Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 265

Heather Heyer: Patriot and hero of the first order

Her name was Heather Heyer.

She died when a car with an Ohio license plate rammed into a crowd near Charlottesville's downtown mall after the rally at the city park was dispersed. Heyer was one of the counter-protesters marching in jubilation near the mall after the white nationalists dispersed from the scene.

Heather Heyer went to Charlottesville to stand against torch-wielding, gun-toting, Nazi flag flying white supremacists who were there to protest the city's decision to remove a statue of Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee from the Emancipation Park.

Now we know whose statue should replace the traitor and racist Robert E. Lee: 

Heather Heyer, an American patriot and hero who stood against hate, intolerance and violence, and paid the ultimate sacrifice so our country could be free and safe for all. 

A restroom sign need not indicate the activity that takes place therein.

I'm a huge fan of clever restroom signage (and clever signs in general), but this one (found in Bethesda, Maryland) is not clever and is too explicit for me. 

It's stupid, and I hate stupid.

Teachers: Writers never write one thing at a time. Stop ruining children.

When asked how to combat writer's block, my answer is always the same:

If you have writer's block, you don't have enough writing projects. 

My list of writing projects currently includes:

A novel under contractA nonfiction book under contractA middle grade novel under contractA piece for Parents magazineA piece for Seasons magazineA picture bookA letter to my fatherA daily blog postA screenplay

How could I possibly suffer from writer's block with this many projects underway. Stuck on one? Move to another.

While teaching a group of about 30 middle and high school students this summer, one of the students asked if it would be okay if she started something new.

"Of course," I said. "But why are you asking me for permission?"

The young lady explained that her teachers insist that she and her classmates finish one writing project before moving onto the next. 

"That's crazy," I said. 

"My teacher does the same thing," another student said.

"Me, too," said another.

My head hit the desk. More than three-quarters of the students reported suffering from similar restrictions, which is, of course, stupid.

I know many writers, but I have yet to meet a single one who is only working on one project. While my list of projects is admittedly longer than most, every writer has at least one project on the side, oftentimes in another genre. 

I can't imagine telling a writer who is suddenly excited about a new idea to finish their current project before trying something new. That is truly one of the stupidest teaching decisions I can imagine. 

There's nothing wrong with deadlines.

"I need that essay done by the end of the month."
"You must hand in three poems by Wednesday."
"Your research paper is due at the end of March."

But to expect that students will work on that one project until the due date is an outstanding way to kill any love that students will develop for writing. It places classroom management ahead of creativity, choice, executive functioning, and an authentic writing process.

I've said it before:

Not enough teachers write. Teachers require students to write persuasive essays, even though most teachers haven't written a persuasive essay in a decade or more. Teachers require students to write fiction, even though most teachers haven't written fiction since they were children. Teachers expect students to write research papers, when those teachers last wrote their own research paper in college.

When it comes to writing, we have an army of educators who are teaching something they never do. Even worse, in many cases, it's something they don't like to do. 

If you never do it in real life, can you expect to teach it to novices?

If teachers were writing, they would understand the need to have multiple projects in a writer's life. They would understand the insatiable excitement of a new idea. The need to turn away from a project when enthusiasm wanes. The ability for writers to manage more than one writing project at a time.  

I felt so much sympathy for the two dozen or so students who said that they would returning to classrooms in the fall where they could only write one thing at a time. I told them to rise up. Declare their writing independence. Insist that their needs be met. Demand to be treated like writers. 

I also gave them my phone number. "If your rebellion fails, tell your teacher to call me. I'll see what I can do." 

I'm expecting a lot of phone calls.

A note on meetings

September approaches. Teachers return to work. College students leave home. Perhaps your starting a new project at your firm. 

For many, meetings and classes will commence shortly. One reminder:

"Gosh, I really hope we open this meeting with an ice breaker," said no human being ever.  

Genital usage restrictions must be adhered to at all times

It's kind of crazy that huge swaths of Americans study an ancient, religious tome, ignore an enormous number of its rules, but obsess over the ones about how and where to use penises and vaginas.

Right?

So many jokes. Such little ears.

Elysha and I brought the kids to Action Safari this weekend. Stretching the meaning of the words "action" and "safari," this attraction features a taxidermy museum that made me sad.

Even worse than the enormous number of stuffed animals was the moment Clara called out, "Daddy, what's a dik dik?"

You can imagine my confusion. 

It turns out that Clara was reading a plaque about an African antelope called a dik dik. 

Sadly, no adult was present to take pleasure in the enormous number of jokes that filled my brain, just waiting to spill out.

Last night, as Charlie was getting out of the bathtub, he looked down at his chest and apparently noticed his nipples for the first time. 

