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Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy

by

Author 1

I had finished my book. I had the

final draft with photos and exhibits
inserted, ready for the printer. For
the book, I had selected my favorite
subjectmyself. On a whim, I located
and asked a professional who was a
published writer with editing experience
to review itsomeone objective who
didnt know me but knew writing. He
reported that it was just fineexcept that
it needed restructuring and rewriting.
But he also reported, charitably, that it
was worth restructuring and rewriting.
I was credited with having some talent
and a lot of material but with lacking
in writing craftsmanship, whatever
that means. Thus, I embarked on my
educational campaign in search of writing
craftsmanship.
An opportunity to initiate this
campaign was tuition-free matriculation
at the University of Arkansas at Little

Rock. This opportunity is offered to citizens who have

reached a certain minimum age, which I had cruised
right through some time ago on the way to my eightieth
year.
The first step in this educational process was to be
admitted to the University. I visited the campus and
searched for the Registrars office, but apparently there
is none at UALR. In days of yore, colleges had registrars
for enrolling students. For admission to the University,
I was directed to Student Services. An assistant dean of
something, whom I accosted in the hallway, graciously
guided me to the right office, where I conversed with a
bright, young co-ed employee.
Can you help me with an application for
admission? I asked. She responded affirmatively.
If you will give me the forms, and if there is a place I
can sit, I will fill them in right here and turn them in. As
a former Boy Scout, I always intend to be prepared, and I
had even brought my own pen.
The application is submitted only on line. We dont
have printed forms. You may fill in the form from your
computer, or if you need to, you can use our computers
here, she explained.
I accepted that information with mild disappointment
and then asked, Well, while Im here, may I have a copy
of the course catalog?
We dont have any here, but you might check the
book store at the student union, which is over there, she
said, as she pointed across the way.
I found the bookstore, where a young lad, also
apparently a student employee, asked if he could help.
Yes, I would like a copy of the course catalog.

Page 4 by Author 1

Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy Page 5

Bless his heart, he didnt say it, but he gave me

that look: You old fool, we dont print things like that
anymore.
The course catalog is available only on line, he
respectfully explained.
So much for thumbing through the course catalog.
I had learned that Rhetoric and Writing had split
from the English Department since my days as an
undergraduate academician. I hope the divorce was
amicable and that they are still speaking to one another
or at least writing. My interest lies in nonfiction writing,
so I went to the office of the Rhetoric and Writing
Department to seek counsel about the courses.
The department administrative assistant was most
helpful, and she checked to see if a faculty member
was available, even though it was noon. Fortunately, a
most accommodating faculty member happened to be
in the office and spent some time consulting with me.
I listened at length and learned a lot. After discussion,
she recommended I enroll in Introduction to Nonfiction
Writing, a junior level course, before I pursued any other
courses.
I left with enthusiasm to pursue this adventure. At
home, I was successful in opening the UALR website
and began the challenging navigation thereof. After
some frustrating time, I focused in on the admission
application form and did the best I could to complete and
submit iton line.
When I next fired up the old computer, I received
word that my application had been received and a copy
was returned for my review. Upon review I discovered
some mistakes I had made by clicking the wrong buttons.
I couldnt figure out how to make corrections on
Page 6 by Author 1

line. After a few phone conversations, I was able to get

most of the errors, such as having applied for graduate
rather than undergraduate school, corrected. The only
one that turned out to be a problem was naming the
institution from which I had received my bachelors
degree. I had clicked on the name of the wrong college.
I explained the mistake and offered the correct
information.
The only way this can be corrected is for you to write
to that college and have them send a letter stating that
you did not graduate from there, I was told.
Disbelieving what I thought I heard, I said, Will you
please go through that again?
And she did.
I protested.
As this is my application and my error, cant you
simply correct my application form and not require all
that?
My protests went unappreciated.
This is University policy, and the matter has to be
handled in this way, she insisted.
As a senior citizen, if one holds a bachelors degree,
one is permitted to take courses, as I wished to do,
without regard to prerequisites, credit hours, distribution
requirements, proof of minimum intelligence, or other
nagging details. In a state of mild confusion, it seemed
ironic to me that, now, instead of being required to show
evidence of a degree, I was being asked to show proof
that I did not receive a degree. Also, it seemed to me that
this was yet another opportunity to be thought an old
fool.
Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy Page 7

To Whom It May Concern:

