Wandering writers brought together: inspired, changed.

at Two Writing Teachers!

It's been an amazing two-and-a-half weeks at the Columbus Area Writing Project!  Every day, we learn and write and grow so much that I feel like I'm just overflowing with writerly wonderfulness!

For this morning's quick-write, Robin guided us through an exploration of short, structured forms, with types of poetry and prose both familiar and new.  She pours book floods out to us every day (Kelly Gallagher would be so proud!), and today's mentor texts included delights such as Tap Dancing on the Roof (I'd never heard of sijo!) and Not Quite What I Was Planning.  She then challenged us to play with short forms during our 10-minute quick-writing time.  I didn't get very far then, but the idea stuck in my head and crawled out again on the way home as I was brainstorming slice ideas.

So, here are some short forms to capture my CAWP experience.

1. Six-word memoir: did you notice it in the title of my post?  If not, look again!  :-)

2. Tanka: At CAWP, whenever we need to focus as a group, come together from writing or an animated conversation, or ground ourselves from tension, one of our co-directors leads us in the following ritual:

Kevin intones, "Breathe."
We gulp luscious life and pause,
away from the world.
Together, we push out stress,
finding selves in a new place.

3. Haiku: this just happened!

Husband cooks dinner:
pouring, stirring, simmering.
Grateful, I can write!

Retreating into writing

at Two Writing Teachers!

Last week we kicked off the Columbus Area Writing Project with a three-day retreat at gorgeous Kenyon College.  We explored new ideas as we explored the unfamiliar beauty of the campus, shared our words and our writing lives, and grounded ourselves in the power of story.  Suddenly (and yet gradually), a smattering of strangers came together into a supportive family of teacher-writers.

We had some free hours to discover the inspirations hiding around Kenyon's campus, and I was lucky enough to be one of the first from our group to discover the magical wishing tree.

As soon as our project directors mentioned that there was a special tree people could "go inside", I just had to find it.  I was always that kid who loved crawling under tables, benches, and bushes to create secluded forts and cozy hideaways.  However, I wasn't prepared for the surprise that awaited me.

I was picturing a stately tree with a hole or hollow in the trunk.  Instead, I found a gangly, unkempt monster.

But when I dared to come closer, I discovered that the unwieldy arms of this hulking beast actually hide inviting passageways into an enchanted paradise.

Looking back toward the "doorway" through which I entered.
(The tags are wishes left by visitors)

Following a well-worn path to duck through the curtain of leaves, I reeled with the magic of what I found:  The tree's branches enclosed it in a mystical living shroud, 360 degrees around.

Were forest nymphs going to shyly come out of hiding, or would talking animals greet me  with songs of welcome?

In the center of this secluded dome, the tree's massive trunk stood strong, reaching toward the sky even as delicate strands from its its branches dangled back down toward the ground.

Delighted, I scampered around the bright green bubble, taking pictures from all angles.  I crawled onto the massive branches and climbed until the ground seemed too far away. 

I knew I HAD to write here, so I settled into a branch that seemed made to hold me.

Relaxing, I opened up all my senses, and the words came...

Soft sunlight wafts down onto my skin, peeking through gnarled branches and tumbling green cascades.  Wispy puffs of cotton sail by high overhead.  Enveloped in a green sanctuary, I am completely alone, but not lonely.  Cheerful birds call to their friends, occasionally interrupted by the deep brassy bellowing of sacred bells.  Spindly, shiny ants toddle through their tiny lives along these branches we share.  The soothing breeze gently ruffles waxy leaves that dangle with veins full of life.  I gulp renewing breaths of untainted air as my muscles slowly let go of lingering tensions.  The sturdy gray branch against my back reassures me as it cradles me.  These worn knots and ancient wrinkles hold a thousand dreams and wishes.  If I am still enough, I can almost feel the heartbeat of those stories coursing through the coiling branches.  Faraway, yet right outside, bright tennis shoes and deep blue jeans stroll by, unaware of my hidden refuge.  Do they know what they are missing?

(Special thanks to my CAWP colleague Shelly, who discovered me writing and took the last 3 pictures!)

Un mundo de relatos

at Latinaish!

Today is Spanish Friday, so this post is in Spanish!  Feel free to use Google Translate to get the main ideas if you need to!

