Electronic Writer

Doesn’t that just warm your little heart? It certainly makes mine palpitate a bit . . . .

As a lifelong coffeeshop junky, this is an image that resonates for me.

Tonight, after work, I made a nice dinner for myself. I love to feed myself with good things. I had some minnestrone soup, and a salad with feta cheese and grilled chicken. It was easy stuff to prepare, but I feel better about myself when I take some time out of my life and make me something yummy to eat.

I finished the dishes as my espresso percolated to a finish. I could smell the oily coffee over the scent of the soap and warm water. I dried my hands, poured the inky blackness into a clear glass, and finally sat back to sip that espresso.

It has been a long week–for many reasons. I am glad it is finally over. There will be a chance to do some things for myself for a couple of days–more cooking, and more writing. There will be a chance to get my mind off things for a couple of days before I return to the week-long money-earning process.

I have always imagined myself to be surrounded by a bubble of sorts–a thin membrane separating the crushing weight of the universe pressing inwards towards me. During my short 90 years on this earth, I suspect that I will always push that membrane outwards. I will ceaslessly expand that space inside that I occupy, or else I will surely be crushed . . . . This is the measure that I use to evaluate my efforts. Am I winning, or is the pressure of life stronger than me.

Right now, I am making progress on expanding that bubble. I AM growing, and life is currently NOT pummeling me, but I could be happier. As I sit, relaxing for the first time all week, I let my mind wander a bit, and the CD is playing in the background. It is Jackson Browne’s, “the next voice you hear: the best of jackson browne.” The songs have wound their way along to “Sky Blue and Black.”

This song has always evoked a mixture of feelings for me. It is a love song, but a sad one. It is a song saying that he is sorry and that he misses her. And, there was a solemnness to it when I saw him sing it at Red Rocks. There was something about how his voice formed the letters in this one that set it apart–something in the way he sang this song that even the casual listener heard.

While I lived in Denver, I had become really close over the course of 8 or 9 months with a friend who was from Morocco originally. He had been living in the US for years–and was about to gain his citizenship. Although his English was great, we spent a good deal of time speaking in French to help me get back into practice. In fact, we literally spent months talking only in French.

My restaurant vocabulary was particularly acute because we both worked in a restaurant. As we ventured out to other conversations about friends, girlfriends, travel, families, hates and loves, however, I had to stretch my vocabulary. The more we talked about literature and pop culture, the more words I had to learn. The more I had to learn to be able to describe. The more that the subtleties of language mattered, the harder I had to work to voice them in the French language.

When Jackson Browne was schedule to play at Red Rocks Amphiteatre, I bought tickets. Red Rocks is a mystical place for a summer concert. The short-sleeve t-shirt weather, the lights of Denver flickering in the background, the afternoon thunderstorm lumbering across the plains towards Nebraska, the stars, and the wavy and colorful stratified sandstone lining the edges make it a perfect place on earth to experience music. I had been dating a woman in the run-up to the concert and things in our relationship had finally gone awry about a week before the show. I gave the spare ticket to a coworker, and went to see the show basically by myself.

The following week, my friend and I had both worked a lunch shift, finished early in the afternoon, and caught a late lunch on a patio somwhere in the downtown area. We took the time to talk over a couple of beers while waiting for the afternoon shower to dump the hour of rain and move East towards Nebraska. After the rain finally let up, we walked back towards our neighborhoods, and he inquired about my obsession with Jackson Browne’s music.

It was not an obsession, I told him, but rather that his music has an element that speaks to me. He sings about common things: love lost, broken-down cars, drug problems, and spending your whole life working for money–and how empty that makes you feel. Jackson Browne also, at times, shines like a poet. He puts words to moments that I have experienced. And, “Sky Blue and Black” has one of those moments:

I remember as we walked that afternoon how important it was for me to translate the subtleties of the word choices from English into French. It was difficult to convey just exactly how the simple imagery worked together to make the lyrics into something much more complex. Those simple details had become reminders of both his loneliness and his acceptance of the way things had ended. They were simple things that we cannot escape–that sound of your tires in the rain, or seeing the reflection of a sunset. But rather than becoming a trap, he see the beauty in them. That is how he thinks of her. The beauty of the little things everywhere around him remind him . . . of her.

