Category Archives: composition

First Draft Friday

I love alliteration!

SO!  The first draft of The Paper is done!  It clocks in at 22 pages (plus 5 pages of sources), the conclusion is pathetic, and I still have to go back through and cite some sections, but it is a complete draft.

Who wants to read it?  Email me at mrschili at comcast dot net and I’ll send you a copy.  Be forewarned; I want good, constructive feedback on this bad boy; if you’re going to read this (and I’ll be very grateful if you do), I’m going to ask that you be clear and specific about what I need to do to make it better.

My goal is to have it in front of my professor in second-draft form sometime early to mid next week (I’m aiming for Wednesday, but since she hasn’t given me a deadline, I’ve got some flexibility).  The final is due on the 15th (my deadline, not hers; I think she gave me through the 18th, but I’d rather put it to bed sooner rather than later).

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Reading Response Essay #1

I’m going to admit to being a little nervous about this.

The assignment says, in part (I’ve left out the insignificant details),  “each student will maintain a weekly reading response journal that is based on the reading response questions that are posted on BlackBoard… Students should respond using examples from the readings to illustrate your points.  The format of the response should include the following: 1) date and response question, 2) discussion and response of the question using at least two examples from the assigned readings to illustrate points, 3) response and discussion of the question based on your personal opinion/experience, and 4) demonstrated critical analysis of the question and integration of the assigned readings into your opinion/experience.

Since I’m still not sure about what the expectations are for written assignments beyond what I’ve got there, I’m not sure that I’ve met them. Regardless, here’s what I’ve come up with for the first attempt.  Critique the hell out of it, wouldja?

 

Reading Response Question
September 1, 2012

In reading #1, Diana Gittins asks “what is a family and is it universal?”  Based on all of the Ferguson readings for 9/7/12, how would you answer Gittins’ questions?  Finally, define traditional notions of “the family” and discuss why we cling to traditional notions of family if, in reality, they represent such a small percentage of families today in the US?

The readings from Ferguson make clear that the notion of “family” is, at best, nearly impossible to define.  While it is true that every culture has an expression of “family,” no single, coherent definition can be applied to the structure that can be expected to encompass every permutation of family; there are simply too many factors to consider that make the composition a universal definition impossible.

The “traditional” notion of family, at least in this country and at this moment in time, is a heteronormative, male-dominated structure consisting of a bread-winning father, a caretaker mother, and the natural children of that couple’s state- and church-sanctioned marital union.  Seen from the outside, it could be argued that my family is the white, Western archetype; my husband (though not always the primary decision-maker) is currently the primary breadwinner; I left my job teaching high school to pursue a post-graduate certificate and, as a consequence, am only working part-time.  We were legally wed in a church, though neither of us subscribes to an organized faith.  Our two daughters were conceived and borne in wedlock.  For all intents and purposes, my husband and I are representative of the “perfect” middle class American family.

There are a number of ways in which the day-to-day of our family differs, though, from what I understand the “conservative” narrative concerning families should be.  Our division of labor isn’t based on traditional gender roles; though it’s true that my husband mows the lawn and snow-blows the driveway, he does those things not because I’m not able to or because he thinks I can’t, but rather because he’s the only one of us who can finesse those machines to do his bidding.  He is just as likely as I am to do dishes or run a few loads of laundry.  I see to the care and keeping of the vehicles and often execute home repairs myself.  We saw – and continue to see – equally to both the emotional and physical care of our children; we each bathed and diapered the babies, we each help with homework, we each provide for the varying needs of our growing children (in fact, my husband is the one who cares for the girls when they’re vomiting; I simply haven’t the stomach for that kind of sickness).  Decisions about household expenses are shared between us, as are the continuing demands of parenting teenage daughters.  While there’s a lot about our family that looks “traditional,” there is much about our relationships that deviate from that idea (at least, as I understand the current conservative narrative).

Ours is a unique situation, though, and there are as many expressions of family as there are individuals who make them.  Considering the components of race, class, sexual orientation, educational level, profession, and physical surroundings and the effect that these influences have on the ways in which domestic arrangements are made and maintained, one needs also to take into account the impacts of faith, “traditional” definitions, social expectations, and governmental policies on the ways in which we arrange ourselves into family units.

