So it's official--I'm working on my second book, but this book will not be self-published. No, I don't have a publisher yet, but I won't stop until I get one. And, no, I haven't tried to get one yet either, but I will. Yes, I will. I'm actually going to take some stories from my first book Sunbathing in a Body Cast and add a whole bunch more and rename it Sunbathing in a Body Cast: True Stories of a Resilient Runt. I was going to call the book I'd Like to Thank My Colon but I think the other title holds a bit more pizazz to it. It's hard to carve out time to write every day, but this past weekend I sat down for 15 minutes and wrote 1200 words, so I know I have it in me. Most of the stories deal with social observations, being a mom, crazy things I think about, my walk away from corporate America, and plenty o' self-deprecating humor.
Amidst this work in progress, I have the date of Dec. 11 looming in the back of my mind because that's when I'm going to get my hip replaced at the Cleveland Clinic. It's hard to not let that be the only thing I think about every day. Of course my brain goes to a dark place and hopes I don't kick the bucket on the operating table. It's not likely, but wouldn't that just be my luck? Today I went to run after my 20-month old and could barely do it from the stiffness and pain in my hip, so I'm looking forward to the day when I can do it. I'm not even 40 and I'm slowing down and it's a reality check. People always talk about how one day you'll feel old and it's shocking to have that one day be this day. I'm active and healthy and strong, but this feeling of slowing down is suffocating to me. I want to be able to run after my kiddos when they're young, but I also want to do really cool stuff with them when they're adults like travel. Cece and I talk about going to Italy and she's told me countless times about how she's going to be "a single lady and travel." So Mama needs this hip to keep up.
So beyond the thoughts of this surgery and teaching writing classes every day and running after my family every day, there is a start of my next book, and in my bones I know it's good. It's good because ever since grad school I've been quietly sitting back and absorbing as much as I can about writing. I finally feel like I get it. It doesn't always come out as though I get it, but I do get it now and I hope I have the courage to keep letting it out.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Work vs. Life Cagematch!
I sometimes write for the Faculty Forum at the college where I teach. This is my latest article:
Work vs. Life Cagematch!
Rebecca Rine-Stone
A student recently came up to me after class with a concern. He had been out of school for twenty years, and he was nervous about his writing. I assured him that’s understandable, but I would do all that I could to give him the help he needed. Then he said, “Well, I’m intimidated by you because I mean, here you are the TEACHER. You don’t know how intimidating that is.” His assumption that I have my life neatly lined up enough to evoke awe caused me to nearly spit my cold Folgers out in laughter.
His perception at least assured me my outward appearance and professional persona are belying my true inner tug-of-war struggle, trying to find balance between work and life. I was relieved he wasn’t able to see behind the curtain of my production because there he would witness my career and personal life duking it out, ferociously yanking each other’s hair with bloodied nails and smeared mascara, shrieking, “She’s mine!” “No—she’s mine!” as I look on, mouth agape, wondering whom to devote attention to first.
So much time is spent focused on the students and what they need from us that I feel talking about work/life balance for teachers is akin to discussion of taboo topics such as money, religion, or admitting I love watching The Bachelor. Discussion of work/life balance is the proverbial elephant in the room for us. Talking about it feels too eerily close to complaining or not being grateful. It’s a daunting topic as well because I don’t want to come across as saying, “I give too much to my students. I’d like to start giving less, thank you very much.” The truth is, my goal is to reach and engage them but not at the expense of my entire brain and personal life.
In a recent Student Engagement meeting, a fellow adjunct instructor and I got to talking about work/life balance. I could feel my eyes widen as she expressed the same panicky consumption I’ve been feeling. I was finally shedding light on this dark truth! I thought this was my dirty little secret! So I’m not alone! The facilitator came by and we addressed the question to him: “How do you keep work from taking over your life?” His answer: “I’ll let you know when I figure that out!”
Oh. So the answer is there is no answer.
I understand that teaching is not just a job, it’s a life-consuming challenge, so is this tug-of-war between work and life inevitable and merely proof that I’m doing my job well with gumption? Does it prove I care? Is it the earning of my stripes? Maybe I should be concerned if I didn’t feel that tug. Maybe I’m just a newbie, and with time I’ll learn the art of gracefully billowing between work and life seamlessly like wind. I suspect not.