Acabo de regresar de tres días maravillosos en el hermosísimo Kenyon College con mis colegas del Columbus Area Writing Project.  A pesar de la tormenta amenazadora del miércoles, disfrutamos de muchas horas juntos para escribir, aprender, compartir historias, conocernos, y forjar amistades nuevas.

Se construyeron los edificios viejos de piedras de la región.

Hoy por la mañana, los directores nos presentaron una sorpresa muy especial: la oportunidad de participar en el proyecto StoryBox.  Kevin, uno de nuestros directores y un cuentacuentos encantador, nos relató cómo inició este proyecto y reveló dos StoryBoxes (cajas de relatos) que había traido.

StoryBox: una caja de relatos

Corrimos a las StoryBoxes como unos niños hacia el árbol de Navidad.  ¡Qué tesoro!  Historias, cuentos, poemas, cartas, y dibujos.  Unos de crayones, otros escritos a máquina, de niños y maestros, de nuestra ciudad y países lejanos.

Emocionada, agarré una carpeta con la etiqueta SPAIN y la abrí...

¡cuentos de estudiantes de Madrid, mi ciudad querida!

Saboreé las palabras españolas, dulces y suaves: una colección de fábulas y cuentos escritos por dos clases de un pueblo de la Comunidad de Madrid en 2009.  Su maestra había puesto su dirección del correo electrónico, así que me sentí ganas de escribirle un mensaje breve.

Unas estudiantes escribieron un cuento de una tortuga, el animal favorito de mi esposo! Las palabras negras son españolas y las moradas son una traducción al inglés que hizo su maestra.

Más tarde, en otras partes de la caja, descubrí otras colecciones de otros países:

¡cuentos de Nueva Zelanda, donde vive mi amiga!

¡una caja de información y cuentos de Irlanda!

cuentos tradicionales de Australia, con unas fotos de las presentaciones de los niños

Leímos y sonreímos por casi una hora, disfrutando del regalo de los cuentos y esperando las semanas que nos tocará añadir nuestros propios relatos y compartir este encuentro con nuestras clases.

Es cierto que los relatos tienen el poder de unirnos con todo el mundo.

Digging up my writing life

at Two Writing Teachers!

I've spent most of the day today pouring through old pieces of my own writing, from kindergarten journals, drawings, and "books", to recent blog entries.  Tomorrow, my journey with the Columbus Area Writing Project begins, and we've been assigned an "archeological dig" of ourselves as writers.  Each participant gets to set up a small display of "artifacts" from our writing lives, with an accompanying narrative to weave them together. 

Here's the introduction to my display:

If you looked around any house I’ve lived in, you’d notice two things: notepads and books.  Surprised at my early literacy skills, my kindergarten teacher asked my mom how many books were in our house.  My mom got tired and stopped counting at 1,100.  Is it any surprise I tried to fill every free minute with reading? When I got a little older, I started stashing books everywhere: on the couch, in the bathroom, under my bed.  If there wasn’t a book within reach, I’d read anything I could get my hands on, from the upside-down newspaper across the table to the ingredients on my cereal box.  (One morning at breakfast I bewildered my parents by asking what guar gum was.  It had to be important, because it was listed in the ingredients of almost everything!)  Late at night, my thoughts always kept me awake far after my parents thought I was asleep, and those nebulous dark hours would always find me curled up with a flashlight, soothing my racing mind with a book or a notepad.  While I’m usually so exhausted now that I have no trouble falling asleep, I still have to keep notepads by the bed for those delicious moments when the perfect words jolt me awake in the middle of the night.

When I told my mom I needed some samples of my old writing, she started dragging out boxes. “I hope the Writing Project rented a semi truck for you to drive to Kenyon College,” she joked.  From messy poems drafted on tiny midnight notepads to wallpaper-covered books “published” at my elementary school publishing shop, my early writing life took hours to explore.  Even through times when my memory told me I had “lost” my writing, I discovered that casual journals, carefully crafted essays, and heartfelt letters continued to sustain my writerly self.  While my writing may not leave such an obvious physical trail anymore, it now flourishes through clicking keys and tapping fingers. (Of course, that doesn’t mean there aren’t still notepads scattered around the house, waiting to catch those sparkling ideas that arrive in the middle of dinner preparations, TV shows, showers, and sleep!)  No longer confined to wrinkled pages hiding under my bed or cautious sharing to a few select friends or teachers, my words now fly courageously across the country and around the world just seconds after I push “publish”!  

