tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66874131774635295202024-03-05T01:57:42.642-05:00Not That Kind of MotherNot a mommy blog. Not a writer's blog. Somewhere in-between.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-40998278049226258022016-05-23T20:48:00.002-04:002016-05-23T20:48:43.538-04:00Podcast-A-Palooza (Part 2)<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiZA8g7iFWwMzUjuPzWymkMBvIJ8onup1IZXxc84oyggVa_QVesU5Brkm1V2zQ6l-aYKCbrccnUtwo-Rd85-37v7cNbW8EbYzEa-uCkr1UbCBFPXiII9ZQTqZVpRUl-kNFZDQJXX3F3w/s1600/ApplePodcastingLogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiZA8g7iFWwMzUjuPzWymkMBvIJ8onup1IZXxc84oyggVa_QVesU5Brkm1V2zQ6l-aYKCbrccnUtwo-Rd85-37v7cNbW8EbYzEa-uCkr1UbCBFPXiII9ZQTqZVpRUl-kNFZDQJXX3F3w/s320/ApplePodcastingLogo.png" width="320" /></a>I'm back with more of my favorite podcasts, even though I'm feeling a touch bitter about the iPhone podcast app redesign. Seriously, it's enough to make to me look for a new podcast catcher. It went from being easy (both to <i>see</i> and navigate -- my eyes are getting old, people), to being some complicated format better suited to a tablet or laptop-sized screen. So find these podcasts however you prefer; just be sure that if you really enjoy a specific podcast, you subscribe to it and rate it on iTunes, as it makes it more visible for other iTunes listeners/podcast news. You don't want your new favorite podcast getting cancelled, now do you? (All Hail, King Apple!) On an unrelated note, auto-correct really wants me to call these posts, "Podcast-a-Palooka," which seems a very different post altogether. </div>
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Let's get started.<br />
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<b>History/Educational Podcasts (<i>aka Learning CAN be fun</i>!)</b><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://www.youmustrememberthispodcast.com/">You Must Remember This</a></i></b><br />
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Do you love old movies as much as I do? Do you think Turner Classic Movies is the only cable station that <i>really </i>matters? Do you geek out over the dudes that give the background/history chats before and after the films on TCM? (Ben Mankiewicz fangirl in the house!) This is <i>your </i>podcast. Karina Longworth hosts and writes this heavily researched (and generally themed) series of programs about "the forgotten history" of old Hollywood. Really, the only downside of this podcast is the weirdly emphasized diction and pronunciations of the host. (Think an American Eliza Doolittle before she quite got the hang of the King's English.) Currently, she's doing a series on the Hollywood Blacklist, which is fascinating, with the stories of such actors as Lena Horne, Jane Russell, and Charlie Chaplin, not to mention a whole lot of Howard Hughes. Her previous seasons/series have also been stellar. Don't miss her past episodes on Bogie and Baby and Hepburn and Tracy, two of my favorite Hollywood power couples.<br />
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<i>**Not safe with kids in the car. There are direct quotes from the subjects with the occasional F-bomb.</i><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://www.stuffmomnevertoldyou.com/podcasts/">Stuff Mom Never Told You</a></b></i><br />
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This informative and well-researched podcast, hosted by Cristin Conger and Caroline Ervin, covers everything from the histories of birth control and women's suffrage to a breakdown of the women's pay gap or the history of Japan's comfort women, from the perspective of two smart and well-informed feminists. This program may delve into history and politics, but there's nothing dry or dusty about the fascinating facts these two ladies dig up. This program also has a fabulous <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/StuffMomNeverToldYou">YouTube channel</a>, which I'll talk about more in an upcoming post on my YouTube/BookTube favorites.<br />
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(Important note: Make sure you download the SMNTY <i>audio </i>podcast. The other podcast downloads the videos from the YouTube channel.)<br />
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<i>**Safe with kids in the car as long as the topic itself is kid-friendly.</i><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://www.npr.org/podcasts/510307/invisibilia">Invisibilia</a></b></i><br />
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This is another podcast that's been on hiatus for awhile. Good news is that new episodes will be back June 17th! And don't forget there's all of season one to be discovered. If you're interested in how the brain works and what makes us do and think what we do and think, this is the podcast for you. A killer combination of science and story, this is another one of those <i>can't-get-out-of-the-car-yet</i> kind of listens.<br />
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<i>**Unless the subject is specifically inappropriate, this one is kid-safe. (Though it's been awhile so don't hold me to that.)</i><br />
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<b>More Bookish Podcasts</b><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/beaks-geeks">Beeks and Geeks</a></i></b><br />
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This is the publisher, Penguin Random House's, weekly author interview podcast. It's a relatively recent discovery for me, that is a little hit-or-miss depending not the author being interviewed. Don't get me wrong. The interviews are solid, so long as it's an author you care about, or at least one that has something interesting to say. I recommend listening to Emily St. John Mandel's interview, and Faith Salie's recent episode was also excellent.<br />
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<i>**Should be safe for kids in the car (or at least it has been so far.)</i><br />
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<i><b><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-new-yorker-fiction/id256945396?mt=2">The New Yorker: Fiction</a></b></i><br />
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Love the fiction that makes it into <i>The New Yorker</i>? Want to hear it read by famous authors who are fangirling/fanboy-ing (is that last one a word?) as much as you? This is your podcast. My recommendations are: David Sedaris reading Miranda July's "Roy Spivey." Salman Rushdie reading Donald Barthelme's "Concerning the Bodyguard." And last but not least, Monica Ali reading Joshua Ferris' "The Dinner Party." If you enjoy this podcast, they also have one called<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/series/the-authors-voice-podcast"> <b>The Author's Voice</b>,</a> where the writers read their own work.<br />
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<i>**Usually not kid-friendly, a fun fact that I learned when I accidentally let play a Denis Johnson story about a character named, "Fuckhead," with my then four-year old in the car.</i><br />
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So it looks like there's going to be a part 3 because I still have no many awesome podcasts to recommend. Until then, happy listening.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-58294052919689448432016-05-19T10:20:00.001-04:002016-05-19T10:21:38.717-04:00Podcast-A-Palooza (Part 1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's been less writing this week because, well, life. On the upside, my house is relatively clean, and the laundry is mostly done. We're still one-car-ing it, but that just means more time for podcasts! If you didn't know already, I'm obsessed with podcasts (especially book-related ones), and some weeks there are so many good ones to listen to that if I don't keep my head in the game, I fall behind. So today I'm going to share some of my favorite podcast recommendations with you (complete with my opinion on whether or not they are kid-in-the-car-friendly.) <br />
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<i>***This is only part one. There will be a part two with even more podcast-y goodness.</i><br />
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<b>Storytelling Podcasts</b><br />
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Before I completely nerd-out with all my favorite bookish listens, I'll share a few of my favorite storytelling podcasts. (Spoiler alert: They're mostly NPR related. BIG SHOCK, I know.)<br />
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<b><i><a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/">This American Life</a></i></b><br />
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Yeah, you've probably heard of this one. A lot. But ubiquity does not equal obsolescence. This long-running radio program is long-running for a reason. Amazing stories full of diverse voices and experiences. Plus, freaking <i>Ira Glass</i>. I can't get by without my weekly <i>TAL</i> fix.<br />
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<i>**Safe with kids in the car unless they warn you in-episode (which they are really good about.)</i><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://snapjudgment.org/">Snap Judgment</a></i></b><br />
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So maybe <i>TAL</i> is too bland for you. Maybe you need a little music (that doesn't always sound like it came straight off the latest indie-hipster movie soundtrack. Sorry <i>TAL.</i>) Maybe you want a story that's been shaped and produced (and maybe even voice-acted) to give it more pop (or should I say, "Snap"?). They don't call this program, "Storytelling with a beat" for nothing. LOVE this podcast!<br />
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<i>**Safe with older kids in the car (mostly.)</i><br />
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<i><b><a href="http://www.wnyc.org/shows/deathsexmoney/">Death, Sex & Money</a></b></i><br />
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<i>**Usually not a kid-friendly podcast.</i><br />
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More storytelling, only with a bit more of a thematic focus on, well, you guessed it. I heart Anna Sale.<br />
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<b><i><a href="https://themoth.org/">The Moth</a></i></b><br />
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The ultimate storytelling podcast. They play recorded-live storytelling events from all over the world. If you saw the season finale of <a href="http://www.hbo.com/girls">HBO's <i>Girls</i></a> this season, you saw Hannah (Lena Dunham) perform at a fictional Moth event. (Listen to this podcast anyway.)<br />
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<i>**Generally not a kid-friendly podcast. </i><br />
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<b>Uncategorizable Podcasts</b><br />
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I'm just going to list a couple here that are either outside of a set category, aren't currently releasing new episodes (on hiatus), or are a bit more uneven as far as their "favorite" status goes.<br />
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<b><i><a href="https://gimletmedia.com/show/mystery-show/">Mystery Show</a></i></b><br />
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I love this super-quirky podcast with so many freaking loves. Unfortunately, the second season has been <i>really slow</i> in coming out. But in the meantime, listen to season one where Starlee Kine (a <i>TAL </i>alum) solves mysteries so personal and banal that you'll be left scratching your head as to why <i>you-can't-get-out-of-the-car-until-it's-over.</i><br />
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<i>**Probably older-kid safe.</i><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://longestshortesttime.com/">The Longest Shortest Time</a></i></b><br />
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This program recently changed distributors, and with that change came a TON of ads. If you don't mind (or can tolerate) the frequent (and sometimes lengthy) interruptions, however, this is a great podcast on parenting and what it looks like for all kinds of families. A great place to start is the "Accidental Gay Parents" series of episodes, which will break your heart and make you laugh and feel all the feels.<br />
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<i>**Varies, but usually it's good to be wary with this one while kids are in the car.</i><br />
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<b>Book-related Podcasts!!!!</b><i> (Why we're all here, let's be honest.)</i><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://bookriot.com/listen/shows/allthebooks/">All the Books</a></i></b><br />
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This is my GO-TO podcast for new book recommendations. Hosted by Liberty Hardy and Rebecca Schinsky from <a href="http://www.bookriot.com/">Book Riot</a>, an online community for book enthusiasm, this show comes out every Tuesday and features some of the new books being released on that day. These two women have excellent taste, and they cover a wide range of genres (not just my standard lit-fic and literary memoir.) Listen at your own risk, however, because you're Amazon account may never recover.<br />
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<i>**Safe with kids in the car.</i><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://bookriot.com/listen/shows/getbooked/">Get Booked</a></i></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhr9JHcUKXpsO341smo92F9q5CPp6iT8nwNaJSUNcNWSMZK1khmCAWVbF_rHNNbDfxb6i4UYo8P5qyhVjLzDDiINXdcfPnM-TMPfi29aeudXID2qGGS-v5RIXNALPJN5xpVO1RHE2TbY/s1600/get-booked-logo-e1441883061578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhr9JHcUKXpsO341smo92F9q5CPp6iT8nwNaJSUNcNWSMZK1khmCAWVbF_rHNNbDfxb6i4UYo8P5qyhVjLzDDiINXdcfPnM-TMPfi29aeudXID2qGGS-v5RIXNALPJN5xpVO1RHE2TbY/s1600/get-booked-logo-e1441883061578.jpg" /></a></div>
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This is a fun write-in show for book recommendations (and another Book Riot podcast.) Can't decide what to buy for your uncle who only reads books about the Vietnam War written prior to 1999? They got you covered. Need a title to scratch that tear-jerker itch? They can hook you up. Fun to listen to even if you don't write in recommendation requests.<br />
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<i>**Safe with kids in the car.</i><br />
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Well, that's all for today. I'll make some more podcast recommendations (bookish and otherwise) in my next post. Until then, happy listening!<br />
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<i>*Quick Note: All of these can found on any of the big podcast catchers--including iTunes--for free.</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-41052738092770349332016-05-12T11:59:00.000-04:002016-05-12T11:59:08.672-04:00Another Absolutely Uninteresting Update, or I Avoided Ranting Again! (Mostly.)Yesterday, I skipped the writing in favor of attacking a rapidly growing of errands and lunch with my husband (something that doesn't happen very often...lunch with my husband, I mean.) We had our usuals at our favorite downtown lunch place, <a href="http://www.lunarosagelato.com/">Luna Rosa</a>. I'd post a drool-worthy picture of my go-to order (Mandarin Bliss Salad, add London Broil), but I was too busy scarfing down the mammoth-sized plate of yum to take a picture. We also shared a little dessert because you CAN'T go there and <i>not</i> get their artisan gelato. I believe yesterday's, "Caramel By the Sea," may have even surpassed their classic, "Caramello," and that's saying something. Same story on the photo of the creamy goodness that was dessert. Bonus was that we got to sit and eat a peaceful lunch together and chat without interruption or having to remind anyone to lower their voice or lean over their plate before shoving a forkful into their mouth. I think we both even managed to get out of the restaurant without wearing any of our (or anyone else's) lunch. Grown-up lunch FTW!<br />
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So all that to say that today is Day 4. I may have skipped a day of work, but overall I'm sticking pretty close to my writing schedule, something that was aided by Kiddo's teacher, who gave me the day off from kindergarten volunteering today. (YAY!!!) Don't get me wrong -- I adore those sweet kiddos -- but some days it just feels like trading in your one child (work enough on her own) for twenty-two kids with the same questions, ploys, tactics. (Who knew so many children shared that annoying habit of pretending not to know answers to their work in order to, I don't know, get out of work? assert a measure of control? see if they can make steam come out of my ears? It's a mystery, but one I don't feel led to investigation on a large scale most days. ) So I'm grateful that it's nearly eleven thirty, and I'm not on my way to being sneezed on, stepped on, and otherwise assaulted by kindergarten germs. To Kiddo's teachers: I salute you. I praise you. You are tops. You win all the awards in my book.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xN2aFOnAfxfSaHYD2CIVRJJ-ihREVCiNAyORhBd-Ram-pAW8gpAvBMr_KYmh_Hpv1zPajghrkxwAxJzTRJsUDvOwPYRQkTaiV7HplnYd-IbmtcKYl_1s3LurzTzz0s-NyvymcgMk78Y/s1600/IMG_3718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xN2aFOnAfxfSaHYD2CIVRJJ-ihREVCiNAyORhBd-Ram-pAW8gpAvBMr_KYmh_Hpv1zPajghrkxwAxJzTRJsUDvOwPYRQkTaiV7HplnYd-IbmtcKYl_1s3LurzTzz0s-NyvymcgMk78Y/s320/IMG_3718.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>But for now, you'll have to settle for these homemade paper flowers.</i></div>
