*This post was first published on Two Writing Teachers on January 24, 2016. It is reposted here with permission.
By Kathleen Neagle Sokolowski
Last week, Donalyn Miller wrote a Nerdy Book Club post, entitled “Getting on the Bus.” She wrote, “I am intolerant about teachers and librarians who don’t read. I recognize this failing, but I have seen the power that a teacher or librarian’s knowledge of books has for students and the lack of interest children have for reading when their teachers don’t know much about books.” Donalyn wrote passionately about the need for teachers and librarians to be readers themselves and to share that reading life with their students. She issued a challenge for all of us in the “choir” she was preaching to, that we should have more conversations about helping other teachers to “get on the bus.” She said, “It’s not enough to count our blessings when our own schools and the schools in our communities do more to engage teachers, children, and families with reading. Children’s reading lives should not depend on their luck in getting a teacher who knows about books or a school with a librarian. All children deserve these opportunities. Every year.”
Donalyn Miller’s post was one I couldn’t put out of my mind. I responded to it on my personal blog, Courage Doesn’t Always Roar, last week. Stacey Shubitz, TWT’s Chief of Operations and Lead Writer, commented on my post and asked, “How do we preach to those who aren’t writing daily to get them to be teachers who write?” Donalyn challenged us as readers, but now we were considering the idea of educators as writers, and the importance of that for students. How could we further spread the message, that being an educator who writes is important, beyond what we are already doing?
In an interview with Scholastic, Donald Graves was asked if he had to choose one thing teachers should do when teaching writing, what would it be? He answered, “Write yourself. Invite children to do something you’re already doing. If you’re not doing it, Hey, the kids say, I can’t wait to grow up and not have to write, like you. They know. And for the short term and the long term, you’ll be doing yourself a favor by writing. All of us need it as a survival tool in a very complex world. The wonderful thing about writing is that it separates the meaningless and the trivial from what is really important. So we need it for ourselves and then we need to invite children to do what we’re doing. You can’t ask someone to sing a duet with you until you know the tune yourself.”
Katie Wood Ray addresses the idea of teachers as writers in her book What You Know By Heart: How to Develop Curriculum for Your Writing Workshop. She states, “This is why so many of us try-at least once- the things we are asking students to do in our writing workshops. We live in the world as writers, searching for and capturing ideas for writing. We keep notebooks with these ideas in them. We take some of those ideas and grow them into something bigger that we eventually write for real audiences or for other reasons that matter to us. We draft, revise, and edit those pieces. We share them with others and deal with their feedback in our revision. We write in a variety of genres and forms. We write about the same topics in different ways. We give our writing away to others, finding out how scary that can be, and how joyous. Basically, we try to do for ourselves the things we are going to teach students how to do.” Later, she writes, “We write so that we know what to teach about how this writing work gets done. We write so that we know what writers think about as they go through the process. We write so that our curriculum knowledge of the process of writing runs deep and true in our teaching. We write so that we can explain it all. (2002, 3)”
Yes, here at Two Writing Teachers, we write. We are a community that shares our Slices each Tuesday and all of March. Many of us blog at other times as well. Some of us are published authors of books. Some of us have spent summers with local sites of the National Writing Project, giving up weeks of summer freedom to explore what it means to be a writer. We keep notebooks and have special pens and give our writing as gifts. We share our writing with our students. But are we representative of most educators? Do most students learn to write from a teacher who regularly engages in writing? Do most schools promote the importance of educators writing?
This is a multifaceted topic with no simple solutions. I have many questions around this issue, including:
Educators- to write or not to write? That is the question, and here at Two Writing Teachers, we would confidently state our answer. We firmly and passionately believe teachers should write. We believe students benefit when they are led by a teacher who writes. We have a feeling you agree, but what about your colleagues and administrators who might not be as certain? How can we be the writing ambassadors in our schools and communities? We look forward to the conversation!
By Dr. Jane Maher
Two weeks ago, I got a longer-than-usual email filled with questions from Rachel, a young woman who is going to be teaching a non-credit writing course for the first time in the college program at the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women. She will not be teaching the course until Spring 2018, but she plans ahead. At the beginning of the summer, I had agreed to mentor her. We are good friends, we work well together, we respect each other, we do everything we can to support the program, and Rachel believes I am qualified to mentor her because I have been teaching writing for 20 years at the prison and for 35 years on the “outside.”
