Category: Writing

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Writing to Remember

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

From Billy Collins’s “Forgetfulness”

At the beginning of the semester, my ENGL comp students had to memorize a poem. While some struggled, all of them tried, and many of them recited their selected poems perfectly, everything from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116 to Dylan Thomas’s “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” and Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky.”

Yesterday, we read the above lines from Billy Collins’s poem out loud, and I asked them to take 30 seconds and write down one line from the poem they had memorized in January. Only half of them could do it.

We did this exercise as a way to explain why I had given them a reflective essay for their final exam. For this exam, students have to reread something from one day of class earlier in the semester. Depending on the day, they could reread a short story by Jhumpa Lahiri, an act from Macbeth, or some chapters from Mother Night. Their task is to then reflect on how the second time through compared with the first: whether or not what they got out of the reading changed (or didn’t) and how they altered their reading methods and to what effect.

I told them that given the fact that their memory could be spotty (as demonstrated by the fact that some of them had already forgotten a poem they had tried to memorize just ten weeks earlier), they should plan on writing about something they had already written a paper on. If they wrote their first paper on Lahiri’s story “The Third and Final Continent” they should think about rereading it. Why? They already have the paper as a testament to what they had gotten out of it the first time. It makes it a whole lot easier to tell how the second time through it had changed (or not changed) things.

The students are telling the story of their semester in this assignment, and it’s powerful to see them exercise their memories through their writing even as they use writing to jog their memories.

Yes, I hope they’ll see how they’ve grown as a reader and writer over the semester, but the other takeaway I hope they’ll get is that writing is a powerful way to remember. To use Billy Collins’s simile, writing is the phone service that allows you to get ahold of your memories when they’re in a Brazilian fishing village.

I’ve got a file in Dropbox with my daily prayers from every day since the end of 2016. It’s an amazing time machine, better even than a diary, because it reminds me of conversations with God: a whole heap of gratitudes, requests that have been answered for others as well as myself, and the scriptures that helped me hear God’s voice in response to my petitions. I never wrote the prayers down to have something to remind myself of that particular day’s events. I always did it to focus myself in the moment. But now that the past two years have gone by in a blur with significant changes in my personal and professional life, it’s amazing to have that repository available. I hope my students start building one like that too.

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Conversation Piece

At this time a year ago, I was finishing up my final year at Charleston Southern University. Because I had accepted my new gig at Southern Wesleyan in March, I had a month to say goodbye to everyone who had made my time at CSU so special. This included not only colleagues but students too. Before I left, I sent the students who had meant something to me an email asking for a conversation piece. It said this:

Before I hoof it up I-26 to the upstate (it’s happening this week!), I wanted to ask you for something to remember you by: a particular poem, song, novel, video game, graphic novel, tv show, movie, food type product—you get the idea—that you think I should check out but that I either don’t know exists or haven’t made time for. Some of you have already given me elaborate playlists, and now particular songs from Hamilton and Fall Out Boy’s Mania are inextricably connected with you forever and ever Amen. This is a good thing! I wouldn’t have listened to either of them without the two of you, tbh, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

You each will be in my prayers, and I will do my dead-level best to keep up with you. Commiserating over the too-good-to-pass-up deliciousness of Market Pantry Fiddle Faddle will be an excuse to say hey. (Note: I don’t know if Target makes good fiddle faddle. That’s just a made-up example, but you get the kind-of point, right?)

This week, I made my way back through some of the emails and listened to the song below that had been recommended from one of my fave non-English major students. It gave me an excuse to pray for the student, reach out and say hello, and give thanks that I get to do what I do for a living, where an ongoing personal connection can be made over books and writing and education and discipleship. I’m blessed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0345Ls4IJf4
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Emotional Solidarity

Today, I spoke with a student who had just run four miles…as a warm-up. He’s a long-distance runner on the track team, and he had miles to go before he slept.

I like to run, but if I had just run four miles, that would be my workout for the day. His warm-up is my workout.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember what it’s feels like to do the work I ask students to do with the same kind of anxiety they feel about it. That’s because my warm-up is their workout.

I can write the 1000-1500 word papers I ask them to write without breaking a sweat. If they get a good 750 word paper, they feel gassed.