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Aside from my strict writing schedule, life continues on much as it usually does. We're still a one-car family temporarily, though the past two weeks have been a blissful relief as some friends allowed us the use of their vehicle when they were out of town. I still have to sit through gymnastics today and sit with "the moms," pretending like I have even the vaguest idea of what's going on or what constitutes appropriate waiting area conversation. (So far, it seems like the list includes: gymnastics, PTA, clothes shopping, comparing kid stories. Basically, I'm screwed.) Still find myself avoiding as much political news as possible (for the sake of my own sanity.) Still avoiding most American television. Still reading, though I've been rewarding myself with lighter-than-usual fare in hopes of lifting my spirits, which haven't exactly been floating sky-high recently. It's difficult to maintain one's gloomy demeanor when one is reading PG Wodehouse. I mean, I can't imagine Jeeves would approve of sulking (though passive-aggressive facial expressions might be tolerated/encouraged.)</div>
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<i>Though I like to think he'd approve of my choice of hot beverage.</i></div>
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For now though, I'm back to B&N with my hot tea (no London Fog today) and <i>Hamilton </i>in my earbuds trying desperately to drown out the abysmal (and frankly, puzzling) music they've got cranked in the cafe. And in case, you're not yet impressed by my self-control and discipline, I'd like to point out that they now have the new #Hamiltome in stock, and I didn't immediately buy it and ditch my work. I am a regular ascetic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHwkhqJAlz6mXjk43Rmbj9raWapGefdgXx2MFK383WPWz_KNUYxh7u6ilgqvmsFoonILagpdxZ8cT_CCcRfB9Sd8JJ7ug6quUsJav6iw6ERbdVcw5HYTbMvws4Jra2xvrG3uSCrelS8c/s1600/IMG_3730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHwkhqJAlz6mXjk43Rmbj9raWapGefdgXx2MFK383WPWz_KNUYxh7u6ilgqvmsFoonILagpdxZ8cT_CCcRfB9Sd8JJ7ug6quUsJav6iw6ERbdVcw5HYTbMvws4Jra2xvrG3uSCrelS8c/s320/IMG_3730.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Absolutely no plan for how I'm going to get out of here without buying this.</i></div>
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I imagine I'll finish the super-short Wodehouse tonight, so now comes the tricky task of deciding what to read next. Not sure I'm ready to dig back into heavy-duty fiction yet, so I may pick up one of my Mother's Day gifts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscatupK0-wui8p_KZ8_KvwhsdzS84UfGod9mkk0mh2eNzAjAs0iR77VsNoPfmlOmd54iv0y5fWWAIGJ9s3cjlg3ndpVd5y8sPIRgpITzy5AVFo7mKi7MCJlAygSXqMs9-7TbNfvr-pq0/s1600/IMG_3650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscatupK0-wui8p_KZ8_KvwhsdzS84UfGod9mkk0mh2eNzAjAs0iR77VsNoPfmlOmd54iv0y5fWWAIGJ9s3cjlg3ndpVd5y8sPIRgpITzy5AVFo7mKi7MCJlAygSXqMs9-7TbNfvr-pq0/s320/IMG_3650.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Decisions, decisions.</i></div>
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I'm going to keep it short today. Blog less, write more, write like I'm running out of time, and any other clumsy Hamilton references you can think of. #WORK!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-33825667702636574742016-05-10T09:52:00.001-04:002016-05-10T09:52:22.413-04:00Reading, Writing, and Ralph EllisonIt's Day 3, and I'm working from home today. Yesterday was easier than Friday, and fingers crossed that today will continue on in that direction. My story-in-progress is, in fact, progressing, and I've been managing a minimum of two hours of solid, non-stop writing. Actually, tomorrow could have gone on longer if my stomach would have cooperated. (Apparently, a sugary tea latte and a Kind bar aren't enough to sustain me. Who knew?)<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijITzlLbh9fORlojRPETDofFZQHzliDuW6-Ft-UbQdjeCa-MrViRienW3T7icT8enYmjKM28qzAgR6RDo_xmJLbkoSj0pFnHCBqPSnGJVA7QUpsgR89wy5r-jl5wN9QCzBlCjVKxN-g9c/s1600/FullSizeRender+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijITzlLbh9fORlojRPETDofFZQHzliDuW6-Ft-UbQdjeCa-MrViRienW3T7icT8enYmjKM28qzAgR6RDo_xmJLbkoSj0pFnHCBqPSnGJVA7QUpsgR89wy5r-jl5wN9QCzBlCjVKxN-g9c/s320/FullSizeRender+15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>My workspace today, lovely but surrounded by more distractions.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gVUgXbHPz5RR3GCMipusMjECUCgOX0GfZ6RkpwuncP1rgjFmiVQdmCYO8DRnx8stYwZFL6SX8LljkfGRPO_9M4cArJvG4yWk3KHR_Wr2Tw_YucuwZ_KjM673laQjuScgGMTaxbCpVbc/s1600/IMG_3687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gVUgXbHPz5RR3GCMipusMjECUCgOX0GfZ6RkpwuncP1rgjFmiVQdmCYO8DRnx8stYwZFL6SX8LljkfGRPO_9M4cArJvG4yWk3KHR_Wr2Tw_YucuwZ_KjM673laQjuScgGMTaxbCpVbc/s320/IMG_3687.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>The king of distractions when he turns his "sad eyes" on you.</i> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKCZcPmLqxBRemRVYbheRR4GS3qnjovTdP8wk04sOw2c-IudXwEFcE1m5ZRb36pa8HYRWwRCyHr81MU93_V2gwgAvQty02q4-OqQicbDRBaGixr200nhiNNwvGNF5zo6-YaI0P1R05XU/s1600/FullSizeRender+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKCZcPmLqxBRemRVYbheRR4GS3qnjovTdP8wk04sOw2c-IudXwEFcE1m5ZRb36pa8HYRWwRCyHr81MU93_V2gwgAvQty02q4-OqQicbDRBaGixr200nhiNNwvGNF5zo6-YaI0P1R05XU/s320/FullSizeRender+16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Margot (aka Kitten Murderface, Aaron Purr, Satan, El Diablo, Bad Hat, Devil Cat, etc) is a distraction for all the wrong reasons.</i></div>
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But despite the frequent breaks to redirect our extremely evil feline away from destruction, I am plugging away, actually looking forward to wrapping up today's blog post and getting to work on my story (while comfortably ensconced in a spot where emergency nourishment is just down the hall.) But before I do, I want to talk briefly about my most recent read. (Warning: We are leaving the frivolous world of cat pics far behind.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJM8CRfzNBRFRiaKnYWyrBT9isC-nc3bpKWwfNoLuguzfYxYBc1huqj7XOWHu_8yB_Xjr4kS2VOnTt-t9YacNT7A0C_OtTU0FW7mTB5ZYUqRrSxkfBiG7n5RCdS1TCAbFjRm2KlORtv1U/s1600/99b18f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJM8CRfzNBRFRiaKnYWyrBT9isC-nc3bpKWwfNoLuguzfYxYBc1huqj7XOWHu_8yB_Xjr4kS2VOnTt-t9YacNT7A0C_OtTU0FW7mTB5ZYUqRrSxkfBiG7n5RCdS1TCAbFjRm2KlORtv1U/s320/99b18f.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
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<i>Yet another entry in my "Books You Should Have Read in School" category.</i></div>
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Ralph Ellison's classic, <i>Invisible Man</i>, was on my list of catch-up books for a while before I spotted a pristine copy at the <a href="http://mrksusedbooks.com/">used bookstore</a> a few months back. I snagged it and parked it on my TBR shelf ("to be read" for the uninitiated.) Aside from some very big picture stuff, I knew almost nothing about this book. But I knew it was important, and that it fell into the embarrassed-I've-never-read-it category (along with a list of books so long I burn with shame.) So finally, two weeks ago, I picked it up to read, knowing nearly nothing about the plot or characters and only a vague idea of the subject matter.</div>
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I wasn't prepared. Somebody should have warned me. First of all, this is not a plot-driven novel. Secondly, this is not a character-driven novel. The narrator/protagonist is a slippery fish whose personality and desires are almost impossible to nail down. His beliefs and ideals flip-flop like said slippery fish throughout the book. Thirdly (third of all? the third thing? these ordinals are getting out of control), this book is mostly people having philosophical arguments with the narrator. I am not exaggerating. This book was a slog. And at nearly 600 pages, it was a <i>long</i> slog. I kept having to give myself little pep talks to get through it -- especially when the protagonist hits his umpteenth betrayal by someone he trusted. This book was a <i>bummer</i>.</div>
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But here's the thing: <i>Read it anyway.</i> </div>
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Last year, I read Ta-Nehisi Coates' <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Between-World-Me-Ta-Nehisi-Coates/dp/0812993543" style="font-style: italic;">Between the World and Me</a>, and it was mind-blowing in all the right, heartbreaking, life-changing ways. Everything Coates said about the devaluing of the black body in America echoes so perfectly what Ellison calls the "invisibility" of the black man in America (even though I read the Coates book first.) Read the Ellison and forget that it was set in the last century because, you know what? It might as well be set today. Sure, today we make more of a show of not using racial slurs and pretending that there is equal access to jobs and amenities, but the heart of it all remains unchanged. Time and again we are sold the lie that America is a land of equals, that privilege is a myth, that educated and liberal white men can fix the problems of minorities. We are told that racism is over, that people are playing the "race card," that whites can experience "reverse racism." White liberals congratulate ourselves (I'm indicting myself too) on our open-mindedness, our ability to understand something that is beyond our experience. We talk and talk, and we don't listen.</div>
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I'm not going to make some big proclamation or conclusion about finishing the Ellison book (aside from being really relieved to have reached the end for a whole lot of reasons.) I don't believe it is my job to decide what it all means. My job is to humbly listen, to read and listen and try to understand, to support those who do know, who have lived the experience, when they try attain positions of power, platforms where they can effect change. My job is to police my own behavior, my own thoughts, to weed out any remnants of that pernicious subtle prejudice that is deeply rooted in all of those with privilege. </div>
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For those readers who have gotten this far in my post, I'm probably preaching to the choir, but I'm going to say it anyway. Don't post comments here about your disbelief in white privilege. Please don't embarrass us both by telling me that you've had a hard life too. This isn't a hardship contest, and that is not what privilege is about. If you think it is, then you have a fundamental misunderstanding of the concept. If that terminology is a stumbling block for you, set it aside. Read the book anyway. Read Coates' book (it's super-short, a one-sitting kind of read, though I recommend going slowly and taking it all in.) I'm not looking for affirmation, praise, a fight, or really anything other than the hope that more people will read and listen and really think about what they see and hear, especially as we approach the election. Think a little less about talking points and hot-button issues and really listen, not just to what your preferred candidate is saying, but also to what his/her supporters say. What kind of America/world do they want, and what kind (read: color) of people does it include? Worry less about your own entitlement and ask yourself what this country <i>needs</i>. </div>
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Don't have any idea what this country needs? You read and you listen and still don't have any answers? Neither do I. And as far as I'm concerned, that I just means I need to listen more. Maybe being in the middle of uncertainty isn't such a terrible place to be.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-81021856677276253512016-05-09T10:50:00.001-04:002016-05-09T10:50:41.191-04:00Read Less, Write More (a Mid-Year Resolution)Day Two of my new summer writing regimen, and I'm back in the B&N cafe with a London Fog and my laptop. While I certainly don't plan to work from here every day this summer, I find that when I'm trying to reboot my discipline, knowing I can go somewhere I enjoy and get a drink that gives me a caffeine boost (and tastes delicious) gives me a little extra incentive to get moving when that hateful alarm goes off at six thirty (one of the parts of Kiddo being in school that I <i>won't </i>miss.) Also, it can be helpful (when my discipline/attention span are struggling) to work in a space with no distractions. Sure there are people milling around and chatting (well, not this early, but they're coming), but at home it can be difficult to resist the call of the laundry or the cat or -- let's be honest -- the sofa. Here, there's nothing to do but keep my butt in the (very uncomfortable) chair and write. So until I get back in a rhythm, I'll be here trying to stretch out one tall London Fog and make myself invisible. Like Friday, I am using my blog post as a way to write my way into my work for the day. Fingers crossed that I'm soon at the point where I can do my fiction writing first and use my (fun...well, fun for me, anyway) blog stuff as a reward for my hard work. But I'm not there yet, and that's okay for now.<br />
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<i>Enjoy this image because the wifi here is dragging this morning. It's all your getting.</i></div>
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As often happens when I sit down to blog on a semi-regular basis (as opposed to when I have a specific bone to pick), I don't have a specific topic in mind when I break out my laptop -- unless it's to puzzle over why Google Play is so convinced I need to listen to Saint Saens' <i>Bacchanale </i>EVERY time I use it. I'm seriously having youth orchestra flashbacks. So today, let's talk about writing, my writing (or lack thereof.) It may not be the most riveting topic, but if it helps with my accountability, then I'm willing to let you suffer through. (Aren't I a sweetheart?)</div>
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Five years ago this summer (how is that possible?) I completed my <a href="http://www.converse.edu/program/master-of-fine-arts-mfa/">MFA program</a> after a consecutive six-year run of college (undergrad + grad). It was with a strange combination of triumph and profound sadness that I attended my final commencement. I'm one of those weirdos who likes to be in school. Nay, I <i>love </i>it. If I were rich, I would be student for the rest of my life, taking tests, writing papers, meeting deadlines, reading dense prose, and turning in creative work with pride and trepidation. Alas, I am decidedly <i>not</i> rich. And so I exited the academic world (as a student, anyway) and returned to normal life. It is also worth noting that during my MFA I had Kiddo, who was eighteen months old when I graduated.</div>
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For six years, I read and I wrote constantly. I was disciplined. I was focused. I was so very happy. Of course, there was a part of me that was relieved about the end of deadlines and class schedules (mostly the parent of a toddler part, I'm sure), but I was totally blindsided by the writing paralysis that struck me almost the moment I was handed that diploma. For at least six months, I couldn't write. I was sad, bone-deep sad, about not being in school. I was terrified to write without the safety net of my brilliant faculty mentors. There were no more deadlines beyond those I set for myself. And on top of everything else, my brain felt like it was slowly turning to sludge as I cared for my toddler (the preschool programming on tv probably didn't help that.)</div>
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I did manage to eventually shake free of the paralysis (mostly anyway), and I've had spurts of productivity (though that productivity has <i>not</i> included sending out my work.) I'm blessed with writing friends and mentors nearby, and toddlers do eventually become preschoolers that allow for more free time (Preschool FTW!). There is no way to plan, however, for the time-wrecker that is illness. Nothing can make you feel defeated (and totally brainless) quite like being laid up in bed and heavily drugged. I've yet to figure out a way to work through that fog. And don't even get me started on motivation when you're life is constantly interrupted by illness. It can all feel so pointless as you work/live with the constant fear of sickness lurking just around the corner. It all becomes a bit of a self-defeating circle.</div>
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But, this summer I am trying to put all of this out of mind (hoping this post serves as a bit of a mind/memory cleanse) and start yet again. Ass-in-seat <i>every day</i> (or least every week day.) Never mind the times Ive tried this and been defeated. I can't think about that. It just leads to more paralysis, more guilt, more feelings of worthlessness. Basically, an environment completely unconducive to writing. Hence the whole B&N habit and my long post about nothing. (On an unrelated note, Google Play just gave me yet another youth orchestra flashback with <i>Capriccio Espanol</i>. What's going on today?)</div>
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Lest you think that I've been sitting around feeling sorry for myself the past few years, <i>au contraire</i>. I may not have been writing with anything that resembles regularity, but I've been reading the hell out of some books. And not just any books. I like to have a plan (no surprise there.) There's the <i>Books You Should've Read in School</i> category. Also, there was #readwomen2014 and an overall conscious effort to read more diversely in general. I read with a purpose, an eye to the writing, dissecting the work to see what makes it work (and doesn't.) A couple of years ago, I even started keepimg track of the books I read. No idea why I wasn't doing that before; it's such a me, achievement-oriented thing.</div>
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In addition to my ongoing reading plans, I have a writing plan for this summer. I should have three stories ready to start sending out by the end of summer (if I stick to it.) One story has been in editing stages for somewhere in the neighborhood of three years (so very sick of this story), one is an old story I want to overhaul and make something of, and the third is a new piece that I'm working on right now (well, when I'm not writing this blog entry.)</div>
