More than a decade ago, I joined the Gateway Writing Project. It's the St. Louis site--part of the National Writing Project--and teaches teachers to become confident writers and teaches them how to teach writing. It was a life-changing summer.
One of the things we did (and it still amazes me) was an activity that required us to slip into the skin of a writer and write like them. (This brilliance was delivered by Dr. Jane Zeni.) Some teachers were given a Kurt Vonnegut passage. Some were given a Jane Austen passage. I don't remember the other authors that were included. I only know it made each of us closely examine an author's style. The rhythm of their writing. The way they use punctuation. Their word choice.
After we felt we were familiar with our author's style, we were asked to insert three different sentences into the passage, and if we matched their style well, it would appear as if it were a single, seamless piece. Of course, we hoped that the other educators would not be able to sniff out the impostor insertions.
If you could write like anyone, who would it be, and why?
The Pyrenees---Southern France
Showing posts with label National Writing Project. Show all posts
Showing posts with label National Writing Project. Show all posts
Monday, May 18, 2015
Monday, June 9, 2014
Constructive Criticism
I must have skin that's a mile thick. (Perhaps THAT is why I'm so fat. It's not the chocolate and the buttered bread and the mashed potatoes...it's my thick skin. Halleluiah!) I ask for suggestions on what to cut. I relish offerings from others on how to improve my writing. I appreciate honesty when it comes to writing critique.
This past weekend I went on a writing project retreat. It was at my favorite monk-ery. I didn't necessarily get too much feedback from the group I was in, but I did get some valuable critique from the guest editor (Britton Gildersleeve...I know--what a name!) who comes every year to this retreat.
What is the best writing advice you ever got?
This past weekend I went on a writing project retreat. It was at my favorite monk-ery. I didn't necessarily get too much feedback from the group I was in, but I did get some valuable critique from the guest editor (Britton Gildersleeve...I know--what a name!) who comes every year to this retreat.
What is the best writing advice you ever got?
Monday, March 31, 2014
Honesty...Such a Gift
My daughter is honest about how she feels about my shoes. They're atrocious. She has tried to get me to buy some cute(r) Crocs--ones that are fleece-lined--but I stand firm. Crocs--the basic ones--are perfect because if they get muddy, you just hose 'em off and they're good to go...over and over and over again.
My dog is honest about anything that falls onto the floor. It's delicious (and is gone instantly).
My husband is honest about my hair. He'd like me to get it styled like Olivia Wilde--and then we'd look exactly alike...
Almost a year ago, I dragged what I thought was a manuscript to Conception, Missouri. The occasion? A writing retreat, led by Britton Gildersleeve. (I know--what a fabulous name, right?) Britton is not only a director of a National Writing Project in Oklahoma, she is also a voracious reader, can talk faster than a speeding bullet and knows exactly what questions to ask in order to get a writer onto the right track.
What I learned quickly from Britton was that my story lacked meat. Or rather, it lacked a thread--a thread that would connect the "layers."
(Why couldn't I have just written a straight-forward story? It's my first--and perhaps my last--novel. Why did I have to complicate things?)
By Wednesday evening, five people will have my manuscript. (Whether they read it or not is a different story.) I'm incredibly curious and will have trouble reining in my pestering questions. Dothelayersmakesense? Doyoucareaboutthecharacters? Isitanicemixofhumorandseriousness? Doesitflowsmoothly?
Why do you have ants in your pants these days? or When did you have trouble either delivering honesty of receiving it?
My dog is honest about anything that falls onto the floor. It's delicious (and is gone instantly).
My husband is honest about my hair. He'd like me to get it styled like Olivia Wilde--and then we'd look exactly alike...
Almost a year ago, I dragged what I thought was a manuscript to Conception, Missouri. The occasion? A writing retreat, led by Britton Gildersleeve. (I know--what a fabulous name, right?) Britton is not only a director of a National Writing Project in Oklahoma, she is also a voracious reader, can talk faster than a speeding bullet and knows exactly what questions to ask in order to get a writer onto the right track.
What I learned quickly from Britton was that my story lacked meat. Or rather, it lacked a thread--a thread that would connect the "layers."
(Why couldn't I have just written a straight-forward story? It's my first--and perhaps my last--novel. Why did I have to complicate things?)
By Wednesday evening, five people will have my manuscript. (Whether they read it or not is a different story.) I'm incredibly curious and will have trouble reining in my pestering questions. Dothelayersmakesense? Doyoucareaboutthecharacters? Isitanicemixofhumorandseriousness? Doesitflowsmoothly?
Why do you have ants in your pants these days? or When did you have trouble either delivering honesty of receiving it?