We had initially agreed that the best way to begin would be to email questions, thoughts, ideas, suggestions for readings, and we spent most of the summer doing this. I also forwarded scores of articles, blogs, websites, anything that I came across that would help Rachel to get a sense of the incredible resources available to us as teachers, and I’m hoping to get her to a few of our LIWP Saturday Series events. (Rachel took education courses as an undergraduate, but she does not have specific training in the teaching of writing.) Although I was sending everything from ILA, NCTE and Education Week articles to videos from the Teaching Channel, I felt confident and comfortable because Rachel responded in one of her emails: “I want to let you know that I really appreciate everything you have been sending and have been looking at it all.”
Rachel’s questions in that email were reflecting the concerns of all new teachers. But her questions were also reactions to some of the information and advice I had already sent to her. I had talked about the relationship between reading and writing, leading Rachel to ask, “How do I teach reading? How do I help students work on their reading skills?” In response to information I had sent about pre-writing as part of the writing process, Rachel asked, “Is pre-writing about organizing your writing at this stage or just writing? Do you believe in outlining? Do you provide other strategies for brainstorming?”
At about the same time I received Rachel’s email, I had begun to review my students’ essays from last fall in order to revise my syllabus and assignments as I prepared to teach WRIT 101 again this semester at Bedford Hills. (I teach WRIT 102 to the same cohort of students in the spring semester, so I am able to teach more effectively because I already know the students, their skills, their learning styles, and their interests—and they know me.) I found myself looking at my former students’ writing through the lens of Rachel’s questions, and I began to think more deliberately about the way I was going about mentoring Rachel. Up to this point, I was pretty much just passing information along, information that I thought she would find useful, information that addressed some of her questions, and information that I felt would inspire her. Rachel is one of the smartest people I know, and I remember thinking that she would find the field of composition studies engaging and important.
The question that made me really begin to examine the way I had been communicating and mentoring Rachel was one about sentences: “In the article you sent about developing voice,” she wrote, “it talks about sentence fluency. Is it okay to teach them to use short sentences?” I knew immediately why Rachel was asking this question. She is one of two full-time administrators of the college program at Bedford Hills, and in that capacity she often tutors the students, reviews their essays with them, mentors and supports them when they feel overwhelmed or when they are not earning the grades they want. And the students who seek help are often the ones who are struggling the most, thus Rachel has first-hand knowledge of what writing looks like when it is messy, disorganized, unclear.
I could have answered Rachel’s question in any number of ways, from citing more writing theorists to sending her a copy of NCTE’s position on the teaching of writing, but I was finally beginning to realize that I was guilty of what we accuse so many graduate education programs of doing: All theory, no practical, hands-on exposure. As someone who has been teaching not only credit-bearing, but basic (non-credit, developmental, remedial are some other terms used for these courses) writing for so long, I still harbor a secret suspicion that even the best theorists do not see, much less have to respond to and assess, the sentences our least proficient student writers produce.
I know the kind of sentences that had led to Rachel’s question because I know the kind of sentences Rachel has seen as she worked with the students in the learning center—some an entire page long, some unclear, some containing so many ideas that the reader has to work harder than the writer to figure out the relevance or meaning of the sentence, no punctuation. It did not take me very long to find such sentences as I reviewed my former students’ essays from early in the semester. I realized I needed to talk with Rachel about these sentences, and I needed to talk in such a way that Rachel would more deeply understand that we, the ones responsible for somehow fixing these sentences (read: these writers), must never view our students’ sentences as evidence of their deficiencies, because this leads us to the very solution that Rachel had suggested: to make their sentences shorter. As if getting our students to write less will make their writing clearer, more “correct.” Or worse, somehow hide the fact that they can’t write. I wanted to choose sentences that were problematic, but I wanted to show Rachel that every sentence students write contains evidence of their strengths as thinkers. Our task is not to get them to write shorter, simpler sentences; rather our task is to help our students to see that their sentences can be rethought, reorganized, rewritten, so they reflect what the students mean to say, make the connections the students mean to make, and lead to other sentences that develop their thoughts and ideas. I had been sending material to Rachel and she had been reading it assiduously, but I had been ignoring the most effective teaching tool of all: the students’ writing. It had been so easy and satisfying to send Rachel information and to hear back from her that she was “looking at it all.” But I had forgotten the most important component of teaching writing—the writers themselves.
