Thursday Quickwrite - My Kitchen Table Home

This week's quickwrite challenge was:

Think of the place that is home for you. It might be where you live today, or perhaps where you grew up. Wherever you choose, be sure to pick a place that you know well. Take one minute to write down every detail about this place that you can think of.

Done with the first part? Now we’re going to twist it around. Take the rest of your time to write about three changes that would make this place utterly altered for you–changes that would mean it was no longer home.

What sort of changes? That’s entirely up to you. Perhaps you’ll change how home looks, or smells, or  where it’s located. Or maybe it’s the people there who make it home.

This prompt aims to help you draw rich details from familiar settings into your fiction, and to also see how they can be altered to be something entirely different for your stories. Think of it as taking a favorite pair of pants to the tailor and coming home with a pencil skirt!

I chose to write about my best friend, Gayle's, kitchen table.  She's had it since she was a little kid.  It's been in whatever kitchen she had ever since we became friends, nearly twenty years ago.  I tried to imagine what it would feel like if she ever ditched that table for a newer model.

The new table was technically, almost coldly, beautiful - black painted faux-aged pine with a modern twist - a glass inset.  It could seat six in her small kitchen comfortably. There were a few touches that she had allowed to stay the same: the stone napkin holder with the metal boulder fit more nicely with this fashionable piece than it had the last table, and our two coffee mugs were the same. Still, it was an awkward attempt at change.  I removed my elbows from the table, not wanting to leave prints on the glass, and ran my hands along its edges.  It was too sharp.  The corners, the color, the glaring reflection from the overhead light on the glass inset.  It's very modernity had sharp, hurtful edges.

Our two mugs, hers big, mine little, hers Edward Hopper, mine Auguste Renoir, sat in our places at the ready.  But setting them down on the glass clanged rudely to our ears and we ended up cupping them in our hands instead.  Nothing like the formica-topped particle board of the Original Kitchen Table.  It had accepted all comers, making things easy to our ears, or just...easy.  Yes, it had looked cheap.  Yes, it had been forty years old, but I missed its rounded edges and shiny, everyday usefulness under my arms.  It had looked just right with a stack of interesting catalogs on it, waiting for us to sit and thumb through them.  It had never been hard on your elbows; it wanted us to lean forward and share secrets.  It had held our mugs so we could gesticulate wildly while telling our stories and lean back to laugh until our bellies hurt from it. 

Changing the kitchen table felt like she wanted to change our friendship to something more formal, less everyday.  Had that really happened?

Choose Kind

In my classroom, as you enter, there is a sign on my front bulletin board.  It says, "The Pursuit of Truth in the Company of Friends". It is my ideal educational goal, one that I point out to my students, but don't really spend enough time pondering with them throughout my year.  Next year, I intend to change that.

As I reflect on my practice as a teacher and am in the "brewing and stewing" stage of planning for next year, I find myself coming back again and again to the concept of a teacher as a leader of humane thinking practices.  Yes, first and foremost, I am there to guide students into becoming literate citizens, capable of critical thought and intelligent discourse.  Yet, is there not an emotional literacy as well?  One that when students are separating themselves from their parents and going into a wide world of complex social and emotional landscapes, they should be able to navigate just as responsibly?

How does this tie to together with reading and writing workshop and classroom practices?

Well, as I am re-imagining my classroom for next year, I am compelled to tether my reading and writing lessons to a larger life truth.  Some would call these "Essential Understandings".  Others might term them "Themes".  But, I find myself coming back again and again to Mr. Brown, the language arts teacher in R.J. Palacio's amazing book, Wonder, and wanting to call them PRECEPTS.  You can find a full list of the precepts Mr. Brown uses here.

The precept that is most prevalent in the book and I keep reflecting upon is the first,

"When given the choice between being right and being kind, choose kind." by Dr. Wayne Dyer.

This has resonance with me in so many ways.  First and foremost, it is a life lesson worth learning.  Bullying prevention is finally beginning to gain some traction in our district, our school.  Capitalizing on the gains we made with students last year, and passing on that lesson to incoming sixth graders can only strengthen our resolve and add to our force for good.  We had some really great moments last year,  including the incredible writing done by staff and students during No Name-Calling Week to our STAMP Out Bullying seminar.  I refuse to lose even an inch of that ground.  We can do more.  We can CHOOSE KIND.

