Showing posts with label School. Show all posts
Showing posts with label School. Show all posts

March 31, 2009

Inspiration Strikes

I'm currently dealing with a leak in the water heater upstairs, so I'm not in the best of possible moods. That said, I've been thinking about this for a while, so I thought I'd get it out there.

My question is this: Is it bad form to want to do a research project about the rhetoric of one's own discipline? Specifically, I'm interested in working with the rhetoric of creative writing. Creative writers and literary critics often have a peculiar relationship (parasitic isn't the right word, but it's close), and they often occupy the same department (or, in the case of my M.A. program, the same students).

As someone who is almost certainly going into composition and rhetoric, I consider myself blessedly outside this loop of production and critique. Still, literary critics and compositionists trade in a certain type of language, a certain way of writing, a certain mode of production, that values completely different things than creative writing does. And yet, literary critics rely upon (to borrow another biological metaphor, prey upon) the literature produced by creative writers.

So, the point of this is: creative writers are given a lot of leeway in their writing processes. Hemmingway is allowed to write naked at a podium. Robert Frost is allowed to throw coffee mugs at undergraduates who ask him what "Two Roads..." "means" (true story!) and just generally be curmudgeonly. In fact, we might go so far as to say that creative writers are encouraged in their eccentricities. They are encouraged to have a very specific place to write (even if that place is anywhere). They are encouraged to drink a butt-ton of coffee (LSD for a new generation of artists).

Most of all, though, they are encouraged to be fickle. I have several creative writers in the courses I'm taking, and the topic of "inspiration" has come up several times. As a compositionist (and former literary critic; damn it feels good to say that), I find the concept of inspiration equal parts baffling and infuriating. Either I have never been inspired to write in my life or I am always inspired to write. Because I know I never have any flashes of ideas. I either produce writing (usually when I have to), or I don't. Perhaps other academic writers have a "muse" and go on long streaks of productivity. Not I.

I am interested, though, in the concept of "inspiration" and how it works in creative writers. There appears to be a dichotomy in the field: some writers say that you must sit down and produce something every single day, not waiting around for inspiration to strike (it's like lightning, see). Others embrace the fickle nature of inspiration and only write when they are "inspired."

Of course, both of these camps recognize the existence of "inspiration." I wonder, and perhaps this is heresy, but I wonder if "inspiration" is not merely a rhetorical device (I will not step over the line and say "an excuse") used by creative writers. This is why I want to do a rhetorical analysis of creative writing, particularly its relationship as a field to the larger context of English studies. I simply do not know. And so I return to my original question: is that bad form?

I doubt very much that I will ever figure any of this out. In the meantime, I'm going to put a bucket under the leak and hope that some inspiration drips out of the hole in my ceiling.

March 19, 2009

Buying Books at Borders

I just got back from Borders, where I went to spend a gift card leftover from some occasion or another. Now, I don't buy new books in stores, unless they are of the bargain variety. I mostly buy books used or new on Amazon, and I've been borrowing more and more from the library lately (this semester, for the first time, I got my class books from the library). So, this was an experience for me. Of course, I was overwhelmed by all the gorgeous books on display in Borders, and I left with more than I intended. I went to get Jennifer Boylan's two memoirs, She's Not There and I'm Looking Through You. Borders claimed to have both, but neither a nice salt-and-pepper gentleman (I hope I age that well) nor I could find She's Not There. I had to settle for I'm Looking Through You, but now I'm anxious, since I can't possible read the memoirs in reverse chronological order. That's just not who I am.

I'm excited, though, because Jennifer Boylan will be coming to my school to give a talk. Our English Graduate Student Association, of which I am a part, is bringing Jenny to talk to us about memoir writing. Of course, people can't possibly ignore the fact that she is transgender, so the college's LGBTQ club will have its own separate event with her. Needless to say, I'm thrilled. I haven't read her work yet, but I'm planning to do so as soon as possible. Do you think she'll sign my books?



Borders has ordered She's Not There, but who knows how long it will take.

