Category: writing

Is it Writing?

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Reading this post on the Center for Teaching blog has me thinking. Robert Ryshke asks us to consider great questions about our teaching in relation to Mark Applebaum’s TED talk on music and the roles he plays. Please go there and read the post first, and then ponder this:

Couldn’t we ask the same questions about digital writing today?

Is it writing?

What does it take to be a creative and interesting writer?

Even his list of roles takes on new meaning if we think in terms of a being a writer:

  • interpreter
  • inventor
  • visual artist

As I prepare for my VAIS workshops this fall, I’ll be digging into this. What does this mean for the writing curriculum? For teachers of writers? In light of standardized tests?

Working together

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Snacks, water bottles, white boards, and time to chat–all this made a difference in the success of our week-long writing camp, which ended today. What a gift to work in such a small group, sharing ideas, reading our writing, and talking about ways to improve. The boys, good sports both, worked hard on two different pieces of writing. And I wasn’t surprised to find that the conversations we had helped the most. This is, of course, the way to work with writers. You can’t be at the front of the room. You must sit with the student, talking about the strengths, asking questions…..nodding and encouraging.

One of the boys had brought a MacAir, so before I could say “sure,” he had set up his iphone as a hotspot, pulled out and set up his iPad for another boy, and opened Google Docs to start typing. So much the notebooks I’d purchased:)

He also texted me this, which I hadn’t seen but seemed so appropriate for the week:

I sure love middle-schoolers.

 

Perfection

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It’s funny. When I worked with my yearbook and newspaper kids on their publications, I viewed any typo or error as a learning experience. I didn’t do their work for them, and I wanted them to understand the ramifications of not editing well. Ok, in truth, part of the reason is that I’m not a detail person myself. I love writing and revising, but editing? Ugh. I have to force myself to read one word at a time, and even then I can read right over a mistake.

But I have to say, I worked hard on my recent story for our local monthly magazine, and I was disappointed to see a typo in the headline (which I didn’t write). Actually, I was mortified.

After taking several deep breaths and nearly hyperventilating, I told myself it wasn’t the end of the world. And it isn’t.

Mistakes happen. I know whoever wrote “hungrey” for “hungry” is kicking himself right now.

And next time, it might be me.

 

Making Time

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It’s not writer’s block, but something keeps me from putting pen to paper these days. Time visiting my mom in Rhode Island? Perhaps. Fallen trees across my backyard from vicious storms? Could be. Temperatures hovering at 100 every day? Probably.

My gut says my head is elsewhere. Yes, my body talks to me all the time, and I usually listen. But these days I’m hearing voices that say, “Don’t worry, you can write later,” and “You’ll remember that thought. No need to write it down now.” Inevitably, I don’t write or remember.

After I run a few errands, I will plop myself down in my studio and write. About the black clouds and hail we raced home last night. About the warm blueberry cobbler I made with coconut flour. About the lump in my throat when I opened the door to my dad’s workshop last week. I hadn’t been in since he died. Seeing his shirt hanging from a nail, hearing the radio station pop on as I flicked the power switch, and noticing ancient paint and turpentine cans lining the wooden shelves–these all need some kind of form and structure.

Today.

 

 

Learning Again

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Some days, and today is one of them, I ask myself what makes me think I can write.
I had the opportunity to put together a short piece for our local monthly magazine on community dinners sponsored by area churches. On Monday, I went to watch and interview a few volunteers and several of the guests. About half the guests are homeless, the others are working poor who struggle to put food on the table.
But here’s the thing. As much as I wanted to tell this story well, the words wouldn’t come. Without making too many excuses, I’ll say that having to turn it in Wednesday morning didn’t give me as much time as I wanted or needed to craft a strong essay.
But that wasn’t all of it.
I didn’t ask good questions or spend enough time observing. Later, when I read over my notes, I found few strong quotes to help tell the story.
Struggling, I realized that part of the problem was distance–my own from what I was trying to do.
Powerful storytelling means tapping into emotions, using a photographer’s lens, and not simply writing a chronology of events. I had forgotten.

My next story is a personality profile of an elderly woman who lives down the street. I want to find a way to tell her complicated, lovely story and do it well.

She deserves that.