The Education of Oronte Churm

The Education of Oronte Churm

Oronte Churm is the pen name of John Griswold, who teaches in the MFA program at McNeese State University, proudly nestled in Cajun country on the Louisiana Gulf.

February 13, 2007 - 9:56pm
The "One True Sentence" contest will remain open another day. Give it a try! See the two previous posts for details. Until then, here's an essay I wrote for the current issue of Adjunct Advocate: " On Babies ." (It probably isn't what you think.)
February 11, 2007 - 11:05pm
In the last post, I wrote about Ernest Hemingway’s “Paris 1922” writing exercise, which helped him find his mature style. “All you have to do is write one true sentence,” he said. “Write the truest sentence that you know.”
February 9, 2007 - 8:52am
Students often tell me the old lie they’ve been told themselves—Hemingway’s prose is simplicity itself. (“What do Hemingway scholars have to talk about?” a grad student sneered, a beer and a cig in his hands.) But once you start looking at it, the prose is too idiosyncratic to be called simple. In fact, it looks more like poetry.
February 8, 2007 - 8:19am
I was brought up short by the snap of recognition the other day. In classes I often use the late Michael S. Reynolds’s wonderful books on Hemingway. Last week we looked at secondary source material that Hemingway probably read before he wrote of the execution of the six Greek cabinet ministers (“Chapter V”) in In Our Time. This is Hem’s whole chapter:
February 2, 2007 - 8:20am
January 30, 2007 - 10:40pm
After applying for tenure-track jobs this year, I got a letter from a university in the California State system, signed by the English department chair: “Dear Applicant,” it read. “Thank you for applying for our position. For the University to approve our interviews of finalists, we need you to complete the Applicant Information Form that I include.” The Equal Employment Opportunity form had standard questions about sex, racial/ethnic identity, and citizenship.
January 29, 2007 - 5:57pm
Our house was built at the end of the Civil War and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, in part because the man who built it also brought the university to town by out-scheming other state politicians. In the winter it can look grim, a tall, heavy Italianate rising from a plain of mud. The trees that keep grass from growing are bare themselves now too, and when squirrels have been burying nuts, the yard looks like a tidal flat scarred with land-crab holes.
January 25, 2007 - 8:37am
My mom was a teacher. What’s more—and it is more, since not all teachers are the same—she had an intense curiosity and so was a perpetual student herself. But in the way that a deeply spiritual person may not care for organized religion, she didn’t trust schools’ rules and rituals, or even some of my teachers, whom she’d observed as a colleague.
January 19, 2007 - 1:20am
I read Scott McLemee’s column on clutter yesterday in my office. Administrators refer to the room as the Adjunct Ghetto (we share it with TAs), and the decrepitude and overcrowding are manifestations of our status. Think of scenes from Titanic where poor but life-loving immigrants huddle in steerage. It’s like that, without hope for drinking, cavorting, or baring your bad teeth in a lecherous grin at Kate Winslet.

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