I know it’s not yet spring,
That there is still snow to come
And visions of iced-over windshields
Await my weekday mornings.
I know it’s not yet time
To put away winter coats,
To feel comfortable removing
The ice scraper from my car.
But I know to take warm days
And treat them as they are:
The gifts to which I am properly entitled
(As a true midwesterner should).
Read the prompt.
Paste it into a new document.
Stare at a blinking cursor for three minutes.
Ponder your life choices.
Open a new tab.
Play a number puzzle.
Remind yourself your work isn’t going to write itself.
Think about other stuff you’ve written that maybe comes close.
Open allll those other documents.
Find about twenty words’ worth of usable content.
Paste it in.
Congratulate yourself on a job well done with a break.
Go pet the dog.
Clean the kitchen. Where did all these crumbs come from?
Get back to work. You’re not helping yourself here, you know.
Spend three minutes locating your ear buds.
Spend another two minutes choosing just the right playlist.
Re-open the laptop.
Stare at the cursor for another two minutes.
Decide that maybe you just need to talk it out.
Spend the next ten minutes word-vomiting using dictation.
Realize you’ve just provided yourself with about four usable thoughts.
Spend ten minutes wordsmithing.
Add more thoughts.
Spend another ten minutes wordsmithing.
Realize that none of this gets to the heart of what you want to say.
Sit and think for seven minutes.
FIND THE HEART!
Write furiously for twenty minutes.
Spend thirty minutes rearranging your work.
Throw out half of it in the process.
Read it aloud to your kid.
Take his suggestions. They’re good ones.
Close your laptop.
Promise you won’t look at it again until tomorrow.
Tell your friends you’re proud of yourself for not overthinking.
Start overthinking.
Look at it again.
Decide you still like it.
Close your laptop.
Ask yourself if you should look at it once more before tomorrow, just in case.
Steel yourself. Discipline, Lainie. DISCIPLINE.
Wake up.
Read again.
Let. the. thing. GO.
Today has been…a DAY.
Ups.
Downs.
Craziness.
Random moments of validation, sincerity, success.
The answer is, YES. I’m doing a fair amount of writing.
And the answer is NO, I’m not sure it’s writing I’m ready to share.
Just know I’ve got stuff cookin’…
Will I have more tomorrow? You BETCHA.
A friend of mine posted to her social media story today: Happy World Book Day!
And I thought, what? How on earth did I, a certified Word Nerd, an avowed bibliophile, a lover of literature, a collector of both dust and paperbacks, miss something as significant as World Book Day!?
So being the card-carrying geek that I am, I looked it up, only to discover that World Book Day is actually on April 23, but it’s Book Day in the UK because the April date coincides with the Easter school holiday.
But then…why wait ’til April? Why not celebrate books any old day of the year? So, just as Winnie-the-Pooh takes the privilege of celebrating Unbirthdays, I shall take the privilege of celebrating Unbook Day. And to celebrate, I shall share the books in the queue on my nightstand.
First in Line. Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (yes, the same author who wrote “The Yellow Wallpaper”). Imagine men discovering a civilization inhabited entirely by women. It’s…pretty much everything you’d expect it to be. Which is AWESOME. For what it’s worth, this book is a loaner from the very same friend who posted about World Book Day. She’s my reading co-conspirator #1.
Next Up. Minority Report by H.L. Mencken. I’ve always wanted to read this book, and my father-in-law happened to have this first publication copy. Still, that’s not the most amazing thing about it. You see, my father-in-law is in the beginning stages of dementia. But before that, he spent a life as an relentless learner. When he read, he would take copious notes. So I don’t just have the book itself, I have all of his notes, numbered and cataloged, as a window into his way of thinking. I can’t wait to spend time there.
Also Waiting its Turn. The Fish Can Sing by Halldor Laxness. I’m actually not sure about this one. A colleague of mine placed it in my hands and told me it wasn’t her cup of tea, but she thinks it might be mine. I promised her I’d give it a go. We’ll just have to see what happens.
