Men’s college basketball’s final act of the season, March Madness, is fast-breaking its way toward a rafter-rattling national championship slam dunk on the evening of Monday, April 2. The women’s version will play out more quietly on April 3. More quietly because the women’s game generates less money.
Generating even less money was a game played earlier this year between two Division III teams – Gettysburg College and Washington College of Chestertown, Maryland. (Division III is where sports are played far from national television audiences – in front of small crowds and for the love of playing.)
The game was played on February 11, and the last few seconds have been described by commentator Frank Deford in an NPR piece broadcast on February 22.
I bring this game to your attention because something very special happened in the waning seconds of the game, something that transcends sports and, for me, defines the teaching/mentoring process.
The story is about Gettysburg player Cory Weissman, Washington coach Rob Nugent and…. But you should Google “frank deford npr 2-22-12” and listen to Deford tell the story. His curmudgeonly voice tells it with absolutely perfect pitch.
I’d be interested in your comments. For me, what happened at the close of that game is education in its purest form, and it can be replicated – are you listening Secretary of Education Arne Duncan? – in any venue where growth and learning are the objective.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
“Kid, don’t let anyone change…”
There is an instructive story told about Ted Williams, one of major league baseball’s all-time great hitters.
While Ted was a youngster and still developing in the minor leagues, he was approached by Lefty O’Doul, a great major league hitter in his day and also a first-rate baseball teacher. Lefty had watched Ted take batting practice, and even though he was the opposing team’s manager, he felt compelled to give Ted a bit of advice.
“Kid,” he said, “don’t let anyone change that swing.” Ted’s swing was that good.
I know. I know. That’s baseball. Not school. Not writing. This is a writing blog. Come already with the writing stuff.
But I just did. Let me show you with a small bit of word substitution:
“Kid, don’t let anyone change your writing voice.”
Every child has a writing “swing.” We call it “voice,” and we as parents, teachers and the other adults in our children’s lives should never co-opt that voice in the name of “teaching writing.”
Young writers know what they want to say, and they have a “voice” with which to say it.
And not just young writers. High school and college students as well. The first draft of a piece of writing should always be in the student’s own voice. Subsequent drafts can be molded to fit specific formats and genres. But inviting a voice to speak, then slamming the door in its face, and finally saying “Now, let’s get to work” is, well … unkind, disrespectful, perhaps lastingly harmful, and, whether the student shows it or not, painful.
Now, let’s imagine I’m working with at a young writer whose work does not seem predictive of greatness, and some legacy subpersonality deep within me offers up a dead piece of advice: You gotta get this kid to cough up a five-paragraph essay. Or research paper. (or whatever form/genre is required by an arbitrary curriculum). No time to mess around. Just tell ‘em, “Kid, you gotta do it like this, and you gotta do it right now. Otherwise you’re headed for Loser’s Corner Community College.”
Be brave. Resist the temptation to give in to expediency.
Not: “Do it this way!”
Rather: “Let’s you and I walk together for a while with this piece of writing, and listen to what it has to say.”
That walk is where we begin to work together – the three of us – the student, the voice, and the teacher/mentor.
Every writing voice should be raised and honored, should be allowed to grow – and gently, lovingly helped to grow.
A (belated) Happy New Year! And for a New Year’s Resolution: Always trust the voice.
While Ted was a youngster and still developing in the minor leagues, he was approached by Lefty O’Doul, a great major league hitter in his day and also a first-rate baseball teacher. Lefty had watched Ted take batting practice, and even though he was the opposing team’s manager, he felt compelled to give Ted a bit of advice.
“Kid,” he said, “don’t let anyone change that swing.” Ted’s swing was that good.
I know. I know. That’s baseball. Not school. Not writing. This is a writing blog. Come already with the writing stuff.
But I just did. Let me show you with a small bit of word substitution:
“Kid, don’t let anyone change your writing voice.”
Every child has a writing “swing.” We call it “voice,” and we as parents, teachers and the other adults in our children’s lives should never co-opt that voice in the name of “teaching writing.”
Young writers know what they want to say, and they have a “voice” with which to say it.
