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Archives and Special Collections Blog
Congratulations to Claudia Rueda, Billie M. Levy Travel Grant recipient in 2009, for the new English translation of her 2011 book “Todos es relativos.” This one is “Is it Big or Is it Little?” and is published by Eerdmans Books for Young Readers. This is a charming book for the youngest readers which compares concepts such as deep and shallow, long and short, and beginning and end. Felicitaciones, Claudia!
In his third blog installment, Glastonbury teacher and writer David Polochanin, recipient of the James Marshall Fellowship, shares two of his original poems after reading poetry in the Dodd Collection, from the Joel Oppenheimer and Robert Creeley papers.
Blog post 3: On Poetry
“Cartography” and “Celebrating the Peace” by Joel Oppenheimer (Joel Oppenheimer Papers, Box 11, Archives & Special Collections, University of Connecticut Libraries). All rights reserved. No unauthorized reproduction allowed by any means for any reason.
3.20.13
Who would have
thought that
these papers,
with their typewriter
ink fading,
would see the
light of day
again, let alone
on this windy
Wednesday morning
in March?
When the poet
fashioned these words
40 years ago
they were
nothing special,
drafts scattered
in the author’s mind,
printed in a cluttered office,
gathering on the shelf
and the desk top,
in piles on the floor
against the wall,
and others in a stack
on the sill
beside a cactus.
The plant
(and the author)
have long since died
but today
I open a manila
folder and the poetry
comes alive, quite
a miracle, actually.
His words of reflection
and longing, poems
commemorating seasons,
and scenes
in New York City
that the poet likely
saw each day, planes
rising above the
Financial District,
papers blowing
on the sidewalk,
a bird that spent half
its morning jumping
from branch to branch
in a single tree
as a stream of taxis
formed one line
from here
to Central Park,
all of them turning at once,
then disappearing on
behind a monument
when I close this folder
and open the next.
“The Epic Expands” by Robert Creeley (Robert Creeley Papers, Box 2:Folder 48, Archives & Special Collections, University of Connecticut Libraries). All rights reserved. No unauthorized reproduction allowed by any means for any reason.
Sipping A Coke
Back when I was a kid
we used to sit on a porch
and sip Coke.
The parents sat in
rocking chairs,
holding their drink
in a bottle;
the young ones sat
on the concrete steps
flicking with their non-
drinking hand
the tiniest of pebbles
and the sun sat
motionless
in the sky.
We sipped it together.
We sipped it because
it was good. People
didn’t die because
of soft drinks, then.
No one developed
an addiction to caffeine
and diabetes
wasn’t a problem.
Having this drink allowed
us to chat about life,
about the dog’s laziness,
how the garden
was coming along,
and there was
a baseball game
on the radio
Saturday night.
Yes, those afternoons
had some kind
of timeless element.
I can still taste
the sweet soda
in my mouth
and I wonder
to this day
as I read this poem
what that
is all
about.
For the 2012-2013 academic year, Glastonbury teacher and writer David Polochanin was awarded the James Marshall Fellowship while on sabbatical to research the archives at the Northeast Children’s Literature Collection and create young adult poetry and fiction of his own. This is the last in a series of blog installments on his insights, observations, and discoveries.
Blog post 4: On Natalie Babbitt’s Tuck Everlasting, and Some Final Thoughts On My Fellowship
“Tuck Everlasting is a fearsome and beautifully written book that can’t be put down or forgotten… I esteem it as a work or art, but it makes me as nervous as a cat. If I were twelve, on the other hand, I would love it.”
– Jean Stafford, The New Yorker, 1975
“It’s almost impossible to pick one book that speaks to all the needs, dreams, desires of children in these years of the Search for Self. But if we were to choose one book for a ten to twelve- year-old stranded on that proverbial desert island, it would probably be Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt.”
– From Choosing Books for Kids: Choosing the Right Book For the Right Child At The Right Time (Ballantine Books, 1986)
Unless you’re a researcher, author, or interested in the inner workings of the writing craft, it is likely that, when reading a new book, with its glossy cover and crisp new pages, you will never know the labor involved in writing it. That’s not what draws people toward reading literature, usually. You might read a review on amazon.com or in a newspaper. You may get a recommendation from a friend, or read a blurb on a back cover in a bookstore.
