Esoterica / Part One

Being an esoteric reader, it is common to find books that are really off the beaten path for mainstream readers. Sometimes, it makes complete sense that these books aren't consumed by a lot of people because they fall into the experimental, obscure, or disconnected genre where they may have originated. But it is from these lands of "esoterica" that some really fascinating stories, ideas, and designs emerge from writing. If there is a land of writing and thinking that is worth exploring, to me it is on the edges. It is from these places that new ideas, new approaches come into focus. And while they may remain obscure and strange, they may also push the form and act of the storytelling into new places. 

Take that vision of reading to Mikhail Shishkin's Maidenhair, and consider what you are reading and why. It isn't for the faint of heart or the casual reader. The story is based on the life of Swiss officers who guard the border and interview Russian asylum-seekers where they are subjected to the stories of the oppressed. The book is written in a long prose question and answer style that meanders and moves through ideas and connections. Some of it seems like myth and tales. Other stories are complex and dark. And it begins this complex tapestry that takes its toll on the guards. 

While reading this novel, which is not difficult to read thanks to the translation from the Russian by Marian Schwartz, it begins to feel like something else. Shishkin is doing more than crafting a plot. He is plotting to change the reader in a different way. The conclusion? What if this isn't a novel, but an ethical guide to understanding why we write, why stories are important, and the significant weight of being in possession of the stories we tell. There are times in this book when I am reading and following the life a soldier, or hearing some sad story from an orphanage. And then suddenly, there are one hundred ideas coming to mind, or the basic weight of truth as it pertains to fiction. And suddenly, you don't care about the story, but only in that, it happens to you. And you start to think about the unwritten stories you have yet to write, and you start to wonder why you haven't valued your own stories like your life depended on them. 

"Those speaking may be fictitious, but what they say is real. Truth lies only where it is concealed. Fine, the people aren't real but the stories, ho, the stories are! It's just that they raped someone else at the orphanage, not fat-lips. And the guy from Lithuania heard the story about the brother who burned up and the murdered mother from someone else. What difference does it make who it happened to? It's ways a sure thing. The people here are irrelevant. It's the stories that can be authentic or not. We become what gets written in the transcript"(24). 

Make the point that the transcript is an official document of record, making it feel important and factual, although this is all about the way things shift and move in terms of fiction, stories, and the world. What part of this do we accept? It isn't about facts, but accepting truth as it is. We know that rape, violence, war, and other terrible things happen, and it validates the story. So, what part of belief do we accept? The line between the plausible and implausible is based on the writing, the style, and the ability of the writer to tell that story into plausibility. 

"In the wee hours the interpreter woke bathed in sweat and with a pounding heart; he had dreamed of Galina Petronvna - except the boys all called her Galpetra, out of sheer meanness - and it had come back to him - the lesson, the blackboard - as if all these decades lived had never been. He lay there looking at their brightening ceiling and returned to himself, clutching at his heart. Why be afraid of her now? And what exactly was in your dream - you forget right away and are left with just your schoolboy fear. It's a nasty feeling, too. You never know what empire you're going to wake up in or who as"(26).

This paragraph relates to understanding the 

In terms of writing about writing, we find great style and how-to writing books. I think Stephen King's On Writing is a great approach to understanding a writing life. But once writers immerse themselves in books about character, plot, getting into a routine (and the hundreds of other elements to writing), the writer need a deeper understanding of the relation understanding of texts and storytelling. It is time to move out of how and why we write and move into a higher understanding of what it is we do. We might find this in something like Annie Dillard's The Writing Life * or in the essays of Scott Momaday and his culture of oral tradition. We are convinced that we can define the nuts and bolts of writing, but we need to connect to its higher plane. Some of that is seeking out people who have connected to that thought level. The other difficult part, is having the vision as a reader searching out that information.  This article series discusses the value of defining and searching for texts that change the way we think and write. They can inspire, but they can also remind us of the deeper value in the writing and thinking we create as writers. In this day of diminished word counts, technological distraction, and polarized points of view; it is important to find that place, time, and room to make the a writing life more than words on the page. 

