The other day I posted a link to this blog on the Cactus People blog which, as you may remember, I facilitate for my potted green friend, Fred. Today, I thought I'd return the favor by asking you to check out his latest post.
When clicking the link along the right hand margin (chroniclesofawesternpacactus.wordpress.com), you'll find a review of Kevin Wilson's book The Family Fang as well as a song by Eleni Mandell. Aren't links fun? It's like following a treasure map. One thing leads to another and before you know it, hours have passed; your tea kettle has boiled dry on the stove, and there are 15 windows flashing across the the bottom of your screen.
Enjoy!
May 24, 2012
May 22, 2012
One Good Deed Deserves Another
I promised myself that after May 1st, I would be finished submitting my manuscript/selections from said manuscript to contests. I wanted to take a break for the summer. Free my mind to write something fresh. But (certainly you could sense the but coming) everytime I think I'm out...they pull me back in. (Please pardon the shameless Godfather reference). So, in the last two days I've written at least five checks to assorted literary contests, each promising to lovingly care for my work - to massage its feet and lavish it with praise - or at least that's what's implied by the slick phrasing of their ads in the magazines I can't keep myself from reading. Send us your cash, and we'll do the rest. And really, I'm happy to support the industry that I hope will one day support me. Such is my devotion (read obsession) that last night I went in search of a recently published novel written by one of the contest judges (I won't say which one). I had seen this book prominently displayed on the shelves at B&N in weeks past, but naturally, now that I was hoping to purchase it, it was nowhere to be found. The gal who consulted with the computer on their inventory appeared puzzled when none of the five copies they were supposed to have in stock appeared on the shelves. She resorted to asking a fellow human being who suggested she check the "Return" rack in the back room.
"I'll be back," she said. And in short order, the youngster returned carrying a stack of hardback books.
"These were going back to the warehouse?" I asked.
"No. I don't think. But no one has bought one yet, and they needed room for other stuff."
"So I saved her from oblivion?"
"..."
"I've brought her back to life!" I said, waving my copy triumphantly in the air.
"Sure."
Again, I won't mention the name of the book because I wouldn't want to be disqualified from the contest she's judging. I mean, can't you just see it unfolding? Somehow the 20 year old readers select my story from the stack. They manage to forward it to the 22 year old editors who miraculously agree with their understudies and voila! The unnameable judge reads my story. She loves it. Kicks herself for not writing it herself. And such is her devotion, she runs a search on my name. Stumbles upon this blog. Sees that I've rescued her book from the remainders and realizes that she can't choose my story because now we have a personal connection. In the fantasy world raging in my head, this is just exactly how it would happen.
So, I won't tell you the name of the book or the name of the contest or the name of the judge. And because of this one day some starry-eyed reader will save my story from obscurity. She will be compelled to read beyond the first three sentences all the way through to the last three sentences, run her fingers along the words as if they'd been written with her in mind; march right into the editor's dorm room, my story dangling from her armpit - demanding an audience. Undeterred by the naysayers. The heavily pierced skeptics. Stopping at nothing until she's granted a meeting with the big (un)nameable judge.
"I'll be back," she said. And in short order, the youngster returned carrying a stack of hardback books.
"These were going back to the warehouse?" I asked.
"No. I don't think. But no one has bought one yet, and they needed room for other stuff."
"So I saved her from oblivion?"
"..."
"I've brought her back to life!" I said, waving my copy triumphantly in the air.
"Sure."
Again, I won't mention the name of the book because I wouldn't want to be disqualified from the contest she's judging. I mean, can't you just see it unfolding? Somehow the 20 year old readers select my story from the stack. They manage to forward it to the 22 year old editors who miraculously agree with their understudies and voila! The unnameable judge reads my story. She loves it. Kicks herself for not writing it herself. And such is her devotion, she runs a search on my name. Stumbles upon this blog. Sees that I've rescued her book from the remainders and realizes that she can't choose my story because now we have a personal connection. In the fantasy world raging in my head, this is just exactly how it would happen.
