I write about nerdy things, and celebrate those things as a college writing teacher. I live in the mountains and co-founded the production house ADK Mogul.

Looking For Alaska by John Green.

I liked this more than The Fault in Our Stars, mostly because it wasn’t really trying to beat you over the head with stuff about death. I felt like it was a little forced in that book, where this seemed more natural. Stuff happens and you feel responsible for it.

Students in my English classes get to choose their main book for the semester, because I think telling students what to read, because the teacher likes it is a great way to make sure they don’t read. Nothing is more alienating than telling someone they have to read something for a grade, but telling them not to read isn’t an option. I have a textbook too, but this choice book is a big part of their final paper. Letting them pick a book that they like, have an interest in also gets them to participate. They can pick anything: comic book, science fiction, memoir, literary fiction or 50 Shades of Grey (and some have picked that book and come up with some great papers about women in the workplace and other things.) They pick the book; we work through some literary criticism worksheets—like formalism, reader-response, and feminism—and come out with a cultural issue to talk about from their book in a research paper.

Last semester, a student did Saga and ended up writing a research paper about mixed race marriages. It also works as a kind of book club and gets me reading things that I normally wouldn’t. So this semester I’m going to use Looking for Alaska, because I think it’s relatable for quite a few freshmen in my composition classes. The characters are away from home for the first time, there are girls, booze, pranks, and responsibility, but most importantly it’s about selfishness—of only thinking about yourself when you’re away from home. It’s a great book to talk about for my English 101.  

You fellas think of comics in terms of comic books, but you’re wrong. I think you fellas should think of comics in terms of drugs, in terms of war, in terms of journalism, in terms of selling, in terms of business. And if you have a viewpoint on drugs, or if you have a viewpoint on war, or if you have a viewpoint on the economy, I think you can tell it more effectively in comics than you can in words. I think nobody is doing it. Comics is journalism.

— Jack Kirby, via Ales Kot.

wonderful-strange:

retrosci-fi:
Tom Swift

Tom Swift was my so my thing in sixth grade. While everyone else was off reading Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew—that generic pre-teen stuff was too tame for me. I wanted something more: teenage genius inventor. I have the entire set of the last series and spent hours at the library reading the 1960s adaptations. I flipped out when Young Indiana Jones—now on Netflix (!!!)—was reading a book from the above era, and I had to have it. At home, I have three of them: Tom Swift and his Motor cycle, motor boat, and airship. 
How about this nostalgia trip.   

wonderful-strange:

retrosci-fi:

Tom Swift

Tom Swift was my so my thing in sixth grade. While everyone else was off reading Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew—that generic pre-teen stuff was too tame for me. I wanted something more: teenage genius inventor. I have the entire set of the last series and spent hours at the library reading the 1960s adaptations. I flipped out when Young Indiana Jones—now on Netflix (!!!)—was reading a book from the above era, and I had to have it. At home, I have three of them: Tom Swift and his Motor cycle, motor boat, and airship. 

How about this nostalgia trip.   

(via arcaneimages)

austinkleon:

Henri Cartier-Bresson portraits of Albert Camus in Paris, 1944

Archie Goodwin’s profile at ComicVine, by an artist I should know, but I’m drawing a blank. Can any of you jog my memory so I can slap myself upside the head? 

Archie Goodwin’s profile at ComicVine, by an artist I should know, but I’m drawing a blank. Can any of you jog my memory so I can slap myself upside the head? 

jthenr-animation-vault:

Iceman model sheet for Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends by John Falkner 

jthenr-animation-vault:

Iceman model sheet for Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends by John Falkner 

(Source: , via bigredrobot)

austinkleon:


How to tag your paper notebook
Awesome. (via)


Oh man, I’ve been looking for a solution to this problem all year. I’m gonna try this on my next notebook.

austinkleon:

How to tag your paper notebook

Awesome. (via)

Oh man, I’ve been looking for a solution to this problem all year. I’m gonna try this on my next notebook.

dharbin:

THE SEVENTH DOCTOR.
A “Persons Of Interest” drawing. You can get your own here, as my schedule allows, and see all the ones thus far here. Short version is I’ll draw any famous/widely recognizable figure, fictional or historical or just popular, just once.

dharbin:

THE SEVENTH DOCTOR.

A “Persons Of Interest” drawing. You can get your own here, as my schedule allows, and see all the ones thus far here. Short version is I’ll draw any famous/widely recognizable figure, fictional or historical or just popular, just once.

David Mitchell on His New Book The Bone Clocks — Vulture:

You could call Mitchell a global writer, I suppose, but that does not quite capture what he is doing. It is closer to say that he is a pangaeic writer, a supercontinental writer. What is for geologists a physical fact—that the world is everywhere interconnected, bound together in a cycle of faulting and folding, rifting and drifting, erosion and uplift—is, for Mitchell, a metaphysical conviction. Immensity alone, he knows, is psychologically and morally risky; it makes our own lives so comparatively insignificant that it can produce fatalism, or depression, or unimpeded self-interest. To counter that, his fiction tries again and again to square the scale of the world with the human scale, down to its smallest and inmost components. The human conscience matters because it leads to action—a captain holds his fire, a free man saves a slave—and human action matters because, if everything is interconnected, everything we do tugs on the web of space and time.

I’m fascinated by this guy. On another note, I wonder why I’m fascinated by writers with the name David. My first (and only) answer is wishful thinking, to somehow be like them, and that’s no good.   

David Mitchell on His New Book The Bone Clocks — Vulture:

You could call Mitchell a global writer, I suppose, but that does not quite capture what he is doing. It is closer to say that he is a pangaeic writer, a supercontinental writer. What is for geologists a physical fact—that the world is everywhere interconnected, bound together in a cycle of faulting and folding, rifting and drifting, erosion and uplift—is, for Mitchell, a metaphysical conviction. Immensity alone, he knows, is psychologically and morally risky; it makes our own lives so comparatively insignificant that it can produce fatalism, or depression, or unimpeded self-interest. To counter that, his fiction tries again and again to square the scale of the world with the human scale, down to its smallest and inmost components. The human conscience matters because it leads to action—a captain holds his fire, a free man saves a slave—and human action matters because, if everything is interconnected, everything we do tugs on the web of space and time.

I’m fascinated by this guy. On another note, I wonder why I’m fascinated by writers with the name David. My first (and only) answer is wishful thinking, to somehow be like them, and that’s no good.   

"The role of the writer is not simply to arrange Being according to his own lights; he must also serve as a medium to Being and remain open to its often unfathomable dictates. This is the only way the work can transcend its creator and radiate its meaning further than the author himself can see or perceive."

aleskot:

— Vaclav Havel, 'Disturbing the Peace'