, with its genre-blending pyrotechnics, it reminded me of what Baz Luhrmann tried to do, less successfully, in Australia.
That said, I wish I'd liked it more. It kept me at a distance, somehow, and I think the wham-bam editing was the reason--it was so kinetic at times that I was just holding on for dear life. Another reason, I admit, may have been our 10 p.m. viewing after (for me) three glasses of wine and fried chicken. But something made it seem like an exercise--elaborate and artful, and involving, but an exercise.
Yesterday I sat at this here desk (after shutting down, unplugging, and putting away my laptop--out of sight, out of mind) and wrote in pencil for two hours on a newly purchased Office Depot note pad. I didn't have much purpose behind it except to get back to that nonthinking, intuitive side when the words kinda go through me like a sieve. And I got there a couple of times, esp. when I was simply describing how full and awful I felt after that third glass of wine, trying to make me feel again what that was like. Before and after that bit, I was mostly writing about writing, writing about how I didn't have anything to write about, but sure as shit, the first five minutes passed and I got on a mini-roll.
Then I took a break and proceeded to try to write a poem about last night--nothing ambitious, just a few lines on overindulgence, sloth, bitterness--and cursed, crossed out lines, got angry, and declared the afternoon, nay the day, a waste. But of course it wasn't, even after I ripped up the pages and tossed them in the recycle bin. I had to write that in order to write something else. If it's the start of something else, something bigger, I'm confident enough to know I can get to that place again. Just as likely, I'll go somewhere else next session.
But I hope that was the beginning of getting back into...something. For about 10 minutes there, I was back in that great place of generating words without "monkey mind." And this is a different feeling from the memoir writing I did last fall, more animal and elemental somehow.
That said, I wish I'd liked it more. It kept me at a distance, somehow, and I think the wham-bam editing was the reason--it was so kinetic at times that I was just holding on for dear life. Another reason, I admit, may have been our 10 p.m. viewing after (for me) three glasses of wine and fried chicken. But something made it seem like an exercise--elaborate and artful, and involving, but an exercise.
Yesterday I sat at this here desk (after shutting down, unplugging, and putting away my laptop--out of sight, out of mind) and wrote in pencil for two hours on a newly purchased Office Depot note pad. I didn't have much purpose behind it except to get back to that nonthinking, intuitive side when the words kinda go through me like a sieve. And I got there a couple of times, esp. when I was simply describing how full and awful I felt after that third glass of wine, trying to make me feel again what that was like. Before and after that bit, I was mostly writing about writing, writing about how I didn't have anything to write about, but sure as shit, the first five minutes passed and I got on a mini-roll.
Then I took a break and proceeded to try to write a poem about last night--nothing ambitious, just a few lines on overindulgence, sloth, bitterness--and cursed, crossed out lines, got angry, and declared the afternoon, nay the day, a waste. But of course it wasn't, even after I ripped up the pages and tossed them in the recycle bin. I had to write that in order to write something else. If it's the start of something else, something bigger, I'm confident enough to know I can get to that place again. Just as likely, I'll go somewhere else next session.
But I hope that was the beginning of getting back into...something. For about 10 minutes there, I was back in that great place of generating words without "monkey mind." And this is a different feeling from the memoir writing I did last fall, more animal and elemental somehow.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Nothin' much doin' of an afternoon.
Just working my way through essays, stopping to check Facebook and updating the blog. Nice day today, and "cold" for us--it lingers in the 40s. We haven't had even a rumor of snow this season, while all around us it falls without mercy. All I want is one snow day, and preferably not on Fridays when I don't teach anyway.
Tonight looks like homemade fried chicken and mac and cheese and then a taking-in of Slumdog Millionaire at the local cineplex. Anyone out there seen it? Some of the scuttlebutt has it as a surprise leader for Best Picture.
Last year, according to my careful records, the two of us saw a movie together in a theater exactly twice: Juno on New Year's Day and Australia over T-giving. For whatever reason, we don't go much anymore. One reason is that Netflix and DVR and On Demand have spoiled us; another might be that we don't want to pay 9, 10, 11 bucks to see a current movie in prime time. Even matinees are fewer and farther between--one has to go to the frackin' 11:30 a.m. showing on weekends to get the matinee rate, and it's not even that cheap anymore.
Tonight looks like homemade fried chicken and mac and cheese and then a taking-in of Slumdog Millionaire at the local cineplex. Anyone out there seen it? Some of the scuttlebutt has it as a surprise leader for Best Picture.