Book Review / Gods of Howl Mountain

Taylor Brown
St. Martin's Press
Pub Date: March 20, 2018
ISBN 978-1250111777
p304

When it comes to protagonists, Taylor Brown has changed that paradigm in his novel Gods of Howl Mountain. Rory Docherty is a wounded Korean veteran, back home to bootleg liquor, clash with local factions, evade the law, and appease all his family. He is a gritty car guy who knows the long history of the mountain and the mill town at the bottom of the valley. While Rory is a cut-throat stock car racer and bootlegger, he also knows the mountain and people. A novel as much about place and time as it is story and conflict. 

Rory has returned with a missing leg. Living with his grandmother, in the mountains, they live among the herbal remedies and folklore that haunts the misty mountains. When Rory falls in love with the daughter of a snake-handling preacher, their world is pulled apart by violence, rivalries, love, and ghosts from the past.

Thinking that some evil has invaded Rory's heart, Granny May keeps her shotgun close and her distrust closer. She is mystical in her mountain herbal remedies and her shotgun judgments of the world. Her life as a matriarch and medicine woman draws people to her who want different cures for what ails their lives in town. She also is the link between Rory and the mother he never knew. 

Taylor Brown's prose is as mystical and lyrical as the ghosts high in the mountains. It is not always a beautiful place, but the mountain, the people, and the hard lives all resonant with a profound beauty that shifts from grace and wisdom to deceit and violence. Brown has masterfully crafted this world, grounding in the reader a sense of place and time in America, now long gone. 

Among Those Things

In my previous post about creating Misfit Manifestos in class, it occurred to me that over the course of the semester I give a lot of writing assignments. Not all of them are a lengthy research paper, but they are intentionally designed for the continuous practice of writing. It is important in my class to understand that writing is a practiced skill and they should be writing often. And like someone learning a musical instrument, sometimes who are better off doing scales and sometimes you play the whole concerto. 

Yet, as I was writing about their experience with the Misfit Manifestos, it occurred to me that sometimes, students connect with assignments in a way that opens their ideas, and changes the way they see their own lives. The point being is that through a variety of writing opportunities, it is very hard to tell which assignments are going to connect with the students in the classroom. But what comes with experience: is knowing that something will connect with the students.  

It is clear that these writing assignment was a needed break away from writing about Virginia Woolf and modernism. And it was clear from their writing that they wanted to say something important about who they are. It reminds me of the letter writing assignment I work on with my creative writing students. They write letters to people that they can't send them too because of death, or distance, or something else. Every time I do that creative writing exercise, it is clear that they have something that need to say immediately. It is almost like writers are just waiting for the right idea, the right acceptance and permission to say those things that have been waiting their for the right moment. That is what it felt like with my students, particularly with a student who said, "This will be the easiest assignment so far, I've been screwed up my entire life." And that was the release he needed to explain it all to me. 

Are we looking for permission to write these stories about ourselves? Are these stories just waiting, just under the waves of our everyday life waiting for the right prompt or the right group to share it with? This type of writing is where your story can be a superpower. This is where you sit in class and awe at the struggles, the humanity that comes from writers, and you see something so brave in a writer - the act of writing down something that has always been kept from the world. And there it is on a desk, so common place, like a pen, a notebook. Among those things, you know what a privilege it is. 

Doubts in Magic: How Marquez Makes Realism and Magic Doubtful

Note: This post discusses a reading. It is linked here for reference. A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings: A Tale for Children by Gabriel Garcia Marquez 

There is a struggle to understand the concept of magical realism as a mode of literature. It is allusive and often very heard to define in terms of traditional literary terms. By reading a short story by one of the legends of magical realism, we can consider how useful this device, this troupe, this idea can be in saying something very important in terms of literature. 

A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings: A Tale for Children by Gabriel Marquez brings to light the duplicity that can drawn out in magical realism. It is skepticism, belief, vision, and doubt all constantly swirling about what seems like poetry, fiction, parable, and doubt wrapped into one short story. 