But Wait! There’s More! I happen to be blessed with a window seat by my bed, which is the perfect spot for a makeshift bookshelf (you can see it up top). While such a “To Be Read” list looks daunting, it’s a comfort knowing I’m not in danger of being without something good to read. All those dear titles, so eagerly waiting their turn. Be patient, my pretties. I’ll get to you soon enough!
My fifth grade class started out innocently enough.
We’ve been studying allegorical fiction, and we’ve studied over a half dozen picture books in the process. Today, I shared an award-winning allegorical animated short called How to Wait for a Very Long Time.
Students began by watching the film a few times, just to figure out what actually happens throughout and at the end. Once I inform them the story is an allegory, we watch it a few more times to discuss the meaning and draw parallels to the real world. During the viewing, students are allowed to ask me to pause the film so they can either discuss or take notes.
It was during one such viewing that a kid said, “Wait, go back. That part was in first person.”
What??
Indeed, that part – and one other brief moment – were told via first-person narration. As in, we saw the world the way the protagonist sees it:
WHOA.
I don’t know why, in all my years of being an avid consumer of animated shorts, I had never, ever stopped to consider narrative point-of-view as a literary device. I don’t know how I have watched this video easily fifty times already, and I had not yet noticed what this kid saw.
And now that I see it, I’ll be thinking about it all the time. And not just in animated shorts. It’s like taking a video and deciding which way the camera’s going to point.
And now that I’m thinking about that, I guess I’ll have to start thinking about all the craft moves I’m missing with film, video, animation.
You know, I always leave class smiling when students experience a mind-blowing moment. Experiencing one for myself today? Well, it made getting out of bed absolutely WORTH it.
There I sat with my fourth-graders today, in the last class of a heckedy-peg sort of day. Together, we were composing stories inspired by the work of Leo Lionni. The room was quiet, save cello music and scattered tapping of keys.
At one point, I saw a student across the room from me. He wasn’t typing, and he had…a certain look on his face. I called his name and asked, “Are you thinking? Or are you stuck?” He assured me he was just thinking, and we both drifted back into our own reverie.
Several minutes later, I must have had a similar look on my face because a separate student said to me, across the room, “Are you thinking? Or are you stuck?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a little bit of both? I’m trying to work out my beginning.”
He nodded, satisfied with my answer, and returned to his work. But…how much do I love that he was paying attention? How much do I love that he adopted the language of self-advocacy? How much do I love that he’s doing what writers in a community DO?
It was a hopeful end to a tricky day.
And, if you’re interested in what I was working on, here’s the passage I worked on, complete with the crowdsourcing request for my students:
…started with a jolt, with an alarm that buzzed me awake a half an hour early, dogs licking my elbows and a back still in revolt from…I don’t know…doing puzzles wrong?…that brought me, creaking, cracking, out of my pajamas and to the shower, then back into DIFFERENT pajamas for a pajama day at school that I’m forever paranoid I’ll get wrong, showing up to school in flannels when everyone else looks normal and I’m the oddball, straight into the car and to my doctor’s appointment, where I feel the uncontrollable urge to explain to everyone I see that no, I’m not a gal who just goes to the doctor in pajamas, I’m a PROFESSIONAL for God’s sake, and this is part of my JOB, only to wait an insane amount of time for a doctor who’s somehow running over a half an hour behind for a 7:15 appointment (riddle me that, Batman), only to be given a shot in the arm (if only it were figurative) before I’m sent on my way to school, white-knuckled and praying I’ll get there in some semblance of timeliness, right as students are getting ready for the day and I can breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve made it in plenty of time to get ready for my students, who, thankfully, have shown up ready to work and have fun, as evidenced by their earnest storytelling here, surrounded by their adoring fans:
There I sat, cursor blinking, wondering what on earth I have to write about today, struggling to shut out distraction. I close extra tabs on my browser, shut my bedroom door, and pray for inspiration. But wait! My inbox tab shows I have a new message. Better click it. (See? I TOLD you I’m prone to distraction.)
