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