It’s also likely that few readers probably care about that process – the multiple drafts, the dead-ends, the outlines, the correspondence with agents and editors – in general, the ‘messiness’ that goes along with writing a book. After all, there are a select few who have the ambition to write a book, even fewer who pull it off, and fewer still who get their books published. Most readers, I submit, read for entertainment, not to study the writing process.
Good thing for me that I like to do that.
When examining drafts of Natalie Babbitt’s Tuck Everlasting, the 1975 masterwork of children’s literature often listed on all-time best-books-for-children lists, it became immediately clear that her process was not easy or quick. It wasn’t a masterpiece the first time around. There are three drafts included in the collection, and the first two are thoroughly edited, with numerous cross-outs, inserts, writing all over the top, side, and bottom margins, places where new paragraphs need to be inserted, arrows drawn from here to there. Whether it’s a change from “said” to “whispered”, changing a reference from a character’s name to a pronoun reference, the elimination of how a chapter would begin, the manuscript is marked up – in a good way. When I flipped through the manuscript’s first draft, not one page was left alone.
Click here for an example of Natalie Babbitt’s revision process.
One powerful example of this is at the end of Chapter 22, where Babbitt adds this dramatic, skillful ending in handwritten script in the bottom and side margins. The cross-outs are Ms. Babbitt’s.
Mae had killed the man in the yellow suit. And she had meant to kill him…
Winnie had killed a wasp once, in fear and anger, just as it in time to spare herself a stinging. She had slammed at the wasp with a heavy book, and killed it. And then, at once, seeing its body broken, the thin wings stilled, she had at once wished it were alive again. She had wept for that wasp. Was Mae weeping now for the man in the yellow suit? In spite of her wish to spare the world, did she wish he were alive again? There was no way of knowing. But Mae had done what she thought she had to do. Winnie closed her eyes to shut out the silent pulse of the lightning.
I don’t know about you, but when I see examples of revision like that – which eventually became a permanent part of the story – I get chills. To know that paragraph was not in Ms. Babbitt’s mind when initially composing the first draft speaks volumes about the importance of revising, and why writers must revise if they are to push themselves to write their best work.
Here is another deft example of Babbitt’s revision, her first draft of the opening paragraph to chapter 25, which came to be the first paragraph of Chapter 23. Again, the cross-throughs are Babbitt’s.
It was the longest day: mindlessly hot, unspeakably hot, a cruel punishment to a guiltless world for unknown too hot to move, or even think. The countryside, the village of Treegap, the wood, motionless all lay whipped and helpless gasping. The sun was a ponderous circle without edges, a roar without a sound, a blazingglare blaze so thorough consuming that even Queen Anne’s lace cast perfect, motionless shadows and remorseless that even in the Foster’s parlor, with curtains drawn, it seemed an actual tangible presence. You could not shut it out.
In her second draft, this paragraph evolved to:
It was the longest day: mindlessly hot, unspeakably hot, too hot to move or even think. The countryside, the village of Treegap, the wood – all lay defeated whipped and beaten. Nothing stirred. The sun was a ponderous circle without edges, a roar without a sound, a blazing glare so thorough and remorseless that even in the Fosters’ parlor, with curtains drawn, it seemed an actual presence.You could not shut it out.
Notice how her language tightens. The text does not become spare – Babbitt’s prose is too descriptive and rich to be spare – but words and phrases are eliminated, and the writing is better for it.
What I wonder about, as a teacher, as a writer, is this: Do student writers know this about writing? Do they know that this is a normal part of a writer’s process? That even the drafts of some of the greatest masterworks of children’s literature were not polished or complete in the first draft, or even the second draft?
Would it help for them to see this? I believe so. As a freelance writer, poet, and former journalist myself, I derived an education – and also inspiration – from reading through Babbitt’s drafts and witnessing her process.
A few other interesting things caught my attention as I read through the three drafts. First, the lead character, Winnie, was originally not named Winnie. She was Daisy. Only after chapter 10 of her second draft did Babbitt change her name. Also, the title of the book, etched in the minds of children and adults alike, was not a certain thing. During the process, Babbitt brainstormed various titles, including: The Ripe Old Age Of Always, Ancient, An Ancient Tender Age, Daisy and Forever, and Tuck Everlasting.
I wondered why these changes were made – with these and several other questions. There are sometimes limitations when reading through archival materials, so I thought the only way to get the answers was to ask Natalie Babbitt herself.
Five days after sending her a list of my questions, Ms. Babbitt graciously and generously responded. Her responses provide insights about Tuck, her personal writing process, and she even revealed what, to her, is the finest piece of children’s literature.
