Teaching Like a Writer

I have been teaching English at our local community college for 8 years.  I have taught students about writing for so long, but in that time, I have not written anything substantial on my own.  Now, writing on a regular basis has brought a rejuvenation of my teaching practices.  It has informed my teaching; bringing a spirit and substance to what was just becoming a rote process.

Process.  Process matters.  Being in the moment with my students matters.

Writing has given me the gift of empathizing with my students about how hard writing can be sometimes.  I was doing a lecture on the impact of conclusions---how do you end a story?  And, I was able to commiserate with them on a deeper level.  I told them about how I agonize about the endings of my stories I write or even these blog posts.  I was able to demonstrate to my students that I am part of their community.

Every semester, I tell the students in my classes that "we are a community of writers".  I tell them I want to show them how to love writing--not just the "eat your vegetables" kind of writing where it's good for you to do it, but the kind of writing that invigorates the soul.  I talked a good game, but did I feel it?  Not really.  Not authentically.  

By writing often, I actually joined the writing community in my classes this semester.  I am writing with my students- right along with them- as we do in-class writing prompts.  I share what I write. I get nervous. I laugh at the jokes I attempt to make.  I have fun.

My colleague and dear friend always encourages me to "show, not tell".  It's kind of a mantra for us as teachers.  So, you will see an assignment I have written with my students below.  The assignment is to write a story surrounding your favorite song.  Now, every semester, students complain, "But, I don't have a favorite song".  Yet, they come up with magic for their final work.

Here's my attempt at our favorite song story assignment.  I hope you'll find the magic in it.

"Autumn Awakening on a Thunder Road"

"Why did they leave me?" I said to myself in the backseat of our car.  We were driving home on a winding upstate New York country road after having just left my sister and brother at college for the first time.  It was a beautiful day and the autumn leaves were in full abundance.  I didn't care.  I was an only child now.  Don't get me wrong. I loved my parents, but I wasn't used to going it alone.  Who would I get in trouble now?  My brother was gone and he gave me so much material for my brand of little sister tattling hijinks!  I was inconsolable.

As I was wallowing in my tears, a song came on the radio.  This was a different song than any other I had heard in this car.  You have to understand, Dad was the Lord of the Radio.  There was no way I was listening to MY music on a road trip.  It was 50's music or maybe some Neil Diamond/Barbra Streisand/Neil Sedaka cassettes.  Absolutely no Duran Duran.

So, this song was different.  I didn't comment or even make any sudden moves.  My parents were in deep conversation, so my dad didn't realize what had come on the radio during his reign.  I sat back and listened Bruce Springsteen for the first time sing "Thunder Road".  If you haven't heard the song, it is about a young man encouraging a woman to set out on the road for new adventures and break from the past.  A few lyrics stood out to me as I heard this song:

"You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright.  And, that's alright with me."

You have to understand.  I was 13 years old when I first heard this song.  I was a brace-face with majorly big hair.  There was no way I felt pretty, so this lyric gave me hope that I might have a boyfriend someday....

"There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away....they scream your name at night in the street.  Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet."

Wait!  Not only was I going to be pretty, but boys would be screaming my name in the streets and wailing?  And, I would ignore their pleas because I was going to be so smart?  This is the kind of future I wanted.  My soul soared at the thought!

"It's a town full of losers and I'm pullin' out of here to win"

OK, this line must be what all teenagers sing at one point or another in those years of angst.  I used to chant these lyrics when things did not go my way or I had a bad break-up in high school.  However, I feel very differently about my hometown now and count myself very lucky to have grown up in such a great place.

The song was over.  I was having very warm and happy feelings about Springsteen and all he had to say.  After catching the last bit of the song, my father had another impression.  "That's music for the tone deaf," he announced.  "That guy couldn't carry a tune if his life depended on it."  I reminded my dad of that quote the other day and he said, "I never said that.  Springsteen is an artist.  He's the Tony Bennett of his generation."  I don't know about Tony Bennett, but my dad did have a change of heart.

Springsteen put into words all of those fervent and fierce feelings I couldn't explain.  His artistry made my life tenable during those tumultuous teenage years.  I interpret the meanings differently as I grow older, but sentiments of his songs are indelible---kind of like looking at old pictures in a photo album.

I know it is very difficult to pick a favorite song. I have several.  But, this song had such a strong impact that I knew I had to include it on my all-time favorite list.   

(This is not the best conclusion.  See!  Endings are hard!!!)

Compartments

I was thinking of the movie, Dirty Dancing the other day.  My favorite line from that movie is when Johnny Castle says, "Nobody puts Baby in the corner".  OK, so no one puts Baby in the corner, but does he put her in a compartment?