"What are these?" he asked, pointing.

"Nipples," I said. 

"What are they for?" he asked.

Once again, no adult was present for the flood of jokes that filled my mind, desperate to escape.

The right audience is everything.

Disconnect the easy way.

I played golf yesterday morning my two friends, Andrew and Plato. 

The sky was blue. The sun was low in the sky. The greens were still sparkling with dew. 

We walked and swung and talked about our kids and the way we had spent our week apart. We told stories. Ribbed one another. Laughed a lot. 

On the fourteenth hole, Andrew hit a chip that rolled into his own putter, which is had errantly placed on the green, costing him a two shot penalty and the lead.

First time I'd ever seen that happen. He took it well.

Plato lost a ball in the high grass on the seventeenth hole, handing the lead back to Andrew. 

On the last hole, Plato holed a 20 foot chip to win by one stroke. Plato punched his fist into the air, knowing he had probably just won the match. Andrew had a chance to tie with a long putt, but he left it short. 

I was a non-factor, having put five balls into four different ponds along the way.     

Here is one of the beauties of golf:

When was the last time you spent nearly three hours with friends and didn't look at your phone?

When was the last time you took a three hour walk with friends and didn't receive a call, answer a text message, or check email?

When was the last time you took a walk with friends and experienced moments you will never forget?

People are rather fond of championing the many ways to disconnect from the phone and the Internet. They love professing the value of being "in the moment." There are programs that will force your computer or phone off the Internet for designated periods of time to avoid the temptation of being connected.

I'm personally a fan of avoiding temptation by avoiding temptation, but if someone needs to tie their own hands by their back to stop themselves from clicking their device, so be it.  

Or maybe just play golf. It's a frustrating, inexplicable, seemingly impossible game to play, made more than tolerable by the fact it is played with friends between grass and sky, absent of life's technological distractions.

Just listen to this. Please.

I can't recommend this episode of StoryCorps enough. 

Entitled "No Barrier for Love," it features immigrants talking about what’s important to them — from falling in love to feeling like they do or don’t belong, memories of how they made their way to this country, and what they found when they arrived here.

It's really so much more. 

It's 16 minutes long and worth every second. 

It's also important for people to hear. Too many Americans misunderstand immigration on an economic, humanitarian, and historical level.

Too many stupid white men in the White House have embraced nationalism and racism over common sense, basic economic principles, demographics, patriotism, and basic human decency.      

My children will be listening to this episode soon, and in September, my students will be listening to it, too.

You should listen now. Then pass it along. 

Not unisex. Omnisex.

Like me, my friend, Charles, agrees with the implementation of unisex restrooms but makes an excellent point about the naming of these spaces. 

Shouldn't they be called omni-sex restrooms?

"Uni" is a prefix meaning "one, or having or consisting of one. 

"Omni" is a prefix meaning "all, of all things."

He's right. 

A unisex restroom is intended for all people, and yet the name we currently use implies that it is for only one person. 

All gender restroom works, too, but definitely not unisex.

Someone go fix this. Okay?

Commitment, persistence, and practice can look a lot like talent. Don't be fooled.

I love this video so much.

I love this guy so much. If I owned a company - any company - and was hiring, this is the person who I would hire. 

So much of life comes down to grit. Persistence. Commitment. Tenaciousness. Practice. Yet so few often seem to be willing to put in the time.

I write novels. Though some may argue this requires a certain degree of talent, I would argue that the most important attribute I possess is the willingness to commit my ass to a chair for a long period of time.

Truthfully, I believe that it's been my willingness to sit in a relentless, non-precious, non-idealized way for an incredibly long period of time that has led me to my writing career. 

I started writing in late November of 1988 when I was 17 years-old, and it is not an exaggeration to say that I have written every single day of my life since then.

I have not missed a day.

Wedding day. Birth of my children. Death of my mother. Pneumonias. Honeymoon. Vacation. Concussions. Homelessness.

I have not missed a day. 

When I was younger, I wrote in journals. I wrote letters. Short stories, Newsletters. Poems. Zines. Dungeons & Dragons adventures. Comics. My classmate's term papers (my first paid writing gig). 

In 1990 I began blogging on an early version of the Internet known as a Bulletin Board System.

In 2004 I took a graduate level class on blogging and began blogging regularly, first at a blog entitled Perpetual Perpetuity, and then Conform Me Not, and now here. Since 2004, I have not missed a day.  

I started writing at the age of 17. I published my first novel at the age of 39.

Talent? It took me 22 years of constant, consistent, relentless daily practice before any publisher was interested in my work. Maybe I'm a talented writer, or maybe I simply forged myself through hard work into someone who looks like a talented writer.