Tag: teaching

In Search of a Bigger Boat (One Week of Editing Done)

Pavowski1 Comment

I’m a week into the edit of AI.

It’s odd.

I really don’t know how else to characterize the experience.  It’s just odd.  Odd that I have written this relatively speaking huge-asgard novel which I’m now poring through in order to catch all the mistakes and make it less, uh, sharknado-ey.  Odd that I’m breaking it apart bit by bit with the literary equivalent of a rock hammer to examine all the weird crusty bits.  Odd that it’s been long enough since I wrote it, and the project was big enough, and I let enough time pass that I don’t even recall writing some of what I definitely wrote.  I mean, there were no pen-wielding hobos in my employ.  I didn’t black out during any of the writing (that I’m aware of).  It’s all me, and it sounds like me, even if I don’t recognize it as such.

I’m an English teacher by trade, though, and I can’t shake the simple and obvious comparison that editing this monster is a bit like grading a sharknado-ey sophomore English paper.  Mind you, my grammar and syntax are a touch better than the average 15-year-old’s, but the process is the same.  “Oh, I see what you were after here, but you worded it awkwardly and it feels like pins and needles in my skull when I read this.”  Out comes the red pen.  “Stop showing off your gargantuan vocabulary, you’ll alienate the reader.”  Big “x” through the offending word.  “What the f*$&@ were you thinking?”  Entire paragraph circled and slated for demolition.  Or the ever-enigmatic, simple and yet baffling “no” marked next to a passage that was deemed, for some reason or another, offensive to the eye or mind.

And let’s not sugarcoat things here, there is a LOT of red ink on this draft.

I thought it was pretty good when I wrote it.  To be fair, I still think most of it is pretty good, but I see an almost endless array of ways for it to be better.  Clunky language here.  Overused modifiers there.  Odd out-of-body-experience repetition in this particular area.  Missing elements.  Unnecessary descriptions.  Vagueness.  Overspecificity.  If there’s a writing sin for it, I’ve committed that sin, probably on the Sabbath and while facing away from Mecca.  I may have mixed metaphors as well.  But, on the whole, I’ve not had to make any major changes to the draft or to the copy.  The biggest changes I’ve made so far are the removal of one entire paragraph describing a character — I thought it was better to let the character’s actions speak for her — and the addition of a paragraph bridging the mental gap I made between a character understanding a problem and moving toward a solution.  It was too easy, and upon re-reading it, I realized that in the best of cases it simply didn’t make sense, and in the worst of cases not only did it not make sense, but it was also insulting and cliche in its avoidance of sense.

But the little things are the little things.  I know that the Big Problems are out there in the deep water, cruising the depths and waiting for me to circle back.  These monsters I created in the draft are hungry, and their teeth are fearsome and seeking.  I’m skipping around the shallows right now in a waverunner, but to deal with those leviathans, I’m going to need a bigger boat.

I’m new to this game, but it seems to me like the editing process is highly subjective and personal.  Before I jumped in, I was terrified that there might be a right way and a wrong way to do it, that I’d screw up the pudding and cause the whole souffle to fall if I didn’t tackle things in the proper order and with the proper technique.  But the water is always shocking when you first jump in.  I’m starting to feel comfortable, to establish a routine, and to feel as if I have a decent gameplan in mind for slaying this dragon.

For reference (yours if you’re thinking about embarking on a journey like mine, mine if it changes later and I disavow everything I’ve written to date), here’s how I’m tackling it.

  • I read my draft in MS Word with Track Changes enabled.
  • I keep a notepad open in front of me while I read.
  • I parse about five pages — or 3000 words — per day.
  • Major plot points and character developments get noted in the notepad.
  • Problems with the copy are either addressed immediately (I clean up vagueness or messy language) or highlighted for the second pass.
  • On the opposite-facing page of the notepad, I keep a running to-do list of things I need to fix when I come back for the second pass.  (These tend to be the more involved things that I can’t do in just a few minutes, like giving a better description of a character, or figuring out where and when I need to introduce an element that needs to be present for later in the story.)

