Today marks Day 16 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
You know, we always tell our young writers to keep track of all the great ideas they have for writing “seeds.” I’ve realized that I’ve seen some amazing ideas for cool Slice structures lately, including:
Of course, I’m not going to be able to use ALL of these ideas in March, which is just fine! I just want to give these writing forms a spin whenever I can, and I’m even more excited to see how my kids respond to them.
How about you? What cool writing forms or structures have YOU seen? What are the tricks that you like so much that you’re squirreling away for another post?
Link to a cool blog format in the comments.* I’d love to develop a whole collection of new ideas I can use for future posts.
*(of course, the hipsterish buzzword I’m actually looking for is crowdsourcing, but you didn’t hear that from me)
Today marks Day 15 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March -and beyond!
For the past week and a half, I’ve been feeling…OFF.
My mental magic wheel greedily spun comments, omissions, and small slights into threads – ropes! – of hurt, self-doubt and bruised ego.
I usually feel resilient. I can usually manage the “speed bumps” that life throws my way.
But lately I’ve been crabby. I’ve been overly sensitive. The tiniest nudge sends my mind into fits of perseverating.
What on earth was going on? It wasn’t the time change. It wasn’t hormones. It wasn’t the full moon. I had no way of explaining why I couldn’t get my emotional self together.
Until yesterday. Yesterday, I got myself behind a barbell for the first time in a while.
Between the new puppy, vaccine #2, some back issues and an unexpected home quarantine, I had neglected to get physically active. Other than walking said puppy, my body wasn’t doing ANYTHING.
But after a session moving big and heavy things, It felt GOOD. REALLY good. And all throughout the rest of the day, I felt good. I felt so much better, so much more in control, so much more resilient.
This has happened to me before. I’ve felt terrible about this world and everything in it, only to feel much better once I get myself moving.
I wish this week’s me could go back to last week me mid-mind spin. I wish I could interrupt, could tell myself that all of these terrible thoughts I’m having about me aren’t ME. That I need a physical outlet so I can feel better. Sometimes, all we have to do is to identify what we’re going through, to name the monster that’s taking over. It doesn’t fix the problem, but boy does it make it more manageable.
In the meantime, if you’re one of those people who interact with me in real life, I’ll leave you with this: 1) Thank you for putting up with my being a crabby pants. 2) If I’m being a super crabby pants, you have permission to when I worked out last. 3) It will be better for us all. 4) And thank you.
Each Sunday, I’m working my way through my experiences with race. I’ll share stories and memories from throughout my life. I know I’ll encounter moments of growth that I wish I could relive. I’ll also have to think back on choices that I wish I could remake. Today also marks Day 14 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
Every story has a turning point. There is a moment of truth, a fulcrum on which our seesaw of experience forever rests between “before” and “after.” I’ve had several such moments in my life.
The details are sketchy. There’s a chance I have some of them wrong. There’s also much more complexity to this than I can express in a single blog post, but we all know words have their limitations at times. This is one of those times.
My first moment of racial reckoning occurred in high school. It was my junior or senior year. The high school newspaper just published an issue on slang. In it was an article on Black English.
I remember holding that edition of the paper in my hands, scrolling through the articles, and reading that one with some interest. I remember the article mentioning Black English Vernacular and giving some examples of its structure. I don’t remember much about the content of the article.
I do remember that it wasn’t written by someone Black. And it didn’t sit well. And it brought forth a lot of anger. So much so that the local news covered our news. LOTS of people were talking about it.
And if you asked me how things eventually turned out, I don’t even think I could tell you.
But I do remember that being a moment of truth for me. This idea I carried in my head, the one that told me racial justice and equality were “done” once Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks took care of things? It was a lie. There was still prejudice and racism and bias and inequality. There were wounds, still seething anger across and within racial groups, and it took a high school newspaper article to puncture that boil.
It was the first time I recognized there was still work to do. That I had work to do. That there was so very much I didn’t know, didn’t understand, hadn’t bothered to see.
That was the truth I had to sit with. That I still sit with. It has shaped me, has driven me. It’s what drove me to seek the experiences I have in college (starting up on that next week!) and beyond.
And…if you’re someone I know who remembers this time, I’d welcome your memories in the comments. I keep trying to put more perspective to these events, and I could use yours.
Today marks Day 13 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
If only, last year, as we hastily made copies and gathered books and held cramming sessions on how to use Google meet we had stopped
and sat on the floor in a circle the kind of circle where sometimes you pass a rock or a stick or a trinket and everyone takes turns and everyone shares for a moment
If only, last year, as we loaded backpacks and gave high-fives and said our “see you soons” we treated the day as the last day of school
with hugs and reflections and closure and notes to our future selves
it might have made the missing not easy but easier.
Today marks Day 10 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
I was saddened to learn of the death of Norton Juster. Here’s my little tribute.
Dear Mr. Juster,
My name is Lainie. I’m a fan.
I first read “Phantom Tollbooth” when I was a fifth grader. Your book changed my world.
Mr. Juster, I had always been a reader growing up. I worked voraciously through Beverly Cleary, through Judy Blume, through Roald Dahl. And I’d always enjoyed reading, and I’d always imagined the worlds that authors brought me, and I always enjoyed the time I spent with the characters.
But Milo. And the adventures he had in the Lands Beyond.
Mr. Juster, you wrote a book that was CLEVER. And SMART. A book that spoke directly to me. A book that was written just for me. You never made any assumptions about me as a kid. You never shrugged your shoulders and dumbed things down because you were just writing a kids’ book. No, you put all of your wit and energy and wonder between those pages, and you did it in a way that refused to underestimate me, as so many of the adults in my life often did.
