New Year, Back to Blogging!

As you can see, it's been a silent 3+ months around Student: Revisited! Of course, I've been extremely busy--so much so that I decided to NOT worry about blogging for a bit.

Besides, I was head deep in teaching freshmen composition for the first time.

You would've been bored out of your mind (as opposed to before?) listening to me chat about teaching. Probably. As far as all of "my student" talk is concerned, I was just as bad (probably worse) as Kathie Lee Gifford talking about Cody on Live! with Regis & Kathie Lee...

(If you're too young to know who/what I am talking about, don't tell me)

As far as my student life is concerned, I've been submitting my tiny collection of fiction (here is a picture sample for you to look at):

Still no publications, but I'm okay with that...for now. I need to write more and I know it. My "thesis" is so bare bones right now, you'd want to take it out back and put it out of its misery.

Probably. And since this semester has MORE teaching (my favorite thing BY FAR of my MFA career), I'll be super busy again.

Although I will be checking in on a regular basis to talk about my student life. This semester I get to chose my "own text" for my Fiction Seminar. I have to pick "either a contemporary short story collection or a contemporary novel."

It doesn't HAVE to be new-to-me and so I'm somewhat flummoxed because I will be writing a series of annotations all semester long AND as my professor warned: "Be prepared to know this work inside out...You will own it and it will own you."

ACK! I have two ideas...

(1) Little Children by Tom Perrotta

(2) Georgia Under Water by Heather Sellers

(1) is a novel and my favorite "contemporary" work to come out (that I've read) in the last several years. I also got to hear Tom speak in September--which also means I met him briefly and have a cherished autographed copy of said book! Thematically speaking, this work is similar to my thesis (in my opinion).

(2) is the first short story collection that I read that made me say, "HEY! I WANNA DO THAT!" I haven't read it in YEARS, but I found my copy and since my thesis is to be a collection of related short stories, this would be a smart choice.

WHAT TO DO? I will let you know soon. In the meantime, I'm glad to be back!

~~J

Did You Say Something?

Because I really can't hear you for all the work.

I love the work, let's just make that part clear...but there is a lot of it. A LOT. A full on gaggle of work (which is equal to at least five geese not in flight). What?

A full grown Canada Goose can weigh up to 24lbs. 24 x 5 = about 120 pounds of Geese, or work (to complete my metaphor)

I may be losing my mind. But if I know I "may" be losing my mind, if I have some sort of realization than am I "really" losing anything at all?

poorly PICTURED (because I can't find the battery charger for my nifty point-and-shoot camera) here:

(top to bottom)

Black binder (class I'm teaching)

Pink binder (class I'm taking)

Two (not required) books (helping me teach)

ReMix: the required reader (class I'm teaching)

the Pink Legal pad contains notes I'm taking while grading the first formal assignment my class has written...it's sitting on top of the aforementioned stack of essays I'm too afraid to actually write on yet (hence taking notes on the Pink Legal pad)...

Then there are two (required) books for the class I'm taking...I have read one and am finishing the other (not pictured is the required textbook for the same class)...

Hidden below that is a mini grade book (for the class I'm teaching) and then the two helpful (required) writing books for the same class...

Sharpies, notecards...

Another big ol' stack of papers (including) work I am reading for the class I'm taking, MY OWN notes and a story for the THESIS I'm writing...um. Am I forgetting something?

I'm firmly in the "Stage of Denial," which is the first stage in the Five Stages of Grading (based on the Elisabeth Kubler-Ross stage model of coping with grief)...

BUT the grief is good grief (think Charlie Brown) and I loooooove it!

~~J

Heritage.

In an abstract sense of the word.

I've been thinking about the evolution of reading in my life. WHEN exactly did I start leaning toward the fabulous form known as the short story?

(really good definition of the form at *shock* Wikipedia)

Having read short stories in high school (and college before), when I started reading them outside of class aka for "fun" I realized I was hooked on this form...this idea of a story focused on a very precise moment, event, or situation.

In the Gloaming (Alice Elliot Dark)

Drawn in by the title story...which was made into a short film by HBO (circa 1997), my copy of the book via Ebay (my very first item online) arrived sometime in 1998. Unfortunately it seems to have disappeared. Maybe it's in storage? Maybe it will be found one day in a box in the garage? Either way, I want to revisit the collection now and see it with a set of "semi-trained" eyes.

