Think About How You Know What You Know

I've never taken a creative writing class.

Still, I consider myself a writer. A poet. A creative writer. If you ask me what I write, I'll probably say, "Poetry, mostly. Some prose...when I have time."

Don't get me wrong: I've taken plenty of writing courses. I have a degree in technical/professional communications; and I could probably write any number of informal essays, critical essays, or research papers in my sleep (although they probably wouldn't be very good...). I even make a little extra money from freelance technical writing...yet I tend to call myself a creative writer first. A poet.

And I've never taken a creative writing class.

This fact had never dawned on me until yesterday. This weekend I attended a writing festival at a nearby university. I go to writing festivals not just to learn new writing techniques, but also to get inspired and rejuvenated--to get the creative juices flowing. (Between work, grad school, and my on-the-side technical writing, my creative juices have all but dried up in the last few months.) It had been more than a month since I signed up for the workshops I would take this weekend, so it was kind of like opening a present when I checked in at Registration on Friday afternoon and received my personalized itinerary. Ah, yes. Not surprisingly, I had chosen a couple of poetry workshops--specifically, ones to help generate new ideas. But I also had chosen a workshop with the title "Creative Approaches to Teaching Grammar" and one called "The Overlap: Teaching Creative Writing and Developmental English."

As expected, I found inspiration from the poetry workshops and even wrote a couple of (still rough) new poems, but the two aforementioned workshops also proved delightfully beneficial for me--energizing me with information that I can use for a school project I will be working on intensely this week (since I have time off for the Thanksgiving holiday...and since I've been procrastinating way too much for the last two months...). I learned about a teaching strategy called RAFT, which lends itself nicely to my school project; and I learned about the fascinating similarities between teaching a creative writing class and teaching a developmental English class, both subjects that I am drawn to. (Literacy, in particular, is a subject I am passionate about; and my school project is about integrating reading and writing into teaching across the curriculum in order to develop fluent readers, writers, and critical thinkers.)

As I sat in the Creative Writing/Developmental English workshop, the realization that I had never taken a creative writing class hit me. I wondered: So, how did I learn creative writing? Why do I (or, even, how can I) consider myself a poet/a creative writer when my formal education has all been on the other side of the writing spectrum?

I started writing as soon as I was able to form sentence fragments (who are we kidding? I was five--I'm sure there were just as many fragments as sentences). At six, I declared I would be a writer. My first published "story" was a pleasant little number about how my dog threw up every time we took him for a ride in the car. I was in first grade, and my teacher "caught" me writing and asked if she could submit the piece to our elementary school "journal" (xeroxed pages stapled together, the desktop publishing of the early '80s). I went home and spent the evening revising and editing (I probably wrote three drafts!), thrilled out of my mind, adrenaline pumping. I can still feel the rush I felt, sitting at the dining room table, reading my piece over and over to my parents to make sure it was just right.

And I never stopped writing. I still have all the notebooks I filled throughout elementary school and junior high, story after story, unfinished novel after unfinished novel, splatterings of poetry. Since my early twenties, I've immersed myself in writing communities, have attended various writing festivals/workshops, have read about writing extensively; and now I, more or less, rightly or wrongly, consider myself to have a strong creative writing base of knowledge.

I've become a writer because I've written. I picked up tidbits along the way; I've learned from other writers. Apparently, I've learned by "doing" (proving John Dewey's theory?). One similarity (among several) between a student in a creative writing class and a student in Developmental English is that both will only improve their writing by writing. Good writing, bad writing, grammatically incorrect writing--it doesn't matter. Everyone has to start somewhere, and students learning to write--no matter what their interest or skill level--must write.

I was surprised to realize that I had never taken a formal creative writing class, the kind where the teacher grades you; but, in many ways, I sort of have--I've just stretched it out over many years (and will continue to stretch it out, as knowledge and improvement do not have an end point...), and I've done it a little more unconventionally than some (as I tend to do many things).

I think I'll give myself a B+.

Think About Measuring Standards of Knowledge

I recently read an interesting article called "The SAT and the Assault on Literature" by David Ruenzel. The author--both a parent and a teacher--opines that, while preparing for the SAT, students stop reading books that are unrelated to schoolwork and unrelated to studying for the exam. Essentially, they stop reading for pleasure. His assertion is backed up with his experience. Without agreeing or disagreeing, I might take it a step further: Perhaps it's the whole atmosphere of the American education system--which has become what I would call a "testing nation"--that is creating the assault on literature (and reading and writing).

