My literature students are writing papers about Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Stephen Crane, and somehow the authors have commingled in my mind to create a story about malignant fungoid wallpaper trapped in a small boat surrounded by malign forces. The wallpaper wonders whether it has come this far to nibble at the sacred cheese of life only to have its glue washed off in the pounding surf.
Okay, I'm losing my mind, but you would be too if you'd so mangled your syllabi that you had to read 17 freshman comp drafts on Sunday, 24 American Lit drafts on Monday, and 10 creative nonfiction drafts on Tuesday just to stay afloat. I'm stuck in a boat swamped with prose about how communication has been important to the entire human race since the beginning of time, or maybe I'm locked in an attic wallpapered with essays in which every sentence begins with "I feel," "I think," or "I believe."
But I must write coherent comments on each of these drafts, comments clearly communicating the importance (since the beginning of time) of focusing on a clear thesis statement and supporting that thesis with specific evidence conveyed in clear and understandable prose, and my comments must be direct without driving my students to the wish they could wash up lifeless in the surf (like Crane's unlucky oiler) or creep around the room babbling mindlessly (like Gilman's wallpaper woman).
After this week, I'll need a rest cure. Preferably not in a boat.
2 comments:
Take heart. I read in today's paper that bubble wrap was invented to be wallpaper. Stick some on your office wall and pop those bubbles with elbow, forehead, or possibly a very small writer/feeler.
D.
Bubble wrap! Brilliant!
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