Soft Maniacs (Maggie Estep)

Hearing Maggie read from her collection (alongside her poetry) early in 1999 was memorable. Not only was she brash and bold, she had a certain "I know who I am and what I'm doing" air about her. I quickly became obsessed. I also began writing "real" poetry using "real" words AND a short story about a stuffed tiger named Lorenzo. How embarrassing.

Georgia Under Water (Heather Sellers)

Lovely. I remember seeing the cover along the aisles of Barnes & Noble and stopping cold. I picked it up, brought it home (after paying), and promptly devoured it within two or so days. Again, I was in love with another collection of short stories. People would ask, "What are you reading?" I would reply, "Short stories." Never any follow-up questions after that.

I think these thoughts are important, because I write short stories, short fiction, short narrative...whatever you want to call it. And despite the use of the word "short" to describe the structure--they say it's harder than writing a novel.

And I know I've said something along the same lines on more than one occasion. But after a year of graduate-level learning (and attempts at writing more), I can't say it enough. So difficult.

~~J

Spring Semester Outtakes (III)

Composing Paper(s) Spot
(The Writing Center)









Sun Setting
(Another late night in the WC)









Antique Shop Typewriter
(Day trip with Abby & Emily)











Awesome Pistachio Shell Craft
(for me, from Matt)

Spring Semester Outtakes (II)

On the way to Washington D.C.
(AWP Conference)










Daily Choices
(Georgetown Cupcake)











The Whitehouse
(Oft not photographed backside)












Vietnam War Memorial

Spring Semester Outtakes (I)

Back bedroom at Andalusia
(folding brochures, with Melissa)










Important Instructions
(Peafowl)











Manly Pointer
(playing coy)










Manly Pointer
(I see you looking!)

Fall Semester Outtakes (III)

Morning view of Auditorium
(on way to Writing Center)










Live Oak Trees
(Front Campus)











Curves Ahead
(Front Campus)













Hanging of the Green(s)
(Front Campus)

Fall Semester Outtakes (II)

Hats on Parade
(Macon, GA)












Fancy Lunch
(still in Macon)












Birthday(s)













& a Baby Shower

Fall Semester Outtakes (I)

Blackbird Coffee
(downtown Milledgeville)

Coffee Mosaic
(Blackbird bathroom)












Special Dinner Guest
(Courtesy of Oliver)












Scrabble Mosaic
(Melissa's Place)

Re-packing

which is at least three times worse than packing and unpacking.


Packing: You take a set amount of "stuff" and move it somewhere else...in my case, it was a "carload" and it was 500 miles.

Unpacking: Removing all of the "stuff" and setting it up to make a live-able space...in my case, it took a few days for me to remove everything from my car and haul it upstairs in the 100+ degree heat (but it happened).

Between unpacking and where I am today (re-packing) I have gained more stuff. Via trips homes and trips to Walmart (and/or Amazon.com).

My original carload of "stuff" seems to have multiplied...overnight? No, in the span of ten lovely months.

Because I am moving into a new place in August, I have to re-pack and store items while I am at home for (50 or so days)...obviously I can't "tote" my probably 2 carloads worth of stuff back and forth again...

Re-Packing: One classmate offered up storage containers. Another classmate offered up storage space. With such wonderful classmates, how can I complain? No complaints. Just a lot of planning.

I've already "made" a few bins worth of "winter" clothes (big laugh, there is no Winter in Georgia) and fancy teaching clothes (not needed yet). Alongside books and papers and more books and papers.

I went through my foodstuffs over the weekend and pulled everything out, placing them in full view. My goal is to save money and eat the remainder of what I've always decided to pass over during the last two semesters.

Example of a good idea gone wrong: Brown rice and a can of "Asian" vegetables (baby corn, bamboo shoots, sprouts, water chestnuts)....NOT delicious at ALL! I put my leftovers in a container I'll throw away.

Any ideas for garbanzo beans, cannellini beans, artichoke hearts, macaroni & cheese, Spanish rice, a jar of basil tomato sauce...???

The beans and rice and sauce as a...soup? I'll let you know what happens there.

I can't pack kitchen paraphernalia yet. I'm staring at a rather empty closet and bathroom. it's so weird to be living in such an empty place. I want to jump into my car and drive away.

The days are SOOOOOOO long.

~~J

The Lonely Writer

Young Woman Reading, Mary Cassatt 1876

I've heard the stories/read about the method: retreats, workshops, cabins in the woods, hotel rooms, unplugging, uninstalling...all the means of self-imposed isolation in attempts to create art.