And not just young writers. High school and college students as well. The first draft of a piece of writing should always be in the student’s own voice. Subsequent drafts can be molded to fit specific formats and genres. But inviting a voice to speak, then slamming the door in its face, and finally saying “Now, let’s get to work” is, well … unkind, disrespectful, perhaps lastingly harmful, and, whether the student shows it or not, painful.
Now, let’s imagine I’m working with at a young writer whose work does not seem predictive of greatness, and some legacy subpersonality deep within me offers up a dead piece of advice: You gotta get this kid to cough up a five-paragraph essay. Or research paper. (or whatever form/genre is required by an arbitrary curriculum). No time to mess around. Just tell ‘em, “Kid, you gotta do it like this, and you gotta do it right now. Otherwise you’re headed for Loser’s Corner Community College.”
Be brave. Resist the temptation to give in to expediency.
Not: “Do it this way!”
Rather: “Let’s you and I walk together for a while with this piece of writing, and listen to what it has to say.”
That walk is where we begin to work together – the three of us – the student, the voice, and the teacher/mentor.
Every writing voice should be raised and honored, should be allowed to grow – and gently, lovingly helped to grow.
A (belated) Happy New Year! And for a New Year’s Resolution: Always trust the voice.
Monday, October 3, 2011
You can’t sail safely without writers
The epigraph Jeannette Walls selected for her “true-life novel,” Half Broke Horses, is an Old Norwegian saying: “It was the great north wind that made the Vikings.”
That’s where I’ll start – with the great wind sweeping across the current scene. A wind that can sink us – or be make to serve us.
This wind brings challenges aplenty: recession and worldwide economic crises, wars and violent political upheavals, a growing agenda of environmental issues, our national government imitating a Katzenjammer Kids playpen… the list goes on.
Explaining and interpreting all of this for us are some extremely talented writers. They don’t any of them get it all right, but without them most of us would be sailing rudderless in high seas and a gale-force wind.
When I was in high school back in the late 1950s and the United States was terrorized by a beeping little ball known as “Sputnik,” the big push was to turn out scientists, engineers and mathematicians. So it is again today, with computer whizzes thrown in.
But we need writers as well – journalists, historians, novelists, poets – the whole pantheon of skilled wordsmiths. Somebody has to tell us what is going on and help us make sense of it.
If we focus too much on the people who know how to do things and too little on those who know how to question and explain, and how to challenge the status quo, whatever it may be at any given time, the care-less wind that fills our sails may well pitch us up on barren shores.
All of us as parents want “life to be better for our children than it was for us.” That’s as it should be.
But better does not mean the same thing for each generation. Sometimes it means enjoying and building on the previous generation’s successes. And sometimes it means transforming a not-so-good present into a better future.
My judgment: The children and young adults of this generation are being asked to build new ships and find new routes to successful and fulfilling lives. The boats we’re leaving them leak, the sails are pretty much in tatters, and the old maps will guide them nowhere useful.
Our children and young adults need to think about becoming scientists, engineers, mathematicians and computer experts. Their generation needs to transform the present into a new future.
They also need to think about becoming writers, because someone needs to navigate and steer the course.
Before I close, I must mention President Barack Obama’s annual Back to School address to America’s students, delivered on September 28. It was, I thought, an excellent speech that combined optimism, enthusiasm and encouragement with challenge.
One line in particular warmed my heart, the one where the president suggested to his young audience that, among other significant contributions they might make, “maybe you’ll write the next great American novel.”
Well said, Mr. President. Thank you.
That’s where I’ll start – with the great wind sweeping across the current scene. A wind that can sink us – or be make to serve us.
This wind brings challenges aplenty: recession and worldwide economic crises, wars and violent political upheavals, a growing agenda of environmental issues, our national government imitating a Katzenjammer Kids playpen… the list goes on.
Explaining and interpreting all of this for us are some extremely talented writers. They don’t any of them get it all right, but without them most of us would be sailing rudderless in high seas and a gale-force wind.
When I was in high school back in the late 1950s and the United States was terrorized by a beeping little ball known as “Sputnik,” the big push was to turn out scientists, engineers and mathematicians. So it is again today, with computer whizzes thrown in.
But we need writers as well – journalists, historians, novelists, poets – the whole pantheon of skilled wordsmiths. Somebody has to tell us what is going on and help us make sense of it.
