Rain
It rained. It rained and rained. It rained so hard the windows cried. It rained so hard the roof thundered. It rained for so many days the girl no long believed in the sun, no longer believed in the light. The rain came down so hard, it knocked leaves off of trees. It splattered dirt out of flowerbeds. It even took blooms off of branches, leaving red and yellow memories on the slick pavement.
And so she went out into it. All around her people scurried for doorways and bus stops. Some held umbrellas turned inside out in the wind. Some held newspapers over their heads. But she did none of these things. Instead, she stood perfectly still. She waited while the water soaked her clothes, her hair, her skin. She felt the weight of all that water, as if she might become rooted there on that city street.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, fiction, imagination, story
Passageway
“The brain has corridors”
—Emily Dickinson
She moved from street to street, from building to building, from floor to floor. She had done this for more years than she cared to count. In fact, she had grown tired of counting: one year became five became fifteen and twenty as fast as fists could unfold. The passage of time exhausted her, felt like running in place, eyes blinking, clouds covering the sun.
Tagged with: audience, discovery, fiction, imagination, narrative, story, words
Jules reached inside for a quarter or a tissue or a chapstick. Anything. Her pockets were empty. Not even a lucky rock. As a rule, Jules never left home with empty pockets. It was a thing she had. Pockets were meant to hold stuff. To make up for their emptiness, she put her hands there. A passerby kept his head down, his own hands lost inside his overcoat. In fact, all the passersby, men and women, looked just the same: sad, drawn, a bit lost. Jules could barely stand the gloom of it all—the gray sidewalk, the overcast sky, the cold air. Her empty pockets seemed even emptier. And so she dug deeper and deeper. She wanted to find something—anything. And finally, there it was, in the deepest recess of her pocket: a clear marble, the tiniest of crystal balls. Jules stood there, in the middle of the crowded city sidewalk and held the transparent orb in the palm of her hand. And people stopped to see what was there, what might be in store, what the future might hold. People needed something, however small, that was clear and round and easy to carry. Something to keep forever in their pockets.
Tagged with: center, discovery, fairy tale, fiction, imagination, narrative, story, words
Hope
The snow fell. It fell and fell. It fell so fast the air was white. It fell so deep, the ground was gone. There was only snow. The little girl stepped out onto what used to be her sidewalk, and she sunk. She sunk all the way up to the tops of her legs. She thought, “If this keeps up, I will be swallowed whole.” And so she shoveled through the night to make a path so that she could walk from here to there. And in the morning light she turned to see her walkway. But there was no walkway. The falling snow had covered whatever work she had done. She planted her shovel into a drift and leaned on its handle. She looked toward the sky, as if some answer waited there. But she could not see the sky through the snow. She opened her mouth to speak, and she saw her breath float out and disappear into the white expanse. That’s when she knew. And so she turned and shoveled her way back through the fresh-fallen snow. It was all she could do—to create the ground of each new step.
Tagged with: construct, discovery, fiction, learning, words
Ducks Swim
The cold air made her car cough. She followed the same path daily. Up the curvy road, over the hill, past the farm stand. Overnight, the temperatures had dipped to below zero. Even the pavement seemed harder. It occurred to her, just briefly, that nothing could live under such circumstances. Of course she knew that was absurd. Here she was breathing, driving. Still, the confinement of her coat—the static electricity of her scarf—made it all seem so plodding and old. It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it, to give in to hypothermia—that sweet, dark sleep? Before leaving the house, she had seen a cardinal in a backyard tree. A male—deep red against the snow. “Aren’t you cold?” she called through window. She stared a long time at its tiny body tucked neatly between branches of a Norway Spruce. Not a single feather shivered. Not one. And then, driving on that familiar road, she looked to her right and noticed a stream just beyond the local farm stand. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? And there upon it swam three ducks, happy and quacking and on with their day—as if it were just that—another day.
Tagged with: construct, discovery, story, words
One Morning Between Seasons
“If we don’t change the direction we are headed,
we will end up where we are going.”
