In Defense of Meanness

Today, I told a student, to her face, that she had done something “stupid.” And the crazy thing is she didn’t run away crying or put up a defense mechanism or block out entirely the point I was making. She smiled and quietly laughed and nodded knowingly. Because she knew it was true. (She had plagiarized).

I did not go into my meeting with this student with the intention of using the word “stupid” or any other word like it. However, once speaking with her, I knew something had to be said to get my point across about the severity of what she had done. I was speaking with her directly and openly, with no hostility, reiterating to her what could happen to her student status if she were to ever do this again. She didn’t really “get it” or react until I said, “what you did…was stupid.” Her quite laugh spoke volumes to me as I understood completely what it meant coming from her: she got it. And she clearly agreed.

Despite what some of my fellow educators may feel about words like “stupid,” I know that what I said to this student, paired with my tone, made all the difference in her understanding and openness to what I was telling her. As soon as we started talking, she was not afraid; she knew she had no reason to be because I was not angry. I was not giving up on her as a person; I was simply letting her know that what she did was dumb and could have and should have been avoided. It was this little bit of honest meanness in word choice that brought everything home. She expressed appreciation for what I said- because it was honest. We were two people communicating openly, an often difficult feat for a professor and a student.

After the disagreements that went down on this blog last week, I have been thinking a lot about the concept of “meanness.” Is it, in fact, an act of flagrant self-regard for one to proclaim the downfalls of others? Was I just abusing my position as this girl’s instructor when I told her that what she did was idiotic? Or was it in fact my duty to tell her that?

What I realized is that when we talk about people being "idiots" or doing something “stupid” or “dumb,” it is not a reference to their mental capabilities; it is a reference to their behavior. An “idiot” is "an utterly foolish or senseless person." Not someone who is incapable of higher thought or sense, but rather someone who practices neither.

When students don't put in the effort to improve and when they don't attempt critical thought and when they write half-assed drafts with no thought behind them (and when they knowingly plagiarize), they are behaving like idiots. It is idiotic to spend thousands of dollars on an education that you are not intellectually invested in. This common behavior not only reveals a problem with the average modern student but also with the system as a whole. How did it get this way and what can be done about it? In my opinion, the main issue is that college has become a means to better career prospects. It is just a game so many people play- they want the rewards of the game (the degree, the better paying job, the prestige) without putting in the intellectual work. And without that intellectual work, they don't deserve the degree because, damn it, they're not earning it. To expect to get rewarded for something you're not putting in the work for is idiotic. And it is clear when a student and a person is really trying (like the English language learners both Jack and Slick mentioned in their blogs last week), because improvement comes with that territory. And it is obvious when a student is not trying. Higher education is great because no one has to do it; no one is forced to go to college. So, when a student behaves like he is forced to go to class and forced to go to the writing center and only put in the minimal thoughtless effort to get by, he is being idiotic.

And this branches out to all aspects of life- people who live their lives as if they are forced into every action, every event, as if they have no freewill are idiotic. The only way to not be an idiot, is to stop being so apathetic and to really try at the things you set out to do, not just float by at everything. People like that, until they change, are a waste of everyone's (except maybe therapists') time and energy.

This brings me back to my original point: I point out the downfalls of lazy students and lazy people who show no progress because they do not put in the time and effort to improve at the things they do, they allow themselves to be coddled and their only explanation for their behavior is boredom. I feel like them sometimes, but I won't allow that to be my life because I see the way they are and remind myself and others not to be like that. This has nothing to do with talent or natural brilliance, it has to do with effort, critical thinking, and drive which, just like reading and writing, are not natural abilities, but must be learned and always honed and which are qualities exhibited by the English language learners discussed in last week's blogs.

We must stop coddling students (and all people for that matter). We must not be afraid to tell them when they are not cutting it. We must hold them to the higher standard that is at the heart of higher education.

And sometimes we must push them out of their apathy and away from their destructive behavior- and if that means telling them that their actions are “stupid,” so be it.

But, of course, proceed with caution.

Until next time,

Leena

It's (Loosely) Like That Movie About Shakespeare, Although That's Only an Educated Guess!

(That's only an educated guess because I don't watch crappy movies)

Anyways! Here we go. I'm going to change the way you think about everything. EVERYTHING!!! Here goes:

Good evening. My name is Andrew D. Cochran, and I use a pen name.

I'll let you have some time to absorb that. Take a deep breath. It's ok.

Ready? Alright. I'll begin.

So I know it's a shock for you guys to find out my Walt-given name is actually Andrew, but, now that you know this, please don't think I'm some weirdo who moonlights as some character named Jack Foster. Jack has a history behind it, and my choice to publish under Jack is one I thought about for a while. I think the initial intention for using a pen name - and I use pen name because I prefer its connotation to that of pseudonym (thanks to Leena) - may have been lost in translation somewhere in the history of the magazine.

We, the original four editors, decided to use pen names. I put this idea forward because we intended our contributors to be the English majors of Cal Poly, and I didn't want them to be apprehensive about sending their work to people they know; after all, sending work in for review is a scary, vulnerable prospect. So, we all made pen names. I think everyone had a different outlook on the actual reason why we used pen names, and that's ok; however, I have to say I've never used my pen name as a handle for a character or an avatar. Jack and Andrew are synonymous.

Before I delve more into that, I'll share with whoever is reading this how I got the name. It's simple, really. I haven't been actively writing prose and poetry for too long; in fact, it's only been about a year now. When I started writing, though, I randomly came across a typewriter that was under my stairs. It belonged to my great-grandfather, Jack Foster. Apparently, he used it all the time. I'm sure he didn't use it for poetry like his daughter, my grandmother, did, but I felt connected to him through the heirloom, and I decided to revive the man I never met.

Why does this matter? It doesn't really, but to an extent my pen name is not a character, but a homage of sorts. Jack Foster is Andrew Cochran. I don't change my voice, I don't use different language, and I certainly don't present something I'm not through my pen name. Jack Foster is the published version of Andrew Cochran; nothing more, nothing less (okay, maybe a bit more, but only on a sentimental level). Pen names are not characters, people.

Anyways, that's my rant about pen names. As I said, I believe pen name and pseudonym have different connotations, and I think the connotations have been a bit mixed up in the process of making this magazine. It's not a bad or good thing, but it is, I think, interesting to look at. Before this blog, I had never really given much thought as to what pen names signify. I do believe, however, I'm starting to gain some understanding about said question.

Until next time,

JF

P.S. For those of you who are thinking, "hey! This doesn't sound like Andrew Cochran or Jack Foster!"....

Fuck.

There it is. There always has to be one in my blog posts.

Good night and good luck.

Making time for fiction

Your real life doesn’t matter to fiction. Yes, your spouse or significant other is important. Yes, it’s a big deal that you’ve got a good job (maybe even a good job that you like or a shitty job that you hate). Yes, you’ve got pets and family and traffic and drama and a social life to deal with. But none of that matters to fiction.

There was a man I once knew who was touched. He was a poet and a songwriter and beautiful and brilliant. He was actually the man who inspired me to start writing down the wordherds floating through my mind and organizing them into something that mattered to me, and might someday matter to someone else. He wrote amazing poetry, poetry that spoke to me and to everyone who heard it – which is pretty impressive when you consider his audience was largely made up of high school dropouts. I met him at a coffee shop and got to know him better when everyone at the coffee shop went into a frenzy over his poetry; we were helping him edit and organize a manuscript for publication, going through chapbooks and notebooks and stacks of stained napkins finding the best of what he had and trying our best to make it better. The manuscript got accepted and my poet friend got paid, but the book was never printed and eventually he got fired from the coffee shop. A few months after that he started waiting tables at Denny’s. A few years after that he started managing the Denny’s. Now he’s the manager of a different Denny’s, he doesn’t write, he doesn’t sing, he’s getting married and is very happy and I’m fairly certain that the dark-eyed young punk who scribbled poems on beer coasters is dead inside of him, or is shrunk so small that he’ll never find his way out into the sunshine again.

He didn’t make time for fiction.

