Last unplanned day of summer...

Summer is waning. I struggle to hold on to my optimism as I stare another school year straight in the face. This has become a routine over the last couple of years. Gone is the excitement I used to feel about the first day of school. Instead, it's been replaced with work and maybe a few I-hope-I-don't-suck butterflies. In some ways, I'm okay with this transition. Until I think of all those first-essays-of-the-year I'll be reading in a little over two weeks.

I feel queasy.

But it won't last long. Just like summer. Today is my last day of nothing-planned vacation. Except I've already planned things, made a mental to-do list just like every other day of my life. It includes weeding the garden, washing the dishes, folding laundry, and cleaning the bathroom. I'll get myself to the gym sometime today too and go buy a gift for my friend Kari's baby shower this weekend.

That's what my summer has deteriorated to. A list of things. Always incomplete.

I feel the pull. The evenings are cooler. The spiders are filling up my backyard. The days flip by. I am some weird migratory bird. I might not feel the excitement, but habit is pulling me back.

I can only hope the magic of learning will once again enchant me.

Accordion to me....you SUCK!

Who brings their accordion camping AND proceeds to play it for 6+ hours in their campsite? I'll tell you who - Crazy Ladies.

We'd just returned from a nice afternoon at the Wickiup Reservoir beach and were welcomed back by the most obnoxious music I'd ever heard in a campground. It was worse than rap and country combined. I tried to ignore it as well as I could - after all, nobody could play an accordion all afternoon, right? But no. I couldn't read. I couldn't relax. All I could do was sit there seething throughout the two hour concert we were subjected to.

I just about lost my marbles when she picked it up again an hour or two later. But what do you do? Technically people have the right to enjoy their camping experience as they see fit. It angered me to no end knowing that Crazy Lady's supposed joy kept infringing on my need for peace and quiet. I envisioned myself walking over to her site to tell her off, but figured I was way too pissed to make any sort of reasonable request. Dave just wanted to yell "you suck!" over and over again, but restrained himself because of how rude it would sound. That was before she started singing.

You have to understand that when I say Crazy Ladies, I pretty much mean totally and completely unaware of social cues. The camp host referred to her as "off her rocker" when I asked if she could do something about the music. I pointed out that the posted camp rules clearly state that music during day time hours must be at a reasonable volume and proceeded to note that if I could walk over a hundred yards in any direction and still hear the "music" as clear as a bell, then obviously it isn't reasonable. But apparently you can't ask someone to turn their instrument down.

At first, Dave thought Accordion Lady must be some SE Portland hipster who thought it was beyond cool to learn the accordion. And she did look like one from a distance and definitely sounded like an amateur. She had on an old red trucker hat (loosely worn and haphazardly cocked to the side), a checked western-style shirt, and skinny jeans. Never mind that in reality she was about 77 years old and probably had suffered a stroke at some point in time since she couldn't use her left arm very well. No wonder the music sounded so terrible. Oh and her evening set? It lasted over three hours, singing included.

She hung out with this other old Crazy Lady who looked like a zombie in orthopedic S.A.S. shoes. If Accordion Lady had suffered a stroke in the past, it must not have been as bad as the one Zombie Lady went through. She literally had to drag her left side along when they walked through the campground. Try as I might, I was too bitter to appreciate the fact that these ladies were enjoying the great outdoors together even though they could've given up on active life.

In the end, Dave and I were forced out of site 42 by an accordion. We moved to the other side of the campground in an attempt to recapture our peaceful afternoon solitude. Luckily for us, the move worked. But we continued to see the ladies Accordion and Zombie a few times a day. From the snippets of conversation I heard and the leopard print pants I saw Accordion Lady sporting, I realized that running away was really the best choice. You just can't reason with crazy people.

Equity and Cheerleading

I was drawn in by this week's headlines after a federal judge ruled that cheerleading, at the collegiate level, isn't a sport.

Of course cheer is a sport, I thought to myself as I perused the articles. I've seen some of those girls at the top of their game - incredible! But then I started to understand the underlying issues - federal funding, Title IX, lack of NCAA oversight, and specifically whether or not Quinnipiac University could replace its expensive volleyball team with an inexpensive competitive cheer team and call it equal.

I get the outrage - it's mostly subtextual. American media and popular culture (not to mention popular practice) has pigeonholed these competitors so much so that when I saw the headline "Is Cheerleading a Sport?" I instantly read the fiery undertones: Are Cheerleaders Athletes?