It’s my weekly update from poet James A. Pearson (go follow him!). I’m a fan of his work, and his words today couldn’t have come at a better time:
What Spring Does
Some winters
are so long
you can forget
what spring does
until it does it.
–From my book, The Wilderness That Bears Your Name
And it hit me – oh! – the monthly Slice of Life Challenge. It’s another sign of spring! In that spirit, I offer a poem.
What Slice of Life Does
(after James A. Pearson)
Over the years, my sons and I
(anxious for an end
to winter)
begin our search
for Signs Of Spring:
tiny green shoots
that certain bird’s call
buds at ends of branches
and we’d find them on walks
or I’d be brought them
in fists or pockets or bunches
or (lately) photos on a phone
and it had me thinking
to the start of March,
the yearly challenge to mark
days upon days upon days:
Behold! a new
sign of spring!
a renewal of vows
to my love for writing
and those who write,
a commitment made
kept
honored
cherished
like blossoms in a bowl
gathered in joy
and displayed
for all to see.
Sometimes, kids at school reach out to me. Some give me puzzles to do, others ask me to buy Girl Scout Cookies or read their stories. This time, a student wrote an email that broke my heart, just a little. I found them in the hallway yesterday and told them I need time to think about all the beautiful and thoughtful questions they asked before responding back.
But I still feel the need to acknowledge their words. I’m carrying this kid with me. Perhaps you recognize either yourself or another kid here. My hope is, next week, I’ll have a poem to offer in response.
Dear Mrs. Levin,
you say education
is about getting the right questions
and not the right answers
but
then
why does my mom
get mad at me
for getting my math problems wrong?
because
she is smart
and I think I am smart
but I’m not
smart like her
she says
smart people can do ANYTHING
they want,
that they deserve good things in the world
and I have a choice:
to be someone important like a judge
and make lots of money
or
just be a clerk at a store
she asks
who do I want to be?
and
I want to be smart,
I want to make money
and do all the things my mom tells me
smart people
like her
do with their lives
but whatif
if have right questions
and not any right answers?
Can ANYONE ever have
the right questions
if they NEVER
have any right answers?
Last year was a turning point for me. As a teacher, I decided to give up much of my work outside of school in exchange for a deeper, fuller presence with my students. I pledged to bring less of my job home with me so that I could apply more of myself during the day.
So how’s it working out?
I’ve put my most earnest energy into students, both mine and the kids all around me. And it’s coming back. In spades.
Friday was a snow (cold) day, and I woke up to an email from a student who was so excited about Winnie-The-Pooh’s 100th birthday on the 24th that she wrote a “lost chapter” detailing what happened to Roo (who, in real life, was lost in an apple orchard).
And then there were my fourth graders, who are fully engrossed in our “give-it-a-go” writing. They’ve found writing they want to emulate, and they’re working to emulate it:
And this morning, I walked through the hallway right as students were coming in. I heard, “Mrs. Levin! We have something for you!” On Friday’s day off, two of my students got together and made honey cookies in honor of (yep, you guessed it) Winnie-The-Pooh’s birthday. What an amazing start to my day.
Then there were my fifth graders today, when I let them loose on independent study of various topics related to language study. Am I not-so-secretly pleased that today was the day the principal swung by to see what goes on in our classroom, and that she saw, up close and personal, a group of kids excited and eager to follow their curiosity? You BETCHA. I’ll also say it was a great problem to have when the kids had so many requests for further research they had to keep track of it on the white board.
That doesn’t even count…
-the line of kids who want to create their own word puzzles to post outside my door
-the “regulars” around school who take me up on my “free hugs” button
-the second-graders who recognize the symbolic freedom of birds in flight
So if you ask me, I’ll continue to do what I do. I’ll continue to invest myself fully and thoroughly in my students. I’ll continue to learn alongside and from them, as well as I can, as long as I can.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things