Arts in the Schools Week!

When I was little, I remember making my sister play school with me. I’m pretty sure she hated it, but I was always pretty good at convincing her to do things my way.

Like that time I convinced her to give me all of her dimes since they were smaller, and therefore obviously less desirable, than my pennies in exchange.

I would have her write things and do simple math problems that she could understand. When that got boring, I started teaching her algebra. She was about 5 years old. She actually caught on fast.

I remember my mother being worried that I was confusing her, but as I have discovered throughout life, kids tend to deal with challenges better than we expect. As long as we phrase things simply for them and spark their interest.

I was honored to be invited to participate in Arts in the Schools Week this past week. Monday through Thursday, I visited South Penn Elementary School to teach an hour-long writing workshop with the theme of Japanese fairytales.

Though I am ridiculously tired, I am very pleased with the way the classes went. On top of that, I was actually paid to be there! Which is obviously a very good thing.

I began the session with a quick introduction and an interactive overview of Japanese culture. Then I read two versions of stories about the Chin Chin Kobakama while the kids followed along. The story selection seemed to be a hit since it is so different.

Then I explained to them how I start writing.

I usually start with a “what if” question or a “I wonder how that would/does work” thought and go from there, making things up on paper. I gave them one example from my short-story-that-needs-to-be-a-novel, The Murcep People, and also how the sea became salty. I gave them some ideas based off the story I read, like changing the point of view, then let them loose.

I love the performance of teaching! Making funny voices, pretending to whisper or making jokes.
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I tried to draw a map to show the general location of Japan, which ended up with Europe as a swirly ball and Japan as a banana off of the eastern cost of a big, blobby China.
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I had the kids sit on the floor so it was a less formal setting.

One interesting thing about South Penn is that it is built in the 1970s style of open classrooms with few interior walls. I was in one of the few multi-purpose rooms that was actually enclosed. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about open classrooms. I loved how the “library” was at the center of the entire second floor, so books were extremely present.

Everyone worked hard on their stories. A couple of them really stood out, like Why the Firefly Lights Up, How the Chin Chin Kobakama Got Their Job, Why Pigs Taste So Good, and The Real Story of Dragons and Knights.

I also made sure to plug my free workshops offered through Tri-State Community School for the Arts. Some of the kids said they were interested in coming, and I promised to send the reading instructor more information.

One little boy, who carries his notebooks full of stories around with him everywhere, wanted to know more about getting his stories published. So I made up a quick handout for him Wednesday night, and he met with me for a special conference Thursday morning.

I also followed up with children on Wednesday morning since time seemed to fly away. We could easily have taken another half hour. The reading specialist even mentioned the possibility of having me come back to do more workshops!

Another little boy was so enthusiastic about Japan, that I was a little intimidated. He is apparently very bright. He rattled off names and facts I didn’t have a clue about, like exactly how Japanese houses were the first ones for be earthquake-proof. His story was fantastic.

My first thought with both of those little boys, the writer and the savant, was one of concern. Because I know how much their lives are probably gonna suck. And I also know how closely creativity and genius fly to crazy and substance abuse.

I had an overwhelming urge to protect them somehow.

I saw bits and pieces of me, and it made me sad. I really hope they turn up at one of my workshops, so I can check in with them.

For the first two days, while I was still working the kinks out of my presentation, I left time at the end for kids to share their stories…but by the time Wednesday rolled around, everyone was so intent on the writing I didn’t have the heart to pull the plug until the last-minute. I really wished I would have been able to read, or better yet listen, to everyone’s story.

The Great & Mighty Cockatoe

I am far too tired to write a whole post tonight (I always write the “night” before and schedule the drop for the next day, currently at 9am), but I didn’t want to miss a day…

So I will share this picture and story instead. Monday through Thursday this week I am teaching an hour-long session at South Penn Elementary School for Arts in the Schools Week on Japanese fairytales. I am really honored to be invited (and paid!). It is also a big ego boost to see my headshot in the lobby proclaiming me as the guest author!

Today, when it came time for the writing prompt (which I will talk about in a later post, I’m sure), one boy decided to start with a picture and then write a story. He drew a very nice bird head, and said he wanted to write a fairy tale about how the cockatoo got its head plumage. But he was stumped on the spelling of  cockatoo, whether it needed two Os at the end or an E. He asked me, and lousy speller that I am, I wasn’t too sure. He was going to go for the E, but we agreed that would be cocka-toe, a very funny creature indeed.

Jokes ensued, about being a smelly bird and how it would hope around lamenting the boy’s bad spelling…so he drew this:

If you look closely, you can see the stink waves coming off the toe part of the bird! It looks like something you might find hoping around Wonderland.
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We ran out of time before he was able to share his story, but I offered to come in early in case any of the children want to talk to me about writing.

