How about a spring resolution?

If I lose 44 pounds, these would be my before and after pictures.

My New Year's Resolution is two months late, so I'll call it a spring resolution.  I invested some money in a Gold Gym Exercise bike yesterday.  I am going to use it to get in shape and lose some weight, I hope.  I am not mechanically inclined, so it took me about two hours to put it together, but I finally did get it finished and I did ride five miles on it.  What few calories I burned were gained back in a lot less time than it took to burn them off, but it is a start.  I will try to push myself a little harder tonight to see what I am going to be able to do.  Maybe I can get used to it and come to like it actually.  I tried one of the preset workouts on the bike; this one was for 30 minutes with the resistance level going up to 6 (from 1).  I survived it; I did about 7 miles and this time got 145 calories burnt off.  I think I can stick with this.  While I was biking, I was watching some of the men sing on American Idol.  I don't remember the name of the kid, but the one who did the Paramore song was very good.  Also, I liked the one that did the Aretha Franklin song.  Some of these guys have really high falsetto voices, and while I am amazed they can sing such high notes, I don't particularly like it.  I also don't like screaming.  A growl here and there is okay though.  Just as long as they don't get too carried away.  Last year, Haley Reinhardt who was my favorite growled a little too much.

Well, I must get off this computer and do some school work for my classes tomorrow and for my night class tomorrow night.  I am supposed to talk to my boss tomorrow at the outreach center.  Well, I don't have much else to say.

I hope I sleep well tonight.  I have hit one of my insomnia phases where I don't sleep well for a few days.  I doze a little but don't get a good night's sleep.  I'm hoping that it ends tonight.  I read online today that they are finding some associations with sleeping pills and all kinds of nasty diseases and death.  I am so glad that I quit taking Lunesta so much.  I still take melatonin, but that is all natural and safe.

That is it from me.

Merlin Has a Secret: Excerpt from Lancelot and the Tides of Time

In Lancelot and the Tides of Time, the story takes place in three different worlds.  The Lady of the Lake's Kingdom where Lancelot serves as a bodyguard to Mabuz, the lady's son; Camelot, and a future Camelot that is about to be destroyed unless the lineage of King Rodney can be spared and the promised peace maker is born.  Lancelot and Merlin both weave their way in and out of all three worlds in both past, present, and future.  The book is an exciting science fiction/ fantasy Arthurian legend told in an entirely different way.

You can purchase it at www.buckscountypublishing.com

I'm excited.  I'm going to get a royalty check next month.  I would like for it to be bigger, so please purchase Lancelot in ebook or paperback formula.

Here's an excerpt:

“Look at me. How many people do you think would actually want to protect a brat like me?” Mabuz asked.

“I understand what you mean.” Lancelot laughed.

“Be careful. I’m a prince. I could have you executed for disrespect.”

“If you survived long enough to issue the order.”

“I realize that. Besides, I like you.”

“Didn’t you like the other guys?”

“I never got the chance. Most didn’t pass the tests. Those that did got killed soon after or arrested and then executed.”

“Executed?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Am I going to be arrested?”

“That’s up to you.”

They emerged from the woods onto a heavily traveled road.

“We’re almost there. Look.”

Mabuz pointed up the road.

“I don’t see anything.” That wasn’t entirely true. He saw a huge cliff with water cascading down the face of it  and splashing into a large lake below. Instead of gently rising banks, sheer cliffs surrounded the lake. If Lancelot had been a painter or a singer, he would have painted the place or written a song about it. However, Lancelot was really just a knight and didn’t notice any inherent beauty in the place.

“It’s the entrance to the castle.”

“Where?”

“You have so much to learn. My mother is the Lady of the Lake. You don’t think she’s going to have a

drawbridge, do you?”

“I see.” Lancelot paused but then he said, “No, no I don’t.”

“Follow me.” Mabuz broke into a run. Lancelot followed.

“Wait for me,” he called after Mabuz, but Mabuz simply sped up.

Lancelot thought the boy would stop once he got to the edge of the lake, but the little brat had another surprise for him.

He raced to the edge of the cliff and dove straight off into the water just as Lancelot caught up to him. He sliced through the air and cut cleanly into the water barely making a splash.

“Stop this idiocy,” Lancelot called out. He waited for the boy to surface, but after several minutes passed, the boy did not.

“Not again!” Lancelot looked at the sheer drop, closed his eyes, and jumped as far out from the ledge as

possible.

