Some Days Just Feel Right

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Last week I presented mini lessons on writing children's books and poetry in class. Yesterday my 40 creative writing students shared their drafts. We share on Google Docs and I can then comment on them as I read their drafts. I would love to always conference with each of them, but the plain truth is, I simply can't get to everyone. By sharing on Google Docs, I can read and comment to all, and they can come to me if they want to talk more.

Last night, as I read and commented, I was simply amazed at the work they were sharing. Especially the poetry. That one genre that most kids--especially boys--think they can't write.  Boy, are they wrong!

The opening stanza from one young man's hunting poem--he revised this morning after reading comments and talking to me. Got rid of some extraneous words. Focused in on important details.

4:30 a.m

Blares in my ear

Morning chills run through my veins

Sitting in the woods, no sound to hear

Nothing to see but the steam from my breath

I love the line "Morning chills run through my veins". Even better, the last line of the poem (after he gets his deer)  "Excitement now running through my veins."

And how about this one:

Shades of yellows, oranges, reds
Capturing rays of sun illuminating our life.
Sunrises spread across the horizon filling the sky with breathtaking colors,
Shades of yellows, oranges, reds splashed across the sky.
Beautiful moments captured with a stroke of a brush.

Isn't it beautiful? Four stanzas of wonderful descriptions of color palettes. I told this student she should turn this into art work.

Athletes also find inspiration in their sport when it comes to writing poetry. This section of a poem by a swimmer is amazing to me. I can feel that burn and push to finish a race as I read it:

The burn in your legs is still there, but less noticeable.
The end is so close you can feel it.  
Energy dwindling.
A few yards to go.
Another gasp for air.
Give it your all.
Five yards left.
Kick, kick, kick.
Two yards left.
Don’t breath.
GO!!!

And even this one gave me a chuckle:

I’m suppose to write poetic
Its not working so well
Its more or less pathetic
I’m giving it my all
If i priced it, it wouldn’t sell
I don’t know what I’m doing
This class is so confusing
I need to learn how to write
I won’t go down
Not without a fight
Last chance to write this poem
I gave It all my might

I gave this one some templates of poetry to try and talked him through a few ideas. He'll get it.

The best part of the morning for me was talking to all these young writers about their pieces. We had great conversations. It helped that I was able to read their pieces the night before. And it helps that not everyone needed a face to face conference. They are so unsure of themselves when they first share. The smiles that appear on their faces as we finish talking are priceless. Their words--timeless.

How About a Little Cheese With That W(h)ine?

I got it. You hate to write. You enrolled in this class because the guidance department made you take another class and Drawing and Design was full.

I got it.

But do you really need to whine those words a million times a class period?

You whine about journal writing--even though I give you a topic to write about.
You whine when it's time to work on your draft--even though I gave you a topic to write about.
You whine when it's time to revise--even though I give you suggestions for revision.

You whine.

But you know what I think?

I think you are lazy. I think you don't want to think. I think that no matter what I say, you think Creative Writing should be a sluff class.

It's not.

In Creative Writing, WE WRITE  EVERY DAY.

Writing makes you think and feel and believe in something.  It strengthens brain muscles.
Writing helps you make sense of the world. It lets you explore the world around you.
Writing is joyful, and depressing, and illuminating. It is hard work.

There is no job out there where you will not have to write and communicate.  Suck it up and write.

It Doesn't Mean You Can Teach

It's 1975 and I am a freshman in college. Like education majors everywhere, I have to take an Intro to Psych class. I'm excited about it really. Here's a class that  will actually relate to what I want to do with my life. I show up at 8:00am the first day of class.

In shuffles my professor.  A wizened man of indeterminate age.  Tufts of hair stand out at all angles (I see it gray in my memory, but the yearbook shows me differently) and he speaks to us in a thick Austrian accent ( I didn't know what accent at first, I just knew he was hard to understand). This is my psychology professor, Professor W.

Professor W tells us we will not be using the introductory psych book, instead, we will be using his textbook and learning a new language he has developed. Learning to speak "Aui" will allow us to communicate with extra-terrestrials when they arrive on Earth.  Mind you, this is a few years before E.T  or Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

He gives us a pretest.

I score  the highest score in my class, missing only one.

Really.

I go to class every day for a few weeks.  He shares his life at times. He grew up in the Austrian court before "the war" because his father was the tutor to the royal children.  He went to prestigious schools and traveled the world.

The man was a genius. He quoted Shakespeare, recited chemistry equations, spoke several languages fluently, and expected the same of us.  He was quite disgusted one day to find that we didn't know all that he did.

But he couldn't teach.

He also couldn't find his way out of a paper bag.  In the winter, some would take his well worn path in the snow around a tree, which he would follow for a very long time before he figured out he wasn't going anywhere. He forgot his family in a large city about an hour away. He was the classic absent-minded professor. According to our governor's education plan, he would be a great candidate for the teacher education programs in the state of Iowa.

I, however, wouldn't.

Having a 3.0 doesn't mean you will automatically be a good teacher. It mostly means you play the school game well.

• It means you can regurgitate volumes of information. 
• It means you can recite vocabulary words.
• It means you can fill in the mad minutes sheet.
• It means you can diagram a sentence.
• It means you can take a test and fill in the bubbles.

It doesn't mean you can teach.

The Start of a Great Day

What's the bus doing here so early? Wasn't he told I didn't need him here until 8:45?


