The Year of Living Philosophically

I told everyone about a week ago that I had decided to take December off and do little reading and writing in between now and the 1st of January. I am still holding on to that premise, but I've got so much to do before the end of the year. My reading list for 2009, for one, is taking much more time than I originally predicted. This year's list (2008) was shot to pieces around the end of the summer. Some questions circulated on whether it was a good idea to have an actual list to begin with. I am sticking to the decision to do a list, but I am still unclear about what to include. One idea (and a very good one indeed) suggested by a fellow blogger was to read only philosophy for a straight year. I think that's an excellent idea. The question, of course, is "what to include?" I have some ideas but if you have a suggestion after I post my list later this weekend, please let me know. I will begin, as I begin my often philosophical readings, with a re-reading of Will Durant's "The Story of Philosophy." I know it's not a very "chic" book when it comes to academic rigor, but it is put in clear and succinct form, and it's a great brush up on the major names throughout the ages. So, for now, that's the book I will begin my list with... I'll be putting it up this coming weekend.

The Academy is full of surprises, really, and my students have taken to "Crime and Punishment" with both trepidation and pleasure. Raskolnikov is not a simple character, but I think for the most part they've been able to digest the main issues of the plot and how the protagonist is the true catalyst (for now) of events.

Somehow I am not suffering from NaNoWriMo withdrawal... more relieved than anything, really, of having survived and succeeded another literary episode of lunacy. Cheers!

NaNoWriMo 2008 -- Victory at Last!

This is what I submitted as my NaNoWriMo validation for 2008. The plot will definitely continue, but now I don't have to be glued to the computer screen, typing away with mind-boggling speed. Now, I can simply go back to my Moleskine notebook and jot things down at an alarmingly slow and leisurely pace. Thanks to all of those who supported this effort--especially, my students who were willing to put up with my many mood swings throughout this month.

I am so glad to have finished this. It's frightening to look back now and realize I was nearly 12,000 words behind on the 14th.

On to many other things now, particularly my review of "The Memorist," by M.J. Rose which is due tomorrow morning, the 28th. Stay tuned for the FREE give aways!

NaNoWriMo: The Home Stretch

Ahead for the first time since November 2nd... the feeling is amazing. If you've never done NaNoWriMo, I can't begin to recommend it with anymore vigor and enthusiasm than this. It is simply more evidence that life is best lived in a creative fashion. Last year, I was "finished" by the 24th, having taken over the word count around the 17th and never even bothering to look back. This year, as I explained earlier this week, I have worked behind practically the entire time. And while I still have a long, long way to go (over 6,800 words), I am beginning to feel this is quite possibly the best writing experience I've ever had.

I suppose I should give quite a bit of credit to Mr. Murakami, whose last book "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" (see October 31st entry) taught me about focus, endurance and the determination to see things through.

I still have some obligations at the Academy tonight, but I'll be off tonight through Sunday, November 30th, and, despite the fact that I have tons of papers to grade, I'll keep pushing through and through until the very end of NaNoWriMo.

The Rest of The Year...

I've already written about how I am way behind on my word count. Well, I think I've learned to work staying just within sight, slightly under the radar of where I should be today, Saturday, November 22. Here's my little graph... I am proud of my improvement today.

December is the month to make literary plans. As November is drawing to an end, and another edition of NaNoWriMo about to be wrapped up for good, I am already thinking about my annual December ritual: the 2009 Reading List. I know I didn't do a very good job with the 2008 reading list; it sort of got out of hand due to responsibilities at the Academy. Work was especially demanding this year, and my trip to China also created havoc on my reading schedule. Having said that, I think the 2009 Reading List will be sort of holistic, organic, do-it-yourself, granola-based and freestylish in its composition and content. Sort of the "read as you go" and "pick a theme and knock yourself out" type of thing. I will first finish those books I've already started, though, and those will count for next year's list.