Today, I felt their pain.

I’m writing a book review, and it’s hard. I don’t want to do it because it feels like I might fail at it, like I can’t offer any sort of criticism, just a summary. So today has been a day where I’ve seen all my old strategies for procrastination creep in. It turns out, I’m really good at working hard at not working.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell my students this story. I’ll see if it resonates with them. They’ll want an answer about what I do. I’ll answer that:

  1. I pray and ask God for help. I admit I can’t do it on my own and ask for grace.
  2. I read book reviews of similar books and book reviews that I myself have written. I know I can do this. I’ve done it in the past.
  3. I listen to motivational speakers who can be the voice inside my head when I’m tired and am engaged in negative self-talk.
  4. I sit in a chair with the book and read and write for a specified set of time.

It used to be so much worse. God has given me ways of answering this anxiety. I can name it and respond accordingly.

Here’s the biggest difference. I’m not looking for the difficulty to go away. I’m figuring out what to do with it. I pray my students do too.

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Hammering Nails With a Violin

This week, I graded my freshmen’s analyses of short stories from Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies.

Making my way through them, I felt two things: disappointment in the students’ readings and deep respect for Lahiri’s stories to withstand those poor readings and actually become deeper and more well-constructed than I had thought. I kept going back to the stories to see if they had the evidence that I felt was lacking in the students’ papers. Not only was the evidence there, it was always aesthetically handled. The stories were so much richer than the students were giving them credit for.

I thought of Zadie Smith’s line about reading as a way of playing a piece of music. You want your playing to match the beauty of the piece that’s been written. Here, to borrow a David Foster Wallace line, it appeared my students were being handed a piece fit for a Stradivarius and were using their glorious instrument to hammer nails.

True, violins can make nails go deeper into the surface you want them to go into…but it’s not efficient and it permanently damages the violin so that when you want to actually play music with it, you’re lost.

But in the midst of those feelings, I wondered about my own reading of scriptures. I believe that it’s true that God’s word always accomplishes its work, whether it brings us closer to God through the work of the Holy Spirit or confirms in our cold response to it just how much we need God. If I was honest about the way I read and used scripture on a day to day basis, I think I would be hammering away at nails with something far more valuable than a Stradivarius.

I pray for the wisdom to read God’s words well even more than I pray for my students to gain the ability to read a short story well. More than that, I pray for the power to live it out after reading it well.

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Taking Time

I’ve been staying in my 11am MWF classroom for 30 minutes or so after class to do some work, collect my thoughts, and planning the rest of the work day. Today, I got to see what the open space could become: a space for more personal engagement with students who want help.

Two students who were particularly flummoxed during class stayed after for 30 minutes to discuss their first essays and possible revisions. Topics we covered included:
1. Thesis statements

2. Claims

3. Suitable evidence

4. Development of that evidence

5. Using CTRL – F or CMND – F to search a text

6. The way I evaluate organization

7. The way I evaluate a paper’s ethos

These students wanted to learn. I had to be humble enough not to skip any steps with them and reward their extra effort by explaining as simply as I could the things they could do to improve as writers.

God was in that room. We left with a stronger rapport. They knew I cared. I knew they did too. God was merciful.

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Orthodoxy and Orthopraxy

I have learned that teaching doctrine and teaching obedience are two very different things.

From Contagious Disciple Making

I read Paul and David Watson’s amazing book Contagious Disciple Making this week and left with this insight into teaching: I can say all the right things as a teacher, but if I don’t do them myself my students will not listen.

The doctrines in English lit are clarity and concision, a commitment to revision, and a desire to interpret the world in a way consistent with your faith.

This is so much easier to say than do.

God, help me to do all of this: not just in my reading and my reading but in my personal interactions with each of my students.

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Get Personal

[S]tories can bring things to your attention in such a way that you might begin to think differently about something and then go on to act on these new thoughts in a very concrete way. Reading texts enables us to participate in life, not to escape it…

From Literature Through the Eyes of Faith

I brought this quotation from Gallagher and Lundin into class to urge my students to think through something important to them as they wrote their first papers about Jhumpa Lahiri’s short stories. My example of how they might do this, however, was not personal. It came from a place of judgment. Many of them were writing about the sexual infidelity in Lahiri’s story “Sexy,” and I urged them to think about how that story might cause them to examine their own romantic commitments.