If we focus too much on the people who know how to do things and too little on those who know how to question and explain, and how to challenge the status quo, whatever it may be at any given time, the care-less wind that fills our sails may well pitch us up on barren shores.
All of us as parents want “life to be better for our children than it was for us.” That’s as it should be.
But better does not mean the same thing for each generation. Sometimes it means enjoying and building on the previous generation’s successes. And sometimes it means transforming a not-so-good present into a better future.
My judgment: The children and young adults of this generation are being asked to build new ships and find new routes to successful and fulfilling lives. The boats we’re leaving them leak, the sails are pretty much in tatters, and the old maps will guide them nowhere useful.
Our children and young adults need to think about becoming scientists, engineers, mathematicians and computer experts. Their generation needs to transform the present into a new future.
They also need to think about becoming writers, because someone needs to navigate and steer the course.
Before I close, I must mention President Barack Obama’s annual Back to School address to America’s students, delivered on September 28. It was, I thought, an excellent speech that combined optimism, enthusiasm and encouragement with challenge.
One line in particular warmed my heart, the one where the president suggested to his young audience that, among other significant contributions they might make, “maybe you’ll write the next great American novel.”
Well said, Mr. President. Thank you.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Chris, Mark and Tom Sawyer revisited
This was, way back in February, a “to be continued” story, and it almost found itself discontinued.
But “fan” pressure has kept the story alive, and here is the final episode.
To bring newcomers to The Writing Mentor up to speed: Martha, a student of mine back in the day, came to me wringing her hands. Her son, Mark, seemed to be absolutely helpless in the face of a writing assignment, and would I please create a miracle. Miracles are not my business, but Mark and I did some walking and talking, and something inside of him broke loose, and he delivered himself of a very well written but literarily unorthodox paper on Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
The paper’s heretical antics brought Mark’s English teacher, Chris Thompson, to my doorstep. We walked and talked and finally recessed our discussion until spring break, which, as it turned out, came and went, and here we are at the end of July, and an e-mail exchange brings Chris to my back door.
“Too hot to walk today, I suppose,” he began.
“Never too hot – or too cold – to walk,” I said.
“Oh, well, yeah, I suppose so.” Deflated and disappointed. Not the outdoor type.
“Well, you’ve had time to think about our conversation of earlier this year,” I said as we entered the woods, “and I presume you have a few thoughts to share.”
“Think, yes. Something to share, no.”
“Ok.”
“Look, I’m a very traditional teacher, and I’m comfortable with that. I’m also very good at what I do.”
“Agreed.”
“So why are we taking this walk in the woods on the hottest day in July?”
“To let you know that you’ve been infected with a virus.”
Chris jumped. “You’re not serious.”
I smiled. “I am. No visible symptoms. But very virulent. Those who know say that it can infect as much as 80 percent of an entire faculty in as short a time as a single semester.”
“But… why me?”
“Ah! This virus can exist only in a teacher who is (1) traditional, (2) comfortable, and (3) very good at what he or she does.”
Chris was becoming agitated. “Is this like accidentally scratching yourself on a rusty barbed wire fence? If so, I can get some sort of tetanus-like shot.”
“Yes it is; and no, there is no curative treatment. The ‘rusty barbed wire’ in your case was your student Mark’s paper on Tom Sawyer. You were somewhat righteous in defense of your comments on that paper, but in the end you were willing to discuss your methodology and mine.”
“And that openness did me in?”
“Yup.”
“So what happens next?”
“You will find yourself doubting some things you used to take for granted, and you will pause to consider before uttering or writing statements that you had previously taken to be educational truths.”
“That’s happened! Fourth quarter I found myself second guessing my comments and grades on a regular basis.”
“Now the fun begins. Your karma will change, and your virus will begin to communicate itself to your colleagues.”
“I don’t believe in karma and I do not sense the fun of this.”
“Ah, but listen. You are going to find yourself asking, at faculty meetings, questions like, ‘How are these curricular requirements relevant to the learning experience we are mandated to provide for our students?’”
“So why didn’t you do this when you were in the classroom? Why don’t you do it now?”
