New Template

Well, I've been hunched over the computer labelling posts with the new blogger labelling thing. Because I like to categorize. But it's not as organized as I would've liked. Ah well.

What do you think of the new template? A little too pink? More pleasing to the eye? Go back to the simpler one? Comments, if you will. Or not.

Pet Names

(Ignore the silliness; just playing with the beta features. Or, add your own pet names in the comments! Fun!)

Honey, Sweetheart, Pumpkin tootsiepie
Snookums, Shnookums, Shmoopiedoo
Cuddily Dumpling; Snuggily Bunny
Ginger Bucket
Sugar Bucket
Ginger Fish
Gibbledewidget and Wibbledegibbet;
alternatively, jibbledwidget and wibbledejibbet

Hodge Podge

I'm mid-way through the 3-week break between my last summer course (my first teaching practicum, and a rather intensive one at that), and the fall semester. I think I've been balancing productivity and relaxation pretty well.

Thoroughly enjoyed my first reading at KGB, sent out another few stories (plan to send a fourth next week), finally organized my files in this great old cabinet my father gave me (metal, clangs), set up an RSS feed for 55 words (ok, so that took one, maybe two minutes).

Also seem to be getting a satisfying amount of sitting-and-reading time (short stories, The Sun is My Enemy, Lake Wobegon Days), and miscellaneous research. Yesterday I flipped through the old Britannica volumes we found in the basement, from 1981. Read about Romance Languages and Romania. I enjoyed the adjectives used to describe Ceaucescu's foreign policies: brave, bold, courageous. Mm. Today was less musty, more internet-y. Andy Warhol, Basquiat, funerary art. Ah, vacation!

I'm off to Boston for the weekend. I don't plan on doing much. Sitting. Watching. Taking in the smog of another city.

A Love Like Damien's

My friend Andre Lancaster is making his directorial debut this September with A Love Like Damien's at the WOW Cafe Theater in the Village. I saw a staged reading of the play (by Andrea Davis) this past spring; it was quite strong on the bare stage, so I'm looking forward to the full production.

Less demonic

Reading
Originally uploaded by burningsnail.

Here's another photo from Thursday's reading.

Squinty

Squinty
Originally uploaded by burningsnail.

Here's a photo from my reading on Thursday. I look a little demonic, but I guess that's me getting *really* into character.

Sunflowers and Black Russians

Good afternoon!

Last night was joyfulicious. My first reading, really (if you don't count "coffee house night" in my dorm, freshman year of college, dressed in black reading poetry I'd written in high school...heh).

I went last, after Matt Cav and Professor Arturo, both wonderful readers and writers, both so different from each other and from me (hooray for variety!).

The podium successfully hid my shaking legs, which stopped trembling somewhere around page 5 of 9. I really enjoyed performing. It's one thing to sit alone and write (also, a joy; also, torture-- but we love pain, don't we?). It's another to get to share your work with a responsive crowd and really get into the voices of your characters as you've envisioned them, get into the rhythm and intonation, take the appropriate pauses, make eye contact with and funny faces at perfect strangers.

I'm looking forward to reading again. I've created a mailing list for future readings and publications. If you'd like to join, just enter your email address in the sidebar. I promise not to flood your mailbox.

KGB-Tonight!

I'm reading a short story at KGB tonight--it's called "Skitter" and its going to appear in The Massachusetts Review. 

Also performing are Matt Cav, Kidd Lambert, and Professor Arturo. 

In case you've never met me, I'll be the blonde woman gripping the podium, 
trying not to fall over and praying my voice doesn't squeak. 

I'll also be sweating profusely. 

Antigonish2

In case you're having trouble getting your hands on the current issue of Antigonish Review, selections including my own story are now up on their website. If you like what you see you should still support them though.

KGB

Mark your calendars!

I'll be reading one of my short stories at the venerable KGB Bar, Thursday, August 17 (that's a week from tomorrow!). The reading is from 7-9 pm.

Hope to see you there!

Ascent Aspirations

Ascent Asirations has republished my story "Cumulus."

Further Updates

I went to Celebrate Brooklyn last night, to see the Kronos Quartet play the score for Dracula (and watch Dracula). A heavy mist rolled over the crowd and turned greenish under the lights by the trees. Less than a third into the film, thunder started grumbling and the sky started blinking and flashing. The crowd kept applauding the sky's thunder claps (though they also showed Bela Lugosi some love) and gave the musicians a standing ovation when the concert was cut short due to torrential rain. It was a very enjoyable 20 minutes.

I've finally updated the writing links section of my website (see "me, elsewhere" link in the sidebar).

Twelve 55 word stories are up on the 55 words site. Read them, love them.

On Teaching Writing

I had a rude awakening in my practicum seminar yesterday. We talked about an article called "A challenge to second language writing professionals," by Ilona Leki, focusing on the claim that "Writing is personally fulfilling" and that that's one of the big reasons why writing is so important. Basically, Leki says this claim is bunk:

"The argument that learning to write is important because writing serves a few people so well is reminiscent of parents' argument to coerce children into practicing violin--some day the learner will be grateful. But we are not dealing with children, and we are not our students' parents."

The instructor asked how many in the room actually found writing personally fulfilling (we're a class of 8). Two or three including myself sheepishly raised our hands. Fact is, writing is not fun for a lot people, and torture for a lot of language learners-- a notion I never really considered but am beginning to understand. How can we ask them to see writing as "cathartic" if they're still struggling with the language (another question posed by Leki)?

