Who knew you were so key?
Until I lost the use of thee
I blithlely pointed, jabbed and poked.
I now regret the way I joked.
Through softball I mistreated you
that misguided catch I sure do rue.
For now I cannot type or peck,
I cannot wash behind my neck,
I cannot tie my shoes or belt,
more hopeless, hapless, I have not felt.
Never again through ignorant reflex
will I misjudge the importance of index
fingers.
It’s hard to type with a hurt finger.
“I dunno” is probably my least favorite phrase in the English language, My students, in particular, overuse it:
“What did you think of the reading?”
“I dunno”
“What was your favorite part?”
“I dunno.”
How can you not know what you think about something?
Then why is it that when people ask me what my book is about, I really want to answer “I dunno.”?
How do you describe a bunch of unrelated short stories? They are about Things That Pass for Love. That’s why I thusly titled the book. What to answer?
Yes, it’s as scary as the boogey man and twice as flammable. I wonder how many writers have books that for one reason or another aren’t published. I have two such beasts– and they don’t live under my bed out of my choice.
The other day I was having coffee and a friend asked what I was reading. Richard Russo, I replied. “Oh, he’s great summer reading.”
Is Richard Russo summer reading? I mean, the man did win a Pulitzer. It’s true it’s not a difficult read, does accessibility mean inferiority? Is Richard Russo a guilty pleasure?
After years of bitching about teaching unmotivated, unprepared, spoiled nitwits, I’ve finally made the leap and quit my teaching job. Stupid? Probably. Here are my calculations:
I make $31.25 an hour. Kind of pathetic. (this includes commute time, grading, prep, office hours, etc.)
Now add in the cost of my car: $8,000/year (gas, parking, insurance, maintenance, etc.). That brings it down to $25 per hour.
What if I take public transportation, you ask, and ditch the car? $26.00 per hour. Really, I can’t afford to keep my job.
Now what the hell am I going to do about health insurance? And where can I find a free copier/printer?
I’ve heard many a story in which agent/editor/parent asks if writer could possibly find it in him/herself to change his/her gay male Asian Jew into a more palatable and sell-able Episcopalian woman with some trendy disease like Asperger’s. And couldn’t you then turn the plot into a love story, because, women like to read love stories and we all know who buys books? I’m looking deep inside for my Episcopalian love story….
What is this thing called blog?
According to last week’s NYT Magazine, this appears to be an especially bad time to launch a blog, sell an apartment or be an Iraqi citizen. Still, I am attempting one of those three. You can expect that:
1. I will talk about publishing
2. I will tell funny stories
3. I will regret some of my posts
Other than that, don’t believe everything you read, don’t take candy from strangers, and wash behind your ears.