As for the reader, part of what Marquez does so well is adding the possible with the impossible and allow the readers to judge those things on their own merits. In the opening lines: 

"On the third day of rain they had killed so many crabs inside the house that Pelayo had to cross he drenched courtyard and throw them into the sea, because the newborn child had a temperature all night and they thought it was due to the stench." 

While this is a strange event, it is very possible to imagine this kind of event happening, particularly in a tropical climate. What is interesting in the idea that these are difficult times, rain, crabs, and fever all build significant tension. It is when the main character, Pelayo finds an old man with wings, face down in the yard that we begin to see how the magical and the realism meet each other, seeking nothing more than an active curiosity of the reader. Between the flood of crabs and the crashed old man in the yard, nothing is amazing, but nothing is normal either. In fact, the old man with wings is dressed "like a ragpicker. There were only a few faded hairs left on his bald skull and very few teeth in his mouth, and his pitiful condition of a drenched great-grandfather took away any sense of grandeur he might have had." The magical becomes normalized and accepted. Every possible insight into something extraordinary is then undercut with a healthy dose of reality. When they describe his being stuck in the chicken coup, he is seen "as if [he] weren't a supernatural creature but a circus animal."

And everyone who sees the old man with wings comes to the same conclusion, that while it is different, it can't be magical. The church arrives on the Father Gonzaga realizes that he isn't an angel when he doesn't speak the language of the church (Latin) and doesn't respond to him appropriately. And he notices, "that seen up close up he was much too human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings was strewn with parasites and his main feathers had been mistreated by terrestrial winds, and nothing about him measured up to the proud dignity of angels." 

This story gives us a constant measure of how we perceive things and how they hold up to the skeptic, to the church, to the reality of the world. If you think of this story as magical, then everyone is a skeptic and whatever magic is happening is merely incidental to the ways the people abuse, ignore and cast off the miraculous elements happening. If this is a story about realism, it is about finding a hoax, seeing something that is possible but likely impossible. And in the end, something that may have never happened. 

In terms of the reader, it is an opportunity. If you are a realist and skeptic, you might side with the villagers and see this convoluted creature as a mere oddity, sideshow, natural oddity. There is even skepticism in the title. It isn't "The Angel with Enormous Wings" it is titled A Very Wold Man with Enormous Wings. Yet, if you are a believer in magical possibilities, this is a better read. While you are considering the scoffers, you can consider that not all magical things are what we expect. In fact, if the angel is there to take the feverish child (in the beginning) to death, it failed. But if he has come to save the child, he has succeeded. Marquez is constantly slipping back and forth through the elements of possible and impossible, magical and realism to make each sentence a puzzle to decode. 

This is a great text to contemplate the alternative ideas that are created here. For every magical idea, there is room for doubt. And the same could be said for every moment of realism, there is hope that magical things can be slightly tarnished, dirty or just a little tawdry.  

Atmosphere and Ecological Constructs / Part One

There has been a lot of conversations lately about crafting ecologies or places where our characters exist. And while this may sound like a familiar conversation, it is also no surprise because of the massive push to discuss "world building" as a means to write epic fantasy or sci-fi stories. But it feels like the concept of atmosphere and ecological emersion is less about world-building and more about finding a tool that is useful in creative writing, pushing setting from a static archetype to something more meaningful and tangible. In a world of virtual immersions and screen time, it is relevant to talk about stories that emphasize place and atmosphere. As we disconnect through technology, writers seem to be finding ways to reconnect in fiction. 

This concept also comes from significant and overwhelmingly profile landscapes from Tolkien, Herbert, and Martin. These epic sagas have created more than just setting to cast characters, but the setting themselves (Game of Thrones and Dune) become active and significant protagonists in terms of the stories and the development. Other worlds come from Star Wars, Star Trek, and other expandable settings that are being developed. What has also given rise to this kind of world building is the rise of the expanded TV series created and shaped by on-demand television binge watching. It has allowed cinema to move into a greater arc of storytelling and allow for expandable ideas through character and platform.  

