My Little No Social Media Experiment (LNSME): Week 1

Day 6. Approximately 143 hours with little contact from the outside world. Okay, fine, if I take out sleeping hours I suppose that's about 30 hours less this week. 113 hours. to be fair, I'll round it down to 110. Happy now?

The thing is, I expected this to be one of those excruciatingly painful experiments. The kind where I'm rattling my tin cup against the metaphorical metal bars of my self-imposed prison, screaming into the emptiness of my own existence in hopes of salvation.

Or perhaps something a bit less dramatic. Regardless, I prepared myself for much wailing and gnashing of teeth. My Little No Social Media Experiment (LNSME = Lonesome??)

But after 110 hours (or 113, or 143, or for Pete's sake, who even cares at this point...) hanging out mostly with my own thoughts, the truth has revealed itself to be a much happier place than my nightmare anxieties would have led me to believe were possible.

Source

Here's what I've learned this week:

Day 1: It seriously bums me out to not tweet the happenings in my classroom. So many amazing things happened this week that I wasn't able to share. And it's not so much about the sharing, even. It felt as if these precious moments between my young learners and myself were just disappearing, unrecorded.

Day 2: My Day One app became my salvation. It's as easily accessible during class as Twitter, has the capability to tag posts, and lets me record photos and text to capture the many spectacular learning moments happening in class each day. Huzzah!

Day 3: Instead of simply tweeting tiny fragments of the day, I began true reflections in Day One. Long rambling recordings of my teaching with reflections and plans for the future. So much more thoughtful than the tweets could ever be. Hm. Am I on to something?

Day 4: Pathetic shameful reveal -- I miss using FaceBook and Twitter to quell my boredom at stoplights, while The Hubs is driving, and in any 1-2 minute transitional time. I don't think I realized how often I sated my need to be constantly entertained through social media. I've started listening to Podcasts while driving. Highly recommend This Creative Life and The Moth.

Day 5: I've dreamt every night this week. My old dreams are back; the long epic movies filled with vivid detail, interesting characters, and enough story to fill my journal when I wake in the morning. If this is the only benefit from cutting out social media, it is worth it.

Day 6: I've written every day this week. Anywhere from 30 minutes to over an hour. A very old nonfiction picture book idea resurfaced, and I'm fleshing it out while trying to determine if I want to stay true to nonfiction or use the original event that spawned the desire to write this book and create something more of a story from it. I'm enjoying the process, and writing it simply for myself. I've written some goals and will make a few phone calls this week in hopes of setting up interviews to gather some of the research I need to keep working on it.

Besides the extra time writing this week, I've accomplished more around the house, tackled some projects at work, and picked up a new book which I'm almost finished reading. It's called An Unnecessary Woman, by Rabih Alameddine, and I absolutely adore it.

I miss the friends I only ever have contact with through FaceBook. I do not miss the visual noise and mental junkyard of constantly scrolling through miles upon miles of nonsense. For the first time in more years than I care to admit, time feels purposefully enjoyed. Not lonesome, but mindfully lovely.

And that, my friends, makes all the difference.

#EveryDayinMay Poetry Friday with Tellagami

Make sure to go see what Crystal is up to today!

This week's Poetry Friday Link Up is hosted by Elizabeth Steinglass. For more wonderful poetry, hop on over there and check out all the links!

My supervisor recently gave me copies of The Poetry Friday Anthology by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong for both my campuses. There are weekly poems inside for grades K-5, along with tips on reading each poem with your class. I've only scanned it briefly so far, but I'm eager to read through several more poems! I thought it might be fun to make videos for teachers to use next year in class with some of the poems -- you guys, if I could stand on my head and recite poetry, and if it would get more poetry into classrooms -- I would do it!

So here is my first attempt! I used a fun app called Tellagami. It's free, and allows you to create a character and either record your voice or use text to speech to animate a 30 second video. You can choose from the backgrounds provided or upload your own image.

This is me reciting Night Comes by Deborah Chandra, which is in the 5th grade section for week 32 and chosen as a poem for noticing metaphor and simile. What do you think?