“Couldn’t then and can’t now. I’m too radical, and more to the point, I’m known to be too radical. One word from my mouth vaccinates insiders against me forever. But coming from your mouth, radical notions seem harmless and even make sense.”
“You set me up!”
“No, you set yourself up. You forgot to stuff wax in your ears before the Sirens began their song.”
Chris stopped. Stood stark still. The light had gone on. Then a smile slowly spread across his face.
But “fan” pressure has kept the story alive, and here is the final episode.
To bring newcomers to The Writing Mentor up to speed: Martha, a student of mine back in the day, came to me wringing her hands. Her son, Mark, seemed to be absolutely helpless in the face of a writing assignment, and would I please create a miracle. Miracles are not my business, but Mark and I did some walking and talking, and something inside of him broke loose, and he delivered himself of a very well written but literarily unorthodox paper on Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
The paper’s heretical antics brought Mark’s English teacher, Chris Thompson, to my doorstep. We walked and talked and finally recessed our discussion until spring break, which, as it turned out, came and went, and here we are at the end of July, and an e-mail exchange brings Chris to my back door.
“Too hot to walk today, I suppose,” he began.
“Never too hot – or too cold – to walk,” I said.
“Oh, well, yeah, I suppose so.” Deflated and disappointed. Not the outdoor type.
“Well, you’ve had time to think about our conversation of earlier this year,” I said as we entered the woods, “and I presume you have a few thoughts to share.”
“Think, yes. Something to share, no.”
“Ok.”
“Look, I’m a very traditional teacher, and I’m comfortable with that. I’m also very good at what I do.”
“Agreed.”
“So why are we taking this walk in the woods on the hottest day in July?”
“To let you know that you’ve been infected with a virus.”
Chris jumped. “You’re not serious.”
I smiled. “I am. No visible symptoms. But very virulent. Those who know say that it can infect as much as 80 percent of an entire faculty in as short a time as a single semester.”
“But… why me?”
“Ah! This virus can exist only in a teacher who is (1) traditional, (2) comfortable, and (3) very good at what he or she does.”
Chris was becoming agitated. “Is this like accidentally scratching yourself on a rusty barbed wire fence? If so, I can get some sort of tetanus-like shot.”
“Yes it is; and no, there is no curative treatment. The ‘rusty barbed wire’ in your case was your student Mark’s paper on Tom Sawyer. You were somewhat righteous in defense of your comments on that paper, but in the end you were willing to discuss your methodology and mine.”
“And that openness did me in?”
“Yup.”
“So what happens next?”
“You will find yourself doubting some things you used to take for granted, and you will pause to consider before uttering or writing statements that you had previously taken to be educational truths.”
“That’s happened! Fourth quarter I found myself second guessing my comments and grades on a regular basis.”
“Now the fun begins. Your karma will change, and your virus will begin to communicate itself to your colleagues.”
“I don’t believe in karma and I do not sense the fun of this.”
“Ah, but listen. You are going to find yourself asking, at faculty meetings, questions like, ‘How are these curricular requirements relevant to the learning experience we are mandated to provide for our students?’”
“So why didn’t you do this when you were in the classroom? Why don’t you do it now?”
“Couldn’t then and can’t now. I’m too radical, and more to the point, I’m known to be too radical. One word from my mouth vaccinates insiders against me forever. But coming from your mouth, radical notions seem harmless and even make sense.”
“You set me up!”
“No, you set yourself up. You forgot to stuff wax in your ears before the Sirens began their song.”
Chris stopped. Stood stark still. The light had gone on. Then a smile slowly spread across his face.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Coffee and cookies with the Prof
“I understand that coffee and cookies are a part of the educational process around here,” said Dr. James Thornton, Angelina’s English Lit. professor.
“Indeed, Dr. Thornton,” I said. “And by the way, are you allergic to peanuts? Today’s cookies are my own peanut, raisin and chocolate chip recipe.”
“Peanuts and I get along just fine. Do you always try to get all the food groups into your cookies?”
I smiled and gave a slight appreciative nod.
“And my students call me ‘J’.”
“Not ‘Dr. J’?"
“At five foot-six, I hardly qualify to be known as ‘Dr. J’.”
Coffee and cookies in hand, we repaired to my office work table.