—Chinese Proverb (found on the inside of a bottle cap)
For weeks, the leaves glittered on the trees. Now and then, an overcast sky made everything like a dream. She had this idea—that maybe, just once, autumn would stay. The leaves would hang on in that in between world—winter might happen somewhere, but not here. The trees would not have to go bare. But then one morning as usual, she took the dog out. His paws rattled through dry leaves, gone brown and dry. She did not want to look up and see the bare limbs. So she kept her head down. The dog, accustomed to his daily route up the street, aimed his nose there. But she tugged at his leash, said, “This way today.” She pointed down the hill. The dog resisted, pulled hard against the leash—even sat down, stubborn and sure of his habits. He cocked his head the way dogs do. “C’mon,” she tugged playfully at the leash. And then, also the way dogs do, he looked up at some invisible noise. Her eyes followed his gaze. And there it was—one last red leaf twirling down toward them. She reached out to catch it, but the dog was faster. He leapt, and he caught it in his mouth. The way dogs do.
Tagged with: discovery, imagination, story
Saturday in New Jersey
Just returned from a writers/editors conference at Rutgers University. What a well-conceived, well-organized event—a one day conference during which writers, editors, and agents mingle. And I was most impressed with the editors I met—all of them young and passionate, intelligent and thoughtful. They love books. They love good writing. And they volunteered a Saturday to offer encouragement, advice, and feedback. Trying to market one’s work can often feel discouraging, but the Rutgers University Council on Children’s Literature has found a way to make it encouraging. For that, I am grateful.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, learning, marketing, moments, process, why write
The Scope of Imagination
I heard the tail end of an interview about the 100th anniversary of Anne of Green Gables. I had never read the book, so I found it at the library, and I am reading it now. The young orphan Anne cares a great deal about the “scope of imagination”—as she relates in this early scene:
Isn’t it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive—it’s such an interesting world. It wouldn’t be half so interesting if we knew all about everyting, would it? There’d be no scope for imagination then, would there?
Tagged with: discovery, imagination, learning, quotation, students
Past
In exploring the poetry of my past, I am discovering a part of my writer self that I thought I had lost. I want to find a way to reconnect what I am doing now with what I did then. And it is happening. I just finished one last draft of my novel—now called, tentatively, New Moon Falls. As I revised, I found that part of my writer self from years ago—the part of me that wrote this poem:
Fossil
Tagged with: connection, discovery, poem, process
"Aren't Us"
September 11th, 2001 has been on my mind lately. I just enrolled in a new drawing class, and so I have been looking through some of my drawing/painting exercises from past art classes, and I came upon pieces I had done in 2001, months before the horrible event. Looking at those dates—May 2001, August 2001—I could not imagine what it felt like to not know what I was about to know.
And the other day, in looking through an old textbook, searching for teaching ideas, I came upon a poem I had never read before:
Tagged with: connection, discovery, poem, truth, words
Hostage
I have been fascinated with the news of Ingrid Betancourt’s rescue from FARC, her Columbian captors. They kept her and many others in the jungle for seven years.
I watched her interview with Larry King the other night. She spoke haltingly. She apologized for her English. Something n her eyes caught me. She seemed both pained and impassioned. She looked—I don’t know how else to say it—like truth.
Tagged with: discovery, story, struggle, truth, words
A poem to center me/you
I cannot find my center. Or so I have been told. I scheduled a session with a chi running instructor so that I could learn to “run without pain”—as the chi running book suggests I can. Chi running is based on the principles of Tai Chi. My “coach” came over yesterday, and we walked down to the Arboretum for our session. He said, “I see by your website that you do not feel centered.” I said, “How did you get that from my website?” He said, “Some story you wrote about not finding home.” Of course, once he said this, I obsessed that my website makes me appear not centered.
In the midst of my uncentered life, I happened to listen to a podcast about Elizabeth Bishop, the poet. Her long time friend, Lloyd Schwartz has put together a new book about her, and that book includes a poem he transcribed from one of her notebooks before she died. I was a bit stunned to learn that she never knew he copied the poem; and now—it is there for all to see. Of course, I wondered about the ethics of his choice until I heard the poem. It is so good. Here it is. For a moment, it centered me. I hope it does the same for you.