I took the SAT because I had to. I didn't know--and didn't really care--what it was supposed to say about me or about my intelligence. In the long run, it probably didn't say much; and whatever it did/didn't say doesn't matter anymore anyway (if it ever did). In high school, I knew kids who studied for the SAT, and I knew kids who fretted about it. But I didn't do either. At least, I don't remember studying for it. Perhaps I did the weekend before or, half-heartedly, for the month before, but I don't remember it being a focal point in my life. I know I never attended any SAT prep courses. But, when all was said and done, I did well on it. A decent score. Nothing out-of-this-world-great, but I did better than several of the people I knew who had taken the prep courses and/or studied intensely for months. So, does that measure my knowledge? My problem-solving skills? My aptitude? Or, does it just say that I was lazy and could have done really well had I put any effort into it? Does it take into account that I was in mostly all honors courses, spending hours a night on homework, juggling several extracurricular activities--drama, band, and soccer--and that, for me, studying for another test seemed pretty pointless at the time?

If you study just to take a test, what are you really learning? This is how I feel about the standardized tests that many teachers are required to teach to. "Teaching to the test" does not--in a lot of cases--help the student learn how to think critically or read closely. It is my understanding, though, that the SAT now has an essay component to it. This could be progress; I don't know enough about what the essay part entails to form an opinion, but certainly it measures at least a little more than how well you can fill in a little bubble with your #2 pencil. Because, the thing is, essays are a lot harder to study for: You really have to know the information...in most cases. (I actually B.S.'d my way through a number of essay exams in high school, getting "A"s and "B"s when, in reality, I had very little idea of what I was talking about. But perhaps writing B.S. skillfully is a measure of aptitude, too?)

Generally speaking, though, essays require, at the very least, the ability to be able to form words, sentences, and thoughts. And, to me, being able to communicate effectively (and correctly) is crucial to a person's success (whether the rest of society thinks so or not).

The one test I did care very much about in high school was the AP English exam my senior year. David Ruenzel asserted in his article that the SAT ruins literature for students? Well, our small class (6 or 8 of us) spent the year preparing for the AP exam by dissecting every inch of every piece of literature we read. It didn't kill literature for me; on the contrary, it made me appreciate it even more. (I'm not sure, though, if anyone else who was in the class would agree with me, so Ruenzel might have a point.) We had to read carefully and with understanding, and we had to think critically about what we read. We had to be able to carry over everything we'd studied all year--all those poems, all those stories, all those novels--to the exam and be able to write coherent essays, backing up every thesis statement with proof and, then, backing up our proof with proof.

To me, there's a big difference between an essay exam and a filling-in-a-bubble test. When you're required to take information and pose it into an essay, you need to have some grasp--no matter how weak--of the subject matter (even if all you're going to do is B.S. your way through it). I remember what I learned in my AP class, and perhaps I never want to read The Great Gatsby again (including both high school and college, I had to read it for three different classes), but I did very well on the AP exam; furthermore, very few college (including grad school) classes I've taken have ever matched that class in difficulty.

I don't have any answers...at least, not any that can be neatly filled in with a #2 pencil. I can assert that essay exams are better than the standard standardized tests, and I'm sure I could find enough articles and books to back up my claim. But, ultimately, what does it mean?

We still have students graduating from high school who can barely read and write. What they need is not necessarily a way to be tested and measured; what they need is a way to be taught. Does it really matter where we rank, how we compare to other students, teachers, schools? Yes, I'm sure it does, but maybe it shouldn't be the focus. And...if a student fills in all the bubbles of a standardized test correctly but cannot write an essay, how is that student's aptitude measured?

Yes, there needs to be a way to assess students. But should the focus be on what they know or on what they don't know?

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If you have any further interest in this subject, I'd recommend checking out Rethinking Schools' blog.

Think About Social Media

I was a reluctant neophyte to the social networking scene.

I like to consider myself a non-conformist, but so do a lot of other people, which effectively defeats the point. It's just another label, anyway, and I'd prefer not to place a label on myself. I'm just me.

Generally speaking, though, if the proverbial "everybody" is doing something or seeing a certain movie, I refuse to. I don't necessarily think everyone else has poor taste, but I want to form my own opinions and do or see something based on its merit, not its popularity. I've too often been disappointed when I've seen movies that multiple people told me I just "had" to see.

There are exceptions, of course. I had refused to see Forrest Gump for a long time because "everybody" kept raving about it. I've always enjoyed Tom Hanks, though, and I also have a lot of respect for my parents' taste in movies. When they told me that I'd like the movie, I trusted them. They were right; I loved it. (Incidentally, I prefer not to see movies that have been adapted from books, unless I've read the book first. In this particular case, though, I read Forrest Gump after I saw the movie. The book, though, is so different from the movie that it neither affected my view of the movie nor tainted my enjoyment of the book.)