Having said all that it is this sense of ecology and atmosphere that I've been hearing about more than "world building." To me, world building is based on the construction of things that aren't relatable at all to a common narrative. In fact, it is the burden of the world builder to create a bridge between the possible and the impossible. But to connect atmosphere and ecology to the concept of setting and atmosphere is less grandiose and more about pushing on a literary element that enhances the experience. It is writers like Jon Krakauer and Into Thin Air that connects the complete epic moment of gaining the summit of Everest and being so close to death, that it really doesn't matter. The balance between the world that is vastly different and the characters in it comes with vivid and compelling stories. In fact, I haven't written a fictional scuba diving piece because I struggle to connect the story with this uniquely remote and often isolating place. Nonfiction seems to show better in terms of writing about underwater, but without dialog, without grounding, this is a hard place to write for me. 

It is classic writing like Jack London, Melville, and Steinbeck that I think of these elements as being an important narrative quality. Cannery Row is not a whole new world, but there are moments that are stunning and vivid and so close to my own that it makes me awe. When Doc finds the dead girl in the rocks, it is a stunning literary element of the shore and what it can reveal. 

When and how do atmosphere and ecology evolve into a type of antagonist? In simple terms, does a war, or the sea (Moby Dick), or the jungle (Heart of Darkness) become an extension of the antagonist? Or can it be the antagonist alone? Or perhaps it was always the antagonist by design. How do these concepts arrive in stories and how does nature, while always described as an archetype, become more than a theme and plot construct and move into something more dominant in a novel, or in a selection of stories. 

"Setting" can be a backdrop, but with the discussions and workshop topics that cover world-building and ecology, it makes sense that perhaps "setting" is evolving from the backdrop of the production to a more significant and complicated element in creative writing. And in an emerging generation of writers and thinkers who have embraced "An Inconvenient Truth", recycling, and ecological preservation of the planet, it makes sense that atmosphere and environment would also mean more than fancy background curtains, but something that is coming, shaping their stories, and even acting out against their characters as a harbinger of change, conflict, and resolution of their dying world.  

Over a series of articles, I want to work out some of the setting-to-antagonist ideas that are out there and map them. It will be interesting to see where they go and why we should consider putting more value into them.

If you have any suggestions or connections and want to share, please feel free to post in the comment section. Feedback is always welcome.  


References
Bachelard, Gaston. The poetics of space. Vol. 330. Beacon Press, 1994.

CLMOOC 2017 Make Cycle #2

Postcards are interesting in that they can convey things and give us an image, an idea, data, connections, and they are often welcome, unlike ads or bills. 

This weeks postcards was a combination of ideas I had kicking around. One was to write half truth, half fictional newspaper articles that might resonant with people. I find that no matter how big the town, people have their share of quirky people living around them. This is a project to document some of those stories, and capture some interesting jump off points for stories and anecdotes. 

This group has turned my thinking around and while I know the type of content I want to include, I started this with template making and finding the right application to make this work for me. I tried a few different programs and apps, but landed on Publisher. Even though I don't love it, it worked for this layering of textboxes and other elements. 

Postcard #1 was about a screaming lady and while I don't love the content, I was more concerned with the entire look and size. During our Makers Hangout on 7/18/17 we considered the idea that the post card has two sides -- the content side and the address side. While these two sides may be different, they also may be connected - one showing part of the idea and the other the answer, or the reveal, or a clue. 

We also discussed the personal nature of writing and sending a unique correspondence to someone and what that means as a transaction of social or connective significance. When I was creating the back, I wanted to create an orientation to the article and project. But I also wanted to number them and personalize them like numbered prints or series collections so people would be excited about finding and reading a series or collection. (More in the collection here). 

Data Postcards

It sounded like the group had been working in data and using data cards to establish a connection. I have to say, thanks to Kevin, I was able to watch the data video Big Bang Data which really helped me understand the concepts and the connections. I really love this concept and idea. And I think it will be a fascinating connection to do with writers. How often to you think about your characters, novel, plot -- or how often did you write a poem. Part of collecting this kind of data for writers is not only for the collections of data, but to see productivity. Writers have a terrible self view and they always feel like their work is kept behind closed doors. This proves their worth, their working, and that they are constantly seeing the world through the lens of a writer. Fascinating and an evolving thought pattern in creating connections to writers. 

