Teaching Writing: Living It

My journey to work.

As I am about to embark on a new school year, at a new school with new courses and new students, I am examining writing textbooks, and discovered that many assign students the task of writing about themselves as writers. What they write, who they write for, and how they feel about writing. As a writer who has been seriously focused on creative writing since high school, writing is a part of my daily consciousness. I think about when I will write, I think about what I want to write, I think about revising what I’m working on. I think about what I am reading, from advertisements to texts to poems, considering what each piece is trying to communicate, how it’s communicating it, and how effective the writing is, to various degrees of consciousness. I do not take a lot of time to think about who I am as a writer. I take for granted that I am a writer, just like I am a woman and an American and a Jew. It is inherent to my basic identity.

But as I prepare lesson plans, class schedules, and syllabi, and I prepare to ask my students who they are as writers, I am being given the opportunity to consider who I am as a writer, what are my goals, and who do I want to write for. I am asked to think about my writing history, which is closely intertwined with my life and my self-esteem. I am asked to consider my influences, habits, and methods. When I first began to think about my relationship with writing and myself as a writer, it seemed simple: I am a writer, and I write to share my voice with the world. However, this is not an introspective or revealing response. If a student turned in this answer, I would respond with questions like, but what does it mean to be a writer? How do you feel about writing? How do you share your voice with the world?

When I was still small enough to sit in my mother’s lap and too young to yet know how to read, I fought for my mother’s attention so that she would read to me. Once I started writing, I loved that, too. I wanted my teachers to tell me how good my book reports were. I wanted other students to think that I was the best writer in the class, just like I wanted to be the fastest runner. Writing was not just something I enjoyed, it was also a way to get recognition.

When I was in sixth grade, a friend of mine became the object of our teasing, and was nicknamed Dogwoman. At the end of the previous school year, I had similarly been singled out, and everyone in my class barked at me when I walked by. Since it had happened to me at the end of the school year, I spent all summer worrying that the harassment would continue when I returned in the fall. Although it was a terrible experience, I did not translate my feelings about this experience when I joined in the teasing. In fact, when a mutual friend suggested we write a book about Dogwoman, my immediate thought was all the jokes I could include. So began a series of books about the adventures of Dogwoman, written by me and illustrated by my friend. I completely forgot the stories were about a real person and reveled in silliness of the writing, coming up with sixth grade level dirty jokes and ridiculous situations. The books were wildly popular in my grade, with a better circulation than any library book. If I had ever considered the cruelty of the stories, it was quickly squashed by the attention the books got.

Thanks to my whit, not only did I destroy a friendship, but for a period of time she did not have any friends at our school. Still, it took me years recognize the damage I had done and accept responsibility. I wish that an adult had intervened. It might have saved my friend a good deal of pain. I wish that I had some empathy and some guts and I would not have participated and would have instead stuck up for my friend. Writing has consequences, sometimes unintended consequences. And there are some wrongs which you are not given an opportunity to write: I have not been able to find my friend and make a proper apology.

The kind of writer and person I want to be is one whose writing makes the world a better place. I want to make people think about their choices and consider their behavior. I want to help people by sharing my own experiences and what I have discovered. I want to be part of a dialogue of joy. When I was pregnant, I wrote about morning sickness and some other challenges I experienced. A few months later, a friend told me that she had tried my suggestions, and it had helped her. For me, this was a great compliment, because it meant that something I had written had a positive impact. Part of what I want to teach my students is the power of writing, that with their words they can inspire change, both large and small. Something as small and transitory as a social media post can darken or lighten someone’s day. As Uncle Ben in Tobey Maguire’s 2002 Spiderman says, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

It all depends on how you look at it.

Writer on the Move: You Can't Take It with You

Cake and Boo trying to look innocent.

Traveling across the country with two cats and an infant is an adventure. Most cats, mine included, do not like car rides and do not like to be put in carriers. For the past several states, Cake, a gray tiger cat, has been hiding under the bed in the morning, in an effort to avoid her carrier. Being underneath the center of a large bed necessitates clever contortion and acrobatics in order to get her out. Boo, the larger calico, has been more pliant, as she generally is. As I put her into the carrier, she tries to block the entrance with her paws, but when she realizes that she is going to lose the battle, she allows herself to be pushed inside.

When it was time to leave Chicago, and we were doing the dance of one person taking care of the cats and baby while the other loaded the car, Boo disappeared. We looked under the beds. We looked in the bathroom. I ran outside, calling her name. The hotel staff had doors open across the side of the building as they cleaned the rooms. There was a highway behind the hotel, a road in front of it, and businesses on either side. Frantically, I ran into every open door and looked under every bed. Then I ran around both buildings, calling Boo’s name. Then into the parking lots nearby and along the perimeter of the highway. The longer I looked for the cat, the less pretty my imagination became.

