I love to write. I’ve been scribbling since I was tiny.
And it hurts.
And heals.
Creating is a paradox. We read to become better writers and we write to become better readers, all in the service of moving and navigating through this space, this world.
And it hit me hard. I am not Mormon; I do not, and have not, had a community like this outside of my job, except for the rare occasions I worked with the now-defunct Puget Sound Writing Project (National Writing Project). But now I feel isolated, siloed, and micromanaged, and it’s not healthy. It’s not healthy for me or my students, which some folks don’t understand; it’s not healthy for them, either.
At this juncture, I am desperately seeking allies and community. I can count on many friends and family members who support me and my work and others who support the communities around us. Also, my anxiety and pattern recognition of danger is through the emotional cortisol roof. I remarked the other day that I do not understand my district’s culture, or perhaps I do, and I don’t want to see it or speak it out loud.
My ask: if you are interested in building a community with me, a community that supports inclusion, diversity, equity, knowledge, love, and action, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me privately, start your own WordPress blog, come make zines with me, let’s hang out and write our congresspeople, drink coffee and eat snacks. I am open to ideas.
I am promising now: I do not care who you voted for*; I only care about your actions. If your actions harm me and my ability to provide for my family and students, I will gather my community and work to make things right.
*I care, but I must compartmentalize that and focus on the current situation. Your vote for him is a massive obstacle to peace and love. Either help fix what you broke or get out of the way, please.
I have not drawn any conclusions and do not want to engage in a debate, good faith or otherwise, about this topic of problematic authors. I would wager there isn’t one of us who hasn’t had to wrestle with our better or lesser angels regarding our “heroes.”
Grief is a complex emotion.
And when it comes to art and the artist, grief can look like apologies or giving grace so we, the audience, consumers, or appreciators of the art, can move through it with a recycled conscious.
Edgar Allan Poe was a hot mess. There are many well-done and crafted documentaries about him, and since I am a fan-girl adjacent to his works, I’ve watched most of them. I’m sharing this one because it illustrates clearly the mystery of his death. (And, when I tell students he married his 13-year-old cousin, the reaction is immediate, “Ewww!”
Not bad, not bad…
Poe died on October 7, 1849. I ‘celebrated’ this by instructing students in close reading and discussions about “The Cask of Amontillado.” Yes, a story with one of the most incorrigible ‘unreliable narrators’ and the unfortunate Fortunato. I adore Poe’s works, and I have made it very clear to my students that I didn’t pop out of the reader’s box knowing how to understand his prose. It’s taken me years of study, re-reading, researching, and discussing. In fact, I shared with them I spent the better part of hour trying to understand fully what this quote means:
I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.
Edgar Allan Poe
(By the way, dear reader, if you’re this far into this post, congratulations. You’ve entered my procrasti-writing zone where I am anxious about getting to the point.)
(And Montresor may have failed in his purpose of letting Fortunato know what he did wrong.) If Poe had been a modern writer, he would have been ridiculed, censored, and mocked on every social media platform. Marrying a child cousin is a big ick. And I still love his writing and works. I am not an expert but simply a dilettante. His works are so fun to teach because students can discover the throughlines of his thematic messages relatively easily, even if the language is archaic. They get it.
And they also used to get another author whose works I shared frequently, and I don’t have to translate (much) to modern English: Neil Gaiman.
And I am mourning him.
Yes, I believe what he did to harm women was egregious. I struggle to bring myself to read the reports. It seems he, like so many other men in positions of privilege, power, and opportunity, used his position to sexually harm women.
I have loved his writing for decades, and I have recommended his books. I’ve seen him speak two times, and his soft British voice lulls me to a comforting sleep. American Gods brought the epitome of mythology, religion, new world orders, and anthropomorphic gods to life. Coraline brought monstrous mothers with button eyes that we all face. Good Omens not only gave me a delightful view of angels and devils, co-written with the incomparable Terry Pratchett, but then an amazing series to watch, which is magnificent. But now all those people: the actors, writers, producers, set designers, etc., are out of a job. And for years, I used The Graveyard Book as a mentor text for one of the best first sentences in a novel, ever:
There is a short story I used to use occasionally because it was a great mentor text for word choice and writer’s craft, “Chivalry.”
