I have to do this post in the next fifteen minutes–it will be a miracle if I can do it.
1) I am so unhappy when I find typos in my writing, on or off line. These things happen now because of editing, not because I have misspelled a word–mostly the red-squiggly-line-editor feature alerts me to misspelled words. What I’m talking about is when I’ve changed the tense of a sentence but not quite remembered to add or delete -ed from a word. OR when I forget to make a verb plural after changing the subject from singular to plural. OR when I have edited a sentenced by moving around text and misplaced the words so that somehow it reads weird. AARRGGGGH. It just makes me cringe. And no matter how carefully I re-read or proof read, I don’t find all the errors because: a) I introduce new errors whenever I touch a text; b) I read what I want to be there, not what it really says; c) I hate copy editing my own work (I’m only interesting to myself the first time around). Here’s what I want: a person who will turn on my car AC before I leave the building; a person who will copy edit all my writing (and not make me feel silly about my dopey errors); a person who will agree with me that world peace could be achieved if all world leaders had regular pedicures together. Sipping wine in massage chairs while having one’s feet attended to–how could anyone contemplate war in such a situation?
2) HOLY MOLY. I’m fooling around with Creative Commons this afternoon and found this:
You have to read this. I mean you really have to read this. It’s an assignment for July 6. I know I promised no more longish reading assignments, but this is filled with pictures, pull quotes, beautiful stories, and will connect a lot of the dots we’ve been throwing up on the canvas in our all-the-way-wide-open WAC fest.
Post done and with three minutes to spare. And right around 350 words. Miracle.
Of course, Cool Hand Luke had to come into the conversation, just as did the Jackson Five and Star Wars. Always. I used to use Cool Hand Luke to teach close reading (it’s remarkably easy to do this for freshman–shoot, for anyone). And you know why I do this? Because my comp 2 teacher did the same thing for me, and it was the first time I EVER got textual analysis or close reading, of any kind, literary or rhetorical. In fact, Cool Hand Luke is the one film I can watch over and over again and think every time, “Yep, a Warner Bros. prison film helped me become an English major.”
Prior to the confluence of being a math major, history major, dance major and taking a comp 2 class, I was certain of several things: 1) I couldn’t write my way out of a wet paper sack with a bazooka; 2) I hated writing; 3) I had no idea what analysis was and wouldn’t have been caught dead doing such a thing. But then that thing happened to me: I made a bunch of connections between disciplines. I’m been traveling that path a long time now. Mashing up. I just never thought of my life as a mash-up before, but it is. I like that. I see a smashed and double fried plantain as a metaphor for my existence: essentially very nutritious but I needed some serious treatment before being palatable. Little sea salt and I’m fabulous.
Okay, so what does that have to do with now? I’ll get there eventually.
Paul Newman, the star of Cool Hand Luke, sings a song at one point with a banjo–not particularly well-played but heartfelt: “Plastic Jesus.” He sings because his mama just died. It’s a poignant moment in the film. And on some days, I weep with him, but no matter how I feel, I appreciate the grit he displays at the end of the song–a dogged determination that gives us a clue about his character’s end. He will not give into the system; he will not cave; he will not shift his pugilistic world view to align with the authority figures in his life that have failed to communicate (a key concept in the film). He will continue to go 90 and be unafraid. He’s heartbroken but he is undefeated. There’s a difference.
I don’t care if it rains or freezes
‘Long as I got my Plastic Jesus
Sittin’ on the dashboard of my car.
Comes in colors, pink and pleasant
Glows in the dark ’cause it’s iridescent
Take it with you when you travel far.
Get yourself a sweet Madonna
Dressed in rhinestones sittin’ on a
Pedestal of abalone shell.
Goin’ 90, I ain’t scar-ied [it sounds like “scary” when he sings it–but it’s written this way]
‘Cause I got the Virgin Mary
Assurin’ me that I won’t go to Hell.
There are multiple versions of the lyrics, but this is what Newman sings in the film.
[Spoiler Alert–skip the next few sentences and go directly to the video if you ever want to watch the film and not be disappointed by knowing the end.]
I love that Luke doesn’t give up or give in. Of course, he’s shot in the neck at the end and dies. A horrific metaphor for his “failure to communicate,” really for so many moments where communication fails. It’s a perfect film to use to teach writing, textual analysis, literary analysis, film analysis. I love it. But it’s a grim prison movie–not a pretty film.
And I love this song. Apparently, it was written as a goof, but it’s been recorded several times by a wide range of artists from the folksy to the punkish (in 2005 by Billy Idol–holy rock and roll–I about fell out of my chair when I learned that—BILLY IDOL). He does have great hair.