Would you kindly search your archives to see if
there is any record that I did not attend school at your
institution. If you can find proof that, more than fifty
years ago, I did not, in fact, matriculate and graduate
from your college, I would appreciate a letter attesting to
that fact, on official stationary, please.
Sincerely,
A. N. Oldphool
By this time, my enthusiasm was waning. My mood
was slipping from frustration to despair. I considered
seeking solace and advice from my dear wife, Barbara,
but I was a little embarrassed at my incompetence. I
could imagine her response.
In spite of my mild depression about my ability to
deal with higher education of the twenty-first century, I
did persist. My confidence, however, was a little shaken,
and I wondered how I had gotten so far over the hill, as
Will Rogers once put it, without ever getting to the top.
I learned that I was required to obtain a student ID
number and to create a password to access information. I
spent a pleasant afternoon on line accomplishing this.
I have a student T number, which derives from Trojan,
our school mascot. If it were a T.O. number, it would
probably stand for too old.
After finally being granted admission (with false
credentialsI am now listed on the official permanent
records of UALR as a graduate of Trenton State
College, an institution I know nothing about), I pursued
registering for the course. This is done on line. As a
free-loading, non-tuition student, I could not register
until the last minute, lest the limited number of places in
the course be requested by real students.
Page 8 by Author 1

When my date of registration eligibility arrived, there

were still a few openings in the course, so I applied. My
registration request was rejected immediately because
the University had no record of my having taken the
required prerequisite courses.
I couldnt seem to resolve the dilemma on line.
More phone calls. After only two conversations, I
was directed to the Rhetoric office and to its kind
administrative assistant.
You do have a bachelors degree, dont you? she
asked. I assured her that I did. She either accepted my
word or checked on line to see.
You can now register for the course on line because
I have overridden the block, she said.
I was successful in registering.
But I was not quite through. I had qualified for
tuition-free admission because of my advanced age, so I
had to go to the cashiers office and verify that I did not
owe tuition. For some reason, I couldnt do this on line.
I was directed to the appropriate office and greeted by
helpful staff. I assumed all I had to do was show my face
as proof of eligibility.
Ill need to see your drivers license, the lady said.
I was quite flattered.
There was one other step. Assuming I wanted to park
somewhere on campus, I needed a student parking decal
to put on the windshield. To my relief, this could be
done only by visiting the campus police office in person,
talking face to face with people, filling in forms with my
eager pen, and shuffling some paper work. This process,
as satisfying as it was, apparently does not ensure
actually finding a place to park.
Nobody Said It Was Going To Be Easy Page 9

I am now proudly admitted, registered, parked,

and have begun attending interesting classes in which
we have the opportunity to learn how to write creative
nonfiction. My classmates seem very bright and creative.
I hope I can keep up as the semester progresses and we
begin to submit essays (on line) that we will share and
critique in class. I have reminded them of the obligation
to respect ones elders.

Professional
Students, Think
Before You Post
Author 2
As professional students,
weve all encountered the
temptation at some point
to tweet about that unfair
test or post a picture of
some impossible aspect
of our clinical rotation or
internship. It seems that one
of the greatest joys of social
media is the release we feel
in sharing our woes with the
world and having our peers
affirm or at least commiserate
with us.
So, whats the harm in
sharing a few details and
discontents of our academic
lives? Arent university
students protected by the
same rights as those outside
of the university?

Amanda Beth Tatro

November 12, 2009
Gets to play, I mean dissect, Bernie
today. Lets see if I can have a lab void
of reprimanding and having my scalpel
taken away. Perhaps if I just hid it in my
sleeve

Amanda Beth Tatro

December 6, 2009
Is looking forward to Mondays embalming therapy as well as a rumored
opportunity to aspirate. Give me room,
lots of aggression to be taken out with
a trocar

Amanda Beth Tatro

December 7, 2009
Who knew embalming lab was so
cathartic! I still want to stab a certain
someone in the throat with a trocar
through. Hmm..
perhaps I will spend the evening updating my Death List #5 and making
friends with the crematory guy. I do
know the code

Amanda Beth Tatro

Undated

Realized with great sadness that my best

If she were still alive
friend, Bernie, will no longer be with
today, Amanda Tatro, a
me as of Friday next week. I wish to acformer mortuary student
company him to the retort. Now where
who got caught in the middle will I go or who will I hang with when
of a case involving free
I need to gather my sanity? Bye, bye
speech and Facebook, would Bernie. Lock of hair in my pocket.
have a few words of wisdom
Tatros Facebook statuses that sparked
for us all.
the case (Tatro 5)