“You have the honor to sit where your Angelina has occasionally worked,” I opened. “You see there the scars from several #2 pencil attacks.”
“Yes, Angelina,” J said. “I presume you have read her ‘Lucie, Charlie and Syd – A Love Triangle in Two Cities.’”
“Oh yes. And your comment as well.”
“Ah. I’m not sure the paper deserved an A+, but I got somewhat carried away. It really is a good paper though, and on reflection I wouldn’t change the grade. That paper was a breakthrough for Angelina. She has taken three of my classes, and I’ve seen a good sampling of her writing. Solid papers, but still damp from the intellectual sweat that went into them, and full of clunky prose that bespeaks too much conscious work. Until this paper.”
“‘Too much conscious work.’ Interesting turn of phrase.”
“Yes. I have growth rings from a good many years of teaching (heavens, did I just say that!) – junior high and up – and I’ve come to understand writing is three separate processes – a troika, if you will.”
“Keep talking.”
“Ideas and information. Organization. And words. Ideally this troika works as one, but getting to that unity is a process.”
“A process?”
“Yes. This troika is not of one mind. Each member brings its own set of tools, and each one views itself as an independent contractor that ought to be the general contractor.”
“Uh…”
“The thing is, they don’t need a general contractor. What they need is to work together, clunking along and hassling things out until, one day, they find themselves producing a piece of work together, the arguing gone, the friction minimized, no thought of ‘who’s the boss,’ the work flowing freely – ideas merging into an organizational pattern and words slipping merrily into place.”
“And that’s what you saw when you read Angelina’s A Tale of Two Cities paper?”
“That’s what I saw and, more to the point, felt. The intellectual sweat was gone, because the three members of the troika were contributing in unison, like a shortstop-to-second-to-first double play in baseball – work so practiced and fluid that it has become an unconscious blend. No one runs the thing because everyone runs it. No one is in charge because the blend no longer needs a boss.”
“And how do you teach that process?”
“You know the answer. Beyond a point you don’t. First, the student must put a few words down on paper. And then a few more, and a few more. And all the while you are looking and nodding and affirming and making suggestions.”
“And while that’s going on?”
“Confusion. Each member of the troika is struggling for primacy.”
“And that struggle stops…”
“Different for each student. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes over a long period of time.”
“Have you written about this, either in scholarly or popular journals. If so, I haven’t seen it.”
“No, I haven’t, but you know, maybe you and I could sit down sometime, put our heads together, and see if we could come up with a book.”
“And we could maybe call it Pen and Ink Meet the Troika.”
“Ah…”
“OK, it needs work.”
“And I need to hit the road. Let’s keep in touch. And do you suppose, if I got my travel cup from the car, you could fill it with coffee – and then donate a few cookies to the cause of keeping me alert while I drive back to the university?”
Next week. Chris Thompson and I have our long deferred talk about “community through individuality,” and about “too much conscious work.”
“Indeed, Dr. Thornton,” I said. “And by the way, are you allergic to peanuts? Today’s cookies are my own peanut, raisin and chocolate chip recipe.”
“Peanuts and I get along just fine. Do you always try to get all the food groups into your cookies?”
I smiled and gave a slight appreciative nod.
“And my students call me ‘J’.”
“Not ‘Dr. J’?"
“At five foot-six, I hardly qualify to be known as ‘Dr. J’.”
Coffee and cookies in hand, we repaired to my office work table.
“You have the honor to sit where your Angelina has occasionally worked,” I opened. “You see there the scars from several #2 pencil attacks.”
“Yes, Angelina,” J said. “I presume you have read her ‘Lucie, Charlie and Syd – A Love Triangle in Two Cities.’”
“Oh yes. And your comment as well.”
“Ah. I’m not sure the paper deserved an A+, but I got somewhat carried away. It really is a good paper though, and on reflection I wouldn’t change the grade. That paper was a breakthrough for Angelina. She has taken three of my classes, and I’ve seen a good sampling of her writing. Solid papers, but still damp from the intellectual sweat that went into them, and full of clunky prose that bespeaks too much conscious work. Until this paper.”
“‘Too much conscious work.’ Interesting turn of phrase.”
“Yes. I have growth rings from a good many years of teaching (heavens, did I just say that!) – junior high and up – and I’ve come to understand writing is three separate processes – a troika, if you will.”