He swallowed his stomach as he dropped; then the cold water swallowed him. He sank for several seconds before he got his wits about him. He opened his eyes and looked everywhere for Mabuz. The child was nowhere to be seen. His lungs near bursting, Lancelot decided he would have to act fast if he were going to survive. He saw a light straight ahead and swam for it. When he swam through it, he still was underwater. Panicked now, he kicked upward not even sure if he could get to the surface even if one existed.

Suddenly, he burst through the water into air andgasped for breath.

“What took you so long?” Mabuz asked. The boy sat calmly on the bank.

“What the –“ Lancelot looked behind the boy and spied a massive, white castle.

“We’re home,” Mabuz said. “Now for the last test.”

“I’m tired of your tests,” Lancelot said.

The gate of the castle swung open. Lancelot watched as a group of six horsemen rode toward him. He reached for his sword and touched the hilt, amazed that it still hung at his side.

“My mother’s soldiers.”

The rider reigned in. One of them swung down from the horse and pulled off a helmet.

“Greetings, Lancelot. I am Bella.”

Lancelot stared. Bella was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

***

Merlin awoke sometime later. His shoulder throbbed.

He lay in an overstuffed bed in a white room. He looked down and saw a needle stuck in his hand. A clear tube was attached to the needle.

“I have work to do,” he said and jerked the needle  out of his hand. He sat up. For a second he went gray and nearly passed out, but the feeling passed. He whispered a spell and felt strength seep into his body and the pain seep out. He stood.

A woman hurried into the room. “Ambassador, you can’t leave here.”

“I’m sorry, woman, but I can’t stay here.” He brushed past her and left the building.

Within minutes, he arrived at the castle and strode through the gates toward the meeting room. Two guards at the door started to protest.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said and pushed past them into the room.

Several men sat at a round table.

One of them stood. “Ambassador. We’re surprised to see you.”

“I just bet you are. One of you tried to assassinate me. I don’t know which one, but I know why.”

“What are you talking about?” One young man glared at Merlin. “Why is it that everything with you is

some kind of political conspiracy? Thugs attacked you. If the mayors of this republic knew how to police their cities, it would never have happened.”

“I suppose your place is a paradise on earth.”  Another man growled. He stood as if he would attack the

first man. The first man stood also. “We keep our scum in prison; we don’t put them in ruling positions.”

“Shut up, both of you. I have news of the utmost importance,” Merlin said. “I have studied the prophecies.”

“Prophecies! Do we rely on black magic and the ancient myths to run our republic?” the first man asked.

“The prophecies are holy writings.” The chair of the council, Rodney, stood.

“Daddy!” A little girl’s voice rang out as an interior door swung open. A toddler walked into the room.

“Liz! What are you doing here?” He tried to be harsh but didn’t quite succeed. “Inga!” he called out, his voice sharp and agitated.

A woman hurried into the room. “I’m sorry, Rodney. She sneaked away from me.”

He smiled. “I’ll talk to you later, Liz. Right now, go with your momma.”

The girl’s lip quivered and water filled her eyes. Her mother picked her up and hurried from the room.

“You were saying?”

Merlin felt a twinge of sadness and jealousy as the door closed behind the two.

“The prophecies are true. You all know it in your hearts even if you want to ignore them. You and Inga will be the grandparents of a great and wise king, one who will bring peace to this republic.”

“Peace. I have prayed for peace, but it has not come. Even now civil unrest foments on the outer boundaries.”

“Listen to me, all of you. The council of Tolemach has within its power the ability to insure a safe and

prosperous future.”

“What must we do?”

“You must unite. You must see to it that the house of Rodney survives. If the lineage is destroyed, the world will fall into a darkness you cannot even begin to imagine.”

Rodney said, “Gentlemen, you have heard the report. As for me, I believe it. We should break so that you can contact your respective assemblies. We will meet again tomorrow. Will you be here?” Rodney’s expression as he addressed Merlin was a mixture of awe, fear, and anger.

“I don’t know. I will be where I am.”

He watched the council disperse. “Excuse me, Rodney.”

He hurried out the door after them and caught up with one of them in particular. He was a young man with dark hair and eyes like Merlin’s, so blue they looked silver.

Merlin took his arm. The man whirled around.

“What do you want?”

“I would like to see Ilsa.”

“She is sick.”

“I can help her.”

“You would make her sicker.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“You won’t get anything you need from me. If you come close to my castle, I will have you killed.”

“You don’t understand me at all.”

“I understand you perfectly.” He whirled and walked away. Depression sank over Merlin. He did not at that particular moment believe that anything in life made it worth the living.

Inspiration from an unexpected source.