Last year, according to my careful records, the two of us saw a movie together in a theater exactly twice: Juno on New Year's Day and Australia over T-giving. For whatever reason, we don't go much anymore. One reason is that Netflix and DVR and On Demand have spoiled us; another might be that we don't want to pay 9, 10, 11 bucks to see a current movie in prime time. Even matinees are fewer and farther between--one has to go to the frackin' 11:30 a.m. showing on weekends to get the matinee rate, and it's not even that cheap anymore.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
John Updike (1932-2009)
RIP.
Rabbit, Run is worth the price of admission. I know a handful of his short stories but not many of the novels. His prose on the craft of fiction is also worth your time.
Rabbit, Run is worth the price of admission. I know a handful of his short stories but not many of the novels. His prose on the craft of fiction is also worth your time.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Is progress possible in 15 weeks?
Today my learning support students write their first in-class essay, one of four such beasts they will write this semester (one other essay will be composed outside of class time). I expect to see the usual variety of skill levels; many coherent, a few perhaps brilliant in spots, but many many with serious and multiple problems: incomplete sentences, punctuation irregularities, confusing or awkward wording, subjects and verbs not talking to each other. And the list goes on.
The most frustrating thing about teaching, without a doubt, is somehow finding a way to address these multiple deficits while laboring under the knowledge that every one of us has a unique hang-up with writing and may or may not need what I'm offering at that moment. For example, I will, until the end of time, always do a unit on comma placement, because they're tricky and frequently intuitive. Until the end of time, I will always do a unit on verb tense shifts and verb forms, because I am seeing more and more of those irregularities, even (especially?) among native-born speakers. But things like spelling and word choice are hard for me to generalize and "present," because they're idiosyncratic and really hard to improve--sometimes I feel all I can say is for them to read more than they do. Conferences help, but they don't do enough.
So in answer to our title question, yes, progress is possible in 15 weeks, but I long ago abandoned the idea of consistent forward progress with remedial writers, because every assignment is different, and each one of us is a different person every time we sit down to write. If I can get a student (admittedly, a motivated and somewhat self-aware student) to see his major types of errors and become more aware when they happen, that's a kind of progress--I hope.
Can I make someone love (or like) to write in 15 weeks? It hasn't happened much in my teaching life.
The most frustrating thing about teaching, without a doubt, is somehow finding a way to address these multiple deficits while laboring under the knowledge that every one of us has a unique hang-up with writing and may or may not need what I'm offering at that moment. For example, I will, until the end of time, always do a unit on comma placement, because they're tricky and frequently intuitive. Until the end of time, I will always do a unit on verb tense shifts and verb forms, because I am seeing more and more of those irregularities, even (especially?) among native-born speakers. But things like spelling and word choice are hard for me to generalize and "present," because they're idiosyncratic and really hard to improve--sometimes I feel all I can say is for them to read more than they do. Conferences help, but they don't do enough.
So in answer to our title question, yes, progress is possible in 15 weeks, but I long ago abandoned the idea of consistent forward progress with remedial writers, because every assignment is different, and each one of us is a different person every time we sit down to write. If I can get a student (admittedly, a motivated and somewhat self-aware student) to see his major types of errors and become more aware when they happen, that's a kind of progress--I hope.
Can I make someone love (or like) to write in 15 weeks? It hasn't happened much in my teaching life.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
The inaugural poem.
Much has been written about it, so I as always try to wedge in my two cents. As a poem, it's not bad; as an oration, less impressive. Alexander's delivery style didn't bother me too much--I've heard plenty of poets declaim much more trivial sentiments in such a style--but the net effect of this halting, stop-start style is to cover up less-than-fresh language, which this poem has in places. Still, is it any worse than Maya Angelou's poem for the first Clinton term?
Too, Alexander had the unenviable task of going on after Obama, which must be the political equivalent of following James Brown.
The text of the poem is available on Ed Byrne's One Poet's Notes. (Scroll toward the bottom of the post.) It scans and "reads" rather well at times, I think. What do you think?
Too, Alexander had the unenviable task of going on after Obama, which must be the political equivalent of following James Brown.
The text of the poem is available on Ed Byrne's One Poet's Notes. (Scroll toward the bottom of the post.) It scans and "reads" rather well at times, I think. What do you think?
A look back.
Spring semester has been going for two weeks now, and this go-round promises to be much saner than the fall. In December I washed my hands of the college success course which I had so eagerly anticipated in August. Of the horrible evening section, all I can say is I gritted my teeth and made it through.
Looking at two or three posts ago, I'm not sure how apparent it was that my anxiety and helplessness was exacerbated by that section of students. It was the most volatile and resistant group dynamic I've ever encountered, just the most improbable mix of attention deficit disorders, class clowns, stubbornness, and laziness. Around mid-October, I was counting down the remaining meetings after every class meeting, and I cancelled a couple of meetings, simply because I either didn't have enough to make it through 50 blinkin' minutes or I didn't want to face them.