Ira Glass / Storytelling / Video

Between The Lines: Slaughterhouse Five Opening

Truth and fiction is a strange world. Writers are constantly invested in the vision of living many lives - some on paper while others are in real life. The complexity of writing fiction and understanding truth runs parallel to the idea that we can talk about truth and find its mirrored in fiction. In terms of writing, true stories and real accounts has a value to the general readership. We see labels splashed across book covers and movie posters that profess that they are based on a true story. And yet, the layers of fact to fiction can be complex and run deep into the story. 

Does it matter? Does fiction have to hold truth? Does a true story shift into fiction as soon as it is captured and told from different voices?  

It is important to write about these lines and ideas as they relate to both sides of the issue. It isn't black and white, truth and fiction, but a combination of millions of possibilities and connections that make truth stranger than fiction. This series continues to discuss this concept. Sometimes, these entries will be brief notes and connections, while other articles will a bit more elaborate. 

In Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, we are faced with the kind of strange world that I want to continue to explore - perhaps for the rest of my life. I want to be the truth expert in fiction... whatever that means. 

"All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true. One guy I knew really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn't his. Another guy really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by hired gunman after the war. And so on. I've changed all the names." 

In looking at the way this opening reads, it is clear that fact and fiction are coming together. Most of the sentences in this section have disclaimers to the truth. "All this happened" is very declarative until it is disqualified with "more or less." This builds the uncomfortable relationship that is being established. 

He moves on to the next idea, "The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true." Alluding to the idea that "pretty much" covers enough. As we move to the next sentence, we should acknowledge the emphasis on the words. "One guy I knew really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn't his." This is a moment where you feel like the writer wants to look you in the eyes, look, this happened. Notice there are no names here. The next sentence continues this serious tone, "Another guy really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by a hired gunman after the war." In these phrases, the narrator wants us to realize that there is truth, even fact in these words, but they can't be verified. They can't be questioned. You will have to take his word for it that they happened.

In the last two sentences, we have "And so on" as if we would just carry on with more of his stories. And then he forfeits it all by saying, "I've changed all the names." The obscuring of the names isn't at all a surprise, the narrator has teased out the balance between truth and fiction here, but to it does remind us - I will tell the truth by obscuring facts and leaving you merely with truth. Of course, this is merely an interpretation, but it does a back and fourth of reality that is being played one aginst the other. 

This work is considered semi-autobiographical which alone strikes at the heart of the matter. Half true, half something else. Part of what we are seeing here might be an answer for the mass destruction, the death, and the insanity of war. It can't be shown to the reader without cloaking it in imagination, shifting the reality away from the reader, intentionally block the brunt of the evil so that the readers can begin somewhere. This novel was written twenty-five years out from his personal experience. Perhaps it is this distortion that helps define the balance between right and wrong.  - #


Ron Samul is a writer and educator. For more information or to contact him, go to www.RonSamul.org 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Unquestioning Writing - When Good Is Good Enough

by Ron Samul 

As writers, we are constantly thinking about the audience and the impact of our writing. It is a fundamental element of teaching, thinking, and writing. It made me think, when I saw this tweet by Maha Bali, when she mentioned this moment. 

This is gonna sound funny, but I think sometimes one can write something that is SO powerful that no one comments. Because it's that good!

— ℳąhą Bąℓi مها بالي (@Bali_Maha) December 15, 2015

This is a complex idea, and from a writing standpoint, it is also a brave idea. Writers as communicators and creative generators always seem to humble and diminish their craft. In this case, Maha is confident and sees that sometimes - no one comments because of the "powerful". I really admire the confidence and the realization that sometimes - that the power of writing can overwhelm. Why? 

Social Media 
The concept of finding something meaningful and important on social media is relevant to me. Online courses, MOOCs, connected learning, creative spaces -- all interact through social media. For me, learning, thinking, and listening to very smart and creative people comes from my interaction with social media. However, not everyone comes to social media to find that kind of connection. 

