Seriously. Grape juice. I'm not enjoying it, but I wanted something fruity and it was the only thing we had in the fridge that fit that category. I don't think anything could go together less: grape juice and Perry Como's "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas." That's why I'm making hot chocolate and waving as the purple juice swirls its way down the drain. Good-bye, attempt at being healthy. Give me a chocolate death any day of the week.
You know what? I miss snow. I miss fat flakes of frozen water kissing my eyelashes, the layer upon layer upon layer that was required just to venture outside. Granted, 35 degrees gets pretty cold sitting on a carriage just off the river, wind slashing at my face and stiff fingers like it's 12 below zero. Of course, glancing at the temperature in my home town (-17 to Savannah's 50!) makes me thankful that I am sitting in the South.
I can't help but stare at the barren ground beneath our deck. Because it rains in the South instead of snows, the grass is anything but dead. The trees in Savannah, Live Oaks, are green year round. Aside from a dramatic temperature difference, it is summer year round. Only in the last few weeks have the five deciduous trees in town turned color. It's two weeks from Christmas. And yes, I'm dreaming of a white one. Give me frozen lungs, snot that you have to chip from your nose, and white puffs of air with every brave exhale. Give me the ice crystals hanging from the dead tree limbs. I even long (slightly) for the sunny sky, indecipherable from the white horizon.
Of course, once Christmas is gone, I'll be able to embrace the Sunny South once again. But the one time that snow, cold, and slush is welcome is during December. I like drinking hot cocoa, looking at the Christmas lights outside and being thankful for central heating. It's weird, walking outside in a t-shirt in the middle of December. So now, I drink hot cocoa, staring at the plethora of lights on the fake tree (it's a sin, I know, but weirdly, we have so much furniture in the house now that we don't have room for a live one) and walk outside only when John needs to smoke. I stare at the white puffs that float from his lips, because 50 degrees is too warm for it to come out of my nonsmoker's mouth.
I never thought I'd meet people who have never seen snow in person. To them, snow is something perfect and gentle that floats down from the sky as the tween laughs and turns in circles, grinning at the camera. They are shocked to hear about the nasty side effect of the cold: ice. Ice on the roads, ice on your house, ice in your nose. When John told our friends about having a survival kit in the trunks of our cars in case we break down in the dead of winter, they stared at us. Apparently, being able to die from exposure to weather is weird. Huh. Fancy that.
Despite the danger of Christmas in Northern Minnesota, at least there was some snow. I can't wait to move somewhere (like the mountains, or even Oregon) that has all four seasons. I've loved having this heat (I'll take fire over ice any day), and as much as I bitch about the cold...there are just a few months out of the year that it needs to happen.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Monday, November 25, 2013
Second in one day.
I couldn't help but post again. I was thinking, after my last post, about teaching. And I got excited. I hate to say it but a big part of me wishes I could find ways to engage kids with writing that has nothing to do with technology. This is the absolute opposite of my favorite teacher and mentor, but I can't help it. I'm one of the Millennials that grew up with technology inundating my life, but I don't know how to use 90% of it. I finally just figured out Twitter, for god's sake. The only reason why I'm on Twitter now is because I rediscovered my favorite college professor (who now works as a journalist in Bemidji) tweets regularly. Plus, I realized that I can avoid the stupidity of the world (mostly) by following 'people' like CopyBlogger and the New York Times and Simon Pegg.
This probably isn't the way to go (and is similar thinking of way too many bad teachers), that I shouldn't use the tech just because I don't understand it. After all, without technology, I wouldn't have found the Lizzy Bennet Diaries on Youtube, which I'm determined to use if I ever have to teach Pride and Prejudice to my students. Mostly, because it's the funniest and most entertaining thing I've ever seen come from youtube.com.
I just want to be in, and create, an atmosphere where people want to write fearlessly. If that means I'm going to have to figure out...well, anything on Reynolds' blog, then I guess I'm going to have to get with the program. Wish more of my professors felt the same way.
This probably isn't the way to go (and is similar thinking of way too many bad teachers), that I shouldn't use the tech just because I don't understand it. After all, without technology, I wouldn't have found the Lizzy Bennet Diaries on Youtube, which I'm determined to use if I ever have to teach Pride and Prejudice to my students. Mostly, because it's the funniest and most entertaining thing I've ever seen come from youtube.com.
