Patty: A Memoir

     We were coming home from church one morning and Jimmy Glennon pulled up beside us as we approached the Sudbury road lights. He didn't notice the well-dressed family of eight scrunched into our old Pontiac station wagon as he revved the engine of his yellow and black mustang fastback. I was crammed in the rearward facing back seat doling out peace signs and air horn salutes, but the scene unfolding in front of me was one of the coolest scenes ever: here was the guy Patty had a date with the night before seeming to challenge my father to a drag race, or at the very least humiliate, the infamous and fiery EJ—on a Sunday morning no less.

When the light turned green, Jimmy pulled away in a squeal of burning rubber and glorious smoke, fishtailing his car as he laid down a patch—a testament of black rubber etched into the road--proof that would give me months of bragging to my friends as we drove by that spot every weekday on the schoolbus: "My sister's boyfriend, Jimmy: he laid down that patch!"  Yeah, that moment sealed it for me: I had now the coolest big sister in Concord—and now I could prove it in the hardscrabble, myth-making cauldron in a crowded, kid-filled neighborhood; I could now glow in the reflected light of her infinite coolness, and I still live in that light, but it is now deeper, richer, and more penetrating, with a lingering and haunting pain that still leaves me numb and lonely and lost; but, in so many other ways Patty is as real and present and alive as when she was here and with us. Through every memory of Patty we can all be as cool s she was; we can live with a richer understanding of our dreams, our struggles, and our potential to embrace the scope of the day, and we can simply share the patchwork mosaic that she wove within the divergent strands of our divergent lives.

When I was young, Patty lived in another age. She moved as a phantom through the house because she was like eighteen when I was eleven; she had friends who would hoist me to the top of the basketball hoop bolted above the garage door; she had friends who played guitars in the basement and pierced each other's ears, and she had friends in prison and friends who died in the Vietnam war, and she had friends that she kept for all of her shortened life—most of whom are here today. My other sisters were never as cool as Patty. Eileen, in her quest for perfection, would charge me a quarter if I didn't make my bed right; Mary Ellen would lament that I was embarrassing the whole family because of my bad pitching in little league, and Annie, who was almost as young as Patty was old, was too little to be cool and did things like take our meal orders before supper on a stolen Friendlies waitress pad. My little brother Tom never seemed to feel the need to be cool. 

So it all fell on me.

I really wanted to be cool. I wanted a different and clear slant on life like Patty, but I certainly did not want to work as hard as her; so, like so many other people, I used her as my mentor—my guide through the vagaries and vicissitudes of life.  And she guided me well: she had a way of making your little adventure or undertaking be one of immense importance, but, equally important, she would put her life into your venture by helping to make it become real.  She knew that anything worth trying was worth doing, and so any dream could be pounded into reality; any project could be finished, and any problem or struggle had a way through, and her hand was always there to help it happen. 

Patty gave me faith in all that is infinite and eternal because that was the nature and source of her energy.  Need a book typeset? Just drop it off. Need a sweater? Just drop a hint. How about a party or a place to stay? A weekend at the cape? A babysitter for the weekend? How about a car? Patty would hand down her cars like other people would their sweatshirts.  Patty had that rare thing: a wisdom that was not proud of itself and a door that was always open.

The more you knew Patty, the richer you would become. The best part of going to U-Mass was the chance to live near Patty. I mistakenly thought that living near Patty would put us on equal footing. It was there where I lived, not only in the light of her coolness, but in light of her kitchen, where I would show up on a regular basis with a regular stream of spiritually and physically hungry friends, all of whom found that cool as she was, Patty was also warm and magnanimous beyond compare. It was in her kitchen where I first got to hang out with her as a friend, confidant, and cheerleader. My first night at U-Mass, we met for beer down at The Drake, a classic dive of a bar with smoke and pool tables and peanut strewn floors. It seemed strange and normal to be sitting down with her and Donald—her avowed Marxist, long-haired, archaeologist boyfriend who complimented her so perfectly and would soon become her perfect husband and partner and soul-mate until death parted their life together.

