For all these technological “advances,” we are no better than the ancients. We are still prisoners to our emotions — or to the biological impulses of electricity and hormones whose results we deem emotive.
In that case, you should keep a diary, his advisor suggested. Write every day.
OK, he said.
And bring me a story or two to look at.
OK.
October
These aren’t stories, his advisor informed. These are more like diary entries.
How should I write a story, then? he asked.
Write what you know. Base your stories on people and things around you.
OK.
And bring me another story or two.
OK.
November
The narration isn’t believable, his advisor imparted.
Why? he asked.
It’s too difficult for the reader to identify with the characters. Nobody has a family with nine children.
What should I do?
Go read Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio.
OK.
And bring me a couple more stories.
OK.
December
I don’t get any sense of through-story, his advisor complained.
What do you mean? he asked.
The stories aren’t connected. They’re all different.
Well, what should I do?
Try an internal perspective. Go read James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
OK.
And bring me another story.
OK.
January
This is too abstract, his advisor mused.
What do you mean? he asked.
This isn’t a true plot. The symbolism is too obscure.
It’s a translation of something I wrote for a German class.
You don’t want to be Kafka.
I don’t?
You need real life stories, with real people and real problems.
What should I do?
Go read Raymond Carver’s “Cathedral.”
OK.
And…
Bring you another story?
Two.
February
I think I see the problem, his advisor intuited.
What is it? he asked.
I think you need to experience more life before you can be an effective writer.
What do you mean?
You need to go out into the world and work different jobs, meet different people, move around a bit.
My thesis is due in two months.
So it is. Make sure you give your draft to me next month.
OK.
And…
Another story?
No. Just read my comments and rewrite what you have.
OK.
March
I don’t see the point of adding poetry between the stories, his advisor grumped.
Why? he pondered.
The poems interfere with the prose.
I thought you didn’t like the prose.
I would say you need to add a poetic sense to your prose.
How do I do that?
Try writing poetry. For practice.
…
And finish the rewrite of the draft by next week.
OK.
And print three copies on a laser printer. And buy three of those thesis black cover binders.
OK.
April
Well, the three of us have examined your thesis, and we decided on a grade of B+, his advisor beamed.
…
I know it’s not as high as you wanted, but I argued that the interplay of letters, poetry, and stories woven together formed an interesting kind of metadiscourse narrative depth to the thesis structure.
…
Congratulations.
Thanks.
If you like this, you might enjoy Notes from the Nineties, a book with short stories and poems (the above is the first one, and may or may not be partially based on personal experiences my senior year in college).
I’ve kept a journal (OK, a diary) for many, many years now. It first started in September 1984 as a junior high school 1st year (7th grade) English assignment — each day, we would be given a writing prompt and at the end of the 10-week term (quarterly system back then), the English teacher would look it over and write feedback.
At least, that was the idea. In mid-October my family moved to a county and school system about 60 miles away (it’s more complicated — we couldn’t move in to the new house at first and so my siblings and I were looked after by various relatives, so we didn’t go to school for about nine to ten days). The new school didn’t use journals at all. English class was boring. Grammar and sentence diagramming.
So I kept writing at home, almost on a daily basis in the beginning.
But I’ve been fairly inconsistent over the years. I filled several notebooks, all different sizes and shapes. I stopped writing in one notebook at some point in 1999 when I moved to Japan and started another one. Then some time in 2004 I decided it was a waste of paper not to finish the 1999 one. Then I filled it up and started typing in a Word file. Then I went to Montreal four years ago and started writing in paper notebooks again.
It’s, quite frankly, a great big mess.
But there are some good ideas in these notebooks, and lots and lots of bizarre poems that I swear I do not remember writing. (Also at least half a dozen attempts at “automatic writing.” If you don’t know what that is, look it up.)
So from time to time, I’ll post some bits and pieces here. Just for safe-keeping.
Who knows? I may wind up publishing some of it at some point. Or at least drop some of it into the mouths of future SciFi characters.
Yeah, minor surgery. On March 3, 2020, I had a benign tumor the size of a gum ball removed from my left shoulder.