We devote a lot of time addressing the vital question of what we can do for students to keep them engaged, but I have to remind myself to also do things for me to take care of myself. I leave notes around my house reminding me to exercise, avoid yelling at my kids, and keep submitting my stories to publications. The truth is, however, the notes are just another façade behind the curtain. My definition of exercise is soon reduced to cracking my neck while reading essays. I inevitably lose patience with my kids, and submitting my stories to publications? It’s been a year since that’s happened.
But when I get to class I allow my students to pull, pull, pull. You have a late paper even though I said I cannot take late papers? Oh, you’re dad was sick, so yes, I’ll take it. I said no emailed papers….oh, but your printer is on the fritz? Well, okay, fine, email it to me. I find myself falling into the trap of sometimes giving them more than they’re giving me, but I rationalize it by telling myself I don’t want to be the one factor that stands in the way of their future. I am perhaps so concerned with what they need from me that I forget what I need from me.
We ask students what they want out of college and we work as hard as we can to get them there, but in the process should we allow it to deplete us? It’s a “put your oxygen mask on first before you can help others” scene. I crave oxygen sometimes. If we’re a faculty who is so committed to putting the oxygen on the students first without first putting the oxygen on ourselves, what does that say about us? We too don’t deserve and need it?
All the information at the Student Engagement conferences has been compelling and intriguing, and I’m always wondering what else I can do to make my classes come alive. There’s a teaching to-do list in my brain that feels like a hamster on a wheel: Create an example for the students; Do some more group activities, but be careful because so-and-so doesn’t like group work---think about what might reach him; Create a fresh writing exercise that gets them excited about the assignment…Then this teaching-based to-do list starts to stare down my personal to-do list: Check out summer camps for daughter—maybe they have financial aid?; I should really try incorporating more vegetables into our diet, son still cringes at broccoli but I will conquer; Find a babysitter—haven’t had a date night with the hubs in a year; Car’s still making that crazy sound—oil change?
A lot is expected from a teacher, and I take these responsibilities seriously. We need to reach the students, offer them hands-on learning experiences, engage them, excite them, light fires in their bellies, lead them, teach them to lead, challenge them with new thought, etc. I’m completely on board with this noble mission, but I need someone to teach me a thing or two about how to do this without losing myself.
Work vs. Life Cagematch!
Rebecca Rine-Stone
A student recently came up to me after class with a concern. He had been out of school for twenty years, and he was nervous about his writing. I assured him that’s understandable, but I would do all that I could to give him the help he needed. Then he said, “Well, I’m intimidated by you because I mean, here you are the TEACHER. You don’t know how intimidating that is.” His assumption that I have my life neatly lined up enough to evoke awe caused me to nearly spit my cold Folgers out in laughter.
His perception at least assured me my outward appearance and professional persona are belying my true inner tug-of-war struggle, trying to find balance between work and life. I was relieved he wasn’t able to see behind the curtain of my production because there he would witness my career and personal life duking it out, ferociously yanking each other’s hair with bloodied nails and smeared mascara, shrieking, “She’s mine!” “No—she’s mine!” as I look on, mouth agape, wondering whom to devote attention to first.
So much time is spent focused on the students and what they need from us that I feel talking about work/life balance for teachers is akin to discussion of taboo topics such as money, religion, or admitting I love watching The Bachelor. Discussion of work/life balance is the proverbial elephant in the room for us. Talking about it feels too eerily close to complaining or not being grateful. It’s a daunting topic as well because I don’t want to come across as saying, “I give too much to my students. I’d like to start giving less, thank you very much.” The truth is, my goal is to reach and engage them but not at the expense of my entire brain and personal life.
In a recent Student Engagement meeting, a fellow adjunct instructor and I got to talking about work/life balance. I could feel my eyes widen as she expressed the same panicky consumption I’ve been feeling. I was finally shedding light on this dark truth! I thought this was my dirty little secret! So I’m not alone! The facilitator came by and we addressed the question to him: “How do you keep work from taking over your life?” His answer: “I’ll let you know when I figure that out!”
Oh. So the answer is there is no answer.
I understand that teaching is not just a job, it’s a life-consuming challenge, so is this tug-of-war between work and life inevitable and merely proof that I’m doing my job well with gumption? Does it prove I care? Is it the earning of my stripes? Maybe I should be concerned if I didn’t feel that tug. Maybe I’m just a newbie, and with time I’ll learn the art of gracefully billowing between work and life seamlessly like wind. I suspect not.