So, before I joined Facebook, I mulled it over for months, with this singular thought running through my head: Am I being duped into joining? As silly as it seems now, I was so afraid that I was giving up something of myself. Like my dignity or my self-respect.

Joining Twitter was easier. In my research of that medium, I read a number of articles about how essential Twitter is for a writer. Sure, you can connect with other writers/publishers/editors on Facebook, but certainly not in the same way you can on Twitter.

As with most ideas, I like to take into consideration the views of someone "external" whom I respect, someone who carries weight as a kind of mentor. Yesterday I watched a short video clip of author Margaret Atwood expressing her views of social media. She offers an interesting perspective, as she sees social media as just an "extension of the diary" and as nothing different from anything we as a society were already doing, like sending letters to people. She even compares a tweet to a telegram. I found her point of view fascinating. She is, especially, an enthusiast of Twitter and actually sees it as a chance to boost literacy. I must acknowledge that what she says makes sense. Much more than on Facebook, "tweeps" (Twitter peeps) read and share articles and information, regularly exercising their minds and entering into discussions. (I realize that this is not the main purpose of Facebook, so this is not meant as a negative comment. I know that each form of social media has its own motivation.)

While I realize many of the merits of Facebook, I'm still hesitant. One part of me wants to ask, "Why do so many people want to share all the personal and often mundane details of their lives with the world?" But, the other part of me answers, "You idiot, that's exactly what YOU'RE doing." Touché.

When I first joined, I checked Facebook religiously. It's addictive--you sit on pins and needles waiting for people to post what they're going to eat for their 3 o'clock snack, how long it took them to shower that morning, and whether or not they've recovered from yesterday's root canal.

For me, it quickly lost its luster, though, largely because of the poor grammar, punctuation, and spelling I kept witnessing (In case you didn't know, my nickname in both high school and college was the "Grammar Nazi." Dude, I take this stuff seriously!) It doesn't bother me as much on Twitter because when you only have 140 characters to work with, you have to give a person some slack. Same goes for texting.

What really inspired this particular post on social media, though, was an online discussion in one of my classes (Teaching Literature). After muddling through 50 pages of a chapter on literary theory, I learned that literary theory, by definition, might not really exist. And, what about literature? How is it defined? As much as I love literature, you'd think that this would have been something I'd thought a lot about. I hadn't. My answer (in (very small) part) was: "Like Justice Potter Stewart on the definition of pornography, I say about literature: I know it when I see it."

So, how does this apply to social media? Any learning, in my opinion, in order to carry weight, has to have some relevance (personal relevance, political relevance, social relevance, whatever, as long as it has relevance for the student). When we teach literature, perhaps we need to start with a prompt (intuition-based or not) and see what a particular piece means to a large scope of people. If relevance is what we need to get at, we need a broad (and diverse) scope of people to look at it. To this point, maybe social media/forums are the best ways to teach (and learn) literature. You get a wide variety of responses under the guise of anonymity. You reach outside of the classroom. Isn't that the fad nowadays anyway? (And I'm not using fad as necessarily a negative term here.) Learning doesn't (and can't) take place in a vacuum.

So, my now-definitive conclusion about social media is that it is, in no uncertain terms, good for something besides displaying one's poor grammar and lack of proofreading skills: it's good for prompting discussions about "real" things in the world...like the social implications of literature!

Perhaps this is precisely what Margaret Atwood was getting at.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Think About Education, Part 3

Syndicated columnist Kathleen Parker had an interesting piece on October 4, 2011. In the Toledo Blade, the heading for the article was "It's time to put 'education' back in higher education." Naturally, my interest was piqued.

Everyday at work I see college students who lack the motivation and necessary thinking skills to complete their education. But the "problem" is that they do graduate. Parker writes: "A study published by the Association of American Colleges and Universities found that 87 percent of employers believe that higher education institutions have to raise student achievement if the United States is to be competitive in the global market. Sixty-three percent say recent college grads don't have the skills they need to succeed. And, according to a separate survey, more than a quarter of employers say entry-level writing skills are deficient [my emphasis]." None of this surprises me. What surprises me is that it is taking other people so long to realize it. But, actually, that doesn't surprise me much either--we're talking about critical thinking skills here, skills which many Americans don't possess.

Ah, yes, critical thinking skills. My final research paper for one of my grad classes this semester is about the education system and critical thinking skills (Are you surprised?). Parker states, "...the consensus is growing that young adults aren't being taught the basic skills that lead to critical thinking."

Duh.

Parker is only concentrating on higher education though. While it's true that higher education needs some work, the problem starts much earlier than that. Poor higher education is inevitably a result of poor primary and secondary education. Colleges have had to lower their standards in order to accommodate students who have graduated from high school without the basic reading, writing, and thinking skills.