Friday, October 4, 2013
This is Why I Teach
A few days ago I got an email from a former student. Kendra had been in my 4th grade class; now she's a freshman in college. It's been years...
Most people think teachers remember the "challenging" students the most--the kids who made them buy hair dyeevery six weeks every month every afternoon. Perhaps some educators do dwell more on the tougher-nuts-to-crack than the rest of their students. In my opinion, though, something happens in the classroom that's similar to what happens when a woman gives birth: some magical liquid courses through her body, ensuring she does not remember the excruciating pain and thus rendering her willing to have another child somewhere down the road.
Teaching is like that. Full of expectations. Exciting. Sometimes painful. And the changes that happen to your body are downright horrifying...The students who never leave my head or my heart are the gifted writers, the kids who overcome incredible obstacles, the students who are exemplary role models...The tough times shed away, leaving me excited about each new school year.
Kendra was in my 4th grade class the year I did a research project with the National Writing Project. Even at the age of 10, she wrote stuff that had such depth, and yet it seemed to be effortless for her.
She's beginning a nursing program. I only hope she makes the time to continue writing...
What friend or colleague has recently contacted you, like a blast from the past? Tell, please.
Most people think teachers remember the "challenging" students the most--the kids who made them buy hair dye
Teaching is like that. Full of expectations. Exciting. Sometimes painful. And the changes that happen to your body are downright horrifying...The students who never leave my head or my heart are the gifted writers, the kids who overcome incredible obstacles, the students who are exemplary role models...The tough times shed away, leaving me excited about each new school year.
Kendra was in my 4th grade class the year I did a research project with the National Writing Project. Even at the age of 10, she wrote stuff that had such depth, and yet it seemed to be effortless for her.
She's beginning a nursing program. I only hope she makes the time to continue writing...
What friend or colleague has recently contacted you, like a blast from the past? Tell, please.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Writing...It's a Sticky Thing
I just finished leading a two-day workshop for teachers (from two schools) in my school district. It was exhausting rewarding and fun.
The workshop centered on teaching writing in math, science and social studies. The new Common Core Standards will officially begin in our state in the 2014-2015 school year. The Common Core will replace the state tests for most of the country and will signal the demise--at the end of this school year--of theidiotic unrealistic too-tough current MAP test, which is what Missouri students and teachers have had to endure use as far as assessment for too many years.
Hey! Writing should not be done only from 11:00-11:20 anymore. That's was our theme song for the past two days.
Writing is stickier than math (there's always a correct answer and a set way of finding the answer in math). It's more elusive than science or social studies, too. Knowing how to nurture a student's creativity, and figuring out how to teach students to loosen the reins on their writing voice...that's something that often flummoxes teachers.
The mind-boggling thing about this workshop was how many talented voices emerged. This workshop was underwritten by the Gateway Writing Project, a National Writing Project site, and writing is always a part of every workshop/meeting/national conference--it's never pure lecture with passive participants with the NWP. Over the past two days, teachers wrote "I am from" poems and memoir vignettes and a variety of other pieces. The talent and distinctness of their voices was amazing. Often, teachers are sometimes reluctant to share their personal writing, but this time, it was not the case.
If you're a writer, when did you first figure out you enjoyed writing? Or do you--like me--still find it to be a grueling, hair-pulling screamfest (at times)?
The workshop centered on teaching writing in math, science and social studies. The new Common Core Standards will officially begin in our state in the 2014-2015 school year. The Common Core will replace the state tests for most of the country and will signal the demise--at the end of this school year--of the
Hey! Writing should not be done only from 11:00-11:20 anymore. That's was our theme song for the past two days.
Writing is stickier than math (there's always a correct answer and a set way of finding the answer in math). It's more elusive than science or social studies, too. Knowing how to nurture a student's creativity, and figuring out how to teach students to loosen the reins on their writing voice...that's something that often flummoxes teachers.
The mind-boggling thing about this workshop was how many talented voices emerged. This workshop was underwritten by the Gateway Writing Project, a National Writing Project site, and writing is always a part of every workshop/meeting/national conference--it's never pure lecture with passive participants with the NWP. Over the past two days, teachers wrote "I am from" poems and memoir vignettes and a variety of other pieces. The talent and distinctness of their voices was amazing. Often, teachers are sometimes reluctant to share their personal writing, but this time, it was not the case.
 |
| a student writer... |
If you're a writer, when did you first figure out you enjoyed writing? Or do you--like me--still find it to be a grueling, hair-pulling screamfest (at times)?