We devote a lot of time addressing the vital question of what we can do for students to keep them engaged, but I have to remind myself to also do things for me to take care of myself. I leave notes around my house reminding me to exercise, avoid yelling at my kids, and keep submitting my stories to publications. The truth is, however, the notes are just another façade behind the curtain. My definition of exercise is soon reduced to cracking my neck while reading essays. I inevitably lose patience with my kids, and submitting my stories to publications? It’s been a year since that’s happened.
But when I get to class I allow my students to pull, pull, pull. You have a late paper even though I said I cannot take late papers? Oh, you’re dad was sick, so yes, I’ll take it. I said no emailed papers….oh, but your printer is on the fritz? Well, okay, fine, email it to me. I find myself falling into the trap of sometimes giving them more than they’re giving me, but I rationalize it by telling myself I don’t want to be the one factor that stands in the way of their future. I am perhaps so concerned with what they need from me that I forget what I need from me.
We ask students what they want out of college and we work as hard as we can to get them there, but in the process should we allow it to deplete us? It’s a “put your oxygen mask on first before you can help others” scene. I crave oxygen sometimes. If we’re a faculty who is so committed to putting the oxygen on the students first without first putting the oxygen on ourselves, what does that say about us? We too don’t deserve and need it?
All the information at the Student Engagement conferences has been compelling and intriguing, and I’m always wondering what else I can do to make my classes come alive. There’s a teaching to-do list in my brain that feels like a hamster on a wheel: Create an example for the students; Do some more group activities, but be careful because so-and-so doesn’t like group work---think about what might reach him; Create a fresh writing exercise that gets them excited about the assignment…Then this teaching-based to-do list starts to stare down my personal to-do list: Check out summer camps for daughter—maybe they have financial aid?; I should really try incorporating more vegetables into our diet, son still cringes at broccoli but I will conquer; Find a babysitter—haven’t had a date night with the hubs in a year; Car’s still making that crazy sound—oil change?
A lot is expected from a teacher, and I take these responsibilities seriously. We need to reach the students, offer them hands-on learning experiences, engage them, excite them, light fires in their bellies, lead them, teach them to lead, challenge them with new thought, etc. I’m completely on board with this noble mission, but I need someone to teach me a thing or two about how to do this without losing myself.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Latest Publication
I had an essay of mine published in the Louisville Review last year, and it's been my goal to get back on the train of writing and getting things out there again. After having a baby and packing up and moving our family from busy Chicago to peaceful Ohio, I've finally somewhat found the ability once again to slow down and breathe (in between working and raising 2 toddlers) and write. I was nervous that teaching would start sucking this abililty dry for me, but the opposite has happened, thank goodness. Teaching is a funny thing--it's not as though the information is departing and you're giving it away. You're learning from your students and the pitfalls they face because you've smashed your face a thousand times in those same pitfalls. Anyway, the bottom line is, I'm happy to still find even a miniscule amount of time to dedicate to writing.
I submitted an essay for the Erma Bombeck competition, and I should be hearing about that within the next few weeks--fingers crossed! The article I'll paste here today is for something called Faculty Forum where I work. I'm just an adjunct, so to have my work accepted is encouraging. My goal is to teach there full time, so my hope is that it will reach the right eyes within the college.
Happy reading and I hope spring is in the air wherever you are!
-Rebecca
Can They Hear Me Now?
Rebecca Rine-Stone
Today’s student is being pulled in several different directions: school, work, and often a family to take care of. These distractions can wear even the most dedicated student down. Juggling life is the goal of a typical Sinclair student; however, when the door closes to my classroom, life has to wait on the other side. When class begins, we are now on an island away from the mainland of information-overload insanity. And on this island there’s no cell phone reception.
Asking students to turn their cell phones off in class is giving them an opportunity to be yanked in one less direction, allowing them the chance to devote the class solely to learning. Otherwise, they fool themselves (as we all do) into thinking they can continue to do what they do on the other side of the door—multitask—a word that is highly misleading. How can a student possibly be immersed in a discussion regarding the power of a well-placed simile or metaphor if he/she is texting LMAO ur 2 right cu 2nite.
