The Writer's Poke

First there was the group known as the Confessional Poets. They incorporated highly autobiographical elements into their poetry, and it changed the way people thought about "proper subject material" for poetry. Then, anyone who has read autobiographies in the past 15 years has surely noticed that no subject seems off limits. Want to talk about your incestuous love affair with your father? Go for it. Want to discuss your history of one-night stands? Why not? I bet you'll sell a lot of books. Personally, I don't have any problem with this. If you're a writer, the number one source of material that you have is your life. And yet, we don't want to hurt the people we love. So we have all kinds of material that most of us never delve into, not because we're scared of "going there," but because we don't want to make those closest to us angry or jealous or bitter by what might come out. For the longest time, I can remember wanting to be a writer, but...

She had only lived in the dorms for 3 semesters, but already she had had 12 roommates. How is that even possible, I asked her? She narrowed her brow, and quite seriously said: "I need to be more sentient."  I had never heard anyone talk that way, and it really turned me on. But a strangeness about her set off alarms in my head, and while I toyed with the idea of getting to know her better, I finally decided that I didn't need the drama in my life at that point.  In one of our last conversations, for example, she asked me out of the blue if I believed in monogamy. That's usually not a subject that just pops up, and I didn't have an immediate response. When she saw my hesitation, she chastised me, saying, "I thought you were smarter than most people." All I could do was bow my head in shame.  After that, I'd seeing her hopping around campus in her brown pelt-like coat, but I decided it would be better if I let this one get away. Describe one of the wei...

So much depends upon a blue plastic hippo resting on its back beside the Big Buddy cup.

So, do babies really "change everything"? There's little doubt that they change a lot. For one thing, I'm a lot more productive. I have to be. Tavi wakes up at 6:30 a.m., and that means I no longer sleep in. She's usually in bed by 8:00 p.m., but then I feel obligated to make the most of my evening free time. No more wasted evenings watching mindless TV. Well, except for maybe American Idol, but even that I record so that I can save time by skipping the commercials. But I made a commitment that some things would not "change", and so far, I've been able to keep that promise to myself.  One quick example: the last time I picked up Tavi  from daycare, as I pulled into the drive, I counted the vehicles. There were eight, and all were minivans. I still drive a Beetle, not a minivan. And that small victory was enough to make me crack a smile. I am still not a minivan chauffeur. Have you ever made yourself a promise that you wouldn't change in some ess...

Four pretty young women were riding their bicycle through Fox Ridge state park, and they stopped when they saw us staring at them. "Hallo," one of them said in a heavy German accent. "Could you tell us please which the direction is to Charleston?" We pointed the way, and off they went. Why would four German girls be riding their bikes through central Illinois? Since we had lived there all of our lives, it was hard to think of Coles County as an international tourist attraction. And yet, here were four girls that helped us see something old in a new way. Because, although we had lived there all of our lives, we had never taken the time to bike around the entire countryside. Doing so would be silly, right? Of course the last time I was in Italy, I saw American tourists who paid a fortune for the privilege of doing just that. And the Italian countryside was really no more extraordinary than Coles County. It was simply farther away from home. What places near your home ...

For Writers: So, how do you like your eggs? I like mine scrambled, but my wife prefers her symmetrical. Confused? Me too. Some things you just don't learn about a person until you've lived with them. Take egg distribution, for example. The average egg carton contains twelve eggs. Well, when you remove the first egg from the container, what happens? You have an unfortunate imbalance. But when you remove that second egg, you have a choice to make things right. If the first egg selected was bottom row furthest to the left, then the next egg selected must be top row furthest to the right. That is, if symmetry is your game. Why is symmetry so important? It's all about balance. Take two eggs from the left side of the cartoon, for example, and watch how much heavier the right side becomes. The difference in weight between the two sides could cause the remaining eggs to spontaneously explode, and who wants to clean up that kind of mess in the kitchen? What idiosyncratic habits have...

For Writers: Think animals don't commit suicide? Our cat Raven did. Granted, Raven was a weird cat. She had lived with us for a year, but she still didn't trust us enough to be touched. Only recently had she decided that she could be safe in the same room with us. At a distance, of course. And she had never been outside. Then one summer day, we were fumigating the house. We caught Raven and Flem and put them in their cat carriers. We took them outside, and to kill time, we started washing our cars. Neither Raven nor Flem enjoyed being locked up, so we decided to release them. Flem stayed close by and basked in the sun. Meanwhile, Raven made an escape for the woods behind our backyard. These woods were heavily overgrown, and a house cat like Raven had no business in them. We finished washing the cars, and we called out to her to let her know it was time to go back inside. We could hear her return "meow," but we never saw her again. Linda spent the better part of the ev...