“Mrs. Whitaker found the Holy Grail; it was under a fur coat.” ― Neil Gaiman, Chivalry
When we need to speak of authors in the past tense, to go from “love” to “loved,” we share a piece of ourselves that is dead, hurt, and aching. The whimsical feelings of epic fantasy and immersion have grave dirt and cemetery stones weighing our memories down, desecrating and defiling them.
I, as a reader, can never know the pain, shame, and horror the women he harmed know.
And this is just a thought exploration: JKR calls for death and harm to thousands of people. She defiled the Harry franchise for millions of us. Nazis did this, too. She is a TERF fascist. And there are dozens of authors who destroyed their reputation and the value of their literary skill with harmful acts: some toward their own children (Munro), some with harm similar to Gaiman (Alexie), and so many others. This is not their funeral, though, this eulogy is for Gaiman. And I don’t even want to get into Mists of Avalon.
This one hurts, Neil. Your authorial death hurts. I’m sure in 50, 100, 150 years if students read your works and are just as confused as mine are when they read Poe and Shakespeare, they will come to love your stories as I did, and because of the passing of time, they can disregard your human flaws. For now, you’re mentally chained up behind a wall, with a motley crown echoing jingling bells in memory.
I just had an epiphany: if I spent as much time actually making art and writing as I do collecting ideas, supplies, and instructions I would be the Queen of All the Things now.
Okay, appreciate that. I’m also in the mode of “what will I do differently, the same, or better next year?” but that’s a post for another time.
Here are a few ideas that passed my line of sight recently:
First is a drabble idea: While I’ve done sensory image focus on drabbles in the past, I am going to reshape it based on @seeceeread’s idea to focus on character building through smells. I won’t mention the alcohol in my instructions, though, because, you know, Rule No. 1: “Don’t get Mrs. Love fired.”
Sometimes, my body just knows when I’ve eaten too much junk. I crave fresh fruits or vegetables, and even drinking a glass of ice water feels like a luxury. I’ve been drinking a lot of ice water lately — partly because it’s my latest sensory joy and it’s helping me battle some depression. That might sound odd, but if you know, you know.
ANYWAY.
The point is, sometimes we know when we need a change, something fresh, something more authentic. One tiny part of this that may have larger benefits and impacts is that we need to go back to handwriting and possibly cursive, making marks, and small motor skills. (And for those bodies who cannot make marks in traditional ways, of course, provide assistance, technical or otherwise.) I can’t speak for other secondary teachers, but anecdotally, I’ve witnessed about two dozen-plus students whose handwriting is illegible.
We have a reading/literacy crisis, (and no, SOR is NOT the answer). It’s just another in a long line of folks trying to sell you a story. We also have forced-error barriers to students’ learning: the amount of tech, cell phones, devices, lack of keyboarding instructions, soft censorship of topics and book bans,
Anne Lutz Fernandez says it best and comes in a timely manner in her post, “In Praise of Paper.” Timely because about two weeks ago, I was thinking about going back to binders, three-hole punches, and tabs. I currently use composition notebooks, but due to my own ADHD, grief, and attrition, I have not maintained or sustained their use. And yes, by and large, it’s up to me. I do have students who will occasionally ask me if they need their notebooks that day, and because I don’t remind them daily, use falls off. But I’m not letting them go.
For many, cursive handwriting has negative connotations: rulers hitting knuckles, not being allowed to write with the sinister left hand, forcing perfectionism, and nothing but tears for children. And like my composition notebooks, I can only do and offer choices and knowledge in my classroom. Here is what I plan to offer students next year:
Provide cursive packets. Canva has many free templates.
AVID binder organization materials
Time to practice keyboarding skills. Many of the computer labs of the olden days have gone the way of rotary phones.
Also: I don’t think writing by hand is going to be a panacea for AI encroachment. I made this Google Site for myself, and some curated content to share with teachers/students: AI, Plagiarism, and Credible Work.
I typed these up and then hit alpha: alpha status does not imply heart status. The truth is what makes me me, and my life precious to me, is the substance and amalgamation of my memories and experiences.
Note: Hey, whatever…just needed a place to track and store some of my intrusive and silly thoughts. I know others have it harder, I know the world is on fire and being emulsified with a mixture of gasoline and blood…I know. The specters of mortal sins rattle their chains on national media sources, and the clowns hit the applause sign for our cues.
