Gangsta Toms

Sometimes an article comes along in the news that just SCREAMS to be turned into a short story. This week's winner: 4-foot tall, 20-lb. wild turkeys that are roaming through Brookline and biting people. These turkeys are big, mean, and unpredictable. Not only that, they travel in packs. According to NPR, "Neighbors would laugh watching the lawyer or pediatrician who lived next door being chased by a gobbling mob of birds."

Truly, my fellow writers, how can we not turn this into a short story? It's perfect material! If my job wasn't keeping me so busy, I'd write it myself, but instead I give the idea to you in all its glory. Just make sure that you're writing it indoors--you don't want to be attacked. If you are, the Brookline Police recommends "shooing the grumpy birds away with your purse."

In dread,
Whitney Scharer

Grub Street Rag, 10/22/07

the grub street rag. (Re)writing Boston since 1997.



* Electric Grub gossip
* Juiced Grub events
* Bid online in our silent auction


"A poet is someone who stands outside in the rain hoping to be struck by lightning."

-- James Dickey


grub street gossip.


Welcome to the Grub Street Rag, a newsletter of the Boston literary scene sent out every Monday by the relief pitchers at Grub Street's bullpen (er. . . world headquarters). As always, if you are receiving this e-mail in horror, please advance to the bottom of the page to unsubscribe yourself.

Grub Street Book Prize winner announced!
We are thrilled to announce that Susan Richards Shreve has won the 2007 Grub Street Book Prize, in Non-Fiction for her memoir WARM SPRINGS: TRACES OF A CHILDHOOD AT FDR'S POLIO HAVEN (Houghton Mifflin, 2007). Steve Almond was the final judge. Shreve will receive a cash award of $1000 and be brought to Grub Street for a reading, booksigning and reception in early 2008. The next day, Shreve will lead a 2-hour seminar for Grub Street members on the craft of memoir writing. Shreve is the author of thirteen novels, and WARM SPRINGS is her first memoir. Congratulations, Susan! We look forward to meeting you in '08.

Taste of Grub is Friday, November 2nd
Not that we're counting or anything, but A Taste of Grub is coming up soon, and space is limited. If you'd like to attend, or want to support Grub Street with a donation, please click here: www.grubstreet.org/getinvolved/tasteofgrub.html. Also be sure to check out the fantastic items at our second-ever silent auction. The Literary Silent Auction will take place at A Taste of Grub on November 2nd, but you don't have to attend the event in order to win: online bidding is happening NOW. Check out our website for all the details on A Taste of Grub and the Literary Auction.

Grub Gone... NaNoWriMo?
Got a great idea for a novel? Having trouble getting it down on paper? Like many of us, you might need a kickstart. National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. And the best part is, there are lots of other Grubbies participating too! If you'd like to know who else in the Grub community is writing a lot of words very quickly this November, send an email to whitney@grubstreet.org. If there's enough interested, Grub will host a meet and greet for Nanowrimo-ers later this month. Good luck!

Deadlines extended
Ch-ch-ch-changes! We've extended the deadline for our Master Poetry class to October 26th (class begins November 6th and runs for 6 weeks; cost is $275/$250 members). Please send 10 pages of your poetry to sonya@grubstreet.org. Also, there's still time to sign up for our Young Adult Fiction class, which has morphed into a 6-week course and begins November 7th, costing you a cool $275/$250 members. Ring us at 617.695.0075 to sign up!

Cheers,
Whitney, Sonya, and Chris (from Pennsylvania)





grub events calendar.


In addition to our ongoing workshops, Grub Street offers numerous writing-related events around town. See our website for a long-term view of all we do. Here is a sample of what's on the horizon:

Novel Writing Weekend
October 27-28th, 2007, 9-4pm each day
Instructor: Jacqueline Sheehan
Our favorite novels let us step fully into the characters and experience their world through all of our senses, and keep turning the pages long into the night. This fiction-writing course will take participants through a series of exercises and discussions that will focus on strong character development, create specific details that will highlight motivation, amplify sensory images, and use dialogue to crank up the tension. Jacqueline Sheehan is also a psychologist and will teach participants how to pull from the world of psychology to add depth to your characters. Come to class with several pages of your novel, or with a summary of the novel that you are dreaming of writing. Plan to leave with expanded characters, clarified conflicts, and strong dialogue. $195/$170 members, Grub Street HQ, 160 Boylston Street, Boston, MA.

