This is something I lifted from the pages of the current issue (June 08) of The Believer. It's from their montly advice column, Sedaritives, started by Amy Sedaris but contined often by guest Sedarises. This month, Paul Feig responds to young Lisa, dreamer, 18, and covers ground that we cover every day here in the DVWC.
Dear Sedaritives,
I just had a dream where I was in a prison tower and a large bear started attacking me because it was angry. I am concerned because in the dream, someone I don't know brought the bear to my house in a plastic igloo and said, "Look, it's my pet!" Is this an omen?
Liz, age 18
Dear Liz,
What kind of a bear was it? Grizzly? Polar? Teddy? Chicago? What kind of prison tower? An old one, like the Tower of London? Older, like the one Rapunzel tossed her hair out of? Or modern, like the kind the guards stand on at San Quentin? And what kind of igloo was it? One of those dog house igloos? If so, the bear couldn't have been that big. It wasn't an Igloo-brand cooler, was it? The bear would be even smaller if that was the case. If you want my help, I need details, girl. Maybe you eighteen-year-olds think this whole vague description thing is the bomb, but for us guys in our forties, we need specifics. You wouldn't be this ambiguous if I was Dr. Phil, now would you? Write be back and get that thesaurus out.
Paul
Friday, June 20, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
May Your Paper Be an Ant Colony
This week, I told a student in my class that a great detail is like an ant: it can heap a lot of information on its back, more than it seems a simple word or phrase can carry.
Then, today in the Writing Lab, a student was writing about an experience that involved her father rushing to the hospital to meet her injured sister. In the first sentence, she not only told us that her father hung up his phone and left, but that he left wearing only a pair of cutoff shorts, no shirt, and no shoes. That doesn't just tell me that he's underdressed for just about anywhere but an afternoon on a pontoon boat, but that he's more than hurried.
It's easy to tell when you aren't wearing enough clothes. You're cold and people stare. This father did not care about exposing his skin to the weather or incurring the whispered comments and strange looks from others. He had one priority: getting to the hospital immediately--that's key because he could have easily thrown on a shirt and slipped on some shoes and arrived at the hospital in a reasonable amount of time. But no. Speed was all that mattered. Any delay was too much a delay, even the basics of public attire. That's what that detail tells me as a reader. It lets me into his head so much that I am able to break down what he's thinking when he most likely did not even do so.
Then, today in the Writing Lab, a student was writing about an experience that involved her father rushing to the hospital to meet her injured sister. In the first sentence, she not only told us that her father hung up his phone and left, but that he left wearing only a pair of cutoff shorts, no shirt, and no shoes. That doesn't just tell me that he's underdressed for just about anywhere but an afternoon on a pontoon boat, but that he's more than hurried.
It's easy to tell when you aren't wearing enough clothes. You're cold and people stare. This father did not care about exposing his skin to the weather or incurring the whispered comments and strange looks from others. He had one priority: getting to the hospital immediately--that's key because he could have easily thrown on a shirt and slipped on some shoes and arrived at the hospital in a reasonable amount of time. But no. Speed was all that mattered. Any delay was too much a delay, even the basics of public attire. That's what that detail tells me as a reader. It lets me into his head so much that I am able to break down what he's thinking when he most likely did not even do so.
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