Some people are connecting with family and friends, some are just passing by while they watch their favorite TV show, some are broadcasting on Periscope as they walk to work. Why people use social media is tailored to each person. The depth of reading and interaction really comes down to the user. And it isn't happening in real time, it is happening along a timeline that could be shifting through time zones and cultures. Sometimes, the most important statements or blog posts don't get the attention I think they deserve, merely because I posted them on a Friday afternoon before a holiday (fail). 

But more importantly, people are looking for an interaction that is quick and reactive on social media. Things that make them stop, think, and experience deeper level thinking, (which relates to selective solitude, pausing, and deep reflection), may not fit into the "Like" or "+1" world of immediate reaction. This has spurred the age of important, meaningful quotes on stunning images. 

In this scan and click age, deep thinking and impactful ideas sometimes need a difference venue. It sometimes needs a blogpost, or some area where things can be expanded and slowly unpacked. And sometimes, the "Like" or the "Share" simply doesn't relate the importance of meaning at that moment. Sometimes, I see an image or a concept and I want to keep it. I want to hold on to it. But where would I keep it? Social media lets you keep it on social media terms. But when something is meaningful, we want to do more than just throw it on our timeline. Perhaps it is merely my personal need to embody ideas, art, and writing in tangible ways. Social media isn't going away and perhaps a thirty-year archive of my Facebook posts will allow me to go back and find that poem I recall so sweetly. But I want to make moments my own - outside of the screen. I want to print them out and save them. I want to fold them up and leave them in a book to discover them in a few years. 

Student Writing 
Being a writing teacher is a complex beast. Following syllabus standards, rubrics, college standards, your own vision, and the student's vision - we create a position where we are looking for the right answer to the assignment. Writing is subjective and I am looking at process, not the right order of words in a sentence. I am looking at critical thinking, how you cite sources, how you can create a document that convinces me. There is some excellent writing that comes by in terms of student writing, but I find that those elements are the product of good thinking, critical research, and planning. It comes from students who engage the learning process. And sometimes, compared to the whole class or the entire writing section, you have to acknowledge excellence as it comes to you. And sometimes, after two or three rewrites and a clear process of thinking and learning - there comes a moment when you don't need it better. They have learned - they have more than met your requirements, and they deserve to stand in that moment and feel the significance of their work. 

Creative Writing 
Creative acts are a different beast. When you apply rubrics and grading schemes to a poem or a short story, it gets awkward and complex. The "powerful" concept that Maha tweets about can be emotional, formative, and change the way we see the world. That is what art does. And sometimes, from a creative writing mentor point-of-view, you have to judge something that isn't vetted through a rubric or a course guide. It comes from emotion, it comes from form and content magically aligning to make a moment (perhaps in time if read or spoken) that matches our time and space with the ideas of someone else. 

I always question my role in interfering with the creative process. It isn't my story to tell, it is my job to make the writer think about making the story better. That is complex. And my suggestions are never - "throw this out and start over," because I would be devastated if someone told me that. But this "powerful" part of writing and speaking is fascinating to me. And there has to be a moment when we realize that expression and time meet you when you need it. There are so many poems, books, and important things written all the time. When I need them (personally), they will be there. I don't always see them now because I am looking at different things that I need now. We are all on different paths and moving in different ways. We find those moments that are "powerful" because we are looking. We need to stop counting "likes" and stats, and imagine that if one person moved forward because of the power of our words, it is always... always worth it. 

I don't think I am done defining Maha's "powerful" because I think there is a lot to the creative elements here. There is an important conversation here in defining the "powerful" in our writing, in our expression, and in our ideas. We need to value them - make an earnest and important effort to value those words and ideas that can change lives. It may not make you famous or popular, but it is a rich and deeply thoughtful life, one without regrets. 

by Ron Samul -- want to know more about me... go here. 

Ron Samul is a writer and educator. For more information or to contact him, go to www.RonSamul.org 


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License

Good Article About the Connections Between Academic Writing and Blogging

A robust article about the connections between academic writing and blogging. It is just a reminder that there is a significant connection between the art of writing every day and the academic practice that sometimes gets pushed aside in the flurry of grading, managing students, and working long hours. 

