Results of Ruminations

As a kid, I used to watch PBS programming (whenever "better" cartoons weren't on). Some of the shows I really liked. I particularly enjoyed Ghostwriter   because it was tangentially connected to writing. Even at a young age, I thought I would be an author (and my past self would likely be a little disappointed that, by age 33, I was still without a book deal). Whenever that--or any other PBS show would come on--it would say something about support coming from "viewers like you." Being young, I didn't quite understand what that meant. Was the "you" talking about me ? I didn't know how I was "supporting" the show, except trying to watch it. Still, they kept thanking me. I guessed I was making a difference. I have yet to donate to a PBS station, though I used to support my local NPR affiliate, until we hit a bit of a financial crunch and stopped. Though we're better off financially, I haven't bothered to resume the donations. ...

Twitter can be a challenging platform. It can drain time, wallow in alt-right poison, and, apparently, provide insights into foreign policy decisions. But it also has connected me with some really amazing people with thoughts and points of view that I wouldn't have any other way. Additionally, by following a handful of people whose points of view are far removed from my experience, I have grown quite a bit as a writer, a thinker, and a person. One of those people is @fangirljeanne, a woman who, based on what she tweets about, loves geek stuff as much as I, and has a really strong sense of how American society interacts with people of color. Since I camouflage with Crisco, I don't really know what it's like to be in love with pop culture that feels incapable or intimidated by the thoughts of representing me in...well, basically everything. So I love her approach to pop culture interpretations, even if I don't always agree with her arguments or conclusions. One thing ...

Back in the Coraline age of England, John Milton got tied up in a couple of different pamphlet wars. One was a collection of polemics now called the divorce tracts , which documented Milton's approach toward the then-thorny theological question of whether or not divorce was biblically permissible. Living more than a century and a half after Henry VIII and his notorious marriages, Milton--whose first marriage, in particular, was unhappy and unfulfilling--found himself in a surprising place for a Puritan: Arguing against a fairly clear biblical prohibition. Milton's brilliant mind and writing style are in play, and his tracts are relied upon in Milton studies, particularly in light of the ways in which his conceits in the tracts become dramatized in Paradise Lost . I invoke the specter of the 17th century pamphlet war--not casting myself in any camp or in the shadow of any writer--in the distinctly 21st century manner: Writing an essay in response to another essay with which I ...

I recently finished my (whateverth) reading of the Book of Mormon. Having been born into the Church--and having served an LDS mission--I've spent a great deal of time in that book. It's not the book that I've read the most (that probably goes to Hamlet ), but it's up there. I read it every year and a half, or so, give or take. I sometimes diverge into other levels of scripture, but I cycle around to it regularly. Members of the Church--rightly, I think--insist that the eschatological stakes of the entire Church hinge upon the Book of Mormon, but I'm not exploring the ideas of the afterlife here. Instead, I want to share a story that a coworker shared with me. Like many who teach at my school, she had had a conversation with teenagers that changed the way she thought about things. This is something that requires a certain amount of humility, not just as an adult, but as a teacher, too: The acknowledgment that there is a different way of viewing the world that you...

I wrote about  how Shakespeare can teach modern writers a thing or two, saying that, at the very least, we can learn three things from Shax: embracing the language, understanding the interior, and having a consistent variety. This essay is focusing on the second concept, the interior mind, conceits, and expressions of a human being. I'm calling this effect interiority. "The Inward Man" The subtitle of this essay is a quote to Hamlet  2.2, in which the King says of Hamlet, "Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man/ Resembles that it was." It's that idea I wish to explore. While the editors at Arden make a compelling argument that Hamlet's soliloquies in particular weren't originally understood as explorations of an inner feeling (25-32), our modern readings of the play are rife with this concept. And, since this is supposed to be an essay in which a modern writer could learn from Shakespeare, it seems like this is the best angle of instruction. ...

This school year, I teamed up with a new hire in order to teach Shakespeare as a Fine Arts class. Chris Hults is a great director and a wonderful guy, plus he's a full-fledged Bardolator. In short, he doesn't really need me in the class. I'm allowed to participate because that's what seniority does for a fellow. See, the scope of the class is to have a semester of fine arts--dramatic work--with Shakespeare's plays, then have a semester of language arts in which I and the students do in-depth readings of the plays. It straddles both worlds--the dramatic and the canonical. Anyway, my relationship with Chris makes me laugh. I'm not a theater person--I've been to a lot of live theater in the past few years exclusively because of Shakespeare. I don't spend much time or money on plays that aren't from the Bard, though I find exceptions here and there. Nevertheless, I'm teaching a drama class, with a dramatist, and so I'm slowly learning more abou...

The debate over who's the "better" writer among the anchors of the Western canon tend to devolve into arbitrary designations: Homer was first, therefore...; or, Milton was so allusive, therefore...; or, Shakespeare gave us a plethora of new words , therefore.... All of these claims are fine, but they're like having an academic debate whilst in line at Cold Stone to determine which gourmet ice cream is actually superior.* Regardless of who is the Best, Shakespeare is in the running. But as a writer, what does Shakespeare provide that fellow writers can learn from? I've been asking myself this question for a long time, and though I'm sure there are additional reasons, I've figured out at least three: language as a tool, interior depth, and variation in consistency. I'll approach the first here. Language as a Tool One of the many paradoxes about Shakespeare is that he's simultaneously adored and feared for his robust language. It's not just ...