* What follows is a long, rambling rant about literature, politics, and why we have an ignorant cheetoh winning in the polls. None of my readers are under any obligation to feel this way, and none of my friends are under any obligation to agree. All I ask is that nobody yells at anybody else. That any discussion remains civilized. That nobody goes after me with a torch and a pitchfork and calls me dirty names for trying to figure out how things went so horribly wrong.
So, a long time ago I taught The Crucible, and part of teaching The Crucible was studying Arthur Miller's theory of diabolism.
Given the state of the world, of social media, of the candidate we must not name, I thought diabolism was an interesting thing we might want to study today.
In the story The Crucible, a group of young women are found dancing in the forest, playing at casting love potions. One of the young women, Abigail Williams, had an affair with her employer, and when her employer's wife turned her out--and her lover sided with his wife and said, "This was wrong, it must stop," Abigail turned vengeful. She didn't just want a love potion--she wanted the wife to die.
The girls are discovered--and instead of writing the dance and the witchcraft off as "simple stupid teenaged bullshit", the people who found the girls freaked the fuck out, and one of the girls was so frightened of what her Puritanical community would do to her, that she felt into sort of an hysterical trance. The other girls, frightened because, remember, this community had no forgiveness for anything that deviated from a very strict norm, followed Abigail's lead. They were frightened, they were a little bit guilty, and they wanted to avoid terribly harsh punishment--so they confessed, but they used the age old excuse, "The devil made me do it--and this person is the devil!"
The town was sort of a hotbed of discontent. The pastor wanted a bigger slice of pie, Abigail's uncle wanted his neighbor's land-- one neurotic woman with one child was jealous of the saintly old woman who'd had practically a dozen. Into this sort of rats nest and jealousy come these hysterical girls, calling out witches, saying, "This scary old woman made me snort a toad!" and the more manipulative grownups start to think.
"Hey--I want these things on the material plane. I want revenge. I want stuff I'm not supposed to want--if I can steer this swarm of cannibalistic starlings in one direction or the other, I can get some of that stuff."
And the judges listening to these complaints are like, "Well, of course everybody's telling the truth. Lying puts their mortal soul in danger--why would they lie? We should kill the people they accuse immediately, because we will tolerate and forgive no deviation from a very strict norm! The only way we will know if they are cured of their sickness is if they accuse somebody else, and then we can threaten THEM with death!"
And the judges--the people who should have known better, missed the hole in the plan.
The hole in the plan is that everybody--the girls, the townspeople, the people accused who then turned into the accusers--all of those people believed that there was no forgiveness for deviating from a very strict norm.
Why yes, I've said that a couple of times now.
It's important.
I'm on a diet-- Weight Watchers. And the thing about diets is that everybody knows how to lose weight. Eliminate X, Y, and Z from the diet, and only eat A, B, and C. The problem? X, Y, and Z are YUMMY AS FUCK, and A, B, and C are tasty, but they don't have the sugar and fat that turns us all into junkies sucking soda and chocolate chip cookies. The thing that Weight Watchers--and most successful food programs--has discovered, is the thing that the judges of the Salem Witch trials never figured out.
If our line in the sand -- the line demarcating good and evil, the line that claims there is NO FORGIVENESS FOR DEVIATING FROM A VERY STRICT NORM is too harsh and too insurmountable, everybody falls in some way. If we can't have a chocolate chip cookie once in a while, we end up eyeballs deep in Oreos and Hagen Daas, daring our nearest and dearest to come one step closer and nibble a corner of our stash.
It's a byproduct of being human.
The minute you declare that all action on B SIDE OF THE FENCE is not only wrong, it's unforgivable and there is no learning curve and there is no margin for human error, you have effectively determined that everybody--every man, woman, and child of the human race is FUCKING GUILTY AS FUCKING SIN.
Because we're all fallible.
You're not allowed to be petty? That damns us to hell?
Well fuck--I envied my girlfriend because she's way more talented than I am, and I'm fucking doomed.
You're not allowed to be lustful? That damns us to hell?
I enjoyed relations with my husband. I'm fucking doomed.
You're not allowed to be slothful? That damns us to hell?
I will cut a bitch who tries to wake me from my nap. I"m fucking doomed.
You name a sin, thundered about on a pulpit--or on a Twitter thread--and people have, consciously or unconsciously, committed it.
There are two things you can do if you've committed that many sins.
The first--always my option--forgive yourself, forgive others, and try to do better.
The second--and the option found in The Crucible and on social media-- is to believe you're damned for all eternity and fucked up the ass with a rusty sword of justice.
With the first, there is gentleness, education, apology and forgiveness, humanity and a better way.
With the second, there is "Fuck it, I'm screwed anyway, I might as well dick with all the people who pissed me off anyway."
Which is what happened in The Crucible. By the end of The Crucible--and the Salem Witch trials actually-- they had a problem with cows. All of the cows were wandering around the town, because so many of the townspeople were locked up for perceived evils that there was nobody to take care of them. Children were wandering the streets because their parents had been accused and were awaiting trial, because by the rules of the Puritans, it was better to let the children starve than it was to let free a couple of puzzled churchgoers who didn't understand that skipping church a couple of times a year didn't really damn them to hell, and they had no guilt to speak of.
If there is no rule of forgiveness, no guidelines of tolerance, everybody is guilty.
Everybody.
Which is why people are right now saying, "Well, one candidate is as good as another."
I saw an interesting graphic. A credited non-partisan news assessment source (Politifact) assessed both candidates in the American presidential election. One of the candidate--the GOP candidate--was found to be anywhere from lying a little to lying a lot over 75% of the time. The other candidate, the Democratic candidate, was found to be lying less than 15% of the time.
And yet the Democratic candidate had been branded the dishonest one.
Why?
Why would an entire country allow themselves to be so mislead? (Or at least half the country.)
Because the big fat orange faced liar is speaking for everybody in the country going, "Fuck it, I've sinned anyway, I might as well pick the guy with my sin!"
Greed? Narcissism? Intolerance? Xenophobia? These are the things that this candidate has come to represent. Well, most of mankind feels these things at some point in time. And then, a lot of us remember our education in the world, we remember our duties as citizens, we remember our ability to master complex functions, and we overcome these horrible parts of ourselves and we move on to do productive things with our time and our beautiful human potential.
But the people following this candidate haven't done that. They've sinned. They're fucked. Let's go with this guy who makes a game out of being an asshole, since obviously all mankind is an asshole. Just like with the witch trials, any deviation from a very strict norm means you're going to hell. Half our population is following the candidate who is proud and excited to be going to hell.
The other half is running around outraged because this guy is leading.
But let's think of this outrage for a moment.
What if we hadn't allowed our outrage to rule us, even from the very beginning.
What if the candidate had opened his mouth, said something obscene, and instead of going, "Oh my God you just said this horrible thing you fucker!" we'd said, "I'm not sure if you realize this, but here are the ways this offended 80% of the population, and here is why this philosophy is bad for the country."
Think about it. Gentle teaching. Consistently. How long would we have needed to do that before he would have just looked like the spoiled child he is, and he would have been yesterday's news?
Instead, we were outraged, consistently. And like any shrieking brat, he went, "I'm fucked, everything I do is wrong, let's see how much attention I can get like that!"
And here we are. On the cusp of electing a shrieking brat into a very dangerous position, because the rest of the world is pretty sure THEY'RE fucked because everything THEY do seems to be wrong.
Social media works as a binary code--Twitter has 140 characters to determine if a person is guilty or not guilty.
The judges who convicted people to hang in Salem had the same code--guilty or not guilty.
The United States Senator who ruined tens of thousands of lives by blacklisting them had the same code--guilty or not guilty.
When are we going to start figuring out that screaming "GUILTY MOTHER FUCKER!" in someone's face doesn't work.
It's never worked.
It's left cows to wander the roadways and orphaned children, but it has never done anything besides turn the accused into the accuser, simply to escape wrath.
Now I'm not saying we all turn to the scary xenophobic bigoted narcissist who may soon hold nuclear codes in his hand and say, "Oh, Mr. Trump, I LOVE you, try not to be a scary xenophobic bigoted narcissist and kill us all, okay?"
But I am saying spazzing the fuck out every time he says something that appalls us is not working.
Even worse, it's making us numb and bitter, like someone who drank aloe lidocaine tea.
And it's making our country sick.
Maybe instead of screeching every time someone crosses the inevitable line of being human, we have a discussion instead of a witch hunt?
Maybe we set out with education in our hearts instead of judgment, and we try to make the world a better, more positive place instead of a place where shrieking crows feast on one another's guts with glee?
The end of The Crucible was that 19 people died and the crowd fell apart.
The end of McCarthyism was that tens of thousands of lives were ruined and the baby boomers rebelled against all those terrible rules with self-indulgence that is killing us even now.
Diabolism benefits nobody, and it harms a great many.
There has got to be a better way.
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query crucible. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query crucible. Sort by date Show all posts
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Thursday, March 5, 2020
Fascism
A good friend of mine posted on Twitter that "If you're not with us, you're against us!" is the siren call of fascism. I was interested--in case you haven't guessed by all the Crucible posts, I've been witnessing a situation in which the LAI (Loudest Assholes on the Internet) have gained control of an organization I used to love. Watching their rise, the way they've twisted what I know to be true, and their current regime--and it is a regime, make no mistake--has chilled my blood and broken my heart.
You don't realize you're being manipulated. You think you're being a standup citizen. You have good intentions. And then, by the time you realize that the people screaming don't give a FUCK about witches--they're calling out witches so they can have someone's property, or get out of being caught for something bad they've done, or get revenge because those so called "witches" are living their best life--you are LOST. Because by then, EVERYBODY is screaming "WITCH! WITCH!" And the loudest manipulators--they're afraid of getting caught. One word, one whisper, one sideways look, from you indicating you know what's up--they went dancing naked in the woods and they don't want to get whipped, or they want their neighbor's property or their neighbor's husband or their neighbor's sheep--and they're going to call you out, and you are fucked. Not just because there's a trial, but because you lose everything. One wrong scream and there goes your reputation, your family, your property--and that's if you're found innocent.
If you haven't read the full text of The Crucible--do so.
If you haven't read up on McCarthyism--do so.