The Meaning of Being Behind on a Word Count

There's an art to keeping up with deadlines, I suppose, and most of us in the academic world seem to be genetically predisposed to not partake of that talent. I don't mean this in a derogatory way; life is always greener on the other side of academia. The truth is that being 8,000+ words for NaNoWriMo really doesn't scare me much. It's not false bravado. At this time last year I was ahead by at least 10,000 words. I overtook the daily word count around the 17th of November and never looked back. This year has been tough, and, in the absence of some of the things that were working for me last year, I still feel I have a decent shot of finishing this. I'll keep you posted. I am at 27,459 words in right now.

I am reading "The Memorist" by M.J. Rose and enjoying it tremendously. My review of it is due on November 28th, so please check back for sure then. It is the first book I have been asked to review that has commercials for it on television. I caught sight of one in the History Channel the other day and as I was sort of in a trance from grading papers I thought I was seeing things. It all seemed strange until my colleague brought it up at work the next day. Please stay tuned for a GIVE AWAY (the first one of its kind here at "Frequency of Silence." I have TWO copies of "The Memorist" and TWO copies of "The Reincarnationist" to give away for free here. All you have to do is send me an e-mail at jcr3008@gmail.com On the 28th, the first two e-mails I receive will get the free copies. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED. (I'll even pay the postage).

Behind... but the fight is on...

I am a bit behind on my word count for NaNoWriMo (and that's putting it kindly). Work is beyond description when it comes to stress, and some other issues are pressing down on me... but I will fight on.... I am nothing if not a "Warrior of the Working Day...."

We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host-
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly-
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this-
As, if God please, they shall- my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;
Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Murakami Keeps On Running...

It is with somewhat a sad feeling that I come to the last pages of Haruki Murakami's "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running." I was able to "milk" all 180 pages as far as I could. It was intense at times, wanting to read more, delaying the inevitable, etc. It's just the way it is when you really, really love books and their authors. Murakami writes about the sense of isolation in both running and writing, and, as they are two activities that are front and center in my life was well, this passage had a mesmerizing quality to me:

"Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent. That's what I basically believe, and I've lived my life accordingly. In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside...."

All those years--especially the ones in Washington, DC--come crashing into my memory like a fantastic wave. It is amazing to realize how universal so many of these feelings are. Despite the over-romanticized notion about writers doing their work in solitude, I think Murakami just about nails it here in simple and succinct language. Nothing fancy, nothing elaborate... just the fact of what solitude is and what it can do. I think this is the reason running comes so naturally to a writer:

"I'm the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point to it, I'm the type of person who doesn't find it painful to be alone. I find spending an hour or two every day running alone, not speaking to anyone, as well as four or five hours alone at my desk, to be neither difficult nor boring. I've had this tendency ever since I was very young, when, given a choice, I much preferred reading books on my own or concentrating on listening to music over being with someone else."

Outside of my years with the orchestra, when coming to work was like a social event of sort, most of the time I had to myself in Washington I spent either in the office grading papers or writing, or at home reading and--just like Murakami--listening to music. I guess that, to anyone reading this, it may sound like I had a pretty good balance in Washington, DC, and I probably did. This book made me look back and remember those times for some strange, odd reason I am still trying to figure out. This was, perhaps, a book about meditation and solitude, more than it was about running and reflecting on the comparison to writing. It truly resonated with many of my own personal manias and peccadilloes and that is why I am so happy to have read it.

So, okay, Ubuntu 8.08 didn't work as planned, and I had to downgrade to Ubuntu 6.06 in order to get ONE critical program to work (this is my old Toshiba I use for the only writing class I am teaching now). I use a program call Smartboard. It's an interactive whiteboard and the Linux version would not run on the latest Ubuntu because 8.08 doesn't have the Linux kernel. Having fixed that, it is now working like a charm!

NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow (November 1st) at midnight. I am staying up tonight, at the ready, come 11:59 PM I'll be sitting at my desk, perhaps the very same way Murakami stands waiting for the gun to go off before a marathon. These are the things we live for. It may not be much... but to some of us, it's a blast. See you in a month (although I'll be writing updates here and there).

2007: Looking back, James Wright and New Reading List

Many of the events of this passing year are now long behind me. I say that because despite a pretty active November (NaNoWriMo), the second part of the year moved slow, as if not wanting to jump off that inevitable cliff called December. The highlight of my summer, of course, was the visit by Eugene and Ilse Dumolin. I worked very hard this past summer too, something I am trying to break the habit of doing. It's not that I am not going to work at all, but I learned this year that a lot of preparation doesn't mean less work later on during the semester. At any rate, that is done and it is now irreparable and incommunicable.

"The Selected Letters of James Wright" continue to drip out of the covers of that book like sweet honey. Wright is a master poet, and without repeating myself too much I don't want anyone arguing that point with me unless, of course, you are a Wright scholar of some sort. Otherwise, we have nothing to argue about. This man's brilliance is without comparison. To struggle and write like he did is nothing short of a blessed miracle. Here he takes account of his ongoing bout with depression:

"The illness is strange--I tried to describe it to you in one of my earliest letters to you. It is that catathymic depression again, but this time it has come very close to crippling me to the point of really blocking off any ability to function at all.... I have been getting the shuddering horrors, indescribably so, and frequently going to pieces, sometimes in really mad and violent ways.... I see less and less reason for bothering with anything. Anything at all. I know I am too tangled in the wrong kind of life ever to get out of it. I just wish I could forget the despair.... You know, sometimes I try to escape the thought, but it returns and returns and returns: that some day I shall rise at morning and simply walk outside and away, leaving everything behind, like Buddha."

Wright's ability to write despite this ongoing bout with depression is something I will never be able to understand. In 1959, this man was at the height of publishing, writing essays for critical analysis, etc., all the while suffering from a paralyzing depression. If that doesn't cure the most stoic among us, I don't know what will. His letters have been a source of comfort to me throughtout most of this year. I have read them very carefully, taking my time and seeing in them the succor any writer needs when in doubt of the writing process. I still have over 150 pages to go and I am taking it slow, savoring every word from this genius. While I've only posted from the letters, pretty soon, (perhaps in 2008) I will post from the "Selected Poems," a book which has won my admiration because 1) the letters, and 2) its capacity for wonder and awe.

What's interesting about admiring a person for their genius is that one ends up remembering things that otherwise would just slip between our intellectual radars. I have a deep appreciation and admiration for George Washington. I think it began in middle school. A couple of days ago I was thinking about Washington's crossing of the Delaware river to go attack the Hessian mercenaries stationed at Trenton, New Jersey during the War for Independence. I was driving to the store around 9 AM when I remembered that that very same morning, December 26th in 1776, around that very same time, Washington was attacking the Hessians into what would be the turning point of the war. Washington has a special place in my heart. Don't ask me why, but I appreciate his tenacity and his unwillingness to give up or surrender the cause. If you ask me, that's the kind of president we need right now.... so vote George Washington in 2008.

I decided a while back to only read "Classics" this coming year. While the gesture was an honest one, I started having second thoughts because I find it very limiting; specially when my eyes and hands simply cannot or do not want to stay put in one specific genre. I am certainly not giving up entirely on the classics; think of it, I am reading titles it never even crossed my mind to read (for example, Charles Dicken's "The Pickwick Papers"). The list doesn't seem overwhelming in terms of numbers (there's only 23 books on the list right now), but the majority of them are "kilometric" titles (Tolstoy's "War and Peace"). Seeing that I still have much work to go on "The Silence of This Wall," before June 2008, I will say that the list is ambitious for the amount of time I might have. Of course, I will be timing it so as to take advantage of things like, my upcoming trip to China in April (nothing beats 14 hours of non-stop reading--believe me, I've done it twice coming and going to Japan). At any rate, here's the official picture for the 2008 Reading List: LIST

Reading Out of Focus...