When I first switched to this cell phone-free zone of teaching, I asked myself, “Are you being an old-school ogre or what?” But I’ve since come to the conclusion that prohibiting the use of cell phones in class is not an irrational demand. Why can’t I, the person armed with the responsibility of reaching students, ask for their undivided attention? Why must a stuffy, elbow-patch-blazer-wearing stigma be attached to this very reasonable request?
That’s not to say I turn into a fire-breathing dragon when someone pulls out a cell phone. In fact, I rarely have to address this issue because the parameters are set on the first day: No cell phones allowed. They’re not needed in English class the same way ovens, blenders or circus clowns are not needed in an English class.
Although cell phones are not allowed, my classroom is anything but a media-free zone. It is an island, not Amish country. Nearly each class refers to videos, music or the Internet to draw participation from the class. I understand this is the sort of learning students are craving now and I embrace that, but cell phones have nothing to do with this technology-based learning. Delivering an active learning atmosphere that sparks an interest and engages the student is what I strive to do with technology, and cell phone usage gets in the way of this immersive learning. Cell phones are simply a distraction that I choose to take out of the equation, since I know from experience that students will often not have the self-discipline to put their phones away if they’re not asked to.
I’ve received rebuttals from students and teachers alike regarding cell phone usage, claiming that I’m not being realistic—cell phones are just a part of everyday life and they need to be accepted. I whole-heartedly accept cell phone usage outside the classroom, and I get that this is the world we now live in, but never before have there been exceptions made in the classroom for distractions simply because “that’s just how students are nowadays.” In the 1950s were students allowed to leisurely leaf through the latest Mad comic book in class?
Sure, they might be able to sit back and text if all I were doing were delivering a stagnant lecture, but I strive to do more than that, so the students’ job entails much more than sitting back and being a passive listener. They should be getting their hands on the information, collaborating with their peers to make sense of it and come to conclusions by engaging in conversation and adding insight. Prohibiting the use of cell phones doesn’t magically create a perfect classroom filled with attentive, hungry students who eagerly volunteer their thoughts—I’m not that naïve. It does, however, take away one temptation to get sidetracked and fall short of success.
Yes, students complain and let out groans of frustration as I catch their fingers reaching for their phones, but that’s okay. Hands-on learning can be uncomfortable at first because it is perhaps something new to them and it takes more vulnerability and confidence, but I hope to give them an experience that will begin to translate to other parts of their lives. I remind students they didn’t come to college to remain unchanged; they came to become stronger, more critical thinkers.
Part of the education comes from the book and our instruction, but I’d argue the other part comes from slowing down and focusing on the task at hand. This slow, purposeful attention to detail is something that is no longer inherent in our conveyer-belt world, so I add it to my list of objectives. Our attention spans have become frenetic spits and spasms because that’s the cadence of society, but I want students to come to the realization that their waning attention span is actually something they can train, mold and discipline to stay on track, blocking out Facebook updates that celebrate the fact that Katie’s dog looks great in his tutu.
Soon enough the class is over and we have to leave the island of literary respite and return to the world of nonstop chatter. Sure, when class ends, I often see a room full of hands reaching down to their pockets for their phones in anticipation as if we were in a showdown in an old Western movie. But for 50 minutes we can say we slowed down and focused on things that might otherwise be overlooked in the busy world that lurks outside the door. I hope by disconnecting, they connect with themselves and each other.
I submitted an essay for the Erma Bombeck competition, and I should be hearing about that within the next few weeks--fingers crossed! The article I'll paste here today is for something called Faculty Forum where I work. I'm just an adjunct, so to have my work accepted is encouraging. My goal is to teach there full time, so my hope is that it will reach the right eyes within the college.
Happy reading and I hope spring is in the air wherever you are!
-Rebecca
Can They Hear Me Now?
Rebecca Rine-Stone
Today’s student is being pulled in several different directions: school, work, and often a family to take care of. These distractions can wear even the most dedicated student down. Juggling life is the goal of a typical Sinclair student; however, when the door closes to my classroom, life has to wait on the other side. When class begins, we are now on an island away from the mainland of information-overload insanity. And on this island there’s no cell phone reception.
Asking students to turn their cell phones off in class is giving them an opportunity to be yanked in one less direction, allowing them the chance to devote the class solely to learning. Otherwise, they fool themselves (as we all do) into thinking they can continue to do what they do on the other side of the door—multitask—a word that is highly misleading. How can a student possibly be immersed in a discussion regarding the power of a well-placed simile or metaphor if he/she is texting LMAO ur 2 right cu 2nite.
