Although I consider myself an educator, I don’t neatly fit into the credentialed boxes that Academia prefers. In fact, I lost a job one time because I didn’t have a Bachelor’s degree, even though I had a Master’s degree. But I’ve worked in academic and educational settings for over 30 years teaching, facilitating, developing—educating. Along the way, someone uttered the phrase, “Oh, that was such a teaching moment” and I almost immediately responded, “You mean a teaching/learning moment, right?” For me there are no solely teaching moments; if the teacher isn’t learning something back from their delivery of knowledge then I don’t think it’s an effective moment, teaching or otherwise. Teaching and learning for me almost always have to be a reciprocal endeavor.
So what does my own learning look like when I am usually the teacher? It happens every single time in my writing workshops for adults, in my English classes at the college and always with the little ones who constantly teach me about the wonder of words. I’ll never forget running a Journal Club after school for 3rd -5th graders. For one prompt, I played some music and asked them to write about how they felt when they listened to it. Mostly all the responses were along the lines of, “Eh…I feel fine.” Then a student teacher, who was helping me out one year asked, “Let’s listen to it again and see if the music transports you anywhere.” Well, they were transported all right! They were transported to apple orchards, Grandpa’s house, their favorite book, a trip to Florida! I learned that I shouldn’t talk down to kids; using words they may or may not know is just the catalyst they need to take their own writing further.
Then there was the student who came up to me after one of my developmental English classes one day and hesitatingly asked if he could talk to me about something. Of course, I said and then had to listen to him tell me that he thought it was unfair that I spent so much time on the students who were not turning in their work or were behind in the assignments. He felt like he was missing out on when I delayed a test or gave an extra day for a paper that was due. That took me by surprise, and after he blurted out his complaint he suddenly looked like he wished he could melt into a puddle on the floor. I don’t think he realized how strongly he felt about the issue until he practically ranted about it to me—his teacher. But—and thank god—I was so grateful to know this! I thanked him and assured him that I would be more conscientious of the students that were actually doing what they were supposed to instead of “wasting” time on those who weren’t. It was a fresh wake up call for my teaching style and one I’ve never (hardly) forgotten.
That’s one of the reasons I signed up to participate in the #1000wordsofsummer challenge hosted by author Jami Attenberg. As a writing teacher (although I like to refer to myself as a writing facilitator—I’m not teaching people how to write) I spend a lot of time directing the work; I’m assigning the chapters to read, I’m developing the prompts, I set down the deadlines. Every once in a while, I realize it’s time for me to sit on the other side of the desk, so to speak. I start looking for opportunities to experience not being the teacher and look for a workshop or class. It’s important that I don’t get so caught up in being the teacher that I forget what it’s like to be the learner. And then along came this challenge.
For two weeks, every day, I am to write one thousand words. As a challenge, it is mostly about accountability, but it has some components of teaching in the form of the daily letters. The expectations have been set forth and there is a social media support system in place. I won’t be with a group of other students unless I choose to be and the work is done on my own—as it always is, but without the accountability.
The messages in the daily letters of encouragement have spoken to me—as if I’m the only one reading them. Sure, others may get something out of them, but on the first day, Jami Attenberg wrote, “The act of writing is valuable in so many ways — I want everyone to do it, if they’re interested.” On day two I was affirmed by none other than Roxane Gay who wrote, “Make time for your writing whether it’s writing itself, reading, participating in the literary community or anything else that contributes meaningfully to your creative life.” This is the commitment I’ve made to myself, to live a creative life by doing all those very things. Thanks, Roxane.
And today, Sara Novic said, “Most importantly, not all advice is good advice for you. Have I tried waking up in the dark to write before the day begins because famous writers said I should? Of course.” Same here. But that doesn’t work for me, and it is exactly what I tell my students--I’m gonna give you a bunch of suggestions for sticking to your writing commitment, but ultimately, it’s you who will find your own way.
It feels good to be on this side of the words of wisdom, the advice, the experience, the knowledge and the expectations. A thousand words isn’t hard for me; a thousand words a day is a challenge. I don’t always write every day, but it is also true that when I haven’t written for a few days or even a week, I can feel it. It’s like being dehydrated for me and when I begin writing again, it feels like a cool drink of water coursing through my body.
And today, these are my thousand words.
You kept my interest.