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For writers, or lovers of writers, there is no better event than the Montevallo Literary Festival.  Alive and thriving since 2002, the University of Montevallo offers an appreciation for new, cutting-edge creative writing that is unmatched in the Birmingham area.  Invited writers aren’t ushered around to meet people, and they aren’t set up at tables to sign books and take pictures, they’re free to roam about, fix their own plates of food and engage in conversation like normal people who like books, like talking about books, or places they’ve been, or music they like to listen to.  MLF celebrates its colligiate atmosphere where guests have the opportunity to listen to their fellow creative writers inspire them from behind the podium, but they also have the chance to plunge their hands into a cooler beside their new heroes.  

I might be accused (and rightfully so) of being dramatic when I say this, but Montevallo’s Literary festival had a lot to do with how I would eventually understand academia, and how it would push me to get serious, not only as a student, but a writer.   
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Raymond A. Mohl, Distinguished Professor of History at UAB, reports that in Alabama “the 25-year period between 1980 and 2005 brought a wave of new [Hispanic] immigrants who were part of a much larger surge of immigration that has now surpassed in numbers even the huge European migrations of the industrial era.” Census reports indicate that Alabama’s Hispanic population “surged to about 76,000 in 2000 and 99,000 in 2005—a 15-year gain of 302 percent.” However, Professor Mohl says, because the census often undercounts populations such as this, the number are “probably considerably higher.” Mohl says that “some unofficial estimates for 2005 indicate as many as 180,000 to 250,000 Latinos living in the state.”
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This Spring, I feel my senses are continually assaulted.  I go on daily walks as part of my practice at being human.  Usually, I do this in my neighborhood, Roebuck Springs, which is a gorgeously treed subdivision of old houses, flowers and birds.  Because of the heavy, established vegetation, each season is expressed fully here, but none rivals Spring.  None could.  In mid March, it begins with tulip trees, forsythia and quince.  Quickly follow the Bradford Pear trees, flowering cherries, crabapples, and star magnolias.  Today, the entire neighborhood is draped with white and purple wisteria, producing a heady, Dionysian aroma that overtakes me as I walk beyond my front door each day.  By the time I get home from my walk, I feel, in a sense, drugged.  By this point, I have seen flowers of every color, my mind frenzied from compulsory bird and plant identifications, and of course, with the warm weather, in this neighborhood also comes danger, so does my continuous vigilance of copperheads.  Thusly, I arrive back home, pollen-drunk and pupils dilated.  It takes a little while afte Read more...

As anyone who’s learned the meaning of “opportunity cost” or lived a few years knows, every choice is a tradeoff, every entity a ship trailing attendant virtues and vices. Even having knowledge and experience of a subject can’t be considered entirely positive, especially when it comes to truth and accuracy. For example, I did Teach For America, so I really know what I’m talking about here ... or am I just an organizational cheerleader? Or someone who put in the time and effort to finish the program and therefore has a psychological need to justify previous decisions – a need to lessen my cognitive dissonance, as they say – by retroactively sugar-coating the past? Well, all I can tell you is that I’m aware of those potential biases, which is as much assurance as a nonfiction writer can honestly give, providing he or she is human. So, without further delay and as objectively as possible: Teach For America will be good for Alabama. Read more...