It’s tedious, no doubt, and part of me wants to follow some advice I’ve seen elsewhere, which is to just hunker down and read through the whole thing in one go: a couple of days or so, and leave all the fixing for Future Mes to figure out.  But I don’t know if that’s how I work, for better or for worse.  When I clean house (and here my wife is laughing her butt off), I try to clean everything all at once.  I’ll be polishing a countertop in the kitchen, then see a doodad that belongs in the living room.  I stop polishing to return the doodad and I see that the doodads are out of alignment.  So I take a moment to straighten them out, and I discover a missing piece to a set of decorative doohickeys in our bedroom.  Naturally, I stop the alignment of the doodads to return the doohickey, and then I see that the trashcans upstairs need emptying, and soon an hour has passed and my wife is asking me why the hell it’s taking me so long to clean the countertops in the kitchen.

I can’t say it’s the most efficient way to process this first draft, but I think it’s working so far.  At the very least I feel productive, and since this is all about me, I’m going to take that and be joyful for now.

I’ll keep you posted when it’s time to tangle with the sharks.

My Actual Message to Actual Graduates: Be Good

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Now that I cleared my pipes yesterday with the vent against students who give teachers everywhere heartburn, I can speak with lowered blood pressure and say something perhaps a bit more productive, a bit less offensive, something that might uplift rather than tear down.

This being my first year teaching seniors, in other words my first time being a teacher at the moment when these future humans leave primary schooling behind and go on to do and be whatever they are going to do and be, the gravity of my profession feels a little bit heavier.  I see now in a much more inescapable way just what sort of effect teachers can have on students and, by the same token, what effects students can have on their teachers.  Let’s get one thing clear: I’m not that teacher that’s going to bust a tear at his students’ graduation.  Those teachers are out there, but that ain’t me, and I’m not apologizing for it.  No, even though I will miss <em>some</em> of my students, I am happy to see <em>all</em> of them go, because for some of them they’re past ready to leave the foolishness of high school behind, and for others, high school is past ready for them to move on.  One of my colleagues has a fantastic poster in her room which sums it up nicely: “All students in this class bring happiness.  Some by arriving, others by leaving.”

So you’re graduating.  That’s fantastic.  The parade of seniors past my door the past week or so has felt neverending, and to be honest, I wasn’t (and still am not) sure I’m the kind of teacher who would make an impact in the lives of my students.  Nevertheless, I’ve had several students tell me they loved my class, and even had more than a handful who’ve told me I was their favorite teacher.  Some of that may just be the emotions talking, the great fear bursting from their chests as they roll toward the abyss separating high school from the real world, but it feels good regardless.  While I’ve tried to have some words for each student individually to send them on their way, I’ve said the same two words to every student, and I want to share my reasons for doing so.

“Be good.”

It’s not exactly poetry, and it’s not exactly profound.  But it is something universal that I want for all of my students; yes, even the one I addressed yesterday.

“Be good.”  It’s a funny thing for me to say, because in my classes, I discourage the use of “good” as a modifier.  I don’t accept “It was good” or “he was good” or any other variant because it tells you nothing.  The word “good” is like premixed cement: it’s got the basics of something but by itself it’s effectively worthless.  There are near countless gradations of meaning in the word good, and hundreds of different ways to say what you mean which tell your audience more than the word “good.”

But.  (There is always a but.)  It’s that premixed meaning I’m after, here.  My students — the class of 2014 — are going off into more fields and into more futures than I can conceive of.  College, military, dad’s business, setting off across the country with no safety net — they are doing it all.  And I hope that they do it well.  They don’t have to be the best.  There is no “best.”  But there is always “good,” and I hope that they will strive for it, whatever it means in whatever path they’ve chosen.

There’s also the moral significance of the word: “good” in contrast, of course, to “evil.”  Like light and darkness, as part of the solution or part of the problem, there is a “good”ness or a “bad”ness in everything we do.  And in that sense, I hope my students are good as well; I hope that they are forces for good in the world and that they don’t contribute to the evil in the world any more than they absolutely must.