“Keep talking.”
“Ideas and information. Organization. And words. Ideally this troika works as one, but getting to that unity is a process.”
“A process?”
“Yes. This troika is not of one mind. Each member brings its own set of tools, and each one views itself as an independent contractor that ought to be the general contractor.”
“Uh…”
“The thing is, they don’t need a general contractor. What they need is to work together, clunking along and hassling things out until, one day, they find themselves producing a piece of work together, the arguing gone, the friction minimized, no thought of ‘who’s the boss,’ the work flowing freely – ideas merging into an organizational pattern and words slipping merrily into place.”
“And that’s what you saw when you read Angelina’s A Tale of Two Cities paper?”
“That’s what I saw and, more to the point, felt. The intellectual sweat was gone, because the three members of the troika were contributing in unison, like a shortstop-to-second-to-first double play in baseball – work so practiced and fluid that it has become an unconscious blend. No one runs the thing because everyone runs it. No one is in charge because the blend no longer needs a boss.”
“And how do you teach that process?”
“You know the answer. Beyond a point you don’t. First, the student must put a few words down on paper. And then a few more, and a few more. And all the while you are looking and nodding and affirming and making suggestions.”
“And while that’s going on?”
“Confusion. Each member of the troika is struggling for primacy.”
“And that struggle stops…”
“Different for each student. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes over a long period of time.”
“Have you written about this, either in scholarly or popular journals. If so, I haven’t seen it.”
“No, I haven’t, but you know, maybe you and I could sit down sometime, put our heads together, and see if we could come up with a book.”
“And we could maybe call it Pen and Ink Meet the Troika.”
“Ah…”
“OK, it needs work.”
“And I need to hit the road. Let’s keep in touch. And do you suppose, if I got my travel cup from the car, you could fill it with coffee – and then donate a few cookies to the cause of keeping me alert while I drive back to the university?”
Next week. Chris Thompson and I have our long deferred talk about “community through individuality,” and about “too much conscious work.”
Monday, June 13, 2011
Angelina breezes in
(Apologies. This blog has been sitting on my desk since April. And for those who have been following the intermittent course of The Writing Mentor, I must still follow up on the multi-blog set on Mark and his teacher, Chris. That will come right after this piece of Angelina and the follow-up with her professor, that follow-up to be posted on June 16.)
A warm Saturday in early April. The sun is shining, the zephyrs hint that spring is nigh, and clouds in the west suggest an April shower in the offing.
With a cookie, a cup of coffee and my computer for companionship, I am creeping toward the conquest of a cantankerous column.
Knock at the back door.
"It's open."
Screen door slams. Refrigerator door slams. Angelina appears, a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Home from college on Spring Break.
Ah, Angelina! Talented writer, but bound up. Easily frustrated. Vents by breaking #2 pencils.
"You look like somebody rubbed your brain's fur the wrong way, Old Man," she says in a voice way too carefree for my mood.
"You read my brain well, child. This blog is not happening for me, and the deadline approaches."
"Well, I bring a fair wind that will fill the sails of the good ship Blog-a-Long and bring you to port with time to spare."
"The metaphor needs work."
"No contrary winds to spoil the day, if you please."
"So may I take it that you are not going to be breaking any of my #2 pencils today?"
"Me?"
"We do have a history, you and I and my #2 pencils."
"Ah, but not today. Look at this!"
The essay, on Charles Dickens' classic A Tale of Two Cities, was titled "Lucie, Charlie and Syd - A Love Triangle in Two Cities." It was written for one of Angelina's college literature classes.
At the top of the first page was a large red "A" and the comment: I disagree with everything you wrote, and Charles Dickens would be aghast at how you mistreated his story. But this is the most refreshing essay I have read in a long time, even though you seem to be arguing that A Tale of Two Cities is really the script for a couple of season's worth of afternoon soap opera episodes. And your writing! Where did that strong and genuine voice come from? It almost reads as though Dickens wrote...OK, make it and A+.
