Why I Write: Students Need Writing Mentors

My mother recently found and sent me a photo of myself at 18 months, sitting in a highchair at the kitchen counter in our first apartment. Blank pages before me, one heck of a grip on a pencil, and a beam of pride on my face. My mother's familiar handwriting on the bottom of the polaroid reads, "Writing Letters!"

I've always been a writer.

Who I am as a writer and what I know and understand about writing has changed, though. And so has writing instruction in my classroom.

I'd be fibbing if I attributed the change in my perspective to one single factor over the last few years. Truthfully, I can name three very specific events. But the one of these three that is most easily replicable is this:

I write.

What I write ranges from short bits of fiction to poetry to book reviews to professional pieces. Most of what I write lives inside of notebooks and my hard drive, has never (and probably will never) be seen or consumed by readers. What I write doesn't matter so much. It matters more that I do.

Writing regularly (or, close...ish) changed my perspective. When I looked at writing instruction in my classroom through my teacher-writer eyes, I could hardly look away from the incongruence of my writing workshop and my own writing life. So, while I write for a lengthy list of purely personal reasons, too, these reasons #WhyIWrite are some of my most important:

I write because every day I face forty-five apprenticing writers, and it makes all the difference when I can say to them over their notebooks and my own, "Yeah, me too."

I write because my students need writing mentors. Students should learn by engaging with a writer who has plentiful and practical experience in this thing they are learning to do.

I write because my own tendency to shield and protect my writer-heart from criticism and judgement reminds me of the need to be kind with my students' writer-hearts, too.

I write because experiencing that the process of writing changes for me with everything I try to write nags at me to be flexible and open to students' writing needs and paths to "publication" that don't look like mine.

I write because relationships are born of risk-taking and bearing ourselves, and if my students are going to trust me, I must take chances first.

I write because my students encourage me and inspire me.

I write because they want to know what happens next.

And so do I.

Thirty Days of Writing: Looking Back

My December "Don't Break the Chain" Calendar

Today makes 30 days. December 1 to December 30.
I wrote for 30 minutes on every one of those 30 days.
My longest string yet.

So, on this last day of #writedaily30, I'm looking back.

Calling today "the last day" has me a little on edge. See, I can't really look at today as a "last" day. I've been successful with this challenge, but I can't afford to chance breaking the chain. I can't treat today's celebration of my accomplishment as a finale or lean on 30 days of success as a reason I don't need to write tomorrow.

The truth is, I do.

I do need to write tomorrow. And the day after. And the 363+ days that come afterward. 
I do need a place to reflect and express and play and create and explore.

I don't always need the same thing of my writing time, but I do always need my time to write.

My December #writedaily30 goal was essentially to show up. To make a commitment to keep my pen moving on paper for 30 minutes every day. No specific topic, no intended audience, no pressure to publish. Just "me" time with my notebook to see what would come.

Writing is generative.

Flitting among the pages of two (Yes, not one, but two!) notebooks, there are recurring themes and ideas I have circled back to. There are pages that house classroom vignettes or specific memories I'll be glad to hold on to. And there are occasional rants or outpourings of questions--followed by more questions--that may never have real answers. But that's ok.

All of it is, actually. Because it's evidence of how my thinking and my life as a writer are evolving. Together.

Last night I set a timer for five additional minutes after my 30 had passed. I wanted those five-more-minutes to respond to Linda Urban's prompt: What have you learned about yourself? What have you learned about goals and daily writing and commitment?

Reflective notes flowed freely from my pen. I was astonishing by the ease in which I was listing! Could it be that while my attention was turned to keeping a 30-day writing commitment and establishing a habit, I was glazing over some bigger realizations? Like these:

• Ideas come to me. All. The. Time. An offshoot of writing daily means that consciously or subconsciously, I anticipate the chance to write. My daily goings on include observing, generating, and storing ideas for writing time, whether intentional or not.

• My notebook is an extension of myself. Along with my wristlet and phone, my notebook is the third thing that travels with me almost everywhere. And I depend on my notebook to catch my randomness--inspirations or otherwise.

• Sometimes the pressure of posting publicly stifles me as a writer. I get caught up in doing it right. Giving myself permission to "take a break" from blogging was hard, but a necessary reprieve to let me get back to reflecting on and banking ideas. And I've come away with at least a dozen smaller writing pieces that I can return to. That said...

• I need to up the ante on myself. Free writing with no pressure has been what I needed this month, but now I need to attend to a nagging idea that is begging for more of my attention. It's time to find a balance between continuing to generate writing and making project-specific progress.

• As solitary and personal as writing is, keeping the company of other writers is motivating to me. Beyond the gentle nudge of accountability, the #writedaily30 community is special, generously encouraging one another with positive responses to expressions of relief or frustration.

So...
Today I'm celebrating my success. 
I kept a commitment for 30 days and wrote 30 minutes on each of those days.
And I came away with lots of possible blog posts, a project to pursue, and a whole lot to think through about what it means to be a writer and a teacher of writing.

I'm pretty sure I still need to write tomorrow.

A Letter to My Blog

Dear Neglected Blog,

I'm sorry. I realize I've done a really poor job of keeping you refreshed and up-to-date with my reading diet, happy celebrations, and otherwise random musings of classroom life and professional endeavors. I feel really guilty that I have not shared the highlights of #NCTE14 or amazing connections my students have had with books and authors. I know it likely seems I have been swallowed whole by a book I have yet to review, and that is somewhat disheartening to you. It is to me, too.

