Clap. Positive. Constructive.

I had to attend a mandatory class the other day and we had an exercise that we did which was shared out loud with the group. And the woman running the class said something that I think could be applicable to criticism.

She said that we should applaud the effort that went into the project and even reading it in front of the group. Then we should say something positive. Then we should offer some constructive criticism.

In other words:


That makes sense to me. I’ve tried to do that in past communications with authors. Frontload the things that I liked, so that they don’t get lost in the shuffle and are said clearly up front. Then move on to the things that could be improved.

Just seemed like a good frame to me.


Sorkin quote

This Sorkin quote articulates how I feel about myself sometimes:

I grew up surrounded by people who are smarter than I am, and I like the sound of intelligence. I can imitate that sound, but it’s not organic.

The Discus Thrower

From here

Look at him, in this photograph on the bookshelf,
tucked behind a copy of Wuthering Heights,
his smile broad, shoulders wide,
fists grasp proud, a fishing pole.
His skin so tan, his face tanner,
he is a man of leisure on his bass boat.
A man of leisure who moonlights
as a working man five days a week.

There’s a romance to this picture, the way
there’s a romance to a poet writing, he is
so enrapt with his task
he doesn’t see you coming
from behind him with a camera.

When you look at this picture you see
a family man, a man who left his family.
You see a man of God, who didn’t believe
in God until he took his last breath.
There’s a romance to the thought, the way
there’s a romance between father and son,
a blistering, hot-tempered romance of
greek wrestling, idol worship, the race
to always be on top.

The brute nurturing; the coo of a fist.
In photographs you see our limbs encircled,
our bodies one conjoined embrace,
the struggle to deflect,
defend one ego from the other.

This used to drive mother crazy,
but she didn’t understand
this was our secret language.

Drabble challenge: Fallen Lollipop: Recession Blues in b minor

Patti Abbott issued a drabble challenge so I recycled an old drabble to fit her parameters. I may try to write another one but for now…

Bishop looked over at Ivy. Her nerves were getting the better of her. She crunched a lollipop. He smiled and wished his life would be long enough to always remember this moment. Bullhorn shouts outside the church interrupted. Red and blue disco lights.

Ivy looked at him. The cancer had taken its toll since the insurance ran out and they couldn’t afford the enzyme treatment anymore. She never loved him more.

Nodded. Burst through the door. Plastic guns held high. Yelling.

Lollipop falls.

The light leaving Bishop’s eyes danced with the light of the police cars then left for good.

As per usual when I do something like this you should feel free to mock me.