If you're a movie person, The Crucible is out in two passable (but not excellent) films, but there's also Good Night and Good Luck, and Trumbo, both of which I've seen and if you haven't, you need to.
The insidious thing about McCarthyism and witch hunts is that the loudest people want the power--"If you're not with us, you're against us!" as a rallying cry gets people with them damned quick. But they pick a cause that everybody is sort of onboard with. For this example, we'll use witches, because witches--at least the way they were represented in Puritan society--were bad! Not misunderstood romantic heroines but terrible creatures with multiple nipples who liked to eat dead babies. When the loudest, most shameless people in your community scream, "KILL THE WITCHES!" you're like, "Oh, okay--my bad. I didn't know they were a problem, but definitely--they're evil, I'm on board!"
You don't realize you're being manipulated. You think you're being a standup citizen. You have good intentions. And then, by the time you realize that the people screaming don't give a FUCK about witches--they're calling out witches so they can have someone's property, or get out of being caught for something bad they've done, or get revenge because those so called "witches" are living their best life--you are LOST. Because by then, EVERYBODY is screaming "WITCH! WITCH!" And the loudest manipulators--they're afraid of getting caught. One word, one whisper, one sideways look, from you indicating you know what's up--they went dancing naked in the woods and they don't want to get whipped, or they want their neighbor's property or their neighbor's husband or their neighbor's sheep--and they're going to call you out, and you are fucked. Not just because there's a trial, but because you lose everything. One wrong scream and there goes your reputation, your family, your property--and that's if you're found innocent.
And nobody is found innocent in a witch hunt.
Nobody.
I've talked about dichotomous thinking--and this is it. I've posted some posters here featuring propaganda from the Red Scare--and one satirizing the Red Scare in the wake of 9/11--and make no mistake. These posters, these misrepresentations of the truth, this is where that kind of thinking leads.
So, what do you do with all of this?
Remember--if anyone says to you, "If you're not with us, you're against us!" they are not your friend--they are your bully.
If "You're not with us, you're against us!" escalates, sometimes standing up to the bullies will only get you beaten. Lay low, get the fuck out of Salem, and if you've got an emotional attachment to the place, maybe come back eventually and try to pick up the pieces. The bullies certainly won't.
If someone asks "Where do your sympathies lie? Are you friends with so and so, a known witch? Are you still? Could you tell us how witchy they got? All the details. If you're not truthful, we'll know YOU are a witch too," this person is not your friend, and this organization is not something you want to belong to. Again, now is the time to leave Salem--it's not a friendly sort of place.
If someone says, "Well, we're not fascists, but we want to eradicate all witchcraft and all witchy thoughts from the world," well, A. That's the definition of fascism, and B. It's impossible. Telling people they will be beaten for sympathizing with witches will only breed fear. Fear breeds hypocrisy. Hypocrisy breeds revenge. Seriously--get the FUCK out of Salem, because the torches and pitchforks are coming for you next. Also, I understand there's beer in the next town, and Salem has never been fond of beer.
Remember-- and it can't be said enough,
WHAT IS POPULAR IS NOT ALWAYS RIGHT; WHAT IS RIGHT IS NOT ALWAYS POPULAR!!!
If you find yourself waving a torch and a pitchfork and doing something heinous to someone who was once your friend, good luck forgiving yourself in the next five years-- you have officially sold your soul.
And that's it. That's my rant on fascism, McCarthyism, and witch hunts in general.
In completely unrelated news, I've resigned from the RWA.
Make of that what you will.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Avoiding the blog...
No, not you guys, although it probably feels like that. (I'm sorry--I love reading everyone's blogs, mostly I've just been busy!)
And mostly it's been my own blog I'm avoiding. I had some very cool, very funny stuff to blog about, like how my administrator requested I didn't mention anatomical parts on my referrals (although she thought my referrals were very very entertaining) or the five stages of getting a bad review (panic, refusal, bargaining, whining and swearing) or even the absolute abyss of craptasm that my mood was yesterday (too many people needing something from me--always a bad day).
And then I had the department meeting and craptasm took on a whole new meaning.
See, our goal lately has been to 'all get on the same page'. I've never been very good at this--ever. I've never worn what everyone else was wearing, I've never done my hair the same way everyone else has done, I've never approached life in an orderly fashion, and 'getting my curriculum on the same page'...
Well, I swore I'd try.
In fact, I seem to recall, clear as day, telling my department head that I'd be willing to change my first quarter essay from a persuasive to a personal reflective. I even recall some tentative plans to do just that.
And then today, when he asked everyone what page we were on, I was proud--we'd just finished the persuasive essay! Well, it made sense to me--the entire first quarter is rationalist literature--It's ALL persuasive essays! It's just... so... damned... easy... to use the literature to teach the essay. And I've showed him my approach before, and he's liked it! But it wasn't what he was looking for, and I could tell he wanted to ream me, but he didn't want to do it in front of his curriculum clones (there's three of them, all young, all male, all obsessive compulsive, all REALLY excited about this 'on the same page' thing) and there I was, off in Amy-land, seeming to be completely clueless as to what the real world was doing.
And to some extent, I was.
I wasn't even to timeline. I mean, I was REALLY excited myself--last year, I did two extra rationalist pieces (Thomas Jefferson and someone else I completely forget right now) and didn't get to The Crucible until second semester. I just started the Crucible, and I may be about 1/2 way through (or possibly all the way through... I've got some plans to just rip us right through that puppy) by the time finals get here. So, on the one hand, I've accomplished a four week streamline--and that was WITH the debacle of the entire week and a half time-out I took to do the one sentence summary in response to our collaborative group time experiment on behalf of the administration. (Holy shit. I'd forgotten about that. Dammit--I really WAS on track to finish the Crucible by Christmas. Shit shit shit shit shit--that pisses me off all over again!) On the other hand, I'm still behind. And as I bumbled my way through THAT explanation (while Mr. Trick is looking at me like an iguana he brought home by mistake) I found myself wishing longingly for Mr. Sparrow.
Mr. Sparrow has the same problem. He's out now getting chemo, but when he's working he's A. unconventional, B. brilliant, and C. charismatic. Since I am merely A, he sort of had the effect of making me look good. We used to have long conversations about how sometimes we'd start out wanting to do a two week unit and it would grow to take up the entire quarter. We'd have deep discussions about how we just couldn't let them skim over the curriculum, we had to give it depth and breadth and color and scope.
He made me feel good about moments like this, when, holy shit, I'm behind and on a different page, but he'd been there.
Today, I just felt off kilter and old and female and weird.
It's funny how one person can completely alter the effect of the bad shit on your day, isn't it? I mean, I knew I missed the guy, but I didn't realize how humanizing and accessible he tended to make my mostly male department.
It's also funny how, with really awesome people, you want them to feel better for purely selfish reasons. I really hope he feels better--I miss how he makes ME feel.
And mostly it's been my own blog I'm avoiding. I had some very cool, very funny stuff to blog about, like how my administrator requested I didn't mention anatomical parts on my referrals (although she thought my referrals were very very entertaining) or the five stages of getting a bad review (panic, refusal, bargaining, whining and swearing) or even the absolute abyss of craptasm that my mood was yesterday (too many people needing something from me--always a bad day).
And then I had the department meeting and craptasm took on a whole new meaning.
See, our goal lately has been to 'all get on the same page'. I've never been very good at this--ever. I've never worn what everyone else was wearing, I've never done my hair the same way everyone else has done, I've never approached life in an orderly fashion, and 'getting my curriculum on the same page'...
Well, I swore I'd try.
In fact, I seem to recall, clear as day, telling my department head that I'd be willing to change my first quarter essay from a persuasive to a personal reflective. I even recall some tentative plans to do just that.
And then today, when he asked everyone what page we were on, I was proud--we'd just finished the persuasive essay! Well, it made sense to me--the entire first quarter is rationalist literature--It's ALL persuasive essays! It's just... so... damned... easy... to use the literature to teach the essay. And I've showed him my approach before, and he's liked it! But it wasn't what he was looking for, and I could tell he wanted to ream me, but he didn't want to do it in front of his curriculum clones (there's three of them, all young, all male, all obsessive compulsive, all REALLY excited about this 'on the same page' thing) and there I was, off in Amy-land, seeming to be completely clueless as to what the real world was doing.
And to some extent, I was.
I wasn't even to timeline. I mean, I was REALLY excited myself--last year, I did two extra rationalist pieces (Thomas Jefferson and someone else I completely forget right now) and didn't get to The Crucible until second semester. I just started the Crucible, and I may be about 1/2 way through (or possibly all the way through... I've got some plans to just rip us right through that puppy) by the time finals get here. So, on the one hand, I've accomplished a four week streamline--and that was WITH the debacle of the entire week and a half time-out I took to do the one sentence summary in response to our collaborative group time experiment on behalf of the administration. (Holy shit. I'd forgotten about that. Dammit--I really WAS on track to finish the Crucible by Christmas. Shit shit shit shit shit--that pisses me off all over again!) On the other hand, I'm still behind. And as I bumbled my way through THAT explanation (while Mr. Trick is looking at me like an iguana he brought home by mistake) I found myself wishing longingly for Mr. Sparrow.
Mr. Sparrow has the same problem. He's out now getting chemo, but when he's working he's A. unconventional, B. brilliant, and C. charismatic. Since I am merely A, he sort of had the effect of making me look good. We used to have long conversations about how sometimes we'd start out wanting to do a two week unit and it would grow to take up the entire quarter. We'd have deep discussions about how we just couldn't let them skim over the curriculum, we had to give it depth and breadth and color and scope.
He made me feel good about moments like this, when, holy shit, I'm behind and on a different page, but he'd been there.
Today, I just felt off kilter and old and female and weird.
It's funny how one person can completely alter the effect of the bad shit on your day, isn't it? I mean, I knew I missed the guy, but I didn't realize how humanizing and accessible he tended to make my mostly male department.
It's also funny how, with really awesome people, you want them to feel better for purely selfish reasons. I really hope he feels better--I miss how he makes ME feel.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Life with my feet up...
Seriously-- I actually bailed on a department meeting (to the unhappiness of my dept. head) to come home and put my feet up and on ice.
