Mixed Metaphor Jamboree: What I think about when I think about writing

I couldn't run for shit five years ago.  Despite always being active and relatively in shape, I could not run.

That sounds weird, I know.  Running is basically fast walking, and people typically nail that down before they can remember.

But it's more than that, apparently, and if you're thinking about things like distance running, everything matters.  Like how your feet hit the ground and how far apart they are and where your arms and hands are and even how you breathe.  That stuff all matters.  The little stuff you never notice, it determines whether you'll get it or not.

Which is why it took me about four years to get it somewhere near "right."  And I only know it must be right - right for me, maybe - because I can do it regularly and I don't hurt after or feel like I'm going to pass out.  This is success.

All this to say, when I think about writing, when I think about teaching writing, I think about running.

Part of the problem of teaching is that we teach things we are good at.  Things we enjoy.  And unless you wind up teaching graduate courses, you will have classes that half of the students do not want to be there.  I've watched colleagues battle this and even thought it myself: they love the content, so why don't the students?

Because writing is like running.  Some people can do it naturally.  Some people can't.  If you can't do something easily, chances are it becomes something you do not care for.  Hell, I took a grade reduction in middle school gym any time we had to run the mile, because I didn't want to deal with the hassle of not being able to do it right (or do it at all).  And again, I wasn't the inactive kid - I was good at sprinting and biking and swimming and sports.  I just couldn't run.

But running is like writing, and the idea is that you have to start small and apply it.  You don't run a mile, you walk for five minutes and jog for one minute.  Then repeat.  Then repeat again the next day.  And you don't write a full essay, you write a paragraph.  Then repeat.  And repeat again the next day.

The trick is, you have to actually do it, because maybe half of these skills is mental but that's not the half that actively produces anything.  It's just the inspiration and motivation.  We're all authors in our heads, but the "real authors" put words on paper and show it to people.  That's a big step, but you gotta walk for five minutes before you can jog for five.

And those of us with the pen on the other side of the table?  We're the ones with the stopwatch, maybe not keeping time at first , just acknowledging the success of another lap as the runner passes by.  Because writing is like running: it gets easier with practice, but you gotta get your feet on the ground.

Pre-Semester Honesty.

Process of creating syllabi:

Stage 1: Denial (two weeks before classes start).  “There’s plenty of summer left!  I’ll do it later.”

Stage 2: Preliminary Acceptance (one week and 6 days later).  “Ah hell, class is tomorrow…I’ll get started now.”

Stage 3: Naïve Excitement (upon immediately sitting down at the desk).  “This will be the best semester ever!  I have so many ideas, and two months of sunlight and socialization have washed away last semester’s disillusionment!”

Stage 4: Confusion (after consulting Official Academic Calendar, which is completely different than Regular People Calendar).  “Wait, that can’t be right…there’s an extra week here…”

Stage 5:  Apathy (when it’s getting late).  “Eh, I’ll just change the dates on last semester’s calendar.  It’ll transfer.”

Stage 6: Anger (when somehow last semester’s syllabus dates won’t transfer to the current one).  “@&#$^$%!  It’s the SAME as last year!  Why is there still an extra #*$&ing week?!”

Stage 7: Paranoia (when it’s getting later).  “This is IMPOSSIBLE to do!  Weeks don’t just magically appear!  Who ARE these people – wizards?!”

Stage 8: Final Acceptance (after a few beers).  “Oh forget it…we’ll just watch a movie that week.”

More proof my primary education didn't prepare me for academia

Back in grade school, we called the act of someone pulling someone else's pants down in public "shanking."  I thought that was the typical slang until I went on to college or watched a movie and heard the term "pantsing" for the first time.  (Seriously, I was at least 18 before I heard it called that.)  And I then learned that a "shank" was synonymous with shiv - a weapon fashioned in a prison, and getting "shanked" meant you got stabbed with said shiv.

Though actually, we weren't misusing term too terribly.  Prisoners get shanked in the lunch line...and that's where kids would often get, well, "shanked" at Westside Elementary.

I'm beginning to think grade school wasn't meant to prepare me for upper-level education.  I think it was meant to prepare me for five-to-ten.  My grades back then would probably testify to the fact.

Hazy Shade of Winter

I love the cold.

It’s strange, because most people I know dislike winter. They’re summer people. I guess living in TN you have to be, because once summer hits, it’s HOT and you’d better be ready. But I hate the heat the way most people dislike the cold.

There’s this thing called seasonal affective disorder, where you get depressed (either slightly or majorly) in the winter. Less sunlight, less time spent outside…it psychologically gets to people. Some people it affects more than others, but I know plenty of folks who are just happier in the summer than winter.

But there’s a SAD for summer as well. Not depression, but you sleep less, eat less, even suffer from anxiety in extreme cases. Basically, it’s restlessness. I feel that, and once the cold months move in, it just feels like things slow down. And I relax.

I was always this way. When I was a kid, I went outside just as much during the winter as I did in the summer. Maybe more. I loved the cold, snow or no snow (and in south east TN, it was usually “no snow”).

And it’s still the same now. Take Monday evening, for example: I left work and it felt just like winter. It was cold, but the wind wasn’t blowing. Snow was falling, gently, adding to the blanket already on the ground. The sky was grey, and the sun was already setting behind the clouds. Everything was quiet and still. No one was out. Those days feel like the world is wrapped in a blanket, like time is standing still. I left my gloves in my bag so I could feel the cold on my skin. I breathed in the chilly air, filling my lungs, and sighed, content. Being in love with winter is like being part of a secret not everyone understands.

Maybe that’s what I like best about it.

Postmodern Faulkner

Maybe I've been out of school for too long, or maybe I've been watching too much TV, but I'm almost through season 2 of Arrested Development and I'm thinking you can make direct parallels between the show/story/characters and The Sound and the Fury.

Check it: the decay of a prominent family. Three sons, one daughter...youngest is completely dependant, one son is selfish and self-centered, daughter's sexuality is a big theme, and one son is trying to press onward & survive. Affairs. Hints of incest. Death. Put the Compsons in modern-day southern CA, give them a real estate company, and make the downfall funny instead of...well...not so funny. Then tell me it's not the same.