It may seem dumb, but it was like a first date for me.  But, it was better than Jimmy Glennon burning rubber at the route two lights; it was better than her taking off with Tubby in an old Triumph Spitfire—and Mary and EJ panicked that she was eloping—with a Jewish boy at that.  Better than when her and Mary Ellen got caught pinning up their catholic school skirts at the bus-stop; better than when one of her friends escaped from prison; better than hearing that her dorm in Southwest was the target of another drug raid; better than when her and a couple of friends hopped in the back of an old bakery truck and moved to Oregon—and EJ making me promise not to tell her mother that it wasn't a real bus. It was better because it was finally real and not just my vision of some more exciting reality.  We were in a smoky bar and laughing and talking and telling stories, and she was with a guy who made her laugh and made her incredibly happy. I could feel her knitting together the best fibers of our family and creating a tapestry that nothing can undo—a tapestry that has stood the test of time.

Patty showed that small gestures are huge, and that huge actions are always doable. She would call and be as excited about her student Rodney's wrestling match as she would winning teacher of the year. She would drive five hours to have dinner with my mother, or to bring a swimming list to Alba, or to drop off a present for one of your kids. She showed how simple it is for giving to be a gift for everyone involved. 

In the perfect memory of love, Patty will always live on. And we will always be amazed, humbled, and for me, sometimes simply awestruck.

Simple Things

   There is a heaviness in this morning heat as I sit and sip my morning coffee. From my back porch the half moon hangs in a hot dull blue above the soft green of the trees lining my yard. On the street, the trash truck is beeping incessantly in reverse. (Why, I don't know.) The muffled traffic on 117 seems more distant than ever before. The yard is as the kids left it: the mower parked in front of the soccer net, trucks scattered in the sandbox, towels hanging on the porch rail; and the balls—footballs, baseballs, soccer-balls, basketballs, and whiffleballs—grow like fungus scattered on a feral lawn. The kids will return next week. I can already hear them screaming as they jump out of the bus. They will disperse like a flock of startled grackles into every corner of the yard; they will try to catch up on everything at once. Every ball will be chucked to a new home; the swings and the slide will be tested; the blackberries will be gorged; the cats will be chased under the shed; the sprinkler will go on—and so will life as we know it as the beautiful panoply of seven kids returns to their other Eden.

It is strange to be here alone. Denise and the kids are up in their other paradise at Windsor Mountain. I came home yesterday to do a couple of shows and pad the bank account before I head back up later today. From there, we'll load everyone on the bus and keep going north for a weekend in Vermont with cousins and friends on Pete's mountain tree farm. We'll climb the mossy waterfall and fish for bass in the pond, and roast and sing around a massive campfire. We'll flip pancakes and make challenges and boasts for 'capture the flag', and we'll climb the small peak and look south and lie about how about far we see: “There, past the far mountain, I see Maynard, and I see Gramma Mary knitting on the porch—and there's Soren knocking on our door. He's yelling, “Where are you? Are you ever coming home?'” In the mid century of my life, every memory becomes a blessing—a host offered to a loving and waiting deity. In every moment there is nothing more that can be done. We simply are what we need to be.

Summer for us is a time to live and relive every moment. It becomes a tapestry that we hold like a child's blanket throughout the rest of the year. It is the promise that we repeat to ourselves when dragged back into the rituals of our other life. We wait in expectation of the returning dawn. We gather our scrapbooks and laugh at the memories. We go back to the pond. Tommy paddling around on a surfboard singing, “Merry Christmas, I can swim.” EJ caught in mid air trying to back flip off the rope swing, his body a tattoo of bug bites, scrapes, sunburn and muscle; Margaret celebrating her first headfirst dive, the wet jangles of bracelets she wove during some craft’s class glistening on her ankles, wrists and neck; Emma squatting at the edge of the dive tower peering in her solipsistic intensity into the waiting abyss of joy; Pipo neck deep in the pond counting out the seconds he can tread water: “One- two-threefourfive six!” Kaleigh, bedraggled and smiling after two weeks of paddling and climbing and becoming a young woman, is surrounded by friends who think she's the coolest kid on the planet—and Charlie—everything to Charlie is joy: seven years old, his long blond hair in dreadlocks, soaring higher and spinning wildly off the rope swing as if gravity only applies to the timid. Always near, always one clutch away, Denise leads them everywhere: cheering, brokering, warning, and loving—and loving, too, every second of every summer day.