My sister and her wife are an excellent example of a family that finds itself outside the sanctioned definition of “family,” though admittedly that definition is changing.  I find it interesting that even those who are accepting of their union as a marriage will still ask them when they plan to have children (and the more bold will ask how they plan to have them); the expectations placed on even non-traditional families to adhere to a socially acceptable pattern of behavior is pervasive.

In her article, Gittins makes the argument that while we may think we have a working definition of “family,” the reality of the various lives that people lead renders that definition unworkable.  She argues that the standards for behavior change with time and situation, that any number of forces affect the customs and social acceptability of certain practices, and that marriage and family customs have been fluid throughout human history.  To try to apply one rigid definition of family leaves out all but a wrenchingly narrow representation of people and, further, denigrates and marginalizes nearly everyone.

As to the claim that we cling to a narrow definition of family despite evidence that so few people actually live in conditions that would be recognized as meeting that definition, I’m not entirely certain that we do.  As our nation becomes more diverse, as children grow up in a more accepting and tolerant environment, and as culture and customs continue to evolve – however slowly that may be happening – so, too, do our definitions of “normal” change and adapt.  My husband and I are raising our daughters to both accept and understand that there are a number of different ways to express love and care, and that no one way is the “right” way.

I understand, because I am reasonably conscious and attentive to the political environment, that there are an alarming number of people who do cling desperately to a codified and proscribed definition of family, and who are at best deeply suspicious of and, at worst, outright hostile to people whose practices do not meet with that standard.  My thinking is that these people are either afraid of losing their privileged position as members of sanctioned institutions – and whatever control or influence that position grants them, whether real or perceived – or they are operating under the mistaken belief that allowing other ways of being to be officially condoned and recognized will somehow threaten their own rights to live as they please.  Sadly, I do know of people who genuinely believe that the acceptance of homosexual marriage will, in fact, threaten hetero marriage, and it seems that no amount of logic or placating will allay their fears.  Fortunately, these are not fears that I or my family share.

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TenThings Tuesday

Plus one!  The “let’s update Chili’s resume!” edition!  Here are eleven things that I added to my resume today.

1.  designed and taught core English courses to grades 9-12

2.  designed and implemented objectives and standards for core English courses

3.  designed, planned, and taught online “snow day” courses via web-based program

4.  led NECAP standardized test preparation for Language Arts; proficiencies rose three straight years

5.  designed and supervised independent study courses for students in writing, literary analysis, and film study

6.  designed and taught elective courses in poetry, film as literature, and Aliens and Vampires in Literature

7.  coached Poetry Out Loud team 2009-2012; regional finalist each year

8.  communicated with parents via email and in-person conferences; published a weekly informational newsletter for the school community

9.  ran quarterly book fairs at Barnes and Noble; stocked, tracked, and maintained school’s book supply

10.  Led the Socratic Society club’s weekly meetings

11.  chaperoned out-of-school activities

Now, are any of you any good at writing cold-contact cover letters?

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Quick Hit: Vignette

I gave my juniors a bunch of short story prompts inspired by a compilation of “either/or” choices in a book one of the students brought to class this morning.  The one I chose was “would you rather always lose or never play?”

I’m giving it to you just as I wrote it; it hasn’t gone through any revision or workshopping.  I’ll take whatever feedback anyone feels compelled to give.

Stacey sat in the bleachers, watching her little brother’s baseball team lose… again.  They were oh-and-19 going into this game, and the future didn’t look good.  At least this time they managed to get on the scoreboard; the run the Ducks brought in on a laughable error by the other team’s outfielder brought the number of runs scored by the team for the entire season to exactly two.

Bottom of the 9th; two outs.  Jameson was at bat.  At 13, he was still an awkward kid, and despite his 6 years in Little League, he never quite got the hitting stance right.  He held the bat like a weapon, Stacey could see Jamie’s fingers turning white in the death-grip on the thing, and he bent his knees so much that his ass stuck out at an impossible angle.  He stared at the pitcher with what looked to Stacey like a mixture of wide-eyed fear and blazing fury, and she was sure that, at any moment, the kid might storm the mound and beat the pitcher to death.