I link reading, writing, and critical thinking together. Students aren't reading or writing at high enough levels. Teachers are teaching at them and testing them, but the teachers are not giving the students the time to actually learn and apply what they've learned. English is a subject that crosses all disciplines. While grammar and language mechanics can be taught as a separate subject, reading and writing are part of every subject. Students learn best when they can research a topic of interest, write about it, and apply it to their own lives. That way their reading, writing, and critical thinking skills are challenged. Unfortunately, though, their learning is stunted when they are pushed through subjects, tested, and moved quickly on to something else, memorized facts soon forgotten.

So, while Kathleen Parker makes some valid points about higher education, she's missing the mark. The problem is in the K-12 grade levels. And, if those problems get resolved, perhaps higher education will begin to fix itself. Instead of searching for ways to "dumb down" the curriculum, professors will be able to challenge their students.

What a wonderful world that would be.

Think About Haiku

writing good haiku:

climbing a tree and reaching

to the highest branch

Haiku are fascinating. They look simple, but, much like the moments and thoughts they represent, are deceptively so. Although my haiku attempt above has several elements of a true haiku, I'm not sure if it would actually count as one; I am, by no means, an expert.

I became interested in haiku about eight years ago when I came across (and subsequently bought) the book How to Haiku: A Writer's Guide to Haiku and Related Forms by Bruce Ross. But, as sometimes happens, my interest waned. Life went on. A few times throughout the years I tried writing haiku, but, getting frustrated or bored, I'd go back to other forms of writing that I was more comfortable with.

My interest in haiku was renewed, though, when I received the book, Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness & Open Your Heart by Patricia Donegan, as a Christmas gift this past year. Maybe it was because I was older (more mature? wiser?!), but writing and reading haiku (and about it) felt more natural to me, less exasperating.

Haiku Mind is a book that you can pick up, read for a couple minutes, set back down, read another book, then come back to, without losing your place or having to backtrack several paragraphs or pages. Each poem and explanation is independent of all the others. Consequently, I was reading it slowly, two or three pages at a time, taking time for many other books in between.

Then, a couple weeks ago, my dad ended up in the hospital after a heart attack and open heart surgery. I found myself doing a lot of sitting at the hospital that week, which, ordinarily, would be a perfect time to read. I was between books at the time, though, and didn't have the concentration to start something new. So, a bit absentmindedly, I grabbed Haiku Mind to take with me to the hospital. It ended up being the perfect book to read there. Throughout the week I read two-hundred pages while my dad slept, ate, or just sat. It was a book I could easily stop, start, and stop again, if my dad wanted to talk or if the doctor or nurses came in.

Not only that, but haiku poems are excellent reminders of the preciousness of life and the value of each moment. Haiku Mind inspired me to write a number of hospital poems (although not necessarily haiku). The hours I spent at the hospital with my dad were the clearest moments of that week for me. I was living in a haiku state of mind...living in the moment...cherishing the present. In the book, author Patricia Donegan states that "[w]e are so caught up in hope and fear about the future or rethinking the past, that we are rarely in this present moment" (p. 197). How true! The combination of reading haiku, writing "in" the moment, and praying gave me clarity, understanding, and peace of mind. And, I was thankful. Very thankful. Of life. Of each moment. Of being in each moment.

One of the days, I spent several hours reading while my dad just slept. It was important to him that someone was there, though, and being there was equally important to me. Even though he was sleeping. Even though there was silence. Donegan tells us, though, that "[m]ost of our deepest moments occur when we are alone in silence or with others in silence. It is a gateway of nurturing, of healing, of renewal, and sometimes of revelation" (p. 151).

As a society, we tend to move so quickly that we forget the little moments that make up our lives. Donegan writes: "If we could but stop for a moment, if we could turn off the TV, computer, iPhone, or whatever gadget we are using, feel our breath moving through our lungs, smell the air, and see around us, we might be amazed by what we find" (p. 47). It is precisely that mindset that helped me really "feel" the moments with my dad at the hospital. Those moments led to poems. To thoughts. To lucidity and understanding of the situation.

I have a new awareness of haiku now, a new passion for it. I'll keep practicing being in a moment, valuing it; and I'll keep practicing recording that moment as well, even if it's in the form of an imperfect haiku.
 

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(For more of my thoughts on being aware/being in a moment, see the post, Think About Being Present.)

Think About Solitude, Part 2

(If you haven't read my original post, Think About Solitude, I encourage you to do so--but you do not need to have read it to make sense of Part 2.)