Walking around the Academy of Science on Saturday had pretty much fubar'd my foot per usual, and it was getting to the point where I would stand up and site my destination, and then my vision would tunnel, and the entire ten to twenty foot trip would lengthen and stretch like that hallway in Poltergeist and all I'd see was red as I hobbled from point A to point B. Mate was still making up work from his vacation (and the long hours I worked before Christmas vacation) and all I wanted to do was go home, sit down, and ice my damned foot.
So I braved Mr. Trick's disapproval (can't blame him, but, at this point, I couldn't help him either) and came home, put my foot up and issued orders like a chain-smoking gym teacher with a bullhorn.
The older kids were wonderful, the younger kids not so much--they seemed to feel my extended leg and the ice pack it rested on were a new and unusual jungle gym, and I felt bad--Mean Mama came out to scream when what I REALLY wanted was for Snuggly Mama to sit and cuddle. In the end, we had to compromise, and Sleeping Mama just dozed in the chaos as the the little ones tumbled around like lion cubs. It must not have been too bad a day--they went to sleep early, and there was actually less crying than there has been (they have learned to fight in earnest--fun times!) so a little bit of chaos went a long way.
And it seems to have worked-- the swelling has gone down and my foot is no longer curled up around my arch like an agoraphobic caterpillar and I may be able to walk like a human tomorrow.
I've also gone seriously on program w/ Weight Watchers (sort of--no weigh ins, just sticking to the point limit and healthy living guidelines. The weigh ins are expensive, and unless I an make the other stuff stick, we really can't afford it.) It's so lame...I want to jump up and scream "Five out of seven days on program!" But unless I buy a scale and woman up to the damned thing's mocking laughter and cutting personal remarks (what--those don't come standard on your scale?) the only way I can tell if it's working is when my pants start to fall off.
Honestly, I can live with that.
And I can walk again. I may have to face consequences with Mr. Trick but seriously, if I can walk by the end of the week--and actually GO walking, I HATE all of this inertia stuff, it feels like my ass is growing its own zip code, sweartadog--it may just be worth it. (Mr. Trick's a good guy--I felt bad pointing out that the reasons I've missed so many dept. meetings are the same reasons I applied for part time in the first place--it seems obvious but dealing with three different kid pick-ups gets complicated quick, and add in grocery shopping and after school activities and school volunteer schedules and blah blah blah blah blah... you all know the drill, I just don't want to bore him with it anymore.)
And other than that? School is... school is...
It's not bad. I tried to squeeze too much in last semester, so I'm doing both The Crucible and Julius Caesar right now (when I should have done them last semester)--and although I've only taught Caesar once, I am REALLY enjoying the hell out of it so far. The Crucible and I are old friends--and the kids are starting to get it. Classroom rituals are not my strong suit so much, but TALKING about the literature... I don't know for sure if I'm good at it, but I do know that I love it a whole lot, and for one, maybe two kids in the classroom, that's really something that matters.
And btw, thank you all... this is, what? The third year you've watched me melt down over a book? You'd think I'd learn by now, wouldn't you? I don't. It's funny though--almost every time I freak out about the writing or the books not selling or how can I squander my time with this smucking fuseless pipe-dream... I get a sign from the universe... a review or a letter or a comment or SOMETHING--very often it's you guys, and sometimes it comes on e-mail and sometimes it's just the right song at the right time, riffing through my head and onto the radio station. This last week its been a combination of all of the above, coupled with reading the 'In Memoriam' portion of the book to friends of Marvin's. It made them cry--they told me it was perfect.
I don't know about you guys, but I thought that was a really good sign.
Walking around the Academy of Science on Saturday had pretty much fubar'd my foot per usual, and it was getting to the point where I would stand up and site my destination, and then my vision would tunnel, and the entire ten to twenty foot trip would lengthen and stretch like that hallway in Poltergeist and all I'd see was red as I hobbled from point A to point B. Mate was still making up work from his vacation (and the long hours I worked before Christmas vacation) and all I wanted to do was go home, sit down, and ice my damned foot.
So I braved Mr. Trick's disapproval (can't blame him, but, at this point, I couldn't help him either) and came home, put my foot up and issued orders like a chain-smoking gym teacher with a bullhorn.
The older kids were wonderful, the younger kids not so much--they seemed to feel my extended leg and the ice pack it rested on were a new and unusual jungle gym, and I felt bad--Mean Mama came out to scream when what I REALLY wanted was for Snuggly Mama to sit and cuddle. In the end, we had to compromise, and Sleeping Mama just dozed in the chaos as the the little ones tumbled around like lion cubs. It must not have been too bad a day--they went to sleep early, and there was actually less crying than there has been (they have learned to fight in earnest--fun times!) so a little bit of chaos went a long way.
And it seems to have worked-- the swelling has gone down and my foot is no longer curled up around my arch like an agoraphobic caterpillar and I may be able to walk like a human tomorrow.
I've also gone seriously on program w/ Weight Watchers (sort of--no weigh ins, just sticking to the point limit and healthy living guidelines. The weigh ins are expensive, and unless I an make the other stuff stick, we really can't afford it.) It's so lame...I want to jump up and scream "Five out of seven days on program!" But unless I buy a scale and woman up to the damned thing's mocking laughter and cutting personal remarks (what--those don't come standard on your scale?) the only way I can tell if it's working is when my pants start to fall off.
Honestly, I can live with that.
And I can walk again. I may have to face consequences with Mr. Trick but seriously, if I can walk by the end of the week--and actually GO walking, I HATE all of this inertia stuff, it feels like my ass is growing its own zip code, sweartadog--it may just be worth it. (Mr. Trick's a good guy--I felt bad pointing out that the reasons I've missed so many dept. meetings are the same reasons I applied for part time in the first place--it seems obvious but dealing with three different kid pick-ups gets complicated quick, and add in grocery shopping and after school activities and school volunteer schedules and blah blah blah blah blah... you all know the drill, I just don't want to bore him with it anymore.)
And other than that? School is... school is...
It's not bad. I tried to squeeze too much in last semester, so I'm doing both The Crucible and Julius Caesar right now (when I should have done them last semester)--and although I've only taught Caesar once, I am REALLY enjoying the hell out of it so far. The Crucible and I are old friends--and the kids are starting to get it. Classroom rituals are not my strong suit so much, but TALKING about the literature... I don't know for sure if I'm good at it, but I do know that I love it a whole lot, and for one, maybe two kids in the classroom, that's really something that matters.
And btw, thank you all... this is, what? The third year you've watched me melt down over a book? You'd think I'd learn by now, wouldn't you? I don't. It's funny though--almost every time I freak out about the writing or the books not selling or how can I squander my time with this smucking fuseless pipe-dream... I get a sign from the universe... a review or a letter or a comment or SOMETHING--very often it's you guys, and sometimes it comes on e-mail and sometimes it's just the right song at the right time, riffing through my head and onto the radio station. This last week its been a combination of all of the above, coupled with reading the 'In Memoriam' portion of the book to friends of Marvin's. It made them cry--they told me it was perfect.
I don't know about you guys, but I thought that was a really good sign.
Friday, January 3, 2020
Quotes from "The Crucible"
So, I gave sort of an overview of this play in a link of yesterday's blog, but, again, it's been haunting me.
I thought I'd go over some quotes that have resonated with me for over thirty years--
* This society will not be a bag to swing around your head, Mr. Putnam-- John Proctor
I thought I'd go over some quotes that have resonated with me for over thirty years--
* This society will not be a bag to swing around your head, Mr. Putnam-- John Proctor
At the beginning of the story, Mr. Putnam senses that the girls found dancing in the forest can be used to sow dissent--he can profit from this. He's jealous of John Proctor, he's jealous of his other neighbors--he thinks everybody in the town has it better than he does, and is he not a just and righteous man? When John Proctor tries to keep things calm and rational, Putnam starts leveling accusations before the first girl has even stopped pretending to be comatose. Proctor is telling him that the small gathering of people with the singular purpose of self-preservation is not his weapon to start bludgeoning his neighbors for more power.
* Oh, Elizabeth, your justice would freeze beer-- John Proctor
This is almost a humorous line--but in the end it's the gaping flaw in the entire Puritan philosophy. Proctor did a bad thing--a human thing, true, but a bad one. He confessed his sin to his wife, he tried to make up for it--he cast Abigail out of the house, but didn't sully her name, knowing he bore some responsibility for the affair. Divorce is unheard of, and Proctor is trying desperately to make amends. His wife is civil--but never warm. Of course, the reason for this comes at the end, when it is too late for their town and themselves, and it's a heartbreaking one, built on the lie of Elizabeth's plainness and "unworthiness" for Proctor, when Proctor has been desperately in need of her love. This line is at the beginning, when Proctor is bringing her flowers, shyly trying to restart a relationship with her, and she is cold and distant and says she's been fair. Sure. But "fairness" is cold comfort to flawed humans who want warmth and kindness instead.
* A child's spirit is like a child, you can never catch it by running after it; you must stand still, and, for love, it will soon itself come back.--Rebecca Nurse
This is actually really sound advice in both the rearing of children and in dealing with childish people. The girls are freaking out because they've been caught dancing in the woods. One of them has been catatonic because she's so afraid of her family's wrath. Rebecca Nurse has born eleven children and now has twenty-six grandchildren. She says she's seen them through their "silly seasons"-- and you don't do it by playing the child's game. Children are illogical and they often make decisions based on mistaken information. Just stand still, take a deep breath, and wait for the child to wear itself out. If you aren't an ogre or a despot, the child will return out of love, and the gentle instruction and communication can begin to get the family back on track.