Billy Idol (in concert in 2006, photo by JohnBrennan06)
I think I’ve always liked the “Plastic Jesus” song because it’s part of the film that changed my academic life and it reminds me of an hour-long cab ride I took up the Mexican coast once. I didn’t want to get in the first cab in line… there was a bullet hole in the windshield… from the inside out. Looked like it might have come from the backseat, angled just over the shoulder of the driver. I swear. But one of my friends pointed out that a plastic Virgin Mary was perched on the dashboard, so we would probably be fine. So into the taxi I got, and it was a wild ride–think New York cabbie in a hurry on mountain roads with no guard rails and a cab with no seat belts. At some points, we were doing over 90 on straightaways. NASCAR had nothing on this dude. We slammed from side to side on the slick vinyl bench seat in the back (there were three of us) and looked out the windows onto canyons far, far below us. (Like seat belts would make a difference if we’d careened down a 1,000 foot cliff.) The driver honked every time he approached a blind curve because he would not slow down and the roads were really not wide enough for two cars, so it was a generous gesture on his part toward other drivers. Yep. That’s what it was.
How could I not always feel a fondness for plastic religious iconography? Well, I don’t mean icons, exactly, but you know what I mean–elaborate metaphors for a godly protectorate. And I mean no disrespect to any belief system based on Jesus or the Virgin Mary, but the facts remain that the song exists, Paul Newman sang it, the cab in Manzanilla had a plastic Virgin Mary on the dash. And the song reminds me of the film AND how hard it is to write, how afraid I was, how I avoided it for years, and that the most unexpected things bring us comfort.
You know this: you have to want to write. I can’t make students do it; you can’t make other people do it; if you teach, you can’t make your students do it. You can assign it, but students may or may not do it. Sure, they might do it, but they might not put their hearts into it. That’s the like the subtle difference between heartbreak and defeat. Folks have to want to do something in order to do it and do it well. Paul Newman’s character, Luke, cannot be made to do anything in the end. When he feels like working hard, he does. When he feels like placating The Man, he does. He’s beaten and abused and hurt, but he is not defeated. He fakes it for awhile, or so we want to believe that’s what a momentary breakage means, but he is a “hard case” as he describes himself–unable to be persuaded into action or inaction. And he cannot communicate with others, nor they with him.
We all have to do things we don’t want to do that are hard, but writing has gotten a whole lot easier over the years. Writing in public, too. I make mistakes all the time. When I was being officially observed by my boss I said the same wrong thing several times before a student corrected me with a gentle question about what exactly I meant. Good heavens. I could have died right then, but I just blew it off as something I couldn’t change and plowed on. Writing in a blog is less frightening than it used to be. It’s just a part of me–not all of me. I have to write so many memos. I dread it… every week. But there it is. I do cave in, and we all have to, in some degree, in order to work or collaborate–I think of it all as grand compromise for the betterment of all. The most important part of powering through a rough patch is that we become better communicators, right? When you can articulate something, anything, and someone gets it, that’s the reward for sometimes doing what we wish we could avoid. (I’m really really really tired and have another class I am starting to teach tomorrow–and I miss you all so much already.)
We get to do an end-around our own unhappy tasks because we do this writing for ourselves, for our own growth, and we side step failure to communicate in this class and through studying theories of WAC and what it means to be open to writing across/through/in the disciplines–what it means to be open and embrace open. We don’t have to fail at communication. It doesn’t really matter what good luck charm I tote around (I do have a few actually–even one in my purse–and wore a medal of St. Anthony of Padua for about 15 years–Roman Catholic patron saint of lost things), or what items any of us use as feel-good symbols, the act of writing, right now in our blogs for this class, prevents a failure to communicate.
As we go 90 (and we all are, aren’t we?), we don’t need to be “scar-ied” because our success at writing across the curriculum, in this very moment, saves us from that.
Interesting the way the writer of these lyrics chose to insert the hyphen just there between “scar” and “ied”… isn’t it?
I’ve been working on this article/piece/essay-thing about readability. I’m going to show my students in class today because I think it’s interesting (of course, I would, duh) and relates to WAC, but it’s been killing me. I want to finish–I started in November with the thinking–but I need three solid days to work and finish. I won’t get it. I need concentration time to pull it all together into a coherent whole, worry through my argument, fuss with the details. I decided to work in PowerPoint as a way to brainstorm, so I could: 1) work in chunks and easily drag around slides to new locations; 2) avoid having to worry about transitions while the thing is a work-in-progress; and 3) I thought it might just be fun (and it is). What I’m finding is that I need to make an argument concisely because I’m restricted to comments on one slide on one topic.
This experience might be the best one I’ve given myself as a writer in a long time–the pressure of spatial restriction. If you’ve read any of these blog entries (ha!), you’ll notice I can go on for a few pages with hardly breaking a sweat. I do value the long work, the long essay, the long novel, but concision, like folks learn who Tweet with expertivity–not so much in my repertoire.
So. I decided to post about my work on this topic–well, mention it in a post is more like it. And I’m proud to announce that the readability of this blog is about the 8th grade level (see below). I think I must naturally write that way because a lot of what I write is for the 13 year old in me (and I’ve measured a lot of things I’ve written–8th grade level). Really, I’m about 13 in my heart. My sixth graders got that about me. After I’d spent lunch drawing designs on the hands of several girls in the class with milk gel pens, one said to me, “You may not really be 13, but we’ll always think of you that way.” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved as a teacher. Honest. THIRTEEN. ME. It was so cool. (You know how difficult teenage girls can be–ahem–a little frightening in packs.)
