kickstarting a summer of writing

At the end of the semester, I usually  take a pause(s) to clear out the psychic energy that has edged my creativity into corners, that has cluttered my mind with webs of politics, with a depletion of energy. While there is truth in that, what usually prevents my start back to unstructured writing is simply the demons that have been sheltered for weeks.

For the fifteen weeks of last semester, I not only taught classes, worked on the textbook, but also enrolled in two back-to-back 8 week writing workshops at the Lighthouse Writers Workshop. Despite all my work, I produced all the writing assignments, at times finding myself banging out some of the crispest writing I've done recently. Now that I don't have regular deadlines and the pressure to be a good student, I find myself staring at the lists of pieces I want to work on and stopping, distracted by my fear of paralysis.

After all, my desk at home is cluttered with filing needs amassed from the semester, scattered notes, jots of writing, and various other distractions that scream clean me and then promise hours of carefree writing--hah! But, I know the pattern, and know that while I will appreciate a clean desk, the clutter and dirt doesn't stop the writing. It's simply that the demons are back in full force, mocking my attempts to produce.

And I know it's as simple as starting, as setting the time with the computer, with the paper, to dig into revision, to play with ideas, and to not stop, even when the laughter that shouts "you're so silly to think you can do this" keeps winning at our invisible arm wrestles. So I will start small, start with this blog to remind myself to write, to take things in pieces and not allow myself to be daunted by the insurmountable task of finishing. And even when daunted, to push through, because I have to, because when I don't, I am sleepless, I am chased by words, I am nagged by thoughts of not knowing.

The Whey of the Problem

Once again my food conservator has struck, wondering what to do with a surplus of something meant to be discarded, something needing a new life.

Today, with the semester finally behind me, Nan and I got to playing with my cheese making kit she had given me back in December. We opted for mozzarella cheese since the kit proclaimed thirty minutes needed. Ingredients and instructions were fairly simple--basically mixing milk, rennet tablet (the coagulator), and citric acid (the stretcher) together at specific temperatures, until you pull and stretch this taffy-like substance.

And so, with some stirring, constant measuring of temperature, waiting, and again heating, we produced our very first homemade cheese. And its texture and taste proved neighbor-worthy, offering tastes across the fence.

Leftover whey proved the true challenge. After all the curds transformed into cheese, we were left with almost one gallon of whey. Nan would have simply dumped it down the sink, sending it to its demise. The food conservator, on the other hand, quickly turned to the internet, ferreting out all the possibilities for recycling. Giving it to your animals (pigs, chickens, dogs) seemed like an easy solution; however, Sasha took several sniffs and quickly retreated, wanting nothing to do with leftovers.

The most appealing solution (and also the one that would use up the majority of whey) was adding it to stock. Thus, with wilting celery and aging carrots occupying the vegetable drawer, I quickly added them and an onion to a 3:1 whey to water ratio. After several hours, a gorgeously rich stock (enhanced with some leftover parmesan rind) was ready to transform the frozen roasted squash from November and the bits of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce hanging out in a container in the fridge into a rich spicy soup.

And as for the rest of the whey--tonight's quinoa and brown rice will be cooked in it, adding a bit of flavor and softening to the grains.

Once again, the food conservator triumphs, rescuing the whey from the problem of waste.

End of the Semester: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

After reading Billie's post on the end of the semester, I became inspired to sit down, stop, and think about the past year. And as customary, things fall into Eastwood place easily. Fortunately, The Good always wins, especially when I am away from the semester and can again reconnect to all the good.