One of my students told me today of something called "sleep paralysis" that was really weird.  It is as is sounds.  Lying in bed sort of awake and sort of asleep, but unable to move or speak.  The dream phase of sleep bleeds into this sleep paralysis and the sufferer can experience vivid hallucinations but can do absolutely nothing about them.  My student was telling me he was staying at his grandmother's house.  His grandmother, an avid collector of dolls, had several of them in the room where he slept. Before going to bed one night when he stayed there, he watched a horror movie. That night he had one of his sleep paralysis episodes in which he hallucinated the dolls coming to life and crawling all over his bed.  He could do nothing about it.  That would freak me out.

I've been stuck on my screenplay awhile.  I got some insightful comments on it from a contest I entered.  One thing the feedback said is that there should be some back story and something unusual with my main characters.  I hold this story and was inspired,  hence the title of the blog.  I have a great idea for a new opening for the screenplay that will provide both back story and establish something unusual.

A series of unusual circumstances.

The first thing I want to talk about is not unusual; it's just cool.  A friend let me borrow a set of 8 CD's, The History of Atlantic Studios R and B.  It starts back in the late 40's and comes up to the present time.  I've been listening to this, and I can't help saying to myself, "Why have I missed this all my life?"  I love it, and I've just barely begun listening to it.

The second thing is unusual.  I had a "communication" with meemaw this morning.  It happened like this.  On my way to school this morning, I loaded up the passenger side with two heavy bags. Occasionally the added weight in the passenger seat will cause the seat belt alarm to go off.  I have explained though that at least three times after my mom died, it went off without having a good reason.  Then, some of my songs played which convinced me that my mom was communicating with me.  I know -- sounds weird.  With the weight in the seats today, I didn't think much of it, but I patted the seat and thought, "How are you doing meemaw?"  I was listening to Belinda Carlisle, whom I never really listen to and the next song up was her version of the Cream classic, "I Feel Free." This made my stomach do a little lurch.  Then I said (Paraphrased), "Tell me.  Is there really something out there after we die."  I don't know the title of the next song but the chorus said there was more magic than you could ever imagine and that there was also an angel looking out after you.  That really freaked me out.  I told her thanks and pressed on.  "Could you ask the big guy for some guidance on what I should be doing with my life?"  Three or four meaningless songs played, so I figured meemaw had gone on back home.  As I pulled into the school drive another song came on.  The chorus was something to this effect,  "Live your life; be free.  Open your eyes so you can see." It occurred to me that one of Belinda Carlisle's greatest hits was "Heaven is a Place on Earth."  I firmly, undoubtingly (even if that isn't really a word)  believe that this morning a little bit of heaven -- my mom -- came down to earth and rode with me to school.

I want to preface this next paragraph with a thank you to my best and oldest friend Tim for setting me straight.  Tim and I have known each other since Kindergarten.  Although we live in separate parts of the state and disagree about some things, I know that if my back ever needed to be covered he would cover it -- and, Tim, I want you to know that you could expect the same from me.  Now, in my speech class we have been talking about friendship, especially the stages of friendship.  When we got into the "best friend" stage, one of the things I stressed in class is that best friends do not hesitate to tell each other if they need to straighten out.  Last night, I wrote a whining, depressing blog.  Tim sent me a note and told me in no uncertain terms that I sounded whining and morose and that he would rather see the happier me.  He was right -- absolutely.  In his note he went on to tell me how blessed I truly was and that I ought to be thanking God for my blessings.  I needed to hear that.

Today, I got another message that a couple of my students complained about me.  I won't mention everything they said, but a couple of things actually hurt my feelings.  They felt as if I was not compassionate and that I was intimidating.  Do I come off that way?  Seriously?  If I do, I need to do some reexamination.  I don't want to be that way.  I have upon occasion said that I don't feel sorry for someone who waits until the last minute to get their work done and then complain when the work is unacceptable.  I guess if that's intimidating and not compassionate, I have to plead guilty.  Mind you, I'm not complaining here or getting angry.  I'm just wondering.  Do people really see me this way?  I know I'm pretty quiet.  Maybe that's it.  Or maybe they were upset with a grade.  I don't know.  I also have high expectations.  Personally, I think there is definitely grade inflation in education today.  To me, a C means you've done average work, not great but not horrible.  A B is a good grade, not a failure.  An A requires outstanding work.  I can remember having Mrs. Allers in high school, and when I got a B+ in her class, I felt like a genius.

Well, maybe all that's not as unusual as what I think it is, but it has been a different kind of few days.  I guess I am going to sign off for now.  I'm going to try being happier blogger.

