The Voices in My Head

"My name is John Miller, formerly Lance Corporal John Miller of the United States Marine Corps. I'm a 41 year old man who has lived most of his civilian life int he land surrounding Canby, Oregon.  I was born here, raised here, and left alone here."

"My name is Jeanna Margaret Pendergrass, named after my grandmother Jean Margaret Pendergrass.  The best thing my mother did for me was add the "A" to my name.  Like that lucky letter, my life has shown me, again and again, that I always come first."

Yesterday was a writing day.  I got a couple of new pages on the novel worked out, a first draft of a "chapter", and some revision done.  At a couple of points during the day, voices spoke to me out of the ether.  As a writer, I try to be attuned to these voices.  I pick up the low mumbles, their static whispers, and try and transcribe them on the page in an effort to give them shape, form, voice.

The two quoted passages above are two distinct voices that came to me yesterday.  They speak to me in their own voice, with their own inflection, and their own personalities.  I don't feel like they are a part of me, but part of some greater consciousness that we all tap into at some time or other in our lives.  I can always tell when I'm having a good writing day when some of these "visitors" arrive at my office.

I met two new people yesterday.  I don't know if they are friend or foe yet, but I've met them, said my "How do you do?" Now, I must get to know them.  I must interview them, listen to them, and let them exercise the full extent of their free will all over the white canvas of a blank page.

And the Radio Goes Silent...

There is a weird dynamic to a writer's energy, to each individuals ebb and flow of inspiration, creation, and rest.  Over the last couple of weeks, I've found myself opening up the blog window and immediately closing it down.  I didn't have much to say, and I didn't want to waste precious words on mere blathering.  I was hoarding my words, allowing them to bounce around the interior of my skull like an Atari game of Pong. 

I've been reading a lot.  Novels, short essays, graphic novels, etc.  I've read more professional work than student work lately and it has been refreshing.  I find myself "filling the hopper" as a former writing mentor told me would happen. 

As a result of this quiet, introspective period, I've found myself revising my own work and even creating new material.  The arrival of my contributor copies definitely helped boost morale, but this increasing quiet had been growing well before the mailman came a week ago. 

Most of the time I feel I MUST be producing, must be maintaining a writing "practice" of sorts, and the blog definitely helps in that regard, but it also distracts from my other work.  I'm posting on the blog today because I worked on one and a half chapters of my longer project today.  I rediscovered my project and entered into it willingly, quietly, listening for what the characters wanted to tell me.  It's been a good morning.

Running the Numbers

Once again, I'm struck by the angel of productivity.  I've spent the afternoon locked away in my office getting things done.  Here's the breakdown:

One syllabus near completion.
Two new lesson plans.
One short story revision.
Six new submissions to short story markets.
One poem written.
One and a half graphic novels read in the past two days.

Things I have yet to do today:

Pack a back for overnight trip to the coast.
Pick up random objects around my house for a writing exercise.
Grab chocolate to engage more than only the visual senses.
Find a scented candle to stimulate the nose.
Read one short 5-page essay before tomorrow's classes.
Watch the Duck game with my family, my niece and nephew, and my father.
Enjoy the rest of the evening.

A Lost Thing

Cleaning up my computer, I stumbled upon this thing.  The incident happened a long time ago, but it still gets my goat when I think about it.  It's a first draft poem that has never seen revision.  It's silly and serious.  Hope you like it.

More Than a Title

 

Diapers changed,

Bottle filled,

Pajamas snugged,

Blankie found,

Dinner cooked,

Dishes done,

Floor vacuumed,

Toilets cleaned,

Dog walked,

Groceries put away,

Wife kissed,

Laundry going,

Dryer emptied,

Oil changed,

Leaves raked,

Christmas lights up,

Garbage emptied,

Lullaby sung,

Picture book read,

Good nights kissed,

Blankets tucked,

Doctor seen,

Antibiotics given,

Fever reduced,

Tears wiped away,

Armpits tickled,

Belly blown,

Ballet danced,

Tutu worn,

Princess saved,

Dragon vanquished,

Screams shushed,

Boo-boos kissed,

Bills paid,

Wife reassured,

Grandparents included,

Portraits taken,

School taxi,

Daycare pickup,

Dinner enforcer,

Candy supplier,

Emotional supporter,

Behavior modifier,

“I love you” repeated,

Punishments doled,

Colorings praised,

Monsters shoo-ed,

Nightlights checked,

Tea party attendee,

Midnight fever checker,

Vomit receptacle,

Poop cleaner upper, and

Conflict negotiator.

These are some of my job duties,

Although no one has bothered to write them down.

