Sticky Business

Ugh. So here it is; the week that I need to decide which topic to write my English Lit research paper on that is due the week after next. The problem is that my professor gave us so many topics to choose from that are interesting and I would like to write about, that I'm having a hard time choosing. Could be worse, I know. He might have given us a crappy list to choose from and then I would be complaining about having to research the crap. At least it won't be horrible to research a subject that I want to explore in detail.

Documentation is a different story. If there is one thing I despise about college writing, it is the endless hours spent documenting and citing sources. A necessary evil to be sure, as there are many students who would be thrilled to just cut and paste another's words into their own research papers if they thought they could get away with it. But, that is plagiarism... unless of course the appropriate quotation marks and works cited styles are utilized. Then it is research.

Literary research paper writing can be quite a sticky business simply because you are researching another's work and words. It is a very fine line between paraphrasing a writer's work and meanings and plagiarizing. It never ceases to amaze me how many students think that they can get around citing works if they just reword their sources. They get caught up in thinking that if they just change a few words around here and there, then they are not actually copying.

It is a pity. Really. Here, I, along with a majority of the other students take great care in ensuring that we are producing an original, well documented research paper. But there is always that poor misinformed schlep who tries to get past having to do the hard work. I mean, HELLO! They have software installed at the writing lab that is specifically designed to catch cheaters.

Copy THAT!

I'm hoping beyond hope that in this class, on this research paper, no one tries to lift work that isn't their own. Cheaters suck and plagiarists are the bottom of the barrel.

Let it Rain

Don't you just love it when a day that starts out with horrible, torrential rain type weather? Yeah. Me neither, but that is just how the day started. As I stared out my car window waiting for my daughter's school bus I was treated to Mother nature's version of a light show. Huge bolts of lightening speared the morning sky, menacingly beautiful as they sliced through the charcoal colored clouds. And I thought, this day is gonna suck.

To add to the bright mood of the morning, I had an American Literature midterm exam first thing. I was not looking forward to it - even the thought of driving to the college agitated me. Naturally, it poured incessantly the entire trip. I was grateful for backroads and the ability to avoid the pitfalls of heavy traffic backups on the rain slickened main streets.

Part one of the midterm consisted of six questions to be answered in short essay form. Short meaning two to three hundred words. Part two required I choose to answer one of three questions in "standard" essay form. That is between five hundred and one thousand words. Thankfully, we have word processor capabilities in the test lab. I was able to get the whole thing done in under two hours. Our professor allowed us two and a half, so I felt satisfied that I finished early.

Still pouring when I left campus. When I got back to my office computer my English Literature professor had e-mailed me with my grades from our first test and essay in that class. I earned an "A" on both. The day was looking up. Only maniacs and English majors are fool enough to take two Literature classes simultaneously. I happen to be both.

So, anyway, my English Lit professor also e-mailed me regarding a discussion a few of us were having in our critical analysis group. The subject was Arthurian legends and what makes them appeal to the modern audience. I made several points and mentioned my admiration for the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien. My professor wrote me that he had taken a 20th Century Literature class in grad school taught by Corbin Carnell; one of the few people at the time who wrote serious criticism on Tolkien. Then he worked with Corbin on an independent study examining the works of the Oxford mythmakers Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and Charles Williams.

How cool is that? Anyway, I let him know that I am officially envious.

After learning that bit of information, I was no longer bothered by the rain. I was too busy counting my blessings that I am fortunate enough to have an English Lit professor who has a keen understanding and appreciation of Tolkien, Lewis, Williams and the fantasy genre. Lucky me :)

I Wrote! I Wrote! I Wrote!!!!!

I finally did it. I set aside my studies for a few precious hours and dedicated that time to writing in one of my novel length wips!!! It was so nice to get back to my characters. I've missed them so. I mean, they are with me every day, I'm always thinking about ways to further develop them and the plot, but to actually sit and just write them is heaven. What was interesting was that I had been at an interesting turning point in my world building at the last point I left the manuscript. After rereading just that small section before adding to it last night, I was able to fill in some holes and through doing that I wound up in a place where I can add an antagonistic device. Sweet! It needed that little something extra there, and now, not only is it going to get it, it is going to tie in seamlessly.