And that is why I really love working with child writers! The ability to jump over mental, self-imposed hurdles is much greater, in general. I could easily have stayed another hour with these kids. I really hope the school invites me back!

What Satan Says

Sharon Olds’s first book of poetry was published the year I was born. She writes of the “erotics of family love and pain,” as Alicia Ostriker puts it. Olds has had 11 collections of poetry published and has won prestigious prizes and awards for her work. And I knew nothing about her!

I can’t quite get past that fact.

I began this practicum by reading Olds’s first book Satan Says. Then I read it again. Personally, I found the book difficult to read, more than a little disturbing, but irresistible in its horrific beauty. The speaker’s (or perhaps speakers’) repeated references throughout the collection of loving the cock of the father before and above all others—for instance, lines eight and nine in the poem “Reading You” where the speaker says, “Man, male, his cock that I have loved / beyond the others, beyond goodness, so far beyond [.]”—struck me as incredibly risky and brave.

I found myself interacting with the physical object of the book as well, carrying it around the house as I was puzzling over a thesis for my first essay or staring at the cover thinking about the import of the words. This has happened to me before when I read Empire of the Senseless by Kathy Acker. Somehow, the book becomes more than a mere vehicle for the words.

I also found it incredibly difficult to write about Satan Says. I tried picking my favorite poems, the ones I was most drawn to, and then tried to figure out what elements of craft were pulling me to them. Nonetheless, I kept bumping up against content and personal resonance. It took me a good week before I caught my breath enough to really sit down and choose a poem as the first critical review is limited to only one poem from a collection.

Reading this book actually spawned a poem, which is currently in revision. I am definitely a fan after this book! Reading Olds has given me permission to write about topics I have been writing around for over a year.

Here is the poem I ultimately chose:

“Night Terrors”

She has so strongly this sense of someone coming after her,

someone so dark or dressed in dark clothes,

some man so angry, so clever, there is no

chance of survival.

.

Every night she tries to think of something that would

get him to spare the children.

.

Every night she feels him outside the house,

eyeing its surface milky as a body,

the strips of its roof like hair oiled and combed,

all the stiff apertures

Victorian, like a frightened woman

on her wedding night, like her own mother entered and

entered by that man she hated, his hair

black as the polished barrel of a gun.

Whew! Creepy much? My thesis was that Olds uses non-uniform or abrupt lines and complex figurative language to build a fragmented, composite imagery in her poetry that is both grounded in reality and disturbing.

So for this first packet to my mentor (did I mention my mentor is Jan Beatty!!!!!), I still have one more commentary, another short critical essay, and a formal letter to write, all due by February 11. Up next for my critical writing: The Essential Etheridge Knight by Etheridge Knight. But I am still a few days away from receiving my books, so I will be working on the only other book I have (borrowed from my mutual best friend Dorina Pena, fellow rockstar warrior poet and lover of Jan Beatty)–Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros. I think it will be a refreshing change of pace and will ensure I don’t become too tempted to slit my wrists. Laughter is a good thing.

*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license. The author would also like to point out that she has not yet been graded on the strength of her thesis, and if you plagiarize it and get a crappy grade, it is all your fault.

Read, Read, Read

January 04 – 14, 2011, marked the first of four residencies that are needed to complete my Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing/Poetry from Carlow University in Pittsburgh. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, in any of my previous bizarre assortment of experiences could have truly prepared me for the intensity of those two weeks. Lectures, readings, writing assignments, and a constant buzz and surge of inspiration: I am still processing. One thing I was prepared for, however, was having the nagging feeling that I don’t really know what the hell I am doing. I often have that feeling, so in some respects, I suppose, it is a comfort as the familiar usually is.

Most of my fellow MFA seekers fall into one of two rough and overly generalized categories: those who are “young” and have been studying writing for some time and those who are “older” and have come to the formal study of writing after having a professional life established.

At 30, I think I may fall somewhere in the middle of “young” and “older,” but a few things I know for sure. I didn’t study poetry in undergrad. In fact, I was often at turns resentful, bitter, indignant, and envious of the students who did study writing, were part of the Avatar journal crowd, and generally made me feel like a shmuck. My writing didn’t sound like theirs and that was not a good thing. I decided fairly early on that I needed to focus on something more concrete and gave up on most of my creative pursuits like singing and poetry.

Additionally, I never really read poetry since after a certain age the writings of old, dead white men meant little to me. Even during the time in my life when I was reading Austen and dressing in a large straw hat with gloves and a matching handbag, I didn’t gravitate to poetry. Sure, reading about Donne getting his sadomasochistic rocks off with God was fun but just not something I went back to after the first few raised eyebrows and gasps.

