thanks to Endicott College students. My English Comp students don’t know how to write sentences and I don’t know how to talk to them about sentences as I have lots of complex feelings and ideas about sentences. Their feelings are not so complex. They just don’t want to write them, let alone string them together into paragraphs. I understand not wanting to talk about sentences. Grammar used to sail over my head when I was a student. But it is harder for me to understand not wanting to write. I wrote instinctively. They text instinctively. A good thing, I guess, since, after all, they are writing, albeit with curious abbreviations and emblems. As for me, now, I am interested in usage issues. For instance: “since” vs. “as” — when should we use one and not the other? What happens with adjectives when paired with helping verbs? Don’t worry. I don’t mention these niceties to my suffering students. Today I found myself reading, yes reading, one of those Composition handbooks, the kind that has sections entitled commas and APA Citations. The kind I never opened in high school.
There were over fifty students there. And Dawn talked to them as though they were people, not always an easy task. Many of them had never seen a real live writer before so at first they looked at her with a sort of benign curiosity, like she was a zoo animal. But she won them over very quickly. As for me, I loved getting to hear her new poems, which, by the way, are coming out in March with CavanKerry press. My favorite was her poem about watching her son’s basketball team lose. What a great poem. I had to be careful not to burst into stormy moved tears in front of already un-nerved students. I left campus yesterday, excited and grateful to work at a college that encourages me to bring such talented writers to our campus.
and Pastor Anne invited me to come talk about WOMAN last night. We sat in a circle; I told the Hagar story, and then I listened to people’s thoughts and questions. Everyone came from a different background. There were many ex Catholics. A few who were on journeys of faith. I remembered how much I used to enjoy teaching writing to adults. It helps me to hear other people’s stories. One woman talked about how being Exiled can actually empower people. Like Hagar, she felt pushed out of her family. And that push has made her stronger. I loved that idea. I also loved how the table was heavy with hand made treats. It was like a Lutheran joke — nisu, brownies, cakes. Probably enough for fifty people. And we were only twelve.
and I are virtual friends as well as actual friends and she is visiting me, very graciously, after I begged her to come read at Endicott. The funny thing is I suspect that she may be blogging about this experience while I am writing this post. My students smiled at her and volunteered a few thoughts about her work. They are not a chatty crowd. But the main thing was that I got to read her sentences out loud to the class and delight in them again. And ask her how Tracing Paradise came into being. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a student and get to meet writers like Dawn. She is reading at Endicott’s library at 4PM today. Lucky us –
One of the best parts of my visit to California was my hour long interview at New Dimensions, a show that plays on over 400 NPR affiliates. I will let you know when they are going to air the show. My interviewer, Justine, has been doing this for over two decades. She and her partner have talked to the Dalai Llama, Joseph Campbell and other luminaries, so I felt honored to be there — and cowed. At the end, she showed me how she had underlined and highlighted passages from the book. No wonder her questions were so insightful. I felt like she knew Woman better than I did. What impressed me the most, though, was how gracefully she lead the discussion. She helped me accent important points and pushed me to develop new ideas. I am very grateful. After some of the difficulties I have experienced around Woman’s publication, I left the studio, feeling heartened, as though the book had somehow been redeemed.
made me feel like anything is possible. If people can live in pink stucco cottages and if the golden gate bridge really exists and if I can really run in Chrissy Field and if Alcatraz (sp) sits smack in the middle of the view from my friend’s window, then anything can happen. Including the miracle of someone like me being in California. I ate organic greens in North Beach and pad thai on Russian Hill. I went into City Lights and rode the cable car to the Museum of Modern Art and the Jewish Museum. I refused to go into the sensory deprivation Exploratorium. I drank bowls of cafe au lait at the local French cafe and talked endlessly with one of my best writing friends.
This is what it feels like to be reading and writing about Mary Wollstonecraft. Yes, she is self-righteous. Yes, she embarrasses herself (and me) on several notorious occasions. But increasingly, I am finding her an inspiration. I love her bravery. I love her commitment to ideas and to fighting in the public and political arena. I love that she did not stop writing, even when people called her names. I wish she had not died in childbirth. But then we might never have gotten Frankenstein.
This morning at 5:30 AM I ran past the Santa Maria, moored in the river that cuts through Columbus. There she was. This gorgeous replica. I wanted to climb on board and check it out, but what struck me the most is how bright and freshly painted she was. And this is what I felt about Columbus. It is so Nice there; I wanted to climb right on board. I had a wonderful time reading at the JCC. I loved talking to the very funny Doug Dangler for my interview on the local NPR station. The hotel was wide and bright and luxurious. I felt like I was on vacation. Melanie Butter, the JCC Book Fair coordinator, made me laugh and laugh with her stories about her son. And, she left me a treat back at the front desk. Rabbi Howard, who took me out to dinner was fascinating and warm and I told him my whole life story over falafel. All in all, I felt very lucky to be there. And grateful that Woman is giving me these opportunities to travel and meet such great people. And see new places. Ohio State is Really Amazing. I think it is bigger than the town I live in.
I was thinking about Mary Wollstonecraft (If you are new to my blog, dear reader, I am writing a book about M.W.). What would she think of that giant inflated pumpkin? (appalled, I think). Would she be as interested in peering into strangers’ houses as I am? (yes, I am sure of this) Would she have taken her little daughter trick or treating? Would she eat too much candy? Did she ever overeat? Does she haunt people? (this, while walking past the graveyard). I am not sure we would be friends. She was bossy and competitive. Abrasive and self-righteous. I do not want her to haunt me. But I love her, that is, I love her dead and as an icon. I like to think that we would have been friends. But I am not so sure. She would have told me what to do all the time. Or envied me. I would avoid her, not answer her calls. Then, she would really hate me. On the other hand, she might have liked how much I admire her. And maybe that would smooth over our rough patches.
The Rape of Proserpine painted on their ceiling? You know the myth — Pluto, god of the underworld sees a beautiful maiden, snatches her away from her mother, Demeter, to have her as his wife. I know there’s that famous sculpture by Bernini. I know it’s a famous mythological moment, but it seems an uncomfortable one to live with. Persephone weeping, Pluto raping. Still, if you were a rich lord and lady of the Protestant Ascendancy in Ireland at the end of the 18th century this is precisely the image you would hire painters to paint for you in your castle. At least, that is what Lord and Lady Kingsborough had gilded onto their ceiling in their castle. Any notion that this myth might pertain to English behavior in Ireland was lost on them. What interests me, though, is that this image was one of the first things that their new governess (who was named Mary Wollstonecraft) saw when she entered the great hall. What a collision of tastes. I am also wondering if I have to re-tell the myth for my reader. I don’t think so —