I must have been in creative mode major. Not only was I able to write last night, I woke up this morning with a vivid recollection of the most amazing dream. I dreamt an entire story, characters and all from beginning to end. I've always been able to dream certain aspects of a story - a characterization, a plot - something, but never an entire story. This definitely marked a "first" for me. My daughter invited my niece for a sleepover last night, and they came in my room this morning and jumped on my bed to wake me up. It must have been just at the completion of this dream. Talk about timing. I think maybe if they hadn't woke me, I might not have remembered the dream at all.

Anyway, I immediately went into my office to write out the outline of what I remembered. I didn't even put on a pot of coffee first. I was too concerned that I would lose some of what I was remembering. Thank goodness the kids weren't hungry for breakfast at that moment. So now I have this entirely new story sketched out and I am literally itching to write it.

The thing that is frustrating is that I already have two manuscripts that I am trying to complete. I really should not start another, especially considering the time constraints of my schedule. I have about twenty-five chapters down in one of my wips and ten or so in the other. I really need to complete at least one before I begin another.

I took the kids to the beach for a while this afternoon and met a friend of mine there with her daughter. After I told her about the dream I had she said she wondered if maybe I should concentrate on the new, dreamt story because it came to me in such a way. I don't know. I'd hate to put priority on it simply because it was "given to me," as my friend put it.

One thing is certain. I wrote. And obviously it fired off some creative neurons or something in my brain because after that I wrote in my sleep.

This is a Test...

Well, since I'm in the midst of summer session mid-term hell, it seems like I spend every spare moment studying for a test. At least I got a little break today at a big family cookout. It was actually a pretty near perfect day, with tons of laughter, great food and lots of swimming. I began the day by accompanying my daughter to a friend's birthday party. Ten seven year olds bowling and drinking way too much soda, but they had a great time. I coach several of the girls who were in attendance, including the birthday girl.

I think that probably the best part of a child being on a team is that they can always count on their teammates to attend their birthday parties. Several weeks ago my daughter went to a party for a school friend and she was the only invited guest to show up. The poor mother of the kid was distraught. She'd planned the party for weeks and sent out the invitations early, had it at a really fun indoor basketball gym adjacent to a popular park, but still... no one came. I talked with her at length about considering enrolling her son in a team sport of some kind. A week later it was my own daughter's birthday. I held her party at the gymnastics facility where I coach. Of course, we invited tons of kids, including her friend from school whose party was all but ruined from lack of attendance. I felt so bad for his mother, because when she saw how many kids came to my daughter's party, she was awe struck.

We invited thirty-five children to my daughter's party and of those, thirty-three showed up. Of the two who couldn't make it, one was sick and the other had to go away for the weekend. The mom who had been so upset at her son's party, has told me several times since my daughter's big day, that she has never in her life seen anything like my daughter's party. She couldn't get over the turn out of kids. But I explained to her that of the kids who attended, only three were school friends, the rest are all my daughter's teammates and that my daughter's birthday parties are like that every year.

I ran into that mother yesterday while shopping for a birthday present for the party we attended today. She told me she signed her son up for baseball camp and plans on keeping him in a team sport. Then she asked me how I, a single parent, finds the time to be a writer, go to school and coach gymnastics. I told her that it's not easy. I work my tail off, and right now my writing is suffering from the time crunch. But I wouldn't change the coaching part. I do that so I can spend time with my child. I do that because if I didn't coach I couldn't afford to have my daughter in such an expensive sport. But the main reason I coach is that through doing it I am able to give my child a team experience that you simply cannot put a price on. She is having the time of her life, making lasting friendships and memories that will stay with her long after she stops doing back hand springs.

Could I write more if I didn't coach? Sure. Would it be worth the trade off? That is a test that I wouldn't risk failing.

Inspiration

Sometimes inspiration strikes at the darndest times. I was in the middle of taking an exam today when ideas came out of nowhere for one of my novel-length wips. Trying to jot down the thoughts was impossible. I had nothing to write on other than my test paper and that was being turned into my professor. Then, of course I had to concentrate on answering the questions on the test, but it was really difficult to focus on the exam when all I wanted to do was write down the character interaction that was dancing in my mind before I lost it.

It's not the first time story ideas have come to me at an inopportune moment. I've taken to always keeping a small notebook in my car in case inspiration hits me as I am barreling down a highway or stuck at a red light. But I can't keep a note book in the shower, or pull one out during lunch with a friend, or in the middle of coaching gymnastics. So what's a writer to do?

I don't generally lose the entire epiphany, but invariably bits and pieces go unrecalled, leaving holes in what had been a complete thought. Just the way it is I guess. That thought doesn't make losing the muse any less frustrating, but it does support my assumption that every writer undoubtedly experiences the same problem at one time or another.