It's Saturday. Contest day. A snowstorm delayed the start for two hours, but otherwise, everything's a go.

I better go tell him the kids won't be here for awhile and we're not leaving until 9, in case he wants to go get coffee or something.


I walk out into the cold and head to the bus. Brian lets me on with a smile.

"I wondered why there was no one here.  I'll be fine though. I already have coffee and this will give the bus time to warm up."

I head back to the building, making a list in my head of the last minute details I need to take care of.

MY KEYS! CRAP!


Remember, it's Saturday morning after a snowstorm.

I look around. There are cars and pick-ups down by the locker room entrance--maybe there are some wrestlers running around to let me in.

I pound on the door. No answer.

I walk around to the back entrance by the superintendent's door and the back door to the high school. I pound on both to no avail. I am really locked out.

My purse.
My car keys.
My cell phone.
All locked up with my school keys.

Great.

I walk back around to the front, happy that students will be arriving. I have a plan. One of them can drive down to a fellow teacher's house and get her keys. Problem solved.

Except she doesn't answer her phone and no one answers her door.

Great.

Kids keep jumping out of cars, excited and ready for the day. Except one, who I'm told, seems to be having car trouble.

"Go and get him," I tell one young man. He races off to help his friend.

"Would Bill have a key?" Brian asks.

I look out at the parking lot and see that one of our custodians is plowing the parking lot.

"Yea, he would," I say as the big blue snowplow heads towards the garage

"I'll chase him down and see if he has one." And off Brian drives, with most of my kids on the bus, chasing after the big blue snowplow.

More kids arrive, confused as they see the bus pull away and me standing in front of the school.

I explain the situation as the bus comes back, followed by the big blue snowplow.

Hurray!  


Some of the kids and I race down to my room to gather all our props and scripts and ballots and ...well, all that "stuff" needed for the day. Others grab my bags off the table and head toward the bus.

Thanks to my two heroes and a couple dozen great kids, everything and everyone was on the bus and we pulled out five minutes ahead of schedule.

The start of a terrific day....






Here's another little video I found online. Again, it has nothing to do with my post--I just like it!  When we get our digital storytelling class going, this will be an assignment...

Wings to the World

Thanks to Storykeeper, I discovered Every Day Poems on Facebook!  And on the web. And on Twitter. And for $0.99, you can subscribe to them and get emails every day!  I'm a little excited, can't you tell?


Anyway...

Yesterday's photo of inspiration

Wings To The World

I hope to give you wings

to soar above the world

spreading your message 

of passion, enthusiasm,

and love.

I hope to give you wings

to fly through the world

finding those who validate you

and 

support your dreams.

I hope to give you wings

so 

you may sail through the 

troubled times you experience 

and

rise above them.

I hope to give you wings

so

you may flit and float and flutter

for 

fun

without worrying what the fun-haters think.

I hope to give you wings.

He Loves Me

My husband and I aren't the lovey, dovey, gag me kind of couple.  Never have been. But, I know he loves me.

• He turns off the bedroom TV when I fall asleep in front of it.
• When people call after 9, he tells them I'm in bed ('cause I usually am!)
• He tells them I'm busy when they call  on Sunday bath nights
• He calls and says, "How about we order out tonight?"
• He cooks.
• He "lets"  me stay at the lake most of the summer while he has to go home to work.
• He defends teachers--especially to the "Must be nice to be off at 4" or "Must be nice to have the summer off" people.  

District speech contest is this weekend, so as always, he was going to go and visit his brother tonight.  He hates to stay home alone.  But with a  snowstorm coming, he probably wouldn't have made it today, so he went last night.

When I got home late from school, the outside light was on so I could see, the shovel was pulled across the cement in front of the house--over the ice patch that has formed, and the kitchen light was on.

But what made me chuckle was the note on the fridge board. I guess he thought I wouldn't notice these things...

Deb

Walk along the fence.

Big ice patch has formed from faucet.

Out of milk soon.

Love,

Greg

Even when he's gone, he's here and taking care of me.  That's love.

"Twas the Weeks Before State Visit...."

'Twas the weeks before state visit and all through the school

All the committees were meeting and checking state rules.

The posters were hung by the doors with care,

In hopes that state visitors would see them hung there.

The teachers were prepped by administrative staff

While visions of data maps danced in their heads.

And principals in chairs and staff in attendance

Had just settled in for an inservice nap.

When out in the center there arose such a clatter

We woke from our naps to see what was the matter.

Away from my computer I flew like a flash

Shut down my Twitter and opened up my trash.

The glow on the screen in the front of the room

Gave a luster of midday to brighten the gloom.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a list of acronyms of which I should fear.

Now, CSIP! Now, SIAC! Now, SINA and MISIC. On ITEDS and Reading.

On, Vision and Mission!

To the top of the list! And not just in the fall.

Now test away, test away, test away all.

Ok--that's it. My creativity is gone. Spent eight hours today preparing for the site visit from the state.  My mind is mush.  I know our administration is doing the right thing by having this inservice and making sure we all have the information we need.  I am just a tad touchy about some things said by teachers during a couple of my meetings.  This is how I handle it.  I write silly things.  Because if I publish what I really think about what some people say (not my administration--really), I'll be in trouble. There will be a post about these things, I just need to figure out a way to say it tactfully....


I really almost linked my post from Sunday--check out my review of John Green's The Fault in Our Stars.  Terrific book!