I will continue to send Rachel articles and links and blogs and TED Talks and NCTE position papers, and titles of books and essays and articles that take my breath away that I want to share with my students (and that I want Rachel to share with her future students), but we have also decided to meet once a week during this semester to look at my students’ writing. To talk about it. To learn from it. And to become better teachers as a result of this time-consuming, difficult, challenging, but engaging and important work.
LIWP Writing Marathon at Walt Whitman Birthplace, May 13, 2017
*Written in the home where Walt Whitman was born
By Elizabeth Fonseca
I was here before for a poetry seminar given by Paul Muldoon and Kim Addonizio. We sat crowded in the simple room across the hall—the other fireplace in this historic home—and talked about poetry. It was so fitting in this environment—so close and intimate with the lowish ceilings—and so like poetry: the uneven floorboards and ceilings; the beautiful blue paint of moldings and door jambs meeting the scuffed-up wood of the floor; the burned-black back of the fireplace with its sooty bricks. Once again, how fitting, this time to write in the house of this writer, this giant of American letters, to write in this old house, a little dim, on a chilly, blustery May day.
What was Walt Whitman’s everyday weather? Was Walt the man as big and blustery as the poet’s persona? Or, like many poets, did he have a secret shy self? Was he reserved? Was his poet’s voice so sure, so resounding, so all-encompassing, the self he could allow out only in his poetry—yet if you met him…Was he quiet? Was he bookish? Did he need his time alone?
I celebrate myself, and sing myself from this old wooden house, from this too-cool, rainy day in May.
By Mark Jackett*
In her dotage, our cat grows profound.
She sits close to our faces,
stares into us with her jaundiced eyes,
stretches out one paw in our direction.
"These are my people. Family is all
that matters. As long as we are
together, that is enough."
She starts the night in bed with us,
but can't sleep, all her unfulfilled
dreams gnawing at her, waking
her from her restless slumber.
She stalks the silent house looking for her youth.
"Remember how you always thought, when I stared into
an empty corner, that I was staring at
dead people? You were right."
Sometimes she curses at us, chastising us for
not filling her food fast enough. "Where the hell
have you been? I'm dying, dammit!" She gulps the
drips the second the shower stops, like the water is her life
escaping down the drain. But it's alright. She's in pain, so we
forgive her hostile idiosyncrasies. Sometimes
she sits in the wet shower, not drinking, just waiting.
She wants us to know she goes in peace.
"I forgive you all the times you tripped over me as
I sat in the absolute center of the kitchen floor.
I forgive you all the times you locked me in
the basement, not wanting my rattling of the closet
to awaken you at 5 a.m. when you'd just rocked the
babies back to sleep at 2.
I forgive you all the times you yelled at me when
I threw up. I can't blame you; I wouldn't want to
clean up that mess either, especially off the carpet."
She anticipates her imminent mortality.
"Soon," she says, "when I stare into an empty corner,
I will be staring at myself."
On April 1 of 2015, I happened to see a tweet from the YA author Jason Reynolds sharing his poem for the first day of #NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. At that point, I was very familiar with National Poetry Month and National Novel Writing Month, but I did not know that the two had been combined. I quickly cranked out a poem and posted it, and continued to do so every day over the course of the month.
Looking back at my notebook, I see that on April 27th of that year I wrote the line “In her dotage, my cat grows profound.” I have some additional notes on the page, and then on the next two pages a full draft of the poem that would eventually become “We Named Her Karma.” My first title was “Yellow,” referring to her eyes, written in green ink to contrast with the original black. I did some other revisions in green, and then some additional revisions that don’t appear in my notebook, so they must have only occurred on the computer, before getting to the final draft. I must give credit to my wife, Bevin, because I know that I made some cuts from the original draft based on her feedback.