#EveryDayinMay - Poetry Friday

Pop on over to Write.Sketch.Repeat. for more poetry!

In class this week, we looked at several of Rilke's poems. Afterward, we were told to choose one title and consider how we would write our own poem of the same title.  I have long been an admirer of Rilke's poetry, and the selections our professor had chosen made it difficult for me to settle on the title I wanted to focus on. Eventually I went with Going Blind.

The first stanza begins:

She sat just like the others at the table.
But on second glance, she seemed to hold her cup
a little differently as she picked it up.
She smiled once. It was almost painful.

You can read the rest here.

When thinking about the title, I immediately imagined a blindness much different than the loss of sight. It was interesting to view a title and then consider how I could make it my own. This is something I haven't done with my own young writers, but hope to soon in the future. They never fail to amaze me with their creativity. Luckily we're reading Flora & Ulysses right now, which gives me a good opening to play with some poetry!

Here's my first unedited draft from class. I really like the idea behind the words, but I haven't found the right flow yet. Hoping it will evolve as I play with it more in the future.

Going Blind
Just a moment,
she'd say.
I need to fetch the mail.

An easy thing,
to fetch the mail--
down the walk
and back again.

Just a moment,
she'd say,
I need to fetch the mail.

Shuffle out,
shuffle in,
let the conversation
begin again, coffee cooling
in untouched cups.

I listen to her stories,
once,
twice--
on a yawning spiral afternoon
perhaps a third.

Just a moment,
she'd say,
I need to fetch the mail.

Shuffle out,
shuffle in,
let the conversation
begin again, forgotten coffee
cold on the table.

She laughs,
looks away.
Covers up mistakes
we all pretend
to not see.

Then, again--
just a moment,
she'll say.
I need to fetch the mail.

Be sure to stop by Crystal's blog today and
read all about her adventures in New Orleans!

#EveryDayinMay - Go Create Stuff

Way back in the old days, long before blogging officially became a thing, I had my own little corner of the Interwebs where I posted my poetry and short stories. These were the days when AOL and CompuServe ruled the vastness of our techno-community, a time just beyond the screeching connectivity of halted Internet service and not quite at the doorstep of the luxury of wireless anything.

It was a simpler time, friends.

I had a smattering of followers and even a site dedicated to poetry submissions so I could share the love of meter and rhyme far and wide.

Quite proud of my website designing prowess and writerly expertise, I shared my creations with my then-husband.

He quietly, oh-so-slowly read through my poems while I waited just beside him with star-bedazzled Anime eyes to reap the rewards of my brilliance.

"This is demented," he said, looking up at me with his Cro-Magnon forehead wrinkled, his face pinched. "Anyone that writes this kind of stuff has something seriously wrong with them." 

Picture the scene, dear readers -- my tiny little too-full heart imploding in my chest, the now dull Anime stars falling from my eyes, my frame wilting beneath the weight of his words.

It wasn't long before I stopped posting my writing, and then stopped accepting submissions for my site. It wasn't long before I read and reread every word I wrote, searching for the delusional demon he saw hiding there.

It wasn't long before I quit writing entirely, not able to trust my own voice to float in a sea of his condemnation.

It also wasn't long before we divorced, but that's another story for a different day.

The thing about writing, about all art, is this: it's yours. You can put it out there for all the world to see, and they will definitely have an opinion.

Don't we all?

So some may hate it, call it demented, laugh at it, or completely ignore it. And that's perfectly fine. Some may love it. Some may need it. Some may take it and fold themselves into it and feel bigger and brighter and better just for having experienced it. And that also, is perfectly fine.

But at the root of it all, beneath the flowery expression that the world sees -- it is still yours. What truly matters is how you feel when you're in the act of making it. How you feel when it's finished and you stand back and breathe it in. What matters is what you learn in the process of each creation, and how you change because of it.

So keep creating. Throw it out into the wide world and say, "I made this. Enjoy. Or don't. You're welcome."

And then create some more.

Welcome to Every Day in May, where my incredible friend Crystal and I will be posting -- get this -- every. day. in. May. Some days we'll post on the same topic, some days we'll be wildly different. And that, as well, is perfectly fine too.