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So that's where I am with my writing just now. It remains to be seen how many London Fogs and Kind bars will have to give their lives in aid of my goal. Now, it's time to get to some fiction writing, and when I just can't write anymore (or they throw me out of the cafe), I'm prepared for that too. I've got Ellison's <i>Invisible Man </i>in my bag (another check off my missed classics list) with only 130 pages to go.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-26986832438869446082016-05-06T10:33:00.002-04:002016-05-06T10:33:34.744-04:00I'm Back (and Grumpier Than Ever.)It has become clear that I am incapable of maintaining my blog through a semester of teaching. Between the hectic schedule (we're temporarily a one-car family, which is INSANE), the teaching, the grading, the parenting, the regular life stuff, and ever-present health issues, my good intentions fell down, paving whatever road I was on (we know which one), and I haven't written ANYTHING since January. I mean no writing. No fiction, no editing, no blogging, just reading for class and reading freshman papers. (No comment.) It's not been great for my state of mind, but I try to keep my head down and plug away. The good news is that I posted final grades this morning, and I am a free woman till August. Actually, I have almost a month until Kiddo is out of school, so I have three-and-a-half weeks of uninterrupted writing time, and dammit, I'm going to make the most of it. So on this, my first day of freedom, I hauled my lazy, depressed ass to Barnes & Noble, laptop in hand (or in bag, as the case may be), loaded up on sugary goodness (London Fog and a GF marshmallow treat) and got to work. <br />
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<i>Why, yes, I do have a filter addiction. But it's so pretty.</i></div>
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I glanced through my notes and opened up a blank document on my Mac and freaked the *%#@ out. White space is infinitely scarier, more intimidating, when you've been neglecting your craft for <i>months</i>. I feel like such a slacker. So I decided to compromise by starting with a little blog entry (instead of ending with it as a reward as I'd earlier planned.) For some reason, a blank blog screen is so much less frightening. I think maybe it's the whole give-yourself-permission-to-write-badly thing. I'm usually much less focused on perfection when I'm tapping out a quick note to my blog buddies. (Sorry, nothing personal.) But, it is writing and totally counts, especially on this first day back in the old writing saddle. My computer is out, and I am practicing ass-in-seat with every ounce of self-control I have left. (I probably have some to spare today since I didn't use any when ordering in the cafe.)</div>
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So what has been going on since January, you ask? (It's okay if you didn't. This is just about my continuing to type, remember?) Well, Kiddo turned six, our cat has morphed into the literal spawn of Satan, I survived another semester (with a brand-new subject), I skipped another Valentine's Day, we killed another vehicle, I read (though not as many books as I'd like), I discovered the skinny London Fog at Starbucks, and I bought a new handbag (not something I do very often.) Oh wait, I forgot the most important thing: I became completely obsessed with <i>Hamilton</i>. My six year old now has a preternatural knowledge of Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and the Revolutionary War in general. (I read Sarah Vowell's <i>Lafayette and the Somewhat United States </i>during that time as well, which only deepened the whole 18th century America obsession.) I've also gotten really skilled at muting out the worst of the four-letter words in the musical's soundtrack whenever Kiddo is in the car. We don't need her going to school and singing about the "Mother@#%*ing Democratic Republicans," now do we?</div>
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<i>"Work" indeed.</i></div>
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Health-wise, I've remained in a bit of holding pattern. Lately, I've been dealing with a med change that hasn't gone exactly as planned (mood swings and electrical-feeling brain zaps, anyone?) Good times, but I haven't been hospitalized or had a major illness since February, so we're definitely calling that a win. I still get frustrated by the way in which my health issues limit my lifestyle (and that of my family), but I don't suppose that is going anywhere any time soon.</div>
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So, while some things may have changed over the last few months, one very important thing remains the same: I'm still a grumpy, cranky, get-off-my-lawn old lady who really wants a t-shirt that says, "He's a Komondor. Yes, his hair is supposed to look like that. Yes, he can see. Go ahead and take your picture if it means you'll leave me alone. No, I can't eat that. No, I won't ever be joining you at a church event, as every single one is centered on food and people don't take no for an answer. No, I don't want to talk about my Celiac, and I'm so happy that you once met somebody with a tummy ache which you're certain is the same thing and can be cured by juicing. And stop thinking it's funny/cute when you (a grown man) tell my child she's going to marry you when she grows up." </div>
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I know. I'm a freaking ray of sunshine.</div>
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I hope this won't be a lone post . No, I know this won't be a lone post. I'm committed. I have plenty to say; I just have to plan so that every post isn't an angry, cranky rant. For now, though, I've put off that white space long enough. My fingers and brain are warmed up, and the caffeine from my London Fog is circulating. Time to get writing.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-71522871405257501152016-02-09T10:07:00.001-05:002016-02-09T10:20:29.432-05:00Diverse Discussions, or How I Fumble Through FaulknerClass has officially started. I'm one week into classes, and so far, so good. The first day was disastrous (there was rain, copier issues, no parking, and a sopping wet ballet flat involved), but I recovered. And yesterday, I got to give my first quiz, and it was glorious. I'm not afraid to admit the giddy feeling I had when I told them to take out a sheet of paper and number to five, and they all groaned. (At least I gave them warning.) It was like every childhood playing-teacher role play come true. And after three semesters of grading nothing but papers, grading quizzes this morning was easy peasy. Now I have the rest of the morning to read and plan for tomorrow (and make up another quiz! YES!) Lest you think I'm totally heartless (no, you're right, I am), I <i>did</i> give out fun size candy bars to students who answered difficult questions in discussion. So that's cool, right? Even super-cool college students like sugar and chocolate.<br />
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<i>Look at those beautiful quizzes waiting to graded.</i></div>
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The best part of the class so far (aside from it being second semester freshmen instead of first!) is that we get to sit around and talk about short fiction (at least for the first half of the semester), picking it apart, talking about it in historical context, looking for clues about the more ambiguous parts of the story. Fun, fun, fun. I even like to kid myself that the students who claim only to love Nicholas Sparks-style happy endings (their term, not mine) are having a little bit of fun with "A Rose for Emily." Maybe not. And fingers crossed on finding a way to get my back row lurkers talking and participating (not even chocolate is working on them.) They better enjoy the peace and quiet now because once I have everybody's name down, their anonymous corners of quiet will be no more.<br />
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This is my first time teaching this particular class (or any literature class at all, for that matter), and there are still some rough places I'm working to smooth. While we certainly read stories, poems, and essays in my other classes, the discussion of those pieces was different than in a literature course. We're talking about the stories/poems/plays less in terms of the mechanics of the writing and more in terms of the content, <i>the meaning</i>. While I'm totally up for these kinds of discussions, there is one area where I really fear incompetency, and that is race.<br />
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In case you didn't already know, I am a white, middle class, American woman. The only way I could be more systemically privileged is if I were male and had a bad combover. I try to embrace diversity. I am conscious of what I read in my personal life, searching out authors who are women and people of color. I try to find news stories that go beyond our contiguous 48 and understand that the Western perspective is not the only perspective.<br />
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And yet, when we read a story set in the deep South during Reconstruction or encounter a character who uses racial slurs or discuss women's roles in the Victorian era and realize I mean <i>white women</i>, I know I have to address these things in class. I see my minority students and am seized by fear that I'm handling the discussion clumsily (I am). I worry that I sound like some clueless white woman pretending to understand centuries of systematic oppression (I am that too, unfortunately.) And I just feel inadequate to the task.<br />
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Thinking back to my time in college, I can't remember professors addressing these things, how they handled them --- not because they didn't, I'm sure, but because it wasn't something <i>I </i>had to think about. It didn't affect my life; those dead white guys looked like me. And the instances of slavery and racial slurs and bigotry in literature were just something you shook your head at and thought smugly <i>I would never do that.</i><br />
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But I realize now that being internally angry or appalled at historical injustice is not enough. And I can't just sit on my hands and hope that my students (particularly students of color) bring up the topics in discussion either. That's not their job. The question then becomes how to address these issues without making any students feel singled out or resentful. In the past, I've heard white students address issues of race and find myself cringing internally at their tone-deaf proclamations, frantically replaying my words, praying I don't sound so sure of an experience I'll never have. (Most of my students, however, look as terrified as me of saying something stupid or ill-informed.)<br />
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I don't yet have any answers. And this little post isn't a search for a pat on the back or reassurance that my own soul-searching is noble. I know that it is not enough. I know that despite my best intentions, we will read more dead white guys this semester than women or people of color. I know that I am unable to fully understand the complicated feelings some of my students may have about some of the pieces we will read. I know some of you will read this and find it to be a lot of unnecessary hand-wringing. Allow me to respectfully disagree. Literature is vital piece of our history and culture, and in a nation whose racial/ethnic make-up is constantly evolving, so must our consumption of literature evolve. Reading increases empathy, and so we should model that empathy for students and readers of every background. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-11765658896647772612016-02-01T11:07:00.000-05:002016-02-01T11:07:01.822-05:00That's My Girl Class starts Wednesday, and I have a mountain of lesson prep to do (not sped along by the <i>hour and a half</i> I spent on the phone with Mom this morning, something we almost never do), so this will be a short entry. Just wanted to share a quick Kiddo anecdote for your Monday morning.<br />
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As you know, I love books. I love the written word. And we have worked hard to make Kiddo a voracious reader. She was reading on her own at four, and she is quite unstoppable now, reading anything you put in front of her. She loves books, and I couldn't be happier. Today, her appetite for reading netted her some recognition on the morning school tv broadcast, and I got to see her accept the AR (Accelerated Reader) trophy on behalf of her class. Needless to say, she was incredibly excited. (She was also the only girl top-reader. Way to represent, Kiddo!)<br />
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But as proud as I am of her love and skill for reading, I think my heart swells even more for her obsession with writing/creating stories. This girl loves to tell a story and has a story for every occasion. She writes them, illustrates them, and then demands staples or binder clips to hold together her latest work of genius. I deeply admire her complete lack of inhibitions with regard to her writing, and her assumption that everything she writes and illustrates is a masterpiece that will garner accolades from everyone who encounters it.<br />
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So here's the story with all the feels:<br />
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The other day when I picked her up from school, I was listening to one of my bookish podcasts, a recommendation request show called, <i><a href="http://bookriot.com/category/get-booked/">Get Booked</a>, </i>from <a href="http://bookriot.com/">Book Riot.</a> The hosts were talking about a fantasy series author who used to write straight literary fiction but switched to fantasy after a request from his little girl to write "a book about a little girl who saves the world." I don't remember the book or the author. I probably wouldn't have remembered what they said at all if not for what happened next.<br />
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We got home and after the usual homework and settling in, Kiddo disappeared to her room to work on something that involved copious amounts of printer paper and markers. I happened to walk past later, and she called me in. Waving a page she was still writing on and illustrating she said, "I'm writing a book about an ordinary girl who saves the world. Your podcast inspired me."<br />
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Have you ever just wanted to squeeze your kid until their little eyeballs bugged out? It was one of those moments where you look at your child and think, <i>Yep, she's mine. </i> She elaborated, "I was listening to you podcast, and when they said that about the book about the girl who saves the world, I just loved it. So, of course, that meant I <i>had to</i> write about it. <br />
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Well, obviously.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-61123345980322432452016-01-23T13:47:00.001-05:002016-01-23T13:47:02.504-05:00Pop Quiz, Hotshot!Oh the joys of planning lessons (read: choosing stories and poems) for a literature survey course. <br />
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<i>My warm and cozy nook. This was after I ate ALL THE COOKIES.</i></div>
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First you sit down and figure out exactly how many class periods you will have for the semester. Then you look at that giant, doorstop of a textbook and start making some hard choices. (This involves lots of sticky tabs. Did I mention I LOVE office supplies?) What do you leave out? It can't be Flannery O'Connor. And certainly not Nathaniel Hawthorne--everyone should have to read "Young Goodman Brown" at least fifty times in college. <br />
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All this decision-making isn't made any easier by the lovely sampling of contemporary writers that are included--Nathan Englander, Junot Diaz, Annie Proulx, and don't forget that Peter Meinke story that makes everyone cry. ("The Cranes") Balance must also be considered: Am I including a significant number of female authors? People of color? Is Sherman Alexie really not in there? This is hard. I want to include all the stuff. All the stories. <br />
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But this is not just a fiction course. There's poetry. And drama. I love poetry--drama, not nearly so much. Maybe we could read a few poems, watch a movie, and call it day. Read more stories! If we read a story about a person who writes poetry, does that count? (Just kidding, poet friends. We'll be reading lots of good stuff.)<br />
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And because all of this wasn't challenging enough, I asked for some sample syllabi to make sure I cover everything required. What do they send me? Just the syllabus of one of the most awesome English professors I ever had, you know the kind: Her syllabus is detailed and perfect. You can read the words/instructions in her voice and feel instantly inept as you imagine yourself attempting to teach the same subject matter. Is it too late to back out?<br />
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I'm trying not to even think about making up tests. The classes I've taught so far have all been writing courses. I can grade a paper with the best of them. (Well maybe not with the best, but I can certainly manage it.) I've never written a test before. Will I over empathize and make it too easy? Will I be subconsciously angered by perceived student apathy and make it too hard? Will half the class simply refuse to show up for the midterm? (Sorry, I was having flashbacks to last semester.)<br />