It was a great experience working through that song–translating the subtleties into French. Every time I hear it, I think of that afternoon. And now, perhaps, I will also think of her.

Since adding the Google Advertisements to the Website, I have spent a great deal of time trying to keep the essay-selling Websites off of the Electronic Writer website. And, it got me thinking . . . .

One of the primary motivations behind Electronic Writer surfaced while I was teaching English 1A at a community college. Searching for online resources to assist my writing students proved to be a difficult task. In fact, it proved to be EXTREMELY difficult. The sparse resources that I found were often supplimental materials produced by other Writing instructors to assist their classes. I am sure that these resources fit nicely into the class they were intended to suppliment, but they may not have been applicable to other writing students.

What I was able to find in abundance, however, were Websites that sold essays. Try typing “writing help” into google. You won’t get a list of places with online activities. Instead, you will get a list of places where you can purchase an essay. Putting myself into the student mentality (not all students, of course), I saw how much easier it would be to make that purchase and modify an essay for class than it would be to keep searching and find a place that can help me become a better writer.

And, that is the motivation behind Electronic Writer. This is a place where you can practice writing, where you can interact with writers, and where you can easily get assistance in becoming a better writer. Soon, we will have the bulletin boards installed for you to post and receive writing help–and, interact directly with the people who are making this community work. But, it will take your participation to make it successful.

Right now, students most likely have access to writing labs, tutors, and writing workshops through their colleges–face-to-face resources to improve writing. But, the more our culture relies upon the Internet for information, the less those face-to-face resources will be utilized. And, the more we need your participation to transform Electronic Writer into the best writing community on the Internet.

At first, I was a bit apathetic about the Oprah Winfrey/James Frey debate. But as time passes, and Frey becomes more and more demonized, I find myself with a bit more to say about the ordeal.

My apathy came as a byproduct of the simple fact that regardless of what happens to James Frey, he will be rich from this process. It is a bit callous, I admit. Nonetheless, it is true. It is reminiscent of a story about some publisher calling some author to report that some education district had banned his books from being taught in their schools. The author’s immediate response was celebration: the monetary rewards that such a honor will bring would be beyond his wildest expectations. Frey would undoubtedly suffer the same fate.

And then came the rest of the story . . . .

It actually sounded, at first, that Oprah was going to defend Frey–that they had somehow come to an agreement. That it was a book, and that a natural amount of embellishment happens in even the most factual retelling of a story–our famed newspapers included.

That embellishment is a problem of language itself. As soon as you choose to put an idea into words, you have to select a word to express it, and the subtle meaning of language is shifted depending upon the very word that you chose. (This is a much bigger discussion that doesn’t fit here, but you get the idea.)

Then came the second interview . . . .

Apparently, she was a bit less forgiving in this one. In fact, Oprah calls him a liar, and in essence, publicly flogs him on her show. Was Oprah doing this to salvage her reputation, or was this retribution for Frey’s lies, or is there something else? Regardless of her motivation, Oprah has gone above and beyond–the punishment does not fit his crimes.

There are others who agree. In the article, “Oprah’s revenge,” by Hillary Frey, she gives an in-depth account of the show.

The disheartening part is that the verbal flogging of James Frey was still not enough for Oprah. She apparently blamed the publishers of his book, and demanded accountability from the Editors involved with Frey’s project.

This is a dangerous position–and Oprah should tread lightly here. If the very authors and publishing houses who produce the texts that make her Oprah’s Book Club possible have to subject themselves to the public scrutiny each time they agree to be part of her “recommendations,” they may be a bit more hesitant to agree to her endorsement.

We are overlooking something basic, however.

The biggest problem that I have with this whole debacle, however is something a bit more basic and a bit more problematic. The genre of “memoirs” has been around for quite some time. The genre, itself, does not place requirements upon narrative style, length, and it certainly does not have requirements upon factuality.

We live in an age where de-bunking lies is almost a past time. Our politics are dominated by lies and debunking them. Our media is dominated by the very activity of unearthing liars and exposing them to the world. And, our President, is the greatest example of all. He maintains thousands of files of personal information about his political opponents. If they choose to do anything that he does not like, he uses the information in those files to attack the credibility of that character. (See http://www.capitolhillblue.com/artman/publish/article_7625.shtml)

What would have happened, however, if we had applied this quest for the truth to some of the great memoirs that have been written? Did anyone comb through Marcel Proust’s “Remembrance of Things Past” to debunk all of the factual inaccuracies of his life? Did the jailer’s come forward to testify about the Marquis de Sade’s actual behavior?