I recently read The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr (which I mentioned briefly in Think About Books, Part 2). It was a fascinating book and I will probably refer to it in several upcoming posts. It's one of those books that I keep pondering, even though I finished it two days ago. That seems an appropriate reaction, too, since thinking deeply (or, critically) is one of the main ideas that Carr discusses in the book.

As Carr demonstrates, the internet is changing our brains in such a way that one might say it's creating, generally speaking, a society with technology-induced ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). The internet limits one's ability to really contemplate and understand the information one reads and how it might apply to his or her life. Carr writes that "[t]he development of a well-rounded mind requires both [my emphasis] an ability to find and quickly parse a wide range of information and [my emphasis] a capacity for open-ended reflection.... We need to work in Google's 'world of numbers,' but we also need to be able to retreat to Sleepy Hollow. The problem today is that we're losing our ability to strike a balance between those two very different states of mind" (p. 168).

Carr later quotes novelist David Foster Wallace: "Learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience" (pp. 194-5).

In other words, we need to "unplug" every so often. We need solitude, nature, and some form of silence. We need time and space to think.

This evening I rollerbladed a little over 11 miles. A lot of people like to listen to music when they exercise; but, when I exercise, I like to just think about things--in the way that constantly "connected" people might not be able to.

Me, unplugged.

While I rollerbladed I thought about Carr's book, and that is when the idea for this blog post came to me. I also pondered my career/job options. I wrote poetry in my head while I rolled along. I thought about my friends and family. I listened to my wheels against the pavement and enjoyed the sound they made. I delighted in the little noises of nature and watched bunnies hop through the reeds along the path. I thought about how, at 90+ degrees (even in the evening), there was no way I could do the full 15.8 miles I've done the last few times I've been out.

And every thought took me back to Carr's book and our society's reliance on technology and the distractedness it creates. I am certainly not immune to this technology-induced ADD; and, as I thought about Carr's book, I realized that I don't want to lose my capacity to read deeply and think critically. Therefore, I think that in order to hold on to this ability, I need to make time to read, write, or do any other activity uninterrupted--time when I'm not texting or checking email, Facebook, or Twitter.

Solitude.

Think About Poetry

Happy National Poetry Month!

I'm not necessarily a fan of "special" months (and it's my understanding that April is the "special" month for several other issues/subjects besides poetry), but poetry is a subject that tends to be underestimated by the general public. Most poets cannot make a living by their art alone. Creative writing, in general, does not usually pay the bills; but fiction writers can, at least, dream of a bestseller. Poets...not so much. That has to tell you something about poets: we write because we enjoy it, because we are compelled to, and/or because reading a well-crafted poem gives us pleasure, so we are constantly attempting to write that poem. Of course, there are other reasons too (I am not speaking for all poets--I'm just speaking for me).

I've been writing poetry regularly for about 15 years. I had dabbled with it before that (mostly in elementary school), but my original (read: childhood) plan was to become a murder mystery author. Because I was born the year Agatha Christie died, I thought it was my "destiny." (Apparently, I thought I'd be as well-known as she was, too.) But figuring out the intricacies of a good mystery plot is quite the task; figuring out the intricacies of ANY plot is quite the task. On the other hand, coming up with a plot isn't really necessary in poetry (and, bingo...a poet is born!).

I write poetry that I hope will be read by others. I write poetry because I want to get it published. Even so, I write from the heart. It's rare that I write a poem that is just for me. However, that's what I've been doing lately. A few months ago I experienced a sort of "trauma" (for lack of a better word) that left me struggling with a lot of "issues" (again...for lack of a better word). I blamed myself for what had happened, my emotions ran awry, and I quickly ran out of coping mechanisms. My instinct told me to write, which I did; but I was still writing for other readers. A number of years ago I used to journal incessantly--and the thought to do this crossed my mind--but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I made little notes to myself, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Finally, somebody recommended I write "journal-like" poetry (not to be read by others), and this is what I've been doing. It's a pretty obvious solution, but perhaps I just wasn't to the point where I could do that before. Interestingly, the woman who suggested this to me was not a writer, but she had gone through a similar "trauma" as I had and had found that writing poetry (she used the term "poetry" loosely, but poetry has a loose definition anyway, so I'm calling it--definitively--poetry for her!) really helped her through it.

So,...yet another reason to write poetry: it's therapeutic! Of course, it doesn't have to be just poetry. Any creative writing can be therapeutic; any creative endeavor can be, for that matter! Drawing, painting, crafting, etc.

To celebrate National Poetry Month, I'm encouraging you to read some poetry, write some poetry, attend a poetry reading, or just take a moment to think about poetry. If you're not writing poetry, at least do something creative. Support the arts in your community; or, just as importantly, be a part of the arts in your community!