Page 10

by Author 1

Professional Students, Think Before You Post

Page 11

A Lesson from Tatro

Tatro vs. University of
Minnesota is a case that involves
a universitys ability to punish
a student based on Facebook
posts that violate academic
program rules. While a junior in
the Mortuary Science Program
(WikiMedia Commons)
at the University of Minnesota,
A trocar is a sharp
Tatro posted a series of Facebook
embalming tool used
statuses in which she talked about
to draw fluids from the
her anatomy classroom cadaver
body
Bernie and made inappropriate
references to using a trocar (Tatro 4).
Tatros friend showed these status updates to a faculty
member, who brought the case to the Director of the
Mortuary Science Program (Tatro 5).
Tatro was removed from school, temporarily. The
Campus Committee on Student Behavior (CCSB) found
her guilty of violating the student code of conduct (Tatro
5). The CCSB imposed five disciplinary sanctions on
Tatro.
The committee
Changed her grade to an F,
Required her to complete a directed study course
in clinical ethics,
Required her to write a letter addressing the issue
of respect within the program and the profession to
one of the faculty members in the Mortuary Science
Program,
Required her to complete a psychiatric evaluation
and adhere to any recommendations made by the
evaluation, and
Page 12 Author 2

Placed her on academic probation for the

remainder of her undergraduate career (Tatro 6).
Tatro appealed her case to the Supreme Court of
Minnesota on the grounds that she had the same right of
free speech to post her Facebook statuses as the general
public (Tatro 10). Tatro also argued that her posts were
merely satirical commentary and violent fantasy about
her school experience and explained that some of her
most astonishing details (Death List #5 and Lock of
hair in my pocket) were actually references to movies
and songs (Tatro 5).
However, contrary to what Tatro wanted, the
Supreme Court of Minnesota upheld the CCSB decision
to impose discipline on the grounds that Tatro had
violated the confidentiality standard and had failed to
adhere to the professional code of conduct by which
the mortuary student is expected to treat the body of
the deceased and/or the family of the deceased with
dignity and respect (Tatro 11). For these reasons, the
courts found that the University of Minnesota did not
violate Tatros right to free speech because her Facebook
posts broke the academic program rules that were
narrowly tailored and directly related to established
professional conduct standards (Tatro 1).

What about Free Speech?

Benjamin Pomerance describes the complication
of free speech cases in an address to the Albany Law
School, Despite . . . tremendous recent activity in the
free speech arena, many commentators agree that there
still appears to be no consistently applied doctrine or
set of doctrines by which First Amendment free speech
cases are judged (755). Though cases of free speech have
been floating around since those ten simple words were
adopted into the First Amendment of our Constitution
in 1791Congress shall make no law abridging
Professional Students, Think Before You Post Page 13

the freedom of speech (Pomerance 753)Tatro vs.

University of Minnesota is one of the first cases involving
what kind of authority an institution of higher learning
has to impose disciplinary action on students free
speech.

What Does this Mean for Me as a Student in a

Professional Program?
What were the implications of the courts ruling in
Tatros case? The ruling in favor of Tatros punishment
finds that students enrolled in professional programs in
which academic program rules are narrowly tailored
and directly related to professional conduct standards
may be found guilty of violations of conduct if they make
social media posts that degrade the reputation of their
academic program or university. Though Tatros case
helped to advance a students right to free speech within
the university context by narrowing the legal restrictions,
all professional students need to be aware of what
they can and cannot post on social media, if they want
to maintain their professional integrity and academic
standing.

Bibliography
Creamer, Alyssa. Amanda Tatro Found Dead:
University of Minnesota Graduate Who Sued
School For Punishment Over Facebook Posts.
Huffingtonpost.com. Huffington Post, 13 July 2012
(originally posted 28 June). Web. 5 May 2014.
Pomerance, Benjamin P. What Are We Saying? Violence,
Vulgarity, Lies . . . And The Importance of 21st
Century Free Speech. Albany Law Review 76.1
(2013): 753-756. Legal Collection. Web. 8 May 2014.
Tatro v. University of Minnesota. 816 N.W.2d 509; 2012
Minn. Lexis 246. Supreme Court of Minnesota. 2012.
LexisNexis Academic. Web. 30 April 2014.

