Friday, 15 November 2013

Composing Myself for Writing Composition


When I first processed what the blog assignment was, I panicked. I whined about the assignment, my insecurities, how to begin, and finally realized that I need to take Murray’s (1972) advice from one of our first readings and “shut[] up…you don’t learn a process by talking about it, but by doing it” (Murray, p. 5). I began with the blackout poetry because that’s how I try to ease my own students into writing in a medium that they typically sweat over. I tried letting go of my self-consciousness and experiment. I was stressed because I know that as Ivanic (1998) argues, “All our writing is influenced by our life histories. Each word we write represents an encounter, possibly a struggle, between our multiple past experience and the demands of a new context. Writing is not some neutral activity… it implicates every fibre of the writer’s multifaceted being” (Ivanic in Park, p. 336). In essence, I knew that if people were to read my writing, they would know who I am, maybe more so than I am usually willing to offer. Exposing myself through my writing among new colleagues seemed very risky.

My comfort level grew each week, especially as I perused other people’s entries and was reminded that I am part of a community-writing project, in a sense. Judith Harris’ words about this issue of context resonated with me, as she asks, “How can a student write as a self without first formulating a social context in which to express the personal? Even the most personal registry of utterance is implicitly a response to the social context determined by subjectivity” (Harris in Lim, p. 88). In many moments, I considered re-writing or deleting my first attempt at an entry. With my second post, I felt safer writing from the perspective of a teenage girl because I thought that if it seemed unsophisticated, the blame could rest on my narrator’s shoulders rather than mine. I worried about that post after I published it, and I think in an effort to re-establish myself as a ‘serious’ student, “construct[ing] [my] identit[y] as [a] writer…[and] negotiate[ing] the performance of [that] identity” (McKinney & Giorgis, p. 108), I wrote the book review the next week. I had just recently finished Francis’ novel and loved it, and this post allowed me to look back at a road not taken in a sense, as I often thought about how amazing it would be to review books for a living.

I slowly learned to be more confident as blogging became part of my routine. I was reminded of the students from the McGrail and Davis (2011) article, as my “increased confidence and motivation encouraged [me] to take risks and explore new subject areas in [my] writing” (McGrail & Davis, p. 429). I took more risks, such as with commenting online and I worried about my Haikubes entry because even my partner hinted that the poetry wasn’t the best. I posted them anyway and let myself feel vulnerable, like I always ask of my students. I recently finished Rosenblatt’s (2011) book on teaching writing, and my haikube struggle taught me of the importance of creating a class that is “very careful with one another’s feelings…teachers must be alert to the possibility of injury, and be sure that we are talking about a poem not a person” (Rosenblatt, p. 124-125). Writing the fan fiction was also a stressful because I felt a sense of responsibility to the original text. I wanted to write something productive; something that explored the story that my students love so much meaningfully, but I learned to let that go as I developed the story. However, the Wideo was the most difficult, and I was defeated by goanimate, which nearly made me kick my computer.

I wrote the dialogue entry with the most confidence because here I was following the old adage to ‘write what you know.’ I waitressed for nine years, and my father has always urged me to write down my stories of the colorful customers I served. The memory of those two women ordering burgers first thing in the morning came back to me so easily but it was still a struggle to capture that moment the way I wanted to. This experience helped me understand what Beck was saying in her book where she claims that “Any teacher/writer worth her salt already knows this – that writing, when it is really writing, takes us beyond what we already know and is itself a process of discovering both what we are going to say and how we are going to say it” (Beck, p. 132).

Because of this blog, I learned to better sympathize and be more excited about the writing process because it is something I do with regularity, not just when I find the time. I see what Romano was insisting when he wrote at the conclusion that “there is no reason you cannot become writers… begin sharing your work, transmitting the energy, changing the world” (Romano, p. 179-180). When students used to ask me if I’m a writer, I rush to say no, but that I try once in a while. I’ve realized that I need to change the way I speak about myself as a teacher of writing and as a writer to set a better example. Maxine Hong Kingston argues, “I believe all you need to do to be a better writer is to write a lot. That’s all. I mean, if the students just follow that one thing, they will be all right” (Kingston in Lim, p. 79), and I completely agree. Blogging has solidified this for me. Although I may not continue, I purchased notebook and have begun using it as a journal, a commonplace book, and a place to record ideas for writing. I carry it with me and even though I may not always have the time to write, I can plan more effectively for when I do find those moments.

Reference List

Beck, H. (2012). Teaching Creative Writing. Hampshire, England: Palgrave and Macmillan.

Lim, S. (2010). Lore, Practice, and Social Identity in Creative Writing Pedagogy: Speaking with a Yellow Voice? Pedagogy: Critical Approaches to Teaching Literature, Language, Composition, and Culture, 10(1), 79-93.

*McGrail, E. & Davis, A. (2011). The Influence of classroom blogging on
elementary student writing. Journal of Research in Childhood Education, 25(4), 415-437

*Murray, D. (1972). Teach writing as a process not a product. The Leaflet, November, 11-14.

Park, G. (2013). ‘Writing is a way of knowing’: writing and identity. ELT Journal, 67(3), 336-446.

*Romano, T.  (1987). Clearing the way: Working with teenage writers. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.

Rosenblatt, R. (2011). Unless it Moves the Human Heart: The Craft and Art of Writing. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers. 

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

A Wideo Rant

Image Courtesy: http://thebelleofthelibrary.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/screaming-at-computer.jpg

For this week's blog post, my plan was to try http://goanimate.com and make a video. However, after far too much time and nearly pulling my hair out, I abandoned my half- done, terrible animation of the dialogue that I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I searched around for a online tool that was a bit easier for me, and found http://www.wideo.co where you can "make and share awesome videos online." I found Wideo to be far more user-friendly, or at least, a better starting point for newcomers to video creation.