* Let either of you breathe a word, or the edge of a word, about the other things, and I will come to you in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you. And you know I can do it; I saw Indians smash my dear parents' heads on the pillow next to mine, and I have seen some reddish work done at night, and I can make you wish you had never seen the sun go down!--Abigail Williams
Abigail Williams is a girl with an agenda. She was the one who led the girls to go dancing in the woods, and her sole purpose was to cast a charm to get John Proctor back--and before you think, "Well, she was a girl in love with an older man!" let's not forget--she also wanted to kill his wife. She's canny, she's clever, and she knows the "adults" around her are easily manipulated--but before she can give herself over to her plan, she needs to make sure her cohorts--the girls she led into the woods--aren't going to break. This is a breathtaking threat. It speaks of violence and bullying and a very real determination to win at all cost. But it's not made in public. Anyone who so much as hints that Abigail has an ulterior motive is accused of "witchcraft"-- and there's a detailed explanation (I'll skip it cause I'm tired) about the fractured logic that makes it impossible to accept any proof but accusation for an "invisible crime." By confessing to the world and then claiming she knows who the witches are, Abigail has become the center of the maelstrom--and don't you dare cross her. Power is in perception--Abigail is perceived as being "clean as God's fingers"--but don't ever forget that her dedication to "accusing witches" is really a way to get back at anybody who ever slighted her or anybody she was jealous of to begin with.
* Perhaps because there are those who believe that authority is all of a piece and that to challenge it anywhere is to threaten it everywhere.--Arthur Miller
Arthur Miller wrote extensive essays in the stage directions of The Crucible, often in an attempt to explain how the phenomena of a group of people being controlled by the most awful and manipulative of its members can occur. How do otherwise rational people fall into the trap of listening to lies, slander, and hysterical ranting in order to convict other people of ridiculous crimes? He wrote it as an allegory for McCarthyism--but his canny assessment of the cracked reasoning of humans is just as valid for your average social media shitstorm. In his treatises against "Diabolism" as he called it, he tried to expose the lie of dichotomous thinking. It is perfectly logical that somebody could believe in witchcraft and despise the idea of selling your soul to Satan, but still not believe that the witchcraft being called out in their community is a valid thing. That is the complex thinking of an adult. But that's not what happens in phenomena like this. What happens is, "If you don't yes me, you hate me! If you hate me, you choose evil!" There is no room for adult thought patterns here--it's all black and white. Believing that all of authority must be obeyed and none of it can be threatened falls right into the trap of dichotomy--and it's what allows perfectly rational people to believe the worst of their fellow humans when, in fact, all that is true is that they are human.
* You are pulling down heaven and raising up a whore! -- John Proctor
This one's self-explanatory. When Proctor realizes that the girls accusing pretty much everyone of witchcraft are not only believed, they're willing to destroy people who get in their way, he speaks out against it. Of course, the result is he gets accused, and eventually hanged, but in the meantime we have this very pretty quote in which he tries to make it clear that the word of a bunch of immature, frightened, and power-mad children is taking the place of the words of faith and guidance which he thought they all believed in.
* Is the accuser always holy now? Were they born this morning as clean as God's fingers? I'll tell you what's walking Salem—vengeance is walking Salem. We are what we always were in Salem, but now the little crazy children are jangling the keys of the kingdom, and common vengeance writes the law!--John Proctor
There's a lot to unpack here. I actually quote this one a lot--but usually in pieces. The first part says it all. The people screaming accusations aren't questioned. Besides being vengeful, petty children, they're also being guided by vengeful, petty adults. Dad wants some guy's land? Well, couldn't his little darling see it in herself to accuse his neighbor so he can have it all? Mom only had one child who lived? Well damn that old woman who had eleven! We need to get some payback! Nobody ever asked "Why that person?" They simply believed in the "invisible crime". The accusers in the center of a shitstorm like this are never without blame--but boy, doesn't shouting someone else's name and pointing a finger make them look spotless? Vengeance is walking Salem--the screaming children are getting theirs for every small slight, every spanking, every parent who didn't take them seriously, and the adults are letting them, with glee. The little crazy children are in power now, and common vengeance writes the law.
* I should hang ten thousand that dared to rise against the law, and an ocean of salt tears could not melt the resolution of the statutes--Danforth (or Hathorn?)
I'll be honest--I forget which constipated white man said this one but it's just such white-guy-in-a-suit reasoning. This goes hand in hand with the one above, in which Arthur Miller tries to explain that authority is "all of one piece" and to challenge one part of it is to challenge it all. The purpose of the laws is to keep people safe and to keep them from killing each other--but laws aren't all encompassing. There needs to be human compassion written into the language and the interpretation, or we end up with monsters like this saying sententiously--and feeling very justified about it too-- that it's better to hang ten-thousand people who question the law than to let one person off the hook in the name of simple basic human compassion. White-man justice at its finest, right?
* Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!--John Proctor
At the end of the play, Proctor is given a choice. Admit to witchcraft (which he didn't practice) and sign a paper that will hang on the church door where everybody can see it. He can live to see his unborn child be born, to have a second chance with his wife, to start all over again with a clean slate.
But the cost? The cost will be consigning all the people who won't sign the false confession to hang--when he knows they are innocent, possibly more innocent than he is, because he has lost his faith in God and what he believes is his goodness way back in Act 3. (Or was it 2--I always forget-- is this play 3 or 5 acts... well, it's been a while.) Anyway, the point is, his name, his reputation, which is pretty much the only thing he has left after Abigail Williams has disappeared with the money (to die as a whore, we find out later--life goals for the center of the shitstorm, I guess) is something he isn't ready to part with yet.
He is not a witch. He has done no wrong. His only crime was in telling the authorities that be that the girls screaming accusations weren't in the right. He can live knowing he was right and bailed, or he can die knowing he kept his good name.
He picks his good name, and his wife's good opinion, and is hanged while reciting the Lord's Prayer--as a witch shouldn't have been able to do.
I really love this play--I mean, there are a thousand quotes and a thousand ideas in it that help explain the inexplicable--why do people who are supposedly a part of a singular community, one based on reason and compassion, turn on each other on a dime.
For me, one of the saddest parts is something that happens at the end-- a minor character starts complaining about cows in the road. Half the town is imprisoned. There are cows who can't be contained, children going from door to door hoping to be fed, fields lying fallow without plowing. What was once a prosperous community with some flaws and some issues that needed hammering out is now a wasteland, and the screaming voices that started it are now long gone, and what's left are neighbors-- the neighbors who called people out, and the neighbors who were accused-- who are unable to meet each other's eyes. I mean, what did they do next? How do you meet your neighbor's eyes when you were in the courtroom screaming, "WITCH! WITCH! WITCH!" because someone you were a little jealous of gathered herbs you'd never seen? How does a community come back from that? I mean, they must have. Salem exists to this day.
But it must have been a cold and lonely road back for everyone involved.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Unmotivated, my fat ass!
I'm getting used to reviews, both good and bad, so I couldn't figure out why this one stuck in my craw with such jagged edges. The reviewer said that Cory, my heroine, was "dumpy and unmotivated," and for some reason, it made me just want to reach through cyberspace and slap someone.
I mean Cory was taking fifteen units and working full time at a crappy job to finance her education. What more did this reviewer want? Was Cory 'unmotivated' because she wasn't born into a fully funded education? Was she 'unmotivated' because she'd rather work on her papers than her social life? Just what about a working college student functioning on minimal sleep and a little bit of faith reeks of 'unmotivation'?
I was playing with this in the same way you'd play with a sore tooth of a swollen finger joint (hey--look, it hurts when i do this... and this... and this... but not this!) when I had a flashback to a conversation I had with a student.
"So why don't you ever straighten your hair?"
"Because I only get about four or five hours of sleep a night as it is. What am I supposed to give up so I have time to make my hair adhere to social standards I think are a waste of time?"
"Oh. So you're lazy."
Okay. So I guess I'm 'unmotivated'. After three days of a lot of driving and one night at a class reunion, my foot was giving me seven sorts of hell, and I had to cry 'uncle'. I spent yesterday with my foot up, watching reruns of 'Castle' (Yes, Julie, it's an AWESOME FRICKIN' SHOW!) and knitting Big T an 'alpaca alpaca' for his sweetie. ("She's a friend mom. A close friend. Okay. A close friend I've been crushing on for two years, but she's NOT my sweetie." Little does he know that if I'm spending all day knitting a goofy looking stuffed animal out of alpaca yarn, she'd better be a 'sweetie' and not 'a friend'.) I WANTED to be working on my editing, but I was motivated to, just this once, put my knitting and my family, and to some extent my health, on the forefront.
Does that make me 'unmotivated'?
Today, I took my kid to the gym so I could have a water aerobics class (which helped my foot SO much--not totally recovered, but nowhere NEAR as shitty as it was) and then play with squish in the pool. I neglected my editing and my housecleaning, and then I came home and edited and neglected my kid and my house, and then everybody went to dance rehearsal and I spent a good three hours editing, and, well, the house is still a mess, and...
You know. Does that make me 'unmotivated'?
I don't FEEL unmotivated. My dragon is screaming at me to work on Jack and Teague--in fact, he's sort of the EPITOME of some fucking motivation. Am I lazy because he's riding my back with cruel claws, sending me wandering around the house in a cleaning-less fugue when I'm not feeding him plotbunnies and frothing at the mouth with his relentless drive to pour fiction out of my smelted crucible of a brain-pan?
I actually feel HIGHLY motivated.
In fact I seem to recall the same motivation when I was powering through my degree while working a full time food service job for nearly six years.
Yeah. My priorities may be skewed, but I'm starting to think that, yeah. This reviewer may have been talking out of the wrong orifice.
I'm thinking that maybe Cory understood motivation a lot more than this person did. I know I'm starting to dream about motivation as it changes the shape of my bones.
I mean Cory was taking fifteen units and working full time at a crappy job to finance her education. What more did this reviewer want? Was Cory 'unmotivated' because she wasn't born into a fully funded education? Was she 'unmotivated' because she'd rather work on her papers than her social life? Just what about a working college student functioning on minimal sleep and a little bit of faith reeks of 'unmotivation'?
I was playing with this in the same way you'd play with a sore tooth of a swollen finger joint (hey--look, it hurts when i do this... and this... and this... but not this!) when I had a flashback to a conversation I had with a student.
"So why don't you ever straighten your hair?"
"Because I only get about four or five hours of sleep a night as it is. What am I supposed to give up so I have time to make my hair adhere to social standards I think are a waste of time?"
"Oh. So you're lazy."