In fact, I watched a short documentary last night and learned that Van Gogh stayed in an asylum for a year because he was able to paint daily without much interruption (and it was cheaper than staying in a hotel).

Being in a (mostly) empty college town for several weeks is not the same thing--this isolation is not self-imposed, it has been forced upon me.

At least that's my non-writing excuse. Sure, there are notecards with my character names, birth and death years now in existence. Yes, I have a strong idea for the second story in my thesis...BUT...

Why am I NOT writing?

boredom? lack of stimulation? loneliness? no schedule? no deadlines?

A combination of ALL OF THE ABOVE?

Or better yet, do I have no clue as to what I am doing? Am I lacking ideas, motivation, (gulp) talent? (Only "an artist" would say such a thing, I think I'm okay.)

I'll be back in the bluff city soon enough. Maybe the Mississippi River is more responsible for my mystical arts than I realized (Mark Twain would agree).

Then I can "force" myself into isolation--which is completely different than being bored to tears...believe me.

~~J

EDIT: All I can think about now after titling this post is THIS POEM by Anne Sexton...which means you have to go read it too.

The Reading Hour(s)

With the semester over (first year of grad school DONE!), I can move into the "traditional" Summer phase of life.

You know, a "vacation/break" phase.

Since my seventeenth year, I have had a full-time job.

Not a summer job, but a every season/month/week of the year, filled with life/death responsibility job.

This summer is a bit different.

I'm still working on the (very academic) Flannery O'Connor Review for the next few weeks, but the hours are flexible. It just HAS to get done. I'm not confined to a singular location for nine hour stretches. I can "move" around and create/schedule as I go.

Basically, I need to take advantage of this time as much as possible.

Last night began the "reading hour." But really HOURS--where I "just" read/completed a "short novel" of my OWN choosing. It wasn't assigned--it was what I wanted to read.

Despite being free from academic parameters, I realize now that I read as a "writer" or as a "professor" (both books by Francine Prose). I can't get away from that part of me now, which is nothing to really complain about (yet).

So I read the "short novel" Rare & Endangered Species by Richard Bausch...which "demonstrates how a wife and mother's suicide reverberates in the small community where she lived, and affects the lives of people who don't even know her."

(so says the blurb on the back of Wives & Lovers, the collection it appears in and which won the PEN/Malamud Award)

So there are people who "don't even know her" in the story (they are closely connected), but the story really focuses on Andrea's two adult children (James and Maizie) shortly after she commits suicide. Because she didn't leave a note, they are both left to wonder WHY and do whatever they can to comfort their grieving father.

It is divided into sections: Single/Patiently/Penance/Desire/Good-Byes/Diurnal and reads as a "classic" American short story. Nothing fancy per se, but the families aren't fancy. They're everyday people dealing with the loss in their own way. Honest.

I calculated that I read at a rate of 56 pages per hour. (Is that fast? Is that slow?) In other words, it took me about 3 hours to finish it. Tonight I am going to tackle another "short" novel or novella, the relatively famous Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote.

~~J

A Few of My Favorite Things:

Woooooooooosh! Moo Cows!

(somewhere along Hwy 441, near Milledgeville, GA)

~~J

Grad School: The Nintendo Edition

Jump! Jump!


As I go barreling (thanks, coffee) toward the end of my first year of graduate school (two classes, one portfolio, and an exam to go)...

Dodge! Dodge!


I can't help but to pause and reflect on all I've accomplished over the last ten months.

Pound a Barrel with a Mallet!


For example:

Helping students in the Writing Center became one of my favorite activities. It was extremely rewarding to watch someone come up with an idea or tell me later how they did on an essay.

I've written an annotated bibliography over a gaggle of composition theory books AND a more than 15-page paper based in said theory.

I created a Creative Writing teaching portfolio, complete with a syllabus, writing exercises, and lesson plan(s).

More of my work has been workshopped and scrutinized by classmates and professors--not a single tear was shed during the process (we'll work on after, later).

Completing 18 hours of graduate level credits makes me eligible to work as a teaching fellow in several states...and I'm only half-nervous about the prospect now...and the more confidence I have, the better--I start teaching Comp I in the Fall.

Stories have been sent out (and almost all rejected), but just knowing that my own work is being read by strangers is thrilling enough to keep me on task.

I went to Washington D.C. for AWP!

Reading literary criticism is getting easier, especially that related to Flannery O'Connor and the South. I'm catching phantom references to her work--and making my own unique observations.