Tagged with: center, discovery, poem
Bleeding Hearts
The Bleeding Heart Bush is a perennial metaphor. It blooms at this time of year; and in the morning, when I walk Gizmo, I stop and stare at one that rises from behind my neighbor’s small wooden fence—all those hearts bleeding.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, moments
Home
Dear Readers,
My cold and windy Provincetown retreat, as it turns out, was productive. I made discoveries about my writing. I have 23 chapters of a new and improved novel; and on the cutting room floor, I have stories worth keeping.
Sometimes, as I preach to my students, learning only happens through struggle; and while I try to make learning fun for my students, I know that sometimes, it just cannot be.
Tagged with: construct, discovery, struggle, students, why write
To Lurk
A writing friend recently invited me to join a listserv—one designed to talk about the craft of writing, specifically Middle Grade and Young Adult books. Another invited friend suggested she might be interested in joining, but would rather lurk than interact.
Friends and acquantainces have confessed that sometimes they lurk on my blog—meaning, they visit and leave without commenting.
Tagged with: discovery, why write
Conflict and Resolution?
My older brother and I do not get along. It’s a sad story, I suppose. Both in our 50’s, we live miles apart literally and figuratively. The figurative distance started in childhood. And now, he has five children—the oldest and I have found an adult connection, one I value very much. When she was born over 20 years ago, I wrote her a story about reaching for the moon.
The other day, she wrote me a story. She is a nurse in a NICU unit. Here’s how it goes:
Tagged with: discovery, narrative, story, struggle, truth
Ambiguity
This morning, my usual routine has been disrupted by four men tearing apart our upstairs bathroom. Gizmo, particularly, is unhappy with the circumstances. He comes to sit underneath my legs, as if I am some shield.
My semester begins in two weeks, and in the next few days, I will ease into syllabus building.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, quotation
Another link
My friend Anita lives in Manhattan. She has a very full and interesting life. She writes. And she also teaches high school. Recently, she watched my Ben Cartwright video-story and then told me about David Rose, the composer of the “Bonanza Theme Song.” He’s most famously known as the composer of “The Stripper.” Anita grew up in LA, and David Rose was her best friend’s father. Anita spent a lot of time in the music industry, and she considered David Rose a mentor of sorts. Anita has a blog, from a high school teacher’s perspective. It’s listed under links as “Schoolmarm.” Check it out.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, links
To Teach, To Learn...
I recently finished reading a final round of letters from my students. I read a few passages to Diane, and she said, “The next time you wonder if you make a difference in the world, pull those letters out and read them.”
She’s right. One student wrote,
Tagged with: discovery, letters, quotation, students
Scales and Sketches
This semester has been an experiment for me—asking my students to do the equivalent of playing scales and drawing sketches. Instead of requiring a series of 3-5 page papers, I have required a series of exercises. We are on our last project: a summary of an article and then the application of its thesis to the student’s own observations. The experiment has taught me about teaching. I hope it teaches my students about writing! Even a little? We’ll see. The semester is almost over.
Tagged with: discovery, exercises
Illness
For the past ten days, I have been ill. I have not been able to teach or write or read much. But I have been able to observe. Thanksgiving found me, as it usually does, in NY with my in-laws. Perhaps I should have stayed home to nurse my illness; instead, I traveled. I was not fully there—or more to the point, I was differently there. In mid-illness, I lost my voice. For days, at various tables—food, talk, laughter, wine abounded—and I sat, mute, watching. I am often the observer, but generally by choice. This time, I had no choice.
When I returned home from the festivities, more symptoms appeared—the details don’t matter. I am more interested in how my perception changed. I still went through the motions of daily life, but in an altered sort of way.
Tagged with: discovery, quotation, struggle
"Our Class Can be Tough"
Here’s a section from a recent student letter:
I know sometimes that our class can be tough in answering things, but I did just want to say that over this semester I really enjoyed this class. I feel like it as opened me up to writing that I haven’t actually experienced before. I know I may not be doing awesome, but I am trying my best and I’ve been really happy with the pieces that I’ve produced.
