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Mayday! Jour494 is circling for a landing. And the pilot is losing consciousness. And the wing is on fire. No, wait, both wings are on fire! Which is to say that some people are still trying to find a story to write for their final assignment. The only good news is that there are no motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
I can’t look. Tell me what happens. All I know is: WE ARE CRASHING.
On Monday, we finished up critiquing the Nov. 7 scene stories. For my general diagnoses of these stories as a whole, please see the Nov. 19 recap. Meanwhile, here are excerpts from the three stories that I liked best, and why. (I haven’t fixed anything — the copy you’ll read here is exactly as it was filed to me.)
We spent a fair amount of time Wednesday discussing Tom Junod’s 8,100-word profile of Mister Rogers. It ran 14 (!!) years ago in Esquire and it’s still one of those pieces that makes me tear up. It’s beautifully constructed. Its paragraphs are dense but many of its sentences are deliberately simple, mirroring Fred Rogers’s way of speaking to children. Yet the story is also very deeply felt and intellectually considered.
My day never really gets going until I read what Nancy Nall has to say, as well as her regular commenters. Reading her blog has been a daily habit for, gosh, maybe a decade now.
Lately, both in class and in the Kaimin critiques on Friday (the student-run paper at the University of Montana), I’ve been trying to stress clarity and finesse in stories. You can know the basics of newswriting (fives W’s, one H, arranged in inverted pyramid, and hello, where is the nutgraf?) and still spend the rest of your career struggling to make it all clearer, more coherent, uncluttered, smoother. Many times I find myself asking what the story I’m reading is about — especially with feature stories, whether by students or in the nation’s best magazines.
Busy class on Wednesday. We finished up critiquing the personal essay riffs: Dustin on “Lost”; Cody on “The Gong Show” reruns; Ashley on “Supernatural” and boy bands; Allison on “The Office’s” Jim & Pam romance; and Carli on loving the ’80s, even though she missed the ’80s entirely. Good discussions.
Then we talked about progress (frustrations, too) on scene stories. Sounds mostly good; some are still casting about for the right scene to go cover. Not quite time to panic yet — still about 10 days to figure it out, report it out, and file by Nov. 7. Somehow we still managed to talk for half an hour about who/what/where/when/why/how and pitch some more ideas. Come by and see me if you’re having problems.
Washington Post photo: Evy Mages
We spent most of Wednesday’s class period talking about the five scene stories I assigned for readings. These are each different kinds of scene stories, and I want the students to keep these handy as they work on their own scene stories, due Nov. 7.
The first one is a ride-along (literally), as Dan Zak follows the scene at Washington, D.C.’s first-ever “tweed ride” of people who share the common wish that the 21st century could be more dandy and old-fashioned.
(For links to all of these stories, go to the bottom of Monday’s recap.)
We’re delving into scene stories now, and what do I mean by that? It’s a feature that’s not too long, heavy on narrative and vivid detail, that takes a reader into a place they might not normally go, or were too busy to get to, or don’t have the access to. Reporting on a trial is, in a way, a scene story: What happened, but also, what did the courtroom feel like as it happened? What did people say during court recess, in the hallways? What did people wear? How did they react to evidence, testimony, verdicts? And, of course, what is the news?
George W.S. Trow’s long essay about American culture and the irreversible effects of television on the national psyche, Within the Context of No-Context, was first published in the New Yorker’s Nov. 17, 1980, issue. It took up nearly the whole magazine. It changed people — and also irritated many. It still has the effect of blowing some readers’ heads off (mine, about 15 years ago) and leaving others puzzled and even cold. If you haven’t read it, you should. (Here’s a tiny taste.) The essay begins:
We spent the entire class period Wednesday doing roundtable critiques of the reported essays. For the handful of you reading this blog way outside of room 301, this is where we’re mostly going to have to leave you out of the fun. When it comes to this part of the process, what happens in room 301 stays in room 301.
I split the class into two groups last week: Group A read all of the essays in Group B; and Group B read A. They were encouraged to mark them up like crazy. For the critique sessions, I put the essays in random order. We spent roughly six minutes on each — and we still have a few left to do on Monday, before we try to figure out George Trow.
Tampa Bay Times
We’re a month into the semester, the pace is quickening, and the Pollner class is turning into a bit of a juggling lesson. On Wednesday, we’re going to be group-critiquing the reported essays. (Professor Stuever is also grappling with something he hasn’t thought one bit about since he left college: grades. How to grade? There’s a horrible tug between needing to be tough and wanting to be kind. You’d think three years of eviscerating TV shows would lend itself to grading 17 essays. You’d be wrong. I have to factor in hopes and dreams here.)