The month of November was, without a doubt, one of the most rewarding and active in all of my writing career. This may or may not include my dissertation in 1998. Needless to say, something was going to give out, and, to all certainty, it was my reading. I've got four books to read the rest of the year and I probably won't get to the end of the list. I am sure there's no sin in that--I often have books that I forward to the new years' list. But keeping in mind that I will only be reading "Classics" next year, it will be another year or so before I can get to these four or five books. It's okay. I am resigned to this.

The bursts of writing still occur, but I decided to take off a couple of days after completing NaNoWriMo, and I believe it has been worth it to rest. I think my wife is more excited about the novel than I am, really. Of course the draft needs vast revision/editing, but all in all grammar and mechanics should not cause a problem during this time. I find it difficult to believe it, when I see the printed draft on my desk at work and at home, that I actually did this; that the first ever conception of a character and a plot finally came to fruition after so many years (at least 15 years, that is). The other day I reviewed all of my files, drafts of short stories, novels and other writings I have kept over the years, published and unpublished, and was happy to see that now the process of bursting them open and let everything come out is more palpable to me. This also applies to the non-fiction. I began a short essay when my father died three years ago which is now beginning to look like another possibility. There are so many things I want to tell.

Teaching has been tough in the last couple of weeks. Trying to teach MLA standards to a bunch of high school aged girls seems like an impossible task at times. They all seem so busy with other things... media trends, television shows, the Internet has become an extension of their social life, as more and more of them interact and share "space" where there is, in reality, no space at all. Often times they act like automatons, digesting whatever they see online or television as if it were the gospel of success. It's discouraging, but as long as I have one willing student, I will make some endeavour.

NaNoWriMo, post iii

I DID IT!

Writer... for the first time.

This is the first time in my life that I truly feel like a writer. It's strange to actually come to realize this; I have two degrees in English from highly competitive schools. When I signed up to do NaNoWriMo, the thing that came to mind were all those false starts, plot outlines never taken up again, etc. I remember listening to an interview in the Micheal Feldman show on NPR once--I can't remember who the writer was--but the person being interviewed said that the first draft is always terrible, that there was nothing anyone could do about that. All that one can do is keep on writing. I remembered this but it seems it never really sank in... until now. For NaNoWriMo I went back to my roots, to the first ever plot/draft/story I ever tried writing. I took the plot and revamped it, gave the protagonist a new name, and thought of new outlines. Going with the NaNoWriMo rules, I didn't begin to write until November 1st, but once I did the torrents came and flooded my imagination with ideas, new twists, etc. I am loving this process... and I just broke 40,000 words today!

For a long time I struggled with the feeling that I was a "poser" when it came to writing. I mean, I wrote almost everyday, filling Moleskine after Moleskine notebook, posting what I thought was not even halfway decent on my personal website, and feeling that if I went to write at Starbucks I would just be committing the worst sin of "poserhood." Not now, though. I have been writing at a cafe close to home and I can't even seem to keep track of time as words accumulate on the screen and page. The storyline is so clear in my mind, I can almost feel the warm sun while walking around Oxford (half the novel takes place there).

As a young English major in an undergraduate program full of some of the finest young writers in the country, I felt out of place for four years. Later, at Georgetown University for my Masters Degree, I was competing with the best of the best in theory and criticism. Needless to say, I never fitted in. I love my memories and years as a student, but they left me with insecurities about calling myself a writer. I remember reading Ernest Hemingway's "A Movable Feast," thinking what a wonderful thing it would be to simply realize that one is a writer. Today, while I was writing at the cafe, a young woman entered. She was very beautiful, and obviously waiting for someone (she kept calling on her cell phone). From time to time I would look up and see her reading the paper. Then I remember the passage from "A Movable Feast:"

"A girl came in the cafe and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair was black as a crow's wing and cut sharply and diagonally across her cheek.
I looked at her and she disturbed me and made me very excited. I wished I could put her in the story, or anywhere, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the entry and I knew she was waiting for someone. So I went on writing.
The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St. James and I watched the girl whenever I looked up, or when I sharpened the pencil with a pencil sharpener with the shavings curling into the saucer under my drink.
I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil."