After April of 2015, I gathered the poems from #NaPoWriMo that I thought were worth anything and started submitting them. Like all writers, in any genre, should do, I read some work from the publications that I was submitting to rather than just submitting blindly. In July of 2016, I received an email, which I saw on my phone while I was Upstate visiting my mom, telling me that Oberon Poetry Magazine had accepted my poem for publication. According to my wife, I screamed, “like a little girl” upon seeing this email. This is my first poetry publication. My poem appeared in Oberon’s fourteenth annual publication. They had a lovely publication party at Gallery North in Setauket in October, at which I was honored to read my poem. Standing in front of a group of strangers, hearing them laugh, seeing them tear up, and talking to them afterward, was one of the highlights of my life. I wrote a poem. It got published. People laughed and cried. What could be better than that?
A couple of final points. First, I submitted three poems for the Oberon Poetry Prize, and the one that was selected for publication (though not the prize winner) is my least favorite of the three. But hey, you never know what people are going to like. Lastly, while one might think so from this poem, I am not a “cat person.” That cat was a pain in my ass. But because I was writing regularly, every day doing the work of crafting random thoughts into a coherent form that could be called a poem, I managed to put something together that at least some people thought was worthy of being read by others. I hope you think so, too. Enjoy.
*From Mark: Thank you to the editors of Oberon Poetry Magazine, where this poem first appeared.
By Vincent Caravana
I never liked to write when I was in elementary school; I saw it as a chore. I can vividly remember complaining to my mother when I was given an assignment—stamping my feet and throwing a tantrum—and I can equally remember her response: “In the time that you’ve been complaining about writing this, you could have been halfway done already!” I moped back to my room and began scrawling out what was required of me. Later on that year, Miss Richmond told me my handwriting was awful and I got a C (my only one!) in penmanship. I again complained to my mother and told her to receive a grade on your handwriting was “stupid.” She told me to try harder. Such is the power of writing!
In junior high school, things weren’t much better. Again I completed the obligatory assignments. Again I dreaded them. I learned the five-paragraph formula for an essay and, as a linear thinker, I employed it on every subsequent assignment throughout junior high and high school. In this “pre-rubric” era, my grades came back in increments of five points and a 90 or better with scarcely any attention to the comments written on my paper would close out this assignment and my learning experience with it. Mission accomplished. Until the next time…
In between memorizing Macbeth monologues and creating a movie poster for The Great Gatsby, an occasional research paper would be assigned. This was no problem. We spent days in the library during class, and my friends and I had it down to a science: If four sources were required, you found five, listed four in your Works Cited page, and plagiarized completely from the fifth. Grade of 95? Check. “Watch the spacing in your Works Cited page,” was my commentary. Will do.
In English 12H (not English 12 AP for fear there would be too much writing), Mr. Merrow started to give us daily writing assignments. “For what are you most grateful in life?” “Write page 284 of your autobiography.” “Write about anything you want today. It’s a free write.” (“Anything I want?! Please tell me what the assignment is.”) This went on for several months, deep into my senior year.
“I haven’t gotten any of the grades back for these,” I said one day. He replied that he knew and told me to keep writing. Sometime after that we were assigned an essay to write on Man’s Search for Meaning. My grade was an 85 and I was crushed. Hadn’t I followed the five-paragraph formula? Hadn’t I explained in my introductory paragraph the three things I would talk about in my developmental paragraphs? Hadn’t I had a thesis and an engaging opening? This was not possible. I immediately complained to the classmates at my neighboring lockers; they couldn’t have cared less. I eventually got over it.
These mini-writing assignments eventually led to a major 12th grade honors English writing assignment, a daunting prospective opus called “My Philosophy of Life.” My dread of writing reached new heights. What formula could I employ for success here? What is the right answer? Which will earn me the best grade? WHAT MUST I DO TO PLEASE MY TEACHER?
And then one day I began the actual assignment and I thought about the tenets that had governed my existence to that point (heavy stuff!). I began to get really introspective about things. It was only then that I wrote my first outline and first rough draft. Prior to this my writing assignments had been an exercise in completion. Though drafts were sometimes required, I was of the mindset that a “draft” meant something that was handwritten; the final draft would be typed on a word processor (Brother, of course--this was the big time) and placed in an attractive report cover. (These were the things that separated honor students from the rest of the pack, naturally.) But I digress. This was the first time that writing made me think. I had started to...enjoy it.