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
No Grape Stomping or Candy Factory
No, I never had a job stomping grapes, nor did I ever have a job in a candy factory--that would have been the perfect worst job for me--but I did feel like I was a reincarnation of Lucille Ball at times...And thinking about my past employment was inspired by Linda O'Connell and a post she did about the work she's done.
For instance, my first job was at Dairy Queen. I was 15. I never could do that little curlicue at the top of the cone perfectly, but I was able to perfect mistakes...edible mistakes.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You wanted a strawberry sundae and not a hot fudge sundae? Just a minute, I'll get rid of this hot fudge one and make you a strawberry one," and then I'd scuttle off to the walk-in freezer with the hot fudge-ice cream creation, so I could eat it later. (We were allowed to eat our mistakes, but I don't think we were supposed to deliberately make them. Every day.)
I worked a summer for the Youth Conservation Corps on an all-girl crew when I was 17, stringing barbed wire and digging post holes by hand. Once the caretaker killed a rattlesnake in the middle of the night as he walked some of us to the latrine (he hacked it to death with a shovel) , and told us, "Its mate will come looking for it." (I'm sure he was trying to scare us to get back at some of the stupid girls who flushed things down the toilet they were not supposed to flush.)
My first job out of high school was at a factory. I ran a machine that put together medicine capsules. The place stunk. If I pulled the two parts of the press together with too much force, the capsules would end up with poked-in spots, and they would have to discarded. There were many times I'd have to dump a whole tray of the capsules into the trashcan. That job only lasted a couple of weeks. (I ended up getting my finger caught in the press and cutting off the tip. After a trip to the emergency room, and making a mess of their press, they thought it was time for me to retire from that field.)
One of myfavorite strangest jobs was selling door-to-door pre-arranged funerals. That, too, was a short-lived job. I could charm my way into the houses, but I couldn't sell a single casket.
Interspersed here and there were waitressing jobs. I worked at some fairly-nice places (Steak and Ale, and Victoria Station) along with Denny's, but I was a gawk. Once, I spilled an entire Bloody Mary on a businessman there at Steak and Ale for a business lunch. (No tip for me that time!)
I've been a teacher since 1991, a teacher-consultant for the National Writing Project since 2001, and am now a freelance writer. In fact, I just heard this past weekend that a story of mine has made the first cut for the Not Your Mother's Book...On Family. (They're still looking at stories, as the deadline has not happened yet, and my story could be booted off before it hits the presses. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.)
What important things have you learned while on your jobs? What was your favorite job or your most unfavorite job (and why)? Come on...take a trip down memory lane, and take us along with you.
For instance, my first job was at Dairy Queen. I was 15. I never could do that little curlicue at the top of the cone perfectly, but I was able to perfect mistakes...edible mistakes.
"Oh, I'm sorry. You wanted a strawberry sundae and not a hot fudge sundae? Just a minute, I'll get rid of this hot fudge one and make you a strawberry one," and then I'd scuttle off to the walk-in freezer with the hot fudge-ice cream creation, so I could eat it later. (We were allowed to eat our mistakes, but I don't think we were supposed to deliberately make them. Every day.)
I worked a summer for the Youth Conservation Corps on an all-girl crew when I was 17, stringing barbed wire and digging post holes by hand. Once the caretaker killed a rattlesnake in the middle of the night as he walked some of us to the latrine (he hacked it to death with a shovel) , and told us, "Its mate will come looking for it." (I'm sure he was trying to scare us to get back at some of the stupid girls who flushed things down the toilet they were not supposed to flush.)
My first job out of high school was at a factory. I ran a machine that put together medicine capsules. The place stunk. If I pulled the two parts of the press together with too much force, the capsules would end up with poked-in spots, and they would have to discarded. There were many times I'd have to dump a whole tray of the capsules into the trashcan. That job only lasted a couple of weeks. (I ended up getting my finger caught in the press and cutting off the tip. After a trip to the emergency room, and making a mess of their press, they thought it was time for me to retire from that field.)
One of my
Interspersed here and there were waitressing jobs. I worked at some fairly-nice places (Steak and Ale, and Victoria Station) along with Denny's, but I was a gawk. Once, I spilled an entire Bloody Mary on a businessman there at Steak and Ale for a business lunch. (No tip for me that time!)
I've been a teacher since 1991, a teacher-consultant for the National Writing Project since 2001, and am now a freelance writer. In fact, I just heard this past weekend that a story of mine has made the first cut for the Not Your Mother's Book...On Family. (They're still looking at stories, as the deadline has not happened yet, and my story could be booted off before it hits the presses. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.)