After nearly two hours of frantic looking, we had to face the possibility that we would not find the cat. It would be difficult to stay another night in the hotel. Once we had nabbed Cake from under the bed, we would have to leave. So, I stuck my head under the bed as far as I could to see if I could make a grab for her. While I was wedged under the bed, I noticed there was a bulge hanging down from the box spring. I pushed on it, and it was soft. I pushed again, and it meowed. There was Boo, hiding inside the bed.

Packing for a big move, especially for such a long distance, is a challenge. The more belongings to move, the bigger the cost, with a higher price tag for furniture. Before the movers came, we did some downsizing. The second bedroom, as of late the baby’s room, housed five large book cases. Some of the shelves were doubled up with books. There were also a few boxes of books that had yet to be unpacked from the last move.

It had previously been my policy not to get rid of books. What if I wanted to return to the book later? Or copy a passage to teach in class? If I gave it away, I would be in quite a bind. In reality, there are very few books that I return to and with the internet and the efficiency of ILL (Interlibrary Loan), I could find almost anything I needed for class within seconds, or at most, a few days. I had no actual need for all of the books. But when I started to think about giving them away, I felt a little threatened, as though I was endangering myself by giving them away, because what if I did end up needing them? The logic of the situation had nothing to do with the thin fear that crept in.

I often feel this way when it is time to thin out my belongings, whether it is a skirt I will clearly never be small enough to wear or the hand mixer that was given to me five years ago and never used. While I have no need for these things, it pains me to let them go.

In the end, I parted with a good many things, including several boxes of books and many unused things. For the few seconds I am troubled when I give things away, almost always, I forget by the end of the day and never remember that it is gone, let alone lament no longer possessing it. Letting go of a loved one is a completely different experience. When I had to put my sick, elderly dog down I was devastated. I cried every day for over a month. It broke my heart all over again when the cats waited by the door for the dog’s return.

Intellectually, I know that possessions are just things. Usually, they are not unique, and can be replaced, often at not too great of a cost. Loved ones, like a cat or a dog, or even more so in the case of a friend or relative, are not replaceable. “Losing” Boo was a reminder of just what it means to lose something I truly care about. As was saying goodbye to so many people we care about. We will be able to visit in the future, and we can keep in touch, but we will no longer have the close, physical intimacy that we once did. It was a powerful reminder at minimal cost.

We have now been through PA, OH, IN, IL, and are stopping over in Madison, WI. We have several more states to go, but we are making progress. May the rest of the journey be relatively painless, and everyone who got into the car in Philly leave it safe and sound in Portland.

Writer on the Move: Phone Home

The Cousins Visit

Tisha B’Av, which is observed by fasting and rituals of mourning, such as sitting low to the ground and refraining from comforts such as bathing and clean clothes, not only recognizes the destruction of the Temples but also bemoans the lack of achdus, or unity, among the Jewish people.

Before we left Philadelphia, a group of family and friends gathered in our apartment to say goodbye and to help with the last, messy parts of moving. They loaded the car, cleaned the kitchen, cared for the baby, and helped us part with a few more things in order to fit us all (husband, baby, two cats, and myself) in the car. My brother and future sister-in-law bravely dosed the cats with over the counter calming chews. In the summer heat, all of this can only be considered acts of love and kindness.

While I believe we made the right decision, that does not take away the sadness of the physical distance we are creating. I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with people. The phone has often been a tool to induce guilt instead of a way to keep lines of communication open. In order to make this move not only an easier transition than past moves, but also not to lose those we so fiercely love, I considered a few strategies to stay in touch.

1. Public Weekly Updates. A friend of mine who made aliyah (moved to Israel) two years ago writes a weekly email about the week’s adventures and her upcoming Shabbat plans. She sends the email to nearly everyone in her address book and includes pictures and notes of who is visiting. For myself, a weekly update on Facebook makes more sense than an email, but the idea is the same: a line of communication which includes regular updates and gives friends a chance to respond with their own updates. Already, I have been posting weekly photos of the baby. Now, I will be making the post more robust information about our lives.
2. Phone call appointments. When I was in college, a Sunday never went by without calling home to my parents. If I had ever forgotten, my parents would have been calling the authorities to send them searching for me. An appointment, recorded on the calendar in my iPhone, to call friends at an agreed upon time will help me to keep in touch. Like an appointment to see the doctor, it becomes something not to be missed or rescheduled, a fixed time to be protected. Psychologically, seeing it on the calendar is not only a reminder of making the phone call, but an actual imperative.
3. Regular blog posts about our new adventures, including the return to teaching and transition to a new home. Writing has always been a way for me to process things. As Flannery O’Connor said, “I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” Through writing about our new life, I will be able to share with others while unpacking the experience for myself.
4. Skype with the (Grand)Rents. Our daughter will undoubtedly know and see her grandparents in person, but that is not enough for her or her grandparents. Being able to see her grow up will be a comfort for her grandparents, as well.

On Tisha B’Av, we mourn a Temple that no one alive has seen. We mourn the loss of unity of an entire people that no one alive has experienced. This year, I mourn a place I loved and closeness to many family and friends. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to have experienced such love, and to continue to experience such love, though now from a distance. Next year, may we celebrate in Jerusalem.