What makes it more frustrating is that there really isn't any way to change it. How do you prepare for an idea that hasn't actually come, but might, and possibly in the shower? I can't think of a way, but I can't spend too much time pondering it either. I guess it is just a matter of timing and hoping that yours is good. With any luck, the perfect idea will hit at the optimal time.

At least it is something to wish for.

Late Night Write

I love to write late at night. I don't know what it is exactly that I find so pleasing about it. Perhaps it is the quiet of the house, my kid is asleep, no neighbors are mowing their lawns next door, no doorbell rings, even my three dogs are settled and don't come up to nudge me for a treat or a pat on the head. Heck, they rarely even bark this late. So, maybe it is the peacefulness that causes late night writing to be so appealing to me. Maybe it's just that I am more creative at night. I always was a bit of a night owl. Even as a young child I could never fall asleep early. Could also have something to do with my current genre. I am working on two fantasy novel-length fiction manuscripts. Might be that I feel night time is more conducive to writing about my created world replete with non-human characters. Possible I suppose.

Honestly, I am not sure why it is that I seem to always do my best writing after midnight. Editing I do better in the daytime, but my creative writing is definitely a late night pursuit. I do notice that I fall asleep quicker after I have written. As if allowing the characters in my stories to spill onto the page somehow quiets them and allows me to sleep rather than lie awake thinking about what they are going to do next or how they are evolving.

Maybe it is just that I have trained myself that if I am gonna be up late - I may as well write. I know other writers train their creative focus to allow them to pursue writing morning pages. I keep telling myself that I am going to mix it up a little and start getting up early to write rather than stay up late, but there is something about getting up at 6am to write fiction that seems insanely barbaric to me.

For now, I will probably stick with the late night write that I have become so accustomed to. You know what they say; if it ain't broke...

I wonder though if fixing it would actually repair a weakness or cause it to break down all together

Crossing the Finish Line

I never thought that this semester would utterly consume my every waking minute. Had I known though, I don't think I would have changed anything. I'm excelling in all of my classes and can finally see the finish line looming ever closer as the end of the semester draws near. After that I will be taking six classes through summer session, as long as my grant holds. Yeah, I did say six. It's going to be mountains of work but I want to get through to my degree and following summer session I will have only two classes that I need to take to graduate in the spring. The prospect of finishing is both exciting and exhausting. I can't wait to complete my degree, though I know that after I do, life will become more exhausting because I plan to plunge right back into the University. My dream is to earn a doctorate in English and an MFA in creative writing.

It has occurred to me that plodding along through school has not been at all unlike plodding my way through writing my two novel-length fiction works-in-progress. They too present their own set of challenges, sometimes on a daily basis. There have been days when I toy with the idea of abandoning the stories and not finishing. If you write at all then you know what I mean. The days when you're all out of fresh ideas, or you've reread over your material and decided it is terrible, and you have no talent and you might as well throw in the towel and go take a job in retail or some other underappreciated service industry.

But then after the whining and feeling a bit sorry for myself I return to my keyboard and pound out some words.

I have a rule that is working quite nicely for moments like that: I force myself to write 50 words in my manuscript - even if they really make no sense whatsoever. This always works for me, because before I know it, the ideas are flowing again and if nothing more is accomplished at least I feel better afterward because I was able to work through the creative crisis. It reminds me of the way I will push on through schoolwork even if it is something difficult, or far out of my comfort zone.

It gives me some peace realizing that I can work through enormous challenges by myself and that understanding of how I work and why the hell I do it in the first place encourages me to push on through school and my creative writing, because I know if I do, I will eventually cross the finish line.

Easy Work

There is something to be said about preparedness. What it is exactly, at this point, I don't know... but I know there must be something. After all, aren't we taught all our lives to follow little golden rules of preparedness? Gosh. One rule that immediately springs to mind is: Do your homework. Why? Why, do people have such a hard time with this one? Literally and figuratively it seems to me that we are swiftly becoming a nation of bumbling, fly by the seat-of-our pants - idiots.



Take for example, a college class that I am currently enrolled in. I am an English major, not to mention a freelance writer. As such take my writing classes extremely seriously. This particular class requires a good deal of research for writing analytical essays on the literary fiction we are studying this term. Of course, research translates to citing various sources. So, anyway, there is this one girl, um, wait... girl is an inappropriate description, as this girl is probably in her mid 30's. Anyway, put delicately, this young woman is driving me nuts!