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Of course, the good part about having the SuperProfessor syllabus is that I can steal/borrow her awesome ideas, namely, I'm totally making my students memorize and recite a poem. (My husband asked if it could be a limerick or haiku. Pretty sure he's a college freshman in disguise.) We're definitely going to attend the theater department's spring production (though admittedly, the name of it didn't really kindle anticipation and excitement in my heart.) And I'm absolutely requiring them to submit PCQs on their readings. (Pre-class questions, for the uninitiated in Dr. Brown's amazing classes.)<br />
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One thing I'm really looking forward to is the quizzes. There will be so many quizzes. Planned quizzes. Secret quizzes. Hard quizzes. Short quizzes. If there's one thing I learned last semester, it's that freshmen will not do their homework unless moved by intense fear. And so I will strike fear in their hearts with quizzes. I will show no mercy with multiple choice answers. It will be short answer. It will be timed. And most importantly, it will be at the very beginning of class, you late slackers. Muwaaahaaa. Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to the first student who wanders in five minutes late and misses the quiz? Probably. Do I care? Not so much.<br />
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So that's pretty much my weekend. Oh, yeah, there's also a ton of snow outside my window (at least a ton by SC standards.) But that's more my husband's and Kiddo's domain. I remain in my little hole, planning (plotting?) in front of my personal heater. And when I start to feel overwhelmed by all the possibilities (Donne? Shakespeare? Keats? Eliot?), I just sit back and imagine all those sweet freshman sliding down snowy hills, sipping steaming drinks, laughing with friends, all completely and blissfully unaware of the quizzes that await them.<br />
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<i>Also blissfully ignorant of my evil plans.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-13790155974023395092016-01-22T13:39:00.004-05:002016-01-22T13:39:49.156-05:00Snowpocalypse? Not so much.When I got up this morning, there was a lovely blanket of white covering everything, making our ugly backyard beautiful, covering up the rusty wheelbarrow and the old charcoal grill that needs to go to the dump. Even those stupid wild onions that pop up in our front yard every winter are hidden by the snow. Unfortunately, that picturesque moment has been pretty much obliterated by a steady fall of freezing rain ever since. The snow is still under there somewhere, but I don't think any cute kids will be asking if they can sled down our hill this afternoon.<br />
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<i>View from the porch (as far our as I intend to venture.)</i></div>
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And while we're on the topic of plans and visions going awry...the weather has also put a stop to my work/reading bonanza of a weekend. My husband and Kiddo were planning to go to visit grandparents sans mommy this weekend, leaving me to be productive and bask in the quiet solitude of an empty house. Don't get me wrong--I'm glad they're home safe, but there is a small part of me that is mourning my lost weekend.<br />
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On the upside, you haven't lived until you've heard a six year old waking up to snow outside the window. Excited doesn't begin to cover it. She's been asking to go outside every five minutes since her feet hit the floor. The child has no understanding of sleet and freezing rain. Looks like we may have to let her find out the hard way. At least my husband is off from work and can take her out in the mess whilst I stay warm and cozy in front of my heater. <br />
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The furry members of our family have opinions about the weather too. The Big Dog LOVES cold weather, and snow is even more magical for him than Kiddo, I believe. You're trying to walk him, and all he wants do is FROLIC. He has no appreciation of our distaste for icicles on our eyebrows. Kitten Murderface, however, is just happy that all the blinds are open, the better to wreak havoc on all the cords and slats, all while being highly suspicious of the <i>tink, tink </i>of ice on the windows.<br />
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The best part of this most un-Snowmaggedon of days, however, is that we can't/won't go ANYWHERE. Never one for flitting here and there, I've progressed to nearly hermit levels as I've gotten older, and leaving the house is one of my least favorite things. So today there was no hauling Kiddo to school before the sun is fully up, or waiting in car line for nearly an hour. I don't even have to put on pants! (I did, though. Can I collect my prize now?)<br />
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So, while my productivity may be slightly less (especially following a work/teaching related hiccup discovered this morning) and my peace and quiet significantly reduced, at least all my clothes are cotton and have elastic. My socks are fuzzy. My tea is hot. And Kiddo wears fleece footie pajamas at night that make her look like a cuddly stuffed animal. Snow Day FTW!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-63836097822230262042016-01-12T13:52:00.000-05:002016-01-12T13:52:12.013-05:00Better Late Than Never - My 2015 Favorite ReadsSo let's just pretend, shall we? Let's pretend that the end of 2015 is nearly upon us, or maybe 2016 just arrived fewer than 48 hours ago. Your now dusty Christmas tree is still holding court in the living room, the tree skirt rumpled and askew. There are three Christmas cookies left, but they've gone stale and nobody wants them, and an arm wrestling bout is scheduled for later to decide the fate of the last of the Christmas ham. You're back to work, but you still have that holiday sleep schedule hangover. And if you hear one more Burl Ives Christmas carol, somebody is getting hurt. That, my friends, is when the Best Of lists should appear on blogs and vlogs and websites everywhere. NOT on January 12, 2016. But we've agreed to pretend that I'm on top of things, so let's all just enjoy this land of make believe and talk about my favorite reads of 2015.<br />
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First, it's confession time. I only read 55 books this year. (Books read from beginning to end, not counting any DNFs.) That's down from last year's number, and I'm slightly embarrassed. I'm the first to admit that I'm fiercely competitive and acquisitional (is that a word?) with my reading, and I would have preferred to top my previous number. But apparently, teaching and volunteering and chauffeuring took its toll, and I averaged just over a book a week. MUST do better in 2016.<br />
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Now, on to my favorites.<br />
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<b><i>1Q84</i>, Haruki Murakami</b><br />
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This wasn't my first Murakami, but I do believe it is my new favorite. I'm always a sucker for a giant, doorstop of a book, and this "little" tome delivered. Magical, dream-like, all the things we always say about Murakami, only there was just something else about this one that made it surpass <i>The Wind-up Bird Chronicle</i> as my favorite. I can't really put my finger on what it is. Maybe it was the badass lady assassin. Maybe it was the happy ending. Maybe the reason is as hard to pin down as one of Murakami's mysterious cats. Loved this book.<br />
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<b><i>Find Me</i>, Laura Van Den Berg</b><br />
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If you haven't figured this out already, I'm a sucker for dystopian/post-apocalyptic/speculative fiction. Margaret Atwood is my jam. I never miss an episode of <i>The Walking Dead</i>. This beautiful book scratches my disaster itch with a story of a young survivor of a plague that has wiped out much of the US. Van Den Berg is an amazing writer, and combining her skills with my favorite subject matter made for a book I couldn't stop reading (and recommending.)<br />
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<b><i>Fahrenheit 451</i>, Ray Bradbury</b><br />
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I am so embarrassed to admit that I'd never read this book before this year. It was just one of those bizarre gaps in my reading that I was determined to remedy. This little book needs no explanation or blurbing. Loved it.<br />
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<b><i>Saint Mazie</i>, Jami Attenberg</b><br />
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I'm listing these books in the order I read them, not in the order in which I loved and adored them. Otherwise, this book would be near the top. Heard about this title on the <a href="http://bookriot.com/category/all-the-books/">All the Books</a> podcast, and it just intrigued me. Reserved it at the library and proceeded to devour this story. My only regret is that I don't actually own a copy. If you love stories about the Depression, New York City, independent women, or immigrants, this based-on-a-true-story novel is for you. It reads as a collection of journal entries, news clippings, and interviews. It covers a lot of ground, but moves so quickly that you'll be in shock (and maybe in mourning) when it ends. I need to read this one again.<br />
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<b><i>Music for Wartime</i>, Rebecca Makkai</b><br />
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Not just my favorite short story collection of the year, this may be one of my favorite short story collections of all time. Another<a href="http://bookriot.com/category/all-the-books/"> All the Books </a>find, these stories are smart and beautiful and funny and sad in turn. I especially recommend this collection if you are a lover of classical and/or orchestral music. And if you need any more prompting to pick this one up, there's a story where a miniature Bach crawls out of a woman's piano and becomes her interim boyfriend. Yeah, that happened.<br />
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<b><i>In the Country,</i> Mia Alvar</b><br />
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I've read comparisons between Alvar and Jhumpa Lahiri, and they're not off the mark. This is a gorgeous short story collection about immigrants, outsiders, and the other. Loved it.<br />
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<b><i>Fates and Furies,</i> Lauren Groff</b><br />
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I'm always suspicious of hype, and this book came with plenty. Somehow, though, it managed to live up to the raves. Beautiful, sprawling book about a marriage. If you liked <i>The Interestings </i>(Meg Wolitzer), you'll like this book.<br />
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<b><i>The Maddaddam Trilogy</i>, Margaret Atwood</b><br />
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So, I cheated. This is actually three books, but I read the whole trilogy this year, and I couldn't just pick one of the books as a fave. Loved, loved, loved these books. Got to the end and wanted to immediately start over and read them all again. Nobody does speculative fiction like Atwood. Also, name drop...she tweeted me back!<br />
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HONORABLE MENTIONS - FICTION<br />
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<b><i>The Fishermen</i>, by Chigozie Obioma</b>, was amazing and a must-read about Nigerian brothers living with a curse.<br />
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<b><i>Tenth of December</i>, by George Saunders</b>, is another embarrassing gap in my reading. One of the ultimate short story collections. Took my breath away.<br />
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FAVORITE 2016 BOOK I'M STILL READING<br />
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<b><i>This Angel on my Chest</i>, by Leslie Pietrzyk</b> - Do yourself a favor and read this book immediately.<br />
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NON-FICTION<br />
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<b><i>Faith Unraveled</i>, Rachel Held Evans</b><br />
<b><i>Searching for Sunday, </i>Rachel Held Evans</b><br />
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<b><i>Out of Sorts</i>, Sarah Bessey</b><br />
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<b><i>Between the World and Me</i>, Ta-Nehisi Coates - </b>Here's a <a href="http://www.notthatkindofmommy.blogspot.com/2015/09/what-im-reading-and-what-you-should.html">link</a> to my previous mentions of this amazing book.<br />
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Well, there you have it. My latest loves of the literary kind. I'd post about my TBR, but it's grown to an unmanageable size. Too much book shopping in Asheville over Christmas break! (No such thing.) So I'd better get back to my reading!<br />
<b><br /></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-62758009880272883162016-01-11T13:32:00.001-05:002016-01-11T13:32:40.194-05:00Resurrecting a Blog (and a Life)It has become clear that my real skill is vanishing off the face of the earth at will. Alas, an intense final month of fall classes followed by the holidays and yet another serious illness (including a hospital stay this time) has kept me from my blog and my writing (as well as lots of other things I love.) It's discouraging, but it seems to be a fact of life around here. The good news is that I'm back (again), and I've still got a few weeks until classes start back for me. I'll be teaching English 102 this term, my first lit class, so there's an incredible amount of planning yet to be done, and I'm grateful to only be teaching the one class. I am determined to use the extra time to get back to writing and to stop letting life and illness get in the way. As in the past, this blog is a good tool for holding myself accountable to a daily writing schedule, and if I can manage to stay healthy for a few months, I just might make some progress.<div>
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<i>Ah, my little workspace, how I have missed you.</i></div>
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Interestingly, these post-illness life reboots are something I haven't encountered in all my reading about chronic illness. There's lots out there about missing out and fatigue and trying to help people understand invisible illness, but I don't believe I've seen anything about the starting over (physically, socially, etc) that happens after every episode or relapse. After dropping out of circulation for days, weeks, or even months, you have to maneuver your way back into your commitments, your friendships, your schedule, and sometimes even current events. And this isn't something that you have to figure out one time. You are faced with this jockeying for position every time you return from a major illness (at least until you quit trying and withdraw altogether, which can be a real temptation.) It's discouraging, intimidating, and isolating. Basically, it sucks. Every time.</div>
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First, there are the logistics. You don't generally just wake up one day feeling hale and happy. In fact, most chronic illness patients exist more on a sliding scale of wellness that never quite reaches "All Better." So deciding when to go from confined-to-bed to back-to-normal can be tricky. How much of your "normal" workload/social schedule can you even manage? Because you don't want to cause a setback in your recovery.</div>
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Then you have all the people who have had to make other arrangements when they couldn't rely on you. No matter how much they care about you and your health, these folks (whether they are work, church, or school colleagues) need someone they can depend on to get the job done, and when your ability to deliver is frequently a big question mark, it can be challenging to convince them to let you back in on the work. This situation can be painful to navigate, as there is plenty of guilt and frustration to go around for both "sides." I never feel anger for the person who's reluctant to let me back in, but I do feel incredibly guilty at having failed them and unbelievably frustrated at my body's repeated betrayals. I'm organized and goal-oriented, and illness is neither of those things.</div>
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And let's not forget relationships. There is a hard truth about chronic illness: When you're sick and confined to home or bed, the outside world keeps turning. Friends still meet for drinks. Couples still have dinner parties. Movies are seen in theaters by those who are well enough to venture beyond their bedrooms. While certainly, there are those close friends who make the effort to see and encourage you through your periods of incapacitation, it can be very challenging to maintain any sort of social circle when you're constantly having to drop out of the loop.</div>
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I have found this socially isolating aspect of chronic illness to be intensified by having special requirements or needs even when you are healthy. Because of my Celiac, I am very limited to where I can safely eat, and so much (a dizzying amount really) of our social interaction is built around food. Meals or snacks are incorporated into nearly every church event, club meeting, or even meet-up with friends. So, even when I'm not pulling a bed-ridden disappearing act, I'm having to manage one of my illnesses by saying no to numerous social events, and it doesn't make for a very full dance card.</div>
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Lastly, these repeated beginnings lead to a sense of disconnection. Talk about feeling irrelevant. You weren't there. You don't know the funny stories, the inside jokes. New shit has come to light, and you missed the memo. And to make matters even more awkward, every one you see wants to talk about --you guessed it-- your illness. <i>You look great! You look tired! You're so thin. Should you be out yet?</i> <i>I don't know how you do it. </i>People are just being kind, and you know this, but when you're trying to make a comeback (for the millionth time), often the last thing you want to talk about is your weight loss or meds. All you want, really, is just to be in again, to not be marked with that invisible "S" on your chest --<i>Sick</i>.</div>