I do them often, even daily,

With pride and with love,

Occasionally, even with patience.

So, when I run into you at the grocery store,

And you think my daughter’s cute,

DON’T call me the babysitter.

You don’t call a doctor, “Mister.”

Contentment

Ever have one of those days were things go like clockwork?

Today has been one of those days.  While the day started with a certain degree of anxiety over a lost library book and a minor amount of bustling in getting Shea packed up, it soon settled into a rhythm of things going my way. 

Instead of commuting straight to PCC to get the teaching underway, I drove out to Pacific in search of the lost library book.  I took the back country roads through Newberg, the low hum of the engine muffling OPB and the day cool but not cold.  I planned well enough to bring my wool coat and I found myself on campus at Pacific around 9:30.  The low level fog blanketed the lawns in a mist that soothed the senses and quieted the traffic on Main Street.  It's Winter 3 right now and so there are some students on campus but not many.  I wandered through campus with my mind drifting along. 

While I didn't find my library book, I decided to check in at the main office and see if there was anything waiting for me in my mailbox.  There were two desk copies of books for my graphic novel class waiting for me there.  Asterios Polyp, a gorgeous example of the graphic novel's potential, was waiting for me there and a copy of a textbook which the author had generously provided was stacked on top.  One book lost, two gained.

I made my way to PCC and settled into the calm routine of the work week immediately.  Both of my classes were alert and engaged, although quiet, a natural occurrence in the first week.  They seemed to take in what I had to say thoughtfully and they are already approaching me after class, always a good sign.

As I drove home, I picked up my comic books and drove on to my mother's house.  I helped her put away her Christmas decorations and move some furniture around, a small gesture, but one that helps me feel good about my day.  I don't often get to do enough for her, but today I helped in some small way. 

At home, Shea ate her dinner without argument.  She didn't turn her nose up at anything and Tracy and I marveled at the fact that dinner was over at 6:30.  This gave us a good two hours of play with her.  In a flash of memory, I checked Tracy's car for the library book.  Voila!  There it was.  Anxiety drained out of me. 

After we put Shea down, I watched a movie.  A whole movie and have now turned toward the blog for a bit of daily writing.  Tomorrow is going to be a good day.  Tomorrow is "You and Me" day.  Tomorrow is a day where I get Shea all to myself.  In preparation we have already collected quarters for the "rides" at the mall, the one place she wanted to go with me.  I'll put her on the coin-operated cars, watch her as she plays with the other children at the playground, and simply spend some time alone with her.

It will be the first day since the surgery that we have ventured out to such a public place, where she will be surrounded by other children.  She is terribly excited.   When I reminded her of this fact with a simple, "The quicker you go to bed, the quicker 'You and Me' day starts," she scrambled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and put her pajamas on. 

I love the fact that she cherishes our time together as much as I do right now.  I have much to look forward to tomorrow, not the least of which is a space of time to write while Shea is napping and a night with my wife where she doesn't have to wake early for work.  I'm anticipating the glass of wine with dinner, the snuggle on the couch, and, hopefully, the lazy winding turns of a conversation that doesn't have a time constraint or an "expiration" hour. 

Life is good today and I'm not going to miss the opportunity to appreciate it.  I am grateful to be right here, right now, a good day behind me and another on the horizon.

Productivity

I'm walking with a spring in my step today.  Today's good mood is due in large part to the day I had yesterday.  I found myself at home in my office yesterday working on lesson plans for my courses this winter.  I am usually playing catch up on the term as I keep taking on new classes and not repeating ones I have taught before.  But this term I have two classes that are the same AND I've taught three times before. 

This alignment of courses allows me to plan ahead, to anticipate needs, to think of my class as a unified arc and to plan accordingly.  Yesterday, I completed lesson plans that will take me all the way to February 15th.  That means I have only seven class periods to plan for the whole term.  I have the readings in place, I have the in class activities mapped out, etc.  Now, there are always days that get short-circuited, or last minute needs that arise, but for the most part, I am prepared, ahead of schedule even.  It's a good feeling.

So, as I printed my neatly organized materials for my class today, I felt relief and excitement for heading into the classroom.  Here's hoping that the best laid plans don't go awry. 

When I got to the end of the lesson plan on February 15th, I revised a story.  I'm hoping that this level of preparation will free my mind up more so I can focus more on my fiction.  Hoorah!

'Cause I'm Bad, Bad Leroy Brown

I'm trying something new this term.  I'm starting off the term by trying to be stern and strict.  I'm being "grumpy" and "hard".  I get to be a bad ass.  It will probably last a week in terms of temperment, but by then the students will have already established a pattern of thinking.  So, I stormed into syllabus day, guns blaring.

