It’s been quite awhile since I’ve posted about my process.
For one thing, I doubled my teaching load this semester so blogging hours have taken a serious hit.
For another thing, not training for a marathon has been as hard as training for a marathon (go figure), so I’ve been negotiating that minefield instead of the usual literary naval gazing. (Dang if it isn’t always something…)
And for a third thing, my process has been highly erratic of late. I’m working on various projects in fits and starts. There have been dizzying high points and super slo-mo frustrating lows. And I’ve been too "in it" to offer any reflections that are more articulate than sort of homo habilis-esque grunts.
All that said, I’ve got a bunch of thoughts piled up here so this next week or so I’ll share them. If it gets too self-referential, please tell me to stop and I’ll do a post of knock-knock jokes are something. Okay?
We rode the ferris wheel, ate cotton candy, and watched cowboys try to best the 8-second buzzer by holdin’ on & hopin’.
It’s a funny thing, the rodeo. All belt buckles and bluster. I’m not so sure I love every little bit of it, but that’s not really what we’re promised when we step into something new and different, is it?
Plus, in the end, the rodeo’s as much about a love of horses as anything. And having been one of those girls (the pretending, the posters, the finally — really, finally — a horse of my own!) — I can wrap my mind around that.
So here, in a different setting than the ones we watched last night, are James Wright’s horses:
A Blessing
by James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
I am committing to writing one haiku each day in April. Haiku are deceptively small little poems with a lot of parameters. I hope to have a handle on just some of them by the end of April. Have mercy on me…
Do you know how it is when, for days on end, all your conversations seem to converge?
The same book mentioned in three different contexts?
A scientific phenomonen you’ve never heard of — on the radio, in a novel and discussed at a dinner with friends?
You, lost on the way to an appointment, your neighbor, lost on the way to a funeral and your child, afraid of getting lost?
It is as if all paths lead you to the same nut, one you’re clearly meant to crack and dig into, little by little, until you’ve gotten the very meat out and are satisfied.
Satisfied, mind you, doesn’t necessarily mean figured out.
My deepest lessons of the past decade, as a mother and a writer and a person, have been around acknowledging that very little is actually ever figured out or finished. Rather, there are moments of utter vividness, of joy, of understanding. And those serve as stepping stones to the next moments, some of which are equally lovely, but some of which are confusing, dark and scary.
Just when I thought I had things truly pegged, too. Dang. But I am in process. Before I know it, there are other moments. New paths. The number of nuts to crack is infinite. Which, granted, can be terrifying but also, sometimes, a keen comfort and relief.
This week, I talked with a friend about the internet and ended up on the subject of children, growing up. I spoke with someone else about academic testing and ended up on the subject of children, facing life. I listened to a podcast, read a news article, attended a meeting, and each time, in each place, there were these profound and poignant details that spoke directly to me about children, coming of age.
What a nut. What a daunting stockpile of nuts. It reminded me of a poem I wrote years ago, when I had babies. I thought I’d share it today…
I spent this morning with hundreds of five- to eight-year-olds, talking about rhyming, writing and pockets. My voice is a little hoarse and I could definately use a nap, but am otherwise none the worse for wear.
Really, kids tend to take it easy on us children’s authors. Often, in fact, I get hugs and little poems and huge beamy grins.
Today, a little boy came running up after our session to show me a drawing. "I’ve got to show this to you before I give it to my mom!" he said. It was a self-portrait — the teeth were particularly detailed — and he really wanted to show me.
Made for a pretty swell day.
There were a couple of other high points, too.
A 2nd grade boy’s reaction as I "read" my book aloud without looking at the text: Don’t tell me you’ve got this whole thing memorized!
A few different ideas on what a school could be a pocket for: A school is a pocket for kids. A school is a pocket for learning. A school is a pocket for mice!
And a little girl’s reaction to my pocket-heavy fishing vest: It’s like a shirt only useful.
Exactly. I mean, an ordinary shirt? What’s the point?
There’s often much discussion — amongst parents and teachers, writers and librarians, readers and bloggers –about how to engage kids in literacy.
Much discussion and some head scratching and occasionally a frustrated thump on the noggin.
It’s one of those things that seems like it should be easier than it is. I mean, we’re talking about stories here, right??? Everyone loves a good story!
But we’re up against really compelling new media. And educational inequality. And fear.
We’re dealing with time constraints and financial limitations. Fill-in-the-dot tests.
We are talking about stories here, but the noise in the room is overwhelming…
Shhhh! Enter our friends at Share a Story – Shape a Future!! They’ve created a week-long blog event during which we can think about literacy to our heart’s content. Nothing’s getting in the way.
