R. Patrick Hughes's Blog, page 8

What it's like being a retiree taking college classes with teenagers.

I'm into my second year of art classes (I take one class a semester; this is my third class) at the University of North Florida. The first two classes (Drawing I and Drawing II) were taken in the evenings, and I was not the only older person enrolled in them, so I didn't feel out of place. But this class (Two Dimensional Design) is a day class, and I'm the only older person in it. Even the instructor Laura Colomb is much younger than me. This is the first class in which I've felt out of place.

I'm pretty amazed by the young people around me. Some of them are clueless about their lives, like elementary school children. They are smart. The requirements for enrolling at UNF are stiff. Yet, some of them seem like they'd rather be doing something else, like texting on their i-phones. Some of them miss classes or don't do the required work. When the teacher says that, if you miss the class critique you're automatically dropped two letter grades on the assignment, and several of the students don't show up, I wonder why. They probably didn't do the assignments and stayed away. Some of these students just don't have their priorities in the proper order.

Some of these students are pretty darn good artists already. Seriously, they don't need this elementary art class, but it's a requirement (I think) for the program. It's a good class. It's foundational to the various art majors. Maybe some of the students are bored by it (but none of them seem bored). Some of the students seem to have trouble staying awake. I think back to my college years and wonder if I was so sleepy in my classes. Maybe they're overwhelmed by the amount of work they have to do in all their classes. Or maybe they're tired from staying up late partying.

I had quite a bit of interaction with the students in the first two classes. In this class, I've tried to strike up conversation with one or two of them. It just doesn't go very far. They talk to each other okay. But I think they see me as an outsider. I don't think they object to me being there. They are friendly all the time. But what can we possibly have in common? Of course, we have the art class in common, and we do discuss our art work to some degree. But that's about it.

Here's the thing, though, because I'm so much older than them, I feel that I should be a model student. I want to mentor them in some way. I want to reach out to them and help them. Of course, most of them do not need my help. But maybe one or two I could help. But, we don't talk. So I pretty much stick to myself and my work. Maybe that's the way it should be.

Reverting to my childhood?

I have been reading young adult/children's literature lately: Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and now James and the Giant Peach. Why? I want to see what makes for classic children's literature, what children/young adults are reading. I've checked out from the library Deenie and tales of a fourth grade nothing by Judy Blume and a few more recently written YA books. Hopefully, I'll be able to read them. Who knows, maybe they'll tickle my inspiration.

Back in the 1970s I read a book Growing Young by Ashley Montigu. He cited studies that show how as we grow older we become more like children again. I was greatly impressed by the book and read it several times. Now, as I'm growing older, I see it happening in myself. I'm not unhappy about it; in fact, I think it's kind of neat. So, maybe this has something to do with my reading YA. When I was a child/adolescent I never read books. So, I missed all of these good children's books. Reading them now, and finding them somewhat interesting, is a pleasant surprise. And, yes, in the back of my mind I'm thinking "maybe I can do this, write children's books." I'm not sure it will ever happen, but it does offer me a semblance of hope.

Summer is gradually coming to an end. Is my writing?

I like summertime. It's a chance to swim in the pool on hot days. It's a chance to swim at the beach. Many plants flower during the summer. And I've had a good summer. My daughter, who moved to Georgia from Florida a year ago, has moved back. I had my three grandchildren around me for much of the summer. I painted in the hot garage almost everyday, my grandchildren right around me, also drawing, coloring, and painting. They produced many masterpieces, which are hanging on my garage walls. But it was hot in that garage. I came inside the air-conditioned house, sweat dripping off me, my shirt soaked. And I didn't mind it at all. The grandchildren are back in school now, so I have more free time. I'll be signing up for another drawing class, which starts next week.