First, she is often late for this class. She blusters in, loudly, I might add. Hey, I could live with that - but for the fact that no matter where I sit in the room - she weasels her way either right next to me, or across from me, or worse - behind me. It's moderately bothersome, but I could still tolerate that, were it not for the fact that she then proceeds to address me with whispered questions. She'll ask what she missed, or if I did the reading assignment - I mean - DUH!!! I didn't become an "A" student by blowing off my reading assignments.



Regardless, it gets worse. She is forever fielding me questions about her written assignments. I feel for her in a way. She is, after all, to be counted among the walking clueless of the world. Blissfully unaware of how ignorant and tactless she appears to others.



So, good person that I am, I try to help her here and there. I offer advice. I have even gone so far as to edit a draft of one of her essays at her request. Mercifully, I have taken courses taught by my current professor previously. She had definitely noticed my unease at being targeted by this classmate as her personal tutor. She has tolerated the disruption up to this point, but I know the unprepared student is in for a rude awakening if it continues.



I have tried to distance myself. This week, after class my classmate approached and asked if we could exchange telephone numbers, you know - in case she had questions about the upcoming research paper. I was aghast. No. Not going to happen. I explained that I am an extremely busy writer, student and single parent. That while I do not mind helping her from time to time, I cannot spare a moment on work that is not my own. I told her, and honestly so, that I am lucky that I manage to get my own work done.



Well, she became frustrated and pushed the issue. After all, she only has a few questions and surely I can take a few minutes to help her out. Then she blurted that I should help her because writing is easy for me. EASY! Pardon? What say?



She said it in the same accusatory way that former coworkers have in the past. The ones who assumed that I would pen their reports for them because writing came easy for me. Friends who have needed help sprucing up a resume, would offer a similar tone, when they would promise me that it would only take a few minutes. After all, writing was hard for them. But not me. It's easy for me.



My professor glanced up from stacking papers on her desk. She had taken notice of the exchange between myself and my unprepared classmate. Part of me wanted to humiliate this girl, by informing her just how much work goes into writing well, and do so in front of our professor who undoubtedly understands the complexities to which I refer . But I thought better of it.



What I did instead was suggest that she seek out the free services of the tutoring lab. I assured her that writing comes easy for them too, and that they would be pleased to spend as much time helping her as she might need, so that next time she might come to class prepared. She left in a bit of a huff.



My professor didn't say a word about it, but the approving look she gave me was enough.



Tomorrow we have a quiz on two short stories that were assigned a week ago. Afterward, we will have open discussion, analyzing the works. Then we will shift gears and review twenty research questions that we should have completed with sources cited on a separate page. Invariably, there will be a few students who "forgot" to do the reading assignment, or perhaps one or two scrambling to complete the research questions.



All I know is that I have done my homework. Then again, writing comes easy for me.

Lesson in Courage

Iraqis turned out to cast their ballots in their first free election in over fifty years. It is remarkable that the elections proceeded as scheduled. More astonishing is the sheer number of Iraqi people who rose up and exercised their new found right to vote under the threats of death by radical insurgents.



The numbers are staggering considering the circumstances. It is estimated that between 60 to 72 percent of all eligible Iraqi voters actually voted. Weigh those numbers against the estimated 50 percent of all eligible American voters who participate in our democracy by voting, and it is clear that the Iraqi people have sent a message to the world: they are willing to risk everything to embrace democracy.



Americans would do well to take note and reflect upon the dear price that has been paid by those who came before us to ensure our right to vote. We have taken our open elections process for granted for too long. How shameful it is that in our free nation so many fail to take part in the democractic process that is the model for the world.



The Iraqi people have reaffirmed that which our forebearers knew so well; that freedom is worth sacrificing for. The newsfootage of Iraqi women, most of whom have suffered unimaginable oppression their entire lives, casting their ballots should serve as a stark reminder that women in our own country were at one time ineligable to vote. Were it not for the committment, courage and sacrifices of women during the Sufferage movement, perhaps American women would still be refused the vote.



It has been reported that an alert guard at a polling location in Iraq noticed as a man came charging toward the enterance to the polls. When the man refused to halt the guard opened fire, and the man, an apparent suicide bomber, blew up. The Iraqis who turned up to vote at that location were not disuaded by the attempt on their lives, rather they became inscensed and refused to leave the polling place without casting their ballots. What a lesson in courage.