Okay. So I guess I'm 'unmotivated'. After three days of a lot of driving and one night at a class reunion, my foot was giving me seven sorts of hell, and I had to cry 'uncle'. I spent yesterday with my foot up, watching reruns of 'Castle' (Yes, Julie, it's an AWESOME FRICKIN' SHOW!) and knitting Big T an 'alpaca alpaca' for his sweetie. ("She's a friend mom. A close friend. Okay. A close friend I've been crushing on for two years, but she's NOT my sweetie." Little does he know that if I'm spending all day knitting a goofy looking stuffed animal out of alpaca yarn, she'd better be a 'sweetie' and not 'a friend'.) I WANTED to be working on my editing, but I was motivated to, just this once, put my knitting and my family, and to some extent my health, on the forefront.
Does that make me 'unmotivated'?
Today, I took my kid to the gym so I could have a water aerobics class (which helped my foot SO much--not totally recovered, but nowhere NEAR as shitty as it was) and then play with squish in the pool. I neglected my editing and my housecleaning, and then I came home and edited and neglected my kid and my house, and then everybody went to dance rehearsal and I spent a good three hours editing, and, well, the house is still a mess, and...
You know. Does that make me 'unmotivated'?
I don't FEEL unmotivated. My dragon is screaming at me to work on Jack and Teague--in fact, he's sort of the EPITOME of some fucking motivation. Am I lazy because he's riding my back with cruel claws, sending me wandering around the house in a cleaning-less fugue when I'm not feeding him plotbunnies and frothing at the mouth with his relentless drive to pour fiction out of my smelted crucible of a brain-pan?
I actually feel HIGHLY motivated.
In fact I seem to recall the same motivation when I was powering through my degree while working a full time food service job for nearly six years.
Yeah. My priorities may be skewed, but I'm starting to think that, yeah. This reviewer may have been talking out of the wrong orifice.
I'm thinking that maybe Cory understood motivation a lot more than this person did. I know I'm starting to dream about motivation as it changes the shape of my bones.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Asleep...
OKay-- that's mostly a wish. I got my editing done--yay! and am now looking at a long stretch of finals and correcting papers and generally throwing myself into the dayjob.
It was funny-- after hearing rather cynically about the young teachers and their 'successes' I had a good day teaching today. We're doing The Crucible--I'll finish it by finals this year (win!) and I realized that a number of the students were actually into it! (Another win!) My lunch was busy with a number of students making up work (win!) and I've had a couple of moments where kids who have colossal pita's (pains in the ass!) all year have been humble, fun to talk to, and working hard on making a grade come back. (Epic win!)
And also, during lunch, I've had some of the kids come in who like my writing--that was nice. One of them (Pride Synister--not his real name:-) wanted to read his WIP to me, and we spent a good half an hour bouncing ideas off each other for his work. THAT was fun--the kid is awesome talented, and I LOVED hearing his stuff. He's gonna be TNBT (the next big thing!) mark my words! (After Paduan, of course. Paduan, are you listening? Get your ass out of neutral and WRITE dammit!)
Holy shit! I too am an optimistic curriculum clone! Go me.
I've also gotten cover art for Promise Rock. *happy swoon* OMG-- I mean, O.M.G. DEACON IS SO PRETTY! He's the center of the cover, and it's sketch of him that Crick (aka Dek) drew, and have I mentioned the purtiness? He's just like I pictured him-- as soon as it's finalized (what I got was just a preliminary sketch) I'll ask for permission and post him. You'll swoon too, I swear!
No word on Rampant yet--I'm pretty sure they'll get me my galleys right at the start of Christmas break--which means an end of January release, i think. *squeal* *swoon* *thud*
Too much happiness... stop me if I start to blather, seriouly.
And other than that? I'm falling asleep. Seriously-- I went to lay down w/Ladybug and forced myself to wake up and blog and do other shit--I'm pretty sure this post is lacking in style, form, wit, etc. I need to write a final and collect papers and shit--and honestly? I'm starting to think my body's new bedtime is nine-o-clock sharp!
I'll try to have some cute kid stories next time-- cuteness has been happening, but I can't seem to gather it together for you by the time I post, which sucks, because the blog helps me remember them as they grow. All this *squeeing* and *swooning* isn't nearly as much fun without them, that's for damned sure.
Oh wait-- I have something! It snowed last night--there was two inches of it on my hood this morning. It took less than two minutes of kids alone in front of the car for a big snowball to hit someone in the face (Zoomboy) and tears to follow. Zoomboy recovered in time to throw a snowball at his little sister so she could cry and the experience was complete. Chicken, (who threw the first snowball--shame on her) laughed hard enough to need to run inside and go pee. Pee she might do--it was fucking cold here, for California! And Big T, bless him, opened the door this morning while it was still dark and peered outside like a kid half his size and a third his age. "Look, mom! Snow!"
Yup--like I said, they're a snow-shovel of fun, that's for sure.
It was funny-- after hearing rather cynically about the young teachers and their 'successes' I had a good day teaching today. We're doing The Crucible--I'll finish it by finals this year (win!) and I realized that a number of the students were actually into it! (Another win!) My lunch was busy with a number of students making up work (win!) and I've had a couple of moments where kids who have colossal pita's (pains in the ass!) all year have been humble, fun to talk to, and working hard on making a grade come back. (Epic win!)
And also, during lunch, I've had some of the kids come in who like my writing--that was nice. One of them (Pride Synister--not his real name:-) wanted to read his WIP to me, and we spent a good half an hour bouncing ideas off each other for his work. THAT was fun--the kid is awesome talented, and I LOVED hearing his stuff. He's gonna be TNBT (the next big thing!) mark my words! (After Paduan, of course. Paduan, are you listening? Get your ass out of neutral and WRITE dammit!)
Holy shit! I too am an optimistic curriculum clone! Go me.
I've also gotten cover art for Promise Rock. *happy swoon* OMG-- I mean, O.M.G. DEACON IS SO PRETTY! He's the center of the cover, and it's sketch of him that Crick (aka Dek) drew, and have I mentioned the purtiness? He's just like I pictured him-- as soon as it's finalized (what I got was just a preliminary sketch) I'll ask for permission and post him. You'll swoon too, I swear!
No word on Rampant yet--I'm pretty sure they'll get me my galleys right at the start of Christmas break--which means an end of January release, i think. *squeal* *swoon* *thud*
Too much happiness... stop me if I start to blather, seriouly.
And other than that? I'm falling asleep. Seriously-- I went to lay down w/Ladybug and forced myself to wake up and blog and do other shit--I'm pretty sure this post is lacking in style, form, wit, etc. I need to write a final and collect papers and shit--and honestly? I'm starting to think my body's new bedtime is nine-o-clock sharp!
I'll try to have some cute kid stories next time-- cuteness has been happening, but I can't seem to gather it together for you by the time I post, which sucks, because the blog helps me remember them as they grow. All this *squeeing* and *swooning* isn't nearly as much fun without them, that's for damned sure.
Oh wait-- I have something! It snowed last night--there was two inches of it on my hood this morning. It took less than two minutes of kids alone in front of the car for a big snowball to hit someone in the face (Zoomboy) and tears to follow. Zoomboy recovered in time to throw a snowball at his little sister so she could cry and the experience was complete. Chicken, (who threw the first snowball--shame on her) laughed hard enough to need to run inside and go pee. Pee she might do--it was fucking cold here, for California! And Big T, bless him, opened the door this morning while it was still dark and peered outside like a kid half his size and a third his age. "Look, mom! Snow!"
Yup--like I said, they're a snow-shovel of fun, that's for sure.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Act III, s. 2
There will be rain tonight...
So let it come down!
MacBeth
So, the AP class was going to check out MacBeth (I was hoping to do the Crucible, but too many of them did it in middle school--too bad, it would have been SOOOOOOO apropos!) Anyway--I'm doing my 'thang'--
My 'thang' is when I make the story personal--so I start talking about the Valedictorian, and how he's a good an honorable man, and then I pick on one of the self-professed 'slackers' and I make up a scenario in which the slacker wants to be the Valedictorian--and all he has to do, is steal one paper while the Valedictorian is at his house...what's to stop him?
'Ethics?' Says one person. 'Morals?' Says another. 'Another person?' Says a third.
"Another person?" I say. "Like say his girlfriend...who wants to be his girlfriend in this scenario?" And the girl who is teasing the slacker volunteers. "So, Freda--(not her real name:-) you REALLY want to be the Valedictorian's girlfriend...which means your guy has to be Valedictorian, right? And you play with his hair and smile into his eyes and say 'please please pleeeeeeaaaaasssseeeeee steal that paper' and he says?...."
"No?" Supplies the slacker.
And right here--I have them--they are paying attention, they want to know what happens next, and I have them all set up and my next line is the kill line. And it is (for those of you who know the play and are understanding the analogy) borderline inappropriate. But it is also VERY VERY analogous to MacBeth--because her line in the play is "From this moment forth, such I account thy love." It's usually staged where she turns her back on her husband and grows very cold--and it is essentially the wife's throw down--turn your back on your morals, kill your kinsman, become king, or you don't love me any more and you will get no more loving period the end. So what do I say? I have the students--I can risk my job, or I can accept that if I am going to teach at all, I need to teach true to myself. I can slink away and go with the easy.. 'No more kissy face for you!'... or I can go with the real kill line--Lady MacBeth's real implication in this scene, and the thing that has MacBeth by the testicles and forces him into action.
"Please steal that paper... please please pretty pleassssseeeee......"
"No." Says our slacker.
"Well then I won't put out." I do the hair flip, the attitude, the back turning...
And most of the class roars.
My cronies? The ones who are out to get me? They exchanged glances, "Talk about inappropriate!" One of them gasps.
But I'm done. I will not live my life or teach my class in fear of their censure. If there is rain, let it come down.
So let it come down!
MacBeth
So, the AP class was going to check out MacBeth (I was hoping to do the Crucible, but too many of them did it in middle school--too bad, it would have been SOOOOOOO apropos!) Anyway--I'm doing my 'thang'--
My 'thang' is when I make the story personal--so I start talking about the Valedictorian, and how he's a good an honorable man, and then I pick on one of the self-professed 'slackers' and I make up a scenario in which the slacker wants to be the Valedictorian--and all he has to do, is steal one paper while the Valedictorian is at his house...what's to stop him?
'Ethics?' Says one person. 'Morals?' Says another. 'Another person?' Says a third.