Finally, just because this ruling was made by the

Supreme Court of Minnesota, youre not home free if
you live in Arkansas. Be smart, protect your reputation
and future: never post anything you wouldnt want your
professors to see.

What Happened to Amanda Tatro?

Despite the imposed disciplinary sanctions, Amanda
Tatro went on to graduate from the Mortuary Science
Program at the University of Minnesota. However, on
June 26, 2012, a few days after the case was settled, Tatro
was found dead in her home. Police did not find the
death suspicious. Tatro was 31 (Creamer).
Page 14 Author 2

Professional Students, Think Before You Post Page 15

A Morning in Newark
Author 3

he alarm blares, and

my breath is the first
thing I see. I live in a
cold, cold basement
in the Newark
Jesuit Volunteer
house. The Jesuit Volunteer Corp
(JVC) is a year of service in lowincome communities, similar to
AmeriCorps, and is rooted in
the tenants of community, social
justice, and simplicity. The Newark
JVC house exemplifies simplicity:
drafty and especially cramped for
the five of us who live here: four of
us in a four bedroom house and me
in the basement. This dark, dank
dungeon is my space.

Page 16 Author 3

5:50 AM on the digital clock face is the only light.

The ten minutes before six oclock each day is critical.
I use it to remind and convince myself of my purpose.
This morning I spend it yawning in contemplation,
floating on hopes of an uncloudy day. My feet hit the
cold, concrete floor, and it is a good day because the
ground is dry. Rainy days are bad, for then the floor is a
puddle.
I drift through emerging morning light and a
progression of sounds: creaking basement stairs, the
shower, coffee drips, unlocking of doors, the deep crack
of ice, and finally, I am propelled into Newarks central
ward for work by the roar of the 31 bus.
Off the bus, I walk quickly, bundled in a large parka,
the hood creating blinders. I only see the aching urban
landscape directly in front of me: jagged concrete lots,
broken glass, and trash scrolling by, one foot in front
of another. I walk past a liquor store, a church, a liquor
store, a school, a bank, and finally, another liquor store.
I am trying to practice a walking meditation, avoiding
the reality around me, focusing on a goal of total
engagement with the young black kids I teach, seventh
graders, twelve and thirteen year olds, and one fourteen
year old. Their lives are as complex and detailed as the
grammar we study together, definitely more complex
and detailed than my own adult life. They are children
with more pressure on them than my latest roommate tiff
or ex-girlfriend woes.
These are Newarks kids.
James is the first kid I see every morning, always
waiting with his feet in the same pigeon-toed stance. He
greets me at the door of the small school where we will
spend the next nine hours together. He is huffing and
puffing, breath clouding, sniffling, tie loose, shirt half in,
A Morning in Newark Page 17

with his Dorito-dusted black scarf wrapped around his

thick, pudgy neck.

and his English composition book. James pulls out the

story he has been working on, diligently.

James is early, and I am unprepared.

How is it coming? I ask.

He steps fast and close behind me.

Alright, he says, hesitantly.

I write objective, date, and homework on the board,

wipe the chalk off my ass, get the bell-work printed, copy
it, jam the damned copy machine, concoct instant coffee
tar, read my new memo:

Will you share it with me?

Mr. Havel, just wanted to remind you lesson plans

were due yesterday, and if you could stick to the Monday
deadline that would be great. Thanks!

James is different. He doesnt have many friends

because there is something special about him. James has
magical powers. There is one person who understands
James. His name is JC, and he has magical powers, too.
James is the only one who can see JC. One day James
and JC are walking downtown when their powers turn
on without their control. Crazy things start to happen!
James starts to fly around, and JC does this thing where
he walks on water. Everyone freaks and tells James and
JC, even though they cant see JC, that they must leave
forever. So they go away.

Now I spill coffee on myself, my memo, and my

copies.
CRAP, CRAP, CRAP!
James is still patiently following me.
I read once in this educational theory book that, after
a while, the students you teach start to mirror you. James
is scattered, looks exhausted, and has a slight look of
fear about his plans for the day. His eyes say to me, Mr.
Havel, please let me stay in here with you for the next
ten minutes. Dont make me go out there with those jerks
who will make fun of my weight again.
We sit.
James, why dont we look over your homework?
James pulls out his school bag/suitcase, which he
totes around with the convenient pullout handle. He
opens it, and I stare into the unorganized abyss that is
Jamess academic future: crumpled papers, a battered
binder, a gym uniform, a shoe, chips and soda (lunch?),
a copy of The House on Mango St. Ive been looking for,
Page 18 Author 3

Ummm, OK, sure, he says in a matter-of-fact way.