This is all the result of the fact that I've changed a lot of the policies on my syllabus and I'm glad for it.  I've included detailed breakdowns of how they will be scored, of what their assignments will be (I even included a section on printing and stapling).  It may seem nitpicky and off subject, but it is something I've been building to for a while now.  The change finally solidified in my thoughts on Sunday night.

After arriving late to a Christmas party, I encountered an old friend, DM, who is also an educator and has some experience/knowledge of my other profession...bartending.  In shooting the breeze at the Hitching Post bar in Oregon City, we stumbled across a subject that has been percolating in the back of my mind...expectation.

My favorite bar job was working for the Wild Hare in Canby of which DM is completely familiar.  Under the guidance of Joan, the owner, and Erica, the manager, I always knew what was expected of me.  I always knew what I needed to do in order to do a good job and I always knew what would lead to getting me fired.  It was cut and dry, easy to understand, and, most importantly, talked about openly.  There was never a day where I didn't understand what I was doing there, what I should be doing, what they wanted me to do.  I loved it.  There was no gray area.  There was no real guess work.

DM and I talked about this for quite a while that night.  We sat and sipped our beers and talked about accountability, about expectations, about performance, about evaluation, and how to get the best out of our students.  I think one of the most important steps to complete in order to get the results we want is to TELL students what we want.  I tried to do that in minute detail yesterday.

Syllabus day is normally a breeze.  I show them the schedule, read them a writing sample, have them write out an introduction survey, and send them on their way.  Yesterday was different.  As I began telling them all of the nitpicky little things that were expected of them, I found myself explaining my educational philosophy to them.  I told them about how I saw writing as a key to employment, successful long-term employment.  I told them that I prefer stories to essays and many other things that, if they were listening, will enable them to achieve the level of success they want in my class.

All of this because I used to sling drinks at my local bar and learned how to work with expectations.  It's amazing how connected this world is.  Everything informs everything else.

Vacation's End

They're sleeping upstairs.  My wife, daughter, and dog are all tucked into my bed, warm under the pillowing down comforter and snuggled against each other as if holding on.  My bed is a raft, buoying them up.  I was with them only moments ago, also holding on, my daughter curled up between Tracy and I, the dog at my feet.  I lie there listening to the sounds of their breathing, to the soft snuffling of the dog, the tiny puff of exhale from Shea, and the corrugated breathing of my wife as it slid gently toward a soft snore.

It was peaceful.  The last two weeks have given my family the chance to spend a lot of quality time together.  In that time, I've been able to see just how tender and beautiful my wife is.  How her emotions were worn to a jagged edge from worry and expectation.  I've noticed how my daughter is becoming a young lady.  How she's learned what it means to share and how much she loves us.  The dog?  Well, the dog is like another one of my children.  She needs attention and reassurance.  On the days we were in the hospital with Shea, she had diarrhea and was a nervous wreck.  On the day she returned to our house and saw the family reassembled there, her digestion returned to normal.  She needs us as much as this family needs each other.

So, I left the warm buoyancy of a sleep filled afternoon to sit in front of my computer.  I needed to write out of gratitude and love, and the warm glow of fear receding.   The last couple of times I've written, the words have been choked with the gasping anxiety of fear and I needed to find a new chord, a new sound to words.  I form them in the shallow cave of my mouth, roll them with my tongue, and sample the taste of each one: the warm nougat of "family", the sharp saltiness of "fear" that conjures images of blood and flesh, and the sweet slide of "love" that sticks to my lips like honey fresh from a sun-warmed jar. 

My life is a good one.  I have a wife who loves me, who tries with a sincere fortitude to understand me.  I have a precocious child who understands the needs of others and, when faced with the child in the hospital bed next to hers, gives away one of her balloons so that child will feel special too.  I have a home that feels that way, soft and inviting and able to hold the swelling throngs of family and friends we've collected over a lifetime.  I have my health and a job that challenges me and forces me to ask questions, to experiment, to learn, and to grow.

So, I sit here on the eve of vacation's end and I evaluate my life.  Maybe it's the dawning of a new year that demands it, I don't know, but I'm in an introspective, evaluating mood.  So far, I like what I see.  I will hold on to my family in that raft of a bed.  I will cradle them and caress their hair and whisper "I love yous" into the silence of the room.  What they don't know, what they haven't figured out, is that it isn't the raft of the bed that keeps me afloat, but them.  Their vacated breath fills me up with something intangible and unsinkable.  I'll start the day tomorrow, the first one back into routine, with two weeks worth in reserve.