Let me make something perfectly clear here: art isn’t easy. People watch me drawing or read my poems or hear me planning out essays and say “Wow, you should be an artist,” “Why don’t you write novels?” or “You should be famous” to me all the time. I usually nod, smile, and thank them then go back to work on my real life silently asking myself what people think art is – do they think it’s automatic, do they think that I can sit down and dictate a full novel (or even a full short story or a single-stanza poem) to a word processor and call it a day? Well I can’t. And I don’t know anyone who produces perfect first drafts 100% of the time. Once in a while there’s a fluke, and you spit out a perfect poem or someone pitches you a softball essay topic that is easily completed, but that’s once in a while, not every time. Art is work and art takes effort, multiple angles of attack on a project, and a good deal of time.

I got a new job recently; it’s not my ideal job but it’s a pretty good gig – there are advantages to having an okay, well-paying job but I’m finding myself in the same boat as my used-to-be-a-poet friend and I’m having trouble making time for fiction.

This weekend, because it was so long, gave me a chance to sit down and write. I didn’t write perfectly, and I’ve been feeling pretty rusty when I’m trying to churn out pages and paragraphs, but I’ve had a few things to help me along. I have excellent fiction to read and to help inspire me (currently it’s a Neil Gaiman short story collection) and I have my friend’s sad story to carry as a totem and a talisman.

Even though it’s hard, even though I’m feeling rusty, and even though I’m short on time I don’t want to end up lost. His brooding poet persona is hidden away, probably for good, and I won’t let that happen to the angry, pierced, pink-haired girl with something to say who’s hiding behind my pinstriped skirts and sensible flats; she demands light and attention, she demands a space in my life, and she demands that I make time for fiction.

You don’t need a muse, you don’t need divine inspiration, you don’t need a novel to simply fall into your head. If you’re losing time for your art just think about what first made you want to create: who were you, what drove you, and who’s that person inside of you still peeking out onto the page – you’ll find what you need looking at yourself, and you’ll know the value of choosing to prioritize your time in order to give that person a voice.

Just When I Thought I Had Outgrown You

This Thanksgiving break I had the pleasure of visiting my family in Northern California. We ate turkey (too much), caught up on each others' lives, and, most importantly, got out the Christmas decorations. All of these events where fun and memorable, but, now that I have returned to Southern California, the experience that I find myself returning to most during the break was a run in with one of my old high school teachers; the teacher who inspired me to become an English major.

Here is a bit of back story before we begin: Up until junior year in high school I hated writing. It was tiresome, burdening, and restrictive. Now let me explain. Before junior year the majority of English classes which I took where pre-examined, predefined courses, and the essays which were required in the courses revolved around proving a theme that the teacher had already picked out for you. I was not prompted to think critically, I was not asked for my own opinion, I was just asked to think as my teacher did and demonstrate why my teacher's said theme was prominent in the story. Well, needless to say, I did horribly. Why? Because I was bored.

Junior year, however, was new. I decided to take honors English that year and, even though I begged my mom to let me drop the course, it turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life. This teacher didn't like to hear himself reiterated in the essays which he assigned. In fact, he hated it so much that he would mark us off for doing it. I can remember thinking after receiving the first blog prompt that the printer must have failed. The prompt was much too short. It merely stated something along the lines of: pick a theme you feel prominent in Samuel Beckett's “Waiting for Godot” and reveal how this theme functions throughout the story. I was inspired. My boredom was over and I felt a sense of freedom which I never before had felt in school. That quarter I fell in love with writing, I fell in love with reading, and I fell in love with literature. That love has only continued to bloom as I have furthered my education into college.

But that is the past. Moving forward, I had a run in with this teacher, and this run in was something that I had wished would happen for some time now. I had imagined that the greatness I had seen in him was due to the lack of knowledge that I possessed, and, like most aspects of life revisited after growing up, I expected to be let down. I was not however. The education that I have received thus far in college only spurred our conversations further. As we navigated from Wordsworth to Whitman, from Ovid to Arthur I now found myself keeping up. Picking up on things that he would say that I would not have during my high school years. It was a great experience and made me realize that certain aspects of life, such as a conversation with a past instructor, are only made better with the more knowledge that we possess. Though I was able to have much more involved literary conversations with this teacher, I was still impressed with the amount of knowledge that he possessed and I continued to learn from him throughout our interaction.

It seemed that fortuity was on my side that day. As I came home my mom was digging through an old box of books so I sat down next to her and helped her look through them. During our dig I came across my childhood favorite book: The Ear, The Eye, and The Arm by Nancy Farmer. Seeing that I had just had the recent run in with my high school teacher I took my finding of the book as more than coincidence and decided that I would sit down and read the book to see if I would still find it great, though I had not read it in over ten years. And let me tell you, it was. My love for this book could have possibly been driven by the nostalgic euphoria that fell over me as I soared through the pages, but I would like to believe that it was more than that. The entire experience was unique and new because, though I found myself enjoying much of the same parts of the book that I had when I was a child, I also found myself intrigued by so many new sections that I had not fully understood as a kid. I picked up on allusions that I was not aware of and found meaning that was not apparent during my readings ten years before. During this reading, the book morphed into something new, while still preserving the roots that the 11 year old version of myself had grown so close to.

So what am I saying? I am telling you to try it. Think back. What was your favorite book as a child and when was the last time you read it? Go and find this book and reread it and decide for yourself if it is still worth the praise it received from you as a child. So take a step back and give it a try. You never know what you might find.

-Nick

Who We Are

I feel like I’ve been hit in the face with a theme.

As of now, I’m in the midst of writing a research paper on Cabeza de Vaca’s The Account. I’m focusing on his battle against his peers to define himself (as he sees fit) through his writing and how he fought to keep his identity intact while being surrounded by a completely New World. While talking with Jack recently about the merits of Final Fantasy 8 he claimed that the game was often misunderstood because it dealt so heavily with the theme of identity, and Americans just don’t relate that theme as much as the Japanese do. But what I think really cemented the theme happened today while I was speaking with my aunt who I hadn’t seen in years. After making small talk about school for a bit, she came out and said “It must be hard to be a writer, to have to show everything you are to so many people” she continued “I guess that’s how you know you’re a writer, when you’re not afraid to let everyone see who you are.”

What pushed me over was Bermuda’s blog, head over and check it out, it won’t even take thirty seconds to read. What he said was that we, as writers, must choose how we will be perceived through our writing. So maybe my aunt was wrong about that, maybe showing who you really through your is the mark of a bad writer. Oscar Wilde would certainly agree, to him the mark of a great writer was the ability to make believable lies in order to escape a mundane reality. But the act of taking on new identities in writing has been viewed from a less sardonic point. As Leena pointed out to Bermuda about a week ago, Peter Elbow has done a lot of work in the field of voice in writing. He came up with the theory of many voices in writing, each appropriate for the appropriate moment. Ironically enough, his theories dictate that voice doesn’t actually have anything to do with anything innate to the individual. But isn’t that true enough outside the world of writing? Don’t we put on different faces, different clothes, use different language, and laugh at things that aren’t funny when the time is right? Certainly we act differently in front of a classroom than we would when surrounded by friends. In his last blog, Nick brought up Donald Murray who would have us believe that all writing is unique and inescapably individualistic. It sounds a bit like the work of Karl Marx that was quoted by a Mr. Eric Strege not too long ago, but I assure you that Nick and Murray approach it much more romantically. Or for an even more fun example maybe we should turn to Alli who just can’t escape the moral standards set by Calvin and Hobbes.

So what do writers do? Do we work and work until we can put forward the exact identity we want (personal or not)? Or do we refine and refine our craft until we can express what is purely us? Surely the latter holds merit. I think that this fact can be most seen in Slick’s friend Chingu who just couldn’t portray exactly what he meant in English or Korean. It’s not uncommon, many people can’t convey exactly what they mean, it’s a problem that I struggle with constantly. But let’s not start with structuralism.

It reminds me of a Taoist story I read, it goes a little something like this. One day the king of the land wanted to see a painting of a crab, having never seen one himself. So he called all his greatest artists and a Taoist master. When the artists were given their materials they all began to paint, except for the Taoist master who waited and asked to postpone the painting for a year. As the king grows tired of all the artists, he places all of his hopes on the Taoist. The Taoist keeps postponing until four years have passed. Until one day, he picked up his brush.

And in one movement.

One clean stroke.

The crab was finished.

It was the most perfect crab anyone had ever seen.