The other important feature that isn't mentioned in the article (but I will throw it in anyway) is that blogging also gives you space to contribute and write on ideas that you might be drawing in from digital course, mentoring, and other collaborative expereinces. 

Pat Thomson is a Professor of Education in the School of Education, The University of Nottingham.

http://patthomson.net/2015/12/07/blogging-helps-academic-writing/

Reflections On Mentoring / "Only connect..."

This week, I've been thinking about the role of the mentor. I understand my official role as a mentor. But I feel like it has taken me some time to develop what I can do for students who connect. I am not the line editor, although I can pick out places where I think the writing needs work. I am the mentor who connects. Perhaps it is partly from the obsession I have with E. M. Forster's epigraph at the beginning of Howard's End that says simple "Only connect...." and he adds three pesky ellipses that just don't connect. Ugh! That idea is like a hand grenade in my brain. It is such a simple puzzle: elegant, beautiful, and sad. This relates to my mentoring philosophy. I want to find ways to enhance the likelihood of the writer writing. That is my job. 

#DigiWriMos / The Invisibles / Thought on the Metaphor Project

The world is becoming more visual. Almost all of our social media and interaction online have some pictorial element. From icons to robust ads (with color and motion), we are constantly connecting image to word. That being said, I write is to create something that someone can imagine, conjure, and experience in a way that isn't attached to my image, but with the user (the reader and creator). And the stories that are important to tell are those containing "invisibles" or things that cannot be seen or even reconciled without individual interpretation.

The idea of "invisibles" comes from the idea that no one thing represents what we are trying to describe. No one can tell you what love looks like. They can try, and you can accept or reject it. But love is complex and usually needs a series of figurative ideas and elements to make it work. Most people have a complex and changing vision of "invisbles" like love - so in one story it will appear significantly different than the next. 

In October, I discussed the thought of creating a study on the metaphor of rhizomatic learning to define why we use the metaphor to explain elements of this type of connective learning. It is a tricky endeavor. The use of a metaphor is a figurative affair that must pay off on both sides of the metaphor. So much resides on the reader's experience, the metaphorical correlation, and the way it is applied. How the hell can you possibly study those elements? Perhaps you can't but you can collect metaphors and see how they are being used. It reminds me of electron colliders - you never see the collision, but the explosion after the fact. "Invisibles" are the quintessential reason for writing. It is why poets and writers can spend a year writing a novel that creates something bigger, something epic, something brilliant that has never before been experienced. It makes sense that religion and myth derive from oral and written manifestations. Gods draw off the tongue and miracles emerge from the page when we use figurative language to define the possibility (see what I did there?).

If we look for the origins of why we write and why we admire writing - it comes from how it changes our perspective of a person, a time, or an object. Amazing stories change us because we see and learn something new about what is possible in the world. But that doesn't come from facts - it comes from the figurative nature of listening and hearing words. Figurative language has a power (simile) to compare, to encompass (symbolism), to bring to life (personification), and to experience a visionary world. Writers know that there is a little bit of magic in these things called "invisibles" -- not because they can cast spells or turn a prince into a frog, but they can give you an experience that is refined. Our lives are not stories filled with "invisibles" - and that is what we long for when we read. By way of the word, we experience them deeply.*



*I typically add an image with my posts to make them a bit more dynamic, but this one deserves words alone.  

Capacity

Teaching a graphic novel course is always fun. The best part is the exploration: from different genres of comics, to artistic styles, and great stories. In defining what a graphic novel can do, to that of a comic story, I use the example of Capacity by Theo Ellsworth. This book brings about a visual and story based epic that captures some stunning philosophical ideas, creations, and connections. There are times in this graphic novel that I completely get lost in time and space.

Why is Capacity as an art form so estranged from the typical comic experience and so in tune to what we think and see in the real world?