The Good

• My Comp I students are totally getting rhetoric, finally. This is because I am finally getting better at teaching them this, mostly because of the textbook I've been writing with Liz Kleinfeld. In their portfolio final reflections, most students mention that they understand rhetorical appeals, that they will always think about ethos in what they read and see. They also share that even though initially they felt my reading responses seemed unnecessary, that as the semester progressed, they realized that all their rhetorical analyses helped them apply those principles to their writing and composing.
• My Comp I students show me how wickedly smart they are. They also show me that my multimodal approach helps them get rhetorical concepts on a deeper level than simply analyzing written text. Their visual arguments are original, pointed, and much more convincing than traditional disengaged argumentative essays that I used to require.
• I changed up assignments in my Comp I class after several semesters of repetition. I privileged more visual approaches, always accompanied by a form of analysis, to help students see that composition is more than text. As the semester neared its end, I worried about whether their writing skills were getting more proficient--had I structured class in a way that their writing improved even while emphasizing other forms of composition. Fortunately, when I read their final portfolios, their reflective essay (a piece I didn't see) showed they indeed had learned essay writing concepts and rhetorical strategies.
• Sharing my writing and writing processes/struggles helps me feel more connected to my students and the profession. In my poetry writing class, I wrote in class with the students, sharing my in-class exercises. I talked about my struggles, about how I felt after workshopping my piece the night before, about my drafting and revising practices.
• Two years ago when I became Faculty Senate President, I had one major goal--to help faculty feel more empowered and to have Senate feel like a group of committed individuals. For the most part, that has been accomplished. I've established good lines of communication with the administration, and as a result, helped to foster some solutions for problematic situations and helped to develop some faculty centered initiatives. Faculty trust me to get their voice heard, so I feel deeply honored by that trust. Since it's felt ultimately rewarding, I'm heading into another two years in the position.
• This year, I finally received a course release for my work directing the GLBT Resource Center on campus. With the release, I staffed hours in there, so I felt more connected to my work studies who do most of the staffing and with the students who drop in and regularly hang out. I also worked with an essentially new group of students to deliver two safe zone trainings this year. The release is one step toward institutionalizing the Resource Center, and I hope that eventually my hope for that will be realized.
• For the first time ever, a student in my Comp II class created a resume for one of her genre pieces, illustrating the plight of a teenage mom. It was smart not just in its rhetorical message, but also in how the student paid attention to formatting and the resume's sparseness.
• News of a raise after what seems like a long four years without one.
• And probably more goods that have slipped into my mind's crevices.

The Bad

• Having a student disappear toward the middle of the semester, hoping he is safe out in the world. In a small poetry class of eight, when we lost T, it took a long time to establish the community as just seven. One day, T basically had a breakdown, evident at the start of class. I tried to get T help, involved a Dean who tried to involve a counselor, but T needed to go. And so, perhaps one day I will find out what happened to T, but for now, I hope he is safe out in the world. He made an impression in a short number of weeks.
• My loose approach (no attendance policy) did not work well with my Comp I class this semester. Most were fresh out of high school and without there being huge consequences for missing class, they would come and go. Thus, I had a rotating community, where it became clear when a number of students would miss. At one point, the class of regulars sensed my frustration--they all sat on one side of the room together so if I stood on that side, the class looked full.
• Even though my own writing helped me connect more with students, at times it occupied so much of my time that I would occasionally neglect a prep for class. Fortunately this didn't happen often, but when it did, I had to punt quickly, with often good experiences, but still I would think--oh lame Amy, really.

The Ugly

• As has unfortunately been the case for the past two years at my institution, there seems to be a plague of a virus that has eaten away at its innocence. As the year ends and some things are resolved, I am hopeful that the ugly will disappear.

And so writing this year-end helps me feel not only ready for days of summer's nothingness and the time to undertake certain projects (that post forthcoming), but also grateful for my job, for the fact that despite the tire of fifteen weeks, I get to use my intellect and I get to hang out with young minds; I get paid to think, feel, and create. It doesn't get much better than that.

Collaborative writing

I am a fan of collaborative writing, realizing that mixing minds and words can often lead to a work greater than if done alone. For the past five years, I've been working on a textbook with my colleague and friend, Liz Kleinfeld. The work would be nothing close to its rich texture without our shared brains and writing. I had no doubt that the collaboration would be successful and sustainable because we had spent years teaching together and collaborating on ideas, constantly.

Sometimes, though, an opportunity for collaborative writing comes forward. Several months ago, during a final sharing of writing at a workshop on teacher stories, I read a section aloud. After I shared, a guy across the room said his followed mine nicely, so he read his. Sure enough, the themes of our pieces wrapped themselves together. After the workshop ended, he approached me and suggested we try to collaborate on a piece to submit to the Colorado Language Arts Society journal Statement--an issue devoted to teacher stories. And so, I have ventured into the unknown, wondering how a collaborative writing with someone I do not know will fare.