I hope you'll join us. Leave a link in the comments so we can find our way to your creation and tell you how wonderful you are.

#SOL14 - On Being a Writer

Last night I (finally) received feedback on the revised version of my first short story in the class I'm taking. To be honest, my first short story in years.

It began as an activity on creativity in class -- playing with words as a group, choosing five collectively, and each writing our own story from those words.

One of the words gave us the setting: Tuscany.

The rest of the story sort of just tumbled out: a woman, something precious lost, the inability to recover.

After class, I couldn't shake the story from my mind.

Our second paper was due in two weeks, so I asked if I could continue working on it and turn that in for my paper.

I wanted to keep the story short, but add enough detail to let the reader experience the trauma the main character went through. I researched Florence, hoping a reader would find themselves in the streets of Florence and not realize the writer had never been there. I worried and toiled over my word choices, unsure that I was conveying the emotion that felt so important to me.

I listened to classical music written by Italian composers. For whatever reason, it helped. I found a piece by Resphigi titled Pines of Rome, and the second movement, Pines Near a Catacomb seemed to mimic the flow of the story. It was perfect.

I reworked my story, including a few musical terms, and kept the length just about right for reading it from start to finish in the time Pines Near a Catacomb takes to reach the final note.

The Husband listened to me read it endlessly, a friend read it and offered feedback, and I tweaked it a bit more, wanting each word to have meaning. No fluff.

When our professor handed back our papers last night, he asked a few of us to read to the class. I was one of the few. I hadn't expected that. My heart raced.

Sharing isn't exactly my strongest quality.

But I read, fighting to keep my voice steady.

The feedback was illuminating. They were shocked I'd never been to Italy and pained by the heartache my main character faces. Their feedback was detailed and purposeful and exactly what I needed to hear. This is why I went back to school. These moments, to build my craft and my confidence. It's worth everything.

#SOL14 - Sleepover!

Tonight my oldest niece and nephew are spending the night with the Littles. It's been a night full of games, laughter, and getting creative so everyone could have a tent for bedtime...

Fish Friday is a hit!

The girls get some Minecraft time after a round or two of Jenga.

K came up with the idea to use "super tape" to make an upstairs tent!

Everyone tucked happily away in tenting slumberland!

#SOL14 - Portrait of the Self

Yesterday I wrote about a field trip to the Amon Carter Museum, and how two of the experiences there have resonated with me through the years. I failed to share a photograph of the sculpture I referenced yesterday, but it's worth a look:

A Bronc Twister, Charles M. Russell; Amon Carter Museum

The second piece from that field trip that I use often in class is titled Ease, by William Michael Harnett.

Ease, by William Michael Harnett; Amon Carter Museum

Although it may not look it, Ease is a type of self portrait. The subject of this work commissioned the painting to tell a story about his life, without needing to appear in the painting itself. When I was gathered with my young writers at the museum, we stood in front of the painting, making a list of all the objects we could see and brainstorming ideas of what type of life the person owning these objects may have led. They noticed the fine details; some talked about the discoloration in the papers, others were distressed over the lit cigar sitting on top of what appears to be a newspaper. We wondered aloud about the envelope at the center of the portrait, as well as the array of instruments. Afterward, they were given time to write a quick creative story about the person behind the portrait.

I sometimes use this painting with my writers at the beginning of the year or when we're struggling to find ideas for writing. By giving them time to draw, create a collage, or use digital media to create a representation of themselves -- in objects that portray their lives -- each student quickly comes up with a long list of subjects, ideas, memories, and passions that make up the details of his or her life. From there, we're off and running with multiple story ideas. It's a surefire why to kickstart any struggling writer's creativity.

This activity is a favorite of mine for self-reflection, as well. Although I can't pinpoint why this painting resurfaces in my mind over and over again, it has, and each time I find myself thinking about Harnett's work, I take some time to think about what would be found in my own similar portrait. Through the years some things change, of course -- I've traded in stacks of baby diapers for my childrens' college paperwork, for one! But many remain the same: dogeared journals, favorite books, a simple sapphire and diamond ring given to me by my parents on my thirteenth birthday, to name a few.