Long day ... short night

I don't think I get enough sleep at night.  I think I need another hour or hour and a half at least.  I arrive at the end of each day more and more exhausted, and as the week wears on, I am more worn.  By Wednesday, my back is barking from being on my feet all day for regular school and for three hours in my night class.  It would be nice if teachers were paid enough that they did not have to moonlight to put their kids through school.  I am a classic case of middle class, or as my moniker says, the common joe, falling through the cracks.  My daughter scored excellently on her ACT test and got a scholarship that pays for all of her tuition at college.  Of course, there's still room and board which runs hundreds of dollars every month.  My wife and I make too much money for our daughter to be eligible for grants.  Isn't that ironic?  Education has been our primary concern all of our lives, but because we are educators, it is difficult for us to afford to send our daughter to school.  I don't receive any entitlements from the government at all -- zilch.  I won't even get social security when I retire.  I'm not going to rant tonight, however.  I'm merely making an observation.

 

I got some feedback on the first ten pages of my script, Fall of Knight.  It made a lot of sense, and more to the point, I think it gave me some ideas that might help me to get past my writer's block.  I need to go ahead and finish what I have and go back to do the revisions I need to make.  I think my story can be a great one.  I don't know for sure if what I think will prove to be true, but I can hope.

 

It was a beautiful day today with the high in the 60's and lots of sunshine.  It's not going to be quite as warm tomorrow, but it is still going to be very nice.  I heard that parts of Iowa are going to get 4 to 8 inches of snow.  Hmm.  Would I want to live there?  Good question.

 

The Cardinals have started spring training.  Molina has not signed an extension to his contract, but he has been honest and not given Cardinals' fans any false hopes.  To him it is about the money, and if St. Louis doesn't give him the best deal, he will leave.  No home town discount for him.  In a way, I can't really blame him.  Catchers break down more.  He'll need more security.

 

Just because I haven't written for a while

I am writing because I need to write a little every now and then.  I don't want to lose my audience.
However, I do have something of a mini-rant that I would like to pass on.  There is a lot of argument going back and forth about social issues like contraception, gay marriages, and religious or lack of religious beliefs, and frankly, I think we have a serious case of not being able to see the forest for the trees.

Don't we realize that thousands of people are being murdered by a regime in Syria that is backed by Russia and China?  And that Iranian ships have also shown up there?  Don't people realize that Iran and Israel are arguing back and forth over Iranian's nuclear capabilities, and that it is highly possible that Israel might launch a preemptive strike against Iran's nuclear facilities?  Don't people listen when it says that gas is likely to go up to $5 a gallon by summer and that this rise may very well cripple people who are trying to work in an already sluggish economy?  We may see a day when people have to decide between what they will eat and if they buy gas.  Don't people realize that Iran has threatened to stop ships from other countries from going where they need to go?  Just a day or two ago, North Korea was threatening retaliation for exercises that South Korea was involved in. Why are politicians worried about all this little crap that they worry about when the world may be on the edge of destruction?  Whether an insurance company pays for birth control or not makes little difference if we are all blown to hell.  Am I the only person that is frightened by all the tension in the world?  Why don't we try to stabilize the world before we do anything else?

I'm finished now.

Writing Conferences

This
And/or This

I haven't been to any writers' conferences in about a year or so.  At best, I manage to get to maybe one per year.  I used to love to go to the Ozark Creative Writer's conference, but I haven't been for a couple of years.  They lean heavily toward western writing, and that's something I don't do.

I can remember going to conferences and being in break out sessions with writers and agents who would open the floor for questions.  Now, understand that most of these sessions were general info sessions.  It always annoyed me when some person, who never having published much of anything, would still monopolize the question and answer session with some question on his or her project.  Often it was an older person.  I vowed that I would never be that old person who wasted the time of the speakers.  Well, I am that older person now. Realistically, I know that if I were going to make my fortunes from writing it would have happened before now. In some ways that is depressing until I remember that I long ago realized I was not going to get rich from writing.  Sometimes, I wonder if I would have been more well-adjusted had I not even started trying to become a writer.  That's all in the past, and what I am is what I am.  I don't intend to mope over what could have beens.  Those drive a person insane.

I am thinking about one thing, however.  I wonder if it would make any sense to try doing a screenplay and a novel over the same story and at the same time.  I've always thought I could maybe sell a novel and have it optioned, but that ain't likely to ever happen.  I discovered that writing screenplay versions of some of the novels I was working on helped me to focus better on the story.  If done correctly it can take a lot of flab out of a bloated work.  I don't know if it would be a tactical advantage to approach an agent for instance and say, "I've completed this novel I would like for you to consider.  I've also already done a screenplay version of it."  I don't know about the wisdom of such an approach.

