To simply state that I love losing myself in a book, would undermine my true feelings for literature. My experience as a reader has been a long, hard fought road. During my early years of education, with the help of a wonderful teacher, I battled illiteracy and came out on top. As a tribute to my personal struggles against illiteracy, I plan to become a reading specialist and help others wage their own war. My dream is to not only teach them to read but inspire them to become lifelong readers. Now, I find there is another battle to be fought and this one will affect the approach I take to the teaching of the academic discipline I love. The battle of which I speak, leads me to question what qualifies as literature and how it should be taught.
What is appropriate Literature? To me this is a personal question, I get upset by the so-called “intellectuals” that take it upon themselves to dictate what is acceptable literature and what is not. Literature is any written or spoken text, and ranges from creative writing to technical or scientific works. Literature speaks to people about who we are, our culture, and traditions as well as the culture and traditions of others. It shows us, where we have come from, our history, and the limitless possibilities of our future. Literature can add a certain spice to our everyday lives by taking us to new worlds and sharing new experiences with us. It can lead us to self improvement by handing us the keys to an empowering knowledge. It can be humorous and enduring while challenging us to question or confirm our own beliefs.
This being the case, I will encourage my students to read anything that strikes them as interesting and call it literature. I feel all text, and all forms of text have the potential to serve an instructional purpose and should be allowed in the classroom. Robert Scholes emphasizes this belief in his Textual Power, as he explains a need for a restructuring of the English department. Here he describes the division between literature and non-literature.
The field of English is organized by two primary gestures of differentiation, dividing and redividing the field by binary opposition. First of all, we divide the field into two categories: literature and non-literature. This is, of course, an invidious distinction, for we mark those texts labeled literature as good or important and dismiss those non-literary texts as beneath our notice.
It’s this distinction we place on the value of certain text that put us at a disadvantage as educators. By deeming a text unworthy or unacceptable for the classroom we risk the possibility of losing the attention of many of our students. Whether it is to enhance fluency, comprehension, building on vocabulary, or creating situations conductive of critical processing, it is the interaction, reading, writing, and analyzing dimensions of meaning between the student and the text that defines the work as appropriate literature. My classroom philosophy will be, if you are interacting with words you are working towards a better you and gaining the knowledge that will empower you to greatness. It is Scholes idea that we stray from this labeling of what is considered literature and non-literature and focus more on the text. “All texts have secret-hidden deeper meanings, and none more so than the supposedly obvious and straightforward production of journalists historians, and philosophers” (Scholes, 8).
Two summers after the fog of illiteracy had been lifted from my mind, I had a harsh encounter with a teacher that almost changed the way I feel about literature. The summer before seventh grade, I got turned on to the genre of horror with a book I found at a garage sale, The Breeze Horrors by Candace Caponegro. It was so gross and fast paced; I devoured it in one setting and asked for more. I began reading the likes of Steven King, Dean Koontz, and V.C. Andrews. Then, I felt the full brunt of Mrs. So and so’s disapproval over my choice of reading material. She was my seventh grade literature teacher and she explained to me that the drivel I had been reading was not literature and that I was not accomplishing a thing by reading it. I felt ashamed and embarrassed by my chosen reading material. In that one statement, she took away my free choice and all that I felt I had accomplished in my battle against illiteracy. In return, she gave me reading assignment that I didn’t understand or possess the maturity to connect with, time schedules that didn’t allow free reading time, and a new emotion to associate with literature----loathing. I became an uncommitted reader, only reading what was forced upon me by my teachers in a timely manner. Had she only known the value I saw in what I was reading, she could have encouraged my reading habits and challenged me with other text. If she wouldn’t have been so opposed to taking a new outlook on literature, and the approach to teaching it, she may have reached countless numbers of students. Instead, she stuck strictly to her traditional believes and almost lost me, in the process.