And of course third, I am continually reminded that adjunct instructors of developmental English are so far down the ladder as to be under it. So what is a youngish, under-read, beginning poet to do? To bastardize a quote from Hamlet: Read, Read, READ.

I have decided to start a list of the books of poetry I have read. In the coming semester, I will be reading something like 20 books of poetry, so I will also be writing short reviews of my favorite bits. Here is what I have so far:

Books I Have Read–

Anne Sexton’s To Bedlam and Part Way Back and Last Poems ~ While I had read poetry before reading Sexton, she was the first poet who would not leave me alone, by which I mean her words invaded my mind and buzzed around for days after my first reading. I read her over and over again. What amazes me is that I can take different things away from each reading. She continually surprises me.

Jan Beatty’s Red Sugar ~ Before this book, most of the poems I had been exposed to held a distinct distance from the body and sexuality (things that were, according to my conservative upbringing, taboo in everyday conversations). Reading this book was like having my world opened. Poems can be written about the dark, squelchy things, the raw, painful things in a plain, brutally honest way. It was like being given permission and an acknowledgment that the sorts of things I was drawn to write about where acceptable topics.

Patricia Smith’s Blood Dazzler ~ Every single poem in the entire book shows such a high level of craft, I find it breathtaking. I feel like I could study this book for a year and still not be done. I have re-read several of the poems multiple times, and my emotional reaction is still just as authentic and genuine as my first read. For my second packet this semester, I will be writing a critical essay on this book and am excited to live inside of it for a while.

Open Gate: An Anthology of Haitian Creole Poetry ~ I bought this book after the earthquake because I wanted to know more about the culture and what better way then through the voice of the people? The anthology spans multiple generations of Haitian poets with both the English translations and original Haitian Creole. Want to know how America has really “helped” Haiti over the years? Read this anthology. My favorite poem in the whole book is by Suze Baron, “Yo Di / They Say.”

Aaron Smith’s Blue on Blue Ground ~ Another example of being given permission to write about things that are considered taboo; his voice is fresh and sharp. Besides, he opens one section with a quote by Anne Sexton, what’s not to love?

Thomas Lux’s The Cradle Place ~ Just to prove to you I have read old white guys, I have included the next two entries. Lux is a great reader of his own work, adding a vitality that is not always on the page. Imagery is his strong point.

Stephen Dunn’s Local Visitations ~ I do like Dunn’s work and have heard him read. His humor and poignancy is slow and meandering but definitely on the page.

I told you it was a short list. I am now working on Sharon Olds’s first book, Satan Says. I have a short critical essay due by February 11, so I will be writing a review soon. After all, as Tyne Daly said to me when I met her, “Oh, I could just read poetry all day long.”

*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license. If you happen to be a member of the Avatar journal crowd, you have not a single shred of an apology! My bitterness runs to the chocolaty center.

101 ways to pass the time during Snowpocalypse/Snowverkill ’10

Snowpocalypse/Snowverkill 2010: a series of significant snowfalls in the Mid-Atlantic region, which have grounded me for over a week. The scooter is snug under its duct tape-patched nylon cover and about three feet of snow, and I have tried to creatively pass the time. Here are some of the highlights.

1. Netflix. The Gods gift to the housebound. For as little as $9 per month, you will have unlimited access to endless supplies of streaming B-movies, random A-list cult classics, and obscure television shows. So whether you want to work your way through the cheese-tastic Xena and Hercules series or indulge in the crack cocaine that is LOST, Netflix is a wise investment for even the snow-free times of year. Caution—the sensual red of the viewer screen can easily seduce your productive life away. Set a timer for safety.

2. Facebook. I think everyone I knew in the region was on Fb this past week. From posting/enjoying nonsense links (Calvin & Hobbes Snowmen) and perfecting crop rotation schedules on Farmville to partaking in communal lamenting/rejoicing over cancellations and stalking old lovers from the other side of the world, Facebook took up large chunks of my raw, non-baked time.

3. Clean out your e-mail Inbox. This is probably the only genuinely productive task I accomplished this entire week. Nevertheless, I am proud to announce that my mired swamp of communication is down to under 100 e-mails and only a handful awaiting reply.

4. Index your music. Tasks like this are the ones that generally slightly improve quality of life but are too tedious to actually sit down and do. However, during times of emergency, or substantial procrastination, they are the perfect activity for making you feel like you are actually accomplishing something worthwhile. I take an obsessive-compulsive pleasure in organizing all the albums and artists, with proper album art, into the appropriate folders on my external hard-drive. I also like to keep track of how many different languages I have in my 14GB collection: 14 and counting.

