The whicker of wind outside my window tells me leaving the haven of my bed would be a mistake. No breakfast eaten or new day begun, no matter how delicious or auspicious, can contend with the loving press of a flannel sheet or the promised rush of anesthetic joy. Dreams pull me down, promising one more and one more and one more minute of bliss. So I stay.
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George Orwell and Truth for Truth’s Sake
Sometimes, I ask myself this question: What would George Orwell say if he were alive today? I mean, what would he say other than “Man, I’m really old, which is surprising, not in the least because of that whole tuberculosis thing.” At any rate, I’m sure he’d have some other interesting insights. As John Lennon once said, these are strange days, indeed. I’m not the only one thinking about Orwell. As you might have noticed, folks are throwing around the word “Orwellian” like they’re earning double royalties on its usage. Saying “Orwellian,” in fact, has become shorthand for most of the ideas Orwell cared about. This means, by the way, that using…
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The Secret Plan
Recently, I’ve noticed a trend in fiction, including among authors I admire. It works like this: The protagonist and company have a plan that’s going to lead to the novel’s climactic scene, and they discuss the plan, but we don’t get to hear it. The reason for this device, presumably, is to surprise us when the plan is executed, but here’s what makes it especially problematic: The discussion of the plan doesn’t happen “off screen.” Instead, it’s perched right there in the middle of an otherwise packed scene, its place held by a little line that read something like “They discussed it, and everyone agreed.” And then the action of…
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Today, For Lack of a Better Title
Today, I’ve been thinking about writing, whether poetry, fiction, non-fiction, or even well-crafted shopping lists. More than that, though, I’ve been thinking about reading, something I’ve always done at the expense of things that were probably more practical. My mom was a kindergarten teacher and taught me how to read before I was able to form memories, or at least that’s how it seems. I don’t remember learning how to swim, either, which makes sense considering I grew up close to the ocean. I’ve long imagined family members vying for the chance to throw me into the water for the first time. And who could blame them, really? My first…
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Where Were We?
Over the past few years, my writing habits have been–well, honestly, they’ve been nearly non-existent. Sure, I write for work, but who doesn’t? Even if you aren’t a writing teacher like I am, chances are good you write something during your day. Me, I write volumes of feedback to my students on their essays, and on a good day, I type more emails than a Russian internet scammer during American voting season. About three years ago, I lived through a summer that saw more publication than I’d seen during the rest of writing my career. Three magazines accepted my short stories, and three of my poems were published within two…