Of course cheerleaders are athletes. But cheerleaders' athletic abilities aren't what's being called into question here. It's gender equity. The fact of the matter is that for decades the sole role of female dominated cheer teams has been to support male dominated sports. And yes, they've done that with a tricky combination of athleticism and encouragement. It isn't fair, but because of this history, cheer as a sport has a long road of definition ahead of itself, even if this new outgrowth of competitive cheer (or stunts and gymnastics, as the University of Oregon calls its team) isn't at all like its predecessors.

I fully recognize cheerleaders as athletes. However, until competitive cheer can clearly define itself as a regulated female-only sport through the NCAA, I don't think cheer should be able to replace other established female-only NCAA sports and retain a school's compliance with Title IX. That just isn't equitable.

The Heat is getting to me...

Yep, it's hot outside. But that's not why I'm writing. It's Miami. That Heat.

I am pretty sick of the Lebron James saga. One of my FB friends posted that she was in disbelief because it made her question the integrity of professional sports. I wondered how many people still link those two things together - professional sports and integrity. I stopped watching the NBA years ago, even though I'm an avid basketball fan. I think it's because the thing I love above all else about sports and competition is when players rise above the odds and do something amazing together, when their hard work pays off, even if it's just for a moment. I want the Cinderella story. I suppose that's why I'm not a fan of Lebron or Kobe or any of those super gifted guys - sure they're amazing athletes who display jaw-dropping skills all the time. But that's an expectation and, therefore, not at all exciting for me to watch.

Sorry, boys. I like small town, small time success stories.

I've been watching a lot of Friday Night Lights. There's something about small town high school football that I find totally fascinating. I keep telling Dave that I want to live in one of those Texas football towns so I can enjoy the sport for just one season on that grand scale. I love that the whole town empties and caravans to the stadium (home or away) for Panther games. There are even signs in the players' front yards with their jersey numbers. To be a football player in that small Texas town is to be a hero.

Sure, I grew up in a small town. I have fond memories of attending the Gaston High School football games from the time I was in the fourth or fifth grade. And, yah, I still remember the names of the guys who played when I was growing up - to me they were the epitome of cool. I couldn't wait to get to high school to become one of those athletes (not football, but basketball). In Gaston, you get to walk the line behind your team. There are some bleachers, of course, but students usually don't sit. You stand behind the rope and cheer your boys on from five feet away. You follow them as they walk up and down the sidelines. You slip in the mud and stand in the rain. You play a part in the collective game.

And though Gaston isn't like the Dillon of FNL, when I watch that show I can still smell the dusty warmth of a cut wheat field in the late season heat of a September Friday night. I see the fog settle in as we slowly morph into October. I feel the rainy nights in late October when students traded green Letterman's jackets for hooded parkas to keep dry and warm. And I walk. I walk and cheer and stand behind my team.

In my high school years, we didn't win much. But that didn't matter. And though the whole town didn't empty to attend games, we had a lot of support for a losing team. Perhaps most importantly, in a small town like Gaston, everyone is an athlete. Everyone had the chance to suit up under those lights. Anyone could tackle the dream. I love that.

I value commitment, which means sticking with your hometown team even when you have opportunities elsewhere. Anyone can leave a losing team or a small town for something bigger and better. That's easy. But I think it takes real integrity to stick it out and learn to win with the people around you.

Maybe that's why the Heat is getting to me.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Obviously the hype is pretty intense - it seems everyone is reading or has read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Entertainment Weekly even made the series its cover story a few weeks ago, which is totally out of character for that publication. Usually "entertainment" is strictly film or television for EW, not a book (though they do devote a few pages each issue to new and noteworthy novels). Of course this current frenzy is being fueled by the recent publication of the third installment in Larsson's series and rumors that Dragon Tattoo is going to be made into an American film (a Swedish version exists already) staring any number of famous actors (I'm rooting for Daniel Craig and Carey Mulligan).

I figured I couldn't avoid reading it and that it would be compelling from the start. Though the first chapter was captivating, it took me a while to get into the novel. The first 80 pages or so skip around between a variety of character perspectives - so much so that I didn't know whose story I was supposed to care about. Ultimately, I didn't trust the author.

Plus it was full of what I saw as a dry diatribe on the inner workings of the Swedish financial system. Cue snoozing noise.

