There are two basic types of myths: stories of the gods and stories of heroes. Obviously, in the stories of the gods, the hero of the myth is a god or goddess. But quickly myth moves in a different direction and we find the stories of great men, the heroes of the Classical Age.
“Why do we have to know this?" This question is the bane of every math teacher's existence. It gets asked in math class more frequently than in any other subject area (Latin teachers, please form a queue if you wish to lodge a complaint against that claim). But many math teachers don't know how to the answer it.
We didn't know wonder was enlivening our home until it died.
I have a very specific process when I approach a writing project. Using the first three canons of Classical Rhetoric, I first write down every idea I have. This is the Invention stage and includes my research stage. Anything that generates an idea—something I read, a conversation I had, a thought that I contemplate, I dream I have—gets written down however it comes to me. I don’t worry about assessing the quality of the idea or figuring out how I will use it at that point. Often one idea leads to another, and I keep writing them down.
David, Tim, and I are getting ready to launch a new Close Reads series on Pride and Prejudice. In preparation for that discusion, here's an article I wrote on Pride and Prejudice four years ago.
When I was a freshman in college, schedule changes had to be made the old-fashioned way—in person. That meant waiting in line. Shortly after that, the university implemented phone registration and then online registration. No more lines. Progress!
But I often reflect on how different the course of my life would be if I hadn’t been forced to wait in line all those years ago.
I’ve been rereading some of Dorothy Sayers’ detective novels this summer before the madness of my school year officially begins. If you haven’t ever read a Sayers novel, please do yourself a favor and grab a copy. They are delightful in every way.
A four-hour flight home. Window seat. Perfect. A bird’s-eye view of the planet. Or perhaps just the clouds. Either way, the window seat of this 737 provides a place to lay my head. Perhaps a nap. Sleeping on a plane is not really sleeping. Whatever it is, it needs its own word. An ugly sounding word. A word uncomfortable on the tongue.