While this was not entirely unfounded, it missed the larger point. It was pedantic. It was tone-deaf. Most of all, it didn’t model for them the type of introspection I pray that they would have.

The irony is that I had a personal example sitting right in front of me.

For this first unit, I’ve revised a paper on Lahiri’s story “This Blessed House,” which concerns a newly married couple. As I’ve read and written about the story, I’ve realized it’s really about the part of us that wishes our significant other were just like us. The story’s protagonist Sanjeev cannot see the world from his wife’s point of view. It’s only at the end of the story that he realizes what she brings to his life, that it’s actually a good thing that she’s not a copy of him because he’s able to be strong where she’s weak and she’s able to be strong where he’s weak.

My worst times as a husband have been where I wished that Britt would simply be like me. When I’m loving her well, I’m letting her be who God made her and rejoicing in that. It’s a good thing she’s not like me! I have strengths, and so does she. Writing about Lahiri’s story is a great reminder of that.

This is what Gallagher and Lundin are gesturing towards. Literature does not take us out of life. It puts us in contact with life if we’re willing to be vulnerable enough to look in the mirror. I pray that I will keep looking and modeling for my students what that looking entails.

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True For You

I listened to the recent conversation between Brian Koppelman and Seth Godin during my evening run, and I finally put my finger on the part of their pragmatic approach to getting work done that I can’t hang with.

Early in their discussion, they debate the relative merits of believing Bob Dylan is a genius.

Godin thinks Dylan is a high-level practitioner who got really lucky.

Koppelman thinks Dylan is an artist who operates on a higher-level: a generational talent.

Their conclusion? Believe the truth that works for you. Why?

Because you can hide from doing your own work by telling yourself you’ll never write a song as good as Dylan.

Or because you can hide from your work by getting indignant that Dylan got so lucky and you, who are just as talented, will never get all those breaks.

From their perspective it’s an existential dilemma. We’re confronted with what “is” (Dylan’s voluminous output and public acclaim) and then we have to imbue it with meaning. If that’s the case, the argument goes, why not make sure that the meaning we give it is something that helps us?

The reason I have listened to and read Godin so frequently is because there are elements of truth here: namely that our hearts tend to produce what St. Paul calls “vain imaginations” that further obscure the things we know to be true. We would do well to pay attention to the stories we tell ourselves about the world.

But that’s not the entire story…

Continue reading “True For You”
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A Commitment

During my prayer and reading yesterday, I felt convicted about what I’ve let my writing for the blog become: brief, impressionistic notes on teaching with no really substantive reviews or expanded arguments.

I want that to change.

From here on out, I’ll be writing a single longer essay each week, typically posted on Saturday. My first project for these essays is to write about key terms for literary study from a Christian perspective.

On other days of the week, my writing will continue to summarize or expand something I’m trying to understand and apply in my own discipleship and teaching. My model here is Alan Jacobs’s Snakes and Ladders commonplace book which always points me towards something useful and contains enough of Jacobs’s wonderful ruminations, annotations, and commentary that it’s never just an article aggregator.

I feel God calling me to grow and contribute. I have seen growth in my personal commitment to post here as often as I can over the past month or so. That’s a good start. But I know I’m not growing as a scholar or as a teacher through these postings because I’m never pressing myself to think through an issue more thoroughly. And because I’m not growing, I’m not sure that I’m contributing to anyone sense of how to bring their pedagogy and discipleship together.

I want to be more consistent and coherent (i.e. less arbitrary) in my observations, and I want to work towards something larger rather than just haphazardly pile up a bunch of individual bricks. I feel invigorated by the authors I’ve already read this year on practical discipleship (Mark Dever and Robert Coleman) and pedagogy (Ken Bain) as well as the theologians I’ve picked up (Calvin and David Bentley Hart). God has been very good to me so far in 2019, and I want to make the most of the time and talent He’s given me.

This post is a commitment to making my writing here, through His grace, the most truthful and lively and helpful it can be: all for God’s glory and as a way of enjoying Him more.