You wrote the book I needed. A book I deserved. And in return, I’ve given that book to countless other kids who need that book, kids who need to see cleverness and joy in print. I know they won’t get all the jokes. I know that some of the ideas will be over their heads. I just make my kids promise me they’ll read the book again when they’re grown-ups so they can go back for all the fun stuff they missed the first time.
Mr. Juster, you were the grown-up so many children need in their lives. For that, you will be sorely missed.
With Gratitude, Lainie P.S. I also think your book “The Dot and the Line” was way underrated, and I hope people discover it. I just had to put that out into the world. I’m also posting this video of the story in case folks want to follow their curiosity.
Today marks Day 9 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
As we approach March 13, the last day we were with our students, the day we hurriedly sent them packing without any true sense of what we were shifting into or out of, I’m feeling…some kind of way. I know lots of us are. It hits me in different ways, or from different directions. This time, it hit me when I was out on a walk yesterday and I caught a spot of yellow peeking up from the earth.
I’m not sure I remember looking for signs of spring last year
not sure that I took my annual spin around the block
which is sad when you think about it because watching for the crocuses the hyacinth the snowdrop means
you know what’s coming up
Saw these while walking the dog yesterday. Buttercups, maybe?
Today marks Day 8 of the Slice of Life challenge. Join me as I work to write every day in March – and beyond!
My blog is called “Ed Soapbox” for a reason.
Soapboxes. Ideas we feel SO STRONGLY, we just need a box to stand on and shout it out to the world. And friends, I have a LOT of them. Especially when it comes to teaching and learning.
My position calls for me to do a lot of talking and meeting with my colleagues, and they know it is VERY easy for me to step up on my soapbox about any number of things. All it takes is just a little something to wind me up and set me in motion. I’m guessing it’s pretty entertaining to watch, just because I get so keyed up about things. I try to restrain myself, because I don’t want to be the one yammering on or get preachy. I can recognize an eye roll when I see it.
Still. Here is an incomplete list of all the things you don’t want to get me started on:
<< clears throat >> << takes a sip of water >> << steps on up >> << inhales deeply >>
Why emotional learning is 90% of what we do Why gifted kids need each other Why we need to talk about people who don’t look or live like us Why expectations that leadership has of teachers creates classrooms where everyone’s afraid Why teachers need the freedom to teach as they see fit Why people are much better at math than they give themselves credit for Why kids need to read what they want and write what they want Why we need to consider poor behavior as a lack of skills rather than discipline Why kids need to understand themselves better Why we need to let go of control sometimes in our classroom Why we need to listen more Why we need to stop judging parents of kids who don’t behave Why kids seem to show a lack of remorse for poor choices Why kids need to understand place value so darn much Why teachers need to open their doors more Why teachers need to close their doors sometime Why schools work just like giant classrooms
See? All I had to do was turn on the tap and get it flowing. You can’t see it, but I’m sitting up straight, my shoulders are tensed and my blood is PUMPING. And I’m just getting STARTED.
All because of this fierce belief I have in children, in my fellow teachers, in my families, in education itself.
So yes, I know that it’s fun to watch Lainie sometimes as she goes on a rip and tear. I’ll admit it’s kinda entertaining. I’d rather be the subject of an eye roll than lose the intensity of these beliefs.
Each Sunday, I’m working my way through my experiences with race. I’ll share stories and memories from throughout my life. I know I’ll encounter moments of growth that I wish I could relive. I’ll also have to think back on choices that I wish I could remake. Come join me each week. It’s also Day 7 of the Slice of Life challenge.
Some Sundays I reflect on my upbringing and its effect on my attitudes towards race, culture and gender. Others, I think on turning points in my racial autobiography. And some Sundays, it’s..harder.
This is one of those Sundays, where I’m left with more questions than answers.
Growing up, especially in high school, there was racism and homophobia all around me. I certainly was around a whole host of offensive comments, jokes and gestures. I’m certainly guilty of laughing and playing along. So…how on earth did I let myself not notice the effect it had on those around me?
I could have been so much better. I wish I could have been better. I wish the times could have been better.
I especially wonder about the homophobia our world was steeped in. I think about now, with my sons in high school and college, with so much more openness about identity. I wonder how different high school would have been, had it been now.
I can think of at least a dozen or so kids I hung out with who are now “out” in one way or another. We’d spent Saturday nights together, relaxed in the student lounge in off periods, chatted for hours on the phone – heck, I even went out and to dances with some.
I remember in particular one late-night call with a guy friend of mine. He was struggling, nearly crying, confessing to me that he had a great weight on his shoulders, that he was carrying around something that he wanted, wished he could tell me, but he couldn’t. He told me that if he said it, he didn’t know what would happen, or what he would do.
Forty-five minutes passed. An hour. At the time, I thought maybe he had been contemplating suicide. So very long I spent on the phone, trying to convince him that whatever he could say to me was OK. That I was his friend, and I could support him no matter what. He even got close a few times before breaking down again and saying he couldn’t tell me.
Turns out, he’s gay. He just couldn’t come out.
It’s hard not to put modern sensibilities on that conversation. How on earth did that possibility not come to me? Why wouldn’t I have figured that out? What would have happened if I just asked him, point blank?
I could completely blame myself for my blindness. But the truth is, at the time I was in high school, NOBODY was talking about it. At least, nobody straight. My guess is that some folks were out to one another, but that they intensely guarded the circle in the name of self-preservation.
Now, I wonder. How different would high school have been if my friends were allowed to live full, open lives as teenagers? If they had been able to talk openly about their latest crushes, or go to dances with who they actually liked, or just simply…be themselves?
I’ll never know. I can spend my life wistful, wondering. Or I can support the people in my life…now.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things 