Thoughts about writing, and the universe.
Earlier this week, earth crossed the equinox. Days in the northern hemisphere are longer than the nights now. Here in Norway, the sea change between winter and summer is always so dramatic, and around the equinox daylight change is the fastest. We're headed into sun and light. We've had a smattering of beautiful clear days... Continue Reading →
Since coming home from the ski trip with students, I've had some time on my own. Students have been taking part in a Red Cross first aid course, followed by a Model United Nations simulation. I'm alone at home too because my husband is traveling, and so I've had a different kind of week--away from... Continue Reading →
One of the things I love about teaching literature is the way its central questions push my thinking. Usually teacher-Jimmy and writer-Jimmy inhabit distinct mental spaces, but sometimes the two dovetail alongside. With the start of the new school year, meeting new students, lesson planning, checking how advisees are settling in, I got to have... Continue Reading →
Writing can be isolating. As a story forms itself and finds its way onto the page, as we craft, dismantle, and reassemble it in final form, the work is solitary. At its best, this solitude is glorious--writing is where we can be perfectly alone and let the mind go where it will, where any thoughts... Continue Reading →
Before departing school for the summer, I stopped by the book storage room. A small and musty room of bookshelves adjoining one of the English classrooms, far too many books for the space, piled three deep on the shelves so that you have to shift great tottering piles in order to see what is stacked... Continue Reading →
Some stories seem to move more slowly than drying paint. They elongate scene after scene of a bland character sitting, contemplating, staring at walls. Whole novels can go by without the character doing much more than taking a sip of their watered-down beer as they contemplate the vagaries of their universes. How often do I... Continue Reading →
Over the last year, I have been reading parts of Patience Gray's Honey from a Weed: Fasting and Feasting in Tuscany, Catalonia, the Cyclades and Apulia. Gray traces the food traditions of rural people along Europe's Mediterranean coast, interspersed with stories of the people she met and learned from while she was living in each... Continue Reading →
Sometimes in my writing journey these last several years, I have taken issue with old writing advice--the mandate to show, don't tell; the focus on active verbs that overshadows the great work other verbs do; Western literature's myopic focus on conflict--these are all pieces of inherited writing wisdom that, with deeper thought on my own... Continue Reading →
I worried I was making the wrong choice with books this school year. I worried the book was too long, that the students wouldn't read, and I worried that there was not enough depth of language to warrant the kind of study we needed. But I kept coming back to First They Killed My Father--I... Continue Reading →
Content warning: this post contains discussion of genocide and associated acts of violence, in the context of a literary analysis. The week has been packed. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I led student orientation workshops on diversity, introducing ideas of social identities, individual differences, and how assumptions arise when we meet people different from ourselves. The... Continue Reading →
Words like trees 