For Writers: When I discover a clothing style that I like, I end up buying every design from a specific brand that I can find. For a while I went through a flannel shirt phase. Bergner's carried these light-weight flannels, and they were really soft and comfortable. Eventually, I probably owned fifteen or twenty of them, but after a season of wear, I was bored with the look. Recently married, my wife and I were not making much money, but Linda was happy to take my hand-me-down flannel shirts so that I could add a new style to my wardrobe. So for the next two years, Linda wore men's flannel shirts, even during the hot Mississippi summers. Looking back on it now, we fondly remember this time as our "flannel years." And while we're curious, there will never be any way to find this out: because she wore men's flannel shirts all of the time, how many people thought Linda was a lesbian? Think back through your life. Pick one period and describe it. What would you du...

For Writers: I arrived to an empty office -- no desk, no chair, no phone, no computer. They knew for two weeks that I was starting today, but no one had bothered to prepare. And for that matter, it was rather lucky I got there at all. My car was packed with books and office decorations, and when I exited the interstate, the tower of boxes in the passenger's side seat toppled onto me. This distraction caused me to turn right instead of left, but since I had only made the drive to work once, on the day of my interview, it didn't register that I was going in the wrong direction. Ten miles down the road I thought, "I should be there by now. This doesn't look right." So I turned off onto a narrow South Carolina state road. The road had drainage ditches on both sides, and after driving down this road for a while, I decided I had better turn around. But as I tried to use one of the driveway bridges that crossed the drainage ditch, I backed up a bit too much, and my back ...

For Writers: The first time I met the neighbor's dog, Duke, he was sleeping in the carport of our new house. He raised his head a little, but soon he went back to sleep. Apparently he wasn't impressed. He was clearly a mutt, but the neighbors seemed to take good care of him, and if he wanted to sleep in the carport, that was okay by me. Everyone has to sleep somewhere. But a few months later, the neighbors picked up three more dogs. And unfortunately for these dogs, they quickly displayed a bad case of mange. Alarmingly, the neighbors had no plans to take their dogs to the vet, and soon enough, Duke had mange, too. We used to grill out all the time in that carport, and let me tell you, there's nothing like the smell of pork chops and mange. Lovely. It got so bad that Linda suggested that we take the dogs to the vet ourselves. I vetoed the idea. These aren't our dogs, I reasoned. And in a matter of weeks, they weren't the neighbor's dogs, either. Duke managed to ...

For Writers: The English department had a beautifully renovated building, but the graduate teaching assistants were still housed in what had started out 100 years ago as a men's dormitory. We didn't even have our own phones (let alone computers) in our offices. Instead, we had to walk down the hallway to the one phone that the entire floor shared. Our office furniture wasn't much newer than the building itself. But my desk was big and sturdy, and with a little imagination, you actually did believe that the old "duck and cover" drill could work with with a desk like that. Every time I sat in the old wooden chair, however, it was an act of faith. It was designed so that you could lean back in it, but every time I did so, it let out an ominous loud "CREAK!" One day as I was killing time grading student essays, I leaned back in that chair. It would be the last time anyone would ever lean back in that chair. All I heard was a snapping sound, but it echoed th...

For Writers: There's nothing subtle about Aerosmith's "Love in an Elevator." The entire song is about the act of getting intimate in the most public of places -- be it a mail room or an elevator. And according to the wikipedia entry for the song, the lyrics are at least partially based on singer Steven Tyler's own personal experiences. Imagine that. Is this song really about love? Now that's another issue completely. Certainly the idea of "making love" is a euphemism that we all understand, but in the more literal sense of the word, where is the love? Why not call the song by it's true name: "Lust in an Elevator"? Where is the most public or inappropriate place that you've ever "made love"? Were you ever caught? OR How do you control lust? Does it need controlling? "I've looked on many women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me." -- Jimmy C...

What's more fun than playing with language? (Don't answer that.) From: http://www.funnyordie.com/jokes/25ff77418c Just like the Eskimo need many words to describe different kinds of snow, it is useful for the modern self-pleasurer to have many words to describe the sin of Onan. Roosterbate: masturbation for the purpose of waking up, or greeting the day. Reminiscibate : memory based masturbation Pragmatibate: masturbation to rid yourself of a tenacious turgidity, often employed on long distance bus trips Procrastibate : masturbation for the purpose of putting off more useful activities. Emobate : An incomplete masturbation due to self loathing Jurassibate : masturbation to dinosaur related material Karassibate : group masturbation with fellow readers of Kurt Vonnegut Debatobate : weighing the pros and cons of whether or not to masturbate NoBassibate : self-pleasure resorted to when fish aren't biting Lastibate : the last time you masturbate (theoretical)

For Writers: Some people might thrive on being the center of attention, but not me. Actually, if I'm around people I know well, then I don't mind. But thrown into a group of strangers, I would usually rather blend into the background. One particular Halloween, two of our friends invited us over for a party. The problem was, they would be the only two people there that we knew. The rest of the invited were their buddies from work. We came really close to not going, but at the last minute, we picked up some cheap masks from Walgreens and headed on over. The party was already in full swing, and all the unknown people were standing around the living room with beers held at the ready. It's one of those few occasions when I could actually feel the claustrophobia in the air. The living room probably held up to eight or ten people comfortably, but it was never designed for a mob. Linda and I stayed in the room long enough to get beers, but as quickly as we could, we made our exit ...