So, I won't tell you the name of the book or the name of the contest or the name of the judge. And because of this one day some starry-eyed reader will save my story from obscurity. She will be compelled to read beyond the first three sentences all the way through to the last three sentences, run her fingers along the words as if they'd been written with her in mind; march right into the editor's dorm room, my story dangling from her armpit - demanding an audience. Undeterred by the naysayers. The heavily pierced skeptics. Stopping at nothing until she's granted a meeting with the big (un)nameable judge.
May 7, 2012
No more pencils? No more books?
With the last of my finals over, the last of the 55 essays critiqued and grades submitted to the registrar, I should be elated. I should dive into the pile of words I've been meaning to sort through all year, ideas I've stashed in various crevices of my brain and on the backs of crumpled receipts. I should write. I should nap. I should watch a movie. It is summer vacation! But I've always preferred fall to summer, and to be honest, I already miss my students as much as I used to miss my teachers when I was a little girl.
I guess that means I'm in the right profession. School is where I feel most complete. Most alive. Most likely to succeed. (Did you know that I was featured in my senior yearbook beside this prediction? Of course the other kid voted Most likely to succeed became a brain surgeon or something. Seriously. This is not me trying to be funny; I believe the man actually operates on brains. But how does one define success, anyway?)
Aside from some really extraordinary things - things like taking a trip to Italy with my family - I will probably spend the summer doing what I did as a kid: playing school. Reading up on books I want my students to read. Plotting out my lesson plans. Sharpening pencils...
Here is a video of some of my students conducting a mock-trial for their final presentation grade. Half of them were prosecuting President Bush and the rest of the federal gov't for failing to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina; the other half tried to pin the horrific relief efforts in New Orleans on the local and state gov't. Very compelling stuff. I filmed their arguments on my phone, and my stupid thermos has a starring role, but I am proud of what they accomplished - of their creativity and zeal. And of the fact that I actually figured out how to upload something to YouTube. That's the great thing about being a teacher - there's always something new to learn.
I guess that means I'm in the right profession. School is where I feel most complete. Most alive. Most likely to succeed. (Did you know that I was featured in my senior yearbook beside this prediction? Of course the other kid voted Most likely to succeed became a brain surgeon or something. Seriously. This is not me trying to be funny; I believe the man actually operates on brains. But how does one define success, anyway?)
Aside from some really extraordinary things - things like taking a trip to Italy with my family - I will probably spend the summer doing what I did as a kid: playing school. Reading up on books I want my students to read. Plotting out my lesson plans. Sharpening pencils...
Here is a video of some of my students conducting a mock-trial for their final presentation grade. Half of them were prosecuting President Bush and the rest of the federal gov't for failing to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina; the other half tried to pin the horrific relief efforts in New Orleans on the local and state gov't. Very compelling stuff. I filmed their arguments on my phone, and my stupid thermos has a starring role, but I am proud of what they accomplished - of their creativity and zeal. And of the fact that I actually figured out how to upload something to YouTube. That's the great thing about being a teacher - there's always something new to learn.
April 13, 2012
Congratulations, it's a blog!
Who'd have thunk it? ME - with not one but now TWO blogs! Unthinkable! ME who, just six months ago had nary a Powerpoint presentation to her name. And while I'm on the subject of things remarkable, have you noticed how often the exclaimation point is used in daily life?
Good Morning!
How are you!
Fine!
This kind of punctuation has traditionally been reserved for words like Fire! Stop! Help! and now, perhaps in an attempt not to come across as hostile in email, we are maniacs with the Shift key.
Anyway...I have some excellent books to recommend (somehow I have managed to read a number of terrific things in the recent weeks) but first I want to tell you about my new (additional) baby blog. In truth, I am only the facilitator of this second blog: Cactus People/Chronicles of a Western Pennsylvania Cactus - see the link on the margin. The real author is my cactus. Please check out this new site and consider clicking the 'follow' button to track Fred's adventures and inner thoughts.