I succumbed to the buy-one-get-one-half-price table, as well. I bought two books I've been meaning to read:





I absolutely love Nicholson Baker, but I've been putting off Human Smoke since its publication a year ago. It's just so long. Plus, my school contacted Baker to see if he would speak to us about writing (he lives in Southern Maine, so it only makes sense), and his publicist said that he would give a one-hour lecture for $10,000, plus airfare. $10,000? Airfare from Portland to Bangor? The man's no Thomas Pynchon, but he's certainly living like it.

As for Moneyball, I've arrived at the point in my life when it's a must read. For some reason unknown even to me, I only recently, in the past year or so, started reading extended baseball writing. I don't know why I kept those two parts of my life separate, the baseball and the books, but I did. Until now. I've been reading some of Bill James's books, and my wonderful spouse bought me the Hardball Times Baseball Annual from last season. Next up, Moneyball. A lot of people have misconceptions about Moneyball, fed mostly by Joe Morgan and the like. While I'm interested in the Moneyball approach, I think the bigger issue at play in the book is the fight against the traditions of baseball and how deeply rooted in tradition on-field (and front-office) strategy really is.

Now that I'm done with the M.A. exam, I'm hoping that I actually have time to read for pleasure. My optimism is not based in any reality: reality is the dozen student papers that sit untouched on my computer. Perhaps I should get back to those and stop spending time writing about things I'll be reading when I have more time.

March 16, 2009

Read This Out Loud: Graduate Admissions

As anyone who's been through the process of graduate admissions can attest, institutions of higher learning are some of the strangest, most labyrinthine bureaucracies on earth. And those bureaucracies produce some of the vaguest language imaginable.

The English language is a many splendored thing. Though I suspect it's an urban legend, I've always heard that, like snowflakes, no two words in the English language have exactly the same meaning. (In case you were wondering, according to the Discovery Channel, the snowflake thing is not a myth.) So how is it that the language can produce a sentence like the following?

"You're near the top of our waiting list, so there's a good chance we might be able to grant you admission in April."
This is from UGA, who regret to inform me that, despite my high qualifications, they are not able to offer me admission at this time. They are, however, prepared to offer me a place on their waiting list. What are my chances of admission, then? Apparently there's a high likelihood of the possibility of maybe perhaps being admitted.

We (I) here at Fatally Ambiguous delight in ambiguity, but hate to see the English language rendered useless by pointless vaguery. Read This Out Loud, UGA. Can you find a way to reword it to clarify your point for me?

Surviving the M.A. Exam

Well, I (somewhat miraculously) survived the M.A. exam. I've never experienced anything quite like it. I've written twenty page papers in a single day, but, as my beloved reminds me, that is a completely different exercise than writing four separate essays. Starting and stopping again had its benefits and drawbacks, but it was nowhere as horrific an experience as I expected. Here's the death toll for my exam:

  • Twenty-four pages, not including Works Cited pages.
  • Nine works, including:
    o Four theory texts
    o One short story/novella
    o One play
    o One collection of poems
    o One epic poem
    o One novel
  • Twelve hours of my life, and far more than that in preparation.

And, visually:

That's a lot of books. Still, there are quite a few more sitting on my desk that I did not get to use. Oh well. The only one that I regret not using is King Lear. I wrote an essay on the right to rule, and it felt almost tragic (get it?) to omit Lear. But, I had already written on Measure for Measure, so I had had enough of Shakespeare. Instead, I chose to write about Paradise Lost and Oroonoko. The other three essays are as follows:

  • An examination of the device of "delayed recognition" in Melville’s "Benito Cereno" and Measure for Measure.
  • An argument for the collaborative nature of Phillis Wheatley's Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral.
  • A peculiar yet indefatigable exploration of the demystification of authority and how Edward Said's approach in Orientalism is parallel to the reading strategies at work in Gender Trouble, The Subject of Tragedy, and Sensational Designs.

I give myself a 97% chance of passing, with a 27% chance of an elusive "high pass." Now I get to tackle a long list of things I've been meaning to do after I finish the M.A. exam. On the top of that list is cleaning out the memory card from my camera, a task that yielded such gems as



Cats v. Lobster, and


Stephen King's house, a bit of Bangor localia.

Next on my list? Get some sleep.