Then I read the essay. The premise was that Lucie Manette was not good enough for Sydney Carton, that she got what she deserved when she married Charles Darnay, and that Sydney was a fool to "kneel to the Guillotine" to save Charles' life. The essay also spun out a scenario wherein, after Sydney's death, Charles and Lucie split, little Lucie, who loved Sydney and comes to hate her father, ends up in the eighteenth-century equivalent of juvie, and Dr. Manette returns to France and opens up a cobbler's shop which becomes, two centuries later, "the place" for women's high-fashion footwear.
"Did you have your tongue in your cheek the whole time you were writing this?" I ask.
"Well, yeah. But that's the point. A Tale of Two Cities is a wonderful piece of literature. Really. I love the book, though I hated it in your class. It's a bit schmaltzy in places, but right now it's on my list of two best books I've ever read."
"And you wrote this piece on Dickens' book because..."
"You told me to."
"I did no such thing, young lady!" My reflex reaction was, I do not need grief over this piece of writing, but my spirit was overruling with a fist-pumping Yes! She did it! I've been waiting since she was in ninth grade for her to break loose as a writer. Now, finally, she is free to become the writer she is truly capable of being.
Angelina left and I noticed that I had an e-mail. It turned out to be from a college professor. I immediately recognized one degree of separation: "Angelina mentioned your name..." the e-mail began. It concluded with: "I'll be attending a meeting in your fair town next week, and I wonder when would be a good time to have coffee with you."
Then I noticed the broken #2 pencil on my desk, the two halves laid out to form an angular smile.
Next Week: Coffee and cookies with the Prof
A warm Saturday in early April. The sun is shining, the zephyrs hint that spring is nigh, and clouds in the west suggest an April shower in the offing.
With a cookie, a cup of coffee and my computer for companionship, I am creeping toward the conquest of a cantankerous column.
Knock at the back door.
"It's open."
Screen door slams. Refrigerator door slams. Angelina appears, a plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Home from college on Spring Break.
Ah, Angelina! Talented writer, but bound up. Easily frustrated. Vents by breaking #2 pencils.
"You look like somebody rubbed your brain's fur the wrong way, Old Man," she says in a voice way too carefree for my mood.
"You read my brain well, child. This blog is not happening for me, and the deadline approaches."
"Well, I bring a fair wind that will fill the sails of the good ship Blog-a-Long and bring you to port with time to spare."
"The metaphor needs work."
"No contrary winds to spoil the day, if you please."
"So may I take it that you are not going to be breaking any of my #2 pencils today?"
"Me?"
"We do have a history, you and I and my #2 pencils."
"Ah, but not today. Look at this!"
The essay, on Charles Dickens' classic A Tale of Two Cities, was titled "Lucie, Charlie and Syd - A Love Triangle in Two Cities." It was written for one of Angelina's college literature classes.
At the top of the first page was a large red "A" and the comment: I disagree with everything you wrote, and Charles Dickens would be aghast at how you mistreated his story. But this is the most refreshing essay I have read in a long time, even though you seem to be arguing that A Tale of Two Cities is really the script for a couple of season's worth of afternoon soap opera episodes. And your writing! Where did that strong and genuine voice come from? It almost reads as though Dickens wrote...OK, make it and A+.
Then I read the essay. The premise was that Lucie Manette was not good enough for Sydney Carton, that she got what she deserved when she married Charles Darnay, and that Sydney was a fool to "kneel to the Guillotine" to save Charles' life. The essay also spun out a scenario wherein, after Sydney's death, Charles and Lucie split, little Lucie, who loved Sydney and comes to hate her father, ends up in the eighteenth-century equivalent of juvie, and Dr. Manette returns to France and opens up a cobbler's shop which becomes, two centuries later, "the place" for women's high-fashion footwear.
"Did you have your tongue in your cheek the whole time you were writing this?" I ask.
"Well, yeah. But that's the point. A Tale of Two Cities is a wonderful piece of literature. Really. I love the book, though I hated it in your class. It's a bit schmaltzy in places, but right now it's on my list of two best books I've ever read."
"And you wrote this piece on Dickens' book because..."
"You told me to."
"I did no such thing, young lady!" My reflex reaction was, I do not need grief over this piece of writing, but my spirit was overruling with a fist-pumping Yes! She did it! I've been waiting since she was in ninth grade for her to break loose as a writer. Now, finally, she is free to become the writer she is truly capable of being.
