Into the Unknown

Say you're a teacher.

Say you're working with students.

Say you're a teacher for students and the class you're teaching is history.

Say that.

Assuming these are the premises, you may also assume the following: there is something specific you want to teach them. The class should have a curriculum, and given that it is history it probably has a specified topic and time frame. "The French Revolution, 1789-1799." "The Development of the Nuclear Bomb, 1939-1945." "Wars and Conflicts, 1900-today."

In addition, the specificness of which you presumably want to teach, is tied to the craft of your profession: the historian. Because it is a craft, a set of rules, certain points without which you will not be able to perform your work properly.

And then you have the Odd Bull (inside joke). The stray dog that breaks the rules, and plans to get away with it.

Granted, some do. Think Picasso.

But most don't.

And those who do, get away with it because they break the rules in a smart way. They break the right kind of rules.

The reason they can do that is that they know the rules. They know the craft. They have learned it, first, and then they derrive from it.

"Be precise!"

"Be specific!"

"Don't assume that the reader can follow you line of thought!"

"Never leave a quote hanging. Your interpretation of it, and your reasoning as to why it is important isn't obvious to the rest of us. If you cannot explain why the quote should be there, it shouldn't be there. If it doesn't express specifically something you cannot say just as well with your own words, you should say it with your own words."

I know the rules. I know the craft. At least I'm supposed to. What I know that I know, though, is this: I know that I don't follow the rules. Not now. Because I am not specific. I am not clear. You do not follow. My arguments are weak, my reasoning reasonless.

And the reason I can do this is not that I know the rules, but that I know that there are no rules. This is not my craft, after all; this is not a academic, history paper. This is a blog.

Say you're a teacher. Say you're working with students. Say your work as a teacher is making your head so full of analysis and rules and academic upholstery that you have no desire to make sense anymore. Say that.

Delusional Anagram Thursday

Delusional.

Ledusional.

Sudinoalle.

Unload isle.

Allies undo.

Ail nodules.

A duels loin.

Lone laid us.

Dial ole sun.

Use land oil.

Sun aloe lid.

El slain duo.

La nude silo.

An oil duel.

Denial soul.


(Now sing it to the tune of "Old MacDonald"...)

Dear Fairy Godmuther,

Or should I say Godmonster...

Consider this your final warning. You have fallen down on the job. Spiraled out of the sky and splashed a big pile of POO all over me. This is the last straw! Well, or the last one before the next one, so maybe what I should be saying is this is the penultimate straw... penultimate being such a great word and all... but somehow with straw, it loses some of its Mojo, doesn't it?... penultimate straw isn't as powerful as LAST. But never mind.

See. This is what I'm talking about. Do you SEE how jumbled my mind is at the moment? I can't concentrate. Not even a little. And I am laying this on YOU.

See, I was minding my own business, polishing a pretty good book for ABNA, trying to craft my pitch... when... no wait... it started before that...

See, the money problems have been so persistent so long that I almost forget to mention them, but this more recent stuff compounds it all, so I need to have set the stage, yeah? So we're poor. We have a plan, but the plan requires VERY tight belts for a few YEARS into our future. So that's the setting...

[Note, too that ALL THREE of the last three paragraphs start with the same word. How distracted does a person have to be for THAT to happen? A writer, no less.]

NOW we get to minding my own business prepping for ABNA...

When I get the CALL from my agent that EDITS are needed on the book I turned in in September. Not tiny little edits... fairly substantial ones. Damn. Now. DAMN.

But there's no shame in a U-turn, right? (or a U-turn left, actually—a U-turn right might cause an accident, but I digress)... So I U-turn and get to work on the DONE BOOK I ALREADY CROSSED OFF MY DARNED LIST. Setting me back a little, yeah?

Did I mention I am reading an 800 page borrowed book, so my time is slightly reduced? No? Well that's fine... that part isn't really on the Fairy Godmonster's head. So never mind.

But THEN... THEN... grrrrrrrrrr.

Hubby went and had a medical emergency and is having some sort of chronic crisis. The ER visit and ambulance ride were enough, but he is a caretaker and until he gets this resolved he can't work—do you see it? The part where the MONEY trouble is compounded? At least two weeks with no pay at all and potentially a reduced schedule after that because STRESS is part of the root of his problem (3-12 hour days in a row caring for someone is stressful—who knew?). But he is sickly and down and NEEDY at the moment, so wants to talk about EVERYTHING. ALL THE TIME. Which is leaving me both with less time for my stuff, and with a head full of HIS stuff when I get a little time. I know I sound like a bitch there... I should be a goodly caretaker, but HE'S the caretaker in the family. THAT is our arrangement! (and I'm TIRED, which has been known to make me pretty punchy.)

So what I want to know is this.

Why the heck have you not been watching my back? Fairy Godmothers who are NOT frauds can mitigate disasters and make NICE things happen rather than lousy ones. Why couldn't you have just done a spell that would give me a good poke on my sixteenth birthday like everybody else gets? Or better yet, why can't you just am-scray and I will take Meriwether. 

(and for your information, Meriwether is the fierce one in blue (the one who managed to alter YOUR spell to change death to sleep)--Flora is in red and Fauna is in green--fierce is better than nice, but MEAN AND ROTTEN SUCKS ROCKS!)

Dissatisfied in Ann Arbor,

Hart