pizzazz

Currently, I am taking an Educational Evaluation course. One of our assignments was to two develop new assessments for our curriculum, stretching to utilize new technology. As you might guess, my discipline is writing, and the course has caused me to think about new ways to approach writing and the teaching-of-writing.

In undertaking one of the assignments I thought I would take the opportunity to learn Powtoon, a web-based presentation interface that bills itself as the "antidote" to boring presentations that blends content with an animation style. The user experience is not unlike Prezi.

When I was finished, it occurred to me that Powtoon might be a great way to add some "pizzazz" to blog or social media content. As content-ingesters we consumers like pictures and moving objects.

And Powtoon was, well, fun.

See for yourself.

names of things

As I get older I become more and more obsessed with the names of things. 

The names of things matter. 

It's not just a bird; it's an Indigo Bunting.

It's not a flower; it's a Purple Loosestrife.

A. Name. In. Capital. Letters.

A name conveys something important, essential and meaningful. 

A name means "I apprehend you" in a way that's internalized and much, much more powerful.

satisfaction index

When I worked at FOX 11, we wanted to own the image for "severe weather." In an effort to symbolically reflect the brand, the weather team came up with the "Severe Weather Index" -- a recognizable, almost iconic, visual representation of severe weather risk.

High. Moderate. Low.

It occurred to me that storytelling subscribes to a similar kind of index: a satisfaction index.

I have observed in myself and others that we are most "satisfied" by stories (whatever the format or platform) that answer our need for pattern, especially repetition, symmetry and arc.

And the best kind of writing fulfills a desire in us, whether it's nostalgia, adventure, comedy or poetic justice.    

essentialism

On Wednesdays I pick up a basket of produce from the organic co-op. In my basket is whatever crop was harvested that week. Lately a lot of beets and cabbages. The basket encourages ingenuity. I would never have tried steamed beet salad with lemon zest and raspberry vinaigrette otherwise. This week I got talking to the pony-tailed co-op supervisor, Leslie, a former engineer now organic gardener in charge of volunteers at the co-op. He asked me what I did during the day. 

It's a tricky question of late.

I answered that I was in the process of reinventing myself.

Aren't we all, he replied.

It's hard, I said, but I am learning to live with less.

Leslie helped carry my basket to the car. Parking was often a dilemma. Leslie had very white teeth with a slight underbite. Despite the hours spent working in the garden there was something rain-washed about him, clean.

There's a word for that, he replied, blinking. He didn't wear sunglasses.

Yes? I encouraged. His face was evenly tanned.

Essentialism, he said. 

Essentialism, I nodded, was a good goal in life and writing.

Essentialism asked us to go beyond mere existence to the very essence of things, the inward nature, to find meaning.

It was not fabricated or contrived meaning that rationalized our behavior but true meaning that was waiting for us, if only we were bothered to look.

Like the sweet stain of beets.