If Oprah’s starts implementing her new literary rules with only the authority that capitalism has invested in her, the entire genre of Memoirs may be have a doomed future.

Should writing (for me) be more important than happiness?

Again, while ruminating, an interesting thought flashed through my mind. In the last few months, I have been re-prioritizing my life and writing has surfaced at the top. For many years, I have said that writing was a priority, but not actually working as if it were. As a result, my history has been filled with easy distractions.

As the list of priorities looks right now, Writing (note the capitol “W”) has made it to the top of the list. Now that it is number one, however, I am faced with an interesting dilemma. What happens if writing and happiness become separate elements and require separate energies? Should writing stay at the top of the list–even if I have to sacrifice my happiness in the process?

I guess, in my naivety, I had always assumed that writing and happiness were inextricable bound. I had always assumed that if I were writing, I would be happy. Thinking about it realistically, however, I see how easily this could be a false premise.

At this time in my life, I have no conclusive evidence that my original premise is either true or untrue. Perhaps it is fortunate, and perhaps not. Perhaps I will never know. But, I hope that I never know because my happiness and writing are inextricable related, not because I never tried.

I think I like Salons. I knew what they were, how they worked, but never attended one before. Last night, North of Fairfax (a tiny town North of Marin County), I attended my first. And, you know what? I like Salons.

Anything that is collaborative, art-related, and a creative outlet has always been a personal favorite. While I feel completely unqualified to make statements about all Salons, I can say a few things about this one–because it was an exceptional event.

First of all, the location was in someone’s home–an actual Salon. The house was a living, working house with a family who lived there–and, the house was filled with wonderful art. It sets the stage when you walk in the door and there are phenomenal paintings in Oil, exceptional charcoal drawing, and sculpture surrounding you. This was an intimate setting, and I was asked to accompany friends who were asked to attend by a friend. And, it was a potluck. So, everyone brought something tasty and vegetarian. The woman who was the MC for the evening was a musician (and who lived in the house) was a singer/guitar player, and she started our evening with a song for us.

There was a wide-range artists who performed. Some people performed, while others sang. There was a monologue, 3 grade-school girls sang gospel, some people read their own poetry, and others read someone else’s poetry. Some cover tunes, and a bunch of original stuff. There was a little Scottish violin, some open-mic vigor, a little real-deal dream poetry, and an entirely unexpected and successful mix of art.

For the sake of society, I hope that our future holds more of these (both for events where I get invited and events in other communities). We need more people who surround children with art, and more events that allow the unexpected to occur. We need more places where people and art intersect. It is in that unexpected place where amazing things happen–both to yourself, and to others.

Open your home and plan a salon. Send invitations. Ask your friends to make art. Make some yourself. Be surprised–the unexpected will make you better.

To be perfectly honest with nobody who is NOT listening.

As much as I love politics–as much as I love dissonance–as much as I love argument for the sake of argument, I crave beauty. Beautiful words. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful bodies. Beauty. Pure, Transcendent, mutated, unusual, rare, or otherwise. Beauty is the king of my life. Beauty is the medieval overlord who has written my rules, and told me the terms of my life.

And, I accept those terms.

In the last month, I have been to Paris, sang again, played my guitar, written more than 30 poems, sketched on an easil, and listened to inspiring music. I have cooked for my friends, drank wonderful wine, and laughed until my sides hurt. I have felt hopeless and helpless, and continued to work anyways. I have stretched my days and my hours to fit things that are important–my friends and my family and the people in my life. And, the work filled the empty spaces, and it got done, as well.

And, to be perfectly honest with you–the people who are absolutely NOT listening . . . .

I love you.

Those words are strange. Perhaps they are the most mis-interpreted words in history. In their purest form, however, they exemplify how I feel about you–about this life. The things that I learn everyday from you are invaluable, and I could not live without them.

Thank you for teaching me–even when you don’t know it. You make my life beautiful.

