Gerald R. Lucas

I was going through my filing cabinet this morning looking for notes on Flaubert, and I came across a file labeled “Old Miscellany.” I couldn’t pass that up. Oh the gems I found there, including some old copies of the North River News in which I had published some angry letters; some notes from my undergraduate astronomy class; a couple of handwritten essays — probably exams — one was about poetical techniques on which was written “good essay structure, but vague content”; an 1101 research paper dated 11/30/87 about a “Security Sales Worker” — the assignment apparently was to research a career you’d be interested in, and I picked that?!; some clipped comics — probably sent by Dad; notes and feedback on a speech about genetic engineering — the feedback are on bits of scrap paper, and apparently Kip was in this class with me — one of his comments was “You stud! My nipples are hard!”; and a typed essay called “Ian Fleming and James Bond.”

The latter is the oldest and clearly shows my writing acumen from an early age. I scanned it and include it below for your reading pleasure.

Ian Fleming and James Bond

It’s not exactly MLA — the margins are way off. This was obviously a copy of the original essay because it contains not one mark of praise from Mrs. Meek. I have to say, too, that her name was likely very appropriate, as I have no distinct memory of her or her class. She might have been jealous of my obvious scholarly potential evident by this first-rate work of research; she must have sensed that my academic achievements in literary studies would soon dwarf hers. Who wouldn’t recognize the rhetorical savvy of phrases like “his popularity status”; “a chap by the name of ‘Q’ produces many technological gimmicks which assist 007 in his defense of the free world”; “Bond was made a widower through funfire” (?); and “Bond had a number of cars ranging from a gray Abstom-Martian” (I wonder if that’s anything like an Aston-Martin?).

Now that I think about it, I don’t really remember anything from the eighth grade other than perhaps awkwardly passing a note to Lucy Langlois, reading Dynamite magazine, working as Ms. Farmer’s aide, and hating to “dress out” for gym class. It’s a treat to get an artifact from my life in 1983. I can’t help but see Dad’s influence in this, too. There’s quite a bit of information on guns and cars, though surely he knows that “Abstom-Martian” is incorrect. Dad, did you even proofread this for me?

I think the most impressive part of this research paper is that it really says nothing. There doesn’t seem to be an explicit thesis — unless “James Bond is cool” is an acceptable one. I’d expect, in all seriousness, that this is pretty lame for the eighth grade. Still, I was a pretty lame eighth grader, and I continued that trend throughout high school. What grade would you give me?

That’s the first installment of “Old Miscellany.” Maybe I’ll post more.

This weekend, we went out, and I prepped for class. So, I didn’t get any writing finished. OK, that’s bull. I finished “Every You, Every Me” on Friday. It took me most of the day, and it probably should have taken me two days. Writing takes a lot out of me: to do it right takes concentration and persistence. I can usually muster about three hours of that a day before my brain turns to cheesy grits. I blew my whole creative wad for the weekend on Friday. That’s OK, since I had course prep to do, anyway. Besides Saturday was so beautiful, it was impossible to stay inside.

I have two more short story ideas lined up. One will be a quick write, I hope, maybe a couple days and not more than 2000 words. The other will be a bit longer and incorporate ideas from the first, but project them 3000 years in the future. It’ll be a good ol’ space adventure story. I’m psyched to get to both. Maybe this week, if teaching doesn’t get in the way. Autumn helped me with some awesome names last night, so I gotta get started soon.

I read much of Lawrence Lessig‘s Remix and Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange this weekend. I’m teaching both this week, though not in the same class. I’ve taught both before, and I’ve read the Burgess at least four times.

Lessig’s a smart dude, and probably the most insightful and sober voice on intellectual property today. His Remix discusses the disparity between RO (read-only, professionals) and RW (read-write, amateurs) culture: copyright laws favor the former and criminalize the latter. For no good reason. He supports and sees the value of both types, and argues that both need to be protected. However, the way current copyright law is written, it supports an old fashioned economy based on dead media — you know, the tape deck or VCR collecting dust in your attic. Laws that governed copies were easy to enforce in a world where technology made it difficult if not impossible to copy. This has changed, but copyright has not. Therefore, we are criminalizing a generation of copiers, remixers, and computer users — amateur RW culture. Lessig’s a moderate in his thinking, so he should appeal to most thoughtful readers.

A Clockwork Orange is a postmodern classic about choosing to do the right (or wrong) things, being young, and learning the importance of community, morality, and expression. Its appeal for me lies in its proto-cyberpunk style: it’s gritty, unapologetic, and ultraviolent, with plenty of the old in-out-in-out. It’s also a cautionary tale of youth and its relationship to the larger social order, about growing up and ultimately choosing to be a responsible member of society. Burgess’ novel ends on an optimistic note (perhaps it was the influence of the 60s when it was written?): Alec grows up. Famously, that’s where Kubrick differed with Burgess and why the film is ultimately more sinister: Alec doesn’t grow up. The monster is free again at the end, making Kubrick’s vision much more pessimistic. For Burgess, redemption is possible; for Kubrick, maybe not.