I just want to be in, and create, an atmosphere where people want to write fearlessly. If that means I'm going to have to figure out...well, anything on Reynolds' blog, then I guess I'm going to have to get with the program. Wish more of my professors felt the same way.
Here I am!
So, it's been a while. Four papers left to write before I get a month off of school. Seems fitting that the last post was from the beginning of the semester, and I've finally gotten around to writing again at the end. I'm putting off doing what I have to do, especially since I've got work tonight. Astoundingly, I've managed to catch up on all the homework I procrastinated on (36 blog posts, 4 newspaper articles, and 20 pages of creative writing later...) and just have final projects (and my internship) to worry about now. And then, for roughly 6 and a half weeks, I only have to worry about bills and my job. Thank Jesus.
Due to complications with language requirements (Georgia believes that you should actually KNOW a second language by the time you get a job, not just say you've taken 4 language classes in high school and know how to sing along to your favorite German band), I'm going to be in school for a full extra year. I'm going to be at half time enrollment now, which will be nice. I'm taking two classes next semester. Spanish 1 (they lost their German teacher, which means I don't get to continue learning my favorite second language) and Advanced Creative Writing. I'm hoping this means I won't be on such a stress over load and I can actually spend time with my husband, especially since he's taking a quarter off of school. It seems like all we get to do is collapse at the end of the day and watch a little bit of TV (or read like a maniac, as I've been doing. Back into Charlie Bone!) before going to sleep. Or, like now, I'm banging my head against the wall trying to get finals done with for the next week and whipping around to glare at him when he coughs too loud.
Thanksgiving is coming up. I think John and I are going to do what we did last year: chill at home and eat a lot of food. We might actually do turkey this year, considering that I forced my hubby to eat ham (I've only had two instances in which turkey was delicious, my dad made them both) last year.
You know, at the end of the semester, I feel like I should reflect on what I've learned. I hate to say it but...the only things I've learned (new) came out of my internship with Deep, teaching middle schoolers about how awesome writing can be. My journalism classes, though I like the teachers, didn't cover any groundbreaking information. One of them was so boring that I used it mostly as time to make lists and organize my planner for the week. Were they easy? Sure. Ridiculously so. But the work that I was supposed to do (blog posts) was more busy work than actually educational (we had to analyze the coverage of some article twice a week from NYT or WashingtonPost or Wall Street Journal). I get that the exercise should have taught us to think critically on a regular basis, but after my Mass Media class in 2010 with Professor Sewall, this was an unnecessary exercise. It's hard to get the voice of snarky comments and criticism out of my head while reading the news. But easy does not equate to fun or informative.
My independent study creative writing class taught me that when I'm stressed, writing is the last thing I want to do. Also, that it's hard getting back into writing after abandoning it for a few years. I got some really good feedback and I got to read some great stories and talk one on one with my professor about them but...it mostly consisted of me making up excuses why I haven't turned any chapters in. It was a fun 'class' for sure, but not a lot got done. I'm hoping to either continue what I've got next semester or start with a new idea that I came up with a few weeks ago. Either way, I'm trying to use these classes to write my 50 pages of fiction that graduate schools are going to be asking for.
And Deep. I've never really taught before. Not on a 'regular' basis (once a week). The overall experience has been fantastic. I love the kids that are in this group and seeing their writing transform has been rewarding. But dear god, did it take some nail pulling. Here's why:
I just found out that being called a "Chathamite" (we live in Chatham county) is considered a serious insult. One of John's SCAD professors got in trouble at the DMV for joking after receiving his GA license that "I'm really a Chathamite now," not realizing that it was the wrong thing to say. He was pulled aside by some very angry people. Chatham county schools are so bad that if you are called a 'chathamite' it is basically saying that you are a serious...idiot. To say the least. That's just depressing.
A few of my kids are where they "should be" with their writing, and it's always a treat to read what they've got to say. The others are behind. Sarah (my teaching partner) and I went into the first day with readings from Series of Unfortunate Events and activities that we thought would be fun and engaging. We came out confused. Everything had gone over (the majority) of their heads. I'm going to say that it has taken a few weeks for us to learn how to explain concepts and exercises as simple and clearly as possible, but it didn't take long for us to find out that these guys were reading and writing at a 3rd grade level. A few weeks into the workshop, we voiced our concern to our 'supervisor,' who said that while we weren't the only ones having trouble, we just needed to look at the small accomplishments. I'm so glad she put it in perspective for us.