What important things have you learned while on your jobs? What was your favorite job or your most unfavorite job (and why)? Come on...take a trip down memory lane, and take us along with you.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
ABC--Arachnids' Brazen Counterattacks
I had a weird experience with a spider earlier this week. Thought it was an isolated incident. A "Sioux-thing," much like getting my head stuck in a sink. Something not worthy of talking about.
But then, I read Val's post. And I smelled something fishy. Or closer to the truth, I smelled something eight-legged and hairy.
Tuesday evening I killed two spiders. The only thing I had handy was an empty QT (Quik Trip) cup (plastic), and since the bottom is hollowed out a bit, I really had to work to get the dirty deed done. But I did.
Wednesday evening, I saw another spider. I was prepared this time, with a shoe. But apparently, this spider had been witness to the arachnicide the night before--it was prepared as well--because as I headed toward the spider, it wheeled around so that it faced me, and charged at me.
Sadly (for the spider), it did not end well. But it made me wonder what other odd encounters people have had with animals.
And what would happen if we were all like that spider? What would happen if when we were attacked, we immediately armed ourselves for our own self-defense? To defend ourway too frequent occasional use of the ellipsis...To defend our deliberate use of sentence fragments...What would life be like?
Certainly, most of the feedback we get as writers is constructive. Helpful. Nothing offensive. So thankfully, we don't often have to do what that brazen spider did.
Tomorrow I'm going to Chicago for a National Writing Project workshop. I'll be off the blogosphere and the submissionsphere for three solid days. And for those clamoring for another story from the "Sioux's shirt" vault, I am bringing my "Will Write for Food" shirt, but since I will be trapped in work sessions most of the time, it's unlikely anyone will be lured by my siren-song of a shirt.
But, you never know...
But then, I read Val's post. And I smelled something fishy. Or closer to the truth, I smelled something eight-legged and hairy.
Tuesday evening I killed two spiders. The only thing I had handy was an empty QT (Quik Trip) cup (plastic), and since the bottom is hollowed out a bit, I really had to work to get the dirty deed done. But I did.
Wednesday evening, I saw another spider. I was prepared this time, with a shoe. But apparently, this spider had been witness to the arachnicide the night before--it was prepared as well--because as I headed toward the spider, it wheeled around so that it faced me, and charged at me.
 |
| photo by C.J. Newberry |
Sadly (for the spider), it did not end well. But it made me wonder what other odd encounters people have had with animals.
And what would happen if we were all like that spider? What would happen if when we were attacked, we immediately armed ourselves for our own self-defense? To defend our
Certainly, most of the feedback we get as writers is constructive. Helpful. Nothing offensive. So thankfully, we don't often have to do what that brazen spider did.
Tomorrow I'm going to Chicago for a National Writing Project workshop. I'll be off the blogosphere and the submissionsphere for three solid days. And for those clamoring for another story from the "Sioux's shirt" vault, I am bringing my "Will Write for Food" shirt, but since I will be trapped in work sessions most of the time, it's unlikely anyone will be lured by my siren-song of a shirt.
But, you never know...
Monday, February 20, 2012
Picking Up Men, One Frumped-Up T-Shirt At a Time
I know everyone has missed my bloggial presence (not!). I was in Santa Barbara--left on Wednesday afternoon and got back late last night--and although I missed my blog friends, I thoroughly enjoyed the west coast weather.
As a teacher consultant for the National Writing Project, I was part of a group working with the SB art museum. Like most museums, they are not the most welcoming when it comes to people of color and people who are not part of society's uppercrust. Lots of people are intimidated by art museums. Even more people allow art to make them feel stupid. We were there to help the staff find ways to embrace the community in a more inclusive way.
At one point, we were on the sidewalk in front of the museum writing in journals. I was wearing a T-shirt from a creative writing camp. An elderly man (in his 70's? 80's?) came up and started a conversation with me when my "beacon" of a shirt reeled him in.
He said, "I think you might be interested in this," and then pulled a page--one that he had been saving--out of his satchel. It was from a book on writing, and had some interesting thoughts.
Since a copyright of 1949 was noted, I voiced my assumption that the book was out of print. When Russell confirmed that was correct, I wrote down my name and address and asked if he would send me a copy of the page. (He refused the dollar I tried to force on him to cover the cost of the printing and postage.) We had an extended conversation about writing--he had always wanted to be one, but had never taken the leap--in any way.
As soon as Russell left, one of my colleagues came up and teasingly said, "Did you make a new friend?" I teased back, "Yes, a man thinks I'm hot, but it's only ones in their 80's who think that."