Nothing we do is grand. No place we go is uncommon, but in the steady flow of simple actions we flow into the greater sea of common, ordinary joy—and that is all we need. It is all anyone needs. As you write, don’t forget to celebrate the common and the ordinary. Don't wait for inspiration. Don't wait for something extraordinary to write about. Simply look around you and within you. Weave your own tapestry out of the life you live. If what you see gives you joy, it will give others joy to read about it. If what you do is hard and moiling, let your writing capture that toil, and we will live more fully and think more deeply through your efforts. We often travel too far to see too little. Let your own backyard—the life that you know best—be the place where you begin.

In the end, we can only write well what we truly know. Start there.

Fitz's Paragraph Rubric Diagram

A sentence is a thought fully expressed...

A paragraph is a thought fully explained...

An essay is a thought fully explored...

     A wise thinker once said, "Show me the universe, and I'll give you a pebble. Give me a pebble, and I'll show you the universe."

     This is how we need to think about writing paragraphs. We must learn to move from broad themes to more focused and broad themes; likewise, we must practice relating specific details to a larger and more important whole. This is the whole purpose of our using the paragraph rubric is to practice paragraphing skills and help you develop a more natural fluency. 

How to Create a Weebly Portfolio

Weebly Tutorial from John Fitzsimmons on Vimeo.

How to Change a Google Blog from Public to Private

Watch this short tutorial if you wish to know how to change the settings on your blog so only readers you want can see your blog. It is fairly quick and easy and adds a layer of protection when and if you do not feel like sharing your work with the world. It can always be undone in either direction.

Fitz's Top Three Haiku Techniques

Fitz's Top Three Haiku Techniques

To count or not to count? That is the question...

     The writing of haiku is probably one of the most dumbed down exercises in our collective poetry curriculums around the planet. Every year I ask my students the same question: ‘What do you know about haiku?’ And invariably the entire room is shouting 5-7-5 as if it is the code that will stop a bomb from going off. It is almost like asking, “What is baseball?’ and having everybody shout “FIELD” at the same time. Baseball is certainly played on a field, but the answer is a long way from the nuance, practice, and reality of the game. Haiku has survived as an art form for so many thousands of years because there is something quintessentially cool, fun, and thought provoking about the writing and reading of haiku—but too many of us teachers forget to keep that in mind and impose a creative rigidity at the start by insisting on a metrical structure that is as unquestioned as gravity.  

The writing of haiku has to be kept fun and thought provoking. In fact, the term haiku is derived from the word "Hai" which means "insightful," and the term "Ku," which means "fun." (Or something very close to that.)  

How to Write a Literary Analysis Paragraph

Fitz's Literary Analysis Paragraph Rubric from John Fitzsimmons on Vimeo.

Here is a link to the google doc: Fitz's Literary Analysis Paragraph Rubric (full version with example)

Preparing for an Essay on Thoreau

We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me.

            ~Henry David Thoreau, Walden

       It is nigh about impossible to write any sort of convincing essay about something you know little about, which is the main reason why so few of us read essays for pleasure--we sense the fraud and deceit of the writer's argument, and so we turn away from the writing piece like we would a piece of cheese gone bad. Still, as teachers, we fire away on the front against an overwhelming army, thinking we can win a battle that is lost from the start; we expect you to know, and if you don't know, we want you to figure out a way to make it sound like you know. This goes on from middle school through college--and then you graduate, and ninety percent of you will never write a true essay again (thank God for the ten percent) because you never will have written a true essay from the start. To write a true essay you must begin from the ground you know well. Thoreau knew this and admonished every would be writer to start from this unflinching ground of oneself: "Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives."  [Economy: Walden] This is the spirit you must embrace in this essay when you explore this question: "What did the first chapter of Walden offer you, and what did you take away?"

      Sometimes it is best to start with what you don't know, and since you are writing about Thoreau at a fairly young age, you probably don't know enough about his tome of writings to overly praise or condemn him; you probably don't get all the complexities and nuances of his arguments in what you have read, so if you decide to attempt a strict literary analysis, you run the risk of sounding uniformed at best and arrogant at worst--but don't let this dissuade you from writing about Thoreau! This doesn't mean you have not had a profound and transformative literary experience; it does not mean that your thoughts, insights, and opinions are not as valid as those of the most seasoned critic. It simply means that a narrative essay--since its genesis is in the undeniable validity of you--is probably your best approach to writing about your experience reading and reflecting on the first chapter of Walden--that maddening treasure trove of pithy wisdom and parables simply called, "Economy--"  

Finding Your Voice

     

       If you want to be a writer, you cannot simply read. You need to return to what you've read and think about and reflect on that reading, because it is only through the process of reflecting that we can truly discover our writer's voice.