Here’s the entire schedule. Now carry on because there’s already a lot out there, and it’s good.
My ten-year-old has a truly global sensibility. Always has. From about age four, she’d tell anyone who’d listen that she was into "cultures".
At various times we’ve had on our hands a budding anthropologist, a high priestess, a peacekeeper, a journalist, and a political rabble rouser. These days she makes it clear that she’ll do any variety of work as long as she has to travel around the world to do it.
In the meantime, though, she does what she can. Experiments with Chinese calligraphy. Dances to world beat. Cuddles up at night with a sarong she calls Rosa.
And, lately, throw herself into Pennies for Peace. Pennies for Peace is the charitable offshoot of the book Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Mortenson. The premise is that the way toward world peace, prosperity and equality is through education. And that every penny counts when trying to educate all the world’s children.
Yesterday, my girl introduced Pennies for Peace to the other fourth graders at her school. Today, she hosted a Pakistani friend who talked to the kids about life in his home country.
The reception the kids gave him was vibrant. They couldn’t stop popping up onto their knees with questions. About the climate, the clothing, the game of cricket.
One little boy ended up telling the visitor about how Pakistan used to be a part of India — and asked him if he’d ever heard of Ghandi. And another pointed out that maybe K2 isn’t the second-tallest mountain in the world if you counted one of the oceanic mountains. Lots of the kids wanted to hear him speak in Urdu.
What struck me about the whole thing was how comfortable these kids are with the notion that the world is small and full of friends.
Seems to me that they’re presuming something that we still don’t always ‘get’ — at societal and political levels. What we see as groundbreaking, they take as a given. And that is the sort of thing that helps me sleep well at night…
So in honor of my Tall One, and all her open-hearted friends, these few words from Whitman today. Namaste.
from A Passage to India by Walt Whitman
Not you alone, proud truths of the world,
Nor you alone, ye facts of modern science,
But myths and fables of eld, Asia’s, Africa’s fables,
The far-darting beams of the spirit, the unloos’d dreams,
The deep diving bibles and legends,
The daring plots of the poets, the elder religions;
O you temples fairer than lilies, pour’d over by the rising sun!
O you fables, spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!
You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish’d with gold!
Towers of fables immortal, fashion’d from mortal dreams!
You too I welcome, and fully, the same as the rest!
This was a matter of some consternation for all of us.
The next night loomed with nothing to read.
How would we decide? What were we in the mood for? And why couldn’t Jeanne Birdsall just up and write Book 3 so we could carry on with the sweetness of the Penderwicks?
Alas, the hours passed and we found ourselves at the dinner table, nervously nearing the witching hour.
Suddenly, as if by ESP, it was agreed upon. We’d bring stacks and stacks of nominees to the table and vote. Dinner plates pushed aside, we all brought forth our own particular wishes and started a process more elaborate than the CYBILS.
The result?
Success! We started a book that night and have three more waiting in the wings. Interestingly, three of the four are books from series. Different series! We seem to manage keeping many threads alive without getting completely mixed up in regards to fantasy and reality. Or maybe we’re just enjoying the teeter…
Most important to the process, we agreed that if a lovely book appeared in our lives just begging to be read, we’d toss the list out the window. Because really, don’t you always need to leave the possibility open for unanticipated love?
One of the classes I’m teaching this semester takes place entirely online.
Distance learning, you’ll hear lots of people say, is the way of the future. It enables a whole host of folk to take classes when they otherwise might not, because of car costs, childcare, scheduling issues, and what not. And it’s true, and I’m glad to help make that happen.
But. (You knew there was "But" coming, didn’t you?)
It just isn’t the same. The dynamic is drier than I’d like, the interactions less generous and less fluid. If a round-table discussion is a peony in full bloom, an online discussion is more like a stem with the occasional bud.
I feel compelled to stir up as much energy and support and wisdom for my online students as my on-campus ones, but there are days I feel miles from acheiving that.
So, today, I’m asking for your help. I’m inviting you to be guests in my classroom. Help me liven things up a little! And here’s how:
In my comments, will you offer my students:
1. Your favorite book on writing or process or creativity or 2. Your top tip on writing poetry or 3. Your top tip on writing prose or 4. One way to get over writer’s block or 5. One way to reckon with discipline and deadlines or 6. One way to access the muse or 7. Any other little snippet you think might inspire, illustrate, educate or awe my online writing students!
I’ll share all of your advice over the next week or two and we’ll light things a’fire! Your reward will be my eternal gratitude. Truly…