And as I gazed into the abyss, I had a passing thought: why was it so horrible that Mdme. Loisel wanted one night of fun? To feel pretty, admired, and feel like she was part of another economic class? Because whew-howdy, did she ever get punished. I imagine her scrolling through her social media feeds, seeing the friends and families she loves going on amazing trips, curating lives and experiences that are out of reach for me, and coming to the depressing realization I can only blame myself. I lost the necklace.
“The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.”
My husband picks me up from the airport after seeing my parents (my dad was in hospice at this point) and tells me he was just laid off.
February:
I said something that triggered the trolls on Twitter and ended up leaving Twitter (after building a following of other teachers, writers, etc. since 2009), being doxxed, harassed, and given a document search request by said trolls.
I turned 59 and had a fun “hobbit” themed party.
My dad passed away at the end of the month.
March:
My father-in-law isn’t doing too great, either.
Started making a video for my dad, and also offended my youngest sister, who promptly blocked me from communications.
My younger son went to visit my mom and stayed with her, and it was awkward. She did not communicate with me at all.
She’s speaking to me now through one channel.
My husband had taken over a lease from his dad, and it was time to turn it in, and we got suckered into another terrible loan.
Received some mana from heaven
April
I went to my dad’s memorial service, and it was beautiful.
May
My father-in-law passed.
At some point during this school year, another staff member was going to go to the Board over my tweet. Not sure if [redacted] went or not.
June
School is out at the end of June.
I rest for a bit.
July
I teach summer school
My husband and sons take a wonderful road trip down to California and also through Mesa Verde.
Somewhere over the summer I lost a college friend to suicide.
Somewhere over the summer I lost my cousin, who was one of the sweetest souls.
Have fun going-away party for my BFF
August
I don’t know. I was supposed to be in Ireland or Iceland. At least in my life plan, anyway.
September
School begins again/end of August
Still can’t shake ten-twenty pounds.
Celebrate our 31st anniversary.
October
This is the moment when my students will confuse Harper Lee (November) with Edgar Allan Poe (this month).
November
Finally paid off all the trips
Son’s roomate leaves him with all the rent. An expense we were barely covering during the good times.
Still chubby. Meds not working.
My best friend drives away in her bus. I will probably not see her again. I know this song.
Hello, insomnia, my old friend.
December:
Taking out predatory loans to get through to payday
Trying to hang on emotionally
Still showing up for students
Thinking about the various years of my husband’s underemployment and how capitalism sucks. It’s taken a toll on me. (And, he’s tried everything he can physically do.)
Still chubby.
In retrospect, (because is there any other kind of spect that stings as much?) my husband and I have maintained a particular philosphy/belief that serves us well: we make the best decisions with the information we have. I think most people do, even if they’re not aware of it. But there are shadowy forces that push on our decsisions, like the dopamine hits of crafting supplies and fast fashion. And damn, self, please: cut yourself some slack. Look at this year. My regrets are for the past four years when my spouse did have a job, and four years in his industry at his level is unheard of. For a time, I felt hopeful, like maybe we would actually start being able to save, fix the roof, go on a trip, or help with our sons’ finances and their dreams. I am not invited to out-of-state events because my friends know I’m perpetually broke. But then again I don’t get invited much anyway, and this isn’t me feeling pitiful for myself; I recognize that when I am the one “who leaves/moves” I lose that thread, the ties of tendons and bones. (Which is one reason why losing my local BFF fills me with grief…we were just getting started! We were just beginning our adventures! The ring was about to be thrown in Mordor!)
Financial Blunders
Responding to trauma and depression with purchases is definitely a curse, and a vicious spiral. My dad always said when you’re in a hole, stop digging. The problem is we hit many holes. I’m feeling the recurrant under-employed cycle throughout our financial lives together. One huge blunder was thinking I could be a SAHM during the years our boys were little. We tried. And my husband has the beautiful family trait of his family’s of being optimistic.
Fixed: getting my teaching degree for sustainable career was one of the best things I ever did. Probably leaving my former career was probably one of the worst.
Not having my spouse finish his degree early on was dumb. Or get his electrician’s license. His mom was right all along. Those computer jobs are garbage unless you’re one of the biggies in the company and have a yacht-ton of stock.
Blessings and Bounty
Oh, I feel better now. Rinsed out the gravel and silt from the wounds, and am pulling my head up toward the sun.
My list of blessings arrive on a wide horizon of hope, love, and creativity — I have an amazing life.
