Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Summer and the Public Sphere
A blog is a good place to interact with others in a public sphere. That's why I'm asking my students to create a blog for my class this summer where they can reflect on the readings we are doing for the class. I'll add to this later, as we get closer to the start of class on June 9.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
On Audience Awareness
"Experience," our life experiences that become our "reality," could very well limit our awareness of our audience without our being aware of it. Experience, in this way, can actually delude writers into thinking they hold the truth in their hands as they write. Writers have to consider the ways experience may actually inhibit writing effectively for readers, if the aim is to come together with the reader in some way.
To have some sense of the way experience can delude us, it is useful to keep a journal, one in which we write candidly to ourselves over time. Later, after the passage of time, we can then read what we wrote and have a sense of what a reader may feel meeting up with us in this way, as a stranger might.
The strangeness, the disconnect between our current self and the author of the text we are reading--our past self--rises to the surface. We come to discover that we have changed over time, and, with this change, our sense of what is real. The angst of the past is nearly foreign to us; we hardly recall the events and the people we so passionately composed on that once-fresh page. And we are surprised to see ourselves engaged in activities that we have long forgotten. At the same time, a delight can come back to us nearly as fresh as though we were experiencing it for the first time.
It's simply amazing.
In this new experience of the "later reading," the disconnect between our past and our present sense of reality becomes evident. The experience should, in some sense, shake our resolve in the idea that we know things "for sure."
The distance from our past experiences, our past sense of reality, helps us to empathize with the audience we want to move. It shakes our resolve to cling to the idea that our experiences are somehow a universal reality to be taken for granted and intimates how these experiences can sometimes prevent us from connecting with our readers.
To have some sense of the way experience can delude us, it is useful to keep a journal, one in which we write candidly to ourselves over time. Later, after the passage of time, we can then read what we wrote and have a sense of what a reader may feel meeting up with us in this way, as a stranger might.
The strangeness, the disconnect between our current self and the author of the text we are reading--our past self--rises to the surface. We come to discover that we have changed over time, and, with this change, our sense of what is real. The angst of the past is nearly foreign to us; we hardly recall the events and the people we so passionately composed on that once-fresh page. And we are surprised to see ourselves engaged in activities that we have long forgotten. At the same time, a delight can come back to us nearly as fresh as though we were experiencing it for the first time.
It's simply amazing.
In this new experience of the "later reading," the disconnect between our past and our present sense of reality becomes evident. The experience should, in some sense, shake our resolve in the idea that we know things "for sure."
The distance from our past experiences, our past sense of reality, helps us to empathize with the audience we want to move. It shakes our resolve to cling to the idea that our experiences are somehow a universal reality to be taken for granted and intimates how these experiences can sometimes prevent us from connecting with our readers.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Side note on Walker Percy
For me, having the opportunity to share something Walker Percy wrote with my students is a special thing. "The Loss of the Creature" is an essay I really like. I can identify with Percy's discussion of sovereignty. In a sense, I tried to "recover the creature" as a student in a Walker Percy seminar, when I was working on my MA in English. This was before Percy's death in 1990.
In the class, we were reading all of Percy's novels, and the teacher said that the author was tough to study, because we had no authorized biography of him at that time. Percy was a very private person.
I guess I was a bit braver in those days than I am now, so I did a little research and found Percy's address for his home in Mississippi. I wrote him a letter and asked if he had ever though about letting someone write about him. I'm a bit embarrasses to admit it, but I sort of offered my writing services before I signed off. With much trepidation, I sent the letter, comforting myself with the thought that he would probably throw my query away with his junk mail.
In a few weeks, I was surprised and excited to see that I had a handwritten letter from Percy--such a scrawl you've never seen. He was very polite, but he said he was not particularly interested in using his time to work with a biographer, although he said he thought I might do a pretty go job if given the chance to undertake the task.
No graduate student has ever been more full of pride than I was when I went back to class with that letter. I'd not read "The Loss of the Creature" at the time I wrote Percy, but I can understand a bit more easily after having this experience how important it is to fight educational "packaging" and assume sovereignty over your own learning experiences.
I did write to Percy a couple of more times, and he always sent me a reply. He was truly a nice man. If I were to write a biography of him, I'd have to include that.
In the class, we were reading all of Percy's novels, and the teacher said that the author was tough to study, because we had no authorized biography of him at that time. Percy was a very private person.
I guess I was a bit braver in those days than I am now, so I did a little research and found Percy's address for his home in Mississippi. I wrote him a letter and asked if he had ever though about letting someone write about him. I'm a bit embarrasses to admit it, but I sort of offered my writing services before I signed off. With much trepidation, I sent the letter, comforting myself with the thought that he would probably throw my query away with his junk mail.
In a few weeks, I was surprised and excited to see that I had a handwritten letter from Percy--such a scrawl you've never seen. He was very polite, but he said he was not particularly interested in using his time to work with a biographer, although he said he thought I might do a pretty go job if given the chance to undertake the task.
No graduate student has ever been more full of pride than I was when I went back to class with that letter. I'd not read "The Loss of the Creature" at the time I wrote Percy, but I can understand a bit more easily after having this experience how important it is to fight educational "packaging" and assume sovereignty over your own learning experiences.
I did write to Percy a couple of more times, and he always sent me a reply. He was truly a nice man. If I were to write a biography of him, I'd have to include that.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
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