Here is the entire, unedited transcript of my questions and her answers. I chose not to shorten it because her responses are simply too good to edit.
1. I noticed [in your notes] that there appeared to be a list of potential titles for this book, including:
The Ripe Old Age Of Always Daisy And Forever
Ancient Tuck Everlasting
An Ancient Tender Age
How did you ultimately arrive at Tuck Everlasting? Was it your decision or an editor’s? Do you recall what you were thinking while going through this process? And, do you think the title is especially important for this book, or if the book would have succeeded had you named it something else?
I want to start by saying there are no rules for writing stories, once you get past grammar and punctuation. Everyone has systems of their own. I think choosing a title is one of the most difficult extras. But finally, for me, anyway, a title comes to the head of the list because, whether the writer knows it or not, it should say best what needs saying: it tells something about the story it represents, but not too much – and it needs to have an almost musical rhythm to it. My editor, without whom I’d never have written a word, has never demanded one title or another – he leaves it up to me – but if he dislikes the sound of a title, or its seeming meaning, he’ll say so. But I doubt if a given title would make a success of a story, good, bad, or indifferent. Leaning on any part of a story – except the story itself – to create success spells disaster.
2. I noticed in the first draft and through Chapter 10 of the second draft that the lead character was named Daisy. Can you tell me why you made the change to Winnie? Also, it looked like she was possibly named Anna in one of the drafts. Can you comment on why you changed her name and if you had changed characters’ names in other books you have written while in the process of writing?
The name of my main character in Tuck was changed a number of times because, first, I wanted a name that was popular at the time the story takes place, and second, I wanted to find a name that, for me sounded serious – not cute; a name representative (for me) of the character’s personality. “Daisy” began to annoy me. Since then, mostly, I choose names very carefully while I’m planning a story. “Winnie”, as you know now, is a nickname for “Winifred”, and both can be used here to good effect. I think.
3. About the process… did you realize you were writing something extraordinary/special as you were composing Tuck? If so, when, and how did this impact your writing?
Did I realize I was writing something extraordinary when I was writing Tuck? Not in the least. In fact, I was pretty sure the theme had already been used many times. It still surprises me that it was fairly unique. But I can tell you that many adults, when I told them what the basic theme of the story was going to be, were horrified. “Write about death for children? That’s a terrible idea! They won’t understand that! It will only scare them!” Wrong! Completely wrong! I have had wonderful, articulate letters from thoughtful, philosophizing (if that’s a word) children steadily throughout the years since it appeared. It is mainly to the credit of reading teachers that it has been used in schools, bless them. But the children understand it by themselves, and have a lot to say about it. I wish this society would stop thinking that everyone under the age of seventeen is useless and dumb.
4. I noticed that your first draft was in longhand. Is that how you typically start to write? If so, why do you feel that method works for you?
My first draft was in longhand because, in the 70s, computers were not commonplace. I wrote in longhand, and then typed it all on my typewriter, chapter by chapter, as I went along. It’s what everyone did, so far as I know.
5. Can you comment on the writing process of this book? Did the writing happen more quickly or slowly than usual? Do you recall how long it took to write the 1st draft, to finish the second draft, and complete the third?
I don’t know if I ever had a writing process exactly. I never began a story (on paper) until I knew what it was that I wanted to say, and how the story would end. I have never begun a story without knowing what the ending will be. And, as far as I’m concerned, every story should have a purpose. But you have to be really careful not to preach. Some stories come easily because their purpose is clear from the beginning. But my latest story, The Moon Over High Street, took ten years to become a real book. In the beginning, it was terrible, and I kept throwing most of it away. But I think it works all right now that it’s complete.
6. Why do you think, in this age of fickle, and sometimes odd, tastes in children’s literature, that Tuck has endured all these years? Any theories?
I think Tuck has lasted because, no matter how many years go by, the question of death, and how to live with it, never goes away. What you call ‘odd’ and ‘fickle’ about tastes in children’s literature are aspects that do not come from the young readers themselves. They come mostly from writers – and illustrators – who are trying to become established. Nothing wrong with that. But I think the best themes come from the people who remember what it was really like to be a child. My childhood is very clear and distinct to me. In fact, I think my whole philosophy was created before I was ten years old, and it has never changed. This doesn’t mean that I think my books are special in any way – after all, I started out wanting to be an illustrator – but at least they’re honest, and, I hope, direct.