Secondly, in a literacy classroom, there are a lot of pitfalls that make people afraid to practice their reading aloud or let someone else see their writing.  Students who are afraid of ridicule eventually stop bringing their mistakes to light, which stops learning from happening, and eventually they avoid reading and writing at all.  I'm looking at my own style of descriptive feedback or critique and finding that I need to not lighten the feedback I give, but stop and think about the tone in which it is given -- especially in writing.  No writer wants to keep going back and fixing a draft, but will be even less likely to do so if they think that there is no good to the work they've already done, that they have no value as a writer.  I can do better.  I can CHOOSE KIND.

Those of you who have had me as a teacher or worked with me for the last nine years know that I always use two books each year.  No matter what other books I add or take away, I always read The Watsons Go to Birmingham, 1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis and Freak the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick.  They are both amazing, well-written books, with strong messages to mull over and challenge sixth grade readers.  I always start my year with Freak the Mighty, because I feel its message about friendship overcoming the differences in people (in kid parlance: don't judge a book by its cover)

This year, I'll be adding a third book to that canon.  I might even use it in conjunction with Freak the Mighty, but I expect that this book will be more than just a great book.  This book will become a text we choose as a pattern for our time together in the classroom for the rest of the year.  Wonder is such a charming, original, funny story that, even if its message hadn't become a revolution, it would still be a tour-de-force of great storytelling.  Augie Pullman's story is extraordinary, but it is still the story of all of us, striving to be accepted for who we are at our best, at our core.  Check out the book trailer.

I intend to join this movement, this revolution.  I  intend to CHOOSE KIND.

In fact, in addition to adopting and adapting Mr. Brown's Precepts in my classroom and using Wonder as a read-aloud, I will be using this mantra to inform the very fabric of my practice, the procedures of my classroom, and the rules of behavior which we will expect ourselves to live by.  It will help me structure my own feedback to students. It will permeate how we encourage and coach each other in our reading and writing.  We will CHOOSE KIND.

If you'd like to join too or learn more about the CHOOSE KIND movement, check out the Twitter feed #thewonderofwonder, or better yet go take the pledge to CHOOSE KIND and pass it on at their website.

Tuesday Quickwrite: A Round Table Discussion with 2 of My Main Characters

Today's QuickWrite Prompt is courtesy of Jeannine Atkins.  They suggested we write as, to, or with our character today.  I ended up doing an interview with two of my main characters: Joey Tate from The Secret Order of Extraordinary Outcastz and Marlon Grunt from The Rude Awakening of Marlon Grunt.  Joey's story is complete, but still in revisions.  Marlon's story is still being written.  It seemed to work best if I let them both speak, and they kind of ended up interviewing each other.

Me:  Thanks for coming today.

Joey: No problem.  I like your laptop.

Me: Thanks.

Marlon: Yeah, I want to get one of those before I go to college.

Me: Is that where you see yourself going?  Got a particular school in mind?

Marlon: I want to go, I just don't know if there will be money.  I'd like to be in a music program.  I've been thinking about Illinois State. It's close, so I could live at home and stuff.  I'd love to go to Wesleyan, but there's no way that's happening.  Private school? Too expensive.

Me: Have you looked into scholarships?  I mean, didn't your dad work there?

Marlon: Yeah, he worked at ISU, not Wesleyan.  But he'd take me to Wesleyan all the time to hear their concerts.

Joey: Are you a singer?

Marlon: No, I play drums.

Joey: Cool!  I totally can't carry a tune, not even if you put it in a bucket for me.  I can't hold a beat either.  I'm musically challenged.

Me: Do you like to listen to music, Joey?

Joey:  I'm into it a little.  I like old musicals, showtunes and stuff.  But just for a few shows.  Like Grease.  And High School Musical.  And Chicago.  And Oklahoma. And Moulin Rouge.

Me:  I wanted to ask you both a few kind of personal questions, do you mind?

Joey:  Sure.

Marlon: I guess so.

Me: What, if you had to pick one, is the biggest regret you have?

Joey:  Do you mean, like, things you wish you could go back and do over?

Me: Yes.

Joey:  Ummm...that's kind of a tough question.  Can Marlon go first?

Marlon:  I'm ready.  It's pretty easy for me.  I wouldn't take those pills.

Joey:  You took pills?  Holy crap!  What kind of pills?