It had been created by repeated rubbing of my shoulder bag strap on sweaty skin. Or rather on sweaty shirt over sweaty skin. I walk half an hour back and forth the train station to my workplace each morning and evening, and the summers in Kyoto are hot hot hot.
So there I was lying on a surgeon’s bed, getting my shoulder skin snipped into three pieces and pried open. My blood pressure shot up to 190 at one point. The surgeons told me to relax.
Uh. Yeah. They didn’t tell me how close the tumor was to a major artery, but I could make an educated guess.
There was a cloth screen between my face and my shoulder so that I couldn’t see what they were doing. And of course they had numbed the entire area and I couldn’t move my left arm at all.
But it was an unpleasant experience. No pain, but I could of course still hear the clip clip clipping of scissors on skin. And I have an imagination.
(Fwiw I have written a short story based on getting my wisdom teeth taken out—also with local rather than general anesthesia—though I didn’t include the factoid that my root tips shot across the room like tiny cannonballs and were never found again).
Fortunately, the surgery was successful— they even showed me the tumor (it looked like a tiny blancmange, and now you’ll have that image in your mind next time you eat one). They even asked me if if wanted to keep it (um, no thanks).
And afterwards the scar was barely visible, so good a job they did with the stitches.
Two days after the surgery, we went into lockdown and had to wear masks everywhere.
Are there things you try to practice daily to live a more sustainable lifestyle?
Now this is an interesting prompt.
1. Organic gardening
I’ve been gardening for just over ten years now. My father had an organically-grown garden for several decades, and I’ve been able to get a lot of advice from him on how to grow vegetables without using chemically-based fertilizers and pesticides/herbicides.
To be honest, sometimes the insects and the weather do get the best of the plants. But at least I know what’s in them, and I can keep the soil healthy as well.
Everything in this photo was organically grown. Well, not the bowls…
2. Composting
Part of gardening is using compost, or rotten food scraps, as fertilizer. We recycle any food left uneaten as well as the bits of vegetables that are often tossed into the garbage, things like roots, insides of peppers, the ends of beans, and of course egg shells.
Egg shells can be reused to help bushes as well, due to their calcium content. Although I have found that the shells need to be rinsed before chucking them near the stem of bushes. Otherwise we get some unwelcome animal nightlife…
3. Reuse reuse reuse
Any clothing we no longer have a use for (kids got too big, Dad spilled coffee on a favorite shirt or cooking oil on a favorite pair of shorts, a towel that frayed and is too dangerous to use…) we do one of two things:
(i) recycle with our local school’s monthly clothing pick up, or
(ii) turn it into rags that can be used to clean up spills rather than use kitchen paper towels.
We also get a lot of plastic bags — and I do mean a lot — because practically everything in Japan comes wrapped in plastic. Cookies and sweets are all wrapped individually. Vegetables are wrapped in plastic. Even meat from the store winds up in separate plastic bags (just in case they leak on the way home).
So we reuse as many of the plastic bags as possible, typically to collect household trash (especially during allergy season!). And, of course, to collect plastic, plastic bottles, cans and bottles for recycling.
4. Bath water
Like most homes in Japan, we have a pump attached to our clothes washer. Japanese are accustomed to taking evening baths (I don’t; at least, not in summer, since the water makes me sweat and then I have to take a shower all over again). The next morning, we reuse the bath water to wash clothes.
5. No AC or dryers
Strictly speaking, we do use the AC on occasion. But we designed our home to have lots of sliding doors between rooms and wide windows and balcony doors. That way, we can just open up everything and have a nice breeze come down the mountain behind us. The house stays relatively cool even during the hot sticky summer months and we can avoid using air conditioning (except when it rains and we have to close windows).
We also hang out clothing to dry to avoid using the dryer. It’s better for clothing, anyway, and in addition to not wasting electricity, lowers our utility bills.
These are just a few examples. It’s not much, but a little bit here and there adds up to a lot over time.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go throw some used egg shells under the tomato plants. 🍅 🥚
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