"Another person?" I say. "Like say his girlfriend...who wants to be his girlfriend in this scenario?" And the girl who is teasing the slacker volunteers. "So, Freda--(not her real name:-) you REALLY want to be the Valedictorian's girlfriend...which means your guy has to be Valedictorian, right? And you play with his hair and smile into his eyes and say 'please please pleeeeeeaaaaasssseeeeee steal that paper' and he says?...."
"No?" Supplies the slacker.
And right here--I have them--they are paying attention, they want to know what happens next, and I have them all set up and my next line is the kill line. And it is (for those of you who know the play and are understanding the analogy) borderline inappropriate. But it is also VERY VERY analogous to MacBeth--because her line in the play is "From this moment forth, such I account thy love." It's usually staged where she turns her back on her husband and grows very cold--and it is essentially the wife's throw down--turn your back on your morals, kill your kinsman, become king, or you don't love me any more and you will get no more loving period the end. So what do I say? I have the students--I can risk my job, or I can accept that if I am going to teach at all, I need to teach true to myself. I can slink away and go with the easy.. 'No more kissy face for you!'... or I can go with the real kill line--Lady MacBeth's real implication in this scene, and the thing that has MacBeth by the testicles and forces him into action.
"Please steal that paper... please please pretty pleassssseeeee......"
"No." Says our slacker.
"Well then I won't put out." I do the hair flip, the attitude, the back turning...
And most of the class roars.
My cronies? The ones who are out to get me? They exchanged glances, "Talk about inappropriate!" One of them gasps.
But I'm done. I will not live my life or teach my class in fear of their censure. If there is rain, let it come down.
Friday, March 7, 2008
I'm bad...
So very bad.
I was gonna kill someone and then fall asleep and forget about it. I hated my job, the students, the book, and crap, I was even hating Almighty Freakin' Emerson. And then it happened.
We had two fouled up schedules in a row, and the smallest gear on my sposta snapped, and now we're watching movies.
IT'S MARVELOUS.
You know, when you go to English teacher's school, you have these lovely bucolic, utopian dreams about simply giving the students the texts and then having them come back to talk about books and you think "WOW. I want that job. I've been reading all my life and I LOVE to talk about books--how is it that people aren't lining up for that job?"
And then you meet your fellow inmates and the lightbulb 'bout blinds you. "Aha. THIS is why people would rather scrub toilets with their toothbrushes than have this job. I understand now."
And sometimes, you do something by fuck-lucky accident that reminds you why you have a scrubbie for the toilet and a toothbrush all your own.
For me, every year, it's a movie for no good reason but that we're all exhausted, hate life, school, and each other to the extent that we may just have to kill something or drop-kick a poodle to make it better.
Instead, we save the poodle and put some mileage on the dvd/vcr.
And the kids are watching. I mean, that doesn't sound like a big deal, but I HATE putting in random movies that the kids won't watch. But putting in a good movie (Frequency, Taps, Sense & Sensibility) that gets their attention and invests them? I mean, that's the essence of why we teach English 'til 12th grade. STORIES people--we want them to understand the heartbeat of STORIES. It's why we drag them kicking and screaming from the fillings in their molars through Pride & Prejudice and The Crucible--we want them to understand that ART IS A SUPPORT SYSTEM FOR LIFE!!! That the things we do and see in fiction resonate in our hearts like tuning forks, until we either comprehend them in our bones or fly apart in our own self-destructive ignorance. And sometimes, when the kids forget this is school, it actually happens.
So I'm bad. Spank me. It's gotta feel better than the last week!
In synopsis news? I've got two more to go. And...that's all I want to say about that.
I'm also almost done with the Cave Troll's socks (yee-ha--have I mentioned I LOATHE this colorway? I guess even colorsluts have things they won't do for anything but love...) I'm also almost done with some wristlets for a Senior...*sigh* Senior gifts are gonna kill me this year. But I got a visit from a kid I had two years ago who just got his pharmacy degree...I was so proud of him I almost cried.
I bet HE remembers the movies I used to show:-)
I was gonna kill someone and then fall asleep and forget about it. I hated my job, the students, the book, and crap, I was even hating Almighty Freakin' Emerson. And then it happened.
We had two fouled up schedules in a row, and the smallest gear on my sposta snapped, and now we're watching movies.
IT'S MARVELOUS.
You know, when you go to English teacher's school, you have these lovely bucolic, utopian dreams about simply giving the students the texts and then having them come back to talk about books and you think "WOW. I want that job. I've been reading all my life and I LOVE to talk about books--how is it that people aren't lining up for that job?"
And then you meet your fellow inmates and the lightbulb 'bout blinds you. "Aha. THIS is why people would rather scrub toilets with their toothbrushes than have this job. I understand now."
And sometimes, you do something by fuck-lucky accident that reminds you why you have a scrubbie for the toilet and a toothbrush all your own.
For me, every year, it's a movie for no good reason but that we're all exhausted, hate life, school, and each other to the extent that we may just have to kill something or drop-kick a poodle to make it better.
Instead, we save the poodle and put some mileage on the dvd/vcr.
And the kids are watching. I mean, that doesn't sound like a big deal, but I HATE putting in random movies that the kids won't watch. But putting in a good movie (Frequency, Taps, Sense & Sensibility) that gets their attention and invests them? I mean, that's the essence of why we teach English 'til 12th grade. STORIES people--we want them to understand the heartbeat of STORIES. It's why we drag them kicking and screaming from the fillings in their molars through Pride & Prejudice and The Crucible--we want them to understand that ART IS A SUPPORT SYSTEM FOR LIFE!!! That the things we do and see in fiction resonate in our hearts like tuning forks, until we either comprehend them in our bones or fly apart in our own self-destructive ignorance. And sometimes, when the kids forget this is school, it actually happens.
So I'm bad. Spank me. It's gotta feel better than the last week!
In synopsis news? I've got two more to go. And...that's all I want to say about that.
I'm also almost done with the Cave Troll's socks (yee-ha--have I mentioned I LOATHE this colorway? I guess even colorsluts have things they won't do for anything but love...) I'm also almost done with some wristlets for a Senior...*sigh* Senior gifts are gonna kill me this year. But I got a visit from a kid I had two years ago who just got his pharmacy degree...I was so proud of him I almost cried.
I bet HE remembers the movies I used to show:-)
Thursday, January 2, 2020
Just catching up...
Hey all--I've been writing a lot of blog posts that I'm not posting. Normally I wouldn't even mention them, but I didn't want those of you worried about the Patreon eating all my time to think that's where all the blog post went--I'll still blog about my family, but sometimes the blog acts as a diary, and I've learned the hard way that I need to keep some of that shit to myself.
Anyway--about four years ago I wrote THIS about the Crucible and the theory of Diabolism. I mention it here because it has a summary of the play and I applied it to politics at the time, and I've been thinking about that a lot. I may talk about it later--I just thought I'd throw it out there now.
And as for the rest?
New Years was a very sweet, very quiet affair. Big T brought is girlfriend over for a pork roast (that turned out surprisingly good with some apricot jam--and was even wonderful as a sandwich tonight!) and some ice cream and some boring family stories. Apparently he thought that would be the be-all and end-all of his evening, but he brought her in, and she looked FABULOUS, with her hair coiffed and glitter on her cheeks and a black velvet dress. I told her she looked amazing and told T she looked amazing and he gave her a surreptitious look from the kitchen.
"Yeah, Mom-- I thought we were going to stay here most of the night, but she dressed up so nice. There's a party where all her friends are--I think we might leave at nine to go there so she can be seen."
Good boy. They left early, and we were here, watching The Thin Man and enjoying every black and white minute of it. Ah, Asta--always good for a laugh!
ZoomBoy was sick for the past couple of days--but he'd surpassed his expiration date a couple of days ago, honestly, and it was to the point where we'd walk across the room and start sniffing our own pits because we couldn't figure out where the stench was coming from. (It's hard to make a sick kid take a shower when there's a 50/50 chance the water won't be freezing.) Anyway--after we clinked glasses in a New Years toast and then did a group hug, he pulled back and said, "I have neither bathed nor farted in an entire decade."
-.0 It was like his entire life had been building up to that moment right there. Unbelievable.
Anyway-- he has since bathed. (canyagimmehallelujah? iknewyacouldamen!) Tonight we went and saw Jumanji, which was pleasantly entertaining--and God did I need that--and I actually went swimming!
And then I sat in the hot tub for half an hour-- sheer. Bliss. Ah.
So that was our New Years. Not bad, all in all.
I hope everybody else's was lovely--in fact, I hope 2020 is so awesome, we all forget the number nineteen and make enough money to hire somebody to count to twenty for us!
Happy New Year!
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Cohabitating with a dragon...
I thought I was doing a good job of it, actually, until I took around and it was eleven thirty and not only had I not blogged myself but I hadn't checked anybody ELSE'S blog, and everyone was asleep and the house was a disaster, and I've got one (count it) day until I have to go back to work.
I can hardly believe I have a day job.
But that puppy's going to smack me in the face on Monday, isn't it?
Anyway, it's been a good week-- Promise Rock hit the website (eeeeeeee!) and I should be getting my five author copies next week (eeeeee!) and I should be getting my one advanced copy of Rampant in a week or two (EEEEE!) and in two or three weeks, I should have two brand new novels on amazon.com (AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!) Oh come on-- you all knew that the excitement would turn to stark raving terror on the drop of a dime, didn't you?
All that, and I'm feeling guilty for trying to sneak out of bed with Squish and Zoomboy, who were supposedly falling asleep watching Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (which was really cute, by the way). She didn't fall for it, and came wandering down the hall, and I made Mate go deal with her because the dragon was riding me, and now I'm feeling guilt.
Lots of guilt.
But me and Squish have had a good week-- lots of sitting together, lots of snuggling--I started a sweater for her (which may be, as I've told Samurai, an ass-kicking nightmare in pink) but, still--haven't done a sweater in a while. And I forgot how much snuggle opportunity knitting allows me. I need to step away from the computer more often.
And... I'm blathering. But while I'm on full-goofy-blather, I'll mention Roxie's rumballs which made it to me today--and how much the family LURVS them. Roxie also sent a hand-knit cotton washcloth, and you know what? THEY REALLY DO MAKE YOU A KNITTING ROCKSTAR! I'm so glad that works on the receiving end as well as the giving one--it is a universal truth.