Then he reads:

James pauses. His bright eyes look up; they are crystal
clear. I dont know what to say. Time kinda does that
thing where it stands still. For a moment, James is all I
can see; everything around him starts to get blurry. James
sits in his honesty, and I listen and listen and listen.
I think of the one thing I have for James. I have time,
this time every morning.
Time to sit with James, time to listen to James, time to
be with James.
I dont know if this will be enough for James. But its
what I have.

A Morning in Newark Page 19

A Thousand Splendid Poops

Author 4

ave you ever had

one of those days?

A day in which
you wake up
early with the
hopes of getting
your darling, twenty-month old son
to daycare early so you can dive
into the productive day you have
planned for yourself.
But then you go to your child,
who sleeps in your beautiful,
California King size bed, the bed
where he can be found every
morning, having made his way
there in the middle of the night
from his own well-equipped room
across the hall, and you find him

Page 20 Author 4

swimming in a pool of urine that has seeped into your

300-thread count, sage-green sheets. Luckily, your wife
remembered to put on the waterproof mattress cover,
protecting your $1500 Sleep Number bed.
And now you have a rightfully upset twenty-month
old, shrink-wrapped in a once white cotton onesie that
is now baby-urine-pale-yellow. You make a mad dash
to the bathroom, holding your beloved first-born as far
away as your shoulder strength will allow, the cutest
toxic waste youve ever seen.
You clean him up in the shower while the putrid
onesie soaks in the bathroom sink, and he emerges
squeaky clean and no worse for wear. Upon placing him
on the changing table in his bedroom to get him prepped
for the day, you hear him exclaim Teeesshh! Through
painstaking study and research over the last few months,
you know he wants to brush his teeth.
Being a great father, and despite the fact that teethbrushing is typically a nighttime ritual for us, you want
to support your sons desire to maintain excellent oral
hygiene, so you escort him back into the bathroom,
help him onto his little two-step riser, and commence
to slathering baby toothpaste onto his blue Sponge Bob
Square Pants power toothbrush.
And then, the apple-of-your-eye looks up at you with
his big, beautiful browns (he gets them from his mother)
and gently utters, I pee-pee.
Another part of your nightly teeth brushing ritual
is that he typically brushes his teeth in the raw . . . sans
clothing, so why would you deviate from tradition, right?
Moreover, by bedtime he has typically done all of his
business, but this is the morning . . . hes just getting his
business started.
A Thousand Splendid Poops Page 21

Now heres the worst part (yeah, it gets worse!), since

your son is only twenty-months old, he often confuses
pee-pee with poo-poo. So, as you casually reach for
him, he makes a face and kinda leans to one side while
slightly tiptoeing with the other foot.
At that point, you know whats about to hit the fan.
You dont panic, and with speed and dexterity, you
drop Sponge Bob, turn to place the toothpaste back on
the shelf, and then turn back to whisk your little treasure
toward the bathtub, the closest containment facility, but .
. . its too late. The gates have burst open.
As he delivers his package, youre caught between
needing to contain it and the fear of creating a trail that
not even Hansel and Gretel would follow. You freeze for
a split second, just long enough to hear the first splat on
the riser. Then the second. Sensing a lull in the action,
you grab your little bundle of joy and deposit him in the
tub. The two of you look at each other, his face saying,
uh oh and yours conveying shock and awe.
Eventually, you gather yourself enough to begin the
uninviting task of cleaning poop from his riser and the
little bathroom mat near the sink. Luckily, no bombs
have landed anywhere else in the room. However, upon
returning to your son, who is now mindlessly talking
to himself in the bathtub, you discover that there is
another small package waiting for you, having somehow
attached itself to his right leg and holding on admirably.
On comes the shower, and you wash your troubles down
the drain.

briefly venting, you turn to take your leave. She prompts

your son, cradled in her arms, to say goodbye to his
beleaguered father.
As you turn to meet his gaze, he smiles and says to
you, Bye-bye Daddy. He grabs at the air, doing that
ridiculous wave that all babies do.
Bye-bye, my son, I love you.
Ah joouu! *
And at that moment, you know you would clean up a
thousand splendid poops for this little boy, no matter the
time, no matter the amount, because you know that what
waits for you on the other side is a smile more brilliant
than a thousand suns and a wave from a tiny, perfect
hand, made from scratch by God and two people very
much in love.
Love being the main ingredient.
Have you ever had a day like that?
Yeah, me too.