I have been working on this story involved Dean Knight for a long time.  A couple of months ago, I just put the novel aside and started doing a screenplay of it.  Would it be helpful or hurtful to do both?  What do you think?  A while ago I completed a dystopian novel call Tongue Tied -- it was the first book of what I originally thought would be a trilogy; it came out fat and bloated, and I thought about doing a screenplay.  I even wrote about 15 pages of one.  I have done this on occasion at other time, but have had no marketing success with the approach.

So what does my reading public and writing friends think of the write a screenplay and book at the same time approach to writing?  If anyone who has had any experience with this would like to comment, I would be grateful.  Enough about writing for the day.

Safe and Sound

I chose this title, Safe and Sound, for my blog for a couple of reasons, both having to do with music.  I watched Taylor Swift's music video of Safe and Sound.  Wow!  I love it.  It's not like Taylor Swift at all.  I can't wait to watch the movie Hunger Games.  If Taylor could do more music like this, I would listen to her all the time.  Many people put her down as being shallow, but this side is a different one.  Another reason Safe and Sound is a good title is that my nephew Larry has sent me the music he's written for a song that I would like to include in a musical I want to write.  In it, the main character is NOT safe and sound.  The music he came up with has the feel that I wanted it to -- a kind of repressed, insanity and fanaticism.  I told him I wanted something to remind me of Alice Cooper's I'm 18 and it came out just great.  It's not hard metal; it's like soft metallica.  I know this probably sounds weird, but I'm  excited about it. It could be a good play, a serious drama.  That's the plan anyway.  I'm going to sign off for the night.

Odd?

 

I just noticed that Whitney Houston's funeral is going to be streamed live online.  Does that seem a little odd to anyone but me?  I knew the funeral was supposed to be private, which I can understand, so all of her fans could not be there in person.  I also know Whitney was a beloved performer and many millions of people listened to her.  I guess this is one way that others can see the funeral without being there.  Isn't technology wonderful?  I don't know if I would want my funeral aired live.  This is almost as odd as another incident I know of.  A man died, but he did not want people to mourn for him.  He wanted to put the fun back in funeral.  His religious beliefs made him see the end of his life as something to celebrate.  At his visitation, everyone got a ticket, and the family held drawings for a prize. I think, when I die, this is the way I want to go out.

 

I am not as afraid of my own death as I once was.  I still don't want to go anytime soon, but I am smart enough to realize that we never know when the hand of death will reach out and touch us.

Winter Blues

Picture from livingstereo.com

I am run down and tired.  I thought having a couple of snow days would have proven to be refreshing, but I think I feel worse.  I think perhaps I have been listening to too many depressing singer/songwriter types in my music lately.  I need something fun and totally meaningless -- like Katy Perry maybe.  No offense to all of you Katy Perry fans.  Just kidding.  I tend to be drawn to singer/songwriter types.  I get a data disk full of one singer's stuff, like I've been listening to Jackson Browne for a couple days, and I listen to it until I get burned out.  I have like 50 songs on one music data disk that are all Jackson Browne.  (Did I just write "like" not once but twice?) I'm OCD about my music.  Lately, I've also listened to a lot of the old Elton John/Bernie Taupin music "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,"  "Don't Shoot Me; I'm only the Piano Player," "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboys", "Tumbleweed Connection."  etc.  I need to switch gears a little.  I don't know if my music drives me crazy or if I'd go crazy without my  music -- maybe a little of both.

When I used to write poetry a long time ago, I always wrote depressing poetry.  It was harsh and cruel, and at types cynical and desperate.  It got to the point where my wife did not like to read my stuff because it was so depressing.  For my mental health, I quit writing poetry.  I just couldn't write happy stuff.  My poetry would be hard to explain.  I didn't write poems about suicide and death all the time like some people do but my imagery was harsh and unforgiving.  I tended to be very cynical.  A lot of things have changed me to where I am not as cynical as I used to be.  Nowadays, I just get blue.

Well, on to other news.  I have parent teacher conferences tomorrow so the night class I teach won't meet.  PT conferences are from 3:30 to 7 and my class is supposed to be from 4 to 7.  Since North County is my real job, I have to go to the parent teacher conferences there.  I would rather go to my night class, not because I get a lot of vindictive parents, but because it's a lot of sitting around and getting just enough traffic from parents that I can't really focus on anything enough to get it finished.  It may not be a waste of time, but it sure seems like it.

My comp II class does meet tonight at the Fredericktown outreach campus, so I need to finish getting myself together for that class.  We are going to continue talking about research.  It is something they have to know how to do, and for some reason, it seems really hard to my students when it isn't actually.  My kids can sit down at their computers, go into the college's library page, and find all of the data bases they want to get their work done.  The rest of it is following patterns.  I think people just freak out when they hear the word research.  I kind of like researching.

