Yesterday I made a video blog so I could test my new microphone, and during part of my little talk there I kind of bemoaned the fact that it had been so long since my last entry, months, in fact. Afterwards, I was struck by this single observation: It took me three and a halfContinue reading “Diary of an English Teacher in His Penultimate Year, Redux: It’s Raining and I’m Flying By the Seat of My Pants!”
Category Archives: Literature
#306: Letters to His Sister (Point of View Cluster in Frankenstein)
Q: Hey kids, what’s the point of view in this here novel? You know, who speaks and to whom are they speaking? A: Well, Walton, he’s the speaker, and he’s writing letters to his sister. But at some point, Victor is speaking to Walton who is writing letters to his sister, but then, Elizabeth isContinue reading “#306: Letters to His Sister (Point of View Cluster in Frankenstein)”
Diary of an English Teacher in His Penultimate Year: December 9, 2017
I realize now that it might be possible to misunderstand the title of this blog series. I just want to make clear right out of the gate that our narrator is not talking about his penultimate year on the planet. Nope. He’s pretty healthy, save for some high blood pressure (which he is working toContinue reading “Diary of an English Teacher in His Penultimate Year: December 9, 2017”
Diary of an English Teacher in His Penultimate Year: December 5, 2017
And now for something completely different. I’ve been doing this “Penultimate Year” series now since August, and typically post about once a month, but today the urge to scribble arrived for the second consecutive day. Today, the day after my birthday, felt more like a birthday. I mean, I celebrated a little bit last nightContinue reading “Diary of an English Teacher in His Penultimate Year: December 5, 2017”
Dispatches from Writer’s Camp: The Next Frontier
Remember that on July 3rd we campers were treated here at Mt. Holyoke College to a fireworks display of stupendous proportions. Yesterday, on the 4th of July, it was quiet. I’m not kidding. After the reading I sat on an Adirondack chair in the dark sipping whiskey in the middle of the lawn and IContinue reading “Dispatches from Writer’s Camp: The Next Frontier”
#234: On Rereading a Clean Copy of Beloved
My classroom copy is copiously marked in three or four colors of highlighter and underlined and bracketed and annotated with pen and pencil seven different ways to Sunday. I’ve read and reread and reread this novel perhaps eight or nine times now, but this time I choose a clean, elegant copy over my raggedy-ass classroom copyContinue reading “#234: On Rereading a Clean Copy of Beloved”
#186: On Writing Retreat
On Writing Retreat, December 5, 2015, L. L. Stub Stewart State Park, Buxton, Oregon It’s raining so hard here, it would be unthinkable to go outside for a walk. So I am stuck in this cabin without internet access and there’s only a few things to do: listen to music, meditate, read, eat, or, theContinue reading “#186: On Writing Retreat”
A Single Dispatch from Writer’s Camp 2015
It’s quiet on campus. Everyone has gone home. It’s just me and Mark, the dorm all to ourselves. He’s here still because he can’t travel on the Sabbath. I’m here to simply take a few deep breaths, to take advantage of some solitude before heading home. I went down to the cafeteria tonight for dinner,Continue reading “A Single Dispatch from Writer’s Camp 2015”
The Audio Book Experience: Musings on Being Read To and Reading Out Loud
I have never been much of an audiobook kind of guy. I like reading. I’ve always felt a kind of snobbery about the audiobook, as if somehow the actual reading of text on a page and making all of the voices and inflections and imagery happen in one’s head is a more rigorous endeavor, thatContinue reading “The Audio Book Experience: Musings on Being Read To and Reading Out Loud”
#140: I Was Raised By. . .
Another mentor text, this time the one we used with our freshmen, to inspire poetry about who or what we credit for “raising” us. The wonderful thing about using a mentor text, learning explicitly the moves of a writer we admire, is that all the 14 year olds end up writing these lively, effective poems.Continue reading “#140: I Was Raised By. . .”
michael jarmer 