* Translation: I love you! Either that, or hes

requesting a delicious gravy for a French Dip sandwich. I
suspect the former.

So, you and your clean and beautiful son (you being
not so clean or beautiful), having somehow miraculously
survived the morning, finally arrive at the home of
his daycare provider. You all but toss him across the
room into the arms of this wonderful woman, and after
Page 22 Author 4

A Thousand Splendid Poops Page 23

Dear Potential Significant Other,

I hope this letter finds you well. And maybe a little lonely. I am. Unless that
makes me sound pathetic and desperate. In which case, please disregard.
Ive decided to write you this letter because using other media to find you doesnt
seem to be working. Theres something romantic about letters, isnt there?
Something thats lacking on the dating apps on our phones, where Im sure
youre feeling out of place amongst the duck-faced girls claiming to really, really,
really like watching football and the single mom who says her child is her whole
world and then posts nothing but pictures from the bar with her tongue trying to
lick the back of her head.
You dont belong there. I know it.
I used to be sure you were in your late twenties, but Ive come to wonder if
you are in your early twenties or early forties. Im thirty-two, in case you were
wondering. I dont have any children, but Ive accepted that you might, so theres
no reason for you to feel self-conscious about it when we meet. Seeing a mother
being good at mothering is quite attractive, like seeing anyone being good at
whatever it is they do.
Heres a list of my selling points:
1. Im good at sitting in a cubicle.
2. I like the arts, especially the literary arts, and I like participating in them
through both reading and writing.
3. It pleases me to no end to have things documented in one way or
anotherfor memorys sakewhich is why I have kept a photo-a-day
blog for nearly five years now. You can find it at www.getoutofthisplace.
tumblr.com.
4. Casual sex with strangers terrifies me. Not from an STD standpoint
though that certainly alters the risk/reward ratiobut because I get so
emotionally involved in my partner. Casual sex could do a number on
my psyche.
5. I prefer experiences over material goods.
6. I love animals.
7. I love food. (Which sometimes conflicts with #5.)
8. I can think of no one who wants me dead.
But Im not all roses and chocolate bars.
It seems important I tell you that Im divorced, but its really not that big a deal.
With no kids, it was essentially a break-up with paperwork. Dont get me wrong,
it wasnt fun, and I had to cope with feeling like a failure for a while, but we both

wanted it to be over and remained friends throughout the process. And lets be
honest, I learned a lot about who I am as a partner. Because of that marriage and
divorce, Ive been a much better boyfriend to every woman Ive dated since, and
Ill be a much better boyfriend to you because of it.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and notice Im beginning to look like Tom Hanks
on the island in Castaway. As my partner, if you could gently remind me to trim
my beard or whatever it is thats getting unruly, I can take care of it, and when I
do, Im kind of attractive. Or at least, thats what my grandmother says.
Im thrifty. And by that, I mean Im cheap. And theres nothing I can say
to justify it. Its true. But I wont embarrass you by leaving a bad tip at a
restaurant, unless its warranted. Ill be damned if I ever valet, though. Maybe on
Valentines Day, if its what you want.
Im thin, but not skinny. Ive never had much muscular definition. Sometimes
I drink too much. Sometimes Ill go weeks without a drop. Youll beg me to take
you out because I just want to stay home and do nothing. Sometimes Ill cry
for no reason. Youll wonder what the hell is going on and be sure youve done
something wrong, but you havent. The truth is, sometimes I just like to cry.
I like to feel a range of emotion, and since Im nearly always happy, crying is
necessary to feel everything I want to feel. Its a way to keep the joy joyful. Its
the sour to the sweet.
I dont believe in fate; I dont believe in soul mates. You, Potential Significant
Other, are not a singular being to whom Im writing. You are any single woman
who believes in sharing a life with someone and wants to be happy. Im writing
to a woman who doesnt think relationships are as hard as people say they are,
a woman who doesnt understand the point in cheating, a woman who wants
someone on her team every day. Im writing to a woman who understands a
relationship doesnt have to be complicated. It can be about doing what is fun and
amassing a long list of shared experiences with someone who makes her happy,
someone who will document those experiences so the two of us can laugh about
them until we die. Thats what I want.
I have to go to a fundraiser now, so I better end this. Im hoping youll be there
too, but Im not holding my breath. If you arent there, maybe youll get that
graphic design job at my workplace, and well sit a few cubes down from each
other. Maybe youll be at the dog park this week. Ill be looking for you, but if I
dont see youplease, speak up.
I look forward to meeting you.
Well be great together.
Sincerely,