Image Courtesy: http://s3.amazonaws.com/crunchbase_prod_assets/assets/images/original/0033/1131/331131v2.png

By the time I had settled on experimenting with Wideo for this blog post, needless to say, I was fairly sour. Truthfully, I've had a rough past week or so with many late night school events (a movie night, Trick-Or-Eat initiative, presentations), extra parent meetings, report cards, and all of my other usual teacher responsibilities. My partner has been on call the last three days so I've been struggling a bit alone, and people keep asking me about the wedding I keep stalling to plan (who has the time?!). I'm sure we're all feeling the squeeze, as November seems to always be a difficult month. So, I decided to create a video rant.

The idea of a rant is one that I got from a conversation that I had with a friend and colleague last week. She is also doing her Masters of Education, through the University of Calgary, and we were discussing our courses. When I told her about this blog, she suggested "the best English assignment that [she'd] ever had," which was writing a rant and then yelling it to the class. I loved the idea and have tried to do a rant using Wideo. I think it turned out as sort of a narrative-poetry-rant or something, but I tried to free-write.

Here is a link to my final product:

http://www.wideo.co/view/901861383683723810


Tuesday, 29 October 2013

An Attempt at Fan Fiction

Seeing that we will be looking at online writing in this upcoming week, including Fan Fiction, I thought I'd try my hand at it. A lot of students in my grade nine classes love fanfiction.net, and this is a genre that I've never really explored.

I decided to experiment with writing a fan fiction piece inspired by the book The Fault in Our Stars that my grade ten students are studying right now:

Image Courtesy: http://www.stmichaelandallangels.ca/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/fault-in-our-stars.jpg

A quick summary of the plot can be found at:

The following is my fan fiction attempt, inspired by the minor character of Kaitlyn:


Kaitlyn positioned her fist into front of Hazel’s door, ready to knock a bit harder the second time. She glanced back at Mrs. Lancaster who was nodding encouragingly. Kaitlyn was rarely ever in this position; she was not what you would call a hesitant person. She knew that Hazel was behind her bedroom door, likely sitting in her closet as she had done when she was upset as a kid, falling apart. It had been nine days since Augustus’s funeral.

Kaitlyn focused her gaze downwards on her Mary Janes, knocked again, and took a sharp intake of breath; something she knew Hazel couldn’t do. Mrs. Lancaster had whispered urgently in the kitchen moments earlier about how worried she was about Hazel’s health, how she hadn’t been able to check on her with any regularity since locking herself in her room. Girls with cancer shouldn’t lock themselves in their rooms. She’d only been allowed to check her oxygen and help her with her medication sporadically, and she seemed to think that Kaitlyn, Hazel’s spirited childhood friend, was her last resort to help and pull her daughter out of her crippling grief.

“Open up, darling; it’s Kaitlyn,” she tried. No response, no sound of life at all. “Let me in to Hazelverse. I’m worried about you, sweetie.”

Mrs. Lancaster seemed to be hiding down the hall, cowering near the corner to the stairs, ready to disappear if the door cracked open. After what felt like five years, it did.

Kaitlyn took a tentative step inside, peering around the door to survey her bedroom.

“Down here, Kait,” Hazel murmured from her seated position on the ground by the door. As she looked up, Kaitlyn could see that her usually gaunt face was uncharacteristically puffy from crying. The tip of her nose and her eyes were all red.

“Distract me, won’t you?” she rasped, her breath short, oxygen tank nowhere in sight. “Tell me about all the edible young bachelors at school that you’ve been feasting your eyes on.”

Kaitlyn blinked back stinging tears and slid down the doorframe to join her on the pink carpet.

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

An Exercise in Dialogue

The inspiration for this post came from this photograph: 

Source: http://d1r5i20o8cadcu.cloudfront.net/designs/images/94732/original/diner.jpg


She let out a laugh at what I assume was my confused expression.  “We just got off the night shift at Wal-Mart, stocking shelves. We need dinner, not breakfast. Is that a problem?”

The other woman, looking about as tired as I felt with disheveled long, stringy- black hair and puffy bags under her eyes added, “If not, we’ll be happy with coffee and some toast. You do toast, right?”

“Of course!” I assured her, definitely too loudly.

“Well Doris, I don’t know about you, but I’m jonesing for a burger. A bacon burger. With cheese and fried onions. Can you do that?” she asked me as she shut her eyes and stretched her arms above her, as if she were just sitting up in bed.

“Yes, of course, no problem” I replied. “Do you want the fries or something?”

“No. No fries. Too many calories. I’m being bad enough as it is. Doris, what do you feel like?”

“Toast. Brown toast. No butter,” Doris requested, leaning her head against the back of the booth and sticking her chin out at me.

“Toast?” the other woman exclaimed. “Don’t make me feel guilty! Surely you’ve got to be hungrier than that after that Campbell’s soup shipment we just stocked! Jesus Christ, eat something substantial. Aren’t I right?” She asked, looking at me.

“I’d be happy to prepare anything that’s on the menu for you” I offered weakly. 

Doris closed her eyes. “I’ll have a burger too. The same way Vera’s having it.”

“Thattta girl” Vera rasped, her voice sounding much like Kathleen Turner’s in her later years.

“Ok” I said as I pulled out my order pad and pen. “Do you both want all the other toppings on the burgers? Ketchup, mustard, all those?”

“Everything.”

“Everything.”

“Alright, coming right up,” I say, scribbling down the order in short form. “And do you want any drinks with that?”

“Cokes.” They said in unison, their heads now resting against the backs of their booths, eyes closed.