The ball came screaming toward her little brother, and he did what he always did.  The bat came flying around his body, wielded more like a broadsword than a baseball bat, and missed the ball entirely.  Stacey heard the ball thump securely in the catcher’s mitt, watched the umpire signal strike three, and watched as her brother and his fellows came to the infield to line up to congratulate yet another vanquishing team.  Stacey gathered up her bag and her jacket and thought to herself that the kids didn’t even look all that dejected.  Losing, it seems, is something that they’ve gotten comfortable with.

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Film and Lit

I’m about three weeks into the new semester, and even though the new Film and Literature class isn’t really off the ground yet, I’m starting to feel really good about the class.

The central focus of the class is systems and the ways in which they work – or not – on both a micro and macro level.  The kids will be reading What Dreams May Come by Richard Matheson, A Time to Kill by Grisham, Orwell’s Animal Farm, and The Sunflower by Simon Wiesenthal and, as each story gets read, we’ll watch films that deal with many of the same big-picture ideas.  The kids will be working on reflective essays that get them to think beyond the plots of the stories and into some of the “so what?” questions the films and stories ask us to consider.

Last week, the kids watched Forrest Gump (a couple of them, surprisingly, for the first time).  Here’s the prompt I gave them:

Consider the interplay between the system and the individual. How do personalities affect the way we perceive the effects of a system on our lives, and in what ways do personalities affect the systems that act upon us? Consider the several characters in the film; how do they deal differently with the same stimuli, and how do their different responses affect the trajectory of their lives, and the lives of others?

How would YOU answer this question?

Tune in later; I’ll give you the Shawshank Redemption prompt….

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Quick Hit: It Works!

Every morning, my English classes are expected to write for about 10 minutes on a bumper sticker quote I put up on the board.  The first class, they just get the quote; I want them to approach it fresh and as they would on their own.  They find critical thinking questions and prompts from me on the board when they arrive for subsequent classes.  My hope is that these will nudge them to think deeper or more carefully or from a different angle; my goal is for them to practice critical thinking skills, then to transfer that thinking into their writing.

For the most part, these exercises seem to go over okay.  The kids grumble about having to do them – especially the first-thing-in-the-morning kids – but with the exception of a couple of recalcitrant kids (who don’t write on principle, anyway), I get pretty decent engagement.

I had to kinda drag Hatcher through these last year; not exactly kicking and screaming, but for a while there, I was working harder than he was.  This kid is SO smart and SO insightful, but he would give me bullshit responses to the prompts, and it made me CRAZY.  I pushed him and cajoled him and harassed him all year, and he only once in a while let slip how brilliant he really is.

He ended up leaving the school this term (I’m not sure why, and it saddens my heart; I miss him every day).  This morning, I got this message on my facebook page:

Dear Mrs. Chili,

After the second day of [standardized testing], I can honestly say that I would have had an incredibly hard time on the writing sections without the daily quote writing from your class.

Thanks,

Hatcher

I live for these notes.

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Professor Chili

I got an email from the head of the freshman writing program this morning.  He wants me to come back to Local U. to teach next fall!

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Frankly, I’m more than a little surprised.  I mean, I absolutely believed my boss when he assured me, after telling me he couldn’t hire me last year, that he’d keep me on his list; that’s not the surprising part.  What’s really got me stumped is that our state is in the process of eviscerating funding for the university system.  Really.  Every single department in the University is under both hiring and salary freezes.  Mr. Chili is concerned that the group for whom he works, which has been operating in cooperation with the University, may now consider breaking off and founding an independent institute.  My girlfriend, who works for the business school, is actually doing two jobs because the school hasn’t hired someone to replace her partner, who had to leave due to medical issues two months ago.  It’s bad out there, and I strongly suspected that this would mean both a reduction in the number of freshman writing sections being offered and a far lesser likelihood of my being invited back to teach.

Not so, it seems!  I’ll be heading up a Monday-Wednesday evening section of freshman composition, and I’m really looking forward to it.  I’ve missed being at LU’s English building, and I’m very much looking forward to being back.

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Interview With the Vampire

Actually, it’s “Interview with the Writer of Interview with the Vampire!”

You want to know how much I love technology?  Let me tell you how much I love technology, People!  A girlfriend clued me in a little while ago that Anne Rice had announced that she is willing to come to classrooms via Skype to talk about her books and the craft of writing.