The one thing I didn't do this summer was write. I wrote hardly a word of fiction. It was a thinking, reading, and wondering kind of summer. To be honest, the wondering has been about whether I'll continue trying to write fiction or give it up. My characters used to live inside my head; I temporarily became each character, feeling their feelings, thinking their thoughts; I became a different person for a while (actually, many different people), which is an amazing, emotionally satisfying kind of experience. That doesn't happen anymore. I don't become my characters. I'm not sure which is the mental illness: being able to become someone else, or not being able to become someone else. This is a serious issue. Not being able to become someone else leaves me with nothing to write about. I feel as if there's no life in what I'm writing. And, if there's no life in it, what's the point? This is what I'll be trying to figure out this fall, whether there's a reason to write anymore.

How many "sexy" books can we read?

One thing I've noticed through my blogging/FB/Twitter, blah, blah, blah, is the abundance of books that have "sexy" as part of their description. By "sexy" I believe the blurb is saying that there is a good deal of overt sexual activity that takes place in the book. The question of whether the sex is an integral and necessary part of the plot probably isn't important; it's the fact that it's there, and probably in abundance, that is important. The assumption is that sex sells, that readers want a good dose of sex with their books.

I wonder if this "sexy" aspect is important as a marketing ploy.

Do you write sex into your novels just because it adds to the book, maybe even making an ordinary or so-so book more attractive? Do you include it just because you feel it's a requisite of books today?

I think many of us writers do believe it's needed, and we add it for the extra oomph we feel it gives our books.

What do you think?

Having Nothing To Say

It's somewhat baffling to me that lately I have nothing to say. I could post stuff just to be posting, and there's nothing wrong with that if it accomplishes what you want with your blog. But I don't find that appealing. That's just work, possibly without inspiration. I'm used to writing from my emotions and deeper thought processes. So, what does this mean? Have my emotions and deeper thought processes dried up? I don't know. I only know that I have nothing to say right now (although, ironically, I'm saying something right now, but I think you know what I mean).

What does this mean for my blog? Is my desire to blog dying? I don't think so. I still read a lot of blogs, or at least take a look at them. But truthfully, I've read enough author interviews to know that we're all experiencing the same things. Some authors succeed while others struggle on. I don't think I'll learn a whole lot new by reading more author interviews.

I've read quite a few book reviews. But they're usually not books I would ever read. I've attempted to read some of the books that I read about that were highly praised, but usually couldn't get past the first few pages. Of course, there are some successes, that is, some books that did capture my interest and I read them all the way. So I usually don't read book reviews on blogs. (Goodreads is a different story.)

I've  read enough "Should I Give Up?" posts. Of course, we should never give up. (And the truth is, maybe some of us should give up and move on with our lives.)

To be honest, I've done no fiction writing for several months. I think this is probably why I'm not writing so many blog posts: I'm not sure that I'm still a writer. I wonder sometimes if I'm one of those people who should just give up and move on with my life? The desire to write is still there, but, like my blog posts, I've always written from my emotions and deeper thought processes, and they seem to have disappeared. So I could just write to be writing, but I'm not sure it would be satisfying.

My blog reflects my writing life in general. Fortunately, I've been doing quite a bit of art work. That's something I find interesting, even fascinating. So I still have an interest in creativity, still exercising it to a good extent.

This is one of those posts that writes itself. I'm just along for the ride. I hope you're still enjoying the writing process. I hope you succeed. I'll be waiting to hear about your success.

Organizing Social Media Sites

We're almost all suffering from social media overload. I know I am.

I'm more or less organically organizing my social media like this.

I'm keeping Facebook for family and friends now. I'm not adding writer friends anymore.

I'm using my blog primarily for writing and some art and general info that comes my way.

I'm using Bloglovin' for keeping up with my writer friends.

I'm using Google+ primarily for art; I have some writing friends on there, but I doubt I'll add any more.

There is some blending, but it can't be avoided, I guess.

I don't do anything hardly at all on Twitter. I've yet to see anything on Twitter that I give a damn about. It's mostly people pushing something. In my case, it's their books or their editorial services. Oh yeah, there are girls pushing their bodies (or pictures thereof); for a price, I suppose.