Marlon:  Some of my mom's meds for anxiety.  Might've been valium or something.  I'm okay, though. I'm just sorry that I put my family through that, you know? My grandma and Mom and Phoebe and Blue and everybody were scared I was going to die.  It really hurt them to think that I'd try to end it all.  Blue, especially.  She was pissed for a good long time after that. I never want to hurt her like that again.

Joey:  Why'd you do it?

Marlon:  Oh, you know..stuff.  It just all kind of builds up, and you don't feel like you have any control over anything that's going on, people are crappy to you, shi- stuff doesn't go your way, you don't feel like anyone can help you out because they all have their own crap to deal with...until finally, one day, a really, REALLY bad day comes along and it just sends you off the edge.  You feel like you'd be better off not even here.

Joey:  You don't still feel like that, do you? 'Cause I don't know you that well, but I already think you're pretty cool.  You're cute. You're a drummer. You're funny...

Marlon: Naw, no it's better now.  I - uh - I had some help figuring out that it was a pretty stupid move.  And I know it was stupid.  I learned a lot, so I guess I just regret not finding a better way to learn all that stuff about myself or talking to somebody earlier, you know?  You think I'm cute?

Joey: (blushing) Well, yeah. You're cute. Don't let it go to your head, though.  Geez.

Marlon:  That's sweet.  You're what, like...twelve?

Joey: Thirteen, Drummer Boy.  Get over yourself.

Marlon:  Sorry, it's just that I'm seventeen and taken.

Joey:  Well, I'm taken, too.  So...like I said, get over yourself.  I didn't ask you to prom or anything. God!

Me:  You're taken?

Joey: (blushing again) Umm...sort of.  I kind of have a sort of boyfriend.  We're not completely boyfriend/girlfriend.  It's complicated.

Marlon: You're thirteen, how complicated could it be?

Joey:  (rolling eyes) Yeah, okay.  Whatever.  You're, of course, the expert because you're in high school and the rest of us babies can't POSSIBLY understand, right?  You're SO old at seventeen that you can't even remember what it was like to be thirteen?

Marlon:  Sorry, I didn't mean it that way.

Joey: Yeah, you did, but I'll overlook it.

Marlon: You still haven't answered the regret question.

Joey:  Okay, okay.  I got this.  I guess if I had to go back and change something, I wouldn't have been so down on myself all the time.  And I would've kept up with my homework rather than let it get so out of control.  I felt like I wasted a bunch of time being this awful, pitiful version of me.

Marlon:  You're not pitiful.  I think you're funny.  And smart.  And not afraid to speak up for yourself.  What did you have to be down on yourself for?  The homework thing I totally get, though.

Joey:  I know, right? But I was pretty pathetic.  I was one big pity party for, like, six months or something.  Although, if it hadn't been like that, then I never would have met my friends.  So, I guess I regret that it took so long to happen, but I'm not unhappy that it did.

Me:  Next question.  Who has had the biggest impact on who you are today?

Marlon: Jesus, that's a tough one.  Can I only pick one?

Me:  You can answer however you want.

Joey:  That's easy for me.  My mom.  She's always finding ways for us to do extra stuff and she always is really supportive.  She wants me and Gordo to be who we really are, not somebody else's version of what we SHOULD be.  I mean, Gordo is never going to be normal, he's too smart.  She accepts that he has to have his operation to run, and she accepts that I have to draw comics.

Marlon:  Gordo's your brother?

Joey: Yep. He's eleven.

Marlon:  And he runs an...operation?  What do you mean?

Joey:  It's kind of like this company of little kids that he runs to get rid of bullies and help kids out.

Marlon:  That's crazy.  In a good way.  Hey, you draw comics?

Joey:  Yeah.  I like to copy the greats like Stan Lee and Jack Kirby and Neal Adams.  I like Manga, too. But I write my own, too.  It's called The Secret Order of Extraordinary Outcastz.

Marlon:  That's cool.  Well, I guess if I had to narrow it down, the most influential people in my life would be: My dad, Big John Secor, my girlfriend - Blue Bennet, my little sister - Phoebe, and Tre Cool.

Joey:  That's a huge list. You couldn't narrow it down?  And your mom or grandma's not on there.  And everybody has such bizarre names...Blue? Big John? Tre Cool?  Are they all musicians or something?