The next day a couple of us went up into a church tower; a native of Santa Barbara had tipped us off...the view was spectatular. While we were up there, basking in the beauty, a woman approached me. (I was wearing a writing shirt--a different one. I am civilized enough to change my clothes daily when I travel.) Her son--who was with her--wanted to be a writer, and I advised him to find or form a writing critique group.
Writers are beacons. They're lighthouses. If you wear a shirt or button or hat that proclaims you're an author, a writer, others are drawn to you. Everyone has a story to tell. And even though they might not have taken the time or had the courage to act on it yet, they're drawn like moths to a flame to those who do.
Russell said he has several penpals. He even pulled an unopened letter from one out of his bottomless satchel. How will I respond if he sends a letter to accompany the book's page?
Write, Russell. And if you want a penpal, there's always Lynn Obermoeller.
 |
| photo by Michael Stidham |
As a teacher consultant for the National Writing Project, I was part of a group working with the SB art museum. Like most museums, they are not the most welcoming when it comes to people of color and people who are not part of society's uppercrust. Lots of people are intimidated by art museums. Even more people allow art to make them feel stupid. We were there to help the staff find ways to embrace the community in a more inclusive way.
At one point, we were on the sidewalk in front of the museum writing in journals. I was wearing a T-shirt from a creative writing camp. An elderly man (in his 70's? 80's?) came up and started a conversation with me when my "beacon" of a shirt reeled him in.
He said, "I think you might be interested in this," and then pulled a page--one that he had been saving--out of his satchel. It was from a book on writing, and had some interesting thoughts.
Since a copyright of 1949 was noted, I voiced my assumption that the book was out of print. When Russell confirmed that was correct, I wrote down my name and address and asked if he would send me a copy of the page. (He refused the dollar I tried to force on him to cover the cost of the printing and postage.) We had an extended conversation about writing--he had always wanted to be one, but had never taken the leap--in any way.
As soon as Russell left, one of my colleagues came up and teasingly said, "Did you make a new friend?" I teased back, "Yes, a man thinks I'm hot, but it's only ones in their 80's who think that."
The next day a couple of us went up into a church tower; a native of Santa Barbara had tipped us off...the view was spectatular. While we were up there, basking in the beauty, a woman approached me. (I was wearing a writing shirt--a different one. I am civilized enough to change my clothes daily when I travel.) Her son--who was with her--wanted to be a writer, and I advised him to find or form a writing critique group.
Writers are beacons. They're lighthouses. If you wear a shirt or button or hat that proclaims you're an author, a writer, others are drawn to you. Everyone has a story to tell. And even though they might not have taken the time or had the courage to act on it yet, they're drawn like moths to a flame to those who do.
Russell said he has several penpals. He even pulled an unopened letter from one out of his bottomless satchel. How will I respond if he sends a letter to accompany the book's page?
Write, Russell. And if you want a penpal, there's always Lynn Obermoeller.
Friday, July 29, 2011
All in the Eye of the Beholder...
 |
| two panels of an 6-panel painting by Gerhard Richter This painting covers most of one very large wall in the St. Louis Art Museum. |
For three days this week I was at our city's art museum, taking a workshop. Teacher-writers from three National Writing Project sites came together to explore how art could enrich children's lives as well as thicken up their writing and thinking and math and science and social studies so that it will end up a meaty, flavorful broth.
(So don't ever talk about teachers' three-month vacation. None of us were paid to do this. We did it because we're suckers for committed to our students. And besides that, the museum has the coolest paper and gigantic clipboard paintings to work with.)
For one activity, we went into one of the galleries filled with extremely abstract paintings. This Richter painting (part of it is shown above) was on one wall, but our facilitator sat us in front of the (also large) painting on the opposite wall of Richter's work.
I breathed a sigh of relief, because looking at both of them, I connected more with the one we were going to study. The Richter...too abstract, too "out there," too weird.
After talking 10 minutes or so about our task at hand, our facilitator said, "Now turn around, because the painting we are going to be working with is behind you."
Oh no! The Richter!
And for close to two hours, we dived into the painting and when we were forced to surface at the end, it was reluctantly. We "moved" through the painting (physically), we made noises that corresponded with particular parts of the painting, we wrote about the painting, we drew what the painting compelled us to draw, and we created 3-D "visitor guides" for the painting. (People gathered and watched, curious about what we were doing, and why...)
Our facilitator noted that docents have no idea what to do with this painting. They run-walk by it, saying, "And here's a very famous painting," and (probably) pray they don't get any questions about it that are not answered by the label on the wall.
It's all in our eyes. If we just dismissively rush by a painting, a person, a poem, or a story without looking deeply, we miss out.