When I first switched to this cell phone-free zone of teaching, I asked myself, “Are you being an old-school ogre or what?” But I’ve since come to the conclusion that prohibiting the use of cell phones in class is not an irrational demand. Why can’t I, the person armed with the responsibility of reaching students, ask for their undivided attention? Why must a stuffy, elbow-patch-blazer-wearing stigma be attached to this very reasonable request?
That’s not to say I turn into a fire-breathing dragon when someone pulls out a cell phone. In fact, I rarely have to address this issue because the parameters are set on the first day: No cell phones allowed. They’re not needed in English class the same way ovens, blenders or circus clowns are not needed in an English class.
Although cell phones are not allowed, my classroom is anything but a media-free zone. It is an island, not Amish country. Nearly each class refers to videos, music or the Internet to draw participation from the class. I understand this is the sort of learning students are craving now and I embrace that, but cell phones have nothing to do with this technology-based learning. Delivering an active learning atmosphere that sparks an interest and engages the student is what I strive to do with technology, and cell phone usage gets in the way of this immersive learning. Cell phones are simply a distraction that I choose to take out of the equation, since I know from experience that students will often not have the self-discipline to put their phones away if they’re not asked to.
I’ve received rebuttals from students and teachers alike regarding cell phone usage, claiming that I’m not being realistic—cell phones are just a part of everyday life and they need to be accepted. I whole-heartedly accept cell phone usage outside the classroom, and I get that this is the world we now live in, but never before have there been exceptions made in the classroom for distractions simply because “that’s just how students are nowadays.” In the 1950s were students allowed to leisurely leaf through the latest Mad comic book in class?
Sure, they might be able to sit back and text if all I were doing were delivering a stagnant lecture, but I strive to do more than that, so the students’ job entails much more than sitting back and being a passive listener. They should be getting their hands on the information, collaborating with their peers to make sense of it and come to conclusions by engaging in conversation and adding insight. Prohibiting the use of cell phones doesn’t magically create a perfect classroom filled with attentive, hungry students who eagerly volunteer their thoughts—I’m not that naïve. It does, however, take away one temptation to get sidetracked and fall short of success.
Yes, students complain and let out groans of frustration as I catch their fingers reaching for their phones, but that’s okay. Hands-on learning can be uncomfortable at first because it is perhaps something new to them and it takes more vulnerability and confidence, but I hope to give them an experience that will begin to translate to other parts of their lives. I remind students they didn’t come to college to remain unchanged; they came to become stronger, more critical thinkers.
Part of the education comes from the book and our instruction, but I’d argue the other part comes from slowing down and focusing on the task at hand. This slow, purposeful attention to detail is something that is no longer inherent in our conveyer-belt world, so I add it to my list of objectives. Our attention spans have become frenetic spits and spasms because that’s the cadence of society, but I want students to come to the realization that their waning attention span is actually something they can train, mold and discipline to stay on track, blocking out Facebook updates that celebrate the fact that Katie’s dog looks great in his tutu.
Soon enough the class is over and we have to leave the island of literary respite and return to the world of nonstop chatter. Sure, when class ends, I often see a room full of hands reaching down to their pockets for their phones in anticipation as if we were in a showdown in an old Western movie. But for 50 minutes we can say we slowed down and focused on things that might otherwise be overlooked in the busy world that lurks outside the door. I hope by disconnecting, they connect with themselves and each other.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Erma Bombeck Competition
I'm submitting this essay to the Erma Bombeck Conference competition. They're looking for writing that's in her style that speaks to everyday life. Here it is:
“Well, before we know it, we’re going to be 80 years old with a quiet house and nothing to do but sleep, and we’ll miss all this.” This was the pep talk I gave with raised eyebrows of encouragement to my husband as we bellyached about how tired we are from working and raising two toddlers. Of course I meant this pep talk—which, really, was about as peppy as a dead puppy—to be a sobering reminder that we need to be grateful for, rather than exhausted by, the constant noise and pull of our kids because their childhoods will inevitably whip right past us. In response to my grim cheerleading, he exhaled as his lips flapped together like a deflating balloon while he held his graying head in his hands, and I was certain he was about to agree. Instead, to the thought of being elderly and slumbering in a childless house, he slowly answered, “Awesome. That sounds great.”