The Freelancing Payoff
October 27-28th, 2007, 9-4pm each day
Instructor: Eric Butterman
Freelance isn’t just a way to make extra income—it could one day be your income. Join Eric Butterman, who has written for Glamour, ESPN.com, and numerous other publications, as he shows you how to turn one assignment into many and how to expand your horizons from field to field. “There’s many misconception in this business—like that you can’t follow up with phone calls after you send out a magazine pitch,” Butterman says. “Half my business is directly attributed to the phone and we’ll drill through phone calls together so I can show you how to do them correctly.” But before you ever pick up the phone, you need to pick your brain for the right magazine idea. “From sources to use, to a snappy headline, to making your pitch into the voice of the magazine, the pitch needs to be done just right or you just won’t get assignments. We’ll come up with them together on the spot so you can see how the mindset works.” Students in Butterman's 5-week courses have landed $1,000-and-up assignments from Stuff, B'nai B'rith and more, all while the class was still going on!
$195/$170 members, Grub Street HQ, 160 Boylston Street, Boston, MA.

Point of View in Fiction
October 27-28th, 2007, 9-4pm each day
Instructor: Adam Stumacher
Point of view is, in the words of Henry James, the “central intelligence” of story. In this workshop, we will explore this crucial and fascinating element of craft. Through in-class exercises, discussion, and an array of readings – from Joyce to Eugenides, Borges to Z.Z. Packer – we will examine the wide range of point of view choices, from the conventional to the experimental. By the end of the weekend, we will be not only have gained an appreciation for the ways authors use these choices to astonish readers, but we will also be well on our way towards using point of view to breathe life into our own fiction.
$195/$170 members, Grub Street HQ, 160 Boylston Street, Boston, MA.

Score in Sportswriting
Sunday, October 28th, 2007, Special Time: 5pm – 10pm (with dinner break)
Instructor: Eric Butterman
Many people think you have to cover a sports beat at a small-time newspaper for 10 years to become a successful sportswriter, but if you craft a strong pitch and have a unique style, you could score quickly. Eric Butterman, writer for ESPN.com and the Sporting News, will show you how to get in with the top sports places by finding their needs and crafting pitches and a portfolio to match them. He'll teach you the art of filing a story just after the sporting event ends and help you figure out ways to land sports pieces in magazines which don’t normally come to mind. A perfect way for a sports lover to spend a Sunday night--especially in World Series season!
$95/$85 members, Grub Street HQ, 160 Boylston Street, Boston, MA.

LUNCHTIME COURSE: Tuesday, October 30th, 12:30–1:15PM, Brown Bag Lunch Series
Do you work downtown and want to fit some writing into your day? Or do you have a schedule that gives you free afternoons instead of evenings? Bring your lunch and come on over to Grub Street for a Brown Bag Writing Workshop – a series recently profiled in the Boston Globe. For 45 minutes, you’ll meet fellow writers and get your creative juices flowing with some cool writing exercises. Led by one of our award-winning instructors or ambassadors. Best of all, you’ll leave lunch with some new ideas to ponder for the rest of your day, and beyond. Maximum of 15 students. To sign up, email sonya@grubstreet.org or call 617.695.0075.
FREE, Grub Street HQ, 160 Boylston Street, Boston, MA.

On the Horizon:
Friday, November 2nd, 2007: A Taste of Grub
Sunday, November 4th, 2007: You Have What it Takes to Write a Teen Novel
Sunday, November 4th, 2007: Reality 101

spreading the love.


Grub Street wants to promote YOU!! Please send events for consideration to whitney@grubstreet.org. Our apologies if we can't fit you in.