I’m not so naive as to think my definition of acceptable literature won’t be challenged. There are those who believe only the works from the traditional canon of Western culture should be included in the curricula of secondary schools. As a self proclaimed literature advocate, I am not afraid to teach from the traditional works of the cannon. As an educator it will not only my job, but my privilege to expose my students to the likes of Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Shakespeare, Jane Austin, and Harper Lee, but I also see room for much more. And this is where I will take a stand by implementing non-traditional literature. I am preparing myself for battle by studying literary theory and the works of pioneer educators who have accepted the call to educate teachers, like Kylene Beers, and Louis Rosenblatt.
Kylene Beers, an educator and Senior Reading Researcher at Yale University, has committed herself to helping struggling readers by educating their teachers. She believes appropriate literature may also mean, “sometimes choosing young adult literature over classics. Young adult literature offers students the chance to read about characters, conflicts, and situations they relate to more quickly” (Beers, 275). When we want our students to make emotional connections, and find some relevance to what they are reading, we must allow them the freedom of choice they crave and deserve, why not turn to young adult literature as suggested by Sarah K. Herz in From Hinton to Hamlet, “When I accepted and understood the possibilities of YAL(Young Adult Literature) I found a powerful tool to help students take pride in their reading and to help them develop into confident, critical readers.” Isn’t this what literature teachers are looking for, tools that will empower their readers, to built upon their confidence as readers so they may tackle the more complex texts and become critical thinkers. Ultimately, it will be my goal as a teacher of reading and literature to lead my students in a way that they may discover meaning in literature, by looking at what the author says and how he/she says it. I want to encourage them to interpret the author's message. In academic circles, this decoding of the text is often carried out through the use of literary theory, using a mythological, sociological, psychological, historical, or other approach. It will be my routine to prompt them into discussions after a selected reading that will guide them into taking both an efferent stance to reading as well as an aesthetic stance. The difference between the aesthetic stance and the efferent stance of a reader has been explained in Louise Rosenblatt’s The Reader, the Text, the Poem:
In aesthetic reading, the reader’s attention is centered directly on what he is living through during his relationship with that particular text. In non-aesthetic [or efferent] reading, the reader’s attention is focused primarily on what will remain as the residue after the reading-the information to be acquired the logical solution to a problem, the actions to be carried out.
It is my hope that by teaching them to take this duel stance to reading, it will allow them the enjoyment found in reading for pleasure as well as guiding them into a collegiate preparedness for critical responses to literature and literary theory.

Scissprtail festival

I was able to attend the Friday morning session and I hope this doesn’t sound like a rant, I just got back and I’m a little excited. I had attended two days last year and had hoped to see some of the authors I had been exposed to, but time constraints didn’t allow for that. To my dismay, Nathan Brown and Dorothy Alexander will be speaking tomorrow and I can’t make it. But I was able to see, Dr. Walling, Gordon Greene, Alvin Turner, and the truly gifted, Rilla Askew.
Dr. Walling was a replacement for Melissa Morphew so this was a pleasant surprise. Last year I got a chance to hear Dr. Walling read from the novel he’s been working on and when I heard it was him that would be speaking, I hoped it would be more from that. It was and I really enjoyed it, he has made me a fan of his work. He read from a bar (Coaches) scene in The Pound Club, the book deals with the emotions of men who have lost sons, it’s rugged description of the masculine emotions of his characters is heartbreaking . The personalities of the characters were varied but I felt a strong connection to his character Bones, he reminded me of someone I grew up with who subsequently shared the same nick name and the same kind of screw you attitude. He also made references to two of my favorite rock groups GNR, and Keith Richards. My favorite line, “sometimes you just have to let people travel their own road.”
Next, I heard Gordon Greene read from his, Colored Water and Other Illusions, I have to say, I loved the way he presented his work. He has a strong sense of emotion that just captivates you while he reads. My favorite title, Why Don’t Elephants Play Tennis? Left me in tears and aching to call my grandfather to tell him how much he means to me. My favorite line, “her pepper and salt hair graced a tired drawn face.”
Although Alvin Turner left me with an urge to research the Ada hangings of 1909, I didn’t connect with his work. I don’t know if it was the combination of being Ah struck by Gordon Greene, or the anticipation of Rilla Askew. (Maybe next year)
Rilla Askew, What can I say, I just love her words. She truly gets what it is to be from Oklahoma and expresses it in a way that will take your breath away. Not, Yah, that twister touched down yonder over on Jones’ trailer park, but the true beauty behind country charm. There is a difference between a Bar and a Club and many writers don’t see the colors that exist and the multifaceted patrons in a Bar. She not only sees it, she transfers it into written form and mesmerizes her audience. I don’t have a favorite line from her presentation because I was too intent on listening to her dramatic interpretation of Hat Trick that I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. Just know that I enjoy her work and my experience at the festival.

