Browsed by
Category: writing

Middle-Aged Woman Project

Middle-Aged Woman Project

Comments 0 Comment

A few weeks ago I heard an interview with writer John McPhee on the radio. He was explaining a series of pieces he’s writing for the New Yorker, which he calls his “old man project.”

The idea is that he doesn’t have the time to explore in depth a drive through Spain he made decades ago or a dairy farm in Indiana with 25,000 cows or any number of other ideas he’s been saving up to explore, so he is dipping his toe in them, then moving on.

McPhee is basing his project on a long-ago encounter with a 66-year-old Thornton Wilder, who had decided to catalog all 431 plays of the playwright Lope de Vega. The younger McPhee didn’t understand why Wilder was doing this. The older McPhee does: it’s a project without an end, a way to keep yourself going.

This got me thinking about what I do, am doing, to keep myself going, specifically my writing self. And the answer, right now, is simple: Every day, I write a blog post. And I’ve written one most every day for close to ten years. A Walker in the Suburbs is my Middle-Aged Woman Project.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Comments 0 Comment

A nascent meditation program at the office has me listening to guided exercises that instruct us to “breathe in, breathe out” and to exist in the present, because that’s all we have.

The irony of doing this in the workplace does not escape me — future-oriented as it is and has to be — but my neck and shoulders constantly remind me that I need to chill out, so I close my eyes and try to float in the moment.

I concentrate on the breath, on the inflow and outflow, the filling up and the releasing. It’s true, the present moment is really all we have. There is a seat on Metro, there is a journal I can write in. And, later, there is a walk that will take me where I need to go.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It’s Capital!

It’s Capital!

Comments 0 Comment

The other day, while doing some routine editing, I thought about my attitude toward capital letters. I follow the Associated Press Stylebook, which means that titles, position names and the like are lowercase unless used as an official title before the name.

I duly strike down all the errant capital letters I find, but sometimes, I’m afraid, a bit too gleefully. And then I realized: Yes, I’m doing my editorial duty, but in my own mild-mannered way, I’m also sticking it to the man.

Take that, you inflated title! Take that, you uppercase “T” for “The” in front of a showy corporate logo! Take that, you self-important word that’s never supposed to be capitalized ever, ever, ever!

ah, yes, i feel better now.

Million Dollar Baby

Million Dollar Baby

Comments 0 Comment

As a proud English major I was delighted to read yesterday of a study that finds a liberal arts education provides a $1 million median return on investment 40 years after enrollment.

It doesn’t surprise me, though. I’ve always believed that learning how to think, analyze and write is just as important as learning how to build a resume.

But I also agree with one of the educators interviewed for an article reporting on the study — that education is not about earnings potential or return on investment. Education is its own reward.

I’m grateful that my English major has “paid off,” that I’ve been able to earn a living with it as a teacher, writer and editor. But most of all I’m grateful that I’ve been able to keep learning through the years. That’s the greatest gift of all.

Blog, in a Nutshell

Blog, in a Nutshell

Comments 0 Comment

Sometimes it all comes back like the rekindling of an old passion — the reason I started this blog, which is the walking and what it leads to, the new ideas, a fresh way of looking at something. Though I post about books and music and writing and more, it was walking that started it and walking that energizes it still.

No surprise this came to me yesterday, when the air felt more like spring than fall and a pair of doves rose up and fluttered off as I strode too close to them. I heard geese, too, a flock that has decided to winter here, I guess.

The light was soft and the scenery, to quote Hemingway, a movable feast, and I gobbled it up as I ambled past. Thoughts floated by, some of them even worth keeping. So I rushed home and wrote them down. And there you have it — the blog, in a nutshell.

Listening In

Listening In

Comments 0 Comment

While I consider myself a law-abiding citizen, I do enjoy eavesdropping. The act of listening in on a conversation is usually not criminal, of course, but it can be. I like to think I keep the habit in check.

Nevertheless, if I’m out to dinner I sometimes listen harder to the conversation at the next table than I do to my own.  This is not an admirable trait, but I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the writer in me, the observer. But maybe that’s just an excuse.

This morning I realized how much I eavesdrop while walking (walks dropping?), having harvested two juicy bits of dialogue just on today’s stroll from train to office:

“It was real Louisiana gumbo,” said one camo-clad soldier to another as a group of them breezed past me as I emerged from Metro.