And, like a circular poem, I will end this entry the way I began (but with a minor font adjustment):

Happy National Poetry Month!

Think About Professional Communication

There's a book called I Judge You When You Use Poor Grammar. I haven't read it, but it's one of those books with fun English language gaffes and flubs. I've read several of these kinds of books and enjoy them. However, I can find enough of these kinds of errors without buying a book or even looking too hard.

Let me back up a second though and assure you that I personally don't judge people based on their grammatical goofs--that's just the name of that book. It certainly does make me sad, though, when educated people make obvious errors; and I think it says something about our country's education system. Communication is one of the most important skills to have in today's world.

It's understandable when people write un-grammatically in a text message, in an informal email, on Facebook, etc., but too many times this informality carries over into the professional world (which seems to be gradually getting smaller and smaller). Proofreading what you write before hitting "send" is an important step to consider. Last week I received an email from a buyer at the corporate office of the company I work for. I was the only recipient and I knew she had been writing it in a hurry, so the error had minimal consequences. She wrote that she "defiantly need[ed] a second pair of eyes." It was apparent that she meant she definitely needed a second pair of eyes. (And, she obviously proved her point!) No harm done.

However, this same company regularly sends out "professional" communications to upwards of 1000 recipients at a time. Not only are these riddled with vague directions and poor organization, they also often contain sentences that are just plain painful to read. For instance: "We are giving store management the opportunity to review the list of patrons who our systems show should be sent to collections before they are sent." Or, "...the PSC will be putting together a patch that will that will update all store's flash plug-in." No, I didn't accidentally write that will twice; that's how it was published. And "all store's flash plug-in"? Ugh. That should be "all stores' flash plug-ins." In these cases, yes, I DO judge the company I work for. I don't judge the actual individual who wrote the sentences though. Not everybody is a grammar guru; not everybody has to be. We all excel at different things. But, for crying out loud, there should be somebody looking over these communications before they are sent out for 1000+ people to read.

Think about the image you want to project when you write something, whether it is personal or professional. Although someone might not be "judging" you, per se, for writing it, he or she just might end up using it as an example in a blog or a book of English errors.

Think About the Self

I am only myself;

I cannot be

anybody else.

Lately, I've been consumed in my research on Charlotte Perkins Gilman, studying her life and her writing in order to write the 10+ page critical essay that I need to submit as part of my grad school application. I originally picked her for a subject because I wrote a paper on her a couple of years ago; I thought I could merely expand on my previous research. That sounds fairly simple, doesn't it?

There certainly is a wealth of information about Gilman, and I've become so fascinated by her that I want to read as much of it as I can. I've taken many pages of notes and marked up and highlighted several books (the ones I own). But, as I was sitting down at my computer yesterday to finally compose a rough draft of the essay, I was suddenly overwhelmed at the largeness of this project. So many possibilities.... But, as I tell the student I tutor at Read For Literacy, "Don't look at the whole [word, story, newspaper] all at once; just take one part at a time." My student often forgets to do this, and so do I.

Charlotte Perkins Gilman was known in her time (late 1800s/early 1900s) as a writer, poet, and lecturer. In the twenty-first century, she is best known for her story, "The Yellow Wallpaper," and her book, Women and Economics, the latter sometimes referred to as a culmination of her life's work, as it contains most of her ideas regarding society, education, and work that she most often lectured about.

Looking at the overwhelming "whole" of Gilman, one might say that she had a lot of "issues." But, in following my own advice, I will explore just one "part" of her here.

Much of Gilman's struggle throughout her life focused on her sense of self. When she married the first time, she felt that she had lost who she was as a person. This was partly because of the pressures of that particular era, which required many women to choose between having a career or getting married. In general, wives were expected to be docile and submissive. Gilman was not these things; still, she tried to be somewhat of the person her husband expected her to be. But, she could not be who she was not. When she left her husband after just a few years of marriage, she felt relieved.

On her own (and with a young daughter to support), she finally became who she had been becoming before she married. She re-found the important things in [her] life--exercise, both physical and mental; writing; reading; art; and expressing her thoughts of social reform (which she did via the lecture circuit).

When she married the second (and final) time, the result was much happier. Her second husband was sensitive to her needs, which included letting her support herself after they were married (one of her stipulations of marriage). The two of them were intellectual equals as well, which was possibly what Gilman considered the most important aspect of a marriage. They pursued their hobbies and careers in a bliss of equality. She loved and respected him; he loved and respected her. They were the dearest sort of friends and lovers, which seems to me the best sort of marital union. That kind of union, though, can rarely be met if each partner has not realized his/her true sense of self. One needs to know who she is and what she wants to do before entering into a relationship where she will, hopefully, be allowed to continue to be who she is: herself.

