English 100 at Ashland

One of my little projects this summer is finding some music to fill the ten minutes or so before the class begins. I have used YouTube “Ambient Music” in the past, but it is often computer-generated and forgettable. This time around I am looking for some genuine quality. It would be nice to do themes, about a week long. Perhaps one week of Beethoven and another of very young musicians and another of opera in public places. Maybe one of bluegrass and one of stride piano. I have a couple of reasons for doing this. One is that I believe an “educated person” knows more than simply how to punctuate a sentence correctly, and this is a great moment to broaden your horizons. (A while back, I used a movement from Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” for “gap music.” One of my students commented that it is now his favorite piece.) The other is that I think a good teacher transmits more than facts: I want to invite y...

I first ran into this Ray Bradbury novel when I was in high school—a very long time ago. Recently, when I was buying a graduation gift for a granddaughter, I was browsing the shelves at Barnes & Noble and saw a 60th anniversary edition on the shelf. Just had to get it. (I think I have an older paperback copy somewhere, but this book seemed to deserve my time.) The title of the book refers to the temperature at which book paper bursts into flame. The book is set in some distant future when all the houses are fireproof and the government wants to control everything people think, so one of the best strategies is to burn books. Firemen (the book’s central character is a fireman.) no longer have water in the tanks of their fire trucks. They have kerosene. And their job, if anyone is suspected of owning books, is to go to the home of the offender and burn everything in sight. I remember reading this as a teenager and never really recovering ...

A little background I think most of us would benefit from keeping some sort of daily journal. Besides giving an opportunity to practice writing and giving a documented space to remember things, my journal functions like Professor Dumbledore’s Pensieve—a place where I can drop thoughts and clear my mind, but perhaps return to them in the future. I had a lot of trouble getting my journal started when I began several years ago, but then I remembered a writer’s trick: I needed to construct an audience . I needed some sense that I was actually writing to someone. For me, that constructed audience was my children, who might dig this book out of the closet after my death and figure out what on earth I had been thinking and doing. Now that I am rolling on the journal, I guess the journal itself is my audience, but not in the “Dear Diary” sense. (If that works for you, fine!) I got the picture above from the Internet—...

I was sitting at Panera this morning, writing, as usual, in my journal. And, as usual, some stranger took the opportunity to sit down and chat. Now, you can do almost anything at Panera without attracting attention (knit, read a book, have an argument on your phone), but the minute you try writing something with a fountain pen, you attract attention. At least I do. It’s like someone is performing brain surgery with a butter knife. People are amazed that it is even possible. That’s fascinating because we are not that far removed from a time when absolutely every well-organized adult had a fountain pen. (Probably the 1950s.) My mother had a pen in her purse, filled with purple ink. My father had one for signing important documents, filled (of course) with blue-black. I got through high school with a series of cheap pens filled with cheap blue ink. Banks had fountain pens in holders for people to write checks. (Ballpoints were kind of unreliable....