Author 5

Indemnify Me
Author 6

Contracts School.
Thats what we called
it.
We were peons
in the newly minted
AOL Time Warner
Publishing Company.
2002. Post 9/11. Post
everything that had
ever been. The Internet
was exploding; no
one knew what was
around the corner. But
those of us who were
lucky enough to be
employed in a Fortune
500 company wanted
more education,
more training. That
was the only way to
keep employed. Keep
learning. Keep earning.
I asked the director
of the contracts
department if she
would teach us about
contracts. Many of
Page 26 Author 6

the contracts between

publishing houses and
authors/agents were
lucrative. Some were
not. But one of the
legal items they all had
in common was this:
indemnification.
To indemnify
means to guard against
anticipated loss or to
give security against.
This clause in contracts
is what protects
publishing houses
from, say, people like
James Frey, author of
A Million Little Pieces.
Frey sold his work as
a memoir, but it turns
out that it was, in fact,
not. As I understand it,
the publisher believed
Frey when he signed
the contract that sold
his book as a memoir,
and because of the
indemnity clause in the

contract, the publishing

company was not
faulted when the truth
came to light.
The CBS show, The
Good Wife, is one of
the best shows on TV.
I DVR it on Sunday
nights. This week, one
of the main characters,
an attorney named
Diane, told her partner
to indemnify her in
a case. The partner
agreed . . . and because
he agreed, Diane can
no longer be held
legally responsible for
anything that might
happen in that case.
She is protected from
harm. She has been
indemnified.
I want you to know
that Ive started dating
a man twenty years
older than I am. Last
week, his colleague
called me in the middle
of the day. Doug
was experiencing leg

pain and shortness

of breath. Doug had
told her, You should
call El. I left work,
experiencing a mixture
of fear and confusion.
I did not know Doug
had a heart condition.
Dare I announce
that Id rather date
someone without
a heart condition?
This might guard me
against loss, give to
me some security . . . if
I did not already feel
a love rising for this
wonderful man.
Ovid, the Greek
philosopher, writes
that love is no
assignment for
cowards. Love, by its
nature takes on . . . well
. . . everything.

ove does not

indemnify.

Indemnify Me Page 27

C
A

ontributing

uthor 2 is a proud graduate of

both the BA and MA programs of
Professional and Technical Writing
at UALR. She is incredibly indebted
to her immediate family and extended
family who continue to teach her how to give,
serve, and love. Anna is currently raising
missionary support in preparation for
serving as a writer and editor with a media
ministry in Bratislava, Slovakia.

uthor 4 is currently a Computer

Science major on UALRs campus,
hailing from Harlem, NY, originally,
but having made his way to Little
Rock via San Diego, CA. Along with his wife,
a UALR Law Professor, and his two young
boys, he hopes to establish some deep roots
here in the mid-south . . . . Is it just me, or is
it really strange writing about oneself in the
third person?

uthor 6is parent to teenagers

Jordan and Erin and wife to Doug.
After living in three different states
and multiple homes, her favorite
place is with them.
Page 28 Contributing

uthors

A
A
A

uthor 5 pays his bills by serving

as corporate editor for an
engineering firm in North Little
Rock. Over the past year, hes
been on a string of bad dates, but things are
starting to look up for him.
uthor 3has been a high school
English teacher for the past
fourteen years. He has taught in
five different sates, his favorite
being Arkansas.
uthor 1 is a senior, not in academic
standing, but in years. He is a nontraditional student and part-time
investment banker. He is having
a great time taking writing courses and
learning the craftsmanship of writingor
at least being exposed to such educational
opportunities. His joy of writing for, and
participating in, the classes is exceeded
only by the thrill of finally being accepted
for enrollment at this fine university.

Authors Page 29