Now for the books: (or as an Irishman might say, the Bukes - which rhymes with Lukes)
The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka. A National Book Award Finalist, this very short novel reads like a beautiful prose poem. Told from the collective 'we', Otsuka follows the lives of several Japanese women from their first boat ride to the U.S. through their forced exodus from American society during WWII. Unfortunately, you will likely find this book on a table at Barnes & Noble labeled 'New Releases' among other paperbacks featuring handcuffed women in negligees. Book Store design and layout is only one of the many careers I wish I had time to pursue.
Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. A non-fiction account of one family's Hurricane Katrina nightmare come to life. Dave Eggers is a new hero of mine.
Ms. Hempel Chronicles by Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum. A truly wonderful collection of linked short stories. In a world where so many authors misuse the comma, Ms. Bynum is ever-faithful to the correct form. She gets a gold star for grammar and for her intelligent, heart-felt tales of a seventh-grade teacher.
Other People We Married by Emma Straub. Another collection of short stories - unlinked. I didn't love every story, but overall, a solid debut by a woman who works at an independent book store.
Reviews forthcoming: Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward; When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams, and Girlchild by Tupelo Hassman. If you've read these or if you run out and buy them right now and want to chime in, please drop a line. I'd love to have a chat about the bukes.
Good Morning!
How are you!
Fine!
This kind of punctuation has traditionally been reserved for words like Fire! Stop! Help! and now, perhaps in an attempt not to come across as hostile in email, we are maniacs with the Shift key.
Anyway...I have some excellent books to recommend (somehow I have managed to read a number of terrific things in the recent weeks) but first I want to tell you about my new (additional) baby blog. In truth, I am only the facilitator of this second blog: Cactus People/Chronicles of a Western Pennsylvania Cactus - see the link on the margin. The real author is my cactus. Please check out this new site and consider clicking the 'follow' button to track Fred's adventures and inner thoughts.
Now for the books: (or as an Irishman might say, the Bukes - which rhymes with Lukes)
The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka. A National Book Award Finalist, this very short novel reads like a beautiful prose poem. Told from the collective 'we', Otsuka follows the lives of several Japanese women from their first boat ride to the U.S. through their forced exodus from American society during WWII. Unfortunately, you will likely find this book on a table at Barnes & Noble labeled 'New Releases' among other paperbacks featuring handcuffed women in negligees. Book Store design and layout is only one of the many careers I wish I had time to pursue.
Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. A non-fiction account of one family's Hurricane Katrina nightmare come to life. Dave Eggers is a new hero of mine.
Ms. Hempel Chronicles by Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum. A truly wonderful collection of linked short stories. In a world where so many authors misuse the comma, Ms. Bynum is ever-faithful to the correct form. She gets a gold star for grammar and for her intelligent, heart-felt tales of a seventh-grade teacher.
Other People We Married by Emma Straub. Another collection of short stories - unlinked. I didn't love every story, but overall, a solid debut by a woman who works at an independent book store.
Reviews forthcoming: Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward; When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams, and Girlchild by Tupelo Hassman. If you've read these or if you run out and buy them right now and want to chime in, please drop a line. I'd love to have a chat about the bukes.
