Archive for the ‘teaching writing’ Category

THE KIDS WILL ALL WRITE

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

As part of my ongoing adventures as a writing workshop instructor, the following piece owes a lot to this year’s third-grade class.

Some eight-year-old boys drool. In the four years in which I’ve worked with third graders, at least one boy has drooled in the middle of at least one class. Sometimes it’s from frustration, but mostly it’s a result of over-excitement coupled with a blood sugar spike.

This year’s drooler is Ben. He’s now drooled three times in two sessions, which means he has six more sessions to break the all-time drool-per-session record of seven. Ben’s in-class snack of choice is a juice box. His teeth are coming in at jagged angles, leaving plenty of gaps through which saliva can escape. And writing excites the hell out of him.

I say the record is his.

Read the rest @ ReadWritePoem.org



Writing Skeletons

Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009

The following entry comes courtesy of Alice, a fifth-grade student in SE Portland. I’ve been working with Alice for two years – she’s a heck of a writer and has a great mind.

The exercise itself involved working with “skeleton paragraphs”, an idea I borrowed from the kind folks at Mutating the Signature (please check them out if you haven’t already – a collaborative effort between Seattle poets Nathan Moore and Dana Guthrie-Martin).

Below I’ve pasted the original skeletons, followed by Alice’s replies.

It’s ________ __________ “___________ ___________” and it’s ___________ __________ __________ “___________”. This is, __________ it’s _________ ___________ the __________! The _________ ___________ _________ the _________ __________ for __________, which _______, “_______ __________.” This is __________ _________ it is to _____________.

Alice writes:

It’s tomorrow buddy “seven days” and it’s today dear that’s “here”. This is, look it’s Safe Chap the hero! The weird dork from the planet Zuok for $4, which says “Yo dude”. This is how fun it is to dream.

When ______ _________ at ______ _________ of ________ ___________ in the ________ _________. ____________ ___________. I _________, “what are __________ ___________ ___________ ___________ ___________?” I _________ I’ll __________ a ____________ of _________ ____________. Then I __________ ___________ _____________ to ____________ ___________, I ___________ in ____________.

Alice writes:

When I cry at night love of life springs in the dark well. I’m desperate. I scream “what are you on these bleak lands?” I swear I’ll cry a river of salty tears. Then I sink down slowly to my knees, I struggle in vain.


Dream in Haiku

Saturday, February 28th, 2009

I’ve put a couple of haikus on the site since January – I don’t consider myself a haiku writer, nor do I sit down and actively try to write haikus. Rather, they seem to “come” when they come and arrive as they will. I have no complaints.

A few nights ago one found me in a really wonderful dream that went like this:

I was at a conference. Hillary Clinton was sitting next to me. She was flirting with me in a passive sort of way, or in the least was very friendly. We were writing haikus together, which had something to do with the conference itself.

Hillary had no time for the whole notion of “exploring thoughts” or “following the stream of consciousness,” though I was trying to impress both upon her while explaining that my interpretation of a “good haiku” is one that joins two things together in a very brief, eternally present moment.

My haiku had to do with my father sitting on a porch. Not only was I writing it in the dream, but I was also editing it. (I remember distinctly editing out the word “are”, which is a good word to edit out in just about any piece of writing.)

In my second draft, my second line was the longest; in my third, my last line was the longest – as in life, I wasn’t following any American convention of 5-7-5. I simply don’t agree with it and I wish teachers would stop professing that haikus must be written in this form . . . but I digress.

When I woke up, the actual haiku had evaporated – I couldn’t recall it word for word, but I reconstructed the three versions I remember having worked on –

First:

There you are on the porch
I wonder if my father
Is as beautiful as always

(notice the word “are” in the first line)

Second:

On the porch
my father is as beautiful
as always

Third/Final

My father
on the porch
as beautiful as always


Freethought Monday

Monday, February 23rd, 2009

You’re a writer every day. You may not write every day, but you’re a writer every day.

You have a certain way of seeing the world that never changes, regardless of how much writing you get done. As Natalie Goldberg says in Write Down the Bones – you live each moment twice, one time in and of the moment, the second time in reflection of it. It’s not a conscious decision – it’s how you’re wired.

Honor it. Be proud. Never judge. Simply run with it and be.

Now go forth, prosper, and know that your work is good.

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