Angelina left and I noticed that I had an e-mail. It turned out to be from a college professor. I immediately recognized one degree of separation: "Angelina mentioned your name..." the e-mail began. It concluded with: "I'll be attending a meeting in your fair town next week, and I wonder when would be a good time to have coffee with you."
Then I noticed the broken #2 pencil on my desk, the two halves laid out to form an angular smile.
Next Week: Coffee and cookies with the Prof
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Summer Writing Workshops – a request for your help
I feel like a sinner come to beg forgiveness – in my case for the sin of neglect.
My last blog posting was on March 16.
I even have a blog sitting on my desk – waiting for a final look, a kiss for luck, and a posting.
But before I post it, I want to say a few words about The Writing Mentor Summer 2011 Writing Workshops.
And I want to ask you to help me spread the word to your networks – schools as well as individual teachers, students and parents. I have learned over the years that “six degrees of separation” is my most effective advertising and promotional strategy.
I have held writing workshops every summer for the past five years, and have worked with students from elementary school through senior high school.
The workshops are designed to give each student a true “Let’s write together for a while, you and I” writing workshop experience. My bottom-line objective is to offer students the opportunity to truly become writers. The workshops offer a genuine writing environment: individual direction is provided, student ownership is respected, and each student has the time she or he needs to move to the next level as a writer – whether that means getting comfortable with the idea of really being a writer, working through specific writing issues and challenges, or taking off with strong writing wings and soaring.
I also deal with specific “meat and potatoes” writing skills like learning to write essays and research papers, ACT/SAT essay preparation, and college application essays.
And – a bonus – each student has a free-of-charge right to three consultations with me on writing challenges any time during the 2011-2012 school year.
I make the workshops as flexible as possible, setting up shop wherever in the Tri-State area is most convenient for participants. I also provide an opportunity for online work as a part of the workshop. (Laptop computers and the Internet are wonderful tools. They make teaching a truly moveable feast.)
The cost? Very reasonable – as low as $5 per hour.
Workshops begin June 20 and run (two four-week sessions and flexible scheduling) through August 12.
Interested students and parents can contact me at: (513) 476-4963 and at JohnOverbeck42@gmail.com.
The posting notification I e-mailed to you includes an attached Writing Workshop brochure. Please distribute it wherever you feel it will be effective – either electronically or printed copies.
Thank you in advance for your help.
John
My last blog posting was on March 16.
I even have a blog sitting on my desk – waiting for a final look, a kiss for luck, and a posting.
But before I post it, I want to say a few words about The Writing Mentor Summer 2011 Writing Workshops.
And I want to ask you to help me spread the word to your networks – schools as well as individual teachers, students and parents. I have learned over the years that “six degrees of separation” is my most effective advertising and promotional strategy.
I have held writing workshops every summer for the past five years, and have worked with students from elementary school through senior high school.
The workshops are designed to give each student a true “Let’s write together for a while, you and I” writing workshop experience. My bottom-line objective is to offer students the opportunity to truly become writers. The workshops offer a genuine writing environment: individual direction is provided, student ownership is respected, and each student has the time she or he needs to move to the next level as a writer – whether that means getting comfortable with the idea of really being a writer, working through specific writing issues and challenges, or taking off with strong writing wings and soaring.
I also deal with specific “meat and potatoes” writing skills like learning to write essays and research papers, ACT/SAT essay preparation, and college application essays.
And – a bonus – each student has a free-of-charge right to three consultations with me on writing challenges any time during the 2011-2012 school year.
I make the workshops as flexible as possible, setting up shop wherever in the Tri-State area is most convenient for participants. I also provide an opportunity for online work as a part of the workshop. (Laptop computers and the Internet are wonderful tools. They make teaching a truly moveable feast.)
The cost? Very reasonable – as low as $5 per hour.
Workshops begin June 20 and run (two four-week sessions and flexible scheduling) through August 12.
Interested students and parents can contact me at: (513) 476-4963 and at JohnOverbeck42@gmail.com.
The posting notification I e-mailed to you includes an attached Writing Workshop brochure. Please distribute it wherever you feel it will be effective – either electronically or printed copies.
Thank you in advance for your help.
John
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