College came and as a commuter, I selected my classes based on times. “I need a filler between 11:00AM and 12:45PM on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Thus began my Creative Writing adventure. We sat in a circle and had to read aloud our work, critiquing our classmates’ “piece,” when it was their turn to read. “Talk to each other, not to me,” our professor commanded. The pervert to my left tinged everything he wrote with sex, and the girl to my right in a dirty flannel turned everything into a maudlin piece about Kurt Cobain. But my interest grew. I found myself jotting down ideas in the middle of the night, journaling about my day, and keeping a marble notebook reviewing books I had read and movies I had seen. (I don’t know why.) Such is the power of writing.
After college I discovered Anna Quindlen, David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs, Laurie Notaro and some of my other favorite authors and memoirists. I participated in the Long Island Writing Project after I became an English teacher and continued on my “Writing has no rules” trajectory. I “gave up” three weeks during my summer, initially to earn 6 (!) graduate credits, but I found myself entertained, inspired, and engaged. The credits became incidental as I followed one particular assignment where we were permitted to find our own writing space and write about something personal. I sat on the floor in a corner and wept as I wrote on a topic not important here. Such is the power of writing.
As an inspired English teacher, I assigned my students writing portfolios and gave my students the freedom that had so enticed me to write towards the end of my teenage years. There were assignments and “free writes” and prompts and journal jumpstarts. There were drafts and final copies, outlines and peer editing sheets. Most of all, there was self-expression. When I graded them (creative writing is a terrible thing to assess since there is no rubric that is effective), I eschewed a numerical grade and instead wrote each student a personalized letter. On the last day of school when I distributed their portfolios, the quiet hush that took over the room amid the hustle and bustle of a looming summer vacation validated all of the reasons I became a teacher; the students’ smiles and pride confirmed that validation. Such is the power of writing.
My first crop of students who completed portfolios are 35; one student emailed me last year to tell me she found her portfolio and was so proud to look back on it and relive her high school days. Such is the power of writing. It has changed my life.
Vincent A. Caravana is an educator in the Lindenhurst UFSD. He has served in the capacity of English teacher, middle school and high school assistant principal, English chairperson and coordinator, and now Deputy Superintendent. He is a lifelong learner with a passion for reading and writing and is a proud alumnus of the Long Island Writing Project, which he maintains has been his best professional development to date.
By Heidi Atlas, Co-Director of the Long Island Writing Project
(featured above with the one and only Ralph Fletcher)
When do you get the opportunity to meet Lois Lowry or S.E. Hinton? Or witness Sandra Cisneros make a surprise entrance into a Harvey Daniels’ writing workshop? While some people may have measured their lives in coffee spoons, I think mine is measurable in English teacher conventions. I have been attending the National Council of Teachers of English Conventions and National Writing Project’s Annual Meetings for much of my teaching life. What extraordinary speakers and workshops I have seen and heard! I urge you, if you’ve never been to an NWP or NCTE convention, to join me!
Keynote speakers at NWP annual meetings have included the hilarious poet Billy Collins, the beloved English teacher-guru Kelly Gallagher, and Donalyn Miller, author of The Book Whisperer. At NCTE, over the years, I have been inspired by Nancy Atwell and Donald Graves, two of my favorite writing heroes. I’ve seen the late great Frank McCourt speak, and enjoyed listening to Jacqueline Woodson and Linda Christensen present. Last November I was newly-inspired by a non-fiction reading and writing workshop given by Kylene Beers, Bob Probst, and Donalyn Miller. Esteemed speakers and meaningful workshops give convention-goers a plethora of unique and interesting strategies to consider and bring back to their classrooms.