So the next time you see a piece of art you don't instantly connect with, the next time you see a person who doesn't look like they're your "type," the next chance you get to read a story that isn't what you're normally drawn to, stay there for a while. You might find that depth leads to clarity...
Monday, May 2, 2011
I'm Baaack!
Bless me followers 'cause I've been absent. It's been a week since my last posting...
A week ago Friday---Earth Day---our planet let us know that it was pissed off at Missouri. Perhaps it's the mess with Proposition B (the one concerning puppy mills; Mother Nature is angry that politicians are overturning what the people voted for). Whatever the reason, we had a tornado that tore through various parts of our suburbs and left behind many destroyed homes, but no lost lives...
My school lost its roof, along with some windows and other damage. It was deemed uninhabitable for the rest of the schoolyear. So on Easter, instead of looking for colorful eggs among the grass, I was looking through my cluttered classroom to find what I needed to teach, because we were moving to one of the middle schools.
(OMG! That tornado did not break my windows, but somehow it left stacks of papers and piles of books on every surface! How did it do that? It's a mystery...)
Then I had to pack up my "old" room for the summer---without much notice---and prepare for a substitute teacher, because on Thursday evening I would be flying towards Boston. (I went to National Writing Project's Urban Sites conference. If you're a teacher and want to hang around while I get so effusive, my slobber starts spraying all over the place, email me at sroslawski@yahoo.com and I will be glad to tell you all about the group. It's just as exciting as skydiving---which I've done three times---but without the possibility of getting killed.)
("Dear Sub---If Sean says he has a nosebleed and wants to go to the nurse, do NOT let him. He has been digging in his nose. Tell him to STOP digging.")
While I was out of town---temporarily torn away from my umbloggical cord---I missed posting, and I missed reading many posts. I fell in love with scallops--the small bay ones---and read a great book, which I'll talk about later this week.
But now I'm back...
A week ago Friday---Earth Day---our planet let us know that it was pissed off at Missouri. Perhaps it's the mess with Proposition B (the one concerning puppy mills; Mother Nature is angry that politicians are overturning what the people voted for). Whatever the reason, we had a tornado that tore through various parts of our suburbs and left behind many destroyed homes, but no lost lives...
 |
| photo by modps |
My school lost its roof, along with some windows and other damage. It was deemed uninhabitable for the rest of the schoolyear. So on Easter, instead of looking for colorful eggs among the grass, I was looking through my cluttered classroom to find what I needed to teach, because we were moving to one of the middle schools.
(OMG! That tornado did not break my windows, but somehow it left stacks of papers and piles of books on every surface! How did it do that? It's a mystery...)
Then I had to pack up my "old" room for the summer---without much notice---and prepare for a substitute teacher, because on Thursday evening I would be flying towards Boston. (I went to National Writing Project's Urban Sites conference. If you're a teacher and want to hang around while I get so effusive, my slobber starts spraying all over the place, email me at sroslawski@yahoo.com and I will be glad to tell you all about the group. It's just as exciting as skydiving---which I've done three times---but without the possibility of getting killed.)
("Dear Sub---If Sean says he has a nosebleed and wants to go to the nurse, do NOT let him. He has been digging in his nose. Tell him to STOP digging.")
While I was out of town---temporarily torn away from my umbloggical cord---I missed posting, and I missed reading many posts. I fell in love with scallops--the small bay ones---and read a great book, which I'll talk about later this week.
But now I'm back...
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Here Comes the Brinks Truck...And It's Loaded With Staples
Just when you think you are having a tough time, you hear from someone who has it worse...
This weekend I went to a Gateway Writing Project retreat. Gateway is part of the National Writing Project. If you're a teacher---whether it is PE or Science or Social Studies, and no matter what level---you should check out the closest National Writing Project site. (They're all over the country.) It is all about teachers teaching teachers, as they work to help their students develop into better thinkers.
I was feeling overwhelmed. Rushing out of work on Friday afternoon (just dumping piles of papers into a huge tub---my Tub O' Fun, I fondly call it---so I could grade them later in the weekend so I could prepare mid-quarter progress reports at an even later hour), my friend and I drove to the retreat. My friend needed coffee. I needed chocolate. We both needed sleep.
Not wanting to whine (there was no cheese and crackers to go along with it), I would reply, "They're going," when colleagues asked, "How are things going?" However, I soon realized how fortunate I am, at least in a small way.