7. I noticed that you had a good deal of notes and outlining, including a chronology, as part of your manuscript. Is this typical for you? If so, why do you feel that’s an important part of your process? Does it make the writing any easier?
Click here for Natalie Babbitt’s handwritten chronology for Tuck Everlasting.
Yes, I take a lot of notes and do a lot of research, and think and plan endlessly. I can’t start writing until the story has a shape and a purpose (for me) and a good ending. Not happy, necessarily, but rational and reasonable.
8. Your first two drafts include many revisions, cross-outs, arrows all over the margins, etc. As a teacher and a writer, it was excellent to see the, for lack of a better word, ‘messiness’, of this process. What is your revision process like? Do you read your work aloud? Do you have other readers you count on for feedback? It seemed that some of these revisions were revelatory and substantial. Do you expect to make significant changes when revising, or are you surprised by them?
My drafts now are a lot tidier than they used to be. Computers are a great help. But there have been lots and lots of cross-outs and arrows in my head. And that’s where the revisions try themselves out. I think about a new story endlessly, and completely stop reading anything else until there’s room in my head once again. No, I don’t read my work aloud except when I have a few beginning pages. Then, sometimes, I send a few paragraphs to my editor (his name is Michael di Capua, and we’ve been together for more than 45 years). He is very candid in his reactions, and I treasure them. But I don’t think I’ve ever read anything aloud to my husband. He’s got a PhD in American Studies, with a specialization in American literature, and that aspects usually scares me. Mostly, he reads my books when they’re published.
9. What are a few of what you believe to be the finest examples of children’s literature, all-time? A Natalie Babbitt Top 5 or Top 10?
The finest example of children’s literature is, to me, Alice in Wonderland. I read it first when I was in fourth grade and it has formed a lot of different pieces of my taste and philosophy. The language is wonderful, and Alice herself is the only character in the book that has a particle of sense. It tells the truth, and it tells it with objectivity and humor and shows again and again what adults are really about.
. . .
On a closing note, back in December when I began this fellowship, when I discovered that Tuck Everlasting was in the NCLC collection, I decided that I wanted to write my final blog post about this book. That, along with Natalie Babbitt’s thoughtful and revealing responses, makes me feel as though I made the right decision. For me, anyway. There could have been any number of paths that this fellowship took; there are hundreds of boxes of material that I did not explore. But I do want to recognize and thank the NCLC curator Terri Goldich for allowing me tremendous latitude in what I did, and for her support along the way. Thanks, also, to the other curators and Dodd Center staff, including Betsy Pittman, for accommodating my requests and answering my questions. I’m going to miss this place.
This fellowship was an unexpected, yet significant part of a sabbatical in which I have mainly written young adult poetry – I have a collection of poems that I am currently pitching to agents and editors – and a collection of short stories that I am planning to polish and revise in the next few weeks. I am grateful to the Glastonbury School District, its Board of Education, Superintendent of Schools Alan Bookman, my principal at Gideon Welles School, Jay Gregorski, and the Director of Reading and Language Arts, Joanne St. Peter, for supporting this sabbatical. What an unparalleled professional development opportunity. I learned a lot about myself as a writer and a teacher and look forward to returning to the classroom in the fall.
I think it’s appropriate to finish this post with Natalie Babbitt’s last words to me in her letter, when she puts her writing process simply, perhaps deceptively so.
What it comes down to, for me, is: you have to have something to say, and you have to like words. And that’s about it.
Carey MacDonald is an undergraduate Anthropology major and writing intern. In her blog series Through the Lens of an Anthropologist, Carey analyzes artifacts found in the collections of Archives and Special Collections.
People, like parents and teachers, and things, like games and books, play significant roles in shaping a child’s understanding of the world. According to the Cambridge Guide to Children’s Books in English (“Alphabet Books” by Ann Rowe), alphabet books in particular have been in use since the 15th century to teach the alphabet to young children to prepare them for learning to read. The first alphabet books were called primers and were essentially prayer books that dedicated several pages to the alphabet. ABC books eventually became separate books from primers and utilized illustrations and short rhymes to represent each specific letter. We can see how the ABC books we know today came to be by looking into the wide-ranging collection of alphabet books in the Archives.