What I do know, though, is that I'm excited by the prospect. I have no doubt it will ultimately go well. There is a freedom in simply trusting that this experience is right and an opportunity to learn more about myself, my writing, and writing in all its facets. I am a shadow of Whitman's "Noiseless Patient Spider," launching my "filament, filament, filament, out of itself."

Sappho

Loss keeps sneaking up on me, on us, since the whole household, or at least most of us, keep looking around in our own ways, waiting for her to come around the corner. I had Sappho for close to sixteen years, welcoming her in my home when she was around four weeks old--the runt of a litter from my friend's feral cat. I raised her with her brother, Jordan, who died from pancreatitis about three and a half years ago, along with other pets over the years. Sappho always preferred people over cats and dogs, opting to spend her time with me and Nan. Whenever company came over, Sappho would charm her way into somebody's lap, sweetness her ace. She proclaimed the upstairs of the house her territory, often waiting for us to come up in the evening so she could relax on our bed. My lap was her favorite spot, often stretching out and purring, a steady warmth and love constantly felt by both of us.

Over the years, Sappho struggled with various health issues and thus earned the title Warrior Princess. Whatever struggle faced her, she bravely fought it. More than eight years ago, Sappho began to have stomach issues, struggling with food and absorbing nutrients. Her original vet diagnosed her with Irritable Bowel Syndrome and thus began two years of a steroid regime on and off. The steroids would boost her back up, gaining some weight, not vomiting often. Eventually, the steroid regime proved less successful, and we were faced with perhaps having to put her on a lifetime regiment of pills. Around the same time, Nan and I had consulted a cat psychic to deal with cat behavioral issues in the household (yeah Sappho and others did not want to get along). When Nan asked the psychic about Sappho's health issues, she gave us the most logical advice--get a second opinion. That brought us to a new vet who immediately took Sappho off of steroids and treated her through nutrition.

Sappho seesawed in and out of health battles with her stomach, often linking the most troublesome times with a bad tooth. Over a number of years, Sappho had three of her four key teeth removed, and after each extraction, she rebounded, gaining weight, healthy and playful.

About two months ago, Sappho again plunged. Despite constantly desiring to eat, missing the litter box and giving us pee to clean up, she continued to be affectionate, always wishing to be near us, turning her head upside down to show her ultimate cuteness. After these final months of struggle, Sappho's body fully weakened and succumbed to cancer. We put her down before she got so weak that she had no quality of life.

And saying goodbye has been difficult. While we don't miss the cleaning up after her seven-eight times a day, we miss her. Dowan, the naughty boy cat who often picked on her, roams around the house looking for company, spending time following us around and hanging out with us upstairs on our bed in the evening. He constantly needs our attention, more needy now than before.

And we miss her habits and habits that were developed around her. Once Sappho began pissing outside the litter box, we stopped putting a bathmat on the floor while showering. Today, for the first time in months, I put one down and Sasha, as habit, returned to sprawl on it, feeling the warmth of the shower. The first evening without Sappho, we did not put out any cans of wet food for the other two cats, simply because nobody reminded us. Sappho always screamed for food, insistent on letting us know she was hungry. Without her here, the other two are content to simply munch on their bowl of dry food. In the morning, nobody is scratching at the door to be let in, usually the domain of Sappho, wanting us to get up and pay attention to her.

There are so many more things that linger in the hallway, in the corners of our memories, and in her sweetness that we keep hoping is just around the corner.

Eight Weeks of Writing

I just finished an eight week intermediate/advanced personal essay workshop at The Lighthouse Writers, and at the end, I am struck by the impact it's had on my writing. I moved back to the concept of a workshop after working individually with da writing coach for approximately seven months. During my work with da coach, I really concentrated on sharpening my essay's focus, digging deeper through multiple revisions until I started to carve out the center.

The first piece I workshopped illustrated to me how much progress I'd made in terms of focus/theme. With my own digging and the help from my trusty first readers, I honed the focus more quickly than months prior. This doesn't mean that I have perfected it, because the outcome constantly shifts depending on the piece; it does mean that I am conscious about the changes in my writing, feeling like I am conscious of my learning the more I consistently work at the craft--and it most certainly is work a majority of the time.