If I don’t continually write down the pain and mistakes, I am in danger of continuing to make them. And I literally and figuratively cannot afford to do that. I have shit to do, people.
While I may have lost the metaphorical necklace, and spent years replacing it only to find out my credit score hasn’t budged, I’m still existing not quite paycheck to paycheck, I still have some pretty cool gifts. If any of you reading this is taking this as a cautionary tale, “The Necklace” misses the point — it’s not about not deserving a night out on the town– we all do. But our celebrations and sharing are our best parts of being human and life on this planet. We let money block those moments too much. Have the potluck, split the check (with what each owes, and everyone leaves 20%), and get the career/profession that is sustainable: teaching, feeding, building, and solving: those are sustainable professions.
Now if we can only get the billionaires taxed properly.
There are some teaching traditions I love to keep — and writing a ‘suite of drabbles’ is one. This year I put together prompts based on names of colors. You’re welcome to comment and ask for more ideas, or the structure of this; however, it’s simple. Students write nine drabbles, choose their favorite one, and “share it’ with others. They get credit for writing all ten.
Thanks once again to Chanea Bond introduced to another brilliant educator, jwoz_teaches Josie | JWoz_Teaches·5h ago (TikTok) and while I dream of a world where I’m working side by side amazing ELA teachers like these women, alas, I will have to settle for digital hugs. Chanea alerted me to Josie’s Jenn’s “Soup, Salad, or Sandwich” question and during summer school last week we debated tacos. I’m leaning heavily toward sandwich, but can make a case for salad.
I’m going to take credit for the writing territories idea (even if she got it from multiple places)
And when paired with #writingterritories (no, I do not remember who gave me the idea, but I’ve tweaked it over the years, and pretty sure it came from a sessions with the Puget Sound Writing Project (National Writing Project). Kelly Love’s Writing Territories Graphic Organizer
Look, my friends, I miss being on Twitter, but I am never going back, especially now. I miss the conversations I had easily, and readily on that app, and @threads jumped onto my personal Instagram. I have no brand, no identity, and am all over the place. I share ideas all the time, but clearly never get a Kofi tip because my lemonade stand of awesome ideas was built using haunted lumber from a fungus-infested and used Dixie cups. The lemonade is delicious, but no one wants to take those chances in this chaos of a blog. I guess I’m just trying to say, I’m good at a lot of things, but packaging my ideas for market isn’t one of them. In the meantime, I’ll just share what I do, what I learn, mistakes and successes, and hope you stick with me.
So, summer school. There are many reasons why students must make up a semester’s worth of work: I’ve asked the current group, and the reasons range from making up from their freshmen year for health reasons to experiencing teachers they found…challenges with. Some teachers do not accept late work, and life got away from them. The cool thing is this allows me to use ‘creative constraints’ — what are the most valuable, transferrable, and interesting skills in #ELA?
In fact, if you are an English/Language Arts teacher in secondary education, consider your own framework and power curriculum. I’m not saying I have the answers, not by any means. But I will say it’s a creative and professional challenge I enjoy.
Some of these intentional moves include (for this year):
Building reading stamina with highly engaging texts.
Students choose their own books from my classroom library
Students may choose a book they were supposed to read in a prior grade, but didn’t get to it
I provide 30 minutes of classtime just for reading
Each student has a quick reader’s response journal they keep
Quick Writes: building sentences, paragraphs, and essays
There will be two short essays:
Literary analysis (use a short story; I’m planning on using The Lottery
Argumentative writing
Poetry Unit
Professional Communications
I have to thank Marcus Luther for the sentence idea. I took his work on sentence writing, created a hyper doc to the examples across the internet, and gave students the subject: a green dragon.
Summer school is only four weeks long, but two and a half hours a morning. A few more students joined me today, and it’s a full class. We’re moving fast, but so far, so good. Today I had a mini-lesson about sentence and paragraph writing, and challenged them to not think about paragraphs as being a set number of sentences, but as a complete idea.
This is my example of the sentences: if I didn’t do some correctly, I have no issue with being told. As an ELA teacher, I know my strengths and challenges; grammatical terms are not my jam.
And this is where things got fun: I asked students to write three paragraphs after the mini-lesson today. Going through my sentence examples, I asked them to decide which ones would be best suited for narrative, explanatory/information, or argumentative: this led to a discussion of those terms and making some writing decisions.