So many new ideas have emerged and come to fruition as a result of attending these conventions. Pittsburgh 2005 was one of the most memorable. I really felt the need to take some concrete action when I came out of a particularly compelling Urban Sites Network workshop focusing attention on African American learners. It was from brainstorming with people from our site and other Writing Project sites that we decided to apply for an Urban Sites grant to create a Race Inquiry Group in my school district, where the increasing diversity of the student population was not reflected in the predominantly white teaching population. We received a grant for $5000 for the first year, and gathered together a group of teachers, assistant principals, and guidance counselors to dialogue about issues of race and equity in education. We read Peggy McIntosh’s “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack” and pieces by Lisa Delpit and Jonathan Kozol, and wrote, reflected, and shared. Engaging in this dialogue was powerful. Our group presented workshops within our district, included students in the conversation, and continued over three years. Our Race Inquiry Group even presented at NCTE when it was in New York City.
I presented at NCTE in 2012 with Melanie Hammer, the then Director of the LIWP, on work we did with the NWP’s “Literacy in the Common Core Initiative.” It was held in Las Vegas that year, a short time after Hurricane Sandy. I remember waking up on the morning of our presentation at 6 AM to prepare for our 8 AM workshop. It was odd seeking coffee in the casinos of the MGM Grand, where a few bleary-eyed gamblers who were still hoping to make up the previous night’s losses remained at mostly-vacant slot machines. That was quite the venue for an English teacher convention! Disney World in Orlando was another unusual site for an English teacher gathering.
One fun NCTE convention event was flying to Atlanta with my then 13-year-old daughter. We had been in a mother-daughter book group for many years, and my proposal “The Mother-Daughter Book Group: Engaging and Empowering our Daughters” was accepted. We bonded as we traveled together, presented about our shared unique experience, and scouted out authors and books at the exhibits. We met many young adult authors including Laurie Halse Anderson, Paul Zindel, and Ralph Fletcher, who all graciously signed books and talked YA literature with my adolescent daughter.
The Exhibit Hall showcases thousands of books and programs for perusal and purchase. You’ll find lots of free stuff – fabulous posters for every classroom K-12, free books, and as I said, authors signing everywhere. When I left my own children to attend these yearly gatherings, I would bring back many delicious, delightful new books for them. Throw a Kiss Harry became a beloved favorite in our house, as did Kevin Henke’s Lily’s Plastic Purple Purse and Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge by Mem Fox. Of course I would scout out the latest young adult books to bring back and recommend to my 8th graders. I loved meeting Ismael Beah, author of A Long Way Gone, who was signing books for his adoring English-teacher fans. I would do a book talk for my middle school students and tell them about Beah who had endured unimaginable pain in Sierra Leone. He witnessed his family and village decimated by rebel soldiers, and was then forced into becoming a killer himself by day and a drug addict by night. He was ultimately “rehabilitated” by the UN and brought to the US. And there was Ismael Beah – in the flesh - now signing books for elated English teachers, standing on a long line, waiting to meet this literary and real-world hero. And while on these lines, you can always hear enthusiastic recommendations regarding the latest and greatest books from dedicated colleagues in the trenches.
I enjoy one-stop shopping at the Exhibit Hall, since the convention is always held a week before Thanksgiving. One year Temple Grandin was signing copies of her new book on autism, and there was my present to bring home to my psychologist husband. I’d also bring home the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, fresh off the presses, to give to a middle-school aged cousin who devoured that series. In addition, the Heinemann booth as well as the NWP and NCTE booths are chock full of the latest professional books. There is something for everyone. This is Halloween ‘trick or treating’ for English teachers!
Perhaps one of the greatest things about attending NWP and NCTE is meeting people from Writing Project sites from around the country. I’ve had such rich conversations with Writing Project people from Oklahoma as well as Montana. One year at NWP and NCTE in Orlando, a group of us from the LIWP ran into Linda Christensen on the docks at Disney World, awaiting a boat that was to take us to a Yosemite-themed restaurant. We enjoyed an amazing dinner and meaningful conversation with Linda, author of Teaching for Joy and Justice, and other wonderful resources. It’s also a perfect opportunity to meet with our Empire State Writing Project Network (ESWPN) partners to share ideas and plan conferences together. Rooming with soulmates like Darshna Katwala and Andrea Kaufman only make these convention experiences more delightful.
NWP Annual Meetings take place on the Thursday before the Thanksgiving weekend, and NCTE begins Friday and continues through the weekend. Many school districts do allocate money for conventions, so it’s always a good idea to inquire if you can get some funding. This year’s keynote speakers include Diane Ravitch and Ta-Nehisi Coates! Hope to see you soon, perhaps in Atlanta, this November 17? Shall we say Pittypat’s Porch for dinner?