Marlon:  You're a girl named Joey, and you're making fun of someone else's name?

Joey:  Fair point.  I'm just sayin'.

Marlon:  Anyways, no, they're not all musicians.  Tre Cool is though. He's the drummer for Green Day.

Joey:  Green Day...Green Day...nope.  I got nothin'.

Marlon:  What!? Jesus, kids these days...you have so much to learn, young padawan.

Joey:  Are you done?

Marlon:  Yeah.  Green Day is the best band that ever walked the earth.  And Tre Cool is their drummer.  His is a god.

Joey:  Oookay.  And he personally influenced you how?

Marlon: Aside from being a drumming god, he also was my spiritual advisor.  Sort of.  Well, he was in spirit form when he advised me.

Joey:  So, he's a dead god of drumming?

Marlon:  Nope. No, he's alive and well.  Still drumming.

Joey: I'm confused.

Marlon:  It's okay.  I don't really understand it either.  Anyway, my dad is sort of the person that I always measure myself against. I'm always stopping and asking myself what he would want me to do.  Unfortunately, he doesn't give me advice from the grave.

Joey:  Wait, does that mean your dad IS dead?

Marlon:  Yeah.

Joey:  God, I'm really sorry, Marlon.  That sucks.  A lot.

Marlon:  Yeah.

Joey:  But wait, so you get advice from the spirit world from a guy who ISN'T dead, and DON'T get advice from the spirit world from your dad, who IS dead?

Marlon: Yeah. Don't try too hard to understand it.  It makes MY brain hurt just to think about it too long.

Joey: So, what about the others?  Are any of them ghosts?

Marlon:  No.  Blue is my best friend and girlfriend.  She has been since I was twelve.  Well, she was my best friend since I was twelve.  The girlfriend thing happened later.

Joey:  How sweet!  I'll bet she's really nice. And cool.

Marlon:  You'd like her.  She's totally into anime.

Joey:  Awesome!

Marlon:  And you'd probably like my baby sister, Phoebe, too.  Everybody does.  She changed everything for me.  I'd take a bullet for her.

Joey:  Awww...that's so sweet! How old is she?

Marlon:  Five.  She's my half-sister, but she's just the cutest kid.  So spunky and smart.  You kind of remind me of her.

Joey:  Thanks!  What about Big John?

Marlon:  Yeah, he's just this guy who took me in and made sure I had what I needed after my dad died. He didn't know me from Adam, and he just opened up the door to his life and said, "Come on in."  You can't buy that sort of kindness, you know?

Joey:  He sounds awesome.  I wish my dad was like your dad or Big John.  He's not all bad, but he kind of left us behind when my parents got a divorce.

Marlon:  Keep at him.  You can't replace people.  Even if he's kind of a d-bag sometimes, he's still your dad.

Joey:  I guess.

Me:  I'm sorry guys, we have to wrap this up.  We went way over our allotted time.  Maybe we can pick up this conversation later in private?

Joey:  Yeah, that'd be fun.

Marlon:  Sure, yeah.  I could swing that.

Me:  Thanks.

Friday Feedback, Sunday Reflection...on a Monday Morning

You get three blogs today for the price of one.  Three!?! Why that's practically a windfall of blogaliciousness!  Bear with me.  I have three tasks that I'm trying to combine into one.  


1. Feedback Friday
2. Sunday Reflection, in which I was asked to answer the following questions:

1. How did you do this week? Did you meet your weekly goal(s)?
2. What was the pit of your week? (The hardest part, the not-fun part?)
3. What was the peak of your week? (The best part, the most-fun part?)
4. What are you looking forward to and planning for the week ahead?

Read more

3. Monday's Mini-Lesson (Outlining)


GOAL 1
     Friday, for TeachersWrite!, we were asked to do Feedback on Gae Polisner's blog. This involved giving feedback on the writing she and others posted there and posting something of our own that we wanted feedback on.  So, I read the piece Gae put up and left my comments.  
     I did this, and I felt like I left helpful, descriptive commentary, until I read her very patient reply. In it, she pointed out that some of the comments I had made were based on an incorrect assumption I had made that this was the beginning of the chapter.  In fact, in the post that she wrote RIGHT BEFORE THE WRITING SAMPLE, she explains that it's from the END of the chapter and not the beginning.  Clear as day.  I felt like a total loser. (NOT from anything Gae said. Please note that she was, as always, gracious and kind in her reply.)
     This brought up two things for me to consider about my own responses to my students' writing. 