One such book from 2008, called “Z is for Zeus: A Greek Mythology Alphabet” and written by Helen L. Wilbur and illustrated by Victor Juhasz, comes in a large, hardcover picture book form with a plastic overlay. The beginning pages are filled with information about how Greek mythology is useful in modern times. The “Why It’s Greek to You” section describes this when it says, “By reading and studying the myths and their culture you can expand your understanding of the words, their meanings, and symbols, making them no longer Greek to you.”
This section also explains that the names of many modern-day words, places, products, companies, and organizations are derived from Greek mythology. Nike, for instance, is known as an athletic apparel brand to us but was originally known as the Goddess of Victory to the ancient Greeks. After introducing the relevance of myths to today’s world, the book continues by aligning letters of the English alphabet with various aspects of Greek mythology. Each letter is reflected in a finite, four-line poem that is written in a typical, sing-song AABB rhyme scheme. Historical explanations of each letter’s representative word are also provided on each page. Whimsical, colorful, caricature-like illustrations further describe the represented letter. The people’s exaggerated facial features – particularly their big eyes and noses – would be comical to a child and thus captive of his or her interest.
Furthermore, the letters symbolize such curious things as gods and goddesses, for the letter G, who reside in Olympus, for the letter O, as well as Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, for the letter S. By remarking on such intangible, ambiguous, and distant things as god(s) and the constellations, this alphabet book brings into focus two difficult subjects of human conjecture which a child, as we can imagine, can only understand to a limited extent.
Other letters symbolize character traits; for instance, the letter H is represented by heroes and the heroic qualities that children are taught to demonstrate: “Fearless deeds are just one part of the heroic creed. You must have heart, nobility, show reverence, and strive in all for excellence.” Similarly, the letter K is represented by King Midas in that “King Midas will tell you if you’re very bold and ask that all you touch turns to gold, what seems like a blessing will make you feel cursed.” Still other letters attempt to explain the origin of humans. 
For instance, from Chaos, for the letter C, “came the earth and the heavens, the ocean and light,” and the Fates, for the letter F, “determine at your birth your length of time upon this earth.”
Like this alphabet book from 2008, a hard paper alphabet primer from 1913, which is entitled “The Noah’s Ark Primer” and was produced by the G.C. Hanford Manufacturing Company of Syracuse, New York and distributed by “druggist” U.C. Becker, is written in an AABB rhyme scheme and aligns the letters of the alphabet with the animals described by the Bible to be found on Noah’s Ark during the biblical deluge. Another primer, “The Bible Alphabet,” published in 1860 by Sheldon & Co. of New York, New York, differs from the 20th and 21st century books in that it is made of cloth and is written in ABCB rhyme scheme. It is similar however, particularly to the 1913 book, in that it aims to teach children the English alphabet while also introducing them to Biblical figures.
In essence, each of these alphabet books functions as an educational tool both scholastically and culturally. While the format and structure has changed over time, the basic, instructive premise of the alphabet book has remained the same. It is apparent that, since these books have been in production for the past six-hundred years, the instructional template of the alphabet book is timeless.
Carey MacDonald, writing intern
The New England Limited, better known as the White Train, or Ghost Train, which traveled from New York to Boston on the Air Line Division (formerly the Boston & New York Air Line Railroad) of the New York, New Haven & Hartford Railroad in the early 1890s. Leroy Roberts Railroad Collection, Archives & Special Collections, University of Connecticut Libraries.
Let’s get on board to celebrate National Train Day on Saturday, May 11! Amtrak organizes this event to celebrate the ways trains connect us all and to learn how trains are an instrumental part of our American story.
We here in the Railroad History Archive in Archives & Special Collections are celebrating this day by enjoying the rich resources in the collection that document how the railroad was pivotal to the lives of the people of New England in the Golden Age of Railroads in the late 1800s. This photograph shows the New England Limited on the Air Line Division, formerly the Boston & New York Air Line, which was built to provide a direct route diagonally across the state of Connecticut to connect the important financial centers of New York City and Boston. At the time this photograph was taken, in the 1890s, the B&NYAL was taken over by the New York, New Haven & Hartford Railroad and then known as the Air Line Division. The New England Limited reminds us of a time when luxurious trains were ridden by the Gilded Era’s captains of industry.
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In the early 1950s the New Haven Railroad phased out use of its steam fleet in favor of its electric and diesel locomotives. Shown here is a menu and photographs taken on an excursion trip from Boston’s South Station to New Haven, Connecticut, through the route of the old New York & New England Railroad with stops in Willimantic and New London, Connecticut. The photographs were taken by Seth P. Holcombe and Ralph E. Wadleigh, both of whose photographs we hold in the Railroad History Archives.