My newest idea is to take these multiple journal entries from over the years, turn them into poems, add photographs, and create a timeline of my life. As always, I am amazed by how contemplating works of art acts as a catalyst for my creativity as a writer. Ironic, since I know how helpful it is to my students. Perhaps I need to remember that what is good for creativity is always good, no matter the age of the artist.

#SOL14 - Revisioning Ourselves

One of the best field trips I've ever taken a class on was to the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth. It was a writing trip, so as we took a tour through the museum, our guide asked my students questions meant to help them think deeply about the paintings and sculptures they viewed, or to respond creatively to the work.

There are two moments from this trip I think of often and refer back to when working with young writers.

While viewing a bronze sculpture of a cowboy riding a horse, our guide explained how much work the artist put into the creation of the piece. At first glance you see a horse and rider. But when you look closely, truly inspect the sculpture, all the fine lines and intricate detail becomes clear. Without going back and reworking this piece continually, the final product would not be as striking. It's an excellent lesson on revision.

I was at the Kimball Art Museum recently with my two youngest to see the Picasso and Matisse exhibit. We found ourselves in front of Matisse's Bathers by a River.

Bathers By a River, Matisse - Art Institute of Chicago

He began this piece in 1909, completing it in 1917 after years of rethinking his style and reworking the canvas. The final product is actually quite different as he repainted much of the canvas when reworking it.

This has become my favorite painting. I love the message I found in his years of revision; there is meaning there for me as a writer, certainly -- but also as a person. I think we are all a little like Bathers At a River. Starting out as one thing, changing as our knowledge and beliefs evolve, and reworking ourselves to portray the learning we've done through the years.

Tomorrow I'll share my second aha moment from that long ago field trip - and a little more artwork, ask well.

#SOL14 - Thirteen Ways

In class this week, we finally dug into our first text on poetry, Rose, Where Did You Get That Red? by Kenneth Koch. As someone that loves to explore poetry with young writers, I can't believe I've never seen this book before. I'm also a little amused that much of how I share and write poetry with my writers is pretty similar to the methods in this book, written in 1973. If you are looking for a resource to help guide your instruction on poetry with students -- don't miss this one.

With National Poetry Month just around the corner (my poster arrived last week!), this feels like perfect timing. I'm looking forward to some fun poetry play in my writing club!

We started off just enjoying several of the student responses to the poems in Koch's book and ended by listening to our professor read Wallace Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. After discussing the poem, he asked us to each remove an item from our bags or wallets.

I chose a pencil, because I am damn original.

Because I am also completely clueless, I had no idea what he was going to ask us to do. Perhaps if I were a decent student, I would have chosen a more exciting item.

Alas.

Next, as will probably not surprise you, dear reader, but was a total shock to me, we wrote about the item we chose -- thirteen ways of looking at it, of course. We had about ten minutes or so to jot down our first thoughts. Mine are below. This is the first time I've looked at them again since Monday, and I'm remembering now how difficult it was for me to write a few lines and try to think of a different way to look at a pencil. I love how this activity stretches the brain. Nothing earth shatteringly new in the lines shared below, but I still think this is a great idea for looking at things in different perspectives. My teacherly brain immediately leapt to thoughts on how this could be used in other content areas. My writer's mind considered it as character study, setting research, and even a way to write memoir.

***

The pencil came from many and has much to give.

***

Filled with secrets, inventions,

lyrics and theories.

It waits for you to unlock

it's mysteries.

***

Classroom torture device.

A weapon in a school bully's

capable hands.

***

Bain of the left-handed

note taker.

I think I hear it snicker

with each smudge.

***

Pencils point the way to the truth,

leaving slick grey clues

in their wake.

***

But the pencil can't be

trusted to etch its grey truths

in any sort of permanence.

***

The more time you

spend together, the closer

you are to goodbye.

#SOL14 - The Thinking Behind My Thinking

The class I am taking this semester is all about creativity through the ages and within ourselves. It's all about making connections and seeing things in new light (ah, there's that word again). With such an intense focus on the creative process, it's been interesting to see how my attention to the how and why behind my writing grown stronger.