So maybe the roll of the writer, an artist, is to convey perfectly through a craft that takes years of training to hone? Or is the point of the story that it takes years to even convey just one thing perfectly? Either way, the fact is, as writers we have chosen the path to sharpen our craft, to be able to convey what we want to better than most.

So what do I think we should all take away from this? Personally, I say we need to write daringly. Because we’re all a part of this narrative. Being a writer isn’t about not being afraid of being read, it’s being willing to do it over and over again. And if you don’t convey yourself through passion, don’t hold your convictions tightly, and you just write what works, then you might find out that you’re just a foil. And nobody wants that.

Sorry for the sentimentality.

It doesn’t come often from me,

-Ryan

Letter To The Leaves: A Brief Reminder

My Fellow Contributors,

We compose in the same fashion that we pick our clothes.

Rhetoric is our wardrobe.

We pick a shirt here, a pair of jeans there; maybe even black wing tips. But whatever we select from our wardrobe, we put together an outfit that best portrays the image of ourselves that we wish to present to the outside world.

So for next time: lets all take a look into the mirror before we walk outside and play. Thank you.

Undoubtedly Yours,
Bermuda

Wasting a four-day weekend away

Turkey is settling in my stomach and tryptophan is making me feel slightly dozy, so I'm going to make this quick.

Four-day weekends only come by once in a while and if you have the opportunity to enjoy one (I was in charge of Thanksgiving dinner and I have a magazine to design this weekend, so I'm missing out on that opportunity) you should make the most of it; so here are a few suggestions for things to fill up those 96 glorious hours of freedom.

For your edification:
1. We're busy people these days, so it's hard to sit down and dedicate attention to a fresh novel or series of books if you've only got four days to spare; as a way to work around this and still get some good fiction in, I've recently taken to picking up short story collections. Ryan Boudinot's The Littlest Hitler is incredibly whimsical and sad; William Gibson's Burning Chrome is a standard in SF for reasons which become strikingly obvious once you've read it; and Asimov's I Robot and Robot Dreams are stunning in their imagination - and the best part of all of them is that you can focus completely on individual works of fiction for twenty minutes at a time.

2. Read our magazine. No - seriously; AFLM is an excellent source of material you can immerse yourself in while wading through the world of contemporary fiction without all the pretension. So you can read beautiful new works and not go back to work on Monday reeking of the New Yorker.

For your gratification:
1. If you're in the mood for some retail therapy over your Black Friday weekend skip the mall. Explore your local underground collectives of individual expression - shop local and shop indie; I especially recommend trolling your local used record store. Scan through the cheap used bin - don't buy anything for more than $2.99 - and plan out a few mixed CDs for friends; the funky kinds of things you find in those bins (i.e., the Scream 2 soundtrack, limited print Fastball albums, industrial singles) lead to unique mixes that make great stocking stuffers or driving music. If you're SoCal local, check out Amoeba Records in Hollywood, Rhino Records in Claremont or Chaos Records in Glendora for good deals and pretty decent indie selections.
2. When you're getting over turkey and pie, it's nice to have something that doesn't fit at all with the season: ice cream. Artisan ice cream parlors have been popping up up almost as quickly as gourmet food trucks in SoCal. Check out the violet flavor at Carmela in Pasadena (off Washington and Lake) or the sesame or ginger offerings at Mother Moo Creamery in Sierra Madre (on Kirsting Court) - Mother Moo also offers ice cream making classes, which is something fun and interesting to do if you've spent too much time with your nose in a book recently.

For your utter lack of motivation:
If you're feeling too lazy to get out of the house or bother with reading heavy literary offerings on your days off, check out some web comics. I know I harp on this kind of thing a lot, but there are some really amazing, really clever webcomics out there; Kate Beaton's Hark, A Vagrant frequently deals with literature, language, and history while A Softer World by Joey Comeau and Emily Horne combines lovely photography with almost-poetry, three-line prose about love, art, politics and zombies. Finally XKCD by Randall Munroe is a stick-figure comic with a strong focus on math, science, computing and linguistics humor, though it occasionally features visualization mapping of works like Lord of the Rings or Inception.

So here's hoping that you have a great weekend, get done whatever you need to get done, pig out whenever possible and enjoy whatever you come across.

See you back here on Monday,
Cheers,
-Alli

Stop Playing with Yourself or You'll Go Mute

I agree with you Jack; Non-native speakers are definitely better students than apathetic native ones. It really was a good blog, and I admit that I’m nitpicking with this response, but I know you’re a good sport so here it goes. I don’t like that you are insulting people who have trouble communicating with others, while putting writers on this ‘more highly-evolved’ pedestal.

Something’s been bothering me lately too, Jack. It has come to my attention that a majority of English majors are grossly pretentious – or at least that’s what they start to sound like after their years and years of schooling make them think that they are better than the rest of the world because they can write. I have to say I’m with you on the depression. I’m depressed at the verbal masturbation that I seem to witness on a day-to-day basis from all of the “English experts” around me. This goes out to those who think that people who can’t write are just monkeys. Let me tell you a story of a student that I consistently worked with over the last year.

Some of you might be surprised to know that I teach Tae Kwon Do, a Korean martial art that’s a bit like Karate. Often times, I work with students whose parents have moved their families to America from Korea to work here for a few years. All of my students know that I am an English major, and in a few different cases, I’ve been hired to tutor middle-aged Korean men, the fathers of my students, in English. Now, I’m not talking about struggling immigrants here; I’m talking about people who work for large corporations as engineers or marketing directors or even teachers who want to learn how to speak to Americans. These men are very intelligent – they just can’t speak English, let alone write it.

One of the men I tutored was named Chingu, which translates to “friend” in English. He went by Jeff in his office, but he really should’ve kept his Korean name because he was one of the most amiable souls I have ever encountered. He worked for Hyundai as an environmental data analyst and wanted to learn to speak to his American colleagues. I came to his home twice a week, where I’d eat dinner with his family and speak with him about pretty much anything. “How was your day?” “Any plans for the weekend?” Small talk mostly, but sometimes we’d touch on some deeper topics. “What do you miss most from Korea?” “Do you remember anything about the war from your childhood?” “Are you worried about your children being taken away from their first culture?” He didn’t always have the right words, but he answered with my help. We’d work through it until his ideas could come to the table. The thoughts were there in his mind; he just couldn’t get them out of his mouth.

Sometimes as we’d sit, struggling with meaning, trying to pin down exactly what it was he was saying, I’d toss him a few words to see which one he’d bite. “Do you mean ‘upset’?”, “’Disappointed’?”, “’Afraid’?” “’Anxious’?” He would toss them all back. One day as we went through this little routine, Jeff, chewing on his tongue as he forced out his thoughts, and me, searching my brain for better words to offer him, he taught me something that I’ll never forget. He shook his head, and in not-so-perfect English basically told me, “Nothing I say will be exactly what I mean – in English or in Korean.”

I took a lot from his frustration that day. He was completely right; we can never say exactly what we mean. And those of us who get the closest with our language should consider ourselves lucky – not better. So here’s my point, finally. Jack, I think you’re wrong to be so judgmental of those who can’t write well. You obviously have a great gift; you can easily plan what it is that you’d like to write or say so that it is very close to what you are thinking. That’s a talent that has taken practice and probably some natural skill. But that doesn’t make you better than anyone. Frankly, you’re blog was a bit intimidating, putting off those who might be afraid to be seen as a monkey by the editors of AFewLinesMagazine.

I say that we are not better than others because we know how to write, but that we are a special breed; not better, just more easily understood. However, when we, the easily understood, spend our time admiring our own skills and taking pride in our abilities, we are terrible communicators… It is shameful when our heads are too far up our own asses for anyone to hear what it is that we are trying to say.

In love and friendship,

S. Pine

"What the Fuck is a Predicate?"

Something has been bothering me lately. It has recently come to my attention that a majority of college students are idiots - or at least that's what they project - and the main reason they come off this way is due to the fact that they can't write their way out of a paper bag. Since I've recently become a tutor at the University Writing Center at my college, I have to say I'm really depressed at the level of writing I'm faced with on a day-to-day basis. To express my depression, I'm going to use two students I've consistently worked with over the past couple of weeks. I think some of you may sympathize with me by the end of this blog post.