1) I shouldn't get so frustrated when they don't read all the directions.  Especially when I'm just as guilty of it as they are.  I need to be more patient and leave plenty of time to go back and respond again once they've done their responses as I've instructed.
2) Are my students really hearing/seeing my comments the WAY that I've stated them? Or am I so strident in my comments that they are turned off by my tone?


      I looked more closely at the comments I had left and thought back to the feedback I've been lucky enough to get from other writers in the past.  I felt like my comments were couched in kind and helpful terms, or at least not as helpful and kind as ones that I look at and appreciate.  Would I like getting feedback from me?  I don't know.  There's definitely room for improvement there.
     So, the next bit was that I was supposed to leave a few paragraphs of my own writing in the comments section to get feedback from Gae and the other writers. But, I didn't leave any of my own writing for feedback because I didn't have a piece that I was...I couldn't find a...there was no point really, because...


Okay, those are what excuses sound like.  


      I didn't put anything of my own up there, because I was scared.  (Who ME?)  Doesn't make sense, does it?  I publish my stuff on my blog all the time, right?  What's the big deal?    Well, it's different when you think SOMEONE WILL ACTUALLY READ IT.  I don't blog much, and so I don't have a very large readership, and well...it still feels surprisingly private or intimate to post on my own blog.  But to post my work on someone else's - where people would give it actual feedback?  I'm suddenly gun-shy.  
      I have pieces, relatively recently written, that I'm proud of, but to expose it to other writers?  That's never easy, especially when I don't know any of them personally.  This must be the very same fear my students face whenever I ask them to submit their work to their peers or to me for feedback.  It's not necessarily logical, because in our hearts we know it's because we want to get better as writers, but it still exists.  What if they hate it?  What if I suck at this?
     So this segues into Goal 2 very nicely...


GOAL 2
How did I do this week? Did I meet my weekly goal?
      Errr...I'll admit I was late to the party.  I didn't start until Wednesday, which meant I didn't really SET a goal...
That said, I still feel like I learned some important things about my own approach to writing, and I began writing again.  Both of which are important.  So...GO ME!
What was the pit of my week?
      See above. I let my fear overrun my desire to get better.  I didn't submit for feedback.  The tone of my feedback is not what I wanted it to be.  I didn't read the directions.
What was the peak of my week?
      Reflecting on the writing and responses and connecting my own experience to what my students must go through.  I hope to incorporate this new empathy into my teaching in the upcoming year.
What am I looking forward to and planning for the week ahead?
      I'm looking forward to revising my novel The Secret Order of Extraordinary Outcastz, outlining my WIP - The Rude Awakening of Marlon Grunt, and writing this blog.  Plus I have some story ideas for a yearly 10-minute play competition I that I'd like to outline - both as practice for some adaptations of Ray Bradbury short stories I want to do for fall and to get some pieces ready for next year's competition.  And, my youngest nephew, B., has come up with a BRILLIANT idea for a picture book based on Lois Grambling's Can I Have A Tyrannosaurus Rex, Dad? Can I Please?  We're going to try and create his book by the end of summer.


GOAL 3
     Alright, I admit it - I wanted to do the character poem on Jo Knowles' blog this morning, instead of the outlining one on Kate Messner's blog using Sally Wilkins' lesson. You know what that means, right?   This is not a value judgment on either lesson. They are both EXCELLENT.  It's me.  I'm weaker in planning and organization than inspiration.  I never have trouble coming up with ideas, but I often have trouble making them complete storylines - beginning to end, and I have trouble pacing them in such a way as to best hook my reader. (It's not YOU, Outlining. It's ME.  I'd love it if we could still be friends, though, okay?)
      Therefore, in the interest of getting better at something difficult for me, I chose to do the outlining.  In babysteps.  I'm starting with two ideas I have for Heartland Theatre's Annual 10-Minute Play Competition for next year (I just attended the showcase of this year's winners - SO much fun!).  However, I know a couple of the judges, and I don't want to stymie my chance of entering a good idea because they happened to take a peek at my blog and it's all right there - it's blind judging and I don't want to endanger that.  SO, we'll start with my nephew, B's good idea for a picture book:

10 Reasons Why You Should Buy Me A Goat

by B.K. & J. Wisniewski

1. 1.    Page 1
   ·      Dear Mom and Dad,
   ·      I think it would be best for our whole family if you bought me a goat.  It would really improve our lives in the following ways:
   ·      Picture of Mom and Dad reading my letter
   2.    Pages 2-3
   ·      #1 You wouldn’t have to take me to the bus stop anymore
   ·      I could ride him like a me-sized horse.
   ·      I could steer him by the horns!
   ·      Drawing of me riding a goat with a cowboy hat to bus stop - line of kids looking at me in different ways. Sign that says "Goat Parking Only"
   3.    Pages 4-5
   ·      #2 If you ran out of milk and had a meeting, I could go FOR you!
   ·      Fun fact about goats and how far they travel or historically how they were used for travel/pack animals
   ·      Picture of me and the goat at the grocery, goat with baskets strapped on him like saddlebags, reaching for cereal with his mouth, me with a list
   4.    Page 6
   ·      #3 They eat anything! Even pea soup with broccoli! (So I wouldn’t have to.)
   ·      Fun fact about what goats really will eat
   ·      Picture of me+soup=icky face
   ·      Picture of goat+soup=my happy face
   5.    Page 7
   ·      #4 Dad would never have to mow the lawn again!
   ·      Fun fact about how goats are sometimes used for this
   ·      Picture of_________________
   6.    Page 8
   ·      #5 You’d never have to clean the floors again! I could strap a vacuum to his back and some brushes to his hooves!
   ·      Picture of__________________
   7.    Page 9
   ·      #6 He could help serve at dinner parties! Strap a platter to his back.
   ·      Picture of goat in tuxedo, serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
   8.    Pages 10-11
   ·      #7 He could teach me to speak Goat or Spanish or Arabic or Swahili or German... It's important to be open to other cultures.
   ·      Fun fact about how many cultures/countries where goats are present as working animals
   ·      Picture of international goats in international outfits all saying "mehehehehe"
   9.    Pages 12-13
   ·      #8 Can goats swim?  If so, he could help me learn to water-ski! Or he could get a job as a lifeguard.
   ·      Fun fact about goats and swimming
   ·      Picture of goat driving boat while I water-ski.
   ·      Picture of goat on lifeguard chair with sunglasses, whistle, sunscreen
   10.                  Pages 14-15
   ·      #9 He could carry Dad’s tools around the garage for him like a walking toolbox when he’s fixing something in his workshop!
   ·      Fun fact about goat strength/how they are used as pack animals
   ·      Picture of goat on slidey-thing underneath car next to Dad
   11.                  Page 16
   ·      #10 Best. Security Guard. Ever.
   ·      Fun facts about injuries caused by goats or what kind of impact they have when they charge at someone/each other
   ·      Fun facts about fainting goats
   ·      Picture of goat(s) in police/security uniforms, one who has fainted, the other saying - it was just a rabbit.
   12.                  Page 17
   ·      Sincerely, B.
   ·      P.S. His name is Albert, and they let me bring him home for a trial run. 
   ·      Picture - letter torn and Albert chewing on it.

The Perfume of Other Worlds

Today's quickwrite was:

A student walks into the library/media center at lunchtime.  What is she/he thinking?  Worried about?  Dreading?  Hoping or wishing for? What are the risks/stakes for him/her? Show us in a paragraph or two.

Here's my take on it.


Even though there are no doors to barricade the world of the library from the rest of the school, there exists an invisible portal, an unmarked barrier that silences my footsteps and makes me gaze around myself to see if the air has changed noticeably.  It has, but not to my eyes.

It is my nose that detects the smell of information, the stink of tragedy, the perfume of other worlds, the fantastic odor of adventure around the corner.  I don't bother the librarian.  She only exists to me, the hunter of great stories, at the end of my journey - the final stop to confirm my choices.  She's a kind and helpful guide to others, those who might be tourists, but to me, a seasoned traveller of these stacks, she is a compatriot.  She nods and winks at me, continuing her conversation, her gesture a silent acknowledgment of our reader's pact. She knows that I am the most fruitful, at my best, when I work alone.

I follow my nose to the fiction section, breathing deeply of its well-thumbed pages and run my fingers along the shelf to caress each spine - some rough, some smooth, the sweet texture of cloth bindings, the smooth coolness of glossy paperboard, and the slight desparate cling of cellophane book covers.  My fingers revere them all.