Writing a screenplay is hard work.

I have been blocked on a screenplay that I'm working on for several days now.  I have trouble when I get into the second act just like so many other writers do.  I was approaching my midpoint, and I was trying to think of how I could transition from one scene to my midpoint scene.  When I finally reached the conclusion that less is better, I solved the problem.  Instead of adding an unnecessary talky scene, I decided to rearrange a scene I already had written and go straight into the next part of act 2.  This is a roundabout way of saying -- which is what I do in my screenplays ... say things in a roundabout way -- that I cut out an expository scene and expanded an action scene.  The midpoint in my play is a great moment of tension and now I am ready to get on with the second half of the screenplay.  I'm also close to the beats that Blake Snyder established in his Save the Cat work.  He calls for the midpoint to be at 55 pages; I'm at 61.  However, when I tighten up some other scenes, this should not be a problem.

The screenplay I'm doing is very different.  It's about a boy who is mentally ill and can't distinguish reality from fantasy.  His sister disappears under mysterious circumstances and he fears he may be partially responsible for her death.  That's kind of where I am with it.

We are having a nice snow at the moment.  Steady. Pretty.  Big flakes.  We could get as much as 4 inches.  I'm hoping, however, it might be winter's last hurrah.  I want spring to get here as quickly as possible.  My life could be changing drastically this spring beginning with my daughter's marriage.  2011 was not a good year.  I'm hoping 2012 is better.  I think it can be.  I need to be dealt the right cards and then play them wisely.

Not much else happening at the moment. 

Grammy Night

R.I.P.

I am fairly certain I am one of the few people who have not watched the Grammy's tonight.  I actually watched Downton Abbey.  I have gotten fond of the show actually.  I like the irony, the characters, the slice of life view I get of another time.  Tonight's episode was a good one, though very sad.  If you like PBS, does that mean you're getting old?

I have been thinking of Whitney Houston today.  She had such a wonderful singing voice, and she was beautiful without, if you'll pardon my expression, looking slutty.  I do have the grammy's on right now, and I have begun to experience Nikki Minaj or however you spell it for the first time in my life.  OMG.  That's all I have to say about that.  I'm not sure what to think about this.  I guess I am old.  I just don't get it.

I missed the Beach Boys earlier.  I guess I got it on at the wrong time.  Guess I lived in the wrong time too. Now, order has been restored and Lady Antebellum is giving the Record of the Year awards.  I hope Adele gets this one because I love Adele.  Maybe there is some hope for me.  She did; that's definitely the way it should be.

I just wanted to check in.
I wish I had some words of wisdom for tonight, but I really don't.  We are supposed to get 2 to 4 inches of snow tomorrow.  I have heard that it is going to hit during the late afternoon, right about the time I am driving home in it.  That always scares me.  Maybe our school will look at all the satellite reports and go ahead and call off early.  One can only hope.

Lousy end to a lousy week

 It's cold and wet in Southeast Missouri.  I awoke to a hard snow with some accumulation, but none on the roads so we had school.  Mixed in with that snow have been rain and sleet and steadily dropping temperatures.  It is to be near 15 tonight and perhaps even lower tomorrow with wind chills in the single digits.  I despise weather like this.  I want sunshine and 70 degrees.

 

The only good thing about today is that it's Friday although the weekend isn't going to mean too much to me because I have so much school work and other stuff today.  The only fun things I'm doing this weekend are playing trivia tomorrow night and taking my wife out to our favorite Italian place for Valentine's day.  It's a couple of days early, but we do what we can when we can.

 

I've written a few more pages to my screenplay, but it isn't flowing well.  I'm struggling with it.  There's a transitional scene that isn't coming together for me.  I won't give up in frustration though it is tempting.  I should go ahead and try to get some brainstorming finished.

 

I'm glad the week is done.  I need about 12 hours of sleep.  That's all until another time. 

random

Bob Dylan

Every now and then I hear one of my students describe a friend as being "random".  I have finally figured out that what that means is unpredictable to the point of sometimes appearing to be in their own little world.  I'm not sure if random is a good word or not.  I prefer the term spontaneous which has a better connotation.  Random implies no pattern, an accident, almost no meaning.  Spontaneous, on the other hand, implies willing to tackle anything on a moment's notice, still willing to be surprised, not having to plan everything.  I tend to be more unprepared than anything else.  As I get older, it's harder for me to get organized, and the sad thing is, I am getting to the point where I don't care if I'm organized about a lot of things.  I am so busy that I meet myself coming and going, and I don't know what I've done, what I'm doing, or what I'm planning.  Teaching all day, writing, and teaching two nights a week have destroyed my ability to be prepared well.  I have too many irons in the fire.  I don't like that at all, and I can't do it as I once did.  My night classes, God bless 'em, are very forgiving and patient.  They are good people and are willing to overlook my disorganization because they know that despite being older than I used to be, I am still a good teacher and I respect them.  That means a lot to both of us.