--CALL FOR APPLICATIONS: Boston’s Poet Laureate
Mayor Thomas M. Menino has approved the creation of a Poet Laureate position for the City of Boston. “[The purpose of] poetry ... is ... to teach and delight.” – Sir Philip Sidney (1554 – 1586). Applications are invited from poets who are currently residing in the City of Boston, and have been published or have been recognized for notable literary contributions at any stage in their career. Deadline is approaching: Friday, October 26th. For more information, visit the Mayor's Office of Arts, Tourism & Special Events website at http://www.cityofboston.gov/news/default.aspx?id=3602.

--READING: Wednesday, October 24, 7:00p.m, Author and Radio Host Bill Littlefield
The Blue Hills Writing Institute at Curry College welcomes author, radio host, and professor of English Bill Littlefield to read from his recently published book Only a Game. Sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, Littlefield’s take on the games people play is as refreshing as it is enlightening. From baseball hall of famers, to pickup soccer games among misfit high-schoolers, to the advances women have made in sports, to the most obscure nicknames and unusual mascots in college sports, the book collects memorable commentaries from Littlefield’s popular NPR sports show as well as previously published magazine essays. No matter the topic, Littlefield illuminates the dark corners and unlikely angles of sports with wry good humor and a lightly worn expertise that lets nothing pass. Refreshments will be served after the presentation and the Curry College Bookstore will have Littlefield’s book available for purchase. FREE, Parents’ Lounge in the Hafer Academic Building, Curry College, 1071 Blue Hill Avenue, Milton. For additional information, call 617-333-2346. For directions, please visit www.curry.edu/About+Us/Directions/

--READING: Thursday, October 25th, 2007, 7pm, Margo Rabb and Steve Almond
Margo Rabb will read from her novel, Cures for Heartbreak, at Newtonville Books with Steve Almond, the author of Not That You Asked and Candyfreak, who promises to read lots of dirty stuff. More info on the authors can be found at www.margorabb.com and www.stevenalmond.com. FREE, Newtonville Books, 296 Walton St Newton, MA.

--GRUB STREET NORTH AT CORNERSTONE BOOKS: Sunday October 28th, 3pm, Grub Street North: Hank Phillippi Ryan on First Novels
It's not ALL about ghouls and goblins! Join beloved investigative journalist and new fiction author Hank Phillippi Ryan as she gives us the scoop on first novels: what every author should know, but probably won't be told (except by Hank!!) Hank has just endured the first novel process with her Charlie McNally mystery (and Boston Globe bestseller) Prime Time, and its sequel Face Time is out this month. Come find out the real deal, and enjoy a free cup of coffee on us for driving to Salem in October! FREE, Cornerstone Books, 45 Lafayette Street, Salem.

--GRUB STREET SOUTH AT BUTTONWOOD BOOKS: Tuesday, October 30th, 7pm, Grub Street South at Buttonwood present Claire Cook on Finding the Muse
This month at the Scituate Library! How to start, and actually finish, the book only you can write. Since her first novel was published in 2000, Claire Cook has learned a lot about writing and the writing life, and she’s happy to share it all with you! What’s special about you, and how can you turn that unique perspective into a great hook for a book? And once you do that, how will you write the rest of it? And then what do you do when you finish? Practical strategies for living through it all, plus a chance to connect with other writers and pull together your own support group. And, of course, lots of fun stories from Claire! Claire Cook is the national bestselling author of four novels, Ready To Fall, Must Love Dogs, Multiple Choice and Life’s A Beach. To reserve, call the Scituate Library at 1-781-545-8727.




Welcome to the end of the e-mail, where, like a man with a plan for a canal, we offer you the chance to win a prize. What story in this year's Best American Short Stories features the lines "Mouth shut" and "Shoes on feet"? Email your answer to Whitney. Winner receives a certificate for ice cream at J.P. Licks.

Answer to last week's quiz: "It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it," wrote Charlotte Bronte in Jane Eyre. The novel was originally published under the pseudonum Currer Bell on October 9th, 1847. WINNER: Stephanie Gayle.