To complete the display, I filled five binders with a variety of "artifacts" of my writing life, organized into five areas:

• Writing to Remember and Reflect
• Writing to Tell Stories
• Writing to Play with Words
• Writing to Explain and Discover
• Writing to Communicate and Connect

I had so much fun "digging" through my writing life, and I can't wait to interact with the other writers' displays and read their comments about mine!

I am a Writer.

at Two Writing Teachers!

Last Thursday afternoon I rushed out of school, drove the old familiar route to campus, and squeezed my car into one of those awkward, always-too-small parking garage spaces.  I lifted my face to the calming sunshine and opened my ears to the joyful chattering of student life.  Like a weary traveler returning home after a long journey, I let my eyes drink in the shapes and colors of beloved buildings, paths, trees, and open spaces.  I blinked, and everything seemed to grow brighter and sharper around the edges: years of memories melting into the present moment.

For me, coming to campus always means coming home.

Last Thursday, I was coming home to begin a new journey, one that I know will lead me to grow as a writer and as a teacher.  I pushed open the worn wooden doors of one of my favorite old buildings and listened to my footsteps echo down the still hallway.  When I found the right room, I dutifully grabbed an information packet, made a nametag, got a snack, and sat down timidly.  I tapped on the table, swung my feet, fiddled with my laptop.  As more footsteps brought more nametag makers and packet recipients, energy buzzed through me.  Did they seem nice?  How many were there?  Would we get along?

Finally, the circle of tables was full.  Full of teachers.  Full of writers.

And we wrote.  We wrote to discover and describe and declare ourselves as writers.

And then we shared.  First, there was silence, and then the buzzing energy bubbled out of me until I spoke up: the first to reveal myself, the first to offer my words as a gift to the community we hoped to build.

This is what I wrote, and what I shared:

I am a digital writer. I love the easy flow and freedom of writing digitally, being able to move and change words and sentences as my thoughts fly.  I also love the ability to link new writing to old writing, embellish my words with pictures, and connect with others easily. 

I am a reflective writer. Writing helps me solidify my wispy, nebulous thoughts into concrete beliefs and ideas. 

I am a bilingual writer. Aunque muchas veces mis palabras vuelen a los dedos en inglés, también me encanta escribir en español. 

I am a teacher-writer. Writing makes me a better teacher, and teaching makes me a better writer. 

I am a poet. No words are more beautiful or more sincere than the words that rise up out of my heart and arrange themselves into poems.  Nature calls me to make poems out of her. 

I am a writer who is full of words and in love with words.
I am a writer who sees the world with writing eyes.
I am a writer who thinks, learns, remembers, creates, and connects through writing.

Thanks to all of you, my slicing friends, I had the courage to share my writing self with people I had never met.  Now, my words are weaving together with others to build a new community: the Columbus Area Writing Project.  I can't wait to see what our words will do this summer!

A Tale of Two Marines

at Two Writing Teachers!

Every Memorial Day, I fasten my USMC pin to my TBDBITL Alumni shirt and head across town to the Legion post of a nearby suburb.  Horn in hand, I study the splendid uniforms of the assembled veterans and marvel at their weapons, tanks, and trucks.  When the drum major's whistle blows, I pop my shoulders back, chin up, heels together.  On days like this, our band's military precision means a little bit more.  On days like this, our usual cycle of school songs is replaced by the proud strains of the Armed Forces Medley.  And on days like this, two faces swim in my head.

One was an ornery welder from a small riverboat town in Southern Ohio.  With sandy hair and a crooked smile like Paul Hogan, he loved cars, Westerns, and having fun.  When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, he couldn't wait to join up. 
 Knowing his talent, the Marines offered him a position as a welder, but he didn't join the Marines to do no #$*& welding.  He wanted to fight.

Farther north, a studious engineering student also joined up.  Originally from Cleveland, this bright young man  was almost finished with his degree at Ohio State.  
Both ended up on a tiny volcanic island in the Pacific in February 1945: Iwo Jima.

Granddaddy charged the black sand beach on the first day.  A sniper, he separated from his company quickly and found himself pinned down for days.  Several days later, he saw the flag go up on Mt. Suribachi, but he couldn't tell if it was Japanese or American.  On the eighth day, a Japanese sniper bullet caught him in the spine.  If it wasn't for an unknown Marine who dragged him off the beach, my mom never would have been born.  Only 3 other men from his company made it off that island alive.  With the bullet lodged in his spine, Granddaddy spent the rest of the war in the hospital in Bethesda, learning how to use a cane to limp along.