She didn’t have to tell me twice!

I got right on the computer and emailed Ms. Rice to tell her that, yes, please, my seniors and I would like very much to have her “visit” our class and talk about writing.  Her assistant and I have been emailing for a while now, and we’re circling in on a date in March.

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I assigned Interview With the Vampire today – the kids have to have their books by this time next week and we’ll start reading then.  I’m up against a couple of students who have pre-conceived notions of Rice and the novel, so I’m having to get them to start thinking like scholars about this novel instead of looking at it as consumers of entertainment.  I’m probably not going to hook a few of them, but I know for sure that I’ve piqued a LOT of interest in this class; my boss is tickled that this could actually happen (she wants to call the local paper), and a number of my former students are begging to come back to school so they can partake in this class, too.

Technology rocks.

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Filed under composition, film as literature, fun, great writing, I love my boss, I love my job, lesson planning, Literature, out in the real world, popular culture, success!, Teaching, writing

Finding My Stride

We’re into our second week in school, though neither week has been a full five days (because of the Labor Day holiday last weekend, last week was Tuesday through Thursday, this week is Tuesday to Friday).  I’m coming to realize that I had no idea how much I missed my job until I came back from summer vacation.

I’m teaching four classes this year; freshman, junior, and senior English and a Film and Literature class.  So far, they’re all going really well, though I’m still trying to adjust my brain to how much work I should reasonably expect from the students.  I’m settling into the routine of taking attendance in the new platform our Tech God launched for us this year, and that same Tech God got my (messed up) classes set up (correctly) in the class management system we started playing with last term and are running full-time this year.  In terms of logistics, I think I’ve got it figured out.

We’re running a college-inspired schedule this year, which, so far, is working out GREAT.  On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, my professional life is almost obscenely leisurely to look at from the outside; I’m only scheduled for the freshman class first block and the freshman portfolio advisory right after lunch.  I’m finding, though, that my M/W/F is packed much fuller than my Tuesday/Thursdays where I have a class literally every block.  Those “easy” days are the ones where I’m doing all my grading, planning, copying, and scheming, not to mention trying to keep up with three reading assignments (and that’s one fewer than there’ll be soon; I doubled up the English III and Film and Lit readings for the first outing).

My freshmen are reading Lois Lowry’s The Giver and are trying to figure out the writing process ahead of composing their own personal narratives.  Most of the kids have read the novel already – most in 7th grade – but I think they’re going to be pleased, and not a little surprised, by how much they DIDN’T see in the story two years ago.  I’m going to get them started on their personal essays at the end of next week with an eye for having a finished draft before the end of the first grading period in mid-October.

My English III kids are reading The Secret Life of Bees (as are my Film and Lit kids).  I’m thinking that I’m going to use the same lesson plans for both classes for this novel, and of showing the film to the core class kids, as well.  I’m dying to start talking about this book; a couple of students have come in and boldly declared that Lily is a little girl with daddy issues and I think it’s going to be fun to watch them come to the realization that her issues are all mommy (as are, consequently, her daddy’s issues.  Yep; that’s going to be a great conversation!).

My English IV kids are reading Frankenstein, and I absolutely cannot WAIT to see where they go with it.  I got a lot of complaints during the first reading day; they couldn’t get behind the language and they were completely confused about what was going on.  A couple of the kids came back to me today, though, and told me that once they got going, the ride smoothed out a bit.  I figured it would, but it was good to hear it from them.  I’m trying something different with my seniors this year in that I’m giving them, right off the bat, free rein to decide how they’re going to approach this novel.  I’ve told them that they’ve got to come up with some other supporting experience that they can interpret to show me that they’re engaged with Frankenstein on a level that goes beyond just the plot and setting, but that they have complete autonomy in how they do that.  While I’m expecting them to fall on their faces this first time out – they’ve never really been given this kind of absolute freedom before – I’m hoping that they’re observant enough of the text to be able to come up with some academically substantial ideas.  Maybe some of them will choose to examine some excerpts of Milton’s Paradise Lost or Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women, or they might investigate the current issues in medical and scientific ethics that Shelley so presciently wrote about in her novel.  I’m also hoping that some of them will go off and do something creative and original; one long-ago student, when faced with the same assignment, decided to write two more chapters to the book in which the Creature returns from the Arctic and confronts Ernest.  It was delightful, imaginative, true to the voice of the novel and completely in keeping with the characters, and I’m hoping that someone sees fit to try their hand at that kind of creative effort.