I had another section which was much quieter and (mostly) more respectful, but no more interested or interesting, and that was a whole different set of problems. But the evening section contained many individuals who were unmotivated and had no problems letting everyone know how unmotivated they were. The word that comes to mind is "shameless."
So I fretted over that course, and it doubtless colored my attitude toward my other courses. But they turned out okay. And just between you and me, I hope to never teach the college success course again. It's a valid course to teach, and so many of our students really do need tips on studying and taking tests and managing time, but I'm just not the man to do it.
Looking at two or three posts ago, I'm not sure how apparent it was that my anxiety and helplessness was exacerbated by that section of students. It was the most volatile and resistant group dynamic I've ever encountered, just the most improbable mix of attention deficit disorders, class clowns, stubbornness, and laziness. Around mid-October, I was counting down the remaining meetings after every class meeting, and I cancelled a couple of meetings, simply because I either didn't have enough to make it through 50 blinkin' minutes or I didn't want to face them.
I had another section which was much quieter and (mostly) more respectful, but no more interested or interesting, and that was a whole different set of problems. But the evening section contained many individuals who were unmotivated and had no problems letting everyone know how unmotivated they were. The word that comes to mind is "shameless."
So I fretted over that course, and it doubtless colored my attitude toward my other courses. But they turned out okay. And just between you and me, I hope to never teach the college success course again. It's a valid course to teach, and so many of our students really do need tips on studying and taking tests and managing time, but I'm just not the man to do it.
Facebook and fighting nostalgia.
Well, I'm back for more of this stuff. I won't promise (as before) how often or timely my posts will be, but I'm gonna attempt it again.
Happy belated '09. So far, mine is shaping up well. Plans for the wedding proceed apace. Now that we have our reception venue nailed down, the other elements can start to fall into place. (Did I just sound like a bureaucrat? The lack of freshness in the above is disconcerting.) Still to come: the invitations, the food/catering, the logistical challenges ahead. Oh, and I need to pick up my tux soon. But before that, I need to find an appropriate pair of shoes.
I, like many, have now been sucked into the Facebook nation, and it has opened up many cans of worms--mostly positive ones. Last night I hung out with a college roommate I hadn't seen in six years, thanks to FB. I have struck up e-conversations with people I'd long written off or forgotten about, thanks to FB. Thanks to FB, I've found out one good friend from high school and college relocated to NC six years ago after his first wife died. He's since re-engaged.
Does Facebook convince me, a la Faulkner, that the past is never over, that it's not even past? Does it bury me even more in a time I foolishly think was more innocent? Partly yes. But it also lets me see that our lives have second, third, fourth acts, that we aren't buried by the labels we've created for ourselves or others create for us.
One of my favorite things about some novels of the late Carol Shields is how the chapters dip into the great well of time, and you see the arcs of lives in 200-300 pages. In Larry's Party, for example, you just get little slices of the pie, a year here, a year there, but in a sense you see the whole pie too. Facebook's like that. One gets to fill in the gaps. (There's also the vaguely unsettling ability to eavesdrop, which I won't get into here.)
But from what I can tell so far, Facebook is really a social network in the best sense. It's also a scarily easy way to fritter away time.
Happy belated '09. So far, mine is shaping up well. Plans for the wedding proceed apace. Now that we have our reception venue nailed down, the other elements can start to fall into place. (Did I just sound like a bureaucrat? The lack of freshness in the above is disconcerting.) Still to come: the invitations, the food/catering, the logistical challenges ahead. Oh, and I need to pick up my tux soon. But before that, I need to find an appropriate pair of shoes.
I, like many, have now been sucked into the Facebook nation, and it has opened up many cans of worms--mostly positive ones. Last night I hung out with a college roommate I hadn't seen in six years, thanks to FB. I have struck up e-conversations with people I'd long written off or forgotten about, thanks to FB. Thanks to FB, I've found out one good friend from high school and college relocated to NC six years ago after his first wife died. He's since re-engaged.
Does Facebook convince me, a la Faulkner, that the past is never over, that it's not even past? Does it bury me even more in a time I foolishly think was more innocent? Partly yes. But it also lets me see that our lives have second, third, fourth acts, that we aren't buried by the labels we've created for ourselves or others create for us.
One of my favorite things about some novels of the late Carol Shields is how the chapters dip into the great well of time, and you see the arcs of lives in 200-300 pages. In Larry's Party, for example, you just get little slices of the pie, a year here, a year there, but in a sense you see the whole pie too. Facebook's like that. One gets to fill in the gaps. (There's also the vaguely unsettling ability to eavesdrop, which I won't get into here.)
But from what I can tell so far, Facebook is really a social network in the best sense. It's also a scarily easy way to fritter away time.
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