One of the teachers read a hilarious piece (funny in a black, bleak way). She was miffed because one of her dry erase markers had been stolen. Not a big deal, she could just request another one to replace it. Except that she had just gotten the marker from the school's office manager, who said there were only 4 more left, and they had to last the rest of the school year. Were all the teachers in the school---20 or 30 or 40 or whatever---going to knife each other to get one of those markers?
This same teacher, when she needs staples, does not get a whole box of staples. Instead, she gets a "sleeve" of staples. Packaged up nice and neat in an envelope (probably so her colleagues do not see what she's holding as she walks down the hall--if they saw she had some staples, she might get mugged!)
When you see a Brinks truck barreling down the street, don't assume it's carrying money. It might be loaded up with dry erase markers and staples...
This weekend I went to a Gateway Writing Project retreat. Gateway is part of the National Writing Project. If you're a teacher---whether it is PE or Science or Social Studies, and no matter what level---you should check out the closest National Writing Project site. (They're all over the country.) It is all about teachers teaching teachers, as they work to help their students develop into better thinkers.
I was feeling overwhelmed. Rushing out of work on Friday afternoon (just dumping piles of papers into a huge tub---my Tub O' Fun, I fondly call it---so I could grade them later in the weekend so I could prepare mid-quarter progress reports at an even later hour), my friend and I drove to the retreat. My friend needed coffee. I needed chocolate. We both needed sleep.
Not wanting to whine (there was no cheese and crackers to go along with it), I would reply, "They're going," when colleagues asked, "How are things going?" However, I soon realized how fortunate I am, at least in a small way.
One of the teachers read a hilarious piece (funny in a black, bleak way). She was miffed because one of her dry erase markers had been stolen. Not a big deal, she could just request another one to replace it. Except that she had just gotten the marker from the school's office manager, who said there were only 4 more left, and they had to last the rest of the school year. Were all the teachers in the school---20 or 30 or 40 or whatever---going to knife each other to get one of those markers?
This same teacher, when she needs staples, does not get a whole box of staples. Instead, she gets a "sleeve" of staples. Packaged up nice and neat in an envelope (probably so her colleagues do not see what she's holding as she walks down the hall--if they saw she had some staples, she might get mugged!)
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| photo by grace_tee |
When you see a Brinks truck barreling down the street, don't assume it's carrying money. It might be loaded up with dry erase markers and staples...
Monday, July 26, 2010
Re-Energized by Passionate Colleagues
I was in a meeting with Gateway Writing Project members this evening. (Check out the nearest National Writing Project site for a life-changing experience.) We are planning our 3rd annual youth writing festival.
Yes, we're all busy. Yes, we're still on summer break. But also yes, we are all committed and passionate about the young writers we teach. My friend said it best: We make time for what matters to us...
Collaborating with colleagues who get jazzed about the same things you do re-energizes you. There are too many teachers who use the excuse, "I'm too busy...I don't have the time," and certainly as educators, our plates get more full every year.
But, if it really matters, we will make time for it.
Yes, we're all busy. Yes, we're still on summer break. But also yes, we are all committed and passionate about the young writers we teach. My friend said it best: We make time for what matters to us...
Collaborating with colleagues who get jazzed about the same things you do re-energizes you. There are too many teachers who use the excuse, "I'm too busy...I don't have the time," and certainly as educators, our plates get more full every year.
But, if it really matters, we will make time for it.
Monday, July 12, 2010
You Know More Than You Think You Know...
Writers will hit an impasse, and then the flow of words slows down and then...stops. Putting words down on paper is always more effective when you have a friend or colleague to share your thoughts and plans with. After all, we write for an audience, not so our words can be read by ourselves, in a dark closet. However, sometimes you don't have anyone around to give you feedback.
Try this: Imagine a critical person that you know. Pick someone who does not like your writing. Imagine they are there, with one eyebrow raised in doubt. And imagine they are listening to you describe your writing piece as they sit in their pajamas...
Write a letter to this critic. Tell them about the piece, describe your obstacles and well as the strengths, and outline what direction the piece is going to take.
I did this activity as part of Gateway Writing Project's summer institute. I scoffed at it. I thought it was a ridiculous strategy; I was sure I did not know more than I thought I knew. But I was wrong. Writing about it, as I envisioned an overly critical person, gave me some new ideas and some new insight.
Try it. And I would love to hear what your secret is when battling writer's block. Send it my way! (The music idea I'm sending you is marvelous music to write by. It's also great driving music. I got it because the title of the CD is The Phenomenal Ruthie Foster, and I was interested in if, indeed, this singer was phenomenal. She is.)
Try this: Imagine a critical person that you know. Pick someone who does not like your writing. Imagine they are there, with one eyebrow raised in doubt. And imagine they are listening to you describe your writing piece as they sit in their pajamas...