As it is now, our tiny house is filled with constant chatter—random, ridiculous chatter such as, “Mama, you be the robot and I’ll be the monster and we’ll have a picnic and eat donut soup and ride around on a boat with unicorns who are pirates who want to steal our peanut butter.”
Along with having virtually no quiet time, alone time also has been abolished. Today I took a shower (which alone is cause for a stadium wave) and immediately had two toddlers poking their cherub heads into the tub. My initial reaction was to get annoyed that my ten minutes of golden solitude turned into romper room, but the ominous vision of the elderly me quickly convinced me instead to embrace the company, so I turned into a “shower monster” and had them squealing in delight with my roars and thrashing of wet Medusa hair.
I’m heathen enough at times to admit I grow weary of always being needed and surrounded by noise. But I know that one day, if all goes well, I will be 80 and I will finally have alone time and quiet. I’ll lie down on my bed (my husband will be snoozing with a grin) after a day of chasing no one, wiping no one’s bottom (again, if all goes well), taking part in no silly adventures that require a tiara and spatula. I will finally find time to read a book that’s longer than 7 pages without any talking animals in it, and I’ll collapse onto the bed, not out of pure exhaustion as I do now, but out of sadness and irritation at the lifeless silence except for the ticking clock.
“Well, before we know it, we’re going to be 80 years old with a quiet house and nothing to do but sleep, and we’ll miss all this.” This was the pep talk I gave with raised eyebrows of encouragement to my husband as we bellyached about how tired we are from working and raising two toddlers. Of course I meant this pep talk—which, really, was about as peppy as a dead puppy—to be a sobering reminder that we need to be grateful for, rather than exhausted by, the constant noise and pull of our kids because their childhoods will inevitably whip right past us. In response to my grim cheerleading, he exhaled as his lips flapped together like a deflating balloon while he held his graying head in his hands, and I was certain he was about to agree. Instead, to the thought of being elderly and slumbering in a childless house, he slowly answered, “Awesome. That sounds great.”
As it is now, our tiny house is filled with constant chatter—random, ridiculous chatter such as, “Mama, you be the robot and I’ll be the monster and we’ll have a picnic and eat donut soup and ride around on a boat with unicorns who are pirates who want to steal our peanut butter.”
Along with having virtually no quiet time, alone time also has been abolished. Today I took a shower (which alone is cause for a stadium wave) and immediately had two toddlers poking their cherub heads into the tub. My initial reaction was to get annoyed that my ten minutes of golden solitude turned into romper room, but the ominous vision of the elderly me quickly convinced me instead to embrace the company, so I turned into a “shower monster” and had them squealing in delight with my roars and thrashing of wet Medusa hair.
I’m heathen enough at times to admit I grow weary of always being needed and surrounded by noise. But I know that one day, if all goes well, I will be 80 and I will finally have alone time and quiet. I’ll lie down on my bed (my husband will be snoozing with a grin) after a day of chasing no one, wiping no one’s bottom (again, if all goes well), taking part in no silly adventures that require a tiara and spatula. I will finally find time to read a book that’s longer than 7 pages without any talking animals in it, and I’ll collapse onto the bed, not out of pure exhaustion as I do now, but out of sadness and irritation at the lifeless silence except for the ticking clock.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Ugh
This will be a quick post, I'm sure. I found out tonight a pal of mine passed away from cancer. He was a big part of my life when I first moved to Chicago because we worked together at Second City theatre and then eventually performed together. We lost touch when I stopped working there and decided performing was not my cup of tea. I have all these surreal feelings tonight because of his death. Second City sort of marked the beginning of my adventures in Chicago. It was this electric atmosphere filled with constant, guttural laughter. I think the aspect that's making my head spin tonight is that a big part of that vision is now lost because of Mike's passing. No one is exempt from death. Even a circle of laughter and jokes and people with the hunger to live life is not exempt. I keep picturing his chair where he sat near the box office and finding it hard to swallow that time just marches on, putting someone new in that chair, new faces in the theatre, the laughter of people who have come and gone simply fade into the background only to be covered by new laughter.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Deadline
I'm finally doing a reading this Friday night. I used to do readings often when we lived in Chicago, but western Ohio just isn't the bustling literary metropolis. There's going to be a gathering of writers reading at a bookstore, and I asked if I could read and they agreed. I'm going to read a story from my book, most likely the story about my trip to the nude beach. Good times.