We just finished Willow in the Film class, and the kids are tasked with writing a short essay in which they argue who that story is really about; my interpretation is that it’s NOT about the main character, and I’m eager to see not only who they choose, but also how they defend those choices with evidence from the movie.  They’re also finishing The Secret Life of Bees, and next week will be spent in conversation about the ideas of prejudice, faith, confidence, connection, and determination that the novel forwards, as well as in discussion of some of the creative choice the director made in the adaptation of the book to the screen.

See?  Busy!  How’s YOUR school year going?

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First Draft; The Phone Call

The first draft of a piece inspired by this prompt…

Filled with apprehension, he picked up the telephone and, with shaking fingers, he dialed…

Her number hadn’t changed in decades – he’d double-checked, again, just to be sure – and as he heard the clicking of the call connecting, he resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to hang up.  This was at least the sixth time he’d dialed this number – maybe it was more, he didn’t know – but this was the first time he actually let the call go through; in fact, more than once he’d left the last “3” off the sequence of seven and put the phone back in its cradle, lit another cigarette, and told himself that he was being an asshole.

There was nothing he had to say that she wanted to hear – he knew that and, more importantly, he finally understood why – but that wasn’t enough to keep him from coming back to the phone – what was it now?  Seven?  Maybe eight times – to dial the number he kept on a scrap of paper even though he knew it by heart.  As he tapped the ashes off the end of his Winston and waited to hear the first ring through the receiver, he looked at the number written on an old library book slip, the kind they used to keep in the backs of books to stamp the due date on before the whole system went electronic.  He hadn’t gone electronic, though – he had to go to the library to use the public computers to look up her number (did they even print phone books anymore?),  had written it on the card kept in a neat pile with its fellow castoffs on the desks next to stubby pencils so the patrons could jot down notes from their work at the old terminals.  He noticed, idly, that the last date stamped on his slip was June 3rd, 1999.  That’s about right, he thought ruefully; that was just about then that he’d last laid eyes on her.

She had been irredeemably angry then, strangely cool and resigned, but he didn’t know that then, hadn’t been able to see that through his own rage and indignation to really understand what was happening.  He sat there, on a green plastic chair at a green plastic picnic table, listening to her tell him that she was done.  SHE was done!  What the fuck did SHE know about being done?  What the fuck did she know about ANYTHING?  Everything in him raged at the nerve of the kid; what the hell makes you think that you can just tell me to fuck off and be done with it? For the longest time, he could remember nothing about that afternoon but the blinding rage, the look on her face, and the way the heat of the afternoon had made the green plastic chair leave his shirt sticking to his back in a lattice pattern as he walked away for the last time.

But the truth of the matter – the truth that he couldn’t see until it broke over him a week ago like a car crash – sudden and unexpected, completely unintended, wrenchingly violent and instantly, heartbreakingly clear – was that she had been right.  There was nothing that he was offering her then that she needed, and certainly nothing she wanted, though she had something he had wanted so badly that he wasn’t even able to even think about her for months after that afternoon.  He could easily have reached across that cheap, plastic table and strangled her that afternoon – or at least cracked her a good one -  and as he imagined her phone ringing in her kitchen, it occurred to him, for the first time, that that had to be one of the reasons why she had wanted nothing to do with him.  How could he begin to explain to her that he knew now; that he saw and understood and that he sometimes wanted to kill himself for being so pigheadedly fucking stupid?

In that moment, at the third ring, he realized couldn’t do this; he wasn’t ready; he understood, just as he heard the click of the call being answered, that he didn’t understand enough.  Shit; maybe he didn’t understand anything.

As he moved the phone away from his ear toward the hook, he caught his daughter’s voice, at the same time familiar and eerie, like a long-lost memory or a phantom that he wasn’t quite sure he heard; not “hello,” but the scripted outgoing message from her answering machine.  “We can’t come to the phone right now.  Please leave a message and we’ll get back to you.”  But there would be no getting back, and he knew that now.

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