      We discover that if we write enough, our writing takes on a unique personality. Sometimes that personality reflects who we are in our public lives. Sometimes it is a very different voice. Sometimes our writing voice explores that part of us that our friends rarely see. I know that this is true with me.

       For most of my writing life, (which started my junior year in high school) I kept my writing mostly to myself—different entirely from the more public writing we do in our blogs. After I published my first book of poetry, even my closest friends seemed surprised that I wrote as much poetry as I did; but, I know that when I started to prepare my poems for publication, I also prepared for them to be "public," and it did affect and shape the way I wrote when I realized there were real people that wanted to read what I wrote. It both energized and scared me.

Fitz's Narrative Paragraph Video Tutorial

Here is a video for how to use my rubric for writing narrative paragraphs. You can upload the rubric by following this link: Fitz's Narrative Paragraph Paragraph Rubric

Be sure to go to: File/Make a Copy and rename it with your last name in the file to create your own paragraph using the rubric.

Helplessly Hoping

     Here is an awesome cover of a song that I was in love with back when I was in 8th grade. Originally it was by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. This version is by Brandi Carlie--a singer my daughter Margaret really likes. I "guarantee" you will like this song--and some many of you will love it! I am just happy that one of my own kids is "digging" the music that enriched my youthful paradise.

     Let me know what you think!

Don't Do It

My bus on the fourth of July, 2013!

    I was eighteen and designing a production line for making stepladders at Fitchburgh State College—the only college I could afford, and probably the only place that would have me. I remember thinking, ‘Man, this ain’t no life for me.’ I barely had a working idea of what life meant, but I was pretty sure it meant I didn’t have to do something without any meaning or purpose—and I certainly didn't want to spend my life designing a better stepladder.’

     But, what did I want to do? Did I have the courage to even make a change in my life? If I had read The Odyssey, I might have known what to do; I might have known that I was on a heroic journey and that my call to adventure was the churning confusion in my gut, and I might have known to look for a helper and an amulet to get me over the threshold—that no quest is real until you realize that you cannot go it alone.

Redefining Literacy

 My life is the poem I could have writ,

But I could not both live and utter it

~Henry David Thoreau

   The common man goes to an orchard to taste the fruit. The rich man man learns how to plant his own orchard. The poet, however,  grows an even better fruit and gives it all away; for in its perfection no person could afford to buy these apples that never bruise or fall or wilt in the heat. It is an apple that gives more than sustenance—it is an apple that gives life itself.  For the true poet, his or her life is the vessel of humanity, and in their words they carry the collective dreams, haunts, wonderings, visions, and perceptions that lifts any who read or hear out of the muck of existence and into a more transcendent experience—an uncommon experience of common life.

     Educators, psychologists, social scientists, and pundits love to decry the scourge of illiteracy by assuming that simply knowing how to form vowels into sounds and words and reading them implies "literacy," even if knowing how to read has little in common with being a "literate" person. A literate person simply appreciates the power of words shared between hearts, and souls, and minds. The insights of one truly thoughtful person outweighs the benefits of a reading a pile of supercilious and self-aggrandizing opinion pieces or trolling through the detritus of a hundred shallow websites. I have met a good many people who do not avidly read but whom I still consider to be very literate; for to be literate,  you have to be thoughtful and reflective enough to question, churn, mull, and distill your own subtle thoughts towards a universal clarity and to create something out of that insight. For there to be true literacy, there has to be discernment, discipline, and doggedness. For the wise but unread sages of the past—and to a lesser degree—the present their lives were and are the creation or legacy left behind to inspire, inform, and enlighten.  Neither Jesus, or Buddha, or Black Elk, or Mohamed set out to "write a book." Each of them simply lived their lives in concert with the wisdom of their thoughts. To think that reading literature is the only gateway to wisdom and understanding is utter classist deceit and intellectual arrogance.  It is thoughts put into words and actions that defines literacy.