There are many other things that I just don't bother with anymore. No time, and they don't seem to help me in my life, anyway.

I've come into this organization (by default, I suppose) in the past week or two. We'll see how it goes. Social media is not living your life. It has it's usefulness. But it has to be in the background of your life. Your actual daily living comes first, way first.

That's my take on it.

Goodbye, Columbus, The Quintessential Movie of My Generation

[Goodbye, Columbus, movie review]

I've certainly not seen every movie made during my years of living, so someday I may feel differently but, for now, Goodbye, Columbus is the quintessential movie of my generation. Nothing I've seen with John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Sean Connery, or any other actor comes close to qualifying. Their movies are genre movies for the most part and do not reflect the essence of my generation's cultural concerns. Goodbye, Columbus does so in spades.

Goodbye, Columbus works on several levels. It portrays the American version of the class system. It reflects my generation's concern with authenticity. It asks the question "Who's responsible for birth control?" It even dips into racial relations. And it all works together brilliantly. The movie is a close version of the novella by Philip Roth, a story I read and reread several times in my youth.

In some ways it's stereotypical: the frivolous rich versus the  self-conscious middle class. But the psychological precision of the conflict between Neil and Brenda, who "love" each other, raises it to a universal level. These are two people who love each other for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps they don't really know what love is.

And which person is responsible for birth control, the man or the woman?  This is not an irrelevant question even today. I think today, we'd say both are responsible, but back then it was assumed that the woman would be. The pill had liberated women and given them control. So it was their responsibility. At least that the way it was in the early years. In reality, it still may be so.

Pilgrimage: Our Lives Are Not Fixed Until the End

I recently finished reading the travel book A Sense of Direction, Pilgrimage for the Restless and the Hopeful, by Gideon Lewis-Kraus, a most interesting one. I'm taken by one paragraph that seems to say a lot about pilgrimage and life in general.

"There is no such thing as knowing, once and for all, where you stand with someone. Life has no fixed points. But pilgrimage does; that is the point. And the fixed points of a pilgrimage allow people to exist for each other in motion."

Life is constant motion. Two people, or even a group of people, can never be doing anything but meeting each other in motion. We're either moving toward each other, away from each other, or walking together in the same direction. Even when we meet, it's only a temporary meeting. We can never know each other except as fleeting, perhaps even elusive, beings.

If we buy into the concept that life itself is a pilgrimage, then we learn to live as if we're on an adventure, a journey, along with other people. Yes, our lives have a beginning, a middle, an ending. It may even be scripted out in advance without our knowing the script. So we're discovering ourselves all the time on our pilgrimage, our journey through life. There is no one event, no one experience, no one moment that defines us. We're constantly being defined by our journey. We're constantly discovering who we are.

Of course, we need to realize that our fellow human beings are also on a pilgrimage, one that may or may not coincide with ours. We need to honor that in each other. We're all still discovering who we are, and will be until the end.

Painting: what it's teaching me about writing

Untitled (Oil pastel on paper) approx. 7.5 x 10.5 inches


I'll make no bones about it. I love drawing and painting. I'm loving it more and more everyday. I feel alive when I'm painting, more so than in most other activities. Even writing. But the desire to write is still within me, and what I'm re-discovering is that like painting--painting what excites and interests me--writing also needs to be based on what excites and interests me. Trying to write for the market just hasn't worked for me. I just cannot write to a formula, at least, not well. I need to return to the way I wrote maybe fifteen years ago, or earlier. Write what moves me and seems important to me, not necessarily what moves and is important to other people, which is most likely a prescription for not getting published. But, I want to be in love with writing again. I want to be passionate about it once again. Hopefully, I'm moving in that direction.


Untitled (Oil pastel on paper) approx. 7.5 x 10.5 inches

Herbivore, Mon Amour

I've chosen the title for my painting (). I like all the suggestions. Herbivore by itself didn't work for me, but with the add on it did; I like the rhyme and the "meaning". Thank you all for your suggestions. I think I'll seek your help in the future.