On The Line

As many Grubbies have probably noticed, Grub Street doesn't have online registration. Instead, like some sort of Little House on the Prairie rerun, our registration process forces potential students to trek five miles through waist-high blizzard drifts, their chalkboards slung around their necks and hot potatoes stuck in their muffs to keep their hands from freezing off. Okay, maybe it's not that bad. But it does require them to--gasp!--CALL AN ACTUAL PERSON ON THE PHONE in order to sign up for a course.

You might think that I'm about to launch into a blog about the evils of technology and how in our modern world, isn't it great to be able to make a connection with another human, even if it's just their disembodied voice on the line? Don't worry, I won't do that to you. Frankly, if I didn't work at Grub and wanted to sign up for a Grub Street class, I'm sure I would be SO OVER the inconvenience of having to call during business hours. Get with the program, Grub, I would be thinking, if I can order a Starbucks latte online and then go pick it up in my car at the drive-thru window, I should be able to sign up for Novel in Progress over the internet. But I do work at Grub Street, and here's the sick, sick truth: I think we aren't all that concerned about online services because we LIKE having to talk to people on the phone. Maybe it's a power thing: You want to sign up for a class but you can't do it without my help. Maybe we enjoy the occasional call from someone truly batty, like the guy who called the other day and wanted us to publish his novel, and when we told him we're not a publishing house said (and I quote): "What I want to know is, is Grub Street just another chickenshit operation?" (The answer to that, if you're wondering, is yes. Yes we are.) But more likely, it's that we all love to talk to other writers, find out where they are in their processes, and help them choose the classes that will be the right fits for them. Obviously, we don't always get this right, but we really do enjoy offering advice, and--not to toot our own horns or anything--we know what we're talking about. Since we're such a small organization (only three staff members), by default we HAVE to have our fingers in all the pies. We all help choose the programming, we all meet all (or most) of the instructors, and we take Grub Street workshops ourselves. So call us!

This quarter, for the first time, we've listed on our website which classes are sold out for the fall. We did this because MANY of our classes are already sold out, and we got tired of disappointing people when they called in. But we did it with trepidation, because we're worried that it might stop people from calling and signing up for a different course--a class that might end up being as good (or better) than their initial selection. So, as fall term registration comes to a close (classes begin October 9th), here are some tips , advice, and not-so-secret secrets about choosing a class.

1. The teacher is the most important thing about the class. Level one, level two, ten weeks of stories or six, in the end it doesn't really make that much of a difference if the instructor's good.
2. The other students in the class are the second most important thing. While we can't control who takes our courses, most of the students who take Grub classes are truly dedicated to their work--and their dedication will help to make the class productive and inspiring for everyone.
3. Be sure you're really committed to the six or ten weeks of work before you sign up. Grub classes are demanding, and in most of them you'll find yourself reading anywhere from 30-60 pages of classmates' work, writing critiques, and working on your own stories each week. That's a big time commitment. If you're strapped for time, take a few seminars or a weekend class instead.
4. If you've taken a few Grub classes in the past, try something totally new. This term, for instance, we're offering something called "How to Edit Yourself," taught by an editor at Beacon Press. It might not seem like "fun" to focus on revision for six weeks, but we can guarantee that this class will take your writing to a new level.
5. Please, please do not assume you'll be the best writer in the class. Do not say things like: "Is there a level higher than the master level, because I'm a really, really good writer" or "I'm worried that having to read all the schlock other people turn in is just going to bore me, because I'm a really, really good writer." We're sure you are a good writer. But so are LOTS of other people who take Grub classes, and the point of the class is to learn something (see Michelle Seaton's great blog post from a few weeks ago for more on this).
6. Sign up soon! We've got lots of great classes that still have space in them, but they are filling fast.

In dread and on the phone,
Whitney Scharer

Week Three

Some bad advice I used to give my Fiction II students at Grub is now coming back to haunt me.