I finally saw some seriously huge improvements this last week. There's still a couple kids who are fighting tooth and nail against our suggestions and edits, but overall, they all stepped up in their writing again. There have been weeks when some of them regress, but for the most part, it's just because they are so eager to write that they don't stop to consider what they are writing. And I can't be angry about that. Every time I want to pound my head on their papers, I go back to week one in their notebooks and compare it to where they are now. Did they use an adjective that wasn't there before? Did they use a metaphor this time? Did they name their characters this time? Did they write something not based on a book series, movie, or tv show?
One thing is for sure: I couldn't do this full time. Not middle schoolers. As much as I love these kids, it's only because I know that these guys received a scholarship that they competed for to get into the program. They WANT to be there. Even on a Friday afternoon. If I taught middle school, or high scohool, English, I would become discouraged. I already hate our education system. But looking at these kids (who have a passion for writing and usually are doing it outside of workshop in their free time) and imagining what normal classes are like, I shrink away in terror. I might ask to come back to Deep next Fall. I would do it this next semester, but I just can't bring myself to do it again right away. No matter how much perspective I get, I can't stop feeling overwhelmed at how unfortunate these guys are, stuck in this education system.
There are days I wish I could go back to middle school to when I discovered my love of writing. I see that passion in these guys, and I miss it. Maybe that's why I abandoned Dance of Dragons for Charlie Bone. As much as I love G. R. R. Martin, there's something about young adult writing that I devour like a vampire slurps and licks at a blood smoothy (I couldn't help the simile. I've been trying to get the kids to use figurative language by coming up with weird descriptions. I gotta share this one with them). I wish I could take time off of school and work and dive back into writing and reading without caring about academia, or what people will think of me if I start writing 'genre' pieces. That's the message I try to get to these kids: it doesn't matter what you write if you write it well. Just write what you love (thanks Reynolds!).
I was talking to an old friend from back home and discovered, the last time I loved writing was when I was in an environment that I knew my writing was appreciated and maybe even enjoyed: high school. Maybe that's why I couldn't do much for this creative writing class. As much as my professor tried to tell me that he was interested in knowing where my writing was going, there was the pressure that it had to be...adult. I don't know how else to describe it. Maybe I'll try again this next semester. Since it isn't one on one, he can't stare at me with small, beady eyes and frown as I try to describe what I want to write about.
Due to complications with language requirements (Georgia believes that you should actually KNOW a second language by the time you get a job, not just say you've taken 4 language classes in high school and know how to sing along to your favorite German band), I'm going to be in school for a full extra year. I'm going to be at half time enrollment now, which will be nice. I'm taking two classes next semester. Spanish 1 (they lost their German teacher, which means I don't get to continue learning my favorite second language) and Advanced Creative Writing. I'm hoping this means I won't be on such a stress over load and I can actually spend time with my husband, especially since he's taking a quarter off of school. It seems like all we get to do is collapse at the end of the day and watch a little bit of TV (or read like a maniac, as I've been doing. Back into Charlie Bone!) before going to sleep. Or, like now, I'm banging my head against the wall trying to get finals done with for the next week and whipping around to glare at him when he coughs too loud.
Thanksgiving is coming up. I think John and I are going to do what we did last year: chill at home and eat a lot of food. We might actually do turkey this year, considering that I forced my hubby to eat ham (I've only had two instances in which turkey was delicious, my dad made them both) last year.
You know, at the end of the semester, I feel like I should reflect on what I've learned. I hate to say it but...the only things I've learned (new) came out of my internship with Deep, teaching middle schoolers about how awesome writing can be. My journalism classes, though I like the teachers, didn't cover any groundbreaking information. One of them was so boring that I used it mostly as time to make lists and organize my planner for the week. Were they easy? Sure. Ridiculously so. But the work that I was supposed to do (blog posts) was more busy work than actually educational (we had to analyze the coverage of some article twice a week from NYT or WashingtonPost or Wall Street Journal). I get that the exercise should have taught us to think critically on a regular basis, but after my Mass Media class in 2010 with Professor Sewall, this was an unnecessary exercise. It's hard to get the voice of snarky comments and criticism out of my head while reading the news. But easy does not equate to fun or informative.