March 22, 2012
Moving Pictures
Sometimes the internet is a really amazing thing. Yes. I said it. Here's why...in the past ten minutes I've read a beautiful poem by Gary Young called "In the Heat of Late Afternoon". I would never have known about it if it weren't for the daily email I receive from The Writer's Almanac. Also in the last ten minutes I've read a wonderful piece from the Chicago Tribune which recalled a eulogy for a journalist who recently died in a car crash - a reprint of a letter written to him when he was an advice columnist. And I've watched (twice) an incredibly moving YouTube video uploaded by a Japanese comedian referred to as "Tekken" (though his stop animation short film is hardly funny.) I actually have a lot I would like to write. So much to 'blog' about. But I think I'll save my words for another time in lieu of offering up these moving pictures. Here are the link to the column (in red) and the film. (below) In honor of the wisdom of Jeff Zaslow
March 17, 2012
Feel Free to Smile
Today is my birthday. As a child, I thought that being born on St. Patrick's Day made me Irish. My mother's maiden name is O'Donnell, which has more to do with it, I suppose, but I've always loved the fact that every year there is a parade on my birthday. It is 75 degrees in Pittsburgh. The sun is shining, and I'll be having spaghetti for dinner. How much better could it get? Today and always, I wish you the luck of the Irish, and to set the mood, here are the muppets with a rousing rendition of "Danny Boy". As they say at the DMV - Feel Free to Smile!
Happy St. Patrick's Day...
Happy St. Patrick's Day...
March 6, 2012
For Mature Audiences Only
Much space has been devoted in this blog to the discussion of technology. How rapidly the times they are a changin' and not necessarily in the way that Bob Dylan intended. Indeed, technology seems to advance at such warp speeds that it's nearly impossible to monitor. Still, even with my limited knowledge (and interest) of this kind of advancement, I am willing to risk that modern medicine has not yet progressed to the point that women can now impregnate themselves. Sure, a woman with financial means can visit a doctor and pay to be artifically inseminated. But obviously, this woman is hoping to become pregnant and therefore not simultaneously seeking a prescription for birth control.
Understanding how babies are made does not escape even the youngest among us. Entire television programs are devoted to demonstrating the reproductive prowess of children. So why in the year 2012 do we still view birth control as a women's health issue? Shouldn't men be as concerned about their progeny? About their ability to assume responsibility for a life beyond their own? About the women they love whose health depends upon a little blue pill the way others depend upon injections of insulin or epinephrine? If birth control is a women's health issue - one that, as Rush Limbaugh suggests, is the business of the bedroom and not the federal government, then diabetes is an issue best discussed in the kitchen. People who would die from a bee sting should simply stay indoors.
During a press conference today, President Obama addressed Rush Limbaugh's comments about Sandra Fluke - sort of. He told reporters that he wouldn't comment on the advertisers who've pulled their dollars from Limbaugh's radio program. He wouldn't comment on the sincerity of Limbaugh's 'apology' to Sandra Fluke. He would say that the words used by the right-wing pundit had no place in the public discourse. For those of you who haven't heard, Sandra Fluke is a law student at Georgetown, who tried to testify before a congressional panel on behalf of the bill to include contraceptives in employer-provided health care. Limbaugh, as a point of reference, demonstrated his respect for the power of broadcasting, for the privilege of free speech and called this activist a slut. A prostitute. A woman whose agenda is to have as much sex as possible without consequence, seemingly for profit.
It just so happens that the focus of the classes I'm teaching this semester is argument. One of the first lessons about argument and its art, rhetoric, is that human tendency is to have the strongest opinions about the things we know least. Inflexibility and ignorance make smug bedfellows. And I suppose if the logic follows, then Rush Limbaugh is the least informed man in America. Here is what else Mr. Obama said during his press conference: "being part of a democracy involves argument and disagreements and debate. And we want you to be engaged, and there's a way to do it in a way that doesn't involve you being demeaned and insulted." The definition of argument - in my classroom - is mature reasoning. Defending not the first opinion that you have on a subject but the best opinion - arrived at through active listening, inquiry, and thoughtful consideration. What part of Rush Limbaugh's tirade involved thought? He's made a name for himself by spewing venom for public spectacle. Brandishing hate for entertainment. For years. And he's hardly the only one.