I’ll try not to be harsh, but there are some things that you have to worry about–the alarms should be sounding right now for women all over the United States. Last year, the current administration passed the Partial-Birth Abortion Ban, right? This big, controversial law has some really scary elements to it–the US Government has written a law that denies you a medical procedure based upon a premise of morality. Regardless of whether you agree with the morality not, they have passed legislation against your BODY.

Modern feminists worry about the same things that old-school feminists worried about. Margaret Atwood wrote The Edible Woman more than 20 years ago, and we clearly have the same issues today.

The scary aspects of this surface in the details of the transaction of passing this law: the picture of the signing of this legislation has our President sitting at a table and about 8 or 9 guys standing behind him joking and giggling with one another as if they were waiting for a batch of chicken wings at HOOTERs, or something. Not ONE woman was on that stage to support that piece of legislation. And, it doesn’t matter–with or without women’s support, they signed it into law. It may be tied up in the courts, the language might be problematic problematic, and yeah, they will have a hard time enforcing it, but this legislation calls back to several other pieces of legislation that were problematic.

Ever heard or used the saying, “Rule of Thumb?” This actually was a british law that specified that it was LEGAL to beat your wife–as long as the stick was smaller than the diameter of your thumb. This was a LAW!!!

There was also the “Contagious Diseases Act” passed in England in the 1830s. This law allowed the government of a small harbor town to forceably detain and subject an unescorted woman to a gynecological exam–to ensure that she wasn’t passing contagious diseases to the sailors. The implications of this one are really incredible–as in unbelievable. The “unescorted” part implies that rich people didn’t have to worry about it–they would never leave their house without a driver or a servant, or someone. But the law made it so that male police officers could take a woman, make her go to a male doctor, who would then give her an exam against her will–more legislation against the body. (Side note: the tools of the time looked like something you would use in your fireplace)

Economically, England has been another forerunner of American gender politics. They passed the Right of Property Act in the 1860s. This law made it acceptable for a woman to own 10% of her original dowry if she was successfully granted a Divorce by British Courts. So, let me get this straight: she can legally own 10% of the money her dad gave to her husband for marrying her IF and ONLY if the courts granted her a divorce (a highly unlikely proposition in the 1860s). So, although it marked an improvement in the rights of the women, it really was still a dismall situation. Women were not allowed to own anything in British society. They could be in the care of their father, their husband, or an uncle, perhaps–but not in charge of themselves. (Factoid: This law inspired Ibsen to compose the play “Hedda Gable.”)

That myth that things are equal now is just that–a myth. Things are better than they were in the 1800’s the 1980’s, and the 1990’s, but the struggle has changed–not dissipated.

Feminism was given a bad name in America when bras were being burned in the late 70’s (Susan B. Anthony was a feminist, but she was never labelled as such–she was a “suffragist”). The highest profile people–the ones that made the news–were the extremists! The majority of feminist, however, are looking for equality in the workplace, in language, and in voice.

Although there are plenty of differences within feminism, what I studied, and my understanding of it goes like this: There are dominant groups, subordinate groups, and a place of intersection between the two–a shared space. The dominant group speaks louder than the rest–or has the final ruling when all is said and done (see the above example with the Partial-birth Abortion Ban, Contagious Diseases Act, Right of Property act, etc.). Feminism strives to give an equal voice to those subordinate groups. This is a continual process–not an epic battle, with peace in the land for all afterwards. Because there will always be dominant and subordinate groups, Feminists will always struggle to provide a voice wherever that voice is suppressed.

You don’t have to burn your bra to be a Feminist–you can look for embedded inequalities in our language and in our spheres of influence. When someone says”she’s just a girl,” they are reinforcing a stereotype that women are the weaker gender, or that women are overly emotional and not logical, or that women are not suited to work in business, etc. Don’t you want to say something? When someone judges you more by your physical appearance (Margaret Atwoods Edible Woman) than by your ideas or your words, don’t you want to say something?

I guess I could go on forever and, I just might have to . . . .

Jeff,

Your misappropriation of the details is grandiose enough to deserve my attention. After re-reading your opinion, I think you might win my coveted “Idiot of the Week Award”–normally reserved for bad blogs . . . . The core of your argument is that everyone is “Liberal” in Universities, and it is not representative of the real world. The rest of your editorial logically dissects the results of this “imbalance.”

