Mt.Vesuvius--Vanquished by the Amish

           I was reading Cathy C. Hall's blog, and she was writing about mistakes we make--in life, in writing. I wrote a comment about my former life as a quilter, and it prompted me to dig up an old wall hanging.

        This wall hanging was made during a retreat. Since I hate using the machine am not overly fond of working with a sewing machine, in times such as this--where the machine was used for lots and lots of piecing--I cursed and spit and threatened my Singer machine...a lot.

      Sometimes you're not thrilled with the writing process when it comes to a particular draft. But be persistent...

    However, as the weekend progressed, I was pleased with the results. The colors, the "movement" in the piece.

     Celebrate the small victories in writing. You crafted a great phrase, a wonderful image, an effective metaphor? Revel in it. And then continue writing...

           All these evil lovely diamonds were coming together--in rows--to create larger diamonds. How cool. It was somewhat of a mystery what it would look like once it was completed, but the parts were pleasing...so far.

       Sometimes, when you're working on a poem, a story, a novel--you're not sure where it's going to go.  Enjoy it when you step off the cliff.  If you know the characters, the story will take off on its own direction in a sure-footed manner. If it's a poem--well, ask Fireblossom what it's like to "freefall" while writing poetry.

      I was ecstatic when I finally got the thing pieced together. The final step--before it was basted and then hand-quilted--was pressing it. I proudly took my creation to the ironing board and started to press. And press.

    Unfortunately, no matter now hard I pressed down with the iron, the center would not be subdued. The middle would not lie down flat. All those diamonds converged in the center and erupted.  The center of my wall hanging was like Mt. Vesuvius--and from the looks of it, it was about to spew.

     My piecing skills--as usual--had failed me. While other quilters' seams are perfectly uniform and unwavering, there were probably dozens and dozens of tiny mistakes I had made...resulting in a "perfect storm" of thread and cotton fabric.

      If your draft is not working, rearrange it. If it's a story, begin at the middle or the end and go back to the beginning. Change genre. There was a memoir I wrote that sucked in prose. But when I put it in the form of a free-verse poem, it sang. Don't be afraid to change things up.

       No amount of spray starch worked. I was ready to chuck it (I was that frustrated, after working on it all weekend) or I thought, 'I'll sew a huge button in the middle, to hide the eruption,' when the workshop leader suggested I cut out one of the eyeball-looking things in the border fabric and applique it in the middle.

       I did, and it looked like I had intended it as part of the design all along. The "eye" kept the center of my cotton volcano from erupting.

       The Amish don't believe in perfection. They don't think humans are capable of anything completely perfect. So, when they make a quilt, they will make a small, deliberate mistake.

       When you screw up a piece, call it your Amish essay # ____.  When you mess up on the rhythm of a poem you're writing, tell everyone it was an on-purpose mistake.

    And then keep on writing...

The Match

photo by udijw

Fireblossom wrote a poem for me. (I won a contest posted on her blog. It was grueling...144 questions--gross!--each one requiring copius amounts of research. Whew! I'm glad it's over now.)

I am going to print the poem and hang it up in my writing space, which is still under construction. (So yes, Shay, I am going to "pick the blooms" but certainly your name will be on what I hang as well. Anyone who knows my writing knows I could not write a poem like that one...)

For those who don't follow Fireblossom's blog, I'm providing a link.  (It's written about writing...Don't we all need inspiration at times?) Check out the poem here.

And thanks again, Shay...

After Midnight, We're Gonna Let It All Hang Out...

         Well, I sent off the second story (see the previous post) with oodles of time to spare. The deadline was today, and it was 11:46 p.m. when I sent it off.  Fourteen minutes before the deadline; I'm impressed!

photo by PrincessFroglips

          I've been wondering all day---off and on---about the writing process. Two nights ago, I was stuck.  No inspiration.  Trapped in a tar pit, I gave up, and (not on purpose) fell asleep on the couch. (All sorts of parts and things were hanging out as I lay in a puddle of my own drool, face-down on the futon.)

         The next morning, magically, I was able to make some progress. I don't ever remember my dreams, so if I dreamed about the writing piece, I didn't recall it.

         Maybe writing pieces are like spaghetti sauce or homemade chili or vegetable soup. You let them simmer as long as you can, and then put them in the refrigerator overnight. Something happens once the door is closed. The flavors marry. The spices step forward. What was once loose and liquid-y becomes solidified.

