What Do People Need to Learn to Write

Last week, Ruth Ayres wrote a thought provoking post over at Two Writing Teachers. At the same time, I have been struggling with where I want my Creative Writing classes and English 9 classes to go.  I can see in my head my ideal classroom, but the reality is ugly. We're not there. And I'm not sure of the road I'm taking. So, the questions Ruth asked got me thinking and questioning myself and exploring and writing. The results, my beliefs about writing, will be here, in a series of posts.


I learned to write by writing. Sounds simple, doesn't it.

But it's not that simple. I really believe there is much more to it.

People need time to learn to write. A dedicated time in their day where the focus will be putting pen to paper---or fingers to keys--and they write. And how do I know this? Because I haven't been making that time. I find all kinds of other little time suckers and I haven't been writing. Not like I used to. And in my classroom, I sometimes just need to step back and let my kids write.  Conferencing is good. Mini lessons are good. But sometimes, those are time suckers too. The other day I asked my students if they needed me. Did they need me to conference? Did we need to talk about ideas some more?  Or did they just need me to shut up and get out of the way. They just smiled and told me they were fine. They just needed the time to put fingers to keys and get those thoughts down.

People also need time to play and practice.  This semester I been more intentional about sharing mentor texts and sharing my own writing.  It seems to have freed up my students imaginations. Before starting their own pieces, we play around with the mentor texts.  We use them as templates. We write from prompts I have intentionally chosen (most of the time) for the type of writing we are doing. All before they actually choose what they are going to write.  By the time I finally turn them loose, most are begging to get started.

People need freedom.
Freedom of choice, most of all. The freedom to choose what they will write about. The freedom to choose how they will write. While I try to have all my students write the same type of text, such as informative pieces or fiction pieces, HOW they write it is up to them. Right now my students are writing fiction pieces. I've read drafts of children's stories, ABC books, short stories and stories in verse.

People need the freedom to choose NOT to write at a particular time, choosing instead to think, to stare off into space, to listen to music until something lands in their brain that begs to be written. I have students who sometimes just need to think. And, I understand that. I do too. The writing of this post is taking several days.  I need to process my thoughts. I need to figure out my words.  So do my students.

People need effort.
Their own effort. Writing is hard. Harder some days than others. Some days it is so easy to leave the writing behind and get caught up in those time sucking tasks. But in order to write something worthwhile, something relevant, something heartfelt, a writer has to give their best effort and they have to sustain that effort. I think sometimes that is the hardest thing for my students---sustaining effort (who am I kidding? It's the hardest thing for me too.). Beginning a piece of writing, working hard on it for 40 minutes and then leaving it, only to return the next day, makes it difficult to sometimes to sustain that effort. Momentum is lost. I constantly struggle with how to help them come back to a piece with the same intensity and effort that they left with. In the end, I think it has to come from inside the writer.

People have to be willing to fail spectacularly.
I know. That sounds odd coming from a teacher. We aren't supposed to let anyone fail. But, I don't mean to fail the class or the assignment. People need to try new things and write in new ways. And while they are writing in these new ways, they have to know that what they write may not be perfect. Their audience may not like it. The words may not come. They may fail.

And it's OK. Because a writer can go back and fix their failures.  A writer goes back and tries again. A writer goes back and tries a new way to say things. A writer goes back.....

The Real Story

He thinks he's writing about his small cousins' birthday party.

But he's not.

He doesn't know I understand. His sister shared a very similar story last year.

His first piece of writing is just too much. You know what I mean. There's almost too much story there, covering up the one he really wants to tell.

We talk. We peel away layers. We strip away details until it hurts.

And there it is.

The real story.

He won't want to share it with anyone and that's OK.

He shared it with himself.

The real story.

Grandma's Kitchen

The Monday morning warmup from Jo Knowles was to describe a kitchen from our childhood.  Grandma's kitchen I decided, made a perfect slice.  And, yes, this is the same grandma as Grandma's Garage.

Quite simply, it smelled of love.

There was always something cooking or baking in Grandma's kitchen, especially on Sundays.  Sunday dinners put most restaurant buffets to shame. Grandma and Grandpa started cooking early in the morning, and it seemed like the stove or oven was going all day. A beef roast and a pork roast cooked together in a roaster (because it made the best gravy to cook them together), pork cutlets or chicken fried in a nearby pan. Potatoes boiled. Macaroni and cheese baked in the oven (called witch's brew when it was warmed up for supper). Pies cooled on the counter--lemon merengue, banana cream, French Silk chocolate, and always an apple.  Recipes never skimped on ingredients--real whipped cream, pie crusts from lard, butter for potatoes.  You didn't try to diet on Sunday.

The grown-ups gathered at the kitchen table for dinner. The seven grandkids sat in the "breezeway". Conversation flowed from room to room, as food passed around the table.  If you were hungry when you left the table, it was your own fault.

After the dinner was cleared and dishes were done, we moved on to the activities of the day.  Often we grandkids were herded up and taken to the movies (I have a special fondness for John Wayne/Clint Eastwood/cowboy movies to this day). If it was nice outside, we might be able to talk Grandpa into a hike through the woods.

But my favorite Sundays were the days we played cards.

When I finally got to start playing cards with the grownups I felt like I had arrived. Grandma taught us all to play cards at that kitchen table.  And you always played for money. Your money. If you didn't have money to play, you could "earn" it, but Grandma never gave it to you. We first learned 500 Rummy. Then Pitch, 500. And finally Poker--all those goofy "ladies" games with lots of jokers.  Grandma never let us win. If you beat her a card game, you really beat her, and she loved it.  If you made mistakes playing, you heard about it, and you better not make that mistake again.  I loved playing cards with her.

Sundays ended as they began, with food.  Dinners remains were pulled from the fridge and warmed up. We gathered around the kitchen table and laughed and joked about the day.

Grandma and Grandpa's  house was my safe haven as a kid. I always knew I was loved there. When life got tough at home, I could ride my bike to see them. We'd sit at the kitchen table, have a cookie and a glass of milk and I could spill my troubles. After an hour or so, I'd feel better and ride back home, ready to face the world again.

"Be Scared. Be Brave. And Write."

"Time is what we want most, but what we use worst."  William Penn

Ahh, there's the trouble.  I know I waste summer days (but, really, isn't that what summer days are for?).  I putz around the house, often not accomplishing the task I started out working on. I get lost on the internet. Play too many games on Facebook. Watch reruns of too many old episodes of NCIS (I'm a sucker for marathons on USA).

SO, how to "find" time to write this summer?  Hmmm....

I really don't have any excuses. I just need to schedule time and make sure I stick to it. Mornings are always my best time to work, so I plan to write every morning starting at 8:00. I'm up. I've had coffee. Chloe is in the yard.

I will write. For an hour.

BUT.....

What will I write????  Who will read it???????

BREATHE

I will write what I feel like writing--after all, it's the process, the experience of writing that drew me to this summer camp.  I can do this. And, there is that novel I started in November that just might find it's way to my head again.

And I don't care who reads what I write. Not really.  I have always written for me. To make myself happy. So I will write for me again, but I will share. My slicing friends are out there and they are the most supportive people I know.  It's great we have each other during this camp.

So, it's time to write.