            One student is here on a student Visa and the other is a resident of California (I'm not going to name names, so my foreign student will be Student A and my Californian will be Student B).  Student A is not by any means a native speaker of English; Student B, on the other hand, was born and raised in California and is a native speaker of English. Both students have many problems when it comes to basic composition; however, their struggles are interestingly similar. Both students have a lot of difficulty with subject-verb agreement as well as maintaining consistent verb-tense. Furthermore, both students have trouble with possessive pronouns.

            Despite the many similarities between the problems Student A and Student B face, they are very different students, and it has been a rather interesting experience working with both of them. After four weeks or so of closely working with them, I have to say Student A is improving at a much faster rate than Student B. In fact, I would venture to say Student B is not improving at all - and trust me, it's not because of anything I am, or not, doing. There is a qualitative difference between the two students, and it honestly comes down to Student A caring and Student B not giving any sorts of fucks.

            Now I know it's easy for a tutor to say that it's the tutee's fault; however, there is a definite trend in the realm of tutoring: foreign - whether exchange students or simply non-native speakers of English - students are better students than most native-speakers of English. If I'm tutoring a non-native speaker of English, I can say fancy words like "infinitive" or "superlative," but when I'm tutoring a native-speaker, I'd be wasting my breath if I said "predicate" or "adverbial clause." Again, I know that it's easy for the tutor to toss around the blame and say "well shit, let's just get some more grammar classes!" but, really, that's not the best idea. Grammar classes, especially for people who aren't going to study it extensively, can actually serve as a detriment to a student's growth. Grammar is prescriptive, meaning we don't really know exactly how we learn it - we just do. Sound retarded? Yeah, I think so, too, but that's seriously how it works. Simply put, grammar classes, or lack thereof, are not the reasons why people can't write - the source of the problem is the individual.

            I can say, since I'm a tutor and I work closely with people in low-level English courses, I don't know a single student enrolled in a class below Freshman Composition who has taken a single grammar class; on the other hand, I can also say I know a handful of people who have taken only one grammar in their college careers.  I think I know a couple of students who have taken more than one grammar class, but they're all crazy bastards who want to get their Masters in TESL. But that's neither here nor there. What is important, however, is that we, as students, all have a more or less equal playing field in terms of the knowledge of basic grammar.

            If you've made it this far without rolling your eyes or wishing it was Eric Strege's day to blog, congratulations, and I swear to Walt I'm about to make my point. So here it is. The problem with people writing is the student's level of apathy. Why are non-native speakers such great students? Simple: they fucking need to learn the in's and out's of how to write a paper. They need to pass the GWT in order to get a Bachelor's degree, and if they don't they'll be in trouble. They'll face being deported without a quality college education. They'll be set back three to five years in their life, and they'll face a myriad of problems once they return to their home countries. Native speakers of English, namely American citizens, don't really have this fear. They know they'll be able to get something worked out. They know they'll be able to pass the GWT, even if they do have to take it more than once. And even if they don't, what's the worst that could happen? Not much, to be quite honest. Having a college education doesn't grant anyone anything anymore, and there are plenty of people who lead their lives without college degrees.

            So what's the point of this blog? I'm not sure, really. I do hope, however, some of you will take a look at the world we live in and perhaps implore ourselves to do better - to actually care about something. The standards are low, folks, and it seems to me that we're starting to just give up. Writing is important, people. It's what separates us from monkeys. So please, don't be a monkey. Pick up a pen and fucking writing something meaningful.

Until next time,

JF

Screw New York. Or at least their magazines.

Okay, so among the editors of AFLM it’s no secret that I hate the New Yorker; now it’s no secret to anyone who’s reading this blog.

Why do I hate the New Yorker? There are a lot of reasons: the dull layouts, the lack of self-awareness, the banal poetry, and the douchey cartoons are all contributing factors (seriously, how do they manage to make cartoonists who write for Playboy and Mad Magazine into snobby dicks?) but what mostly drives me crazy about the magazine is the pretension.

Here’s a short sampling of the kinds of articles I found in a stack of New Yorkers I liberated from the coffee shop where I used to work (I only read it for the fiction, I swear): “Pseudonymously Yours,” an article that explores the validity of pop-fiction pen names for High Art authors while sneering at the authors, the publishing industry, literary audiences and the whole concept of pseudonyms; “The Great and the Good” an examination of the division between critical acclaim and popularity in the career of Somerset Maugham that ends with a disdainful quote about the author’s need for recognition (i.e., popularity); “I was Ghandi’s Boyfriend,” a Shouts and Murmurs column about a history-ignoramus bro-type gay man going on a date with Ghandi (as a response to the fact that Ghandi’s biography may be banned in India, of course); “Funny like a Guy,” yet another article about how it’s totally okay for women to be funny but when women are funny we’ll still say they’re not funny like a woman (seriously, I’ve seen about six articles on that topic in various underground weeklies – thanks for catching up a few years late, New Yorker); “Futurism,” about a hot new artist’s fascinating and highly meaningful art (all dedicated to remembrance of obsolete computer technology – includes a website in Arabic devoted to Christopher Cross and smattered with moving GIFs); and “Strange Fruit” an article which mocks people for their fanatic obsession with Acai a few months ago while bemoaning the fates of the poor Acai farmers whose market has now burst – and that sampling was taken from only four magazines.

Who is the New Yorker’s audience? I’m really quite curious about that; clearly they’re aiming for actual New Yorkers, because all of their art show, theatre, and sales articles are centered on things that only take place in New York, but they must be aware that people in the rest of the country read their magazine, so why do they market so stringently at a very particular class of intellectual elite, upper-crust New Yorkers. Come to think of it, I’ve never bought a copy and I’ve never seen someone buying a copy of the New Yorker – I’ve only found abandoned issues on tabletops in coffee shops. Perhaps there’s a secret mafia of rich, art snob, 34-year-old men in rimless glasses with shaved head whose job it is to wander the cafes of the nation and surreptitiously place magazines on countertops and under chairs. After all, who would buy a magazine that has an annual cover price of approximately $341.64? Hell, I never spent that much on textbooks in a given year so I find it hard to imagine that someone would spend that much on insipid art reviews and an editorial staff that insists on using an umlaut wherever two vowels happen to sit together.

Anyway, long story short, I hate the New Yorker. But this is a good thing! Part of the reason I wanted to get involved with AFLM is because I have such a problem with the New Yorker, Atlantic Monthly, and so many of the other wretchedly pretentious magazines out there that try to sell themselves as representatives of the artistic community. You don’t need a massive staff and offices on the East Coast and a penchant for smelling your own farts to do something about art in the real world; you just need to get together with a bunch of other kids who have no idea what they’re doing and try to have fun while making the world a better place for artists. We’re a little lost and clueless here, folks, at least in a lot of ways; but we know what we like and we’re hoping to share some of what we like with you – in that way, at least, we’ve been something of a success. So if our heads start to get to big or we start talking about an artist’s “oeuvre” or we in any way become pricks to any of you, please let us know; either we’ll try to fix the problem and improve ourselves (because we, unlike some other hoity-toity magazines understand that we are capable of making mistakes) or we’ll laugh at you, because it takes something pretty egregious to make us act like pricks.

Until Thursday, and my Thanksgiving post on the best things to do with four days off, have a great week.

- Alli

Just Because Wordsworth Did It In Tranquility Doesn't Mean He Didn't Have Other People Revise It

Hello again everyone. I am currently working on a research project for my language and human behavior class where I am researching the importance of the writing tutor. I am questioning the role and the necessity of the writing tutor in the writer's writing process and comparing the writing tutor conference to the modern day classroom. What I want to bring to you today is something that has stemmed from my research, something I feel applies more broadly to writers in general.

As I have discovered, the key problem to teaching writing in the modern day classroom is that learning to write is not a process that builds upon itself, such as math or science does. Donald Murray states that: “The writing class unlike the history class does not move from the Revolutionary War to the War of 1812 to the Civil War; each student in the class is facing his own problems at his own pace.” Writing is not learned as science is. When one enters a Physiology class one can expect to study the electrochemical gradients involved in the sending of action potentials, the gas exchange between the lungs and the blood, and endocrinology. Even though each of these students may individually possess a different amount of knowledge on these subject prior to the class, no one student has the upper hand on any other student because they are each given an equal amount of time to prepare for each test, and the material presented to them is new and moved through linearly.