Having an idea for my own creative thesis, a collection of related short stories based on a story I wrote last semester. What? I actually have an idea for my first collection?

It sounds as if I may have this thing figured out....as long as I continue to jump, dodge, and pound the hell out of the obstacles thrown in my way!

SUPER MALLET, activate!

~~J

Oh Suffrage!

Quite poetic, if you stop to think about it:

(Equal Rights! Equal Duties! German election poster from 1919)

And I've been so busy these last two weeks, having survived Startling Figures: A Celebration of the Legacy of Flannery O'Connor, now I'm just trying to finish off the semester with a florish.

Hence the suffrage poster. It's loosely related to attempt at an apologia. Which, in less fancy terms, is an apology to my readers (those who will be reading my thesis, for example) in the form of an explanation as to why I write. Or what I attempt to do within in own work.

Just be confused for now, because I know I am.

~~J

"...O that Shakespeherian Rag--"

Because I've already used parts from my favorite Eliot poem ("The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"), I present just a snippet (lines 121-138) of his masterwork. I mean, it's so involved he included his own footnotes...

Enjoy!

The Wasteland
by T.S. Eliot

'Do
'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
'Nothing?'
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It's so elegant
So intelligent
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
'What shall we ever do?'
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

(1888-1965)

(Poetry Month!)
~~J

"Because you are the way you are."

Dorothy Parker wore many hats: Poet. Satirist. Screenwriter. Feminist.

Although familiar with her as "an important woman" I did't read her poetry until recently (when I bought a used copy of her complete works).

(Within the company of others of the Algonquin Round Table)

Her poetry is sarcastic and beautiful. It's strong and classical, but modern at the same time. I decided to share one of her more critical of the opposite sex pieces. But she knew them well, men. So even her criticisms have a certain aspect of truth--which really makes them all the more honest.

Men
by Dorothy Parker

They hail you as their morning star
Because you are the way you are.
If you return the sentiment,
They'll try to make you different;
And once they have you, safe and sound,
They want to change you all around.
Your moods and ways they put a curse on;
They'd make of you another person.
They cannot let you go your gait;
They influence and educate.
They'd alter all that they admired.
They make me sick, they make me tired.

(1893-1967)


(Poetry Month!)
~~J

My Introduction to Poetry.

I discovered poetry as a child through the world of Shel Silverstein. I distinctly remember listening to a recording of Shel and his guitar singing poems from WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS.

(from the cover of the 1974 book)

Not only were the the words silly and fun, the book contained fantastic drawings/sketching that illustrated the action within the poems perfectly.

Boa Constrictor
by Shel Silverstein

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . .

(Poetry Month!)
~~J

Janet (tries) to Read.

Once upon a time, I started a reading project.

It didn't last.

Nevertheless, I've tried to modify it.

Ironically, the reason things went array, has given me a chance to finish reading an author's complete volume of work.

Thanks, graduate school!

I realize Flannery O'Connor was "only" able to finish two novels and 32 short stories before she died from complications of lupus. But I'm still determined to read all the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (my original attempt).

EDIT: I have read all of Laura Zigman's novels (that should count for something because they're fabulous).

And I've even added a more contemporary writer on my list: Richard Bausch. The picture only shows nine books/collections--he has twenty. I've received another since this photograph was taken, which means I now have ten.

It is easy to be inspired to read (and write) when you're surrounded by others who do both.

Case in point, last month my MFA program hosted Julie Marie Wade. She won the 2010 Arts & Letters/Susan Atefat Prize in Creative Nonfiction. Not only did she read her winning essay, she also participated in an enlightening Q&A session.

I was lucky enough to spend a decent amount of time with her (dinners, coffee, and ghost hunting). What do writers talk about when they get together? Sometimes writing, learning, reading, teaching...

And I didn't feel like an Über Nerd. In fact, I felt quite the opposite.
----------------------

NOW (today) I can say that I've finished her book--Wishbone: A Memoir in Fractures as well as one by Bausch These Extremes. They were both so wonderful! It's just slow-going when you're writing scholarly papers and trying to write your own work as well (excuses, excuses).
.
.
.
~~J

"where would they carry me?"

(Self-Portrait by William Carlos William)

"Summer Song"

by William Carlos William

Wanderer moon

smiling a

faintly ironical smile

at this

brilliant, dew-moistened

summer morning,—

a detached

sleepily indifferent smile,

a wanderer's smile,—

if I should

buy a shirt

your color and

put on a necktie

sky-blue

where would they carry me?

(Poetry Month!)
~~J