Although I think Charlotte Perkins Gilman would be pleased at how some aspects of our society have changed since her death in 1935, I think she would be appalled at other aspects. Among the things I think she would be pleased about is this organization: Hardy Girls Healthy Women. Not only does this organization stress physical activity for girls (which Gilman was a major proponent of), it also lets girls be themselves and discover who they are in healthy ways.

Think About Routine

You are no doubt familiar with the (over-used) phrase instructing us to "think outside of the box." I think we've probably all heard it so many times that we don't even think about what it means anymore. It, of course, means to be creative and innovative. It means that we need to look at a situation from a different point of view. It means that we need to break what is routine, habit, or instinctual.

If you are anything like me (human), this can be difficult. To use another trite phrase, I am "a creature of habit." Each morning, I do my morning things in the same order. And, whenever I come home from somewhere, I always put my keys, coat, and bag in the same spots. Being this habitual is not necessarily a negative thing. For example, I always know where my keys are. I've also never been a "regular" at a coffee house where the barista didn't know what my usual drink was (and I've been a regular at a lot of coffee houses!). Sometimes I look at the menu as though I might get something different (every once in a while I do), but, usually, I end up ordering the same thing as previous visits: a tall soy mocha, no whip.

While routine can be comforting and easy, it can also be too comforting and too easy. Fifteen or sixteen years ago (maybe more), I made a sort of pact with myself to do something out of my comfort zone at least once a week or so (I don't remember the specifics). With that, I began going to poetry readings regularly and met some wonderful friends that I would not have met otherwise. It was really scary at first. But, then, there was the reward and satisfaction that followed. This is the way you learn about the world. Not only that, but you can learn about yourself this way also. You learn how strong you are. The next time, then, you can stretch yourself even a little further.

Several books that I read last year made an impression on me to the point that I consider them "life-changing" books, although "mind-changing" may be a more accurate description. Derrick Jensen's Walking on Water: Reading, Writing, and Revolution was one of these books. Jensen writes about why schools are failing their students, and he demonstrates what should be done differently--with anecdotes of what he has actually done differently when teaching in the (college) classroom. I cannot go over all of his ideas here (but, as a sort of side note, I would definitely encourage anyone interested in teaching, education, writing, and creativity to read the book).

One idea, though, that has stuck in mind ever since I read the book, is Jensen's "seating rule." From the book: "'The one rule in seating,' I say, 'is that you can't sit where you sat yesterday. Nor can you sit next to the same people.'...The first reason for making this rule is obvious: I want for them to try to see things from a different perspective each day they come in. The second is sneakier, and something I wish my teachers had done for me when I was in school: I want to give the shyer members of the class an excuse to sit next to someone they might be interested in educing, or at least talking to, or at the very least admiring from close-up rather than afar" (Jensen, 2004, p. 25).

In his classroom, Jensen makes (perhaps, demands?) his students to think outside their boxes; he makes them break their routines. He gives them lectures that leave them with more questions. He does this because he believes that students (everybody, actually) need to question everything. He makes his students look deeper, beyond the lecture, beyond their papers, beyond the questions and the supposed answers. His goal is for students to discover something about themselves that they didn't know before. I think that this is what could be called critical thinking--something which I know is lacking in many classrooms in the United States. "When people know what problem they can solve using the gifts that are unique to them in all the world, they often know what they need to do next" (p. 46).

Those gifts cannot be discovered (or, at least, nurtured) until a person steps out of his or her normal routine or comfort zone. Think about what routines you may break in the upcoming weeks. Leave comments below, and let me know how it goes!

One final thought on routine (from Jensen's book): "If they give you lined paper, write the other way." There's a notation that he is not sure to whom to attribute that statement..."might have been Ray Bradbury, William Carlos Williams, e.e. cummings, or Juan Ramon Jimenez" (p. 53).

Think About Education

For those of you who are Toledo locals and read The Blade on a regular basis, you will remember the article a few weeks ago regarding overpaid (public school) teachers. While I have definite thoughts about what public school teachers get paid, I have not done enough research to substantiate those thoughts in a public forum as this. Succinctly, though, the main issue of a teacher's pay as I see it, is that there is little or no correlation between how good a teacher is and how much he or she gets paid. (And, yes, this trend is apparent in many other businesses and segments of society as well.)

As one of the editorials following that article's publication mentioned: "We pay kindergarten teachers $90,000 a year for 185 working days. That's outrageous.... I won't be voting for any levies." I agree wholly. I don't care how much schooling a kindergarten teacher has, if he or she is getting paid that kind of money, his or her students better be entering first grade able to read the abridged versions of Charles Dickens. We know this isn't happening, though, because, sadly, many high school graduates in this area cannot read Charles Dickens, not even the abridged versions. When I started my volunteer tutoring work for Read For Literacy, Inc., I learned just how illiterate the greater Toledo area is.