I liked to share my half-baked theory that every writer needed one indulgence. I'd say, glibly: "Maybe you drink a lot. Or watch too much TV. Or overeat. That's fine! Go for it! Live it up! But you get only ONE of these indulgences. For everything else, moderation rules. Every day, you have to write a little, eat a little, exercise a little, read a little, make a little love, and sleep a little - not necessarily in that order. And somewhere in there, you find time to binge on your indulgence."

It made sense at the time. I must have been reading Ben Franklin or something, and thought how perfect that man would have been if he'd admitted to at least one of his vices in his *Autobiography.*

My vice at the time? Can't remember. Honestly. But since then I've learned that, in order for me to get *anything* done, I can't succumb to the big indulgence. Once I do, I get greedy. If it's baseball, I want to watch 6 hours of it. If it's food, I want to eat an entire pan of lasagna. The baseball cuts into my writing time; the lasagna cuts into my exercise time; soon, the entire regimen falls apart. I can only thrive when, like Franklin, I build my indulgences into that regimen. I will watch 2 hours of baseball; I will eat a small slice of lasagna and chase it with a handful of carrot sticks; I will read for 2 hours; I will answer emails and surf the web for 1 hour, etc.

For my first two weeks here, you see, I stuck to this regimen. Every day, it was a little this, a little that. And it worked beautifully. Balance. Order. It was gorgeous! I was renewed! It was like writing an excellent sestina -- art within order. Then I allowed myself to relax a bit. I took the day off from the gym. Instead of writing my 1000 words, I watched a day baseball game. Now I'm playing catch up -- I have to write 3000 words tomorrow, which means I'm setting myself up to fail -- and everything's out of whack.

I think this is especially true when you live alone, or have a career that forces you to be solitary. You have to be hard on yourself. No one's there to hold you to your schedule and your goals. And let's face it: writers thrive on self-sacrifice, martyrdom, etc., so we really should be able to handle this.

- Christopher Castellani

Week Two

This week on campus:

There's an article in the student newspaper about how blogs are "the end of writing as we know it" partly because "it's impossible to have an original voice." Seems to me, though, that, given how new blogging is, there are greater opportunities for original voices in blogs than in any other literary medium. Nevertheless, I feel accused.

On Wednesday I taught my first workhsop, accompanied by the usual feeling that I've had pig's blood poured on my head and the entire room is laughing at me. My students are sweet and polite, though, and would never do such a thing. They're also excellent writers. We did the exercise where I call out 6 random words -- 1 per minute -- and they have to use them in the same scene. They read these scenes aloud, and I was very impressed by their imaginations, clarity and range of voices.

Among other texts, we're reading a chapter from Charles Baxter's *The Feast of Love* for next week, and also the first couple chapters of Francine Prose's wonderful *Reading Like A Writer.* Then, the week after, the actual workshopping begins.

I spent some time with my parents at the house where I grew up, also known as the Land of a Thousand Sadnesses. My mother had a bad reaction to her most recent medication, and spent most of Saturday night in tears and intense stomach pain. I spent the rest of my days there dealing with doctors and pharmacists and doing internet research and hearing stories about all my parents' friends who are dying. At the same time, I started reading Robert Ferro's novel The Family of Max Desir, which was recommended to me. It's beautifully written, but turns out it's about a gay Italian guy and his sick mother, so I've set it aside. Not sure if I'll ever be able to read it.

I've also done some writing when possible, and, after five sessions, I have 4600 new words. That's huge production for me, so, for that, I'm grateful.

-Christopher Castellani

Back to School

At the beginning of the summer term at Grub Street, I ran into fiction I instructor Mike Heppner in the hallway at Grub HQ. We’d met once at a staff meeting, so we stopped to chat. Mike started with the usual question.
“What are you teaching?”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m taking a class.”
“Cool. Whose?”
“Yours.”
Mike blanched at this news, and I felt for him. No one likes a surprise.
I’ve been teaching memoir and nonfiction classes at Grub Street for seven years. Before that, I taught a sophomore survey course at Boston University. Then last fall I took my teaching notes, my handouts and threw most of them away. The rest went into storage. I didn’t want to teach anymore. In fact, I wasn’t sure I wanted to write anymore. Instead, I wanted what a lot of new Grub Street students want, a sense of renewal, a sense of adventure that comes from trying something new. So I stepped outside my role as teacher and signed up for a fiction class. Then another, and another. These are not easy classes, and becoming a student has given me a few insights. So here they are: the four things I learned as a Grub Street student.