Please don’t get offended if I use a kindergarten teacher’s tone. I think you are an idiot for not seeing these fundamental tenets. I’ll try to suppress it, but I will use 6th-grader language in order to reach you.

Let’s begin with the concept of the University. So, the University is a place where people go to learn. One primary reason for attending college is to make changes: to your own life, to figure out how to change/shape your future industry, to challenge your personal assumptions, and to learn how to think critically in the future. I have a very good friend who begins this argument with, “The definition of a Liberal is any person who seeks to change [. . . . ]” The institution itself is a place that fosters that change. The relationship between Liberals (seekers of change), and the University is a very tangible one. Perhaps there are 6 to 8% of students (to use your number) who are “Conservative” and already know everything. They might be attending University to simply get a paper degree that certifies their knowledge. The rest of the students, however, are there to learn.

In order to make my motives transparent, I must establish my biases. I am an academic who is no longer in academia. I work and live and get funded by my own business, and the fruits of my own labor. But, I vehemently (oooh, sorry, big word–means: aggressively) will defend the Institution of Academia and the role it plays and needs to play in our world. Another friend in Academia states to his students a very succinct definition of the purpose of Academia: “It is my job as a Professor to show you ‘Utopia,’ or the perfect-world version of our subjects. The real world already exists. It is up to you, the students, to find a balance between the two. If I were to teach you the ‘real world’ ways, you would certainly be skewed in how you translate the materials you learn here to the future world.” While you, Jeff, want the debate between Conservative ideals and Liberal ones to take place within Academia, I believe that is a recipe for disaster. The debate will certainly take place outside of the “Ivory Tower” for the remainder of your life, but if you never learn or practice the skills of questioning the fundamental tenets or your reality you will not have the ability to question any ideals–conservative or liberal.

Lastly, I have an economic argument to challenge your “alarms” that have sounded about Academia. Perhaps the reason why most of Academia voted for Democrats is the history that the party has for financially supporting Academia–and the history the Republican party has for NOT financially supporting the institution. I live in California and voted to recall former Governor Davis (a Democrat that supported Academia heavily), and I voted for now Governor Schwarzenegger because he was, in my opinion, the best leader for our state. One of the first ways that he trimmed the California budget, however, was to cut funding for the California State University system. The 21 campus system is no longer in an expansion mode–they are reducing the number of students they educate each year. Less American’s will have a college education as a result.

At a Federal level, our Conservative President or Ultra-Conservative President, or Extremist President, or whatever President has just recently made a HUGE cut in the Student Loan program. Again, a Conservative choice that is going to reduce the number of college degrees in the good ole USA.

Perhaps the Conservative agenda does not find a home on college campuses because conservatives do not want to pay for Academia. If University Professors use the same logic as the rest of the nation, they need to vote in a way that supports and maintains their economic well-being. Namely, if Academia shrinks, they might lose their job, or not get a raise for cost-of-living increases, or might not have as many students in their classes. If we were to zoom out and take a look at the grand scheme of things, perhaps the Liberal agenda on college campuses is not too dissimilar to the Conservative one in the rest of nation. After all, it just may be the economy, stupid.

That literature list with all the books on it (a couple of posts ago) was inappropriate. I don’t need to go spouting the number of books that I have read. If you want to talk literature, I’d love to do it. But, I certainly do not need to brag about my good fortune for having read so much literature.

So, my apologies.

I was, however, reacting to my current favorite idiot http://tahoediary.blogspot.com/. He has his little blog out there (don’t misinterpret–I am glad that he is writing) and he claims to be part of the Right Wing Conspiracy! So, I read some of his post looking for some evidence to support his claims.

What I found, however, was a bunch of garbage! I found nothing of substance, an unusually large image of his cat, and this literature list where he claims that having read 33 of the 101 must-read books is an accomplishment!

I am sorry, Mr. Right Wing Conspirator–if you want to be part of your group,CONSPIRE! Do something with your blog. Make it interesting. Make it caustic. Say something! (You might want to consider what you tell people about your relationship with your cat . . . .) But, just posting mundane links doesn’t make you part of the conspiracy. Instead, it renders you to a much lower position–merely background fuzz or perhaps an info-mercial.