Now, this post is really not meant to be about the public school system.

It is meant, instead, to show the disconnect between college and grad school applications. Let me explain:

I never had to write an essay to get into college; I never had to do much of anything. The applications were simple. Of course, the schools needed transcripts and SAT scores, neither item telling very much about the student. I never worried about being accepted. It seems, these days, that colleges--save the Ivy Leagues and other highly competitive schools--accept most anyone nowadays. There's not a lot of pomp to it; it just happens.

Grad school, though, is a different story. Once I found the program I was interested in, I signed up for the GRE test, studied intensely for three months, and still did just okay--essentially, average. No problem, though; it could be checked off the list. Next, I've been working on finding three unsuspecting people who will write my letters of recommendations. This is difficult, as they should be people familiar with my writing, with my academic work, and with me. I also want to pick people who will write a grammatically correct and organized letter, since I will probably not see the letters before they are sent on to Admissions.

Probably the most important piece of my application (besides the application itself) is my Statement of Purpose, a well-framed essay displaying my strengths and my learning objectives and career goals. And, when you're going for a Master's in English, you really want it to be written perfectly. Oy vey.

Then, there is the 10+ page critical essay.

Shouldn't getting into all college (even to obtain an associate's or bachelor's degree) be this tough? At the very least, a Statement of Purpose should be required. Perhaps this might weed out some of the oh-so-many students who do not belong in college. Not only would this make it more pleasant for the college instructors, but it would also make it more pleasant for the other students.

I am certainly NOT complaining about all I have to for my grad school app. On the contrary, I am relishing in the work I have to do for it. That's because I want to go to grad school; I want to further my education. I'm excited about my future!

Unfortunately, I don't think many first-time college students share this same ambition and excitement. And, if they don't, that's fine; they just shouldn't be starting college yet. Then, perhaps, (undergrad) college instructors would not have to water down the lessons, adjusting them to go over information that students should have learned in high school. Which, of course, brings us back full-circle to public education and its problems...a good place for me to end.

Think About the Future

So, the title of this post is a bit of a misnomer because, really, I'm going to talk about poetry. But, don't click off the page just yet--you'll see, it all relates to the next generation and the future generations after that.

I've been to a lot of poetry readings/open mic nights over the years--at many different venues, with a variety of talent levels. Last Friday I attended a reading at the Toledo Museum of Art, hosted by the Village Voice, that will stay with me for a long time. This was one of the most welcoming readings I've ever been to, and the first word that came to mind for how to describe the poetry of the evening was uplifting. There was a lot of positive energy in the room, much of it coming from the captive audience of, perhaps, 200 people.

In a time when writing seems to be approaching something close to a lost art in some educational institutions and grammar and punctuation errors abound in public and so-called professional businesses, it was heartening to see young girls (around the ages of 6,7, 8, or 9) taking their places in front of a microphone and reciting poetry that they had written by themselves. It was good poetry, too! Even more encouraging was that one of the hosts of the event gave out little notebooks for the young participants, so that they can continue writing. This is the future, I thought to myself at the time. These are the kids who are going to make a difference in the world. These are kids I have respect for. The host was obviously in agreement, as he had earlier recited a wonderful piece he wrote about how children are growing up too fast--skipping their childhood, emulating the dress and moves of celebrities, and finding nothing but trouble down that road.

What his poem didn't say is how society not only condones this behavior but encourages it. An enlightening book I read a few years ago, Packaging Girlhood: Rescuing Our Daughters from Marketers' Schemes by Sharon Lam, Ed.D., and Lyn Mikel Brown, Ed.D., laid this out clearly. I have a feeling--and a hope--that the young girls who read their poems last Friday are above (at least, to some extent) the trends that society tries to set for "tweens" (a word created, incidentally, by marketers; what happened to "pre-teen" or, simply, "girl"?).

I read an essay a couple of years ago called "Can Poetry Matter?" by Dana Goia, from the book of the same name. I thought of this essay as I listened to the girls reciting their poetry last Friday, as I listened to the other poets and their predominantly positive messages, as I sat there with my heart beating fast with excitement and joy and hope. I wanted to shout, "Yes! Poetry CAN matter! It DOES matter!" Because the poets who read at the museum--young and old, male and female--proved it to me. It matters to them; it matters to me. If an eight-year-old girl can get up and read a poem she wrote in front of an audience of 200 people (mostly adults), she can do "anything." She IS the future!