By Barbara Suter
As I listened to the high-school students recounting their stories to the audience of how they immigrated to the United States, I couldn't help but admire their courage and confidence. I remember myself at that age; timid and easily intimidated by my elders, I never would have had the gumption to "tell my story" nor did I even realize I had one to tell.
I knew immediately that the poise and articulation of these students was largely due to the influence of my colleague, their high-school ENL teacher who had invited me to this event showcasing their narratives of their life stories. She is very good at making her ENL students feel welcome and giving them the tools they need to survive in their "new world." I later learned from her that the students had also had the opportunity to work closely with two trainers from the award-winning radio enterprise known as "The Moth" in biweekly, focused sessions designed to prepare them to tell their personal stories.
The "take-away" for me of this performance was to experience the empowered "voices" of these young people, the most valuable gift they could have been given by the very dedicated educators who have worked so closely with them. I realized while listening to them speak in English that once you "own your story," nobody can change it. You are who you are, with no apologies and no excuses.
The power of having a "voice" is not to be underestimated. Without one you are invisible. You cannot help yourself or others you care about. You are not counted as someone with a claim to what life has to offer. You become the victim of forces beyond your control. We all know about and have read about people who are invisible in our culture and in others. It was clear to me after this performance that these students would no longer be invisible; they were ready to begin to claim their place in their new society and they would become responsible, as much as possible, for their own fate and the fate of those they care about.
So how does a non-native English speaker acquire a "voice" to advocate for him/her self? This is one of the most challenging parts of being an ENL teacher. Yes, you teach vocabulary, grammar, idioms, pronunciation, slang...all the linguistic components of a language. But even more importantly, you teach how to live in the new language. You model for your students how to make this new language part of their life...a meaningful part. You want them to be able to learn in this new language, to communicate with others, to be able to communicate their feelings with appropriate words, to ask questions and seek answers. You want them to learn to love English as a part of who they are.
My colleague does all these things and more. She teaches the linguistic components of English to her high school students, but she also teaches them how to use the English language in ways that will benefit them in their new lives. She knows that her students' command of English, or lack of, will either help them find their way, or become an obstacle to what they hope to achieve. This is the work I saw when I witnessed the story-telling performances of her students. They are not only using English to communicate with the audience; they are using their "voice" to make a vital connection to their new culture, to show the audience how they are the same and different, that they are not invisible.
Isn't that what we all strive for?
By Nicolette James
I strive every day to be just a little bit better than I was the day before. Whether it’s being a bit more grateful, compassionate, or disciplined, it is my daily intention to consciously improve in some aspect of my life. With the summer offering a calmer pace at which to focus on doing that, I always look forward to having the extra time to dedicate to putting bigger plans for growth into place. One of my growth goals this summer is to expand my comfort zone in a realistic way that is applicable to my daily life. I wasn’t thinking bungee jumping or mountain climbing so it was much more difficult than I had imagined to think of practical ways to stretch myself a bit. Serendipitously, my friend Kathleen provided me with a just-in-time suggestion. She recommended that I use Twitter to connect with like-minded educators as I embarked on my summer learning projects..
I have known Kathleen Sokolowski for 15 years. We met through the Long Island Writing Project where we have worked together for many of those years co-facilitating the summer institutes as well as serving on the leadership team. We share similar passions and have had countless conversations about teaching and learning. As kindred spirits, she is someone whose opinion I value very much. She told me of her fairly recent experience with Twitter as a means of connecting with other educators and explained that it has reignited her teaching passion. She shared that experience with me two summers ago, but for some reason when she suggested that I give it a try this summer, the notion stuck.