Sandra Fluke is a private citizen. She isn't running for President. She didn't deserve to be singled out, defamed for her bravery. In the end, she didn't even get to testify. The panel changed its mind and told her she would not be permitted to speak. She wanted to exercise her right to voice her opinion - calmly, intelligently, and with nary an expletive or personal attack on the character of the members of the panel. What she got instead was a phone call from Barack Obama. An appearance on The View. Over 280 million Google results. And hopefully, enough public outrage to call attention to the flagrant misuse of so many microphones. To reject the notion that the loudest voice is the most powerful.
Teddy Roosevelt was famous for saying "Speak softly and carry a big stick". It was something he'd heard in West Africa and though he wielded it as most politicians wield catch phrases: to advance his political agenda, I think it bears consideration. Speak softly, meaning be a mature reasoner. Be willing to listen - to change when presented with good cause. But carry a big stick - just in case you encounter a snake - earless and forktongued.
Understanding how babies are made does not escape even the youngest among us. Entire television programs are devoted to demonstrating the reproductive prowess of children. So why in the year 2012 do we still view birth control as a women's health issue? Shouldn't men be as concerned about their progeny? About their ability to assume responsibility for a life beyond their own? About the women they love whose health depends upon a little blue pill the way others depend upon injections of insulin or epinephrine? If birth control is a women's health issue - one that, as Rush Limbaugh suggests, is the business of the bedroom and not the federal government, then diabetes is an issue best discussed in the kitchen. People who would die from a bee sting should simply stay indoors.
During a press conference today, President Obama addressed Rush Limbaugh's comments about Sandra Fluke - sort of. He told reporters that he wouldn't comment on the advertisers who've pulled their dollars from Limbaugh's radio program. He wouldn't comment on the sincerity of Limbaugh's 'apology' to Sandra Fluke. He would say that the words used by the right-wing pundit had no place in the public discourse. For those of you who haven't heard, Sandra Fluke is a law student at Georgetown, who tried to testify before a congressional panel on behalf of the bill to include contraceptives in employer-provided health care. Limbaugh, as a point of reference, demonstrated his respect for the power of broadcasting, for the privilege of free speech and called this activist a slut. A prostitute. A woman whose agenda is to have as much sex as possible without consequence, seemingly for profit.
It just so happens that the focus of the classes I'm teaching this semester is argument. One of the first lessons about argument and its art, rhetoric, is that human tendency is to have the strongest opinions about the things we know least. Inflexibility and ignorance make smug bedfellows. And I suppose if the logic follows, then Rush Limbaugh is the least informed man in America. Here is what else Mr. Obama said during his press conference: "being part of a democracy involves argument and disagreements and debate. And we want you to be engaged, and there's a way to do it in a way that doesn't involve you being demeaned and insulted." The definition of argument - in my classroom - is mature reasoning. Defending not the first opinion that you have on a subject but the best opinion - arrived at through active listening, inquiry, and thoughtful consideration. What part of Rush Limbaugh's tirade involved thought? He's made a name for himself by spewing venom for public spectacle. Brandishing hate for entertainment. For years. And he's hardly the only one.
Sandra Fluke is a private citizen. She isn't running for President. She didn't deserve to be singled out, defamed for her bravery. In the end, she didn't even get to testify. The panel changed its mind and told her she would not be permitted to speak. She wanted to exercise her right to voice her opinion - calmly, intelligently, and with nary an expletive or personal attack on the character of the members of the panel. What she got instead was a phone call from Barack Obama. An appearance on The View. Over 280 million Google results. And hopefully, enough public outrage to call attention to the flagrant misuse of so many microphones. To reject the notion that the loudest voice is the most powerful.
Teddy Roosevelt was famous for saying "Speak softly and carry a big stick". It was something he'd heard in West Africa and though he wielded it as most politicians wield catch phrases: to advance his political agenda, I think it bears consideration. Speak softly, meaning be a mature reasoner. Be willing to listen - to change when presented with good cause. But carry a big stick - just in case you encounter a snake - earless and forktongued.
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