Tag Archives: School

from book…

20 Mar

I see more, more… what caused this?  Was it yesterday?  Was it this morning?  Was it years ago when I decided in my high school creative writing class that I wanted to be a teacher?  Maybe there is no cause to composition maintenance and shifts.  Self-doubt, your enemy.  Don’t let it grow or any perceptions throw.  Composition, your character…. Feel free to re-write, feel free to be free and re-define.

Wherever you see yourself, hold to that frame, the visuals and sensory seismology of it.  Make it musical and enriching like nothing else in your story is.  Make it your story…


17 Mar

View story at Medium.com

(Paper 1)

5 Mar

Deliciously Dualistic

IMG_1987The Alchemist shows us that destiny is not only up to us but ours to craft.  That existence itself is a Craft, something that is practiced, much like wizardry or sorcery, alchemy.  It’s more than a decision of stepping as sheep or shepherd, but deciding within your decisions.  Only sixty-some pages into Coelho’s piece with the students and all, nearly all, respond to destiny’s entertainment, and the appreciation of all moments, of all intersections with characters, and that we choose to handle and interpret these instances as we do.  Destiny is something to be crafted, negating both connotative and denotative trappings of destiny.  The boy says “I’m used to the way I am.”, urging us as readers to be anything but, to keep with our love of life and make every moment ours.  The old man then telling him what a blessing he’s been.  That’s his decision to see the boy that way.  Everything is a decision.  Yes, there are things that happen in life that we don’t write or choose be part of our craft, but not resisting and working with what’s on your stage.  Coelho’s thesis so far could be seen as an urgency of love of the moment and everything in it, good or bad.

The contrast comes with decision, deciding or letting things just happen.  Either way, there needs to be an embrace of the moment.  Just letting things happen, or existing rather than living, is an embrace of the moment but not with the closeness and intimacy of demonstrating onus.  Seeing everything as a blessing.  Our days and weeks, our lives, are ours to craft, to write.  This is alchemy, a phylum of, as when we arrive where we aimed to, that is magical.  The reward is in the sight and feeling of reaching the destination.  Choosing something and having the something find you and you it.  But, is it alchemy?  Is it magic?  Is it that special?  Or, is that just something we should be doing?  We can complain and grieve and protest all we want, but essentially the argument should be made that WE decide.  If you don’t decide, then you surrender, you don’t move, there is not travel.  Coelho reminds us to stay mobile, showing us the benefits of crafting our stories and lives and learning from everyone and everything in it.  Always be moving, always be a Seer.

No observation is simple, simplistic, one-dimensional.  None.  All are with pedagogical pulse and pervasiveness.  The narrator notes, “Sometimes, there’s just no way to hold back the river.”, suggesting that we be the same.  That we be tireless with our efforts and the crafting of our stages and scenes, our narrative and observations.  That we take ownership and self-intoxicate from onus.  There is no destiny, there is only what we do.  What we decide to do.  Realizing that could be seen as magical.  Not seeing such could be seen as goal-death.  Crafting anything involves work, time, a travel of sorts.  Mobility should be made your manuscript.  Subscription to stationary is a death sentence.  So is reliance on “destiny”.  There is more magical in the act of crafting that any possibility of destiny.

(Michael J. Madigan, 3/5/18)

me now

28 Feb

New writing space as both adjunct coop and conference room were occupied.  No complaints.  Lovely, I thought.  I need some newness today.  Newness, always to be capitalized.  Never go against the moment, I remember I offered to students a while back.  This room, a quasi-dining room or break room, no lights which I love and a view of Elliott Avenue, all the students going in and out of this cafeteria building.  If someone walks in, I’ll take it in as part of the scene.  On break till I start my prep for next class but I don’t want to think about that.  My only focus now is this breath, the one after it, the in-between bites of the Chinese food from the caf’.  Wish I wouldn’t have ordered it but I did from hunger delusion.  Look outside to moving bushes, tree.  Think the rains near.  Would love to watch some drops, now.  I wait, though.  I meditate in this strange room.  What else does this room feel like?  Like a dentist office’s waiting room, kind of.  Or the doctors office’s waiting lounge area where we used to take Jack.  Or my high school, one of the Bio’ rooms, or labs.  Not sure what it makes me think of but it makes me recall all facets of my life.  I’m furthered into my collection and meditation.

Now I don’t know what I’m thinking.  Just that I’m thinking, about when I was a student at the community college.  Foothill.  The walk up those stairs, and I all the classes I took.  Years ago, but I’m there again.  This new start with this new perspective and approach, all my new projects and how I see things in this wild yay-say.  Done my lunch off you could call it that, now I throw self deeper into the collection.  With class in just over an hour and me in the room in about, well, 40 minutes, I intensify my meditation and collection.  What am I looking for… what do I want… how will I get it… thoughts of that speed and geography.  And I know just I’m headed for.  No need to continue but I have composition to that degree and key.