Menu for New Haven Railroad’s last steam trip, April 27, 1952. Donated by Frank Morrissey, University Railroad Collection, Archives & Special Collections of the University of Connecticut Libraries.
Last evening, I had the pleasure of meeting Fred Ho and hearing him speak at the book signing for Yellow Power, Yellow Soul: the radical art of Fred Ho, co-edited by Roger N. Buckley and Tamara Roberts, University of Illinois Press. In attendance was filmmaker Steven De Castro who has made a video showcasing Fred Ho’s original clothing designs currently on exhibition at the Knox Gallery, Harlem, New York. One of the many ways Fred Ho expresses himself. Check it out.
Dr. Philip Nel’s newest work, Crockett Johnson and Ruth Krauss: How an Unlikely Couple Found Love, Dodged the FBI, and Transformed Children’s Literature, was published in September of 2012 by the University Press of Mississippi. This book is the culmination of years of work to bring to light the lives and times of the man who created Harold and the purple crayon and the woman who, with Maurice Sendak, created A Hole is to dig. Over the course of their marriage and collaborations, they created over 75 books and influenced some of the best in the business, including Chris van Allsburg who thanked Harold and his purple crayon in his Caldecott acceptance speech in 1981. Nel points out that while Krauss and Johnson were “never quite household names…Their circle of friends and acquaintances included some of the important cultural figures of the twentieth century.” (pg.7) This impeccably researched work which literally took Nel a decade to write, is arranged in 28 chapters, with extensive notes, bibliography, index and illustrations, some reprinted from published works and some from the three dozen archives he visited including the Northeast Children’s Literature Collection. In his epilogue, Nel writes, “Crockett Johnson shows us that a crayon can create a world, while Ruth Krauss demonstrates that dreams can be as large as a giant orange carrot. Whenever children and grown-ups seek books that invite them to think and to imagine, they need look no further than Johnson and Krauss. There, they will find a very special house, where holes are to dig, walls are a canvas, and people are artists, drawing paths that take them anywhere they want to go.” (pg. 275)
Congratulations, Dr. Nel, on an exceptional work of scholarship.
Philip Nel, Crockett Johnson and Ruth Krauss (Jackson : University Press of Mississippi, 2012). ISBN 978-1-61703-624-8. EBook 978-1-61703-625-5.
In his third blog installment, Glastonbury teacher and writer David Polochanin, recipient of the James Marshall Fellowship, shares two of his original poems after reading poetry in the Dodd Collection, from the Joel Oppenheimer and Robert Creeley papers.
Blog post 3: On Poetry
“Cartography” and “Celebrating the Peace” by Joel Oppenheimer (Joel Oppenheimer Papers, Box 11, Archives & Special Collections, University of Connecticut Libraries). All rights reserved. No unauthorized reproduction allowed by any means for any reason.
3.20.13
Who would have
thought that
these papers,
with their typewriter
ink fading,
would see the
light of day
again, let alone
on this windy
Wednesday morning
in March?
When the poet
fashioned these words
40 years ago
they were
nothing special,
drafts scattered
in the author’s mind,
printed in a cluttered office,
gathering on the shelf
and the desk top,
in piles on the floor
against the wall,
and others in a stack
on the sill
beside a cactus.
The plant
(and the author)
have long since died
but today
I open a manila
folder and the poetry
comes alive, quite
a miracle, actually.
His words of reflection
and longing, poems
commemorating seasons,
and scenes
in New York City
that the poet likely
saw each day, planes
rising above the
Financial District,
papers blowing
on the sidewalk,
a bird that spent half
its morning jumping
from branch to branch
in a single tree
as a stream of taxis
formed one line
from here
to Central Park,
all of them turning at once,
then disappearing on
behind a monument
when I close this folder
and open the next.
“The Epic Expands” by Robert Creeley (Robert Creeley Papers, Box 2:Folder 48, Archives & Special Collections, University of Connecticut Libraries). All rights reserved. No unauthorized reproduction allowed by any means for any reason.
Sipping A Coke
Back when I was a kid
we used to sit on a porch
and sip Coke.
The parents sat in
rocking chairs,
holding their drink
in a bottle;
the young ones sat
on the concrete steps
flicking with their non-
drinking hand
the tiniest of pebbles
and the sun sat
motionless
in the sky.
We sipped it together.