We were able to hang out on the porch Saturday night, something Autumn and I have not done together in a while. Saturday was a beautiful spring day, and Dan and Monica invited us over for a few drinks and some conversation. Creighton was there, and I even go to see Anna (more on her soon). We had a great time; we need to do this more often, especially now that the weather is getting nice.

The weekend saw some tragic news, too. A colleague-friend’s son passed this weekend. When an unexpected death occurs, we are all left looking for answers, shocked that we’re ultimately so fragile and helpless. My heart goes out to her and her family. I just wish there was more I could do. I’d even say a prayer if I thought it would do any good at all. I could quote some poetry or say something inspirational, but ultimately death comes down to silence, confusion, and impotence. I’m so sorry.

Burgess’ novel constantly asks “What’s it going to be then, eh?” He means to prod us into answering — into moving — into making a bloody choice. The responsibility is in our hands, ultimately. Yeah, it’s a shitty world sometimes, but as long as we have hands, a heart, and a brain, we must act — keep moving. Even if we do the wrong thing. We can blame others, society, even the gods, but, like Oedipus learns: Apollo ordained his fate, but it was his hands that finally fulfilled it.

That’s a good question to ask at the beginning of each day: “What’s it gonna be then, eh?”

Writing used to be a chore. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still challenging, but it’s like anything else worth doing: you must practice in order to develop, hone, and maintain your edge. I’ve been doing pretty well lately keeping up with my practice. I set myself a challenge of writing at least 750 words a day when I was insomniac one night, and I’ve been doing pretty well since.

Read the rest of this entry on Big Jelly.

The rain’s been keeping me inside. Not that staying inside is a bad thing, necessarily. Autumn spent yesterday with her family in Warner Robins, and I made some 15-bean soup, worked on some photos from last weekend’s wedding, read some of McDevitt’s Time Travelers Never Die, finished the crappy bourbon I bought last week, and wrote.

Autumn and I bought a pressure cooker a couple of weeks ago. It’s turned out to be one of the best kitchen purchases we’ve ever made. Put everything in the pot, and you have soup, beans, risotto, whatever in fifteen minutes. I made a split pea soup two days ago that would likely stand up to any soup I’ve ever made. Yesterday’s bean soup is good, but the cupboards were bare. It turned out to be one of those random concoctions: you know, when you collect all the ingredients that you have left, just so you can get rid of them before they go south. I had a bag-o’-beans replete with “Cajun” seasoning packet, a can of tomato sauce, a yellow onion, two small carrots, two larger celery stalks, hot sauce, and water. I put in garlic powder, basil, thyme, a couple of bay leaves, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper. I let the pressure cooker do its thing. I missed the fresh garlic. We always have fresh garlic around the house, so when we’re out, I know it’s time to go to the store.

We’re also out of booze. I stopped in the Depot Package Store on Pio Nono last week to pick up some Maker’s Mark. I’ve been drinking good bourbon lately for a couple of reasons. One, I love beer; however, I’m trying not to take in any extra calories these days, and beer’s loaded with those. Two, I can sip a good bourbon over ice for a while. It’s tasty and not hasty. One glass warms me up, so a small bottle of Maker’s will last me a while. I usually keep Evan Williams around when I’m craving Manhattans.

My regular liquor store is on Vineville near Moe’s, but a train was blocking my way that day. I’m not sure what it was doing, but I had to turn around and take a back road down to Pio Nono. I was too lazy and tired to backtrack up Vineville in 5 o’clock traffic, so I stopped at the Depot Package Store. Either the place had been burgled, or they were going out of business. The shelves were empty, particularly in the bourbon section. They had no Maker’s, nor did they have any Evan. They had plenty of that watery Canadian whiskey, but none my usuals from Kentucky. The dude at the counter watched me stare at the empty aisle: “Can I help you?”

“Do you have any Maker’s?”

“Nerp. Only what you see.”

Hm. They had a small section of small-batch bourbons. I’ve always had mixed luck with these, but I chose one that was not too expensive. Elijah Craig. A Kentucky Jew? It looked a bit darker than I’m used to, but I don’t discriminate based on color. Besides a 12-year-old, small batch whiskey should be fine.

“What’s up with no Maker’s,” I asked at the register. “You guys shutting down?”

The attendant shook his head: “The owner’s cuttin’ back.”

“Cutting way back, I guess, if there’s no Maker’s or Evan.”

“Twenty-one, nineteen, sir.”

Elijah turned out to be a bit too smoky and oaky for my taste. At least now I can go back to Maker’s by not going back to the Depot Package Store and its enthusiastic attendant.

Last weekend, Autumn and I photographed the wedding of a young couple. Rudy is the son of a colleague of Autumn’s, so my wife got us this gig. We spent over six hours with Rudy, Christian, and their friends and family on Friday and Saturday, snapping about 1200 photos. Since Sunday, I’ve post-processed about half. My deadline is Sunday; I’d like to have all the photos posted before I go back to class next week. Out of the 1200, I’ll post the best 250 for them to look at. Then, I’ll create their album and video. Some of the shots came out  very well. I’ll have examples posted on my photog site in a couple of days.