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So here I am, yet again, starting over. My writing, my commitments, my relationships, my life. While I was on pause, the rest of the world continued on at what seems like double speed, and nobody recorded what I missed. Thankfully, this was one of my shorter vanishings, but I live daily with the fear that I will vanish again without warning, and sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever despair of the fight to reinsert myself into my own life.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-66954306993356860092015-10-16T10:54:00.000-04:002015-10-16T10:57:20.386-04:00An Open Letter to Our Cat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear Margot,<br />
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First, allow me to welcome you to the family. I know it's been two and a half months since you've joined us, but we've been pretty busy, so you'll forgive my lateness. We're a pretty fun group -- if your definition of fun is staying home, living a sedentary life of reading and watching tv and eating, with only brief bursts of energy that propel us off our posteriors and into equally brief moments of sociability -- but you're a cat, so that seems like a good fit. The smallest member of the family (yourself excluded) has more frequent (and intense) bursts of activity (and sociability), but we figure she'll outgrow that.<br />
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We may have gotten off on the wrong foot in terms of your understanding of the contract of expected behavior, so this seems like a good time to break down the rules and expectations for living in this house.<br />
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<b>1. You have a litter box. Use it. </b>Great news! You've already got this one down. No problems here. Keep it that way if you know what's good for you, er, I mean, GOOD JOB!<br />
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<b>2. Chew nothing but your kibble and cat toys. </b>We've had a little run-in on this one already, haven't we? My fault for not explaining the terms of your contract, sooner, I suppose. So let me break it down for you. You are adorable. You are soft and fluffy and have big eyes and ears that you use to your advantage. Nevertheless, there are not enough cute head butts and purrs in your repertoire to make up for destroying my MacBook charger. Silky ears and twitchy tails do not keep my laptop running. Keep those pointy little fangs to yourself, and we'll get along just fine. <i>And on a related note...</i><br />
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<b>3. DON'T BITE. </b>Not me. Not anybody. But especially not me. Perhaps this one requires a little history. You probably don't remember this far back (nearly three months ago), but you were rescued from certain death by a dear friend. Together, she and I took one look at your tiny, flea-covered body and suited up for battle. We knew we couldn't use any chemicals on such a young kitten, and so we spent the better part of a day picking <i>hundreds </i>of fleas off your squirmy, little self. Did you catch that? <i>We picked them off by hand.</i> I'm not asking for much in return. Just a little gratitude. Ever heard that chestnut, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you?" Didn't think so. Well, it also applies to the hand that feeds <i>and </i>picks fleas off you by hand so as not to poison your baby body with chemicals. You're welcome.<br />
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<b>4. Don't destroy my furniture/curtains/child's toys/etc. </b>Remember that story about how I picked fleas off you by hand? How I provided you with a home full of food and warmth and a dog covered in cords/kitten toys? Yeah, keep that in mind every time you get the urge to scratch the sofa or cling to the footboard of my bed using only your rear claws and killer balance. Though I will say I appreciate your self-control in waiting at least two days before removing <i>every one </i>of the claw caps I so carefully applied. It shows you have some self-control. Or a sense of humor.<br />
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<b>5. Keep doing that thing where you sit on my chest and purr so loudly it can be heard across the room. </b>That's really working for me. Especially when you combine it with the half-shut eyes and occasional chin or nose lick. Keep up the good work.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-59178180556811144622015-10-06T12:25:00.000-04:002016-01-23T14:06:22.544-05:00That's Perfectly NormalI have never been normal (an admission that is shocking to exactly no one.) When I was a small child, my family moved. A lot. Whether it was school (when I was even in an actual brick-and-mortar school) or church or ballet class, I was generally the odd man out. Children are not known for their immediate acceptance of the new and/or different, and I was both of those things on a regular basis. <br />
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In junior high, I stepped up my weirdo game when I developed a skin condition that prevented me from getting any sun exposure. Did I mention that we lived in Myrtle Beach at the time? The land of sand, surf, and swimming pools is not exactly the ideal spot for a budding heliophobe (look it up, people, I did.) There I was at the ripe old age of thirteen and no longer allowed to go swimming or to the water park. I couldn't even play kickball in PE (admittedly, not a great loss.)<br />
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In addition to these relatively minor physical limitations, I also set about making sure I was viewed as a complete weirdo by deciding to make my life a never-ending Anne of Green Gable cosplay. (No, there will be no pictures of <i>that</i> in my post.) While I did attend an ultra-conservative Christian school at the time (you know, the kind where it's a big secret that girls have knees and shoulders), I still didn't exactly blend in with my petticoats and lace-up boots. But the pretending got me through, and I regret nothing.<br />
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<i>One of out two ain't bad. Right? Anyone?</i></div>
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I managed. Though I continued to get less normal, especially health-wise. Mumps at eighteen? Absolutely. (And yes, I had been vaccinated. See? I told you I was weird.) Chronic sinus issues that ended up in surgery? Why not? By the age of twenty-five, I was in less than stellar physical condition and was diagnosed with systemic Lupus and Sjogren's Syndrome shortly before I got married. I had required corrective lenses since I was twelve, but would have to wear glasses for the rest of my life because of the severe dry eye. (I would also never be far from my artificial tears bottle.) I was easily tired and often in pain. Still it was comforting having a diagnosis. (And I'd given up on the 19th century garb by then, so that was a bonus.)<br />
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Fast forward to two and a half years ago. I was married with a small child, and I'd never felt worse. Enter a new diagnosis: Celiac Disease. What is that, you ask? Well, the short version is that my gut doesn't like gluten. No, it actually <i>hates</i> gluten. Like get-those-kids-off-my-lawn-before-I-call-the-cops kind of hates gluten. And every time I ate it, my intestines would call the cops, and the party was definitely over. It got ugly. <br />
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Just for fun, try going a day without any gluten. Trying going a meal. It's tougher than you think. Then, just to make things super-challenging, try to go a meal without eating anything that has even <i>touched</i> gluten.<br />
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And that's my life.<br />
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So here's the thing. There's good and bad about always being <i>that </i>kid. It definitely made me into a bit of a non-conformist. I don't <i>want</i> to like the same things as everybody else. And I don't feel the need to adjust my opinions/tastes/etc. to match those of the prevailing crowd. Being an introvert, however, I do tire quickly of any attention my differences might draw (19th century cosplay notwithstanding. It's about <i>forced differences</i>.)<br />
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I like to be normal. (Not to be confused with conventional.)<br />
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I revel in routine. It is a point of pride that I have lived in my house for nine years. (A record for me by quite a few years.) My little girl came home from the hospital to this house and knows no other home. She went to the same preschool for three years and (I hope) will go to the same elementary school all the way through. We have Taco Tuesday. Every Tuesday. We are incredibly boring. And I LOVE it. <br />
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Kiddo and I started baking together when she was still in diapers. One of my favorite videos is of her attempting to add chocolate chips to cookies only to miss the bowl entirely and dump them on the floor. (Not included in the video is how sick the Big Dog got from eating just one of those tiny chocolate chips, but I digress.) Every special occasion in our home included a heaping plate of my pan-fried chicken. And my fried chicken fingers were a favorite at gatherings and parties. I had a <i>specialty.</i><br />
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But all of this ended with my Celiac diagnosis. Our love of trying out trendy, high-end(ish) restaurants? Over. Baking anything we want in the cookbook with my assistant? Over. Having dinner with friends in restaurants and their homes? Really over. Being able to blend into invisibility at group functions that involve food? So over.<br />
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Much like the condition that kept me from sun exposure in the land of the sun, Celiac keeps me from food in a time of my life when food is central to most social interactions. When you have a severe food allergy or sensitivity, you become a problem to be solved, an inconvenience to be overcome. Well-intentioned and kind people flock to your aid, only to be hurt and abashed (and sometimes flat-out offended) by your unwillingness to risk your health and sanity on their "gluten-free" offerings. It's messy.<br />
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Still, I treasure routine and sameness. Normalcy. Celiac may have killed my love for cooking and baking much like my sun issue ended my enjoyment of swimming. But there are bright spots that I treasure. <br />
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I found a way (through MUCH experimentation) to make gluten-free fried chicken and pan gravy that is comparable to my old glory.<br />
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There are a few restaurants where I can safely eat, but far better is the gluten-free restaurant in Asheville,<a href="https://posanarestaurant.com/"> Posana,</a> where I can order <i>anything I want</i> off the menu. Until that choice is taken away from you, there is just no way to appreciate how intoxicating that freedom really is. Bread? Biscuits? Cheesecake? It's all safe. And in a gluten-free establishment there is no worry about cross-contamination. It is, in a word, <i>glorious.</i><br />
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The worst part of all of this (for me) is how it affects Kiddo. While I understand that I can't protect her from everything, I desperately want for her to have the option to be normal. I want her to have the same bedroom year after year. I want her to know the same friends for as long as she chooses. I want her to go to birthday parties and sleepovers and not to have to say, "I can't eat that, do that, etc." And most important to me, I never want my limitations and weirdnesses to affect her (an impossible dream, I know.) If she wants to grow up to be a rebel, a non-conformist woman with a bit of an exhibitionist streak, so be it. I just never want that label, that burden, placed on her shoulders by me.<br />
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So these are some of the things I treasure:<br />
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My little cookie-cutter house that looks exactly like at least three other houses in our neighborhood.<br />
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My church, where I've attended for nearly seven years, where the people and the place are beautifully familiar, and where Kiddo feels safe and loved.<br />
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My gloriously boring little family.<br />
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Taco Tuesday.<br />
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Kiddo's gymnastics class where all her little friends from preschool go.<br />
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Knowing my way around, not one, but two towns.<br />
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Having a specific doctor for every illness, having <i>our</i> dry cleaner, after-church restaurant, dentist, etc.<br />
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Friends that I've known and loved for nearly my entire adult life.<br />
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Some of these things may seem trivial, but I've made this sameness, this routine a priority for my own happiness and sanity. I've made sacrifices for it, and I'm going to revel in it for as long as it lasts.<br />
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<i>**My original intention when I started this particular post was to also talk about the beautiful normalcy that General Mills has given back to me with the addition of their gluten-free Cheerios and Honey Nut Cheerios (my go-to childhood breakfast.) Since that time, however, General Mills has issued a recall on nearly two million boxes of Cheerios, due to incorrect labeling of "Gluten Free" on boxes that weren't. When we're talking about people's trust and health, that kind of mistake is inexcusable. When the gluten-free boxes were released, Twitter was lit up with Celiac patients celebrating this bit of old-school normalcy (and safety) in their lives. We could finally have something other than Chex for breakfast (don't get me wrong, I love Chex.) Here was a cereal that wasn't a special variation on the gluten-filled version. This cereal could be purchased in any grocery store and for the same price as other General Mills cereals. And now we're told that General Mills was extremely careless with the health of its customers. It's disappointing in a way that is difficult to articulate. </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-78666432004633290942015-10-03T23:00:00.001-04:002015-10-03T23:00:40.047-04:00It's My Birthday And I'll Buy If I Want ToIt's actually the day <i>before</i> my birthday, and it's a good time to be me (mostly). Last night was dinner with a few dear friends, courtesy of my husband, The Grill Master. There was even GF red velvet cake from <a href="http://coffeetoatea.com/hello-world/">Coffee to a Tea.</a> So much cream cheese frosting goodness, and the first red velvet cake I've had since my Celiac diagnosis. YUM!<br />
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<i>I may or may not have had a piece of this for lunch today.</i></div>
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Tonight, it's off to Asheville, just the three of us, at my favorite GF restaurant, <a href="http://posana./">Posana.</a> Until you've been diagnosed with a severe food allergy/sensitivity, it is difficult to understand the glorious freedom of going to a restaurant where <i>everything on the menu is safe to eat.</i> It's intoxicating.</div>
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But I didn't write to make you jealous of my dining option. This entry is meant, instead, to make you jealous of my Amazon book order. (Isn't that more important, anyway?) I made the dizzying decision to spend a chunk of my birthday money on one big book order. I hadn't placed such a large book order since grad school, and never solely for books <i>I </i>wanted to read. I was practically drunk on the choices. And the best news? I got a B&N gift card from a dear friend, which means I get to do an abbreviated version of that order AGAIN very soon.</div>
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So here are the soon-to-be latest additions to my TBR:</div>
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<i>Fates and Furies</i>, Lauren Groff</div>
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I only ordered two new releases, and this is one of them. Long listed for the National Book Award, this book already has so much buzz, and I can't wait to read it.</div>
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<i>The Angel on My Chest</i>, Leslie Pietrzyk</div>
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There was no way I was not [pre] ordering this book. It doesn't come out for a few days yet, but this new release was written by my thesis advisor/faculty mentor from grad school. I've read some of the stories from this collection previously, and they are <i>amazing</i>. Can't wait to get this one.</div>
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<i>White Teeth</i>, Zadie Smith</div>
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Strangely, the only Zadie Smith book I've never read is her first. Really looking forward to reading what the 24 year old Smith had to say.</div>
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<i>The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao</i>, Junot Diaz</div>