        Who knows if my sauce was any good...Who knows if I put in enough green pepper or too much oregano...All I know is I had 14 minutes to spare.  (And that means I can procrastinate even more next time!)

The Inclined Plane---Or Raising Chickens, C. Hope Clark-Style

          Yesterday we were conducting an experiment, using simple machines. Our third graders (both classes together in the same room at the same time; our mental health examination will follow later this week!) were working with an inclined plane.  Each group of 5 or 6 created a ramp, measured the "work" that was being done, recorded data, and then would increase the steepness of the ramp.

          This work was designed to give a bit of relief to kids, who spent all morning 95 minutes answering 9 questions (no exaggeration). The state MAP testing began yesterday. And if you believe all the stories in the papers about how the blame should be placed on the teachers ("Yeah, those lazy teachers! If they just taught those kids...") or you think that the achievement is flat-lining because of incapable/uncaring students ("Yeah, those lazy kids!  If they just wanted to learn..."), think again.  

        If all the school districts in the state are failing (and they are; every school is auditioning for  the 2012 run of Man of LaMancha, because the state is dreaming the impossible dream when they set the expectations for us), can the blame be placed on the teachers, the children, or the test?  You do the math...

photo by RCAHMS

        Anyway, I digress. I'll wipe the spittle off my face, and get back on track.

         The students determined the amount of work being done by measuring the rubberband as they dragged the weight up their ramp.  And this morning, I thought of C. Hope Clark...

           In her blog, she regularly compares various tasks or activities to the writing process. Struggling with a knot in your shoelace? Hope can connect it to the writing process.  Burned your toast this morning? Hope can create a wonderful analogy about getting published, with your toast as a centerpiece. Did you have to remop your floor last night because someone tracked in some mud? Hope can help you out by telling you a story that will metamorphisize the filthy floor into a wonderful metaphor about revising...

         In fact, I think she is so gifted at it, she could blow her nose, compare the snot in the kleenex to what we "discard" as writers, and by the time you get to the end of her post, you're amazed.

          So I'm going to try my hand at it.

          The 49 nine-year olds took a ruler each time, and measured the length of how much the rubber band stretched. That's how they measured how much work was being done.

          As writers, how do we measure the work we do?  Do we solely count up the places where we've been published?  Do we tally up the hours we spend on writing every week?  Do we count up the "tasks" we accomplish every week  ( __ queries sent off, ___ submissions mailed, ___ many rough drafts started, and so on)?

         And what work do we consider the most difficult?  The students discovered that the same amount of work was being done each time (the length of the ramp was unchanged) but the work was easier to do when the ramp was gentle versus steep. What is the most difficult work you do as a writer?

        (Hope, how did I do?) 

William's Words on Writing

           Last year I had a conversation with a colleague, who spoke of something she experienced while conversing with another teacher.  The teacher was working with young writers, and was asking questions to ascertain what their status was:  were they drafting?  were they generating ideas?  were they engaged in a prewriting activity?

           One student responded by saying they were working on some "wonderments."  What a great response!  Things that children wonder about lead to great writing pieces.

           Unfortunately, the teacher responded by telling the student they needed to remember to put ending punctuation at the end of every sentence. He felt proud of the interaction; he thought working on "wonderments" was a pointless activity, and was confident he had given the child a great direction to go.

            As writers, and teachers of writers, we need to realize that every writer is different, and often the way we arrive at the "end" of a writing piece involves a twisted journey, with lots of crossroads.  We have to celebrate the wondering that children engage in.

           William Stafford wrote these wise words about writing as he dealt with the importance of process instead of substance:

            " Writers may not be special---sensitive or talented in any usual sense.  They are simply engaged n sustained used of a language skill we all have.  Their 'creations' come about through confident reliance on stray impulses that will, with trust, find occasional patterns that are satisfying.

             But writing itself is one of the great, free human activities.  There is scope for individuality, and elation, and discovery, in writing.  For the person who follows with trust and forgiveness what occurs to him, the world remains always ready and deep, and inexhaustible  environment, with the combined vividness of an actuality and flexibility of a dream."

photo by stewartbremner

            We have to nurture writers' confidence.  We have to celebrate their elation.  We have to keep it free...