Ten Ideas for Writing in Your Blog

     Doing something which is "different" does not come easily to most of us. The wrestling team I coach will look at me sideways if I ask them to practice cartwheels. I've even heard that some professional football teams bring in dance instructors to teach their behemoth linemen the art of ballet and foxtrot. My point is that practicing "any" athletic sport develops your skill in another seemingly unrelated sport. The same is true in writing. Through practicing the skills and techniques used in different genres of writing, we can enhance the overall quality and effectiveness of the writing we love to do (or are required to do because of schoolwork or employment.)  By practicing different styles and genres of writing, we learn to avoid the rut of developing a formulaic, predictable, and downright dull writing style--plus, you might even discover a renewed love and energy for a "new" kind of writing when you practice writing in an unfamiliar genre.
Over the course of the next few weeks, try and write in each of the following genres and styles of writing.  I will post more detailed descriptions and writing prompts that span the many different types of writing, but it is up to you to give them a full-hearted try.  Good luck and have fun!

Keeping a Journal

Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience. 

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

  

   I don’t always practice what I preach, especially when it comes to the simple, unaffected, and ordinary “journal entry.” Much of my reticence towards the casual journal entry is the public nature of posting our journal writing as blogs that are more or less “open” to the public. It is hard for me as a teacher of writing to post an entry that I know is trivial, mundane, and perhaps of no interest to my readers—but that is precisely what I need to do if I am to model the full spectrum of the writing process. Keeping a journal is more than a search for lofty thoughts amidst the detritus of the day; it is a practice that keeps our wits and writing skills honed for a coming feast by rambling through the meat of the day and drifting and sailing to whatever port is nearest to my pen. Writing is always an odyssey, and so I have to let my mind go and journey (journal) where it will.

Avoiding Digital Damnation

 

"But it was only a facebook posting!"

   As teachers, it is critical that we teach our students how to leverage the power of the web to create, cultivate, and curate positive digital footprints in and out of the classroom; moreover, as mentors and role models, we need to do the same. We need to put into action best practices, wise pedagogy, and a well-rounded understanding of the implications, promises, and potential to show thoughtful leadership and take control and realize the dynamic and transformative possibilities of our presence not the web.

     Someone is not just looking for you; they are searching for you, and you are only one one casual wtf, questionable photo, or stupid posting away from your judgement, and hence your character, being questioned by an admissions committee, potential boss, or anyone else casually (or intently) searching your name on the web—and it is going to happen! The irony here is that the only thing worse than a questionable digital presence is no presence at all. While there is some nobility in being off the grid, there may also be precious little else to set your particular genius and passion apart from the masses that are arrayed beside, before and behind you. 

Five Rules for How to Tell a Good Narrative Story

How to Tell a Good Story

Call me Ishmael

~Herman Melville

     We are born to tell and listen to stories of all kinds, but the most popular and pervasive of these is the narrative story—a story which retells an experience you have had. Every time someone asks you: “how was school? how was your trip? did you catch anything? what do you like about him? “was it a good game”? … and you answer with more than a grunted single-word response, you are telling a narrative story and YOU are the narrator. The only difference between a narrative story and a fictional story is how much you can play with the truth. The art of the story is the same.

     Of course, some people tell better stories than other people, but why? The answer is probably because they tell more stories or they read more stories. They are not satisfied with the single grunt because they love and want to recreate the moment as vividly and compellingly as possible, and by the process of elimination and addition they have figured out how to tell a good story. Good storytellers know what goes into a good story, and, just as important, they know what to leave out. They know that a good story, well told, brings great satisfaction to them as the tellers and writers and to their audience as listeners and readers.

The Fenn Dory Project

Help us build this dory!

The difference between dedication and commitment is like a ham and egg breakfast. The chicken is dedicated. The pig is committed.

~unknown author

     Sometimes life throws a curveball or two and you either swing or you don't. This year's Senior Project started with a curveball, and we are swinging for the fence.  I certainly did not expect the news that Mr. Patch would be heading to Seattle this fall to start a new adventure with his family, but he did, and I am incredibly happy for him.  When he called to tell me the news this summer, his primary thought was, "What about the senior project?" The two of us had been plotting and scheming of some way to create a new Senior Project this year at Fenn that would be fun, rewarding, and above all, a real hands on, memorable, and educational experience. When I asked Mr. Patch who he thought should be his successor, he without hesitation said, "Mr. Smith." And I couldn't agree more, so I begged, and pleaded, and cajoled Mr. Smith to be a co-chair of this year's senior project--which all of us feel is a pretty cool project.

Who Exactly Are You Speaking To?