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Sad and embarrassed to admit that the only place I've read Diaz is on social media. Starting with his Pulitzer Prizer winner.</div>
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<i>Play It As It Lays</i>, Joan Didion</div>
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Joan Didion + fiction. Can't go wrong. How have I not read this before?</div>
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<i>The Art of Memoir</i>, Mary Karr</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTwgUPSdUL58fVXiK24cSveTR5mgbWLvwasPmX246Axpp9drdU9RMGf-ukmw5cQyjncvF-mhF2AojSO6d4GK1wIegKn1AsSoLRCq9Ib9J_FFAhiPcFRCXfS4qWA-CCIhDkbvm4VS0DMg/s1600/art-of-the-memoir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimTwgUPSdUL58fVXiK24cSveTR5mgbWLvwasPmX246Axpp9drdU9RMGf-ukmw5cQyjncvF-mhF2AojSO6d4GK1wIegKn1AsSoLRCq9Ib9J_FFAhiPcFRCXfS4qWA-CCIhDkbvm4VS0DMg/s1600/art-of-the-memoir.jpg" /></a></div>
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Okay, so I lied. Three new releases. (I forgot about this one somehow.) Anyway, so excited about this book. I am so obsessed with Mary Karr's memoirs. <i>Lit </i>was mind-blowing, and <i>Liars' Club</i> was gutting. This is definitely going to be a worthwhile (and instructive) read.</div>
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<i>Oryx and Crake</i>, Margaret Atwood</div>
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I'm finally going to get to start the Maddaddam Trilogy! I adore Margaret Atwood, despite being woefully under read in her books. <i>Handmaid's Tale, Blind Assassin, </i>and <i>Alias Grace</i> were impossible to put down, though, so I'm thinking this trilogy will also be right up my very dystopian alley.</div>
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<i>Call the Midwife</i>, Jennifer Worth</div>
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I am the world's biggest <i>Call the Midwife </i>fan (the tv show), so I cannot wait to start reading the first of Jennifer Worth's three books about her time as a midwife in East London. I'm admittedly a little late to this particular book party, but I'll be all caught up in no time.</div>
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I started this post this morning while I was sipping tea in my jammies. It's now going on eleven o'clock at night, and my jammies have reappeared. Dinner at Posana was amazing (but that's a whole post of its own), and to make the night <i>perfect</i>, six of my eight ordered books were waiting on my porch when I got home from Asheville. I had my own private unboxing on the bed, taking pictures of my new pretties.</div>
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<i>Just look at those lovely virgin spines and crease-free covers. Be still my heart</i></div>
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So now that you are gagging on all the saccharine-y goodness that is my perfect birthday weekend (well minus the monsoon weather that kept me from hitting the Asheville bookstores -- so sad), I suppose I will wrap up this post. Look at this way: At least it wasn't a rant! And I'll be back to my grumpy self in no time.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-21953369486601946572015-09-29T11:04:00.002-04:002015-09-29T12:27:09.053-04:00Banned Books Week and My High Horse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I wouldn't exactly call it a trend, though it's certainly been getting some press lately. No, I've seen it for years. To be honest, I've probably participated in it, though it was many years ago when I was a very different person. In the circles I ran in, it was the way things were done. There were angry whispers, shaken heads, hands thrown up in despair. It was the end of the world.<br />
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Except it wasn't. And people are still declaring the end of all things decent twenty, thirty years later. (And let's be real, this is a practice that has a much, much older history than my childhood.) What is this epidemic am I referring to? The idea that we mere humans cannot withstand exposure to (and heaven forbid exploration of) beliefs, opinions, or lifestyles that differ from our own and that we need to weed out the problematic content. <br />
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Everywhere I look, there are people in a frenzied scramble to control/erase/hide all ideas that do not align with their personal worldview. Parents are challenging library books, students are denouncing college courses or book assignments, citizens are protesting against whole ethnic/religious groups. Somehow, in a country supposedly founded on ideals of free thought/speech and separation of church of state, we as a nation have decided that those rights only belong to the select few who think a certain way.<br />
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It's not a new problem. It's not a problem that's going anywhere. What disturbs me most, though, is the number of people who are basing these protests and challenges on their personal Christian beliefs. <br />
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<i>That show/movie/book shouldn't be allowed because there are gay people in it. </i><br />
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<i>That book doesn't belong in the school library because it's about Muslims. </i><br />
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You know what news stories I'm talking about. You've seen them too.<br />
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Now I know what the people who make these statements would say to me. They would aim all their righteous indignation in my direction and insist that in addition to eternal damnation, I am risking tramping all over their right to freedom of religion. That it's their <i>right</i> to believe those things are wrong/evil/whatever.<br />
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To which I would say, <i>Exactly.</i><br />
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You have a right to believe <i>anything</i> you want. You can believe it's wrong for a woman to leave the house or have a job or a blog where she rants incoherently while a large dog breathes down her neck and a kitten claws at her legs. (Too specific?)<br />
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What you don't have the right to do is to decide what others believe, or for that matter to decide what other are exposed to. You don't want your kid to read/watch/see anything related to homosexuality? Well, good luck with that. But hey, it's your right to attempt it anyway.<br />
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But stop blaming it on Christianity. <br />
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Somehow, in the Bible Belt at least (where I live), it has become accepted that if you call yourself a Christian, you are automatically aligned with the ultra-conservative, ban-it-if-we-don't-believe-it crowd. People I encounter and who know I call myself a Christian, feel I'd be psyched to hear about how some book should be eliminated from their kids' school for scatological humor. (Yeah, they REALLY don't know me very well.) It is assumed that I share their outrage over television/movie/book content. <br />
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So, here's the thing. My God is bigger and more powerful and more full of love than anything I can imagine. My God does not need my defense. If he is too weak for questions and doubts and people with differing opinions, different religions, then he wouldn't be much of a God, would he? I have read nothing in Scripture that suggests we were put on this earth to police anyone's behavior but our own. <br />
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If you feel morally conflicted about a television program? Don't watch it. Don't let your kids watch it. If you cannot in good conscience read that book assigned for that new course? Then let the professor know. He or she will either make other arrangements for you, or they won't. Suck it up and take the consequences. <br />
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But here's where you must draw the line: Don't insist that everyone else should adhere to your personal convictions.<br />
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That's it. It's that simple. You should absolutely follow the way you feel God is leading/convicting you. What you should not do, is demand that everyone else is being led the same way and they just missed it.<br />
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And yet, I'm not finished. Because I haven't alienated enough people, I'm going to take it one step further and encourage you to read that book about someone different from you. Did I mention that my God is not threatened by the infinite variety of human beliefs? He won't be contaminated by you reading about and trying to understand more about people of other faiths. Regardless of your feelings/beliefs on homosexuality, reading/learning about people who are gay is only going to help you understand other <i>people</i>. <br />
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Because that's what we're talking about here. Beneath all the labels -- Muslims, gays, minorities, Democrats (GASP!) -- we're still just talking about people. And here's the thing: Most people are trying to do the best they can with what they were given. Yes, even that jerk who drives all the way to the end of the entrance ramp and then wants you to let him into standstill traffic like his time is more valuable than everyone else's. (Grrr.) Even that guy is probably not setting out to ruin your day, destroy your belief system, or bring down the American family. (Well, maybe that guy is, but NOT Syrian refugees looking for asylum, or that professor teaching the class on different perspectives of 9/11, or that writer who published a picture book about gay penguins -- how have I not read that book yet?)<br />
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So, here's the challenge. Read outside of your comfort zone (you'll notice I didn't say, "outside your conscience.") Learn about people and beliefs and ideas that are different than your own. And most importantly, don't be afraid. God isn't frightened by a memoir about being a lesbian raised in a funeral home. And Christians are not (or at least shouldn't be) a people of fear. <br />
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And that's my Banned Books Week Shout-out/Rant. You may now go about your normal lives and not post annoying things in the comments.<br />
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<i>(Note/Freebie: Seriously, if I hear one more news story about some ridiculous book or class challenge from the state of South Carolina, I'm going to start claiming one of the many other places I've lived as my "home state.")</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-26361816248718121302015-09-28T15:32:00.003-04:002015-09-28T15:32:31.215-04:00Writing Less, Grading More<div style="text-align: left;">
Remember back at the beginning of the semester when I couldn't wait for all the writing time I would have on my day's off from teaching, you know, while Kiddo was in school? Wasn't that ADORABLE? I am nearly thirty-eight years old, and yet I somehow didn't see the schedule onslaught coming. Tuesdays and Thursday are my "off days," my days with no scheduled classes. So what am I doing besides writing on those two, long, glorious days? Let's see...</div>
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Every single doctor's appointment that I ever have has to be on Tuesday or Thursday because my school schedule interferes on the other days. Thursday morning/afternoons I spend helping out in Kiddo's classroom at school. Every Thursday. I thought the whole idea was for me to get a break from kids. (Wasn't that an adorable assumption, as well?) One Thursday a month, I get to go to a literary lunch at school, which is nice, but it's also me not writing. Either way, both events end with me hauling ass to Kiddo's school to be first in car line (a separate post in itself) so that we can go to gymnastics (my own baptism by fire in the uncharted waters --for me-- of forced conversation with mom strangers.)<br />
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So that leaves the occasional Tuesday when I don't have anything scheduled. (Every other Tuesday, I am interrupted by the cleaners, but that's a bit of a first world problem, isn't it? Well, let's be honest, this whole rant is.) Tomorrow should be an unscheduled Tuesday (mostly), but I kind of want to cry when I think about the rest of the week, about all the writing I'm not doing. Oh well, I'll figure it out, you know, about the time the semester ends. <br />
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Anyway, the above is why I've disappeared from blogging much lately. It's difficult for me to even collect my thoughts enough to put words down for a quick update. I'm afraid my rare profound thought/comment is reserved for my students (they're probably still waiting for me to come up with something.) School is going relatively well. Freshmen are still freshmen, and I still could really use a scheduled nap.<br />
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On the good, good news front. I got a cold a couple of weeks ago! How is that good news, you ask? Well, the good news is that I got a regular old run-of-the-mill cold that remained exactly that, ran it's course, and then went about it's merry way infecting all I came into contact with. It did not turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. There were no ambulances or steroids or stern lectures about staying hydrated. Just a cold that my immune system (and lungs) dealt with in a very routine way. It was just so incredibly normal and mundane and <i>like everybody else</i>. As far as colds go, it was nice.<br />
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On the best news ever front, fall break is coming, and I'm off while Kiddo has to slog away at kindergarten. I am determined to get something done besides reading/grading papers during the break (and I don't mean housework/organization projects!). <br />
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Must. Write.<br />
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<i>This picture has nothing to do with my post. Just including it because it's Kiddo's, and it's awesome.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-25631214997418266172015-09-13T18:07:00.000-04:002015-09-13T18:07:09.534-04:00Out of Sorts Launch Team - Sarah BesseyLast Wednesday was a bad day. Actually, last week was a bad week. I'm not going to break down every gory detail, but let's just say it was one of those weeks that we all have and would like to pretend don't happen. But it did, and Wednesday was exceptionally bad. Like lemon juice on a paper cut bad. <div>
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Before I slip into some serious hyperbole, however, let me tell you something GOOD that happened on Wednesday. I got an email saying that I was on the launch team for <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/">Sarah Bessey</a>'s upcoming book, <i><a href="http://sarahbessey.com/out-of-sorts/">Out of Sorts</a></i>!!!! What does this mean, you ask? Well, let me tell you. I get to read <i>Out of Sorts</i> NOW instead of having to wait until the release date, November 3. As I read (and after), I will be posting and tweeting and talking about and promoting this amazing book every chance I get, and I am honored by this opportunity. In addition, all of the launch team folks (from all over the world) have a secret group page on Facebook (secret probably isn't the right word, but it just sounded so important and mysterious) where we can chat and share and just generally soak up all the good vibes of fellow Bessey readers. So all in all, a great deal and a much-needed positive in an otherwise horrible week.</div>
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So your next question: Who is Sarah Bessey, and why should I care? If you know me even distantly, or have read my blog, you have probably heard me talk about Sarah Bessey's first book <i><a href="http://sarahbessey.com/jesus-feminist/">Jesus Feminist</a></i>, a book so amazing I read it twice, and I can already tell that <i>Out of Sorts</i> will definitely require re-reading. Sarah Bessey is a Canadian author who grew up in church, took a step or two away from organized religion, then came back with a changed perspective. She writes about all the questions and doubts that make so many evangelical fundamentalists uncomfortable. She doesn't shy away from uncomfortable; in fact, she rejoices in it. Her first book was full of joy and insight and humor, and at just past the halfway mark in the new title, I would have to say that #2 is following the same pattern. </div>
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I will be writing more (and in more depth) about this book both here and in my various social media accounts. But for now, more time writing means less time reading this amazing book. So I'm going to back to it!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-33506648833628624452015-09-05T13:16:00.000-04:002015-09-05T13:16:45.030-04:00What I'm Reading and What You Should Read NOW (plus TBR)So it's been a busy reading season lately. I don't know if it's all the books I picked up at <a href="http://www.wonderbk.com/">Wonder Book</a> in Frederick or all the BookTube I've been watching or what, but I've been plowing through the titles in August/early September. I've already talked about some of my favorites <a href="http://www.notthatkindofmommy.blogspot.com/2015/08/what-im-reading-1st-day-of-kindergarten.html">here</a>. But I've managed to squeeze in several more since that post, with one standout in particular, but first:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvhLa1E80deEO1bopaoKgmxREjrfXMBvEVVLonxrJ8PvedszglJrqnd9H1TK-vaEMDHoEmFxEkX3sWrjPYYK4qrTgVgoEEqr-AccP4f3C7ED8GaKW0TKeynirjtZCXe-Lt96hE8hi9Gg/s1600/The_Reader_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvhLa1E80deEO1bopaoKgmxREjrfXMBvEVVLonxrJ8PvedszglJrqnd9H1TK-vaEMDHoEmFxEkX3sWrjPYYK4qrTgVgoEEqr-AccP4f3C7ED8GaKW0TKeynirjtZCXe-Lt96hE8hi9Gg/s320/The_Reader_cover.jpg" width="209" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGvhLa1E80deEO1bopaoKgmxREjrfXMBvEVVLonxrJ8PvedszglJrqnd9H1TK-vaEMDHoEmFxEkX3sWrjPYYK4qrTgVgoEEqr-AccP4f3C7ED8GaKW0TKeynirjtZCXe-Lt96hE8hi9Gg/s1600/The_Reader_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<i>The Reader</i>, Bernhard Schlink</div>