We sipped it because
it was good. People
didn’t die because
of soft drinks, then.
No one developed
an addiction to caffeine
and diabetes
wasn’t a problem.
Having this drink allowed
us to chat about life,
about the dog’s laziness,
how the garden
was coming along,
and there was
a baseball game
on the radio
Saturday night.
Yes, those afternoons
had some kind
of timeless element.
I can still taste
the sweet soda
in my mouth
and I wonder
to this day
as I read this poem
what that
is all
about.
Lantern slide from College of Agriculture Records
Glastonbury, Conn., English teacher David Polochanin was recently awarded the James Marshall Fellowship, as he pursues to write young adult literature as part of a yearlong sabbatical. During his research, he will write an occasional series of blog posts, based on his observations and insights relating to the contents of the Northeast Children’s Literature Collection at the University of Connecticut. This is the second in the series.
Blog post 2: On The Psychology Of Writing
“You may think that this is the first Newbery acceptance speech I have ever made. But it isn’t. Long ago, before I ever wrote a book, when I was a children’s librarian and first aware of the Newbery Medal, I used to often put myself to sleep at night making speeches accepting this coveted award. These speeches were all exceptionally good and I wish I could remember them now. After I started writing, I stopped this pleasant habit, for my mind busied itself with wayward excursions creating chapters for… books.”
Excerpt from Eleanor Estes’ 1952 Newbery Medal speech for her book Ginger Pye
Within the publishing industry, there is a genre subset that exists mainly because of the uncertainty, mystery, and pressure that all writers face – the self-help writing guide. New books are sold every year, offering expert advice on such writerly, often impossible, things as how to summon the muses, where characters come from, the best ways to begin and end a story, if outlining is necessary for everyone, as if these were insider secrets only known to a few. Still, we learn that some authors write early in morning; others late at night. Some claim the best ideas come while taking long walks; others write what they dream and form stories around that.
To prove the marketability of such books, there is still a shelf at your local Barnes and Noble and the UConn Co-op reserved for such titles as John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction, Ray Bradbury’s Zen In The Art Of Writing, Stephen King’s On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft, Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones: Freeing The Writer Within, Anne Lamott’s Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, and Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, among others.
As a writer, especially at the beginning, during those fledgling phases when you’ve got 40 pages of something and it isn’t going so well, it’s hard not to look at these books. They are indeed tempting to read. Teachers at the college level routinely assign them as class texts, and the content is often useful, if not entertaining. I’ve bought a bunch of them myself, and every now and then, I return to them for inspiration or direction.
So, what makes me bring up the self-help industry for writers? A progressive-minded document from 1952.
Browsing through the Eleanor Estes papers recently I came upon several drafts of her Newbery Medal speech, given in 1952 for her book Ginger Pye, which stopped me in my tracks. As I read the draft, complete with cross-outs and edits, I stopped at the excerpt at the top of this post and had to reread it. I copied it verbatim on my yellow legal pad. Estes, a former librarian in New York City, said this was not her first speech. She had given many of them, in her head, putting herself to sleep at night imagining that she had won the award. What she was saying could have easily been included in a how-to-write guide; it still could.
With so much written about the psychology of writing – directly or indirectly – the truth remains elusive. What works for some will not work for all. I know for a fact that I do not have the motivation to write at 4:30 a.m., as some writers do. My most productive work time is sometime between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. It used to be from 9 p.m. to midnight, before my kids entered the picture. I have had numerous ideas come to me while on bike rides and while driving my car, though I would hesitate to say there is a direct correlation between generating writing ideas and movement. Perhaps through doing these activities, my mind has an opportunity to clear out some space for creative thought. But who really knows.
Reading from superior examples in the genre you’re writing seems to help warm up the brain. Perhaps it’s nothing more than mere imitation. But is this scientifically based? I doubt it, or know if it can be. Still, Ted Kooser, the Pulitzer Prize winning poet who has been the U.S. Poet Laureate, in interviews says he has done this, as have many other writers. When I was a journalist at the Providence Journal, before a major assignment an editor once sent me a handful of front-page feature stories from the Wall Street Journal before I started to write one of my own. I did “channel” something from those stories, but I think I was too young to figure out how the articles she sent could help me.
Nevertheless, I guess the Estes comment surprised me because of the time period in which she wrote it, and also because it still makes so much sense today. How could it not help to imagine doing the very thing you want to do? Isn’t visualization/imagery the most primitive version of positive psychology? Estes was priming her brain to write great works, and her nightly fantasizing ritual ultimately gave her a tight focus and, quite likely, a motivation.