Tonight I'll turn in my short story titled Cadence. It began from a group brainstorming exercise in which we collaboratively choose five words (wicked, Tuscany, cogitate, mosey, sparingly), having no idea what these words would be used for. Once we had our list, our professor told us to create a story. We had about 15 minutes.

So we wrote. And we shared. And we laughed -- a lot.

Our homework was to use another word association creative exercise to revise the story during the week.

So we did. And we shared. And this time, we laughed less, caught offguard by how the act of revision had morphed so many of our stories into something new.

This week our second paper of the semester is due. There are four total, each can be anything we are interested in. I was still caught up in the story I began two weeks ago, so I continued that.

I found that as I revised and added more detail, it became increasingly important to me to make the reader believe it was an authentic experience. I researched Italy; found ways to insert real places and true descriptions into my little story. At some point I realized I was writing this story better when listening to classical music, so I researched Italian composers.

Then I wondered -- what if I attempted to match the mood of the story to one specific piece of music? And what if the story could be read in the time it took for the song to play to its conclusion?

I found a piece (thanks to helpful Twittermates) by Respighi: Pines Near a Catacomb. It carried exactly the soft elements with an intense burst of energy in the middle that I was looking for.

Listening to the music as I wrote made a huge difference in how I wrote. Musical terms (thanks, high school band!) started sneaking their way into my story. I paid close attention to the flow of the story, carefully attuned to what the reader might experience were they to hear this story along with the music for the first time.

It was difficult, often frustrating, and completely rewarding. I'm eager to hear my professor's response to my thinking... and thankful I pushed through to the other end of this creative experience.

slice of life tuesday: and we're off!

This morning I rushed up the stairs to my classroom, eager to begin the day. It didn't matter that I was a few minutes later than I planned or that I was dangerously close to losing the juggling match with my latte, cellphone, and room key. It didn't matter that the lumpy, oversized bag slung over my shoulder was banging against my hip with each bound towards my room.

I had to get to class.

Rounding the corner I found one of my favorite early birds waiting by my door. She practically bubbled over with giggles when she saw me.

"You're here! We can write! Are you ready?!"

With a quick hug, I stumbled into the room, tossed my cache of goods into a corner of the room, and fell onto the floor with my journal and a pencil.

"Ready," I grinned.

As we opened our notebooks and started comparing ideas, three of my students from last year walked in, waving their journals at me. Without waiting, they grabbed a chair or a spot on the rug and opened their notebooks.

And a few more friends trickled in... and a few more, until there were 10 of us gathered around the room, talking about characters and plots and plans as we wrote and shared and laughed.

I glanced up at the clock to find we'd already spent 25 minutes together. Our time was almost up. Students began filing into my room, preparing for our day. I had to smile as they came in. We had talked about today; I had warned them to be respectful of the writers when they arrived.

They took a few steps into the room, stopped short, nodded as if they had just remembered something important, and silently put their things into their lockers and got to work.

My crew of NaNoWriMo warriors said goodbye and promised to be back tomorrow. We exchanged a few hugs and of course I was obliged to read some of their work before they left. They left, it seems, walking a littler taller than when they came in. All through the rest of the day I heard chatter of novels and listened to the sound of passion taking root.

And tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. Who knows, this may just begin a year long writing club. I can't think of any better way to start each day.

love, and a bit with a dog

This is a post about NaNoWriMo and creativity.

This is a post about NaNoWriMo and creativity I began writing about an hour ago.

This is a post about NaNoWriMo and creativity I began writing about an hour ago before restarting because I had toppled hopelessly off topic.

This is a post about NaNoWriMo and creativity I began writing about an hour ago before restarting because I had toppled hopelessly off topic when the words dragged me off on an adventure.

And so we shall adventure on.

In the words of Phillip Henslowe from Shakespeare in Love, "Let us have pirates, clowns, and a happy ending! Love, and a bit with a dog. That's what they want."

30 days. 50,000 words. A lot of coffee,  a little insanity, and a fully wandering plot.

What better adventure than the one you write yourself?