As a longtime gadget geek and early adopter of all things tech, I'm by no means afraid of using technology. I use it and teach it and embrace it as a means to living a more productive and collaborative life. I'm also a very friendly person, in person, but I tend to be pretty “unsocial” in the cyber world. I have an account on just about every social media platform since their inception, but I rarely, if ever, use them. I just never got into posting what I was having for breakfast, where I went or what I wore last night and snapping a picture in front of the location to prove it. I have always felt that if I had an experience and my own memories of it, along with the folks who were there, that was enough proof for me. I didn't see the need in having other people know about it if they weren't there. After all, why would they care? I am also a firm believer in being fully present wherever I am. For me, that means giving my full and undivided attention to anyone or anything that is before me. By definition, that also means not using my cell phone while someone is speaking to me or while my attention should be focused on the activity at hand. It bothers me that so many people seem unbothered by that. Thus, my growth challenge was born.
Ask me to speak to a room full of people-- Sure! I can do that. Ask me to try an exotic new food. I can do that too. Ask me to walk up to and hug a stranger, I don't think I’d have a problem with that. My comfort zone would still be fully intact and unstretched. But ask me to use my phone while I'm supposed to be listening? GULP. Ask me to send out a tweet about something I'm doing while I’m actually doing it. GASP! You may as well request my first born next. I know. I know. What’s the big deal, right? Well, that is a big deal for me, and so I was presented with the perfect opportunity to do something uncomfortable and perhaps even mind-changing.
I was able to face these scary demons at the Edcamp leadership conference I attended recently. During the session, I looked around at a room full of participants all with cell phones in hand. Everyone was tapping and chatting away. They were all engaging with the members in the room, but it seemed that they were equally engaged with those outside of the room as well in a way that actually contributed to the energy in the workshop. So I decided to take a stab at doing so myself. I tentatively took out my phone and put it on my lap. I left it there for a few minutes and slowly placed it on the desk. I tried not to make eye contact with the presenter so she wouldn’t think that even the last person who had been listening attentively, decided to join the others in being rude. After a few minutes, I picked up my cell and logged into my twitter account. I didn't go crazy, but during the session I sent out a few tweets that captured some of the learning that was taking place. It was the first time I had ever done that. Several moments later a Twitter friend responded and thanked me for sharing the information and said that it had made his day. Knowing that eased some of the tension that I was experiencing. I was glad to be able to share with the key statements and ideas that we were sharing with each other during the session with a wider audience. And the presenter didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she encouraged everyone to share twitter handles and to tweet pictures of the graphics she displayed on the SmartBoard.
Am I a convert? Do I believe that it's okay to “talk and tweet”? To divide one’s attention between tasks? No, I don't think I'm there yet. I still feel much better about giving my full attention to one activity at a time. Especially if one of them involves people who are physically in front of me. I still feel that it is inherently rude for me to text while others are talking. But I also know that “times are a changing” and perhaps I may have to as well. I don't think I'll ever become a person who shares a picture of a restaurant meal before I devour it, but I certainly plan to share more of what I have learned and how I continue to grow.
This is the end of another year of teaching
But it is the beginning of a respite for the body and soul
This is the end of another year of testing and calculating
But it is the beginning of several months with no benchmarks
This is the end of rushing to meet deadlines and multitasking
But it is the beginning of a season of being in the moment
This is the end of worrying about keeping everyone on task
But it is the beginning of a season of letting go
This is the end of frantic lunch breaks and early morning meetings
But it is the beginning of days that begin and end naturally
This is the end of worrying about assessment, particularly your own
But it is the beginning of being the person you choose to be
This is the end of one year in your life that you can't change
But it is the beginning of another year that you can
Happy Summer to All!
By Darshna Katwala, Director of the Long Island Writing Project
*Inspired from a shared reading by Barbara Suter and the writings of teachers at an LIWP Poetry Workshop
For being a keen observer and being rewarded
For being mindful and meditative and even pause
For being in the moment and carefree
For being able to juggle the emotional roller coaster
For what matters
For being human and bringing empathy to the equation
For the conundrums
For being able to make sense of the world and being cathartic
For being able to imagine and express ideas
Here’s to an exchange of words and becoming and connecting
Here’s to creativity
Here’s to engineering your own learning
Here’s to creating equity for all learners
What’s your mantra?
Find your meaning
LIWP Guest Bloggers
Each month, a LIWP teacher will share some thoughts on teaching, writing, and life! If you are interested in being a guest blogger, please contact Kathy Sokolowski at email@example.com
Long Island Writing Project