Comparing this to the writing classroom, it can be seen that no two writers are alike. Where one writer struggles, another writer may excel. Revisiting the physiology class, the instructor can advise the students that equation A is more efficient for solving problem 2 where as equation B is more suited to problem F. In this way the Physiology instructor easily addresses and solves a universal problem for his class. Because they are all studying the same topic there is only one topic for them to be stuck on, so the professor can easily enlist a helpful equation to answer all of their problems. This same remedy will not work for the writing instructor because of the wide array of individual problems each writer faces in his or her own writing. Because of this, there is no universal equation that a writing instructor can give to his students because what may effectively work for one student aiding his writing, may not work for another student. This is where the writing tutor comes in. The writing tutor is able to sit down with the writer and address each and every one of the writer's problems pertaining to their specific writing task. The writer is not part of a class, but stands on his own. His problems do not need to be universalized so that they can apply to the whole class, instead the tutor can craft writing equations and answers that will help this writer with his own specific problems.

Now, here is where I fear I may have lost you. In this blog I am not advising that anyone see a writing tutor, nor am I trying to focus on the writing tutor itself. Instead, I want to reveal to you the individualistic qualities that are inherent in any person's writing and the importance of what Murriel Harris calls: the writing conference. Anyone who has taught a writing class can attest to how difficult it would be if the teacher tried to roam the classroom and correct every error in every student's work. They simply just could not do it. But, the writing tutor can because it is a one on one scenario and the writing tutor is only having to focus on that one writer's work. So, as I stated above, I am trying to stress and advise the writing conference in any writer's writing before attempting to publish it. And the writing conference is simply talking about your writing with another person.

Writing is a communal process, unlike what many books and articles say about it, and it often requires that the writer allow other people to read his work before the final product can be achieved. It is hard for the writer to assess the quality of the work, or how the reader will take his work because of the fact that he has written it. The writing conference overcomes these challenges. The writing conference can occur between any two people. It can between yourself and your friend, a teacher, a neighbor, a person walking down the street. What is important is that other people read your work and critique it. They can address small problems that the editors of a magazine, because they receive so many submissions, can often not. They can find a section of your story that doesn't seem to work, or a metaphor that doesn't accomplish what you (as the writer) had hoped.

My overall point: have other people read your work. Use your community, your friends, your professors, anyone really, the important thing is that other people are reading it, and you are receiving input on your pieces. You don't have to listen to them, but at least you can see for yourself what is and isn't working.

Until we meet again,

Nick Hart

The Great Disconnect

First off, Jack, I'm sure you caught the reference hidden in that title. It's a bit of a response to your last title which I'm sure was a reference to a crappy hardcore band.

But enough personal matters! I'm here to talk about... more personal matters. But said matters are more group friendly, I'm sure. So, onto the bulk. I think that booky people such as ourselves tend to live in our own little bubble of literary goodness. This fact rings even truer in a classroom full of lit majors.

There seems to be, by popular perception, a disconnect between the study of literature/writing and what has commonly been called the "real world." The fact is that many people just don't see what we contribute to the "real world." Departments like philosophy often receive the same flack because such theoretical fields don't offer the more concrete services that the engineering or architecture depts provide. Furthermore, there is also a disconnect between the academic world and the "real world." So people who are studying literature are placed two steps down on the ladder of practicality.

I don't really feel the need to pander to my audience here because we're all very esteemed literati, I'm sure. We all know exactly how we fit into the "real world" but a question raised in my academic world has prompted me to explore just how disconnected we are from other fields. The English field in particular is plagued with a rather thick fog of smugness and pretension. I mean, seriously, how often in an English class has the engineering dept been the butt of a joke (and how often were these jokes told by teachers). Obviously other departments tell the same jokes about us. So I ask you this, what's with all the hate?

This was all brought upon by a student who was ranting about her geology practical in which she had to identify rocks. She remarked "Who really cares? They're all rocks" to which another student smugly replied "Let's see you say that when you find that the foundation of your house has been built on shale." The fact is that all the fields in college serve a purpose but we all hate taking our GE classes. Why? Because we are simply not interested. We often forget all the information in these GE classes a few months after completing them which makes them, in our eyes, practically useless.

Now this is really where I want to open up the floor for discussion because quite frankly I'm tired of Eric getting all the comments on his blog. So, what are the benefits of the disconnect? By this I mean the vertical style of learning involving specialization. Do you see any merit in the horizontal style of learning across the curriculum? Do GE classes help us directly, indirectly, or not at all? Would all the fields be better off if they were disconnected and brutally competent in their own craft? Is it wrong to assign certain classes as GE just to keep that specific dept alive? Should we keep hating just for fun?

But honestly, because language is the medium through which all the other departments teach, we win at college.

Let me hear it,

Rainamoinen

P.S. Jack, I thought you were better than that.

Letter To The Leaves: Where's I?

Hello My Fellow Contributors,

I was talking to a friend a few days ago about Law school admission and more specifically about the personal statement required for all applications. I am myself, currently in the process of applying and have already drafted a personal statement. My friend, Mischief, was having a hard time coming up with ideas for what he was going to put into his. I then asked him one question.

Do you ever write anything with the word 'I'?

And I can still remember the look on his face when he paused for a second and then replied.

No

It was in that moment I realized that in so many of our classrooms today, especially in higher education, we are detached from what we are writing. We have removed the I and replaced it with a scholarly voice. And it is this voice that has caused many people to give up writing. They simply feel that they are frauds; pretending to be someone they are not.

I realize that the word I doesn't have a place in most academic writing, but this is precisely why we need to have more classes that require students to write poetry. To explore themselves through words. I feel at times that writers are so hesitant to put themselves into their works, but it should be the opposite. Writers should relish the opportunity to put themselves into words. I think this is something that great authors do.

For what is writing but an extension of the mind.

When we are writing poetry, fiction, or non-fiction with I, we are creating a window to the soul.

Now, I am not trying to pitch you writing as therapy, but I am saying that in order for a person to truly know how they feel about morality, ethics, virtues, pop culture and most other things in this world, he or she must work through these problems either by talking to themselves or writing them down.

I is so powerful because I makes what we are writing relevant to we the writers. Although I do caution that not all of life's experiences are captivating, a good writer knows which moments to put on paper and how to do so in such a way that captures their sweet essence. A great writer can turn the mundane details of a dull afternoon, into a powerfully compelling couplet.

So if you haven't written anything with the word I in it, I urge you to do so.

Or, on the other hand, if you disagree with me let me hear your thoughts.

"For although the man may teach, He is only as wise as his brightest pupil."

Undoubtedly yours,
Bermuda

Finding Forms of Language (and listening to some dope music)

So far in college I’ve never received an assignment that I’ve absolutely hated. I’ve always accepted whatever it is that I have to do, and, even if I have to stay up for a few days straight, I do it happily. I like that rush of progress that comes from working on a challenging paper… But with all that said, I think this paper that I recently received in my Shakespeare course has to be at the top of my list of least favorites.

Let me complain for a second:

I had to write 4 mini-essays (150-250 words), which each focused on a different moment in some of Shakespeare’s plays. Sounds easy enough, right? My task was “to make explicit what is implicit in the play” – I was actually pretty excited about the project until I got to the part where the professor spelled out how each one of the mini-essays should be laid out. He wanted the first sentence to be this, and the second to be that, and so on…

I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but I was initially pissed that some “Shakes-pe-herian” was trying to tell me how to formulate my thoughts. I am a writer because I love the freedom of creation. To me, writers are like the Green Lanterns of Literature (<--let’s see who gets the comic-book reference). Basically, what I’m saying is that my work is nothing more than my thoughts manifested in exactly the way that I see fit for them to be presented – all of my choices are my own. From the start, I knew this assignment was going to be hell for me.

I struggled with the assignment, and I hated every second of it; every sentence that I had to write twisted me up inside... but after 2 all-nighters, caffeinated and frustrated, I noticed the title of the handout that my professor had given me, "The Commentary Form", and I had an extremely helpful realization: the true artist of language can manipulate his thoughts into any form, be it a piece of flash-fiction or creative non-fiction, a poem, a biography, or a novel... or even an assignment. A great writer works to manipulate the language within the structural setting of the form.

I sat and thought for a while, and I was amazed at all of the different forms I could think of. Even within the form of poetry there are countless different types of poems, and each type of poem has its own structural identity that allows the language in it to be compared and contrasted with other poems of the same type. I guess in terms of Literary Theory, I got to experience structuralist theory at it's best at about 3:30 in the morning.