Let's start with the minutia of the artistry. I don't mean that it is all about small things, but Ellsworth is creating a word that is complicated and hyper detailed. The complexity of character and image creates a complicated and sometimes complex matrix of ideas that aren't based in our reality, but in something more abstract and subconscious. The reader isn't defining the next panel or how the story is going to end, but how odd that figure is, or how long it takes to draw so many tiny scales. But when you pull back and see that inner workings, it makes a stunning and prolific universe. Not only is the narrative story (in this case I mean words) epic, it is interactive. Often the narrative accesses your vision and choice in a friendly banter. This is what draws the reader to the inside. It is there that we begin to ask ourselves, what is going on. The stories are filled with epic failures, uncertainty, and sometimes hubris. It switches from brilliant moments of understanding of the consciousness self and then shifts back to how he lived in his car. While it is about the commitment to art and the stories that he discovers in his mind, it is also about the reality between the outside world and the inside.

Capacity is a stunning imaginative wandering and it doesn't work without the symbiotic relationship between the images and the words that balance one another in the vision and scope of the ideas. In some ways, the artwork affords further into the mindscape that he creates than even the narrative suggests. It is a complicated and visual wandering.

When I passed this book out in class to share and let the students see the creativity and ideas in the book, most of them took some time. One girl stayed after class, not realizing that everyone was gone and she got lost in the poems, the stories, and the details. I didn't bother her for awhile because I had been lost in that same way. This is a powerful and very creative comic. 

#DigiWriMo -- Letter to Humanity/ Writing to Things We Cannot See

It started with a writing prompt. And that was inspired by Tom O'Brien (The Things They Carried). He wrote a piece in life magazine - a letter to his son who was an infant. He wanted to say so many things to him that he wouldn't understand, but he might not get to say as an older father. So he wrote his son a letter.

Inspired by the idea of writing to someone who might not be there to read it, I asked my creative class of adults to try it as an inclass writing prompt. The result was amazing. The prompt is to write a letter to someone in the past, present, or future who may or may not read it.

Some people write to realtives that have passed. Some writer to people that they have disconnected with. It simply doesn't matter. One night, I offered the assignment to a class and everyone read. I got to my last sutdent and she read about her father comitting suicide. And half way through her reading, she broke down. And the most amazing moment was when she pounded on the desk, choked back all those emotions and said, "I have to finish this." And she did it. She read the entire letter. When I got done with the class and got out to the car, I sat for a moment. "What are you doing?" I asked myself.

The Metaphor Collection - The Intangible Collection

My intention was to do something predictable. Write a stuffy academic boring paper on why the construct of the metaphor and rhizomatic learning are often connected. I would explain the history of metaphors, I would try (and fail) to understand A Thousand Plateaus: capitalism and schizophrenia and the metaphors in that text. I would connect the rhizo metaphor with Dave Cormier's vision (probably a fail too). Then I would take the amazing and complex examples of metaphors used by the rhizo community and come to some significant and poignant understanding that we can't see everything but figurative language is the key to unlock ideas that are otherwise intangible.

Maybe I will still do that.

And then #digiwrimo entered into my world. I don't want to figure this all out right now. I want to collect metaphors (original and cited) and what people think of them. I want people to add their vision to the collection. Isn't metaphorical interaction subjective, like reading, like interpretation? In Rhizo15, it felt like we were using the metaphor to dig and cast new ideas that didn't have names yet. And the more we pushed our metaphorical experience forward, the more we drew closer to naming and giving shape to what we couldn't find.

My passion in writing is always capturing or even moving around something that we can't quite collect into a term or a definition. And when we try they vanish or change.

Questions:
Can I collect metaphors?
Why am I doing it?
What if all the things you collect becomes an index to things unknown?
Should I look at the rhizome collaborative?

What output would this project create? Collaborative document, book, or paper? Database? Or is there something more to be done. Maybe a digital notation of each metaphor would make sense?

I am not sure. I know I've written and discussed some really important connections in rhizo learning and digital writing conversations, and somehow - why the metaphor becomes such an important tool in that process needs to be investigated. I would love some feedback, ideas, connections, and collaboration if anyone is interested.