For Writers: Yesterday was "PJ Day" at my daughter's daycare, and boy was I jealous. Although my job is fairly casual, we're not casual enough for people to run around in pajamas. Why is it that the only adult allowed to do that is Hugh Hefner? I shouldn't complain too much, though. At my last teaching gig, it was frowned upon for faculty to wear Levi's to work. Even on Fridays. So while we never had a dress code, it was one of those unwritten rules. And on one of the rare occasions that I did risk wearing jeans to work, I immediately ran into the college president in the hallway. The first thing she did was give me the once over. She didn't say a word, but I could tell that she did not approve. What clothes are you most comfortable in? Why do we still buy into the idea that some clothes are more "formal" than others, or that a certain kind of dress is or isn't appropriate for different circumstances? "Clothes make the man. Naked people ...

For Writers: I've listened to Ace of Base's "The Sign" for 15 years, and apparently I've never heard one of the lines correctly. The actual line is: "How could a person like me care for you?" But as I've always heard it, Jenny sings: "How could a person like me trip on you?" Quite honestly, I like my version better. Because I think there's a lot of room to explore the notion of tripping on others. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Yes, other people can cause us to trip. Maybe it's the kid in grade school that dared us to smoke our first cigarette. Maybe it's the boyfriend we were sure loved us, even if he had a funny way of showing it (and never used the "l" word). Whatever the case, wouldn't it be nice to have someone around to hold up a sign to alert you before you fall? Who have you tripped over? Or, who have you caused to stumble? "He got his hands on me and I tripped." -- Brett Ross

For Writers: More so than most normal people, writers make a practice of sharing private thoughts publicly. Fiction writers might disguise their ideas by putting the thoughts and actions into another character, but when one reads an author's body of work, it's generally pretty easy to determine when an author is just using a character as a spokesperson for the creator's own beliefs. For most normal people, there seems to be value in keeping part of yourself private. But is this belief misguided? One high school instructor I know of, for example, will not even divulge any personal information on his Facebook page. Why? Because he doesn't want that information to get into the wrong hands. But again, I'm not sure exactly what he thinks is so worth hiding. Perhaps he's trying to hide the fact that he is human? What are you hiding? Find a way to release your private thoughts to the world. "We are all alike on the inside." -- Mark Twain

For Writers: I needed to write my dissertation to finish, but the thought of writing something 200 pages long (and 200 pages would be on the short side) kept me from writing for five years. Meanwhile, I was paying my tuition each semester so that I could stay active in the program. I pretended that I was just making an "alumni donation" to the university, and this was supposed to make me somehow feel better about paying out thousands of dollars just to keep the hope of finishing alive. Then that May, I received my annual progress letter. There was a new graduate program director, and his letter indicated that they planned to deactivate me from the doctoral program. I wrote back and asked for one more chance, to which he responded: "You have until August 15." In other words, I basically had three months to write and defend my dissertation. And guess what I did that summer? I wrote my dissertation. Something that I couldn't do in 5 years I was able to do in under ...

For Writers: Back in the stone ages, I suppose people took naked pictures of themselves with Polaroid Instamatic cameras. But now we live in the digital age, and even most cell phones have built-in cameras. Technology has made it much easier to share ourselves with others. And some of us bear more than our souls. Over the past year, there have been stories of teenage girls who have taken risqué, shall we say, photos of themselves. Some cheerleaders in the Pacific Northwest, for example, were kicked off the team when high school administrators discovered their inappropriate pictures posted online. The girls' lawyers cried foul, wondering why the girls were punished and not the boys that had apparently posted the pictures. In Pennsylvania it was the boys and not the girls who were punished. The girls sent the pictures to the boys' cell phones (amusingly dubbed in one article as "sexting"), but the boys were the ones who found themselves in trouble. Somewhat amazingly, t...

For Writers: I have a friend, let's call him Bandhu (which is Hindu for friend). A few of us took at trip to New Orleans one year, and Bandhu totally amazed me. We were at a bar, and Chumbawumba's "I Get Knocked Down" was a very popular song at the time. Bandu just let it all loose on the dance floor. I can't say that he was or wasn't the smoothest cat out there, but what I will always remember is how uninhibited he was. And since the drinks in that bar were so watered down, I can't just attribute his moves to the booze. This young man was sober, and he was out there shaking it for the world to see. On the other hand, he was still uncomfortable drinking a jelly shot off the stomach of a hired drink seller, but maybe he was simply concerned about her hygiene. It was the funniest thing watching him slurp the shot off her stomach, being careful not to touch her body in any way with his tongue. And since he hadn't developed the nerve to lick her clean, he ...