I'll sign off soon-- I've committed to taking the two teenagers to an anime convention tomorrow, and I need to get them up and cleaning, and I need to give an hour of couch time to the kids before we leave. I also need to buy a dvd player (cheap) and a copy of The Crucible (not so cheap) and I need to get my ass on line and order some calendars since I didn't do it this last week (I'm a dork!)
So I'm going to send the prayer into the ether for Promise Rock-- I neglected it Thursday, and I'm a superstitious sort, we all know that, and I'm going to think of a contest to have, because I'm almost eyeball deep in author copies, and I think I should give one each away, along with some sock yarn, since I did a stash assessment and I'm hopelessly overstashed.
So here goes with the traditional book releasing prayer: Holy Goddess, Merciful God, Let It Not Suck! And while you're at it? Let me keep my three-star motherhood rating as well.
I can hardly believe I have a day job.
But that puppy's going to smack me in the face on Monday, isn't it?
Anyway, it's been a good week-- Promise Rock hit the website (eeeeeeee!) and I should be getting my five author copies next week (eeeeee!) and I should be getting my one advanced copy of Rampant in a week or two (EEEEE!) and in two or three weeks, I should have two brand new novels on amazon.com (AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!) Oh come on-- you all knew that the excitement would turn to stark raving terror on the drop of a dime, didn't you?
All that, and I'm feeling guilty for trying to sneak out of bed with Squish and Zoomboy, who were supposedly falling asleep watching Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (which was really cute, by the way). She didn't fall for it, and came wandering down the hall, and I made Mate go deal with her because the dragon was riding me, and now I'm feeling guilt.
Lots of guilt.
But me and Squish have had a good week-- lots of sitting together, lots of snuggling--I started a sweater for her (which may be, as I've told Samurai, an ass-kicking nightmare in pink) but, still--haven't done a sweater in a while. And I forgot how much snuggle opportunity knitting allows me. I need to step away from the computer more often.
And... I'm blathering. But while I'm on full-goofy-blather, I'll mention Roxie's rumballs which made it to me today--and how much the family LURVS them. Roxie also sent a hand-knit cotton washcloth, and you know what? THEY REALLY DO MAKE YOU A KNITTING ROCKSTAR! I'm so glad that works on the receiving end as well as the giving one--it is a universal truth.
I'll sign off soon-- I've committed to taking the two teenagers to an anime convention tomorrow, and I need to get them up and cleaning, and I need to give an hour of couch time to the kids before we leave. I also need to buy a dvd player (cheap) and a copy of The Crucible (not so cheap) and I need to get my ass on line and order some calendars since I didn't do it this last week (I'm a dork!)
So I'm going to send the prayer into the ether for Promise Rock-- I neglected it Thursday, and I'm a superstitious sort, we all know that, and I'm going to think of a contest to have, because I'm almost eyeball deep in author copies, and I think I should give one each away, along with some sock yarn, since I did a stash assessment and I'm hopelessly overstashed.
So here goes with the traditional book releasing prayer: Holy Goddess, Merciful God, Let It Not Suck! And while you're at it? Let me keep my three-star motherhood rating as well.
Friday, January 15, 2010
IT'S HERE...
Rampant: The Fourth Book of the Little Goddess Series is n=ow officially on amazon.com.
First, the traditional prayer--and I know you guys keep telling me that it doesn't, but I'm getting to be really superstitious. Are we all ready?
Holy Goddess, Merciful God, LET IT NOT SUCK! Cannyagimmehallelujia? Amen.
And next, something besides just another link, because I'm sure you're all tired of those.
The thing is, I'm sort of running on fumes. At the risk of TMI, my body is in the throes of an epic level hormonal plasma dump right now, and in the midst of all that "Holy shit, I've got two books coming out and that's twice the exposure to get my internal organs devoured by mean wolverines disguised as reviewers" angst, I've also got, well, an epic level hormonal plasma dump. Yes, I know, normal people call them periods. Normal people also have more than four or five a year, and don't blow through two boxes of feminine protection in two days. I tell you all, there's nothing like standing up in front of a classroom of teenagers and thinking, "A-yup. Feminine protection #epic fail."
So, on top of that, there is also the four hours of sleep a night--I'm angsting in the most ridiculous way.
An example? My editor from DSP (lovely woman--like most of you, I'd give a lot to be able to actually sit down and knit with her, providing she knits) e-mailed me last night to let me know that I made the top ten in overall sales on ARe. It's gone now, replaced by another title, but apparently what it meant is that consistently, over thirty days, my book outsold everything else on the site. In Elizabeth's words, that's "all of Harlequin and 99% of het romance." And I went, "Uh-oh."
Yeah, you read that right.
Uh-oh.
I had a sudden attack of angst because, hullo, I was sort of succeeding. I thought, "Oh crap. Will I get a whole crop of different people who think I write quirky and light and who will then destroy me because I really write quirky and angsty, and If I Must was a fluke? Will any of these people read The Little Goddess series and be disappointed?"
It kept me up last night.
But then, so did worry about Promise Rock and Rampant, and all of that other stuff. And I'm thinking now, "Most of these guys have seen me have meltdowns for the past three years, right? Bound, Bitter Moon I, Bitter Moon II--I've been riding the angst pony once a year, boiled down in the crucible of dream catching into a vapor of mooncalfing and hamsterwheeling, all because I put out my scant literary offerings into the world and fret over the wrath of angry gods. If anyone will get how weird I'm becoming about having two books out right now on the heels of a third (albeit a short one) the people who read my blog WILL get it."
Thank Goddess-- because I'm about to drive my husband batshit. Even the kids are worried--they actually let me NAP this afternoon, for no other reason than because I looked crazed and broke into tears when one of them did the dishes.
Rampant is out--and I'm going to be haunting the airwaves until it gets its first review (which is no mean feat, since I know amazon will take its sweet fucking time in shipping those puppies out to you--and to me, for that matter.) Promise Rock will be out on Monday, and I'm going to be a basket case, because that one gets professional reviews and holy cats--what if I not only get bagged (bad enough, as you've seen me lose my nut over amazon.com) but get bagged by someone with an audience of five-thousand people. Ou-UCH! And even more fun? That interview will hit the airwaves and open up an even wider audience to watch me succeed gloriously or fail with much freaking out and general hilarity.
And you guys, with a front row seat, already have practice scraping me off the ground in a puddle and pouring me back into the mold. Good--it's a good thing we've all had practice with this dance, because I think, just maybe, we're about to pick up the beat.
First, the traditional prayer--and I know you guys keep telling me that it doesn't, but I'm getting to be really superstitious. Are we all ready?
Holy Goddess, Merciful God, LET IT NOT SUCK! Cannyagimmehallelujia? Amen.
And next, something besides just another link, because I'm sure you're all tired of those.
The thing is, I'm sort of running on fumes. At the risk of TMI, my body is in the throes of an epic level hormonal plasma dump right now, and in the midst of all that "Holy shit, I've got two books coming out and that's twice the exposure to get my internal organs devoured by mean wolverines disguised as reviewers" angst, I've also got, well, an epic level hormonal plasma dump. Yes, I know, normal people call them periods. Normal people also have more than four or five a year, and don't blow through two boxes of feminine protection in two days. I tell you all, there's nothing like standing up in front of a classroom of teenagers and thinking, "A-yup. Feminine protection #epic fail."
So, on top of that, there is also the four hours of sleep a night--I'm angsting in the most ridiculous way.
An example? My editor from DSP (lovely woman--like most of you, I'd give a lot to be able to actually sit down and knit with her, providing she knits) e-mailed me last night to let me know that I made the top ten in overall sales on ARe. It's gone now, replaced by another title, but apparently what it meant is that consistently, over thirty days, my book outsold everything else on the site. In Elizabeth's words, that's "all of Harlequin and 99% of het romance." And I went, "Uh-oh."
Yeah, you read that right.
Uh-oh.
I had a sudden attack of angst because, hullo, I was sort of succeeding. I thought, "Oh crap. Will I get a whole crop of different people who think I write quirky and light and who will then destroy me because I really write quirky and angsty, and If I Must was a fluke? Will any of these people read The Little Goddess series and be disappointed?"
It kept me up last night.
But then, so did worry about Promise Rock and Rampant, and all of that other stuff. And I'm thinking now, "Most of these guys have seen me have meltdowns for the past three years, right? Bound, Bitter Moon I, Bitter Moon II--I've been riding the angst pony once a year, boiled down in the crucible of dream catching into a vapor of mooncalfing and hamsterwheeling, all because I put out my scant literary offerings into the world and fret over the wrath of angry gods. If anyone will get how weird I'm becoming about having two books out right now on the heels of a third (albeit a short one) the people who read my blog WILL get it."
Thank Goddess-- because I'm about to drive my husband batshit. Even the kids are worried--they actually let me NAP this afternoon, for no other reason than because I looked crazed and broke into tears when one of them did the dishes.
Rampant is out--and I'm going to be haunting the airwaves until it gets its first review (which is no mean feat, since I know amazon will take its sweet fucking time in shipping those puppies out to you--and to me, for that matter.) Promise Rock will be out on Monday, and I'm going to be a basket case, because that one gets professional reviews and holy cats--what if I not only get bagged (bad enough, as you've seen me lose my nut over amazon.com) but get bagged by someone with an audience of five-thousand people. Ou-UCH! And even more fun? That interview will hit the airwaves and open up an even wider audience to watch me succeed gloriously or fail with much freaking out and general hilarity.
And you guys, with a front row seat, already have practice scraping me off the ground in a puddle and pouring me back into the mold. Good--it's a good thing we've all had practice with this dance, because I think, just maybe, we're about to pick up the beat.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
A brief political interlude
First off, I'm still writing some more on that SuperBat fic I started last night. I want to see what happens, and if your'e not in a political frame of mind, just blow right by this.
Second of all--I'm not putting this out on social media, because I know it invites debate and anger. I'm not really up to debate and anger-- if you do have a reasoned response to this, feel free to post it, and I'll publish it. If I get ranting, I'll press delete--and I'm not going to reply to anyone's reasoned response. I'm saying my piece--people will say theirs, and we will let it stand there and hopefully part as friends.