1. Like everyone else, I’m afraid to suck. Every instructor has seen this. Someone comes into class with a lot of writing experience, or several clips, and they are all smiles during the introductions. By week two they sit in stiff silence, unable to read anything aloud or write anything in class. By week three, they’ve gone AWOL, claiming illness or work issues, and they never return. By contrast, the folks who come to class with a sense of humor about themselves, regardless of their levels of experience, write reams of stories, forge intense friendships, and have a rip-roarin’ good time. For seven years, I’ve been telling students to loosen up, and this was excellent advice—until I had to take it myself. There I was, sitting in Ron MacLean’s wonderful Structure of Short Fiction class, forcing myself to read out loud, with my hands shaking so hard I couldn’t see the words on the page.

2. Deadlines are erotic. I took Stace Budzko’s class 10 Weeks, 10 Stories. Doesn’t everyone? I spent the spring in a panic, plotting as fast as I could type. The housewife has to run away with the mailman. The son has to drive his father to the asylum. The girl has to dance with the ghost of George Washington. All this has to happen in writing by 5 p.m., at which point I can print it out, load the kids in the car, tear over to Staples to make 12 copies, and then hand the kids off to my husband before barreling down the Pike to get to class on time. Look at those dirty dishes, the unpaid bills, the piles of unfolded laundry, and the blinking light on my phone—some message from an angry editor. Where is my story? I’ve been awake since 3 a.m., out of bed since 4, typing, typing. I am awash in shame over the important things I have neglected to do all week. I vibrate with the fear that this story is horribly, laughably bad. And, yes, I’m also a little turned on.

3. I fear praise. Once, I asked an editor what he thought of my work, and he said, “I wipe my ass with this.” What’s worse, he took the paper and rubbed it against the seat of his pants in the universal ass-wiping gesture. One of my editors routinely returns my stories to me with parenthetical queries after each paragraph. (I don’t get it.) (This is stupid.) (You’re putting me to sleep here). His comments are in all-caps. And red. Every writer deals with an avalanche of criticism. As a result, writers who teach strive to create a classroom environment that guards against the raw pettiness we’ve faced. I always worked to praise every story, every effort before pointing out a few little things that might need work. As an instructor, I prided myself on my ability to praise and encourage everyone. As a student, encouragement scares me. My efforts as a fiction writer are uneven at best. The stories meander, the characters are clichés sent in from central casting. My narratives often wander off cliffs and drop into the abyss. I know this, and I’m petrified to face a revision armed only with vague admiration. I’m not alone. In one class, we sat around praising a fellow student’s story. We went on and on about the lyrical language, the beautiful imagery, all of which was true. We neatly skirted the fact that we had no idea what the story was about. None. Finally, the writer stopped us. “Enough,” she said. “Don’t tell me how great it is. Tell me what to do with it. I need help.” We were so relieved. We ponied up the advice, some of it off-point and mistaken, and she was thrilled to get it all.

4. Hierarchy is self-imposed. I used to like identifying myself as an instructor at Grub parties, at readings, at the Muse. What do you do? I teach here. Not anymore. Last week Mike Heppner moved our Fiction I class to the Brookline Booksmith where we watched Joshua Furst read from his new novel The Sabotage Cafe. He arrived a bit late, and looked bewildered, just like a writer. Then he opened his book and nailed us to our seats for 25 minutes. Afterward, we had class in the basement of the bookstore. We worked on our stories, surrounded by books, and by people shopping for books. As a working writer, I worry constantly about the hierarchy of success. Who has better clips? Who has more time to work? Who is younger and more talented? As an instructor I worry about being good enough to teach. As a student, none of that matters. Effort alone matters, effort and showing up on time.