I was so lost in Larsson's narration that I completely spaced out when the title character was introduced. It finally dawned on me a few pages later and I had to go back and re-read. Not a good sign.

I told myself to stick it out, though I put the book down for days at a time. I had just finished the newest Sookie Stackhouse and longed to keep reading books for their entertainment value, not because someone else told me it was good. Yah, well, Dante's Inferno is good too. You don't see me picking up that tome for a light summer read (which I tried once - I don't recommend it).

In fact, the only significant association I made in the first 80 or so pages was that I really wanted to go shop at IKEA (seriously, how many people and places in Sweden are the IKEA products named after, anyway?).

Then something happened. The stories came together and I started to see how everything was related. And Larsson dropped the bombshell - there really was a mystery to solve! It turns out that my patience had paid off. I couldn't put the book down and even found myself semi-annoyed at having to take care of things like the dishes when I could be turning the pages of that novel instead. It was definitely worth the read and, in retrospect, even worth the slow start (which contained many tidbits that were relevant later).

Well done, Larsson, well done.

Summer vacation...finally!

Ah, summer. Welcome back, my friend.

So I suppose an update is in order, first and foremost. On my last post I noted that I was embarking on a plan to write 1,000 words a day until my story was complete. I did just that. At the end of NaNoWriMo, I stuck three freshly printed calendar sheets on the fridge. One for December, January, and February. I crossed off every day those three months and added about 90,000 additional words to the small story I'd started and fell in love with a while before. I ended up with 130 pages of first draft nonsense.

And it is total crap, believe me. However, it stands as the only complete first draft I've ever written. I'm beyond proud of that fact. And, after letting the pages ferment for a few months, I've now set myself the task of molding it into something I can actually ask people to read before I go back to teaching in the fall. And though that frightens the you-know-what out of me, I'm in dire need of feedback.

Right now I'm in the midst of of Chapter 6, which sounds like I've done a lot until I consider that I've only edited 17 of my 130 single-spaced pages. Thank goodness I now have my writing room in order and can spend days at a time in that space slogging through the muck that is my first draft.

My 2009 NaNoWriMo Experience

For those of you who aren't in the know, NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is one of the single best ways to jump start the writing process. Why? Because for the 30 days of November, your job is to write crap, plain and simple. There's no time to go back and fret over that sentence you couldn't craft just right, no opportunity to redraft an earlier scene that doesn't make sense when your story took another direction. It's just pure, innocent storytelling at its best.

When I first tried NaNoWriMo in 2007, I failed miserably. I couldn't turn off my inner editor. I kept retooling things in my story that ultimately had to be changed again later. I was so obsessed with writing the perfect first draft that I barely wrote 10,000 words. The worst part? Those 10,000 words were stilted and had no life. I was so determined to be in control that I forgot to listen to my broccoli and wouldn't allow my characters to tell me their story. It an epic failure and a huge learning experience.

In 2008, I was determined to just tell a detective story. I didn't know much about my character or the story, but I played with it and eventually squeaked out 50,000 words and won! (Winning NaNo for you non-WriMos is finishing 50,000 words before midnight on the 30th.) The plot isn't great, but the characters are life-like and full of vigor. Plus I found out all kinds of quirky folks live in the worlds I create if I just let them thrive.

This year, though, was a totally different series of events. I had been offered a JVII basketball coaching position and was actually torn back in August about accepting it. Since basketball starts in November and practices are six days a week, I figured that would totally shatter my dreams of repeating NaNo success. But I accepted the job because I miss hoops so much and figured if I was meant to be a writer, I'd find a way. In reality, I assumed that my coaching life would kill my writing life.

It turns out that wasn't the case at all. Though I often fell behind, I didn't get discouraged and I ended up completing my NaNoWriMo story two days early! I learned this time around that I can write all day long and really enjoy immersing myself in a fictional world. I learned that when I give my characters freedom to do what they want to do, they surprise me with plot points I never knew were there. Most importantly, I learned that I can write despite my crazy schedule...and sometimes I write because of it.

I finish NaNoWriMo with a sense of renewal. It's funny how stressing myself out over writing actually creates a desire to do more of it, but that's where I'm at. I don't plan to write another 50,000 words in December, but I do plan to write about 1,000 words a day until I'm finished with the draft of the novel I really want to write.

So bring it on, December. I will write!