Before you think I am some weird person who advocates for putting women in boxes, let me clarify.  Compartmentalization has been on my mind as of late.  More specifically, how do we compartmentalize our lives?  I think that most of us share information with each other using compartmentalized thinking.

For example, I have a friend I like to consider my aggression-friendly zone.  With her, I can rant and rave and call her every name in the book.  And, get this... it's OK.  More than OK, she gives it right back to me.  We laugh like crazy when we make these remarks because they are just so downright evil.  However, neither one of us is offended.  Interesting!

My brother has a similar compartment.  He is the one with which I can share a perverse sense of humor.  Again, I call him the most vicious of monikers and he does the same to me.  We share a love for slapstick and bawdy humor.  I almost blew a gasket laughing when I watched Superbad with him for the first time.  We also talk music and share a deep love of Bruce Springsteen.

With my sister, it is fine to talk about motherhood and career ventures.  She is a great listener and provides solid advice when it comes to workplace issues and work/family balance.  However, discussing Horrible Bosses or another crazy movie would not be in her wheel house.  She is pretty proper and would shun those hilarious, yet disgusting jokes.

I usually play within my boundaries.  I have unconsciously assigned compartments to pretty much everyone in my life.  I am very open, yet I stick to safe topics with people just to make my life easier.  However, sometimes I like to break free of these conventions and go out of my comfort zone.

As I said before, I am an open person---perhaps to a fault sometimes.  Now, I am not the TMI (too much information) person that shares uncomfortable and inappropriate information with people.  I am more of the unguarded sort who will tell you things that guarded folks would call "private".  I share this information at times to gather more research and get perspectives on life concerning issues I find perplexing.

So, I went out of my comfort zone the other day and talked to someone outside of the compartment in which I put them.  I shared information about my son that I do not usually share with people who are not close to me.  Here was the situation:  I had a terrible day with my son.  Days off of school are usually pretty difficult for my little guy because he has autism.  He is far more comfortable and relieved when he has a rigid schedule to follow.  So, without a schedule, life can be a little chaotic.  Ironic, huh?  Most people are tearing their hair out because of their busy schedules.

Anyway, on that day, I headed to a meeting for work and my nerves were raw from some epic meltdowns my son had earlier in the morning.  I was not my normal, cheery self.  I arrived as a tattered soul to that meeting.  One of my colleagues looked at me and said, "Are you OK?".

My response was not typical.  Usually, I would say "Oh, I'm just fine" and go about my masquerade.  But that day, I talked.  Compartments, be damned!  Or, maybe I was just too tired to put up the walls.  I said exactly what was on my mind to someone I don't know very well.  I replied, "My son has autism and we had a really tough morning.  I am just so tired".  The meeting began quickly after I unpacked that statement.  There was no time for my colleague to respond to such a declaration.

All through the meeting, I was ruminating---why did I say that to her?  What the hell was I thinking?  I don't need to share that much.  My TMI was pretty much all I could think about throughout the meeting.

After the meeting, my colleague said to me, "Let's go to lunch".  My first reaction was, I don't want pity.  However, she grabbed my hands and said "My son has autism, too.  I have some resources that you might find helpful and I'd love the opportunity to talk with you."  WOW!  I couldn't believe my ears.  No pity, no judgment,  Just complete understanding.

So, with that story I leave you this thought.  Break out of that compartmentalized thinking.  Share information you think might be private or not interesting to the person.

I agree that sharing is a risk.  You may find that you share outside of the compartment and get smacked in the face with some sort of unpleasantness. However, I think that the benefits far outweigh the risks and it may give people a chance to surprise you, or even better, help you.

A Sunday Kind of Love

I was watching a movie the other day and Etta James' classic song "A Sunday Kind of Love" was featured.  I have always loved this song.  However, it made me think...what is a Sunday kind of love?

Sundays are sacred in our house.  I have always loved them and they are probably my favorite day of the week.  Even as a child, Sundays meant peace, no schedule, freedom and comfort.  And, they always ended with a lovely meal- mostly pasta and meatballs.  Hey, we are Italian!

Anyway, a Sunday kind of love got me thinking- what characterizes the other kinds of love on the other days of the week?  Etta never addresses this question in her timeless tune.  Etta, what is a Monday kind of love?  I wish I could ask her.  It looks like I am left to my own devices, so here they are- my interpretations of the types of love representing each day of the week:

Monday:  "A Dreary Kind of Love"

Mondays are the worst.  I mean, really?  Does anyone look forward to Mondays?  I would lay in my bed on Sunday nights and think what kind of major disease can I think up to get me out of school tomorrow?  So, a Monday kind of love???  I think it's dreadful.  The kind of love that is forboding- the one that no one in their right mind looks forward to.  Some optimists might think a Monday kind of love could signify a beginning; a hopeful kind of love.  Nope.  Like the Carpenters song, a Monday kind of love will "always get me down".