It worked for her. Could it work for others?
Sifting through boxes of manuscripts in the Northeast Children’s Literature Collection, I suppose, can have a similar effect: to gain a psychological edge in the writing process. It’s easy to forget sometimes that writing is truly an art form, and that artists need inspiration and particular conditions in order to do it well. Whether it’s writing near the window at Starbucks, which seems to be a favorite for many, or in a secluded study room at a library, I’m not sure if there are any big secrets that will work for everyone. The trick, I think, is discovering what will work for you.
Carey MacDonald is an undergraduate Anthropology major and writing intern. In her blog series Through the Lens of an Anthropologist, Carey analyzes artifacts found in the collections of Archives and Special Collections.
Although college customs tend to change over time, their social ramifications remain profound and everlasting. We are able to observe these traditions and their impact on students from such artifacts as documents, photographs, or, in this case, from scrapbooks.
The University Scrapbook Collection contains the scrapbook of one Arthur J. Randall who was a student at Connecticut Agricultural College from 1916 to 1918 when Charles L. Beach (of Beach Hall) was the college’s president. Randall’s scrapbook reflects his two years at C.A.C. in stunning detail and provides great insight into his personal college experience. Needless to say, this scrapbook also outlines C.A.C.’s very own history and traditions and highlights the agricultural roots of what is now the University of Connecticut.
Arthur J. Randall’s scrapbook is a wide, bound, bright blue book that was printed by The College Memory Book Company of Chicago, IL and copyrighted in 1914. It is called the “Memory and Fellowship Book” and is dedicated to the “Keepers of Keepsakes” in its inside title page. The Latin phrase “Qui Transtulit Sustinet,” or “He Who Transplanted Still Sustains,” is featured in gold on the front cover below a gold emblem. This same phrase is found on the Connecticut state seal, according to CT.gov. “Conn. Agri. Coll.” and Arthur’s full name and graduating year of 1918 are etched below the emblem. Also interestingly, the inside backing of the book shows the seals of several other American universities that must have also contracted out to The College Memory Book Company of Chicago. Ultimately, the scrapbook’s elaborate imagery and design are indicative of the significance of collegiate history and tradition.
Moreover, Randall’s scrapbook includes such things as class registration cards, treasurer’s cards, boarding and dining cards, Athletic Association season tickets, post office box renting fee slips, and other miscellaneous charge slips. He also kept many photographs of various buildings on campus, Horsebarn Hill, and his friends.
His scrapbook is, in essence, a repository of rather mundane items – but items that are nonetheless useful for our purposes. We can glean from Randall’s collection that he was likely a typical, responsible, self-aware student, by today’s standards at least, as well as by the standards of his time.
Also interesting is Randall’s account of the campus goings-on. First, he marks September 12, 1916 as “the beginning of my career” in the calendar section of his scrapbook. His “Comparative Athletic Record” shows that he played recreational basketball on several occasions. He notes the President’s Reception and Rope Pull – two traditional university events –in October of 1917, as well as the Halloween Masquerade, Benefit Dance for the Red Cross, and “first moving pictures” in November of the same year.
Randall also takes note of the fire that burned down the old chemistry building on the morning of November 27, 1917. This major change in the university setting was certainly upsetting, hence his note that it was a “total loss.” Essentially, in the academic year of 1917-18 Randall took note of many of the events he attended, which also included going to church services and Mansfield Grange meetings on a regular basis. It is particularly interesting that he recorded the events of his second year more than his first, and perhaps this is because he felt inclined to preserve what was left of his college career.
Lastly, Randall even held onto many of his final exams, the likes of which he also discusses in his calendar notes. By writing on January 21, 1918 about midyear exams that “to think of the next five days is enough to make you crazy,” Randall implies that the university view on exams was much like it is today: exams are stressful and throw everyone into a collective state of turmoil. His class schedules included classes such as Veterinary Science, Agriculture, Farm Management, Animal Husbandry (which he deemed ‘killer’), Dairy Husbandry, Horticulture, Forestry, History, and, interestingly, Military Drill and Military Science.
Randall’s records further identify the founding of the University of Connecticut as an agricultural school, and his apparent interest in recording exactly that indicates his pride in and appreciation for the school. It is from these roots that our university grew and diversified into the flagship research university that it is today.
Carey MacDonald, writing intern