I've had a rough week, and my discouragement with teaching grows.  I don't see a good future in education, and I wish my daughter had decided to major in something else.  She, however, is a lot like me and is unaware of all the possibilities out there.  When I was in school, I knew I wasn't smart enough to be a scientist or an engineer and I wasn't good enough to be an athlete.  I loved reading and writing, and since my options were limited, I got into teaching.  Would I have done the same thing today?  Honestly, I don't think so.

I'm ready for change.  I've grown stale and stopped -- in the words of the great philosopher, Bob Dylan -- being born, so I'm busy dying.  It's a little depressing to think that from our moment of birth we are taking our first steps, metaphorically speaking, to dying.

My rough week has depressed me.  I hope it gets better.

Black River in Missouri

I think there is some truth to the saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I have been thinking about it in a few different contexts.  First, I have been thinking about my daughter who is in college at Cape.  It's only 72 miles away, but it seems like 7,000 because we don't get to see her daily.  We don't get to see her on every weekend either because she works down there.  Second, I am thinking of my mom.  Her death makes the memories I have of her even fonder.  I wish she were still here. I know that goes without saying, but it's the first time I've written it.  I really miss her.  The third thing I'm thinking about is the possibility of a new career away from home.  For a while, Jean and I would have a commuter marriage, which we are both adult enough to handle, but I think I would get lonely.  Being alone and lonely is not good for anyone, especially someone like me who suffers bouts of depression.  Another thing I have been thinking of is this blog; that's right: this blog.  I have tried to write every day even in times when I didn't have a lot to say.  I think it wastes my time and my readers' time, so I am not going to blog as often.  I'll still blog a couple times a week or if I have something really important to say, but I can honestly say, I don't have much of importance to say most of the time.

There is one other thing I miss.  When we were kids, I loved to go with the family and swim in Black River.  It was spring fed and just as cold as it could be, but it was so much fun.  I love the water and the innocence of play that I associate with it.

Well, that's all I have to say.

Super Sunday?

I  know a lot of people might blog about the Superbowl, and so am I though I'm not going to talk too much about it.  I must say that my overall feeling about the game was "meh".  It was close, but boring.  Perhaps it was just me, but I didn't get excited about  it at all.  Even the commercials did not excite me much.  I liked "The Voice" commercial, the Lexus vampire commercial, the e-commerce baby commercial, and the one with the sandman.  I think it was for a Lexus too.  That's odd though, isn't it?  I liked the commercial but I'm not sure what it was advertising.  How effective is that for 3.5 million dollars.  The commercial about the dog named Come Here was also pretty good, and the first Doritos commercial too -- the one with the cat.  The halftime show was interesting but not spectacular.  Madonna is pretty spry for being 53 years old.  I forget that she is my age.  I certainly am unable to do what she does.

Are other pastures really greener?

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

I am thinking about pursuing some new career plans which, if fulfilled, would take me out of teaching and out of state.  I don't want to say much about it now for many different reasons, but among them is the fact that, at this time of year every year, I get very restless, and I always start dreaming about greener pastures.  So, this, as in other years, might just be a passing fancy that flames brightly and then fizzles.  However, this one I have discussed at length with my wife.  I also did some checking on my teacher's retirement and some concerns I had about it and found what I think is unbelievably good news.

In teaching, and at this phase of my life, I feel like I am working myself to death during a time period when I should actually be slowing down and enjoying the downhill side of middle age.  I have become so disillusioned with teaching, and the continued lack of respect that teachers get that it is driving me from the business.  It is sad too because I have always considered myself a very good teacher, and I think most people would agree.  I am the kind of person that teaching should be attracting not driving away.  

Let me explain my situation here a little bit.  I have a master's degree in English and teach almost all college-bound seniors.  My students make good grades and are highly motivated when they come into my class, and my goal is to make them reach into themselves even further to pull out what they don't even know they have.   If I were evaluated according to my students' test scores, I would look pretty darn good because I have the brightest kids anyway.  Now, many of my colleagues are wonderful teachers who are teaching in front of unmotivated, uncaring students.  Now this poor attitude could come from home, personal circumstances, within themselves.  I'm not going to judge.  (Though I do believe a lot of problems start at home.)  Some of my colleagues, I'd even say, were better teachers than I -- and I'm pretty damn good -- but they have the students who will score lower on standardized tests.  Now, is it fair for my colleagues to be judged under these circumstances.  Absolutely not.  It amazes me that a bunch of politicians who have severe hub (head up butt) disease are making laws about education when they have never been in the classroom.