Weekly writing assignments, while often a tug and scream at the writing prompt given, always pushed me to stick with the writing, persistent rather than acquiescing to the easier route--surrender. This time around, rather than feel like my struggle with writing would never pass, I simply sat with the difficulty, even when it meant writing four or five different false starts before I found energy and a voice. Doing 500 word assignments also helped me to focus sharply in on something and concentrate a bit more on language and style. While I feel like my voice is still in constant development, I feel energized by this, trying out different techniques to help deepen my essay's style.

The ultimate awareness award, though, goes to my changed attitude and presence with my writing. About one year ago, I finished my first workshop, feeling accomplished because I had written steadily for eight weeks. Today, accomplishment is not what leaps initially. It is simply a newfound sense of steadiness, a deep internal smile that I own, and a conscious intention to hold my writing, even when I am challenged by my own stings of disappointment.

And so, I have decided to keep consciously committing, ingraining a practice that has a will to survive and flourish.

Creating Change

Most of the time I feel off to the margins, outside of the story. This happens even without direct actions of hate, without people purposefully marginalizing me. It's not until I am in the company of 2,700+ queers and allies that I realize how other I usually experience the world, how tired I sometimes get explaining things to people. For four days, I did not have to explain to anyone the purpose of a gender neutral bathroom (bathrooms on the meeting floors of the Hilton Hotel had been transformed to gender neutral), why queer is an appropriate term (books, sessions, dialogue proclaimed the term), and the meaning behind such inside references as T. In Baltimore, Maryland, for four days at the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force's Creating Change conference I, along with all the other fabulous attendees, were the story.

Several key experiences helped shape the conference, and I am certain that these experiences will linger for quite awhile.

One of the first people I met when I got to the hotel was Edie Windsor. At that point, I had no idea who she was except for a woman with a room across the hall from me confronted with a similar momentary problem--our keys weren't working and neither of us could get into our respective rooms. We went downstairs together, got new keys, and both successfully returned to our rooms, this time each gaining access. The next day, I met Edie again in the elder hospitality suite (for those 50+), situated right down the hall from both of our rooms. She greeted me with a warm hug, a small kiss on my cheek, and a quick reminiscence of our key stress from the evening before. It wasn't until my second full day at the conference that I learned of Edie's strength, her courage, and her amazing poise as an 80+ LGBT activist engaged in a pivotal court case against DOMA.

Edie wasn't the only activist I learned about during the conference. While I consider myself fairly current when it comes to politics and LGBT news, I often realize that when the LGBT community becomes the story for four days, I have missed lots and need to catch up. Such was the case when I went to a session on the "Don't Ask Don't Tell" repeal. There I sat riveted to Katie Miller's wisdom, a courageous 21-year-old former West Point cadet who came out and has become a huge spokesperson.

Sometimes activism showed up spontaneously. During an early morning session (yup, 8am and I was present and caffeinated) with several members of the Obama administration discussing "the White House, administrative agencies and the LGBT community," several activist youth in the back mic checked the panel. You could see some of the panelists tense a bit, along with several members in the room from the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force. At one point, outside the door, you could watch a security staff member hover, hoping for calm. It was, though, the articulate Urvashi Vaid who bridged the gap between the alienated youth and the panel, finding the common ground, restoring the calm so the conversation could continue.

For one day, I joined a group of approximately three-hundred to head off to Washington, D.C. for a chance to lobby for LGBT issues. During the morning, we were trained on the various issues (e.g. ENDA, Safe Schools Improvement Act, LGBT-inclusive Violence Against Women Act). Empowered with information, I walked the halls of the Russell Senate office building, pumped up and a bit nervous about visiting with representatives from the offices of Senator Bennet and Udall. In Senator Bennet's office, five of us got to meet the Senator and tell him stories about our experiences, coming out of the margins, hoping our personal tales might linger when he makes decisions regarding his sponsorship of certain legislation related to the LGBT community.

I watched three students who attended the conference with me energized, making future plans, feeling like they mattered and they had a voice to create change.

And so I hold on to these memories, to this power, when I am faced daily with numerous headlines reporting instances of legislating hate and horrific stories about LGBT deaths. While I try to remain optimistic, sometimes I am simply stuck in the margins, unable to find my way back into the main story.