The other was uttered by a top-coated, loafer-wearing man who was striding beside me down a Crystal City street.  “Yes,” he said into his phone. “Northern Macedonia.”

Ah, the tales one could spin from these tidbits. But alas, I have other work to do, so for now, these snippets will remain … just snippets.

A Different Day

A Different Day

Comments 0 Comment

A week ago today I awoke in a tiny house in the Blue Ridge Mountains. On my to-do list: write, read, and savor the landscape. Not bad as to-do lists go.

Today’s list is looking a lot more businesslike: Editing articles, writing headlines, having meetings. It’s still not bad as to-do lists go, but it’s significantly less creative than last week’s occupations.

But how much depends on what we make of it? I write from my fifth-floor window seat (loosely construed, this term “window seat” — all it means is that my chair is pulled up close to the window) and the sun glints off the curved corner of the building next door. Leaves fly in the brisk wind, and they are gleaming too, as another day, a different day, begins.

Typographical Tone of Voice

Typographical Tone of Voice

Comments 0 Comment

If this post goes according to plan, I may insult you several times. That’s because I am, in that old-school, print-based way, using periods at the ends of sentences. (See, I just did it again. And again.)

In Because Internet, Gretchen McCulloch brings the term “typographical tone of voice” to my (somewhat luddite) attention. Exhibit A, she says, is considering all caps to be shouting (which is hardly news to anyone, even luddites). But a more subtle expression of typographical tone of voice is what she calls the “sincerity exclamation point.”

Ah yes, I think, this is why I’m using using exclamation points so much despite inwardly chafing at them. This is not due to grammatical sloppiness, but to friendliness and cooperation. When I say “Thanks!” at the end of a business email, I’m merely indicating that, sure, I don’t mind editing this piece quickly. I’m happy to do it (even if I’m not).

Periods are another matter. “For people whose linguistic norms are oriented toward the offline world, the most neutral way of separating one utterance from the next is with a dash or a string of dots,” McCulloch writes. But for someone whose linguistic orientation is more modern, the line break is the most effective way of separating utterances. In that case, then, the period is extraneous, and perhaps holds other meanings. In fact, it could even be considered passive aggressive.

But don’t worry, McCulloch assures us, in formal writing periods are still emotionally neutral. To which she adds this puckish footnote: “Or at least, I sure hope they are, because otherwise you’re halfway through a book where I’ve been passive-aggressive to you the whole time. SORRY.”

Miles and Miles and Miles …

Miles and Miles and Miles …

Comments 0 Comment

On the second day of my getaway I wrote in the morning and explored in the afternoon. About 20 minutes from where I was bunking, there was an entrance to Shenandoah National Park’s Skyline Drive. I’d been there before — it’s less than 90 minutes from my house — but I hadn’t been there in years, so I was looking with fresh eyes … with, dare I say it, eyes of love?

Virginia is for lovers, you know, though it’s taken some of us a while to love the state in which we live. But this reluctant Virginian was swept off her feet yesterday. First of all, the weather was perfect. It was almost 60 degrees, clear and bright. There weren’t many people around, and those who were there drove slowly, seemingly as much in awe as I was.

I did a couple of quick hikes, but what grabbed me most were the views. Skyline Drive runs along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so you don’t just have one vista, you have dozens. At some point I realized that if I didn’t stop pulling over at every overlook I would never get home.

I looked at the ridges, one behind another, as close to infinity as we are likely to have this side of heaven. In my head was that song from The Who: “I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles.”

It reminded me of flying; there was the same above-it-all-ness, the sense of seeing more clearly because we can see farther. Real world problems didn’t go away, but for a few hours they seemed smaller and more manageable. They seemed miles away too.

Hot Spot

Hot Spot

Comments 0 Comment

I’ve gotten away so far and so thoroughly that I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to get online long enough to write this post. As it is, I will make this one quick because I’m using my phone’s “hot spot,” and I’m not sure how long it will last.

The little cabin where I’ve escaped prides itself on lack of connectivity. There’s even a cellphone lockbox where you put away the pesky item while you roast marshmallows over the fire and look at the stars.

Alas, though I am not addicted to the internet in general, I have become pretty attached to writing this blog, so I have circumvented the cabin’s best intentions and have gone online anyway — but gone online only to extol the pleasures of being away from things, out of the loop, disconnected.

It’s ironic … but true!