So I was left with this dangling question: if students are not the creative type prone to playing with languages in the first place, do we not bother? Do we focus forever on English for academic purposes and business English and all-things-dry-and-pragmatic? That doesn't really lend itself to flexibility with a language. And that doesn't seem practical either. Hm.

First Lines Collage

Pure silliness. See if you can match the first lines below with their stories (choices below collage).

It was winter. A string of naked light bulbs, from which it seemed all warmth had been drained, illuminated the little depot’s cold, windy platform. Inside, Old Jack raked the cinders together with a piece of cardboard and spread them judiciously over the whitening dome of coals. A spiteful scar crossed his face: an ash-colored and nearly perfect arc that creased his temple at one tip and his cheek at the other.

Running footsteps—light, soft-soled shoes made of curious leathery cloth brought from Ceylon setting the pace; thick flowing boots, two pairs, dark blue and gilt, reflecting the moonlight in blunt gleams and splotches, following a stone’s throw behind. She was tall and slim, and though no longer young, had the strong firm breasts of the dark-haired woman. When he got on the bus, he irritated everyone. Poor Juan!

There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. As soon as she arrived she went straight to the kitchen to see if the monkey was there. The monkey, named Senator Onesimo Sanchez, had six months and eleven days to go before his death when he found the woman of his life. He held his breath an instant, dug his nails into the palms of his hands, and said quickly: “I’m in love with you.”

Lines from:
G. Verga, "The Wolf"
T. Capote, "A Tree of Night"
J.L. Borges, "The Shape of the Sword"
L. Heker, "The Stolen Party"
M.V. Llosa, "Sunday, Sunday"
L. Valenzuela, "The Censors"
J. Joyce, "Ivy Day in the Committee Room"
F.S. Fitzgerald, "Tarquin of Cheapside"
G. di Lampedusa, "Joy and the Law"
E. Hemingway, "Cat in the Rain"
G.G. Marquez, "Death Constant Beyond Love"

p.s. More stories are up on the 55 Words site! Updated weekly! Write yer own and tell yer friends!

Happy Bastille Day!

It's another sticky NY day and I'm miserably delighted with all the work I've got to do. Here are some updates (and shameless plugs):

-I've added new stories to 55words.

-I went to the launch party for Collectanea's summer launch party last night. Not as heaving a crowd as their debut, but a pleasant evening in from the mugginess, with some good stories to listen to. In case you missed it, my story "Bastille Day" is in their winter issue, with a podcast/radioplay version. I understand the summer issue will be up Monday.

-I started reading Flannery O'Connor's collected works and am thoroughly enjoying it. This winter I gobbled up Raymond Carver's Cathedral and quasi-gobbled Angela Carter's Burning Your Boats. School is making the gobbling-thing rather difficult, but at least short stories can be read in a single train ride. That's a real lifesaver. As much as I enjoy reading about how to make grammar interesting (I do!), sometimes I go through fiction withdrawal.

Antigonish Review

The Antigonish Review has published my story "Reunion: Recovery," in its Spring 2006 issue (#145). Yipee!

55 words

So I'm now the editor of the guest stories portion of Rosemary Mosco's website. There's a new email address for submissions: 55gueststories at gmail dot com. I hope y'all will try writing one--55 words, no more, no less. They're oodles of fun. I put one of my own up on the site (Ro originally had it on her livejournal). Take a peek .

Nausea

Ride through the sickness. That's what she had to do. She leaned against the red wall and shut her eyes from the milling crowd and ambient, amniotic lights. Her eyelids shielding her from the flashing bulbs and the photogenic smiles.

She leaned against the wall and against his reassuring torso, standing behind, and listened to the lulling acoustic music, the music that spoke blue in the face of the all the red, that was the peppermint for her nausea. A tranquilized cover of "Eight Days a Week" almost droning, but beautiful in some narcotic way. She couldn't see the musicians if she tried, stuck there in the back on the stool the bartender had pulled out for her. She shivered once, twice, curled up into the music beneath her eyelids and rode it out.

Harvest

(another story snippet)

On the balcony Luda dreams, feeling the morning air on her face. British women, she has heard, have beautiful skin, because of the moisture in the air. She thinks about this and lets the dew seep into her pores. Brown and white pigeons ruffle their feathers in a coop in the corner, coo-cooing at her and each other. She holds a butcher’s knife, idly twirling the point on her calloused finger. Which one will be for dinner?

Suddenly, a great white bird alights on the ledge, bristling, head cocking curiously. Luda stares at it. The cockatoo reciprocates. She fears it will speak, it will reproach her.

“Come in, come in, sweet bird,” she says, opening the door to the apartment. She'd love it as a pet. Would like to teach it to speak and sing. Pissou the cat looks out from under the kitchen table, two green eyes in the shadows, his black tail switching stiffly back and forth. The cockatoo has other plans: no apartment block for him. He leaves as abruptly as he came.

Luda shrugs. She puts the knife down on the ledge and opens the pigeon coop, selecting the plumpest of the bunch. She holds its body in one hand and delicately, lovingly, uses the other to break its neck.

Rockhurst Review

My story "Lemon Tree Palace" has been published in the nineteenth edition of the Rockhurst Review (Spring 2006). It's a journal based at Rockhurst University in Kansas City, Missouri and it's printed on really nice paper, which is good for the color art section at the back. It's a lively mix of stories and poems, if I do say so myself, and a mere $5.

If you're interested in getting a copy, send the $5 to:

Patricia Cleary Miller
Rockhurst Review
Rockhurst University
1100 Rockhurst Road
Kansas City, Missouri 641100-2561