Look outside at traffic and see people leaving then pulling in.  Students pass but in less numbers than a bit ago.  Ruminating in this new room, this cafeteria tangent, this side quarter.  Can’t believe no one’s walked in to disrupt my sitting.  Sipping my Ginger Ale, looking up at a board meant to have messages and ads posted, but only one.  Something about some event on campus.  I don’t read for too long as I don’t have any interest in doing anything other than this, this freewrite, freetype.  Five minutes after when I should have stopped for class prep.

53 degrees outside my phone says.  Should just stay here, ditch since I’m a student again.  They’ll find me, I’m sure.  One of them.  Someone from the department or from class.  I guess I just throw self so far into this sitting and thought stream that I lose where I’m going.  But it’s free, oui?  No limitations.  Liberating.  Liberated.  With the breaths and moments, never against.


inward jot

21 Feb

Keep moving forward.  And if you do step backwards a bit, or are forced backward somehow, see it as a forward.  Life is over before it’s adequately appreciated.  So, start appreciating.  Everything you do.  With all actuation there’s lesson, there’s education, there’s an expansion of self and vision.  Of everything.

Today’s been one of those days where I can’t stop writing, I can’t stop recording and trapping my thoughts and what I learn from what I see.  From the car accident on 101 this morning which nearly made my son and I late for his drop-off, to writing at home in peace for over two hours, to the English 5 class I just taught.  There’s no need to separate or categorize, with what I’ve today or ever written.  It’s all connected, it’s all part of the composition, part of the essay of your time here on Earth.

I learn from this, sitting here in the conference room, writing notes for the next class to musing in the idea of only moving forward.  That there is no defeat, there is no slow, there is no retraction if we don’t so wish.  Seeing everything as motion toward 12, as boon, a gem, a lesson, tireless and widely beneficial forward.


20:51.  Day’s end. 

30 Jan

Photo on 1-29-18 at 9.01 PMOn floor and thinking over day.  What I want from tomorrow, and trying to make self relax and not overthink what I’m currently entertaining and visualizing.  But I can’t help it.  That’s a consequence of passion.  Offered to 1A class this evening to know your self-teaching style, as I’m always reminding them that they are their best teachers.  And, equally crucial, know your learning style.  I reflect and react to such an idea, an extension of Bob Coleman, the best teacher I’ve ever had (next to Dad) at SSU… he used to urge me to stay in research and work form, one time telling me about a time where he went to Germany for a single document, for something he was working on.  We all should be so dedicated to our projects, mad to explore and bizarrely passionate about our creative.

Have you ever had one of those days where you just see things, people and events and what you’re doing, with more believability, and poetry?  It just makes more sense?  Do you know what I’m intoning?  Have you felt it?  That’s where I am.  It started with the morning’s run, after taking the little beatniks to school.  Not I’m in school, I always am.  Learning from these days as we always should, and love the passion consequences.  Teaching self, and today more than other days I have a delightedly beaming student.


8 Dec

Someone coming into room and distracting me, throwing out off and off rhythm.  But I let them know I’m working.  He seemed not so much put off as he did surprised.  I need my time… I need to collect at day’s inception.  We need to find time for ourselves, and we can we just need be committed, a bit rigid, and at times curt with others.  Even those we like, or even love.  The guy who just came into the office, disrupting my typing, is a great, very kind and convivial guy.  I need this time, though.  I need be educated by my morning.  And this morning, as I early wrote, teaches me again the importance of inventorying, simplicity and singularity.  Found myself getting stressed, then looked at all I had open on laptop, all the clutter and cords and books and receipts I had bunched and punched into backpack.  “You can’t keep blaming the hotel.” I self-instructed.

Today, Friday… Don’t just surrender to the proximity of the weekend.  Be more than merely motivated.  Be ablaze in your life, with your story and what you want.  Forget brainstorming, planning, measuring some trajectory, if not just for today.  Act.  Actuate.  Run… faster.  If you’re out of breath, run faster till you adjust to your new, exhilarating pace.  Creating entails trial, stress, self-test.  As I said in class yesterday, don’t resist what stresses or perplexes you.  Rather, love it.  Let yourself be doused in its element and eclectic synaptic net…

Letting my mind wander, thinking about what I want—  What do you want?  What do you see yourself doing for the rest of your life?  What does it feel like?  What do. You hear?  See?  Smell?  What hits your tongue, what flavors speak?  Don’t get distracted.  Hold to your envisage.  Remain en pensant.