Last Sunday evening, after checking and rechecking my plans for the week, I opened a blog draft and stared at the stark white box. Despite the fact that I have a running list of blogging ideas, nothing happened. Nothing came to me. That urge to write and all its sparkle was missing.
I left the tab open - yes, with the 42 other tabs in Chrome that are perpetually open on my Mac. By Wednesday, I closed it.
It's Sunday again. I've checked and rechecked my plans, and again, that nagging I-should-blog-but-I'm-not-sure-what-about feeling has returned. Except this time, I do have something on my mind. I just don't know what to do about it yet.
This fall, I've got a class that has stumped me. It's a small group of students of varying ages, all hoping to grow as readers and writers. They're quick and clever and witty, and I think I'm gonna like them! Yet, I do not know how to reach them.
I talked all the books, and they said, "You sure make 'em sound good, but they don't sound like that when I read them."
I demonstrated writing in front of them about things I care about, and they said, "Miss, it doesn't matter if we care about it. We can't change it. So why write about it?"
I showed a fun parody (Who doesn't like Teaching Center?) and asked what the message was, and they took naps. Well, not all of them, but most.
Thus, I'm at a loss. I can't remember the last time I felt this way. I've fallen into a loop; I get excited about an idea, work it up in a way I think could work, and then am suddenly overtaken by a tingle of anxiety. What if they don't like this either? What if they reject it by either blatantly refusing or swiping their phones or utterly checking out? (Side note: there are a couple of dedicated, focused friends in this class, which makes me even more frustrated because they are missing out when we don't get things done as well!)
On this lovely fall afternoon, I sat on my back porch with my multi-tabbed Mac, listening to the birds and clicking through some prior pieces that students have enjoyed. I perused Kelly Gallagher's Article of the Week to begin plugging those in, and I thought at length about this group and what they need. I know what they need. Like a quarterback hoping to win the big game, they need to run the plays and throw the passes in repetition, daily. They need to read and write every. single. day. To get them to read, I've gotta keep talking those stories until they find the one. I always say, it's like trying on clothes. You sometimes have to take five shirts to the dressing room and try them all on before you find the one that fits. And if you don't find one, you don't just walk around topless! You keep trying.
And so I'll keep trying too. I've got an idea about a book bracket to propose.
As for writing, I think we're going to spend the week with some professional writers to see what they've done. Together, we'll check out NPR and The New York Times and Ellen Hopkins. We'll talk about cell phones and prom and censorship. I've even got some of my own writing about fishing lined up. And maybe - just maybe - things will begin to shift.
I know it's early - it's only been two weeks - and maybe I shouldn't be so worried. Maybe I should just be patient, and I suppose I should. Patience led me to fill this space a week late, after all. So tomorrow morning, I'll frantically make copies of the pieces I collected while on the back porch enjoying the breeze and birds. I'll gulp down my giant purple thermos of coffee. And then I'll be ready to welcome my class, smile on, mind ready, heart open. I can do this.
I left the tab open - yes, with the 42 other tabs in Chrome that are perpetually open on my Mac. By Wednesday, I closed it.
It's Sunday again. I've checked and rechecked my plans, and again, that nagging I-should-blog-but-I'm-not-sure-what-about feeling has returned. Except this time, I do have something on my mind. I just don't know what to do about it yet.
This fall, I've got a class that has stumped me. It's a small group of students of varying ages, all hoping to grow as readers and writers. They're quick and clever and witty, and I think I'm gonna like them! Yet, I do not know how to reach them.
I talked all the books, and they said, "You sure make 'em sound good, but they don't sound like that when I read them."
I demonstrated writing in front of them about things I care about, and they said, "Miss, it doesn't matter if we care about it. We can't change it. So why write about it?"
I showed a fun parody (Who doesn't like Teaching Center?) and asked what the message was, and they took naps. Well, not all of them, but most.
Thus, I'm at a loss. I can't remember the last time I felt this way. I've fallen into a loop; I get excited about an idea, work it up in a way I think could work, and then am suddenly overtaken by a tingle of anxiety. What if they don't like this either? What if they reject it by either blatantly refusing or swiping their phones or utterly checking out? (Side note: there are a couple of dedicated, focused friends in this class, which makes me even more frustrated because they are missing out when we don't get things done as well!)
On this lovely fall afternoon, I sat on my back porch with my multi-tabbed Mac, listening to the birds and clicking through some prior pieces that students have enjoyed. I perused Kelly Gallagher's Article of the Week to begin plugging those in, and I thought at length about this group and what they need. I know what they need. Like a quarterback hoping to win the big game, they need to run the plays and throw the passes in repetition, daily. They need to read and write every. single. day. To get them to read, I've gotta keep talking those stories until they find the one. I always say, it's like trying on clothes. You sometimes have to take five shirts to the dressing room and try them all on before you find the one that fits. And if you don't find one, you don't just walk around topless! You keep trying.
And so I'll keep trying too. I've got an idea about a book bracket to propose.
I know it's early - it's only been two weeks - and maybe I shouldn't be so worried. Maybe I should just be patient, and I suppose I should. Patience led me to fill this space a week late, after all. So tomorrow morning, I'll frantically make copies of the pieces I collected while on the back porch enjoying the breeze and birds. I'll gulp down my giant purple thermos of coffee. And then I'll be ready to welcome my class, smile on, mind ready, heart open. I can do this.
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