Come Out of the Shadows

“Because women in our culture are not simple encouraged but required to be the bearers of emotion, which men are culturally conditioned to repress, an epistemology which excludes emotions from the process of attaining knowledge radically undercuts women’s epistemic authority.” From what I understand, in order for a woman to become successful, she must repress her emotions and write the way a man would. I think Jane Tompkins has a clear understanding of the rules of the game and has a successful writing carrier because of it. The only way this will change is if women like Jane Tompkins refuse to play by the rules and write from their mother tongue, incorporate her personal experience into her literary criticism and shatter the glass ceiling that has set the standard for far too long. Or, she can remain in the shadows; play by the rules, and save the emotion for her personal journals. I personally have a hard time writing in any other voice. I can't stop myself from writing in the mother tongue, because that is the only voice I know. I like to experience what I read on a personal level and that is also the way I write.

Montaigne

On reading Montaigne the word unpretentious comes to mind. He readily admits he doesn’t hold all the answers. He conveys the message to his reader that this is my opinion take it for that, I like this vulnerability he offers. He’s just like everyone else trying to find his way through the written word; he offers his likes and dislikes and leaves it at that. My favorite line in Of Books “Knowledge and truth can lodge in us without judgment, and judgment also without them; indeed the recognition of ignorance is one of fairest and surest testimonies of judgment that I find.” This tells me he holds high regard for those willing to admit their ignorance and still searching for their answers. He seeks knowledge in an effort to improve himself rather than to impress others with his knowledge. I am indeed a fan of Montaigne

Mine

Mine

Whose is it? The words stung, but I really wasn’t surprised. To be honest, I had expected it. I was twenty-four and up until that point, I had lived a fairly shallow existence: going from one party to the next; drinking to the point of passing out and doing just about anything else I wanted. Why not? I worked two jobs, had an apartment, a car and I paid my own way. I was legally an adult and I had no one to answer to. Until now. Now I was going to have someone to answer to. I would be responsible for someone else. My shallow little existence had come to an end and I didn’t even know how much my life would change and how great this change would be for me.
As a child, I was painfully shy. During adolescence, I realized that alcohol was a great confidence builder. It made me the person I always wanted to be. I was confident, outgoing and always the life of the party. At least that was what I thought at the time. It was some years later while under this misapprehension, I met and fell in love with Travis, the father of my children. At first glance, I knew I was in trouble. He pulled up on his motorcycle, longhair flowing, and an even longer line of girls just waiting to be at his side. He was the epitome of a bad boy and I suffered from low self -esteem; we were a match made for dysfunction and heartbreak.
Travis and I had been set up by a “friend” I had met while painting little forest animals at United Design in Noble. He and her boyfriend had grown up together; they were partners in crime and she wanted to share the wealth. I had only moved to Noble about a month before and I had grown lonely and tired of staying home alone and staring at the dingy walls off my cramped low rent apartment while the rest of the world continued to revolve around me. So, she set us up on the premise that it would just be a casual get together. She had mentioned he was really nice looking so I took great pains to return the favor and look my best by replacing the layer of paint I had acquired at work with a fresh coat to my face that somewhat enhanced the places that needed a little help. Before leaving, I made the decision to change from the sensible shoes I had been wearing into a pair that may not have been comfortable but were more pleasing to the eye by enhancing my (then) toned and shapely calf muscles.
My friend lived in Norman with her boyfriend whom she happened to be ten years older than. Tina was older than all of us and she had moved in circles I had only been warned about. I knew I would be way out of my league but she had been nice to invite me and I had always been good at adapting to new situations. I arrived early, so that I would be able to get a look at him before we were introduced. As he walked in, I took one look at that tall frame, the dark skin and big brown eyes that could see right through an innocent young girl from small town nowhere, and my breath left my body taking with it any hope of ever surviving this encounter. He was HOT and mysterious in ways I knew would be the end of me. I was in trouble and there was no backing out. For better or worse this was going to happen.
Before heading out to the club, we decided to indulge in a few party favors. I was so overwhelmed by his appearance that I would have taken anything to ease the tight grip that my anxiety had taken over me. After a couple shots I felt the warmness take hold rendering me capable of conversation and most importantly flirtation. It was time to go. By the time we arrived I was feeling not the least bit insecure and ready for anything the night had to offer.
When we walked in the guys went to secure our table and buy the first round of drinks. I heard my song booming throughout the club’s speakers so Tina and I headed off to the dance floor. I tend to get a little over excited about my dancing ability after a few shots- I had had about six- so this was going to be my moment to shine. Having forgotten about the hasty change of shoes before leaving, I took off in a mad dash to secure my place on the dance floor and just as soon as my new sexy shoes hit the slick surface, I got a face full of it. It was not a graceful fall, it was an all out battle between me and the floor and I was losing; I had the bruises the next morning to prove it. But I recovered between beats and laughed about it the rest of the night. Travis never mentioned it and I told myself he probably never saw it because that helped my wounded pride. The rest of the night was great, we all had a fun time and ended it at Tina’s house. We were too drunk to drive home so Travis and I decided to share the couch. Nothing happened; we stayed up talking and made plans for the next night.
After that night, our relationship became a non-stop party and as long as there were no responsibilities and I didn’t take up for myself, we would last forever; it was the perfect situation for both of us. He would treat me like a best friend until I was drunk enough to not notice what an ass he was. I was only keeping up my end of the deal by getting so drunk I didn’t notice that he was hitting on some skeeze while sending her friends over to keep me occupied. Sometimes, what you think is perfection, is just what gets you through until perfection comes along.
After about a year of this, I had grown tired and the good times stopped being good. The bad times only got worse. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would start feeling the urge to move on. But sometimes, we are most comfortable with what is familiar and I had grown comfortable with and developed a fondness for his constant abuse of my pride and self esteem. To be honest, I probably didn’t have much of either before I met him. I couldn’t imagine living without him and I would not allow myself the privilege of thinking that I deserved better. It would have to be something big to make me look outside of my little box and realize life without him was possible.