The idea stayed fresh in my mind for a few days, and I began applying the theory to things other than writing.. I'd like to leave you with what I think is one of the forms that I enjoy the most. I don't really know if this form already has a name, so I'll just call it the "Assumed-Role Poetic Flash-Fiction Form" (please, help me with a better name, because that one sucks).

Here are the lyrics, and you can listen to the song on the video down below.

The Waitress

A city full of people and my favorite is that waitress
And she treats me like some type of common vagrant
I see her everyday, but there's nothing to say
Unless I decide to step inside of that cafe
I only get to sit if I buy something to eat
Otherwise it's best to keep my feet moving down that street
And god damn she's a hard bitch
Talks at me like I'm the bad dog that got into the garbage
Yeah I know that the toilet is for customers
You ain't got to tangle up the strings to make this puppet work
It doesn't have to be a game of patty cake
But it ain't like you don't know I sleep in that alleyway
And by the way, I can see it in your eyes
You're angry with your life, not a stranger to the fight
I bet you hate every man that you date
And you're probably addicted to all types of escape
You take it out on me that you're all alone
When you know you got your own closet full of hollow bones
Watch the tone when you speak to old folks
I'm grown, just trying to get out of this Minnesota cold
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/a/atmosphere/the_waitress.html ]
Look lady, I'm homeless, I'm crazy
I'm so hopeless I'm suicidal daily
If you and I can't co-exist, let's fake it
Cause I ain't got the energy it takes for this relationship

I'm waiting for a city bus to flatten me
And transport me to the ever after happily
Maybe reincarnate and with luck
Come back to Earth as a cockroach in your tip cup
She said she's had it up to here
She's gonna call authorities if I don't disappear
I love her threats, it rejuvenates my breath
I give her stress for the reaction that it gets
I got a pocket full of pan-handled money
On a cup of bad coffee and a stale honey bun
In front of everyone she calls me bum
But she notices my absence on them afternoons I don't come
So here I am, thorn in her hip
Holding down the corner table all morning with some corn chips
Ignoring the insults and evil eyes
I feed off of 'em, I wonder when she'll realize
That she's the only reason I visit
The only woman in my world that acknowledges my existence
And if my ship ever comes, I'll miss it
Because I'm getting old and I ain't got much left to give it
So there it is and I have to live with it
I had the chance to make a difference, but I didn't
In the cafe bathroom drinking free tap water
Thinking: "Damn, I should've been a better father to my daughter"

-Slug (of Atmosphere)

Until next time,

S.Pine

Our second choice was A Few Marx Magazine . . .

Hello, All. I have decided I am feeling contradictory today, and find it only appropriate to aim some of this disagreeableness at myself. Yes, today is a day for contradiction, and that is why I will be presenting a counter-point to my very first blog. For all of you who haven't read my first blog (I can't imagine anyone who could resist) I discuss Roland Barthes theory of Killing the author in order for a Work's true potential to be maximized. Bearing that in mind, today I will present you with Karl Marx's views. A bit drastic, you might say? A bit narcissistic, you say? You're damn right! Chalk it up to an ego the size of a cirrhotic liver . . . and 24 hr. access to a shelf of Lit. Theory books.

As usual I have composed a little ditty for you regarding Peter Barry's articles on Marxist Theory. Enjoy.

Peter Barry’s exposition of Marxist beliefs and their subsequent involvement in the formation of a socially philosophical category of literary theory – in spite of its intentional and necessary concision – nimbly and ambitiously affronts the socially recognized acceptance of Romanticism as the theory predominantly observed by artists, that is, the acceptance – though usually accepted unwittingly by an uneducated populous – of the stereotypically Wordsworthian conception of art as “recollected in tranquility” by means of an “autonomous ‘inspired’ individual whose ‘genius’ and creative imagination enables him to bring forth original and timeless works of art.”(Barry 152) As can be seen from the aforementioned quote, Barry deliberately scare-quotes inspired and genius to draw the reader’s attention to the doubtfulness and subjectivity of genius, and the incongruous nature of inspiration, attesting the ascension to literary prominence not on a romanticized conception of Muses, but rather upon years of unwavering political awareness. Also, palpable is the mocking overtone established by the scare-quotes, inauspiciously criticizing any who subscribe to the existence of sovereign brilliance. Barry further illuminates the Marxist belief that – derivative of Marxist political views – critics of such influence view literature as a creative account of the succession of powers through various social classes and institutions. Likewise, just as works are constructed by social contexts, authors too are constantly influenced by socio – economic and political views, the unfortunate, despotic existence of such things materializing in, not only the context of such works, but also in formal aspects of the writing.
Barry unifies Marxist criticism with Formalism by offering the thought that stylistic decisions on the part of the author might be symbolically suggestive of the author’s national political state, “. . . shared definitions and regularities of grammar both reflect and help to constitute a well – ordered political state.” (Barry 152)
Though Marxist beliefs dictate the effects of social contexts on the author, and his work, it is made clear that said social contexts do not limit the author’s work from taking on various interpretations, Margaret Harkness, a Marxist critic and Socialist states, “The more the opinions of the author remain hidden the better the work of art.” Therefore, regardless of Marxist literature’s preoccupation with the upheld integrity of the author’s ideology, the likelihood of that author’s work of art containing political elements of which the author is unaware is escalated by the encouraged authorial ambiguity among Marxist texts.

I hope this blog has been as enjoyable of a read as it was to compose. I also hope that these blogs - either mine, or my fellow staff members - are contributing to the lexicon of literary discussion topics you are undoubtedly storing up for some eminent cocktail party.

As a concluding note, I am going to "plug" Rainamoinen's blog, in which he discusses the literary potential of Video Games! Its compelling, its something near and dear to my own fond childhood memories, and plus I'm telling you to! So check it out and maybe the next time you're playing pac man, you can scoff at its deep-seated chauvinism.


With All Due Respect,

Eric W. Strege

Bury Your Fucking Dead, But Not Really...

Hey all,
So I know I kind of went off on a tirade about what an English major ought to be; however, I only talked about the genesis of becoming one. A strong foundation needs to be established in order to successfully accomplish anything in the field, whether it be teaching composition or writing poetry. Exploring the point further, though, I believe a strong classical base simply is not enough. Yes - Ovid, Homer, Dante, and all the other old boys are fantastic, and they provide us with so much. Yes - we need to know about them in order to further comprehend the subtleties of the authors we claim to love and adore. But, really, we need to take a step back, tuck Ovid up our sleeve - once we're very familiar with him - and re-examine how we go about understanding literature in today's world.

Being a part of a magazine as well as a fledgling poet, I think I'm beginning to see more clearly what today's literature is about; this is a unique experience, though, and I would say most English majors I know are fossilized in some far-off century. This is not necessarily a bad thing - as those highly specialized scholars are needed in our school systems - but I think we, generally speaking, study the classics for enrichment above anything else. The classics for many are essentially tools for an English major's utility belt. As most, if not all, canonized poets have said time and time again, the tradition is a sort of domino effect of poet learning from preceding poet. So why is it that many people who have no real intentions of becoming university professors dedicate scholarly lives to studying the ins and outs of Whitmanian poetry or Joyceian prose? My answer is simply, "I don't fucking know."

Don't get me wrong, I love my dead poets. Everyone who knows me knows my love for all things Whitman. Leaves of Grass is essentially my religious text, but it isn't the basis for my being (Yep...that sentiment sounds about right....), nor is it, more importantly, the basis of my scholarly endeavors. I mean, I'm going to pursue my masters in 19th Century American Literature, but, really, it's only a stepping stone in my career as an English scholar; and, connecting back to what I was initially saying, my studies in 19th Century American Literature are solely for enrichment purposes. So why is this enrichment important? Simple: by better knowing the tradition, I can better know what it means to read and, more importantly, write today.

So here it is, folks - my call. My barbaric yawp, if you will. We need to embrace the past, but keep it in theory rather than in practice. Literature is alive, people, and it's growing with every day that passes. We cannot come to know it if we first do not come to know its history, but the focus should be to take it head on. Please. Read your Ovid. Your Sturluson. Your Chaucer. Fuck, read the Aneid if you're into that sort of thing, but remember folks - that's foundation for what's going on now. Be active and read what's out there - especially in literary magazines. Today's Hemingway is in American Short Fiction  and the new Whitman is out there publishing something in Hayden's Ferry Review, stopping somewhere, of course, waiting for you.             