The student is referring to how much her classmates struggled to read and comprehend some recent textbook essays. I pushed them really hard, and that’s what the student means by having a hard time “answering things.”
Tagged with: discovery, letters, quotation, struggle, students
To Wait
Here is the text of my most recent letter to students:
We spend so much of our lives waiting: for trains, for doctors, for a phone call, a letter, a dream to come true. We wait in lines or in rooms made just for waiting, with chairs and magazines, even toys and TV and coffee.
Tagged with: connection, discovery, letters, why write
Main Idea
Students in my classes have been writing summary paragraphs. They describe the experience as “tedious,” “frustrating,” and “boring.”
Yesterday, I gave them the task of unraveling the main idea of an essay by David McCullough: “Why History?” I said, “Think of this exercise as a problem to solve—an equation. It should be hard. it should be frustrating.”
Tagged with: construct, discovery, structure, struggle, students
Early Morning Rain
I was just getting ready to leave for my Tuesday teaching day when I heard a familiar plunk inside my front door. Early. Eight a.m. I looked out the window to see the PO truck driving away, chugging up the street while our terrier mix Gizmo barked at the door where the package was left. I did not want to open the door because lately, these early morning deliveries have been sad. This morning was no different. I wasn’t surprised to find my novel manuscript, returned to me.
I know writing, creating, discovering has its rewards. And I know rejection is as common as Gizmo’s bark; still, the familiar ache never changes.
Tagged with: discovery, rejection, struggle, why write
Sentences
I have assigned my students a series of four summary paragraphs. Each paragraph must introduce the author and title of the essay, identify the main idea of the essay, and then go on to detail supporting evidence.
Yesterday, students brought draft paragraphs and read them aloud to a partner. The partner then read the same paragraph back to the writer. After that, the pair chose one sentence from the paragraph to rewrite. Once each of them had rewritten a sentence, they shared their results.
Tagged with: discovery, exercises, students, words
Letter
Here is a portion of my most recent letter to students…
Dear Students,
I’ve been having a hard time starting this letter. In fact, I wrote another letter and decided it was boring. I didn’t want to give it to you. I suppose that happens to you, yes?—writing something and not liking it—feeling the pressure of having something due and simply having no inspiration to do it?
Tagged with: construct, discovery, letters, struggle, students, why write
Twyla Tharp
Lately, I have been thinking about the disconnect between the process of writing and the marketing of writing. I have been trying to write the perfect description that 1) makes someone want to read my novel and 2) makes someone believe it can sell. In essence, I am trying to put words to my voice, style, and vision.
A few weeks ago, my friend Rita sent me a book: The Creative Habit by Twyla Tharp. In it, Tharp discusses what she calls “creative DNA.” I like this quotation:
Tagged with: audience, discovery, quotation, struggle, why write, words
Writing is Hard
As I move toward the mid-term of my teaching semester, I see how my students struggle with the complexities of writing. And maybe more to the point, I see how I struggle. The process itself, getting an idea, figuring out how to structure it, how to express it, how to communicate it. And even then, asking myself—students asking themselves: what makes it matter to anyone but me?
When I was a kid, I used to hear my father typing on his electric typewriter. I loved the sound the keys made, clicking and clacking in some perfectly imperfect rhythm. I remember sitting in his chair, one day when he wasn’t there, setting my fingers on the keys, determined to make that sound.
Tagged with: audience, discovery, story, struggle, students
Some Answers?
I read over the student responses to the questions posed in my 15 August post. Here is my summation of their thoughts:
-Even though writing is not speech, it requires voice.
-The writing process is highly individual. Different techniques work for different people.
-Writers owe their audience a way in.
-Writing and reading can empower us.
-Writing and reading can be exercise for the mind.
-Writing can establish a connection between writer and reader.
-Grammar and writing are not inseparable because grammar helps to structure thoughts.
-Writing is a way of self-expression, knowledge, and documentation.
-Each paper should have a writer’s personality.
-All writing is creative because it displays one’s own style and thought process.
-Writing helps organize your thoughts. First you have to form a structure and build ideas.
-Reading helps you learn to write better