I’m pregnant. It’s amazing the effect that two little words can have on someone. The same two little words that can bring happiness to some, can lead others to despair. A certain reaction to these words can also change the way you look at a person and how you feel about that person. This was the case of my feelings for Travis. His reaction was the something big I was searching for. Whose did he think it was? I had spent every waking hour for the past year adoring his every move and could never even fathom the thought much less try to be with anyone else. It was just his way of saying something to hurt me for allowing something like this to happen and causing him a moment of inconvenience. Our relationship had run its course and I had known it for a while but it wasn’t until I saw and heard his reaction, to my two little words, that it hit home. For him, they were the scariest words ever spoken. For me, it was the end of the party. Its not that I had an aversion to babies, I had always thought someday I would have some, when things were different, maybe when Travis and I were actual grownups. But it just wasn’t what I thought I needed at the time; I was having too much fun. I was so caught up in how this was going to change things for me and my party; I didn’t realize it was the beginning of something great. My party didn’t end. It just changed a little. I had a new party to go to and this one didn’t involve alcohol.
All alcoholic beverages must be left at the door before entering parenthood. I couldn’t drink; I had an actual person growing inside my body and I had to make my decisions based on that fact. Up until that point, I had not been very smart about my lifestyle and making healthy choices for my body, but I knew the importance of living healthy for the baby, and drinking was off limits. For the first time in a long time, I had to be Christi. I had to stand on my own two feet without relying on drink to give me courage. I had to consider someone other than myself; I had to grow up and become an adult and I had nine months to do it in. For once in my life, I had a reason, a purpose to do and be better.
I left Travis several times over the course of six years and each time he made a change and I took him back. He stopped drinking, got a job and tried to be a husband for a while. But sometimes you just can’t make a square peg fit into a round hole. Sometimes two people are just that, two people with different ideas of how they want to live. We had a total of three children together and we both cherish each one as much as the other. We eventually realized that although we had been through so much together, our lives were destined to be lived apart. Now we have a great working relationship instead of ourselves we focus on our children and this works. I had been asked a question once that no matter how hard I tried to overlook it, it remained inside my head forever haunting the way I saw him so I walked away.