Your Audience & Your Voice

       Imagine you are cooking dinner and your stove catches on fire. No problem, because you bought a new fire extinguisher the other day, and it's hanging on the wall right next to the stove. You grab the extinguisher and quickly read the instruction label. It reads: "My fascination with fire extinguishers began when I was a young child--early in 1963 as I recall..." I doubt you will think to yourself, "Wow, this will be really interesting to read!" You might rather the instructions read: "Point extinguisher at the fire, pull the metal pin, and squeeze the black handle." The basic concept of writing well is pretty simple-- know your audience and the reason you are writing. Know just this and you have gone a long way towards defining the style, tone, and content of what you need or want to write. You need to know and understand that when you write, you are putting your words into the hearts and minds and imaginations of real people. So talk with your audience while you write to them.

       Many well-meaning teachers and schools have done a pretty good job of killing the joy of writing by neglecting the natural origin and evolution of writing. You probably write a paper, hand it in, get a grade, and, more than likely, it is then buried in a sheave of other papers in the recesses of your backpack. These written works are handed in to a machine and spit back at us with a reptilian calculus and moral detachment. Words are meant to be heard and read, not damned with little praise or created in a vacuum. Even the greatest literary works are never finished; they are abandoned to a world where the writer hopes a willing ear will listen. If our focus is on imperfection, how can we ever look in the mirror? 

Rambling

     Nothing in my life is interesting….

     Baloney.

     You are the inescapable you. Your mind is bursting with images, ideas, memories, fears, desires, hopes and wonderings. Everyone of which is uniquely and miraculously your own. If you can "recreate" who you are, then your readers will understand who "they" are—because they are as human as you are. “Fitz’s Day at the Beach” might sound boring if all I told you was that I went to the beach. Whoopdee doo—why should you care that I went to the beach? You shouldn't care...unless I care. If going to the beach means nothing to me, then a lame attempt on my part to describe my apathy surely won't engage my readers. (Though it might satisfy the homework requirements.)

     So then, write about something you care about. If it is even remotely important to you, you will be able to make it important to others as well. That is the power of art, and our art lives in the power of words. To find something you care deeply about might actually require some work—and so we ramble away in our journals searching for a place to begin; searching for an experience that hits you with that "oh yeah, that was cool" kind of feeling. A ramble is a way of creating a stepping off place to a more complete piece of writing—a piece of writing that is crafted as close to perfection as you can make it.

Create a Blogspot Blog in Less Than Three Minutes

How to Use Archive.org to Create a Podcast

Check out my video on how to use Archive.org to upload a podcast to the Library of Congress digital history of the United States, and also how to get the embed code to post your podcast on your own blog. It is a good alternative to using Soundcloud, which has a limited amount of space you can use before it asks for your hard-earned money.

Let me know if it works for you. The important thing to remember is that you need to first create an mp3 file before uploading, which is as simple as sending your garageband file to itunes as an mp3.

Check it out!

The Silver Apples of the Moon

Stories are a communal currency of humanity.

― Tahir Shah, In Arabian Nights

    

The most powerful and enduring connection we share as a human race is our desire and need to share stories. We engage in the art of storytelling more than most of us ever realize; whether we are describing our kids’ soccer games, critiquing the latest HBO series, telling a ribald joke, or remembering a long lost friend, event, memory, book, or experience. We listen to stories in songs, in long-winded meetings, in late night BBC broadcasts or self aggrandizing talk radio, on long car rides, and in intimate conversations with friends and lovers. We tell stories for reasons that are so deeply embedded in our psyche and DNA that storytelling is a natural and intuitive response to almost any situation. Sometimes, when stuck with a rather boorish person, we wonder why the sam hill that person insists on telling insipid stories; but, most of the time we listen, reflect, and respond—usually with stories of our own. It is out of this verbal give and take—our personal and cultural oral tradition—that we reflect and grow and expand the range of our limitations. It is our way to “shuffle off our mortal coil” while still alive. Through stories we live outside and beyond the confines of our short sojourn on earth, but while we are here and struggling through the vicissitudes of everyday life, it is stories that feed our roots and spread our canopy upwards into an infinite sky.

Nurture Passion

   

Every kid should know whittlin'

     How about we all take the bull by the horns and make this blog thing work! Your job this week is to do something with your blog that is powered by the passion that is in you. Passion is the one thing you have some control over. There are plenty of smarter, more gifted, and more interesting writers out there than me or you--but there shouldn't be a more passionate writer. For better or worse, your blog is you--as my blog is me, and until you want a better you and I want a better me, readers will find another place to go.