I also want to finish reading Time Travelers by Monday. I’ve been into McDevitt’s work for a couple of weeks now. He was such a nice guy at the Crossroads: very generous to spend time with me. In fact, listening to him speak inspired me. Not only am I keeping up with my blogging — thanks for the positive feedback, everyone — but I’ve decided to try my hand at writing science fiction.

I’ve begun outlining what will likely be two novels. I also have two solid plots for short stories. I even started writing one last night. I’m pretty excited about this, so much so, I couldn’t sleep. I hope to have my first ever sf short story done by the end of the weekend!

Who says rainy days aren’t good for anything?

I hate when I can’t sleep. It seems like it happens more frequently these days. I can usually feel it coming on, too. I lay in bed, earplugs securely in, and a random thought occurs like, am I sure my second session class begins on Thursday, and not today? Maybe I missed it? As my mind works, I can actually hear my heart begin to beat faster as my breathing gets shallow and rapid. One thought invariably leads to another; my anxiety rises, forcing my eyes open. To me, it sounds like my breathing and heartbeat are as loud as a percussion section in a Tchaikovsky symphony. Nothing to do but go to the couch.

Nothing like a distraction to help cure insomnia. The web is full of distractions. What’ll it be first? Facebook? Flickr? Maybe I’ll just go through my neglected RSS feeds. I start from left to right.

Facebook is the new high school. I was never that popular in high school, nor am I popular on Facebook. Some of my friends 249 “friends” are — you know, the ones who were popular in high school. I like when I post a link to a political story or an interesting photo or a funny YouTube video, I rarely get a response. Yet, one of the populars posts the same damn thing, and people seem to fall over themselves to be the first to offer a bon mot, a snarky response, or some other slithering obsequiousness. Facebook changes its interface every three days, too. You’d think this would be for the better, but it usually amounts to what the campus IT guys call an “upgrade” — you know, something that helps them as administrators but makes the system worse for its users.

Flickr is not much better. I have less “friends” on Flickr, and they are a more gregarious community. However, the “photographers” who seem to get the most attention are the ones who post pictures of their lovely lady lumps. I might even go so far as to say that the most popular photogs on Flickr are young women self-portrait artists who don’t mind showing their boobs. They don’t even have to be good photographers to get a lot of comments. My favorites are the ones who try to analyze a technical proficiency that’s not there: “Excellent composition and attention to details.” What they really mean is “Nice boobies!” Even serious photogs turn into Beavis and Butthead when boobs are involved. Yours truly is no exception. Flickr used to be about growing as a photographer; now it’s about looking at boobs.

One could learn a lot about me by seeing my RSS feeds. I use Fever as my reader of choice, installed at Jhary.com. Fever allows me to prioritize my feeds into “kindling” and “sparks”; the former are the essential sites I want to read, while the latter are supplemental and only influence what’s hot — i.e., what’s being talked about the most on all my feeds. While it’s expensive, I’ve been using Fever for almost a year now.

I usually begin my RSS perusal with technology news, like what’s up with Apple and Ubuntu. Since the iPad is coming out at the end of the month, it’s interesting to see what the lovers and haters have to say. There are plenty of both offering praise and condemnation for a device that hasn’t even come out yet. It looks like it might be bigger than the iPhone. I usually include Boing Boing, Slashdot, and LifeHacker as part of my tech browsing.

From tech, I look to photography, from Canon rumors and new equipment to advice about being a better photog to equipment reviews. Next, if I’m still awake, I check out what my favorite car company — Mini — is up to on Motoring File, and I might look at a couple of motorcycling feeds.

Yes, I have feeds on politics, arts, literature, and other news, but I generally don’t read these when I’m trying to fight off insomnia.

Last night I found something interesting on LifeHacker: 750 Words Clears Your Mind. It suggests a simple site, 750 Words, that encourages you to write 750 words a day. Now, I gotta say, I’m prime for this suggestion, having just met some great writers at the Crossroads Writers Conference, like Jack McDevitt. Now, I’ve never fooled myself into believing I was a writer, especially a creative one. Yes, I took a creative writing class as an undergrad, making Dr. Cole suffer through all my awful sonnets and short stories, but the only thing I really learned is that I’ll likely never write a novel. Still, it is a dream of mine. I’d love to write a series of science fiction novels.

Thsi is where 750 Words comes in: “The idea is that if you can get in the habit of writing three pages a day, that it will help clear your mind and get the ideas flowing for the rest of the day.” Well, the 750 Words web site is not taking any new accounts at the moment, but this entry is my first — up over 800 words by now. When I asked Jack McDevitt how many pages he writes a day, he told me six, about 1500 words. But, he’s a real, working novelist.

Maybe if I just get in the habit of writing, I can get better? At least it will give me something productive to do when I’m insomniac.

My second presentation via SlideShare. It was recorded live on 9/11/07 in my 12:30 ENGL 1101 class. Enjoy!

This presentation is the first in a series for English Composition 1. It is intended to introduce new college students to college-level writing. It was recorded live on August 27, 2007. It’s the first of several more to come.