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I'll admit that this was not on my must-read list, but I found it at Wonder Book (a bargain) and decided to pick it up. It was not at all what I expected. Actually, I don't really know what I expected, but this was a fascinating look at an entire nation's ability/struggle to deal with national sins and personal culpability. So many more thoughts were swirling in my brain after I finished this, so many more questions -- in my accounting a sign of an excellent book. </div>
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<i>The God of Small Things</i>, Arundhati Roy</div>
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This was a local used book store find. I was excited to read it as I'd heard so many good things, and everything about this book seemed to line up with my taste. I wanted to <i>love</i> this book. But I didn't. I didn't hate it. But it felt like a bit of a slog to get through it. Something about the shuffled narrative (which I usually love) just didn't work for me in this book. The way details are doled out in seemingly random doses aggravated more than intrigued me. Much of the book is written from the limited perspective of very small children, but rather than trusting the reader the to see beyond their childish understanding, we are given sections that explain; we're told how <i>everyone</i> feels. I was awash in so many human emotions that it nearly drowned out the narrative. Maybe if I had read this one in another time and place, I would have loved it. But alas, I read it this year, this season, and I just didn't.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlgMiebBASeqztO4Nf8i98lqau9Yp10IEI0ejDHncCMJj6p6KakDSYa3BtKN6mmh7tD3N3q1KhrPbqeYadf7iMM1AG9FrC-ORBUzA5KkbqabidHTP9zfjtZH0hOgbUAGCcyjoUIbphIo/s1600/between-the-world-and-me-300x456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihlgMiebBASeqztO4Nf8i98lqau9Yp10IEI0ejDHncCMJj6p6KakDSYa3BtKN6mmh7tD3N3q1KhrPbqeYadf7iMM1AG9FrC-ORBUzA5KkbqabidHTP9zfjtZH0hOgbUAGCcyjoUIbphIo/s320/between-the-world-and-me-300x456.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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<i>Between the World and Me</i>, Ta-Nehisi Coates</div>
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Cue the music. Cue the gushing. Just finished this book last night, and I cannot say enough good things about it. Toni Morrison's blurb on the front, "This is required reading," is not hyperbole. I have never read or encountered in other media a more honest and powerful discussion of what it means to be black in America. I cannot imagine how anyone could read this book and remain unchanged or unaffected. This is one of those books that after the last sentence I felt like I needed to immediately read it again with highlighter and notebook to catch all the things I missed the first time. Read this and you will be moved and convicted and changed. I guarantee it. Just read this book.</div>
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My current read is Jonathan Franzen's <i>Purity</i>, the fiction new release with all the buzz right now. It is a monster doorstop kind of book, so I'll be reading it for a while, but here is a glimpse at my TBR books-in-waiting:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLG0LbFUeeadrLw6rEXLJHpTXDmARMpFsj0jsXdAerslNjf9uh6KwvkGuLky0RPMaGnU5UAPzqllwkAtSqwSM0NZGh21NoExv7PMzl_HHpbnnhU0D9Rh9GaAvi6vgolIgjfX2SlU-NET4/s1600/FullSizeRender+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLG0LbFUeeadrLw6rEXLJHpTXDmARMpFsj0jsXdAerslNjf9uh6KwvkGuLky0RPMaGnU5UAPzqllwkAtSqwSM0NZGh21NoExv7PMzl_HHpbnnhU0D9Rh9GaAvi6vgolIgjfX2SlU-NET4/s320/FullSizeRender+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Note the assemblage masterpiece courtesy of Kiddo and an entire roll of scotch tape.</i></div>
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So lots of good stuff taunting me from my dresser. Of course, there are also piles of lessons to plan, papers to grade, and writing to be done, so it may be a while before I get to some of these. Maybe I can even make my Wonder Book haul last me though the end of the year? Or not.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-64532142494305835902015-08-25T09:50:00.003-04:002015-08-25T09:50:22.382-04:00Battered and Bleeding and Slightly Sleep-DeprivedHere I sit, bleeding and sore and slightly on edge. Were first day classes so terrible, you ask? No, I just live with a ten week old kitten.<br />
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When Kiddo was a toddler, I carefully avoided terms like "Terrible Twos" when referring to the challenges of parenting/disciplining a small, strong-willed person. <i>Kids are what you tell them they are</i>, I said. <i>Don't label them</i>, I said. Well, you know what? When it comes to cats, I say, <i>label away</i>, because if there is a kitten version of the Terrible Twos," Margot is the poster child, er, kitten. Much like a kid who will nuzzle into your neck and say, "I wuv you," only to hold their breath and scream minutes later, Margot, or Kitten Murderface, (as she will henceforth be known) has brief moments of cuddles and purrs and closed eyes and adoring licks surrounded by a full day (and night!) of insanity. I have been stalked, bitten, clawed, attacked, and climbed. At this exact moment, I am sitting in front of my laptop covered in a thick, doubled over blanket to protect my legs and mid-section from her claws. (She attempted earlier to climb onto the chair/desk using only my flesh for purchase.) I know that much like with children this stage shall pass, but meanwhile my extremities are starting to look like a crowded road atlas, and I'm considering purchasing stock in Band-Aids and Neosporin. Good times.<br />
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On a less painful note, the first day of classes was terrific! Well, mostly. Any of the parts that weren't were my mostly own fault at least. The week got off to a rocky start, though. On Thursday last week, my husband was rear-ended on his way home from work, and we realized that we would need a rental car this week when our brake lights suddenly stopped working. So of course, Sunday night, K.M. (short for Kitten Murderface, of course) decided to get her wild on from about midnight on, and when we shut her out of the bedroom, she aired her grievances by rattling the door and howling ALL NIGHT LONG. Because nothing improves a long, stressful day quite like having endured a night of no sleep. So yesterday morning found me, chauffeuring both Kiddo and Hubby and trying desperately to maintain consciousness. <br />
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So you know what wakes you up and gets you moving on a morning like that? Hash browns. It's true! Hash browns and caffeine-laced tea from my favorite fast food chain. Really, it's a little known scientific fact that grease and salt and sugar and caffeine mix together perfectly in those flaky, little briquettes to make the ideal formula for alertness and clarity. Or at least that was my excuse. My delicious excuse.<br />
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Fast forward to my first class, Freshman Comp! It was a full-house of ladies on their very first day of college. They were sweet and nervous and over-confident in turn, but mostly charming and engaged. I held their collective hands, and the endured their sleep-deprived instructor.<br />
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<i>For when we go over the grading portion of the syllabus.</i></div>
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The hours in between classes were filled with a desperate search for a spray bottle. Our household spray bottle of nearly twenty years (a real family heirloom), spritzer of misbehaving cats and little girl bedhead alike broke under suspicious circumstances over the weekend, and who knew finding a replacement for our old friend would be so challenging. Seriously, I went from one end of town to the other and back again (it's not a very big town, at least) before finding what I needed (three spray bottles, so I can spray KM in every room in the house.)<br />
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By the time I returned to school for my other class the loss of sleep was starting to catch up with me. Also, this was the new class, the one I'd never taught before. So, very uncharacteristically for me, I was a little jittery, dare I say, <i>nervous</i>. My slight edginess was not improved by the appearance of two adult students (one of whom was much older than I.) No idea why that rattled me, but it did. The good/awesome/excellent/so-cool news is that I have two students from my Young Writers' Workshop days! I had no idea that these two ladies had decided to attend my school, and it was so lovely and rewarding to see them as mature sophomores ready to work hard. Unfortunately, this was the class where I struggled a bit. I felt scattered and unfocused, and I'm pretty sure half the stuff I said didn't make sense. Everybody nodded when I made eye-contact, though, so we're going to pretend that they weren't just humoring me. But I'm pretty sure they were humoring me.<br />
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Of course, the best part of my day (aside from all the extra-podcast listening time I got with so much driving) was coming home to dinner, made and ready to eat courtesy of SuperDad/Husband. It was Taco Night, despite not being a Tuesday, and I scarfed everything down in between grunts of gratitude. Best of all, SuperHusband sensed that what I really needed after Kiddo was down was to hide alone in our room with my book, tv, and smartphone. It was a good way to end the day. Last night there was more sleeping and less kitten mayhem. Fingers crossed that it happens again tonight, and that tomorrow I will be able to speak in complete sentences during creative writing.<br />
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So that was first day of Fall 2015 (for me). Kiddo is a full-on pro at the whole kindergarten thing now, and I plan to follow her example of nonchalance. (Like when I nonchalantly tried to walk into the wrong classroom on my way back from the bathroom. I totally meant to do that.) On an unrelated note, I'm telling myself that I scored cool-points with a creative writing student because I knew about Wattpad. Never heard of it? Well, you can't all be as cool and smooth as me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-50779578232718067002015-08-20T09:34:00.000-04:002015-08-20T11:58:24.663-04:00Kindergarten, Blessed KindergartenWe are nearly through the first week of kindergarten. One more early morning until I can tell my alarm clock where it can stick that beep. And no, six thirty won't ever get any easier. I worked for years at a job that required me to be up between 5:45 and six, and it NEVER was anything less than a soul-sucking drag. But I digress.<br />
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On Tuesday morning, we embarked on that new journey of kindergarten (and new for me, public school kindergarten.) After five and a half years of being at Kiddo's constant beck and call, I am a free woman every weekday between 7:30 and 2:45. And it is glorious. Next week, my school starts back, and I'll be teaching three days a week, but that'll be great, too. I can still eat my lunch in peace and quiet, and nobody will ask me why my shoes are that color red or whether or not they will be allowed to watch TV next Thursday at 4:15. (Admittedly, freshmen questions aren't always a vast improvement, but at least they won't be touching me while they ask.) It's a grand time to be alive.<br />
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Now before you write me off as the worst parent ever, no wait, just go ahead and write me off because if you don't get this, then you either don't have kids, or we are <i>very</i> different people who may never completely understand one another. (That's okay. Just don't touch me.) Back to my K-5 narrative...<br />
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Kiddo was so massively excited about Tuesday, that I've been considering sedation for the past two weeks (for one of us, not saying which.) So Tuesday morning dawned bright and bouncy and with new clothes and shoes. We managed to get out the door with everything (including Kiddo) and made it to the madhouse that is first day at an elementary school. EVERYONE was walking their kids inside, and the halls were like a VR simulation of a salmon swimming upstream. The thought of my petite five year old finding her way through that madness every morning gave me the vapors, and I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. <br />
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In the classroom, the parentals instantly ceased to exist as Kiddo marched in and up to her teacher like a boss. I don't think she acknowledged us once after she crossed the classroom threshold. She's awesome like that. We hightailed it (well, a squeeze between a million people version of hightailing it) out of there and on with our days. There were no tears on anyone's part, and I got so much done on my first day of school that I should probably get some kind of award or something. Maybe a statue on the front lawn. Or a song. Yeah, write me a song and make it sound like Billy Joel.<br />
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After navigating the carline, I managed to pick-up my newly-minted kindergartener and head to Barnes & Noble for her post-first-day-of-school treat. Sometime between eight o'clock and the moment when she lugged her new tote bag to the car, Kiddo had morphed into this kindergarten old-hand who spoke of her day's activities with a jaded nonchalance. She has started using terms like "first bell" and lamenting too-short recess breaks. Dinner conversations will never be the same.<br />
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This morning was a bit different than Tuesday morning. Yes, I still had everything out and ready to go the night before (this is a necessity for non-morning people like me.) But Kiddo dragged and dallied, and I nearly lost my mind. (I didn't even manage to get a picture of her in her adorable new school dress.) But you know what? She and her daddy still walked out that door at 7:22, and I was alone with my Earl Grey and laptop from that point on. Ah the life of the introverted mom of a school-aged child. (And no one is touching me till at least 2:45!)<br />
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All joking and rejoicing aside, however, this hasn't been a simple journey/decision. I never attended public school, and in fact, didn't even attend a kind of brick-and-mortar school half of the time. I knew we didn't want to homeschool, but beyond that we were a bit at sea regarding the where-do-we-send-her question. There was the more liberal side of me that was leaning toward the whole public-schools-won't-improve-if-we-don't-send-our-kids-there argument, but then there was the less attractive side of me whispering, "She's smart. She's reading already. She's <i>advanced</i>. Send her to private for a <i>better</i> education." Of course, money played into the decision as well. Do we make the massive financial sacrifice that is tuition, or do we send her to public so that we can afford things like dance/music/art lessons and a new car sometime in the next thirteen years? <br />
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We debated/prayed over these questions for a long time. Ultimately, however, we decided to go with our local, zoned-for public school. Kiddo's education is extremely important to us. We both went to college, and I went to grad school, and we have similar ambitions for her. <i>But</i>. And it's a big <i>but</i>. We also want other things for her. We want her to know that she's <i>special</i>, yes, but never to think she's <i>better</i>. We want her to value diversity and equality. We want her to learn kindness and tolerance. Not that you can't learn those things when you're homeschooled or attend private school, but in our relatively small circle, school seems like the best place (or at least one of the first places) to encounter people who look and think differently than you. As tempting as it is to protect and shelter our precious girl, it is imperative to us (and especially meaningful to me) that I stay focused on our primary goal: preparing Kiddo to live and function without us. That is our job as parents. It's not a pretty or a particularly happy thought, but it remains true. One day, we won't be here to take her to church or read her books or help her navigate the world and its bureaucracy (incidentally, I totally had to look up how to spell that word. I just couldn't get it right.) She might as well jump right in and start learning how to manage now while we're still here to help.<br />
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So that's our first day of school experience. No tears from anyone. All smiles. Now it's time for me to get back to work on lesson plans and trying to stay awake. Six-thirty is killing me, and the old Earl of Grey isn't holding up his end of the caffeine bargain. Until next time.<br />
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<i>Edit/clarification: This is a post about our personal decision/thoughts regarding school. It is not meant to reflect on anyone else's choices for their children/families. We're all just doing what we think is best for our particular child/family. Unless you're sending your kid to Nazi Dictator Day School, I'm not judging your choices.</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-23795585803234973752015-08-18T11:23:00.000-04:002015-08-20T09:51:04.548-04:00What I'm Reading: 1st Day of Kindergarten EditionToday is the day -- the day I've waited five and a half years for: KINDERGARTEN! Yes, folks, we made it. And I am totally rocking staying awake and staying in my chair working. (Mostly, anyway.) But enough about school; I'll write more on that once we've made it through an entire day. Instead, let's talk about BOOKS!<br />