Write a letter to this critic. Tell them about the piece, describe your obstacles and well as the strengths, and outline what direction the piece is going to take.
I did this activity as part of Gateway Writing Project's summer institute. I scoffed at it. I thought it was a ridiculous strategy; I was sure I did not know more than I thought I knew. But I was wrong. Writing about it, as I envisioned an overly critical person, gave me some new ideas and some new insight.
Try it. And I would love to hear what your secret is when battling writer's block. Send it my way! (The music idea I'm sending you is marvelous music to write by. It's also great driving music. I got it because the title of the CD is The Phenomenal Ruthie Foster, and I was interested in if, indeed, this singer was phenomenal. She is.)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Reflective Teaching (or DUID)
Half of the summer is over already. I've spent the last few weeks vegetating---padding around in my pajamas all day, watching junky television, and inhaling a pile of books. Beginning this next week, I am going to have to think about the work at hand...
One book I definitely recommend is Niffenegger's Her Fearful Symmetry. It's the story of two mirror-image twins, is set in London, and is just as thought-provoking as her earlier novel The Time Traveler's Wife.
Another story I thoroughly enjoyed was Jodi Piccoult's Handle with Care. The research that the author always does in writing her books is clearly evident. Certainly not a "happily ever after" story (what realistic tale is ?), the surprising twists (even at the very end) make it a heartwrenching story that causes the reader to wonder, 'What would I do under the same circumstances?'
This past year, my district began having teachers look seriously at data, stdent by student. Too often, educators have such a packed day; there is no time to be reflective. However, this next year we are going to be examining student data in a very methodical way. Pretests, interventive strategies, and posttests...making lists of proficient students and those who fall short of the mark...carving out time to assist struggling learners in creative ways...I am truly looking forward to DUID (Driving Under the Influence of Data).
Carefully looking at student progress in the classroom and with colleagues, as well as having students graph their data, is empowering.
Earlier this spring I attended the National Writing Project's Urban Site conference in Portland, Oregon. It was an incredible conference. We visited one elementary school which does amazing things with very little technology. (They do more with post-it notes and a chalkboard than many teachers do with a Smartboard!) Their teacher's lounge was wall-to-wall data.
Also during the spring I went to the NEA conference in St. Louis. A workshop on "data dens" was led by a St. Charles district (Francis Howell or Fort Zumwalt). Unfortunately, I was not able to attend that session, but my colleague did, and she was quite energized about it.
In the next month, I will be setting up my third grade class. I will be helping my principal set up our own "data den." And I'll be doing a lot of thinking about what I can do to best facilitate learning in my classroom...
Anyone who has suggestions (or even photos of their data walls), I would appreciate if you would send them my way. And for those who still have some summer left, enjoy!
One book I definitely recommend is Niffenegger's Her Fearful Symmetry. It's the story of two mirror-image twins, is set in London, and is just as thought-provoking as her earlier novel The Time Traveler's Wife.
Another story I thoroughly enjoyed was Jodi Piccoult's Handle with Care. The research that the author always does in writing her books is clearly evident. Certainly not a "happily ever after" story (what realistic tale is ?), the surprising twists (even at the very end) make it a heartwrenching story that causes the reader to wonder, 'What would I do under the same circumstances?'
This past year, my district began having teachers look seriously at data, stdent by student. Too often, educators have such a packed day; there is no time to be reflective. However, this next year we are going to be examining student data in a very methodical way. Pretests, interventive strategies, and posttests...making lists of proficient students and those who fall short of the mark...carving out time to assist struggling learners in creative ways...I am truly looking forward to DUID (Driving Under the Influence of Data).
Carefully looking at student progress in the classroom and with colleagues, as well as having students graph their data, is empowering.
Earlier this spring I attended the National Writing Project's Urban Site conference in Portland, Oregon. It was an incredible conference. We visited one elementary school which does amazing things with very little technology. (They do more with post-it notes and a chalkboard than many teachers do with a Smartboard!) Their teacher's lounge was wall-to-wall data.
Also during the spring I went to the NEA conference in St. Louis. A workshop on "data dens" was led by a St. Charles district (Francis Howell or Fort Zumwalt). Unfortunately, I was not able to attend that session, but my colleague did, and she was quite energized about it.
In the next month, I will be setting up my third grade class. I will be helping my principal set up our own "data den." And I'll be doing a lot of thinking about what I can do to best facilitate learning in my classroom...
Anyone who has suggestions (or even photos of their data walls), I would appreciate if you would send them my way. And for those who still have some summer left, enjoy!
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