Finally, of course there’s that verb, “Be”, present tense, imperative.  It’s a command, but more than that, it’s a wish and a hope, for now and for the future.  To be something is not to pretend, to consider, to dream about some far off goal.  It means becoming it, right now, this instant.

So, to the future humans, the graduating class of 2014:

Be Good.

Matriculate This

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Here we are, the last day of school.

Not for all of you, I understand.  Many of you no doubt left school behind many years ago and never looked back.  Me, I got sucked back in and am now helping (?) today’s students to leave school in their rear view mirrors.  High school at least.

It’s a weird feeling.  I’ve been a teacher for three years before this year, but this is my first time teaching students who are actually graduating and actually leaving conventional schooling behind.  But don’t worry, I’m not going to wax rhapsodic or philosophic or catatonic about the joys and mysteries of teaching.

Rather, inspired by a colleague of mine, I’m going to share a letter I’m writing to a student.  Not a specific student.  But rather, I’m writing to that student.  That student that every teacher knows, that student who, in fact, everybody in the building knows, and whom we are not allowed to tell what we actually think of him (or her).

Again, I don’t feel this way for 99% of my students. This one is special.

Buckle up.

Psst.  Hey.  You.  Yeah, you.  I need to tell you something.

You’re graduating today, and that’s fantastic.  Really, I’m happy for you, and that’s not facetiery.  Yes, I just made that word up.  If you can’t figure out what it means, maybe you need to take my class again.  Anyway, hand to my heart, I’m happy for you.  But not for the reason you think.

No, I’m happy because it means I’m done with you.  I know, I know.  You’re done with me, too, and you’re done with all of your teachers and blah, blah, blah.  But I just want you to understand the depths of my feelings on the matter.  See, you think you know about hating somebody.  You’re, what, eighteen years old?  And you think you hate this teacher or that ex-friend or whoever for something they “did” to you.  But you don’t know what that word means.  I’m over thirty.  I’ve lived through enough situations to know the many subtle levels, the onion-peels of unpleasantry that can stink up a relationship between two people.  I know about dislike, about frustration, about disappointment, about mistrust, I know about shock and betrayal, I know about that thing you get with people where you can’t quite put your finger on it but man, does that person grate your nerves, and what I feel for you is none of those things.  Or, maybe to be more fair, it’s all of those things, and the English language just sadly does not have the proper Word for all of that yet.

What I have for you is an adult hatred, and I’m a little embarrassed to say that, because it feels like a failing on my part.  I shouldn’t feel this way about a young person.  I shouldn’t let the actions of somebody with enough experience to fill a teacup get the better of my emotions, but you’ve done it, and for that I suppose you deserve some sort of commendation.

You’ve lied.  I know it and you know it.  You’ve lied to me, to your parents, to your other teachers, probably to the administrators too, about matters great and small, significant and shallow, for ends as lofty as getting extra time on an assignment and as pitiful as running to the restroom.

You’ve cheated.  I know it and you know it.  You’re not as smart as the grade you’ve earned, and I know that you have no idea what half of the words on that last Macbeth quiz even meant, but somehow you aced it and I just can’t prove otherwise.

You’ve manipulated.  I know it and you know it.  All the people you lied to, you lied to manipulate.  Whether to gain some bizarre psychological advantage or whether to just make yourself feel fancy, you managed to convince me to do something I didn’t want to do, whether it was letting you out of class or turning in an assignment late. 

You’ve disappointed me.  You had (have) so much potential, but it’s wasted in you right now, it really is.  You’ve had so many opportunities to do the right thing and chosen the other way, had so many chances to redeem yourself with me and let me down.  I just can’t take it anymore.

You’ve betrayed me.  Thanks to your lies, there was a time when I had your back and you didn’t know it.  A time when I put myself out there for you and stuck up for you, and you made me feel like a fool for it.

All of that’s bad enough, but you know what the worst part is?  The fact that you think it’s cool.  Even today, you came up to me and talked to me like we were old pals, you had the nerve to ask me a favor.  Pardon me for laughing in your face.  I just couldn’t help myself.