On another part of the island, Grandpa was working with the other Marine engineers to build landing strips for American planes.  He went on to serve in Okinawa and then finished his last quarter at OSU after the war.

Unable to weld after his injury, Granddaddy became a fixture at the local VFW and Legion posts, entertaining the whole town with his card games and antics.  Everybody in town knew Snuffy.  

Continuing to serve in the USMC as a captain during the Korean War, Grandpa was so humble and kind that he often played baseball with the neighborhood boys at Camp Lejune.  One morning, he inadvertently startled them as he left the house in his captain's uniform.  Astonished, they realized that all this time, they had been playing ball with the captain!  When he moved back to Ohio, he became a renowned mechanical engineer, obtaining eight patents and traveling around the world as an expert on walking draglines.  

With a 4th Marine Division tattoo on his bicep, a concrete bulldog in the living room, and a metal eagle over the front door, Granddaddy was the quintessential "crusty old Marine".  Every other word in his drawling Appalachian accent was unfit for me to publish on this blog, and I've never met anyone more stubborn.  When he'd get riled up, my mom would just roll her eyes and say, "Once a Marine, always a Marine." 

On the other hand, you would never guess that Grandpa was also a Leatherneck.  Aside from the full-height flagpole in the yard where he hoisted and lowered the Stars and Stripes every day, Grandpa had nothing to indicate his Marine past.  His house was full of memorabilia from his trips around the world, and his patents were modestly displayed in the basement.  Always wearing a smile, he hummed constantly, often breaking spontaneously into little snippets of big band songs.

While they couldn't have had more different personalities, Iwo Jima wasn't the only thing they had in common.  They both loved me, and they were both heroes.

Hoorah.

My sweet husband strikes again!

at Two Writing Teachers!

Last Monday was my birthday.  I was going to write this slice last Tuesday, but then my students threw me a surprise party in class, so I just HAD to write about that!

Anyway, last Monday afternoon I got home a little earlier than usual.  (It was my birthday, after all!)  Humming whatever song had just been on the radio and reminiscing about all the nice birthday wishes I had received all day at school, I shoved the door open.

Oooh!  Husband left me a birthday balloon!  (He's still home when I leave for school.)  He's so sweet!

One of my favorite stuffed animals was holding the balloon.  Thumper has a note!  I thought back to this winter, when Husband set up my stuffed moose Evergreen with a note to cheer me up after school. Giggling, I bent closer.

"Oh boy, Jennifer!  It's your Birthday!!!
Before you do anything else, could you take me to watch some Star Trek?"

What did he do?  Maybe he made me a video?  I scurried off to the family room, where the Blu-ray player is.  After scanning the room for a moment, I found another friend on the couch, with another note!

"Happy Birthday Jennifer!  My feet are sore from all this marching.
Could you take me to get my feet massaged?"

OH BOY, OH BOY!  It's a SCAVENGER HUNT!!!  I practically ran to the living room.  Sure enough, Figment was sitting on my foot massager with another note!

"Can you imagine?  It's your birthday!  Could you take me to watch some birds at the bird feeder?"

The bird feeder?  I scurried to the kitchen, hoping I didn't actually have to go outside.  This one was tougher, but I eventually spotted Flopsy on a kitchen chair, facing the window to the backyard.

"Go Bucks!  Happy Birthday!  Could you take me to listen to some wake-up music?"

I nearly fell up the stairs in my hurry to get to my iPod dock.  (Since I hate mornings, Husband made me a special "Wake-up" playlist with happy music and got me the dock so I can listen to it while I get ready in the mornings.)  My stuffed version of Boo, "The World's Cutest Dog," was happily waiting to greet me with another clue.

"Happy BOOfday! I'm sleepy 'cause I like to sleep a lot! Could you take me to bed?"

Scampering around the corner, I suddenly saw the rest of my favorite stuffed animals waiting to greet me.   Aww, they have my birthday card!  I wonder if I should open it now?

Is it obvious that we love bunnies, turtles, and Wall-E?

Well, Thumper's note at the beginning DID say I should do this before I did anything else.  I guess it's ok to open the card!  I reached for the card... and suddenly noticed that a new addition to the gaggle of animals!  I hadn't even seen him at first!

Itty-bitty Boo in a sweatsuit!!!

Little Boo is now sitting on my desk at school, reminding me of how my sweet husband always knows exactly how to make me happy!