Tuesday:  "A Meatloaf and Potatoes Kind of Love"

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love meatloaf and potatoes.  And yes, they are comfort foods.  But, meatloaf and potatoes are well known for being a mundane sort of dish.  Everyday fare.  So, a Meatloaf and Potatoes Kind of Love would be just OK- no spark, no life.  Ordinary.

Wednesday:  "A It's Half Over Kind of Love"

What do you think of when you hear Wednesday?  I think of the week is half over!!  Wednesdays are the day when you breath a sign of half-relief; I got through something to get to something better.  We're almost through with the week.  On Wednesday, you are always looking ahead- looking beyond the week at hand.  So, a Wednesday kind of love is one of waiting.  You are waiting for something better to come along.

Thursday:  "An Almost Blissful Kind of Love"

It's Thursday.  You're almost there!  The week is almost over, but bliss eludes you.  It is still two days away!  I think a Thursday kind of love is one of reaching and hoping for that perfect bliss.

Friday:  "A Fleeting Kind of Love"

Fridays are fleeting.  You are so excited it's Friday that the day just kind of flies by.  Friday is a pausing point for Saturday's joy.  A Friday kind of love is fun, and certainly a relief.  But, it's still a rushed version of love.  Let's get this over with for Saturday to arrive.

Saturday: "An Impetus Kind of Love"

Saturday night's alright for a fight, so says Elton John.  Saturdays are wild and full of abandon.  However, they often leave you with bags under your eyes wondering just what the hell happened.  A Saturday kind of love is a flash of light, then bewilderment.  Saturdays are thrilling, but leave you lonely.

Ah, but Sunday...

A Sunday kind of love is different from all of the rest.  It is comfortable, fun, and easy with a sense of deep belonging.  Sundays are filled with warmth, no obligations and a rejuvenation of your spirit.  It is the day where you sink into that warm pool of good prose; enveloped in words you wish you had written.  Sunday is home.  

If you have lived a long time, you have probably experienced one or more of these types of love.  In fact, relationships that last a long time can certainly fluctuate between types.  There are days where you definitely have that Tuesday kind of love and you wish for the days when you had that Saturday kind of love from the past.  However, if your days of Sunday kind of love outnumber the rest, you are a lucky person.

On a side note- I want to thank my husband, Mark, for our Sunday kind of love.  I love you!

Fearless

There was a time when I was a fearless writer.  It's funny because it seems so long ago.  In high school, I was the editor of my high school newspaper.  I took my job so seriously.  One of the editorials I wrote in my local newspaper at the time was so controversial, we had a brick thrown at our beautiful picture window.  It smashed the window and made almost a Spiderman imprint on it.  At the time, I remember thinking, "Wow, I'm so edgy.  I've arrived."  My parents did not have the same opinion.  They were extremely mad.  I was amazed because I thought I even soft-pedaled the piece.

When I was senior in high school, Governor Mario Cuomo came to town.  I muscled my way into a press conference to interview him for my high school newspaper.  Who did I think I was?  I didn't care.  I was on such a high in that press conference room.  I was standing side by side by major journalists in our area.  One even asked me to go for a drink after the press conference.  I said "no" in a very demure fashion.  There was no way I was going to out myself as a 17 year old.

In college, I was more of a Barbara Walters type of journalist.  Again, I was the editor of our college newspaper.  I stayed up all night editing our newspaper.  I would even drive through the night to bring the paper to our printer; which was close to an hour away from campus.  I was the one who interviewed the famous people that came to campus.  I had such a blast interviewing these celebrities.  Again, no fear.  I pushed and pushed to get close to them, get the credentials and get the interviews, I was the first in line and always got the interview.  It was a thrill to introduce my parents to Chubby Checker.  And, even though I was appalled at some of the invitations I got while interviewing certain 'gentleman', I remember fondly how I reminded them that they had wives, girlfriends or children back home.  I did my homework ahead of time.  No one was fooling me.  Fearless.

Fast forward to the present.  It took me 3 months to start this blog. Why? Because I have not written in a long time.  I was, quite frankly, scared to put words on the page.  It amazes me because I identified myself as a writer for so long.  It is my passion and I tell that to my students.  But, why the stage fright?

I think it may be because I teach writing now.  I have gotten far too technical and am afraid to expose myself so much to the public.  Before, I had nothing to lose.  Now, I am older and fear that I have everything to lose.  Ah, such is life, right?

I have to write.  It is my goal to reclaim part of myself that I have kept silent for so long.  So, here we go.  I have just purchased a book that includes over 800 prompts.  I am going to let this book lead me into writing again.  I am very excited, yet scared at the same time. I am channeling my 17 year old self.  She never let fear stop her, and neither will I.

Here we go....