But all of that Sharknado between you and me?  It’s okay.  I’m angry with you, I’m furious with myself for letting you get the better of me, but it’s okay, because it’s passing.  Like a kidney stone, I’m pissing you out to flush you.  And when you cross that stage, we are done.

All of it means nothing.  The lies you told, the disappointments, the betrayals of trust, it’s all like so many mosquitoes trapped in amber.  Because you’re going into the real world now.  And when you try that Sharknado in the real world, it’s going to rebound on you harder than you can ever imagine.  You’re going to say the wrong thing to the wrong guy and get your asgard punched through a wall.  You’ll try to manipulate your boss at work and you’ll get fired in a heartbeat.  You’ll cheat your boss or you’ll cheat your wife or your friend and you’ll lose your job or your relationship or your last friend.  The world is not high school, and it’s going to be a rude awakening for you.

If I could torpedo one kid, if I could wave a wand and stop you from graduating, if I could blow up your life and your plans, I would do it.  I’d stand with my finger over the button, watching you squirm, beg, and plead, and I’d push it with relish and gusto.  But I can’t and I won’t.  Not for the reasons you think; not because I’m afraid of losing my job, not because I don’t have the authority.  It’s because I have integrity.  I know that’s another word you don’t understand because you don’t have it and can’t even conceive of it.  But it means I have a sense of personal responsibility, I have a sense of right and wrong, I have care and concern for the way my actions affect the world around me.  By whatever crooked means, by whatever disingenuous contrivance, you have earned your graduation and I wouldn’t stand in its way.  I can watch you go, safe in the knowledge that even though you won this round, your comeuppance is not far off.  Don’t know that word either?  Yeah, I thought not.

But there’s one last thing I want you to know.  As you look around yourself on this day, you’ll notice a lot of your classmates smiling, laughing, crying.  You might smile and laugh too, but not for the same reasons.  See, this has all been one big joke for you, and now it’s over, and the crowd is going home and going on with their lives, and you’ll have nobody left to tell your jokes to.  But if you look my way, you might just see me smile back for you one last time.  And that smile will be genuine.  Because this is the last time I have to see you.  And that fills me with a buoyant, radiant joy.

Have a nice life.

I feel better. Happier programming will return tomorrow. And in all seriousness, congrats to the class of 2014. I’ll miss most of you.

Repeticons, a word I’ve just made up

Pavowski1 Comment

It’s the last week of school, and I’ve got English on the brain.  English is awesome.  English is dumb.  I love it.  I hate it.  I love language and want to spend the rest of my life finding new ways to tell exciting and interesting stories.  I hate language and grr blargle argle sknash.

If you’re going to be a writer, you have to love the language at least a little bit.  I love it a lot.  I love its twists and turns, I love its nooks and crannies, I love its incongruities, I love its flat contradictions.  More than that, I love to play with it.

I think authors have to practice their wordplay at every opportunity they can get, like the guys with the things doing the things to other things.  Ahem.  My brain’s a little fried and my wordplay is not in top form right now.  But that won’t stop me from writing about it.Read More »

It’s Monday. Here Are Some Words.

Pavowski2 Comments

I wish I had more to report today, but I don’t.  I could speak of the massive headaches and heartaches and the disgust with humanity and gnashing of teeth that comes with being a teacher — doubly so a teacher of high school seniors, some of whom have failed and will as a result not graduate — at the end of the year.  But I won’t.  Partially for reasons of confidentiality, partially because I’m a softie at heart, but mostly because if I spend another instant thinking about it today I might just have to kick one of my cats, and my cats don’t deserve it.  At least, not today.  Not that I’m aware of.

Disclaimer: I would never kick my cats.  Hard.

Instead, a reflection.  I’m at 70% complete on the Project.  Fascinating.  I’m far enough ahead of schedule that I could significantly scale back my daily goal and still finish ahead of my goal of early August, but of course that defeats the purpose of goals.  No, I will keep on pushing and finish probably in early July, which will be fantastic, assuming of course that things don’t fall into the wood chipper over the summer.

In other news, things may fall into the wood chipper over the summer. Read More »