Michelle Seaton

Be careful what you wish for...

Ever since Grub Street moved into our office in 2005, six windows on the east wall have been bricked over, ostensibly to save us from any construction site mishaps as Emerson built the behemoth dorm next door (sadly, this is not a joking matter: there WAS an accident, which sent a crane falling 8 stories and killed three people: a bystander and two construction workers. We were at work when it happened, and I'm sure none of us will ever forget the terrible accident scene).

Construction was completed last summer, in time for fall 2006 classes, but the bricks stayed up. Over last year, our feisty 84-year-old landlord would periodically appear on our floor, shouting to us from the hallway that the construction workers told her it would be next week, three weeks, mid-March, July, or some other date that the bricks would be removed. At first, we believed her (and them). Mid-March, we thought. Perfect! Just in time for our spring classes. But alas, the months dragged on and soon we forgot that those big black squares were windows at all. We got used to the interrogation-room quality of our small classroom, where the mixture of sunny yellow paint and lack of natural light made everyone appear a little jaundiced, as if after a long sea voyage. We went to IKEA and bought more floor lamps, decided that mood lighting was something that Grub Street could be known for.

Rumors abounded. The building that had been torn down to make way for dorm space had been a mafia building. Bodies were buried in the walls, and that's why they had to brick over our windows--as they tore into the structure, they didn't want us to see the ancient skulls and phalanges flying through the air. They had promised to leave eight feet of space between our building and theirs, so that light would still get to our floor, but we were convinced they hadn't: take down the bricks, and all we'd see was the concrete slab of Emerson, pressed as tight against 160 Boylston as a lover.

Finally, our building manager told us they were really coming to tear things down. We got ready, shuttling printers and papers to the hallway and generally reducing our office to even more of a mess than ever. And only one year and 2 weeks late, the construction workers really did arrive. Their method, which we have now been assessing for a full week, is for one man to chip at a brick with a pick and hammer while another man watches. When the brick is removed, it's dropped four stories down to a courtyard below, where another man is waiting to catch it. Luckily, a second man also stands below, watching the man waiting to catch the brick. As you might imagine, this is not a fast process. By the end of day one (which was supposed to be the only day), they had finished one window in the back room.

But o, what a difference it made! Even just that one window sends a flood of new light across the space, and the room appears to be twice as big as it used to be. Sonya and I kept walking back there, just to see it. We were ecstatic. Our space, which we have always loved, was about to become a million times better. Buh-bye, IKEA lamps, I thought happily.

Last night, they finished the yellow classroom, and like the back room, the difference is unbelievable. It's suddenly a place you want to hang out in, so hang out we did, standing next to our brand new view and occasionally poking our head outside to stare at the 8-foot-wide courtyard far below. As day turned into night, though, and the lights came on in the Emerson dorm rooms, we realized one thing that we hadn't really considered until then. 8 feet is not very much space, and those Emerson students are very, very close to us. As we looked out the window, we realized we were surrounded by activity. Personal, intimate activity, taking place in personal, intimate spaces. One woman had many bottles of Clorox wipes and a full-size plush statue of E.T. Another window revealed two girls in low-cut tops, ostensibly getting ready to go clubbing. A third had posters of beer girls and huge printouts taped to the glass that spell "508" (his room number?) When two shirtless boys stared back at us, and then one of them made some kind of lewd gesture, laughing, we went back to our desks, in our office where the bricks have yet to be removed.

And it was then that the other downside became clear: bricks are terrific sound insulators. Typing away at our keyboards, we heard noises unlike anything we've heard before. Whooping, cawing, that strange ululation people sometimes make in step aerobics classes, and this all at 5:30pm! We can only imagine what we'll hear when the parties begin.

All in all, natural light is worth any amount of leering shirtless boys and whooping underage drinkers. Our space is back to what it's supposed to look like, and we couldn't be happier. We think. We'll keep you posted.

In dread,
Whitney Scharer