But this needs to be said. From the bottom of my toes, I believe it needs to be said:
Second of all--I'm not putting this out on social media, because I know it invites debate and anger. I'm not really up to debate and anger-- if you do have a reasoned response to this, feel free to post it, and I'll publish it. If I get ranting, I'll press delete--and I'm not going to reply to anyone's reasoned response. I'm saying my piece--people will say theirs, and we will let it stand there and hopefully part as friends.
But this needs to be said. From the bottom of my toes, I believe it needs to be said:
This is bothering me.
My daughter's soccer coach-- not her father this year-- was telling a parent that he was upset that his daughter was being taught about Islam in school, and he was going to protest that.
I taught English for 18 years.
We taught about the Puritans arriving on the shores of this country and bringing their moral fortitude, as well as hypocrisy and-- quite deliberately-- smallpox.
We taught The Crucible wherein the Puritan belief system was responsible for the deaths of a scandalous number of people, not to mention the persecution of thousands more.
We taught Jonathan Edwards and "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" and William Blake's "Little Lamb, Who Made Thee" and Nathaniel Hawthorn's The House of Seven Gables and-- do I need to go on?
Religion drives mores and principles. Mores and principles--and a reaction AGAINST the mores and principles--drive history, politics, culture and literature. History, politics, culture and literature define humanity.
Understanding how a people defines itself is one of the few ways of establishing empathy and finding peace.
The surest way-- and I do mean the surest way-- to ensure that our species destroys itself with violence is to refuse to learn about the religions--and hence the history, mores, principles, politics, culture, and literature-- that drive the many people in our pluralistic society.
So let's be honest here. If you're complaining that there should be a "division of church and state" because someone is teaching the history of a religious belief in school, what you're really saying is not that you believe in the division of church and state. It's that you believe your state should only respect your church.
And that your church-- and I don't care which religion you practice, it is still only a percentage of the world at large-- is the doctrine which should make policy.
Ignorance is not freedom-- ever. Thank you, George Orwell, for teaching me that. It's amazing what you can learn if you open your mind.
Monday, January 6, 2020
A real life bonfire and lying to dogs
So this is short--it's super late, and I've got a promo tour to write in a minute, and, well, tired.
But yesterday we had a delightful change of pace.
Mate's cousin is staying on Mate's grandmother's property (which is now ours) and generally fixing it up in lieu of rent. Folks, given how much work he's doing, I feel like we should still pay him for living there--it's really amazing. But one of the things he does is keep up the property itself--and there's some acreage there. Keeping things clean is a big task, and there's a lot of underbrush, and in the foothills, that means burning stuff. You call up the weatherboard, ask if it's a burn day, and if so--woohoo--you can get rid of your organic waste.
In this case, Ira decided to make a thing out of it, and he invited friends and some family and Mate and I and the kids and, of course, the dogs.
It was fun.
Children ran around and played, adults talked politics (which is tricky as liberals in the foothills) and generally, engaged in peopling. The dogs took turns being puzzled and happy and tussling and scared and cold, and the kids got to make marshmallows, and, in ZoomBoy's case, he got to help with the fire. I didn't let him pour gasoline on it (yes, they did that to make it catch-- it's super wet in the foothills right now and the fog had dampened everything considerably) but he did run around and keep the perimeter shoveled and neat so nothing caught that shouldn't. He also helped put it out, by stirring the coals up while Ira wet them down, and generally, it was very butch and boyish and he enjoyed himself considerably.
And the dogs cuddled with us as we sat and looked at us reprovingly when we got up to move.
I, of course, got cold.
But that's okay--I warmed up eventually, all was well.
Anyway-- it was a fun time, and I wanted to remark on it, because I was away from the internet and my phone and I have zero--ZERO--regrets. Ah, real life. Ain't it... you know. Real?
Anyway--
Mentally abusing my dogs (as I'm sure they thought of the long journey and the unfamiliar surroundings as) made me remember another quote from The Crucible.
* It's hard to give a lie to dogs. -- John Proctor
Proctor has been imprisoned for several months by this time, and the elders of the town and the judges are starting to see that they have been... hasty. The girls have taken off, and if they are going to save face, they need this man--this stalwart opposition of the witch-hunting madness--to confess. If he confesses, then they have, indeed, found witches, but if he doesn't, well, they'll hang him, and the others with him, because they have their pride, but in the end, everyone will know they're frauds. (And, you may surmise, truly, truly horrible shitty people, but moving on...)
The judges ask Proctor's wife to talk him into confessing--she's been imprisoned as well, but she's pregnant, and she has, in the course of the play, realized that her husband truly loves her. She misses him and their sons, and while she is a good person, she's past the point of caring about their reputation. She wants her husband back. She asks him why he hasn't confessed until now, and he replies, "It's hard to give a lie to dogs."
What does this mean?
It means that people who would choose between hanging people and humiliating them to save their own pride aren't worth his false confession. They are snarling bitter pack of feral creatures with no souls--not the sweet and loyal domesticated creatures, these are the wild dogs that would rip apart children and cats for sport. They're too stupid to know good meat from bad meat--or truth from a lie--so why give them anything? Proctor is angry--he's had his life ripped away by idiots who don't understand that they were being played by a whore. He'd rather give them nothing than actually be forced to lie--a thing he was incapable of doing even when he was unfaithful to his wife--even if they're savaging his flesh. They. Are. Dogs. They're not intelligent enough or loyal or compassionate enough to even understand what they're eating. Why should he debase himself enough to play their game?
And in the end, while tempted by the promise of his wife and his sons back, the chance to live a quiet farmer's life, he cannot give these dogs the damned lie. He can't nail a lie to the door of the church and let the world believe he's everything the screaming adolescent harpies have accused him of. It is his name--it is all he has in the world and he'll never have another.
And they're dogs. They don't deserve his lie.
*whew*
Okay-- so there you go. Bonfires and lying to dogs.
And finally, finally, letting Christmas vacation march to a quiet, happy end.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Crap & shit
* Okay--I forgot to post yesterday. Just flat out forgot that I try for every other day and got caught up in big doings like naps and dinner and a movie with Mate. Sorry!
* We gave each other cards-- mine was home-made, and featured a foamie frame, decorated with buttons and flowers, and showing off the lyrics to Open Arms (by Journey, Jack & Teague fans) and being modeled by Big Q. Mate liked it--of course there's a personal note written on the back, but I think he liked the idea of something inexpensive, but important. I, uhm, got a button that said "I got this from the world's greatest lover." And $15 in i-tunes that I can't really use until the end of February, when my royalty check comes in (and I can replace my ipod). But I'm already planning, so that's good.
* You may have noticed that 'The Cave Troll' shall heretofore be known on the blog as Big Q. He's sort of outgrown that whole 'Cave Troll' thing in public-- but his father and I will remember him as the Cave Troll for the rest of his natural born life.
* Did you notice that some of my slash/fic rockstars showed up and commented on the blog! *squeal* *swoon* Thanks Madeleine Urban and Madelynne Ellis-- you guys really made my week!
* I actually had a class come in on Friday and ask, very politely, "Ms. Lane, if we promise to take our quote quiz next week, can we PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE finish the Crucible?" They were engaged, interested, enthusiastic--of course I said yes. Had a lovely discussion afterwards--I actually thanked the class for being interested in their subject. It was a good day, and the only reason I ever wanted to teach AP in the first place. The fact that the class was a class of regular juniors didn't matter--interest, engagement, active thought, sweartadog, it's all I've ever wanted from my job.
* We got a note in Big Q's backpack this weekend that I read on Wednesday. It said "This year, we would like your child to make his or her own valentines." All 24 of them. So there I was, in the craft store, buying hole punches and foamies and stickers... when I heard Open Arms by Journey on the speaker system. Uhm... wait... that could explain item number two, couldn't it? Anyway, 24 valentines-- Chicken and I made them in two hours. Big Q signed them. *ah* What a lovely idea-- thanks Mrs. McGearing!
* Chicken also volunteered to bring cookies to her Spanish class. This wasn't so bad-- we used prefab cookies and I flipped them off a pan with a spatula, and Chicken caught them, like a Mario and Luigi game. It was pretty funny, and then one of the cookies rolled off the plate and back onto the pan. And then it did it again, and I giggled, "That cookie is doomed... doomed doomed doomed!" Big T heard me from the other room, having been told that the cookies were NOT for big brothers, and suddenly there was the thundering sound of a ginormous teenager pounding through the house. "Doomed? Did you say that cookie was doomed?"
Well THEN it was!
* It's blowing and howling outside today--I need to run some errands, and all I WANT to do is curl up in a ball and decide what I'm going to do about my roulette sock. Dammit--I was going to do a test sock, and I'm more than halfway through, but I think it's pretty obvious I won't finish the test sock AND the actual sock by the end of February, so I'm going to have to put one more sock on the needles. *sob* I can't keep track of how many socks I'm working on right now. I'm SO confused!!!
* No reviews on Bitter Moon II yet, but I HAVE had some feedback. (My copies haven't arrived from iUniverse, editors--I swear, as soon as they do, I'll be at the post office with books and yarn and a cartload of gratitude!) I'd like to thank Andrea, who spoke out on the blog last week, and Ally L who wrote me a long and thorough e-mail, both of whom assured me that the book got the job done. A friend of mine also e-mailed me twice, looking for reassurance--she told me the book was INTENSE, and I figured that was a compliment, right? Thanks, guys-- I'm grateful. My butt-cheeks have marginally unclenched and I can start gently disengaging a part of my psyche from the land of the three moons--I've been stuck there for about a month, and it's made writing in the Coryverse a lot harder than it usually is.
* Ladybug... "Mom, sit in your lap me." This is Ladybug for, "Mother figure, thou shalt drop all of your engagements, sacrifice your clothing, and sit down to watch Spongebob for the umpteenth time while I eat something messy and spill it on your shirt." Usually I don't mind, but she tends ask me to do this RIGHT when I've started writing. *sigh* Children really do eat your brains, and precious little girls with "You love me don't you," smiles really are evil. I love them all.
Done for now!
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