While I have always been a storyteller of sorts, I am not much of a writer of stories–but I have always been intrigued by the relative simplicity at the core design level of most books and movies. A lot of it is tied to my love for Joseph Campbell’s work on the Heroic Cycle, which shapes so much of my teaching in 8th and 9th grade. I am also curious about ways to successfully “break” the common cycle of stories–and still produce a piece of worthy and memorable literature. When I read Jayber Crow, by Wendell Berry, I was simply in awe of the beauty of the language, imagery and simple exploration of a time and place.
In my own writing of Hallow’s Lake (unfinished of course) I am trying to create a novel that is a mosaic pieced together by a narrator and aside from the narrator no character greater or lesser than any others. Every chapter is a slice of life lived by some character tied to a remote community around a lake in New Hampshire. I only work on the novel sporadically.
At any rate, I only opened up this blog to post this Kurt Vonnegut video about the shapes of stories that I found in (of all places) The Daily Mail. It is a short, humorous, and not very academic video, but I thought my students might like to see it when we start our short story units.
I woke up this morning almost too fearful to read the news. I stayed up late into the night just watching for the breaking stories and updates. Now, I am simplyconfused about how to act. I feel incredibly small and pointless, unsure of where I stand and how to move forward. But I and we have to start something new.
There needs to be a movement towards a unified love, respect, empathy and unmitigated courage in the face of all that is evil. Words of hate, anger and myopic righteousness simply dampens the light of possibility. I am heartsick at what is happening in this world that is as equally disconnected as it is connected. We are in a true crisis of humanity, but few seem to have the strength or humility to make every action an evolution towards a true and genuine inclusiveness. Anger and fear passes off as wisdom, and our humanity diminishes in equal proportions.
Thoreau once wrote that “there are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one striking at the root.” The root is deeper and stronger than the branches, but that is where we have to go. Start now. Do good, mean well, and start wherever you are in whatever you are doing. In spite of everything that is happening and has happened, we are hardwired to love even in the most trying of times. These words are feeble substitutes, and our pointing fingers simply ignite a lightning storm of hatred with its obvious and repugnant consequences. If you have a moral code that justifies murder, it is not a moral code. If your first response is to take sides and pontificate from a distance, the divisions will only grow deeper and the spiral will worsen, so take the time today to do good things wherever you can. It can only help our future–shaky as it now seems. We don’t have to like those we should love.
I’ve been somewhat lax about posting in here of late, but I have been giving myself a bit of a break from writing. In fact, I spent the last month or so just living–and that has been just fine with me. I set a simple goal for myself this summer to get in shape. PJ and I started day workout program in the spring that includes a mix of walking and running. I was a bit worried about my knees as I had both my knees replaced four years ago. But by starting slow and doing a lot of stretching, I feel pretty good right now. Now I’m going to try and add a bit of cross-training by doing some hiking, kayaking, weight lifting and tai chi–if I can remember what I learned some 30 years ago while living in China.
Other than that, I’m spending my time with my family at a summer camp in New Hampshire. Windsor Mountain International Camp. We have been going there for the past 13 summers. Four of the kids work there, two of them are campers, Denise works in the health office and I pitter around doing whatever needs to be done: I teach some music classes; I sing at campfires; I spend time whittling with the campers, and I build things that the camp needs built. I drive back home to Maynard once or twice a week to sing at the inn and anything else to make a bit more of the ever elusive cash.
In years past, I ran online writing programs, which while fun was also very time-consuming–though also pleasantly lucrative. I am home right now sitting on my back porch looking over the expense of my dry and parched landscape, happy that I don’t have to try to start our ancient lawnmower to mow the lawn. There are, however, plenty of projects to tackle around here. I have a dream that someday all of these projects will reach a point of simple maintenance and not rebuilding, but time and money always seems to rule the day. Still, I count my blessings every day for the gift of the life I have and lead.
This summer is an opportunity for me to be guided by whatever wisdom is within me. It is as simple as knowing what I need to do and doing it with continuity and discipline, guided by the power of an awesome family and an equally awesome unfolding evolution of the days.
How do I know what I know? The sharp angles of this simple cottage perfected in every board sawn, shingle split and beam hewn into place goes together placed, splined, slid together, bound more by intuition than knowing.
The day sometimes slip away from me, a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard, the kids old tree fort cut into slabs, a ton of coal waiting to be moved in a train of buckets to the bin.
Sipping cold water on the back deck,
sharpening the dulled teeth
of a worn chainsaw, I hear Emma rustling for soccer cleats and singing some country song, probably hoping I will remember that her part of the day is also mine…