        
JF

Comic books, pop music, and validity in all forms

At the coffee shop where I hang out I get fairly constant stream of questions from a bevy of surly twentysomethings about what I’ve read recently, or if any of it was good. These kids (many of whom I happen to adore, though that doesn’t keep them from being irritating little shits sometimes) have spent all their literary lives so far sifting through Keates, Byron, Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, Dickens, Dickinson, and Wolfe searching for depth, meaning, and, above all, Art. So when I return a response of “Have you checked out Watchmen yet?” or “I read a really great Hellboy collection recently,” or “You should borrow my copy of The Crow,” or “Did I tell you about that graphic novel Blankets?” or “Have you read any of Miller’s Dark Knight stuff, or flipped through Sin City?” or “I’ve got this great Eisner winner, Maus, that you should read,” all they have to say back is either “Nah, I’m not a comic book kind of person,” or, worse, “C’mon, Alli, you know I don’t read that kind of crap.” This is pretty much the same response I got from English Lit majors in college when they were confronted with my comic book addiction; when I was excited to see Hellboy assigned as a textbook for a SF class, many of my fellow students were disgusted.

I thought we had moved past that attitude. I was wrong.

Pop art is still totally dismissed as art, whether it’s popular fiction (i.e., Stephen King,) popular poetry (i.e., song lyrics,) popular music (i.e., any music composed for mass consumption, including film scores,) or popular art (take your pick of movies, TV shows or comics), if it starts with “pop” or “popular” before its medium it’s considered below the notice of the discerning classes of society (i.e., anyone who has graduated high school.)

Don’t believe me? Listen to the words of a pop artist who knows the kind of mountain he’s attempting to climb: Alex Turner of the Arctic Monkeys wrote a poem about being in love, put it to music, and included the line “I poured my aching heart into a pop song, I couldn’t get the hang of poetry.” Personally, I think Turner has the hang of poetry, Stephen King has the hang of fiction, John Williams has the hang of music and Mike Mignola has the hang of both written and illustrated art.

In a recent discussion with the editors of AFLM I ended up putting together a pretty passionate defense of pop art as a whole, and it went along these lines: art is supposed to change the people who encounter it, it doesn’t have to mean something to everyone but it does have to mean something important to someone – so all those kids out there who really give a damn about Twilight validate it as art; every kid who didn’t commit suicide in the late 90’s because of the pop-punk Blink 182 missive “Adam’s Song” places the band on a pedestal that no one can remove them from; every kid from 1985 up until now who came to believe in heroes and in being your own hero because of a Frank Miller Batman comic book is proof that Miller is an artist beyond question.

Now, does that mean that all pop art is good art? Of course not, at least not for everyone, just like the literary cannon isn’t good literature for everyone; for instance I hate stream-of-consciousness and no one will ever be able to convince me that As I Lay Dying is a good novel, no matter how many snooty lit majors try to convince me that it’s brilliant art; just like I’ll never be able to convince them that Maus is a fantastic visual novel that should be taught in high schools throughout the world.

I know that this argument is getting into the sticky realm of subjectivity in art that can only end in either agreeing to disagree about what art is or in putting down a definition that I believe is too limiting to really encompass all of what art is, so I’ll leave you readers with a couple of things to mull over.

First: the vast realm of “Art” is hard to define specifically because it is possible for so many people to define so many different things as art that no one definition can really cover all aspects in depth, which is great because it gives liberal arts something to argue about for the next few centuries.

Second: as a child, Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes had a greater impact on my personality, morality, imagination and values than anything other than my immediate family. Watterson was aware of the pop nature of his art and wrote about it in his comics, making the argument that even though he was just a comic writer he was still an artist. This argument was made as eloquently in four-panel strips full of brilliant, cutting prose as it was in the sprawling detail and watercolors of his half-page Sunday masterpieces. So to the arguing Art fiends in coffee shops and colleges everywhere, I leave you with Calvin’s final words as a talisman to carry in the search to find and define art: “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, Ol’ buddy… Let’s go exploring!”

What Writing Delivers

Last week I had the pleasure of reading an article written by Father Walter J. Ong. I would like to bring discuss this article today because I feel what Ong has to say is not only important, but essential to anyone who considers himself or herself a writer as it attempts to explain just what writing has accomplished since its creation and wide-scale use. The article is titled “Writing Is a Technology that Restructures Thought,” and I hope that after reading this here today many of you will go out and read the article for yourself as I will only be able to capture a small part of Ong's entire argument.

Living in what Ong calls a “high-technology culture” we cannot understand what writing is separate to what we consider natural to all humans (Ong 19). We write, just as we eat and sleep. We do it everyday and in many cases we do not even realize we are doing it. I recently had a discussion with one of my tutoring groups about the decline of society. The students of this group were convinced that a lack of literacy could lead to this. One of my students brought up the idea of a grocery list with fifty items on it, something commonly seen around an everyday house-hold, and explained how even a task so simple as going to the store would become a daunting one if we were forced to memorize all fifty items on the list before we actually went to the store. Looking back now, I could accomplish this, but I would need to study for several hours before I actually left for the store. An everyday task such as shopping becomes labor, a hard-ship, an incredible challenge, all because of a lack of writing. Because writing is so weaved into what we are, we cannot understand what life would be like without writing. We are bound to writing just as we are to breathing-- it is a skill necessary to succeed in a culture such as ours (Ong 19).

To begin understanding Ong's argument we must take a step back and examine what humans were like before writing. This can be done by looking at a completely oral culture such as the ancient Greeks. The Ancient Greeks did not write. They relied on memorization to preserve the knowledge provided to them by their ancestors so that they could pass it on to their children. If any information, often remembered as tales or stories, was forgotten, then the knowledge that that tale possessed was also lost forever and could not be passed down, unless someone else was found who knew the tale. This is foreign to us today. If one forgets the definition of a word they can effortlessly open a dictionary. If one forgets the plot of a story, they can revisit the original story. Many people today can say that they have memorized a few lines of poetry, but few can say that they have memorized an entire epic. This is because the task of memorizing anything of that length is too daunting, too gruesomely challenging, and, more than anything, too time consuming for anyone to actually do. If we were to spent our lives memorizing entire epics we would have little time for anything else, and as Ong reveals “Exploratory thinking is...a luxury orality can little afford, for energies must be husbanded to keep on constant call the evanescent knowledge that the ages have so laboriously accumulated” (Ong 20). As Ong further points out, 'exploratory thinking' which is thinking that we so often do today in the sciences and the philosophies, is linear. It builds upon itself. This, in general, cannot be done within an oral culture because the time which we spend on interpretation and theories, on innovation and new ideas must be spent, by those in an oral culture, on memorization and recollection. It is only through this memorization that an oral culture has any chance of passing down the knowledge that they possess to their future generations. And, with the business of life today, not many people are willing, or able, to memorize anything of that length and why would they when it is already written down and is easily accessible.

Writing is part of us today. It is expected and essential. And that is, as Ong explains, the reason that we do not normally see writing as a technology. But, as brought up as a comparison, Ong parallels writing to the Greeks with computers to us (Ong 21). Few people today consider the calculator or computer as part of the natural human mental processes, but computers, calculators and writing differ little in what they accomplish. They each allow the user to access information, or perform tasks that they could not do without the use of the technology (21). For example, as I explained above, writing allows the user to look back at previous knowledge without having to memorize it. Therefore, the writer can spend their time interpreting the text that is already written down. They can build on previous knowledge because they don't need to memorize it. The same as this, a calculator allows the user to calculate equations which could not be done easily without the calculator. The calculator allows the user, just as writing allows the reader, to accomplish an incredibly difficult task with simplicity (Ong 21). We are able to recall an immense amount of information, more than could ever be memorized, by simply opening the pages of a book. We are able to make advancements because of the time we save by using technologies such as writing and calculators. Returning to the shopping list example above, I stated that I would be able to accomplish a task such as memorizing fifty items on a shopping list after studying the list, but the task would be incredibly challenging and take an immense amount of time which I now use elsewhere, such as here writing this blog. With the use of writing however, this task becomes simple and effortless. Just the same, if I was asked to add two incredibly large numbers together, I could eventually do it, but it would take a lot of time. A calculator however, would shorten the time spent on this challenge from hours to seconds. The difference however, between seeing writing as a technology just like computers and calculators, and seeing writing as a natural human process is that writing has been around for so long, and has been become such a natural part of our everyday lives that we fail to understand, or are unable to understand, what life would be like without writing. Writing is very much an essential part of what we as humans are today, but, as seen with ancient oral cultures like the Ancient Greeks, it has not always been that way.