Sorry, I didn't mean to rant.  This was a roundabout way of saying I'm tired of the education business, and I'd like to get it before it drives me to an early grave.

Well, if I decide to stay exactly where I am, I already have a job for the summer.  No, believe it or not, most teachers -- especially if they have kids in college (since they don't qualify for federal grants) -- don't take the summer off.  Even if they are not doing a second job, they are working their tails off to prepare for the coming year or taking college classes in an attempt to rise on the pay scale.  Central Methodist University at Mineral Area College has asked me to teach two Expository writing classes.  I would be teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 5 to 11 p.m.  Last year, I worked on Friday at the Fredericktown campus, but I'm not sure if the director there will be wanting me again this year or not.  I'm guessing she will.

Work has slowed on my screenplay because my school work has swamped it, but I have finished 56 pages. I'm going to finish one scene before the midpoint which will be an explosive one.

I hope my blogs don't bore my readers.  I'm just a common joe, nothing special.

Common Joe

Dear politician:

I am a common Joe, not Common Joe the plumber, but common Joe the teacher.  You claim to represent me, but you don't even know who I am. 

Allow me to make a few comments here.  First, I do not appreciat the continued attacks on teacher tenure and if you support such a plan I will not support you.  I have been teaching 28 years, and I could give you the names of hundreds of people who have had me in class who could testify that I am a good teacher. First, I have chosen to teach in a smaller school that is constantly struggling with money.  If I were teaching in a city school -- many of whom are failing --  I could make probably 50% more than I am making at the school where I teach.   Tenure is one of the few perks I have.  Have you considered the fact that no matter how good a teacher I am, my school could fire me if I did not have my tenure and hire someone for roughly half of what I am making?  Tenure protects teachers from this kind of threat.  I won't even get into the threats that I feel against my pension, which I pay 12 or so percent of my salary into monthly.  Also, I think I can safely say that the percentage of incompetent teachers is much less than the percentage of incompetent politicians.

I would like to see one of you Congressman live your lifestyles on 50,000 dollars a year.  You have no idea what the common Joe, middle class person goes through.  I have a daughter in college.  Get this: because I work, I make too much money for my daughter to get Federal grants.  I work three jobs to help her get through college.  My wife works two.  My daughter made made an amazing score on her ACT test and wants to go into teaching because she wants to teach -- certainly not for all the financial rewards. There was a time I would have told her that teaching is an honorable, respected profession.  Now, I tell her that she better get used to having a target on her back because some damn politician is always trying to gun down teachers.  By the way, I'm guessing you, Mr. Politician, don't worked three jobs at one time.  Half the time you don't even work the job you have.  If I produced the results in my job that Congress does in its job, I would have been fired years ago.  

There is another gripe I have against you, Mr. Politician, and that is the cloud of smoke you blow at people to get them riled up.  While I have my own feelings about abortion, same-sex marriages, and other controversial topics, I want to know what you are going to do to fix the economy.  I want to know if my grandchildren are going to be fighting in some foreign country.  I want to know if my father who served in the military and then worked for over 50 years is still going to get his social security check.  Getting the vote by riling people up emotionally is a way of avoiding major issues that will determine the future survival of this country.

So, Mr. Politician, what are you going to do?

Sincerely,

common Joe the teacher

Checking In

My composition students are writing in their journals and I think it is important for them to see their instructor writing also.  Instead od doing a jurnal, however, I am writing in here.  It has been a pretty good day in that I got out of the funk I was in and got some work done that needed to get done.  I always postpone school work, but today, I just sat down and did a bunch of it.  Still have quite a bit to do, but that's normal.  It doesn't in, especially since I teach English and composition at that.

I look forward to getting home tonight and relaxing.  I might try to pound out a page of my screenplay.  Who knows what I might do anyway? 

I would like to try getting MAC to let me adopt the Longman Reader for both my composition I and Composition II classes.  I'm not a big fan of the Writing Arguments book Mac prefers for Comp II.  The Longman is a lot more practical.  I always prefer practicality over philosophy.  I want my kids to know how to write argumentation, and I don't care so much that they know all about classical rhetoric and argumentation.  Toulmin's Scehmata is just a fancier way of labeling the parts of argumentation which most of us have always taught.

That's enough for now, though I do want to add that I have a lot of respect for philosophy and for Toulmin.  I just want my students to do, not read about doing.

Later.