My independent study creative writing class taught me that when I'm stressed, writing is the last thing I want to do. Also, that it's hard getting back into writing after abandoning it for a few years. I got some really good feedback and I got to read some great stories and talk one on one with my professor about them but...it mostly consisted of me making up excuses why I haven't turned any chapters in. It was a fun 'class' for sure, but not a lot got done. I'm hoping to either continue what I've got next semester or start with a new idea that I came up with a few weeks ago. Either way, I'm trying to use these classes to write my 50 pages of fiction that graduate schools are going to be asking for.
And Deep. I've never really taught before. Not on a 'regular' basis (once a week). The overall experience has been fantastic. I love the kids that are in this group and seeing their writing transform has been rewarding. But dear god, did it take some nail pulling. Here's why:
I just found out that being called a "Chathamite" (we live in Chatham county) is considered a serious insult. One of John's SCAD professors got in trouble at the DMV for joking after receiving his GA license that "I'm really a Chathamite now," not realizing that it was the wrong thing to say. He was pulled aside by some very angry people. Chatham county schools are so bad that if you are called a 'chathamite' it is basically saying that you are a serious...idiot. To say the least. That's just depressing.
A few of my kids are where they "should be" with their writing, and it's always a treat to read what they've got to say. The others are behind. Sarah (my teaching partner) and I went into the first day with readings from Series of Unfortunate Events and activities that we thought would be fun and engaging. We came out confused. Everything had gone over (the majority) of their heads. I'm going to say that it has taken a few weeks for us to learn how to explain concepts and exercises as simple and clearly as possible, but it didn't take long for us to find out that these guys were reading and writing at a 3rd grade level. A few weeks into the workshop, we voiced our concern to our 'supervisor,' who said that while we weren't the only ones having trouble, we just needed to look at the small accomplishments. I'm so glad she put it in perspective for us.
I finally saw some seriously huge improvements this last week. There's still a couple kids who are fighting tooth and nail against our suggestions and edits, but overall, they all stepped up in their writing again. There have been weeks when some of them regress, but for the most part, it's just because they are so eager to write that they don't stop to consider what they are writing. And I can't be angry about that. Every time I want to pound my head on their papers, I go back to week one in their notebooks and compare it to where they are now. Did they use an adjective that wasn't there before? Did they use a metaphor this time? Did they name their characters this time? Did they write something not based on a book series, movie, or tv show?
One thing is for sure: I couldn't do this full time. Not middle schoolers. As much as I love these kids, it's only because I know that these guys received a scholarship that they competed for to get into the program. They WANT to be there. Even on a Friday afternoon. If I taught middle school, or high scohool, English, I would become discouraged. I already hate our education system. But looking at these kids (who have a passion for writing and usually are doing it outside of workshop in their free time) and imagining what normal classes are like, I shrink away in terror. I might ask to come back to Deep next Fall. I would do it this next semester, but I just can't bring myself to do it again right away. No matter how much perspective I get, I can't stop feeling overwhelmed at how unfortunate these guys are, stuck in this education system.
There are days I wish I could go back to middle school to when I discovered my love of writing. I see that passion in these guys, and I miss it. Maybe that's why I abandoned Dance of Dragons for Charlie Bone. As much as I love G. R. R. Martin, there's something about young adult writing that I devour like a vampire slurps and licks at a blood smoothy (I couldn't help the simile. I've been trying to get the kids to use figurative language by coming up with weird descriptions. I gotta share this one with them). I wish I could take time off of school and work and dive back into writing and reading without caring about academia, or what people will think of me if I start writing 'genre' pieces. That's the message I try to get to these kids: it doesn't matter what you write if you write it well. Just write what you love (thanks Reynolds!).
I was talking to an old friend from back home and discovered, the last time I loved writing was when I was in an environment that I knew my writing was appreciated and maybe even enjoyed: high school. Maybe that's why I couldn't do much for this creative writing class. As much as my professor tried to tell me that he was interested in knowing where my writing was going, there was the pressure that it had to be...adult. I don't know how else to describe it. Maybe I'll try again this next semester. Since it isn't one on one, he can't stare at me with small, beady eyes and frown as I try to describe what I want to write about.
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