Which lucky journey will be mine today?  Do I have a taste for a rollicking adventure story with pirates and vampires and demigods all chasing me to my doom?  Does the sweet certitude of a happy romantic ending appeal to my tongue?  By the pricking of my thumbs, does something wicked this way come?  Do I yearn for the comfort of rereading a favorite? Perhaps I should...wait.

There it is. 

I didn't know it would be here this quickly.  I thought it wouldn't make it to the library for another week at least.

How did no one before me notice this brand new, beautiful sequel?  It's just sitting there, shiny and smelling of crisp, untouched pages where the words have never been gobbled before.  Doesn't the librarian usually put all the new releases on top of the display shelves?  How did she miss this one?

Or did she?  Perhaps this is an Easter Egg that she has left for me to find.  She is crafty.  She'd have to be with all this wealth about her.  A generous dragon atop her literary hoard.

My quest is complete.  The prize is mine.  Now, to unwrap the story...who can wait?  I sink silently to the carpet and begin my next journey.

Getting A Good Dose of My Own Medicine

Do you know how long it took just to write the title for this blog?  20 minutes.  No joke.  I feel like kid who hasn't done their homework for 3 weeks suddenly showing up with the next assignment and no excuse for the missing homework.  I'm that disappointed in myself.  I could give you a boatload of excuses, but the real reason would come down to, "I just didn't MAKE the time to write today."

 

I started out wanting to call this blog "Teacher Crack". It's a reference to the last projects and writing submissions my students this year made: Their Poetry Triptychs, Their final Watson's Go To Birmingham, 1963 essay assessments, and first hour's final Video Voice project.  Grading/Working on all three was such a pleasure this year.  I was so pleasantly surprised at all of the care, depth of thought, and skill many of my students employed on these three projects.  It was actually almost a joy to grade them.  (I said almost, because let's be real here - the first 20 are a joy, and the other 65 are mostly work w/ flashes of joy because you've got a lot to do and little time to spread it out over.)  "Teacher Crack" seemed inappropriate for kids.  Snarky and like my sense of humor, but not appropriate. (I know...whatevs, Mrs. Wisniewski, we're SO not babies here!)

 

I want MORE of that feeling of accomplishment and pride for my students.  Hence the unwise drug reference.  So I thought about calling it, "Getting My Fix".  D'oh!  Same problem.  It sort of melted in one of my favorite Ray Bradbury quotes, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you." And I thought it would dovetail nicely into my plans for the summer.  (Sorry, no exciting trips planned or publishing deals on the table yet.) Because I want to set some deadlines for myself to write more.  Once again, looking at writing as a drug is beautiful in that I would like to think it's a healthy addiction, but, then again, by definition, the very word addiction suggests something unhealthy.  I wanted to depict writing as something that soothes, takes you on a journey through yourself, and heals. 

 

AHA!  Medicine!  Eureka! 

 

But it can't be medicine I receive from someone else, like reading amazing blogs by other teachers, it has to come from myself.  I will have to do the writing.  So evolved the title above.

 

Now, many of you (most of you?) know that I have written two books (both of which are still going through revisions, the most complete of which was Mojo Fingers - now called The Secret Order of Extraordinary Outcastz) and have started wrting a third. None of these books are published...yet.  But there are no publishers or agents that come knocking down your door asking, "Great Googly-Wooglies!! Do you happen to have a completed manuscript for an amazing adventure written for 10-14 year olds?"  This journey will definitely be a part of my writing plan this summer.

 

To paraphrase something that Neil Gaiman (love!) wrote in his quickwrite about the death of his friend, Ray Bradbury. Bradbury, one of the foremost science-fiction writers in the world, once took an entire half a day to spend with a kid (11 or 12 yrs old) he'd met who said he wanted to be a writer one day.  He spent the whole time giving the kid the unwritten advice that writers who make a living at writing need, first and foremost: "If you want to be a writer, you have to write. Every day.  Whether you want to or not.  It's work, but the best kind of work."