There are some obvious differences, of course. I was in no way interested in the young woman, and I even went out of my way to display my wedding band by scratching my face whenever I knew she was looking at me. I had no interest in making her "belong to me." I was drinking coffee and not rum St. James. I was using my computer, although I did have my Moleskine close at hand. But the fact that I remember this fine passage from "A Movable Feast" while in the act of writing, and made the connection to it made me incredibly happy for some reason or another. And so I concluded today's work with 3,000+ words and over 40,000 total. I am a happy man.... finally a writer!

Crossing the Border to the Other Side...

By border I am not referring to the line between countries, nor, am I making a statement about divisions. I just crossed the 25,000 words line for my novel, and I can't believe it has taken me this far into the plot. It worked out almost perfectly--the word count--dividing the novel in two parts exactly where it should be.

I hate to think that I have neglected this blog. I am presently reading "The Gunter Grass Reader," and although I have enjoyed his short stories, his speeches seem disconnected with the overall flow of the book. It's difficult to get into his short fiction, although an essay about his writing of "The Tin Drum" is excellent. I will include some quotes from it here in my next post.

I want to thank everyone for their encouraging words. I am half-way through. I'll try to make the second half just as exciting.

Frightening... really.

The fact that characters take on a life of their own and begin to make decisions while you are just typing away trying to get to 50,000 words in one month is starting to freak me out. It was touch and go before I reached the 5,000 mark. Since, I have noticed the characters' ability to just do when I get stuck--they move the plot along. I decided to change a scene today so I re-wrote it (which I shouldn't have done) worried over the fact that I could lose it if I didn't put it down on paper. It turned out better, but I might have lost 1,300 words in the process since I have to delete the older scene and replace it with the new one. We'll see.

I am reading The Gunter Grass Reader, as an introduction to this great German writer/thinker. I find his style too experimental for my taste, yet insightful with many psychological and philosophical underlying themes. I still have four more books to read in order to complete my list for the year. With nanowrimo I am starting to believe it would be impossible to finish my reading list. At any rate, thanks for all the encouragement. If you are doing nanowrimo, and would like another buddy, my id is jcr3008.

In Case I Get Lost...

This is the reason why I might not be posting for a while.... hope you all understand. There's a larger meaning to all of this but I will explain later.

Objectives

I did very well reading over the weekend primarily because I stopped everything and read all day Saturday. Now, of course, I am paying for it. It is not only painful to be so few pages from ending "A Plea for Eros," but also to be so close to finishing and so over-loaded with work as a result of my little "Saturday of joy." Siri Hustvedt really does have an excellent mind; she is bright and knowledgeable and really doesn't have to strain to come across pleasant. The problem--as I pointed out earlier--is that she is fixated on the "I" too much. The personal essay is an art form, and to master it one has to really not so much master the art of writing personally, but mostly to detach ourselves from the "I" and treat the subject. I am personally terrible at doing so, and as a result my personal essays sound over-stuffed and conceited. I do have to say that Hustvedt's treatment of "The Great Gatsby" is one of the most enlightened essays on the topic I have read. I teach Gatsby almost every year in a Survey of the American novel, and I have read a great deal of literary analysis on it. Hustvedt's analysis of the word "vitality" and Fitzgerald's use to describe Myrtle Wilson is outstanding. I have no idea how many times I have read the novel and didn't really notice the use of the word.
Two days away from starting NaNoWriMo and even through I have a little bit of an idea as to where I am going, I am afraid it will fry itself out of steam once I start. They say that the first few days are the most difficult--we'll see how it goes. And again, I have tons of work to get to from school. Let us pray!