So, with this brief introduction into Father Walter J. Ong's article: “Writing Is a Technology that Restructures Thought” I now leave you with two challenges. The first is that I challenge each and every one of you to go out and read this article. What I have accumulated here is only a small chunk of the knowledge that Father Ong's article possesses, and everyone can benefit in some way from fully understanding what Ong writes in his article. The second is a challenge that I hope will reveal to any who try just how important the technology of writing is in our everyday lives. Attempt an entire day without writing. Force yourself to memorize all the information that is thrown your way: the appointments, the shopping lists, the lectures, and any scribbled notes that you would normally write down. If nothing else, for this day, you will make Plato very happy.

I hope all of you enjoyed reading my blog as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please, leave me feed back as you feel just. Feel free to comment with celebratory praising, or with your thoughts of disagreement and unrest. I would love to hear both.

Until next time my friends,

Yours Hart,

Nick

Works Cited

Ong, Walter J. "Writing Is a Technology That Restructures Thought." Literacy: a Critical Sourcebook. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin's, 2001. 19-31. Print.

Multimodal Literacy in Video Gaming

Hey All,

Today I'm gonna talk about something particularly close to my heart; video games, or more specifically, old video games. The idea for this blog was sparked when fellow editor Eric Strege took me out to hang out with a Cal Poly English dept Alumni for a rousing game of video game playing. What the night ended up being was a series of frustrating turn changes followed by a four hour conversation about "the good old days" of video gaming and an unconscious Eric.

Unlike my peers here at A Few Lines, I actually did not read much as a kid. In fact, I didn't really read for pleasure until college. What I did do, however, was play a very wide variety of text heavy games. Much of what I learned about narrative structure, themes, and subtle dialogue conventions was actually picked up through playing RPGs (Role Playing Games) like the Final Fantasy series. Before the advent of such visually rich games computer game developers offered us the genre of "text adventures" where the player was met with a black screen with a few lines of text on it that read something like "You are standing in a room" to which you would respond "look around" and the game would enlighten you by saying something like "you see a door and a dresser." Needless to say, the door is always locked. This style of gaming was actually incredibly difficult because the object of the game was not always clear and often times the actions that you wanted to take would not compute and sometimes just required an awkward rephrase. I offered this little bit of information mostly for a laugh but also to point out that text heavy video games don't always help with literacy, in fact, in this case the the player often got lost in a maze of vague and confusing five word statements.

My beloved RPGs, however, played more like an interactive novel. The main character of the story is guided along by narrative prompts and plot motivations. Of course, like books, some games really don't develop any sort of literary knowledge because the object of the game is simply kill, kill, kill and the story is only the end to justify that means. I'm simply trying to argue that video games are a medium of literacy when put in the right hands. I noticed when I first started playing these games that reading the massive amount of dialogue was a bit of an arduous task; however, after a bit of experience with the genre, I realized that I was reading the dialogue faster than the game would present it to me (prompting me to mash the "next" button). Onlookers would often ask me to "stop skipping the talking" to which I would have to reply "I'm not." So playing such games greatly increased my reading speed and gave me the ability to retain information relevant to story telling for a prolonged period of time (the average play time of these games is around 50 hours). Many literary themes can also be found within these narratives (because, well, it's still a narrative) but because I don't feel like dissecting a game as if it was a book right now I'll just offer you with a video link in a bit.

Multimodal literacy is a hot topic right now but the focus has really been comic books. I say peeshaw to them because they have already gained a fair amount of credit in the literary community. Allen Moore, along with many of my other favorite comic book writers, have won many prestigious awards because of their work. Alan Moore's The Watchmen was marked as one of the greatest literary achievements in the last hundred years (Literary, not comic book). The only critically acclaimed video game writer I could refer you to would be Hideo Kojima, who was recognized as one of the most important people of the last century (in some list I read somewhere on his wiki page) for his work on the Metal Gear Solid series. The strange thing is that it was his name on a list of people rather than his work on a list of other works.

But I'm rambling. It seems some people have taken minor notice in video games as a medium of literacy but I'm not so sure they should anymore. Confused? Well, I'm gonna sound like an old man again this week because I think the good ol' days are gone. You see, back in the day game developers relied on such conventions as narrative because they didn't have the technology to do much else. Most of the time a great story was used to keep the gamer invested. These days, however, game developers have fallen pray to the Micheal Bayisms that have ruined the movie industry. Most games now rely on big explosions, "epic" fight scenes, short attention spans, and a lack of a critical eye to get by. Even my beloved Final Fantasy series has fallen to this level. Narratives too have been hindered by the creation of voice acting in games. Voice actors were the obvious choice in order to make games more like movies and to get rid of the "hindrance" of reading, in this way, the player would be "totally immersed" in the game. The problem with this is that the dialogue was heavily watered down because voice actors could not read the amount of text that was offered in previous games. Even if voice actors were able to read that much, who would really want them to? Imagine a novel that only let you read ten words every 15 seconds. Thoroughly unenjoyable, and that's what listening to cheesy voice acting is like.

So yeah, that was a rant. The fact is that I'm worried. Video games really can be a great means of literacy, and I want future generations to experience the rich world of gaming the way I was able to but it seems that may not be possible. There is hope I suppose but it seems that technology has moved a bit to fast for me this time and created the lost generation of literacy.

So I'll offer you now with a video game critique that offers insight into a certain kind of literacy that can't be found anywhere other than video games. This critique is done by a guy who goes by Egoraptor, his videos are incredibly wacky and random but he also offers the most in depth and insightful critiques into video games I've ever seen. He balances education with comedy, so Chaucer would approve.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FpigqfcvlM

So what do you guys think, is gaming irrelevant to literacy now? Has it always been? Is there hope for literacy in video games in the future? Do I need to force my kids to plug in a playstation circa 1998 in order to tear them away from whatever mindless dribble they are playing in the future? Let me know.

Till next time,

Rainamoinen

Letter To The Leaves: Our Collective Soul

My Fellow Contributors,

This morning I want to depart from where my colleagues have taken their own blogs and take you down the untrodden path to my inner-spirit. And in doing so hope to expose you, my fellow contributors, to the beliefs on which this magazine was founded.

As Director of Public Relations it is my job to up hold the character and promote the brand of A Few Lines magazine. But in order for you understand the character of this magazine, I must first give you some personal narration on one of its creators.

I was diagnosed at the age of two with an auto-immune disorder called Alopecia Areata. The direct effect of this disorder is complete hair loss. So as many you have noticed, from the coffee shop readings or the booth we just recently had at Cal Poly Pomona, I do not have any hair anywhere on my body.

(I bring this piece of information up only so you can better understand the soul of this magazine)

I went through periods of my life where I felt ashamed, cast out, banished to the undergrounds of society. I soon turned away from the external world and moved inward. It was in this place of self-exploration where I developed my voice. The internal dialogue rambling in my head, describing things in its own neo-transcendental style. I went on like this till college; till I became an English major.

The written word became a way for me to transfer my thoughts into the here and now. I was able in just a few lines to capture images of fancy and thoughts of wildness, going on in my soul, down on paper. The illumination of this underground individual expression occuring in my soul was powerful. I wanted everyone to experience this feeling of true-self ejaculation. I wanted to bring people together under the common ground of self-expression and give you a place to share your thoughts on our ever converging world.

We are not elitists, but we do hold ourselves and the submissions we receive to a higher standard. Not because we want to be better than others, but because we believe truly great art comes from a desire to express which is most true to your self.

We look for the boldly unique, the pieces that speak more of the author's heart and mind than of the books he has read.

By Underground, We mean those who wish not for fame, but for the meager gain of personal satisfaction. Not for gold trophies, but to say, 'I was here'.

And with that, I leave you with this last thought,

If everything is nothing, then why not make this everything.

Undoubtedly Yours,
Bermuda