 

To that end, I'm doing a couple of things this summer to make my work as a writer and a teacher of young writers better.  Here's my to-do list:

 

• I will be joining Teacher's Write! a daily (Wha- Daily!?!?!) blog by teacher and author, Kate Messner, to get teachers to write for themselves, write to reflect on their process, and write to become better teachers of writing.  I got the idea from an inspiring friend and colleague of mine, Mrs. Rush-Levine, (and those of you who know Mrs. Rush-Levine know what an exquisite writer she is), who is participating as well.  She constantly finds good medicine for herself.  I'm willing to dose myself with this writing medicine daily (take two teaspoons with coffee or iced tea daily).

• I have set a deadline to finish revisions on Mojo Fingers (or, rather, rewriting Mojo Fingers into its new incarnation, The Secret Order of Extraordinary Outcastz).  That deadline is Fourth of July weekend.  That means I'm going to have to get off my tookas, turn off the television, put down a book occasionally (okay, that one hurts) and get to work.  As Ray Bradbury put it, "the best kind of work."

• I would like to pay tribute to Ray Bradbury this fall using my Drama Club as the medium.  He has an incredible number of short stories out there with kids at the heart of them, meant to open childrens' eyes to the universe of possibilities and their own world around them.  I would like to adapt some of these into short plays for use during this fall's drama showcase.

 

So, Grand Plan for the Summer laid out, I leave you with another of my favorite Bradbury quotes,

 

Time to take my medicine!

 

"The Voice Thief" my essay in honor of No Name-Calling Week 1/23-1/27

The Voice Thief

By Jessica Wisniewski

            “She’s so fat! What a pig!”

            “I know! She’s like, SO sickening!”

            “Why doesn’t she go on a diet?”

            “She’s NOT sitting next to me!”

            “Quick – put your jacket on that seat and move your books over there!”

            “Sorry.  These seats are saved.”

            Hot tears pressed into the backs of my eyes. I clenched my jaw and breathed deeply to try and keep them from spilling over. 

I wouldn’t let them see me cry. 

I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing that they’d hurt me.

I couldn’t yell at them to stop acting so ridiculous. That they’d been my friends just last week. That “fat” isn’t contagious, so stop treating me like a disease. It would only make things worse. Silence was the only defense the Sparkly Girls would allow their prey.

I nodded tightly, like a robot, and stiffly trudged to the next lunch table, my tray shaking in my sweaty, clenched hands.  They were still whispering about me, just loud enough to let me know that they had not finished with me yet.  Managing a deep breath, I strangled back the knot in my throat and began eating my lunch alone. 

Again.

The tenth week of sixth grade was MY week to be cast off the Island of Sparkly Girls.  Each week, they ignored one girl in our class, and were completely brutal about it.  They would savage her with both words and silence.  They would erect a perimeter of silence around her, not allowing any friendliness in or out. They would tear her apart with giggles and sidelong looks.  Their whispers were like bombs, exploding and paralyzing their victims until the shrapnel of their words finally ripped away her lonely voice.

The Island of Sparkly Girls was the only safe place to be…unless you formed your own island, but no one was brave enough to do that. 

Every day for the last week, I had gone through this battle. Holding the tears back until I could get home and hide in my room.  Then, and only then, would I allow myself to cry and try to devise some way, some plan, some miracle that would allow me to fight back – take back my voice – break their barrier. I was so angry at myself that it even mattered to me – but it DID.

The part that burned the worst, that made me the angriest, made me want to rage -  was not that I was the victim, but that I had done exactly the same thing to all the girls whose week had come before mine.  I’d whispered and pointed and lobbed those word grenades knowingly in some unlucky girl’s direction. I had stolen someone else’s voice.

Now, it was my turn. 

They had stolen my voice.  I couldn’t even find a way to defend myself.  I could only wait for it to be over – take my own medicine, and pray that it would all blow over someday.

I’m glad to say that it did– three or four years later when I finally stopped listening to their voices in my ear.  It began to disappear when I found my voice again and started to speak up for myself.  It almost completely went away once I found a group of people who had been through the same war, and we formed our own island, where anyone who was kind to people could freely use their voice.

Back in the sixth grade, the Sparkly Girls stole my voice. Now I’m nearly forty years old, and I refuse to let anyone ever steal my voice again.  I simply have too much use for it. Just ask my students. I use it every day to shout, sing, implore, teach, laugh, growl, argue, explain, encourage, sympathize, and most of all I use it to help others find their own voices and defend the ones who’ve had their voices taken away.

Take that, Sparkly Girls.