5. Balance your checkbook. Another worthwhile task; unfortunately, this only took a couple of minutes of creative math. The mysterious $5.10 made another reappearance. How long before you just decide it really is your money and not just an oversight or un-cashed check?

6. Spend quality time with your pet. Ashlie was quite happy I was home with her. She showed her pleasure by sitting on top of me at every opportunity and curling up between my arms as I type. Of course, she does this normally, but she seemed more relaxed this past week. I tried to convince her we should go play in the snow; however, she reminded me she knows where I sleep, so I took the idea off the agenda. We did spend some time on the porch knocking icicles off the skylights and eating last season’s verbena. Crunchy, and if you squint your eyes, the snow looks like powdered sugar.

7. Knit. Well, in theory, I should have finished several of the 20+ projects I have on my needles, but I guess this seemed just a bit too productive. Sorry, everyone, 2008 and 2009 yule presents will be further delayed.

8. Read. If you are a student, this may, unfortunately, be a drudgery, but for those of us who are not chained to mandatory books or teachers buried under white mounds of essays, snow storms are a good time to catch up on some light reading. I am currently reading Chuck Palahniuk’s Choke, which is enjoyable in a bizarre way but is not really the best stuck-in-your-house-without-any-social-outlet sort of book. “Desperate” isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind.

9. Clean your house. Yeah, right…

10. Bake-fest. The prerequisite for this step, of course, is having stocked up on needed ingredients before the storm(s) hit. I did not. The thought of going to the market sent chills down my spine. Think about it: the normal after-work rush, on Super Bowl weekend, before a massive, “history-making” snow storm. Not a chance. However, in a stroke of forethought several storms ago, I bought a large jar of Nutella. So I replace this suggestion with “Find out how many things in your cupboard taste even better with Nutella.” If you have never tasted the sweet nectar of the gods that is Nutella, let me assure you that you have not yet lived. Nutella hails from Italia and is made from hazel nuts and chocolate. The recipe came about as a result of government oppression, true story. So in the name of activism and forestalling boredom, I empirically researched the enhancement capabilities of Nutella on a wide variety of things and discovered my current favorite: Pepperidge Farms’ Chessmen.

11. Call your mom (or relative of choice). I mean, I probably don’t call her enough anyway. I think she likes hearing from me even if I am not her favorite child. And she can talk for quite a while about her cats. I think she spoils them rotten to make up for past shortcomings, but they are extremely ungrateful. At least I never peed on her bed. Well, not for many years.

12. Watch your neighbors try to dig out. This kept me entertained for hours. With no curtains, it was like impromptu theater.

13. Have a wine tasting, by yourself. Again, this requires pre-storm preparations. Nothing like watching the snow fall while sipping a glass of red wine by a fire. Unfortunately, all I had was the effin’ snow.

14. Write letters. Who doesn’t like getting something in the mailbox other than bills? I have several friends, including one who is teaching in Ghana, who write to me, rather more faithfully than I reply. So I used the quiet time to catch up on some correspondence. Of course, the mail was not running in the area, so my letters, rent check, water bill, and Netflix disc went out and came back in several times before they actually were taken, each time looking the worse for the wear. My porch gutter is spilling an icy cascade onto my steps, including my mailbox. So if you receive a very smeared envelope with water stains, please don’t be afraid to touch it. It is just melted snow; I promise. However, I make no claims as to what was in the snow before it got to me.

15. Write a self-indulgent blog. Obviously, this is a personal favorite. Who doesn’t like talking about themselves? Plenty of free hosting places exist on the Web, and blogs are supposed to be the new (last several years) trend in writers marketing the hell out of themselves. Decades have passed since the only necessary skill of a writer was, well, writing. Writers must do the work of legions of paid professionals (agents, editors, marketers) yet are only paid for the writing part of the process. If they are lucky. However, like the allure of Nigerian princes, state lotteries, and capitalism, somebody’s father’s cousin’s former roommate won a movie deal, so the cycle perpetuates.

16. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

In the end, I spent more time these last few days having paralyzing panic attacks over the state of the weather than I did being productive. So while I should have a pile of edited poems and essays tucked safety in envelopes waiting for the next time I can catch the elusive mail-person, all I have to show for myself is a neat Inbox and a balanced check register. As the snow melts, I hope so will my anxiety, and next week awaits.

*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license. Furthermore, by reading this notice, you are acknowledging that no legal liability exists for following the aforementioned suggestions, and you are aware you should enjoy yourself at your own risk.