I've set a self-imposed goal of April 25 for the completion of my next book. I have no idea how I'll ever find the time to write. While my students were working on something in class, I managed to jot down ideas for stories, but there's a long way to go from scribbles to book. I almost get jealous when I teach because students get to write and try out the techniques I'm talking about. I'm sure they are the exact opposite of happy about having to write, but I'd give my left pinky toe to be able to sit in a quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere and write for a week straight. That's the thing that's hard about writing--you can't dabble in it here and there between putting the dinner on and having your baby throw up on you. Sure I'm constantly thinking of things to write about, but I'm lacking in the ability to get those embrionic ideas to grow into anything more than snippets of "Oh, I should write about this."
And I could steal 10 minutes somewhere, I'm sure, but then I get caught up in the fact that 10 minutes just isn't enough. I need to realize that 10 minutes each day at the end of the week is over an hour of writing. Well, I'll save those optimistic thoughts for tomorrow. My eyes are nearly crossed from reading a gazillion (exact count) essays from students. All I have the energy to do now is eat a bowl of Cheerios before crashing in bed for a few hours before the baby wakes up for his middle-of-the-night hangout.
I've set a self-imposed goal of April 25 for the completion of my next book. I have no idea how I'll ever find the time to write. While my students were working on something in class, I managed to jot down ideas for stories, but there's a long way to go from scribbles to book. I almost get jealous when I teach because students get to write and try out the techniques I'm talking about. I'm sure they are the exact opposite of happy about having to write, but I'd give my left pinky toe to be able to sit in a quiet cabin in the middle of nowhere and write for a week straight. That's the thing that's hard about writing--you can't dabble in it here and there between putting the dinner on and having your baby throw up on you. Sure I'm constantly thinking of things to write about, but I'm lacking in the ability to get those embrionic ideas to grow into anything more than snippets of "Oh, I should write about this."
And I could steal 10 minutes somewhere, I'm sure, but then I get caught up in the fact that 10 minutes just isn't enough. I need to realize that 10 minutes each day at the end of the week is over an hour of writing. Well, I'll save those optimistic thoughts for tomorrow. My eyes are nearly crossed from reading a gazillion (exact count) essays from students. All I have the energy to do now is eat a bowl of Cheerios before crashing in bed for a few hours before the baby wakes up for his middle-of-the-night hangout.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
"The Nobility of an Ordinary Life"
It's a shame I rarely find time to write in this blog, but I'm making time on this Sunday night after 11 pm because I don't want time to keep getting away from me, ending with my head hitting the pillow each night and sighing in disappointment that yet another day has passed that I didn't write. I have several colliding thoughts in my head tonight after listening to 9/11 rememberances. An editor from a NY newspaper (not sure which one) was talking about how in the paper, they wrote up tributes to those victims who had not yet been found. So they weren't obituaries, but sort of celebrations of these people and he put it in the best way ever. He said these pseudo-obituaries were a tribute to the "nobility of ordinary life." The phrase shot a bolt of energy up my neck. There was an article about a woman whose nephews called the "kissy monster" and that detail alone made me swallow back tears. It seems silly, I know, but the thing that was getting to me was that all of us humans are really the same. We spend so much time worrying if we'll live a life that will impress people or if we'll contribute to humanity in some way or even if our lives matter in the big scheme of things, but what's most important is our meager day-to-day lives. The nobility of an ordinary life lies in wondering how the hell you're going to pay your bills, in feeling like your spouse doesn't understand you, in the way your heart hurts with the love you have for your kids.....the ordinary list goes on and on. But that ordinary, typical living is the heartbeat of what humanity is. The mundane is what ties us together and it is exactly that that we should celebrate and be grateful for each day.
How fitting that exactly right now my baby just started crying in his crib. Normally I'd sigh and wish I could sleep at least one night, but tonight I'm going to snuggle him extra close to me and make sure I'm grateful for the lack of sleep, the dirty diapers and the crying. It's ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.
How fitting that exactly right now my baby just started crying in his crib. Normally I'd sigh and wish I could sleep at least one night, but tonight I'm going to snuggle him extra close to me and make sure I'm grateful for the lack of sleep, the dirty diapers and the crying. It's ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.
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