Those sixth graders kept me young (they should be out of college by now), but I think they are still keeping me 13ish. And perhaps I write for them still. I used to do a lot of writing for them–I wish I could make time every term to write for my students. This summer is the first time in a long time that I’ve made it part of the class, and I like this better than anything I’ve ever done as a teacher. It’s a lot of writing for me and for students, AND the topic is complex and implications of the theories are far-reaching, but still, I’m getting to write and having a great time doing it.
I think some of my posts are better than others, but writing is always an exciting ride. It’s slugging up the roller coaster, then it’s a thrilling, shocking drop and whip around a corner. And just when I think I can breathe again… nope. Can’t. Here comes another crazy turn or corkscrew or giant rise and fall. This is the reason a writer’s desk chair should have restraining bars, because sometimes a writer will go weightless and have to scream for joy and with just a touch of fear.
Open educational resources–there ain’t nothing more WAC than this movement. If you check out this one site, OER Commons, you’ll find a lot of learning materials–for teachers and students. It’s just one among many places you can roam for information and learning. I’ll add a page called: “Got OER?” soon and start with this one place.
“Stuff” at OER Commons includes whole courses, book, films, and more. Search for writing, and you’ll two familiar volumes, but you’ll also find that you got 1645 hits. Too much.
Search for "writing" at OER Commons (4 June 2011)
If you search for “writing across the curriculum,” you’ll get less hits, but I think you’ll have much more fun if you do something like “science and writing” or “art and writing” (in fact, this last will yield you some very fun sounding stuff). Check out this potentially amazing OER (below). Think about pairing this with the Writing Spaces chapter, “Storytelling, Narration, and the Who I Am Story” (Vol. 2) by Catherine Ramsdell:
Art and Writing from OER Commons (4 June 2011)
I had trouble getting this to load, but it was so worth mentioning, even if I struggled. (I have a billion windows open right now, am downloading two movies, and playing music very loud… not sure that puts too much strain on my computer, but could be that’s the case.) Even if you can’t get this to connect, the description is a place to start–the visual self-portrait can be something great to align with a written self-portrait, such as a literacy narrative (the first assignment we require in freshman composition).
My point is that you can mix and match OER in amazing ways for your own learning and for learning you may want to share with others, if you teach or tutor or consult or feel like helping out a friend who wants or needs something interesting to do!
You will want to register to use the OER Commons site (first tab at the top of the page). But you can browse before doing that.
See the “Browse All” button–on the top of the page at the left? Go there to trek around for awhile. Bet you’ll find something you want to explore. I like poking around in the video lectures section. I just like seeing what’s there and finding anything that might strike my fancy related to WAC or writing or thinking (or whatever–serendipity can lead me to some fascinating moments when I let it).
If text is everything, then text is everywhere, and I’m ready to see what text appears to me in these magical journeys through the OER world.
It’s all so science fiction, isn’t it? I feel like Scotty in Star Trek IV trying to speak to the computer in the 1984 aluminum manufacturing plant, but I’m not working on polymers: “Computer, help me find some new OER today that will tickle my fancy.”
Yep. I’m doing another one in front of people. (Okay, I should have really clarified that.) By doing, I mean writing; by one, I mean post; by in front of people, I mean my students plus one visitor. Totally made sense when I was doing one in front of people, then I changed locations, and it just didn’t work.
This is why writing is an ever-evolving business for even the greatest writers ever–we’re always becoming, never become.
And now I’m home and editing this post as practice. Writers must always practice. Sometimes, I do a lot of writing in my head… just let something rumble around in my mind for awhile, and then it comes out in a big messy sploosh. Of course, I have to revise for what seems like ages.
I really wanted to edit this post to see if I could figure out the categories thing. I don’t like “uncategorized” attaching itself to something I write. Just as I get my nose out of joint when I encounter art work entitled “Untitled.” Really? If there’s no title, then leave it without a title. I may have to do a tutorial again today, this time on categories. So. I’ll do it. I also want to add tags (not exactly sure what these do, but I heard they were good and I’ve done them in another blog). So far, I haven’t figured this out yet. Tutorial here I come.
As I am moving along, I feel the need to add an image here. In order to do that, I think I need to add the image to my media library (a button on my dashboard on the left nav bar). I’m going to try that approach.
Yep. That was right. I needed to add an image to my media library–really easy. Then I add it into this post, by clicking on the image inserter icon thing at the top of the posting page. You can add images from your computer or through a URL, too, but this is a photograph I actually took on an eerie evening one night. (We’ll talk about copyright and such when we get to reading the Web Writing Style Guide soon (by Writing Spaces)–there’s a great section on copyright for text, images, film, etc.). In the meantime, this is fair use (most likely) of any materials because we are doing this for a class–though our blog’s somewhat public nature might be an issue. Such a tricky business.
But what matters most: I remembered how to upload an image into a blog post. Go me.
write across this_________ 