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I've been reading so many good books lately. And really much of this is due to some really amazing suggestions from one of my favorite podcasts, <a href="http://bookriot.com/category/all-the-books/">All the Books</a>, a <a href="http://bookriot.com/">Book Riot</a> podcast. They cover everything from literary fiction to YA to memoir to romance, so regardless of your reading habits, they've got you covered. Here are some of my favorite recent reads:<br />
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<i>Saint Maize</i>, by Jami Attenberg<br />
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I am so in love with this book. It's difficult to put my finger on why I loved it so much, but I just didn't want the story to end. Great female protagonist who is beautifully flawed, set in one of my favorite time periods/places to read about, and the story is revealed though various "historical documents" (such as diaries, news clippings, interviews), which is a conceit that I love. Can't say enough good things about this one.<br />
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<i>The Fishermen</i>, by Chigozie Obioma<br />
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This one has made the Man Booker long list, and it's obvious why. Though it is set in modern Nigeria, something about this story feels almost fable-like, and I loved the voice of the narrator. While this is a tragic story of family love and loss, I never felt depressed or manipulated. Just a really beautiful story.<br />
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<i>Music for Wartime</i>, by Rebecca Makkai<br />
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This is probably the best short story collection I've read in a year or two. Could not put this down. Never have I read such an eclectic group of stories that maintain such unity of theme. These were beautiful (and sometimes heartbreaking) stories with just the right amount of whimsy thrown in (mini-Bach crawling out of a piano, anyone?) for the perfect balance. Read this even if you don't usually like short stories. Actually, read this especially if you don't like short stories. It just may change how you feel about short fiction.<br />
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<i>In the Country</i>, by Mia Alvar<br />
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This is what I'm reading right now, and so far I'm loving it. I've read some comparisons of this to Jhumpa Lahiri's short fiction, and while I hesitate to label her book as the Filipina version of Lahiri, I will admit to parallels in theme and style. This is a collection about being in the margins, an outsider, sometimes even in the main character's own country. The settings are modern and recognizable and the characters are real and surprising. Can't wait to finish this one.<br />
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So, that's all I've got for today. Of course, I've been reading lots of other stuff, but these are the current standouts. Now back to lesson plans and reveling in the perfect silence of my house.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-18537663550040088932015-08-12T11:15:00.001-04:002015-08-12T11:15:45.858-04:00Margot the Magnificent!I can't believe it's been seven months since we lost our sweet Abby Tabby. I can't believe I went so long without a cat in the house. It was unnatural. I may not have grown up with cats (Mom and I were both terribly allergic. I grew out of it; she didn't.), but I have had at least one (and up to 3 -- insanity) feline(s) in my home since 1997. First there was Sophie (or more appropriately, Satan). Then there was Murray (my love), then Abby, then precious Hobson (or Hobbes depending on who you ask). When Abby died, I was torn between grieving a pet of sixteen years and longing to fill that empty cat-shaped spot in the house. We attempted to remedy the catless situation back in February when we adopted <a href="http://www.notthatkindofmommy.blogspot.com/2015/02/new-cat-on-block.html">Oscar</a>. Sadly, poor Oscar was too troubled (and vicious) for a home with a small child. It was a heartbreaking decision, but Oscar had to go.<br />
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But enough with all the sad stuff. Because we have a new family member, and this little stinker is here to stay. Meet Margot!<br />
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This little ball of fluff and teeth and purrs is around nine weeks old and was approximately six weeks when we brought her home. I had been reconsidering my ban on adopting a kitten (usually preferring to rescue an adult cat) because of the size of our beast/dog, Sam. My hope was that if the kitten grew up with a giant dog, she wouldn't know any different and they could be friends, but more on that in a minute. A friend had recently rescued a tiny 4 to 5 week old kitten abandoned in a parking lot and had put the call out on Facebook. The pictures were too cute/pitiful to ignore, and I decided to meet the little orphan. She was tinier than I expected and had more fleas than any living creature should have to endure, but I was hooked. <br />
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The next step was to de-flea the poor baby, and my friend and I rallied for the seven hour ordeal. (Incidentally, excellent friend-bonding time, elbow deep in flea-filled water, holding a struggling kitten together. Seriously, it was like months of actual friend time compressed into a day!) I'll save you the gory details of picking off hundreds of fleas and instead give you this:<br />
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And this:<br />
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Sweet little Margot (named after a character, Margot Tenenbaum, from my all-time favorite movie, <i>The Royal Tenenbaums</i>) was a real trooper through all the de-fleaing torture, and a few days later she came home to a very excited five year old and an extremely sniffy dog. She has since adjusted quite nicely to this slightly askew family, and has morphed into a hilarious, fluffy little dictator/clown who runs the house between cuddles. The dog does little more than annoy her, except for when she's stalking/attacking his cords, which she loves, and her favorite pastime is listening to Kiddo read. There is no in-between for Margot Kitten, and she is either the Queen of Cuddles, purring and stretching and squeezing her eyes shut tight, or she is Kitten Murderface, wielder of razor claws and microscopically pointy teeth that she clamps down with abandon. There is much running and hiding and stalking and booty shaking and attacking and flipping and chasing and back arching and purring and head butting and nibbling and swatting and hissing and sniffing and every other kitten good thing there is. <br />
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And through it all, Sam remains impassive:<br />
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<i>Just a slight size disparity. Nothing insurmountable. </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-70388061139745062682015-08-11T11:55:00.000-04:002015-08-11T11:55:02.944-04:00Mommy Doesn't Feel Like CryingSo many things to write about, so little time. What an excellent problem to have! It's been a crazy few weeks, and a few even crazier ones are ahead, but I'm feeling positive. Why this sudden burst of rose-tinted perspective, you ask? Because of two things on the near horizon: #1 Classes will be starting back in less that two weeks for me, which means lots of teaching and writing. I can hardly wait. #2 KINDERGARTEN BEGINS IN LESS THAN A WEEK! (I'm sorry. Was I shouting?) Seriously folks, I'm going to sucker punch the next well-meaning head tilter who speaks to me in the third person: "How is Mommy handling kindergarten coming up? I bet she wants to cry." Just stop. The only crying I feel coming on is for joy at all the extra time that is opening up for writing and work. Also, my sweet little, high-energy, chatterbox will have a new outlet for all her high-energy chattering. Hallelujah for silence. Quiet, how I have missed you. Think I'm terrible yet? Too bad. This mama is ready for kindergarten (both literally and figuratively) and proud of it.<br />
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In upcoming blogs? (If I can ever get these freaking lesson plans done.) Our new family member, Margot. (A kitten. NOT a baby.) My annual pilgrimage to Frederick (and of course, Wonder Book. Can't wait to tell you about one of my super-cool finds.) My current favorite reads (there have been some doozies, let me tell you.) And an update on how the first days of school (Kiddo's and mine) turned out. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves....I'll give you a topic: Parliamentary Procedure -- Aye? or Nay?<br />
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<i>Random pic of me attempting to work with help from the Big Dog.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05597692187709655119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6687413177463529520.post-46748831467541954672015-07-23T11:56:00.000-04:002015-07-23T11:58:02.216-04:00Go Set a Watchman - My Thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh the media feeding frenzy that has been the release of Harper Lee's "new" book. So many articles and podcasts and social media debates, and yet I still looked forward to the book's arrival on my doorstep, July 14th. Multiple friends have asked me for my thoughts/opinions on the book. I finished reading it last week, but I've been trying to let it all settle in my mind, make sure that my thoughts are actually mine and not the opinions of some well-read journalist, academic, or blogger. There has been so much controversy over the backstory/origins of this book and its murky "discovery" by Lee's lawyer, a lack of clarity that hasn't been improved by the publisher, Harper Collins, that I think people were caught off guard when the book was at least as controversial as the release itself. I will not be attempting to untangle the moral ambiguities of <i>Go Set a Watchman</i>'s publication. I was ambivalent about the book's history before it's release, and reading it did little to settle my stomach. What I can do is tell you my thoughts after reading the book all the way through, but I must warn you that there will be spoilers. (The book isn't super-plot driven, so spoilers may be a bit of an overstatement.)<br />
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First let me me say that I really love <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i>, though after reading a lot of articles and rants about the new book, I realize that I must not be as in love with it as a lot of readers are. There is so much anger out there about Lee's portrayal of some beloved characters, but for some reason, I just never felt like the characters in question were infallible. I heard a podcaster yesterday say that <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i> was a book about how white people think about racism and civil rights, and I think that's accurate. Though I haven't heard or read much of anything from black readers on either book, I'm guessing that their feelings toward Atticus Finch (in the original book) are far more complicated than those of the average white reader. Yes, Atticus works tirelessly to defend a black man on rape charges in pre-civil rights Alabama. But throughout <i>TKAM </i>runs this idea of a helpless black community. Atticus is their white savior. Without him, they are defenseless, and it is clear that gratitude and devotion are required in return. While Atticus does nothing wrong, per se, in <i>TKAM</i>, the tone of the book infantilizes the black characters, indeed the entire black population of Maycomb. The reader is left less with a sense of Atticus' defense of equal rights for all than with a portrait of a man helping the helpless. </div>
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Before you, dear reader, begin your adamant defense of the original Atticus Finch, please hold on. Yes, legally speaking, African American's were mostly helpless in the face of a corrupt system at the time and place of the story. Frequently, the only way a black person could be saved from an unfair trial or lynching was if a white person spoke up. I am merely suggesting that being willing to do the right thing in defending a man unjustly accused of rape is simply that, the right thing to do. It doesn't make you an activist, and certainly doesn't preclude you from being a racist. So, I guess what I'm saying is that the revelation about Atticus Finch in <i>GSAW</i> (SPOILERS) didn't wreck me the way it seemed to so many people. Maybe Atticus Finch really was originally a racist. Maybe not. What I do know is that the more complicated, deeply flawed Atticus seems far more believable for that time and place than the paragon-man-ahead-of-his-time Atticus that we read about <i>TKAM</i>. </div>
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Now that we've got that out of the way, let's move on to another big picture question about <i>GSAW</i>, which is: How should I read it? This book is supposed to be Lee's earlier incarnation (a first draft as it were) of <i>TKAM</i>. Her editor supposedly read it and told her close but not cigar. She followed the advice to move the story back twenty years and try again. The result is the story we read in <i>TKAM. </i>So do I read <i>GSAW</i> as a first draft? Is this just an interesting look at the stages of writing? That alone would be enough to make me read it -- getting a chance to see Lee's process, the evolution of a book.</div>
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Another option is to read <i>GSAW</i> as if it were published back when it was written in the sixties. Certainly, many of the ideas put forward in this book would have been controversial, even revolutionary, back then. The idea of a young, white woman championing the rights of black people in the deep South would have been surprising to say the least. From this more distant perspective, the book becomes more of a study of racism in America, or at least, a study of white people confronting racism. And it is chilling how so many of the arguments used by Atticus and his other essentially white supremacist colleagues can still be heard today (Confederate flag debate, anyone?). There is no way you can read <i>GSAW</i> and not find yourself re-examing the status quo and your own prejudices.</div>
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What you can't do with this book is read it as a straight up "sequel" to <i>TKAM. </i>This is in no way a sequel. Without the input of Harper Lee herself (which we're unlikely to get), we'll never know if she decided to change Atticus' personality when she did the re-write or whether she really saw the <i>TKAM </i>Atticus as becoming this pompous bigot. Without the added clarification of Harper Lee interviews, we cannot make any assumptions of sequel-hood.</div>
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I know this post is spiraling out of control lengthwise, but I have two more things to talk about with regards to <i>GSAW</i>. The first is the racist content. There's just way to get around the final message of the book, which seems to be that racists are people too. This is a very dangerous message, and I find it far more disturbing that a woman who has been lauded for decades for her racially progressive novel wrote these thoughts down and tried to get them published fifty years ago than I do that fictional character, Atticus Finch, was once in the KKK. Throughout the book, black people are infantilized to an absurd degree, even by the supposedly liberal protagonist. While in a way this all makes the book more believable for its time period, the final thought the reader is left with is that Scout was somehow at fault for being angry with her bigoted loved ones, the suggestion that open-mindedness means giving equal-time in your head to racist drivel. This is really troubling stuff to read, and I was left far more unsettled by the conclusion than any other part of the novel (even the brief domestic violence that is also portrayed as an okay thing to do to calm an hysterical woman.)</div>
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Paragraph after paragraph and I still haven't "reviewed" the book. I did attempt the read the book for its own merits and tried not to place it side-by-side with Lee's classic original. This was extremely difficult, but here's what I found. Not much happens in <i>GSAW</i>. This is not a book with much of a plot. There are pages and pages and pages of arguments, ping-pong dialogue, with the venom flying back and forth sometimes at breakneck pace. If only the book were paced a bit more quickly. While some of the dialogue and Scout's personal asides were funny/entertaining mostly this is just Scout getting angry and nostalgic in turn for a couple hundred pages. And that's about as compelling as it sounds. Maycomb is still its own character in the novel, and I love that. Scout is still irrepressible and smart. Also great. Everyone else seems inconsistently and a little vaguely drawn. Of course, all of this would be about right <i>for a first draft</i>. </div>
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Overall, I would have to say, I think <i>Go Set a Watchman</i> is important, and I'm glad I read it. Do I like the way Harper Collins portrayed it as some long-lost sequel? No. Do I think it should have been published while she was still living? No. Have I already loaned out my copy? Yes. Am I loving all the debate and discussion online about <i>A BOOK</i>? Absolutely. Go check it out for yourself.</div>
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