So, let me begin by reassuring you: I am still the same "me." I'm still doing important work helping kids find who they are and assume their place of responsibility in a crazy world every day. I'm still a nerdy book lover, devouring middle grade novels in a single sitting (when I can). I'm still thinking-incessantly-about what is going right in my professional world and what needs to change. And, I'm still writing, I promise. In fact, I'm writing more now than ever before.

So then, you ask, what's the deal?
Why no new posts since mid-November?
Why the skipped weeks of #IMWAYR?

*sigh*

For the most part, it's because I'm writing. 
A lot. 
All the time. 
In my notebook.
To reach this point, I've had to give myself permission to relax about posting to you, sad Blog. I've had to allow myself the freedom to write to explore my ideas without the expectation of publishing for an audience, without the pressure of finding words that are pretty, or perfect, or provocative enough to interest readers. And you know-just between you and I-doing so has actually give me PAGES of what feel like possibilities. Possibilities for researching and revisiting and revising... Things that might grow into blog posts I can share later, that will help you appear "impressive."

Dear Blog, I hear your cry of concern that time is passing me by, and I'm not saying enough or showing everyone else who I am. I share your concern a little, too. But right now, this free, personal writing feels good, feels promising. So I'm going to trust in it...for a little while longer.

I want people to look at you...I do. I hope you can one day do even more to introduce me to people and connect me to great professionals with whom I can stretch my thinking. For now though, I beg you, be patient with me and my process. Support me in taking the quiet road. I have some things I need to think about. Explore. Tussle out. 
For a few more weeks, at least.

I will be back. Don't give up on me. 
I'm just finding my way.

Your wandering (but no less committed) writer,
Melissa

Creating Bravely

Last year I learned about International Dot Day, the creative global event established by Terry Shay and Peter H. Reynolds, fashioned after Mr. Reynold's book, The Dot. The positive and important message of Vashti's creative experience was one I could promote with students whole-heartedly, and so we shared the book and designed dots and posted about making a mark on our bulletin board.

This year, I anticipated the arrival of Dot Day from before the start of school. I knew it was a connected event I wanted to participate in with my classroom. And, I wondered if others in my school would, too, if they knew it was coming. 

So, I composed a brief description and a link and an offer to borrow my book on our staff email. My teeth clenched and my heart wrenched and I hit the button...send. And then I waited.

See, I've earned something of a reputation in my school for having crazy, big ideas, and while some embrace the spirit and join in, I get the impression that many would prefer I just do what I do quietly. And the truth is, sometimes that impression is strong enough to make me retreat inside the four walls of my classroom and hold to doing what I know is creating the best experience for my students. 

But other times, I try to stand up to the worries that restrain me. Sometimes, I grit my teeth and go for it. Sometimes, I summon the courage to take a chance and share what I think is good enough for my kids to be good enough for all of our students.

Nothing happened right away.

But then, slowly, enthusiasm struck and gained momentum. I went looking for my book (which I had left on the table in the teachers' room for easy, no-pressure access) and couldn't find it. It was being shared in other classrooms.

And an enormous, bright yellow dot filled one of the bulletin boards in the main hallway and signatures began to accumulate.

I began to overhear conversations about who had articles of dotted clothing in their closets and who didn't and needed to borrow something.

And a schedule for the book started taking place, it would travel upstairs and downstairs in the morning and afternoon. Because my one copy was in such high demand, the district librarian ordered a copy for each school in the district to add to our libraries.

And PTA volunteers and parents were glowing and telling stories about the kinds of designs and creations they made in the wee hours of the night and then plastered along all of the walls in our building.

The secretaries used window markers to draw dots all over the glass surfaces of the office.

The students arrived on Monday morning, Dot Day, to The Dot Song by Emily Dale and Peter H. Reynolds playing on the speakers overhead, and their eyes lit up.

I arrived on Monday to find 5th grade students sprawled across the courtyard using sidewalk chalk to make a visible mark that any visitors to our school wouldn't miss.

I stood back for a moment and took in the scene before I went inside, because truly, it was a beautiful thing that was being created: a school community unified by the spirit of creativity and the idea that anyone, everyone, could contribute.

Upstairs in my classroom, my students helped me collect the loads of art materials we would need, and we organized by table for our own dot creating time. The students set to work intently, designing their unique dots that only they could

make. They had already composed a few reflective sentences about how they make their mark in their notebooks. While they munched on dot-like snacks, each took turns speaking their writing into my computer. We stretched Dot Day a little in the coming days (because of technical challenges), but we paired each student's writing with a photo of their dot and created a digital poem, set to the performance version of The Dot Song. The students wore a distinct look of pride as we saw the video come together and were at last able to share the finished version.

The worry and the risk taking (and maybe even the wear on my teeth!) were worth it, to allow our students to create. Students revealed themselves to us through their art, their written work, and their conversations. My students shared a creative bonding experience that--I think--has us turning a corner to being a tighter learning community. I can hope the same is true for other classes, too.

And I have been served with a reminder:

Though it may seem easier or safer to retreat and operate with small brush strokes and subtle colors, that's not who I am or who I am meant to be. I have as much responsibility as my students to "make a mark." I must continue to create bravely in my school community.