He was born March 22, 1996; and was 8lb. 12oz. 22and ¼ inches long. He had ten little fingers, ten little toes and just as a reminder of whom he came from, big blue eyes and curly little ringlets of hair that stuck to his scalp. He was then and is now my very reason for life. To this day he looks at me as if I could do no wrong and I am thankful for it. He has shown me how strong and confident I can be. He has led me here, taking this class and being the best person I can be. I want to lead by example and show him the way, and guide him to make better decisions than I ever did. I named him Taylor Iralee Carruth, after my grandfather, because I was once asked, “Whose is it.” He is mine and I am proud to call him son.

Five 1st paragraphs

1. I have led what some might consider a dull life. The words in this essay will not inspire you or lead you to make some grand conclusion on the existence of man. I am small town America. I am a daughter, sister, a wife and mother. I have lived and learned; I have loved and been scorned. My story will never grace the pages of celebrity gossip. Other than under the obituaries, I would be shocked to see a portion of it in the Maysville Times. It is however mine and I claim it. I am not ashamed to say it, this is me and this is my story.

2. Whose is it? The words stung, but I really wasn’t surprised, to be honest I had expected it. I was twenty-four and up until that point, I had lived a fairly shallow existence. Going from one party to the next; drinking to the point of passing out and doing just about anything else I wanted. Why not? I worked two jobs, had an apartment, a car and I payed my own way. I was legally an adult and I had no one to answer to; until now. Now, I was going to have someone to answer to; I would be responsible for someone else. My shallow little existence had come to an end and I didn’t even know how much my life would change and how great this change would be for me.

3. My writing process is simple; I fly by the seat of my pants. I have a few quirky behaviors, like I am sure everyone else does, for the most part I just kind of wing it and hope it turns out. For me, writing is a work in progress; I have the desire to become a great writer but for now I am just putting in the time it takes to improve my writing skills. Having said this, its nights like these I question my decision of becoming an English major. I’m sure you all know the answer to this; corny as it sounds, whether we are here for the writing aspect or we want to inspire young minds to become avid readers it’s the love of great literature that keeps us coming back.

4. She came running across the parking lot, toothless smile beaming from ear to ear, holding what looked to be the spelling test we had been diligently studying for the past three days. I knew at an instant her hard work had payed off; she had received an A and most importantly the coveted gold star. Being the proud mother of a spelling genius, I placed the newly adorned test upon the refrigerator for all to see, and it was good. That was two years ago when Caroline was six; Then, it seemed so innocent to place that gold star on display. I truly believed I was correct in placing such importance on good grades for my children. I wanted to instill the value of hard work, that if you put enough effort into something it will pay off. It is my role as mother, which leads me to encourage them to do their best. So far, this has shown to be a very successful method; my children are all honor roll students. Having said this, it wasn’t the gold star I praised; it was the effort that went into receiving that star I am most proud of, the gold star was just frosting on the cake.

5. Its spring time flowers blooming, birds singing and its monster truck time. It’s that time of year when The Hot Rod Association comes to town, but more importantly it’s time to air their commercials. I can honestly say I have never been to a Monster Jam or witnessed the excitement booming from my T.V. screen in person; but I have always looked forward to that commanding voice telling me where I need to be on SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY!

On Running After One's Hat

I noticed in the essay On Running After One’s Hat the author, G. K. Chesterson, has several of the characteristics listed on the handout. Honesty, he shares his feeling of optimism for everyday occurrences. He feels it’s all about how you look at those little inconveniences and how you respond to them that may affect the quality of your life. His description of the man running after his own hat uses cheek and irony. There is a certain nostalgic feeling the reader may pick up on when he is describing London and where he grew up. The example of the little boy’s imagination leaves the reader with a sense of melancholy for their own childhood memories. Both of these examples are a part of the past, the local and the melancholy. I have always enjoy a story that may lead me to reflect on my own past and call upon memories I had forgotten.