Leaving a Trace

For my personal book, I read Leaving a Trace, by Alexandra Johnson.

Some ideas she mentioned in the latter chapters of the book:

1. Keep a journal for the sole reason to have a resource for future writing. Think of it as a data collection device. She suggests keeping journals for different reasons, and to keep information separate and organized.

2. Journals can be great springboards for fiction, especially. As an exercise, she suggests going to a cafe, picking out three people, and trying to describe in detail one mannerism that they display. Virginia Woolf kept numerous journals and later used them as source material for her novels.

3. She writes at length about the places that people write or pre-write. She walks the streets of New York and "writes" as she goes, then later transfers her thoughts to her journal. She often carries a purse-sized journal to keep it handy.

The introductory chapter set the tone: the author had read the journal of a woman who had lived in the late 19th century and had recorded her daily life in a journal, though wrote in it from time to time that her life was mundane. The author's discovery of the journal set her on a journey to collect more journals, and to commit herself to journaling. Every life, she says, is worth remembering.

I would recommend this book to both of my parents. They have lives unrecorded. I would like to see them journal. Not for my sake, nor for my siblings. But for themselves. Neither one are reflective individuals. Perhaps if they kept a journal, they might find themselves free of past burdens.

Gallery Walk I. A. Keeping a journal keeps the mind engaged in recording a life, helps the writer to keep the craft alive, and provides a place for reflection, meditation and sheer pleasure. B. Tell the Censor Inside to go to hell.

Gallery Walk II.

The next book I will read with be either Writing Down the Bones, or Writing Toward Home, both of which seem to be extensions of the kind of reading I am currently engaged in.

Top Ten Ideas for Revision

Revision feeds the perfectionist in me

Revision helps me see what is central, what is peripheral

Revision allows me the freedom to salvage material that belongs elsewhere

Revision is like throwing ballast overboard so my piece can sail on

Revision gives me an excuse to keep writing

Revision forces me to slow down

Revision forces me to look more closely at the details

Revision forces me to untangle tangled language

Revision forces me to wax poetic

Revision is FUN!!!

The Sticking Place

We must grasp at every chance to engage our students with the public: author's teas, guest speakers, contest entries, projects that necessitate community input and response. Evaluators we have to be able to see that these are acceptable and viable means of assessment. "Going public" with a piece of writing is ever so much more difficult than stealthily handing it in to the teacher for a single reading and meaningless grade. Having the courage to stand behind your words is a huge lesson. Learning it is a sign of growth.

The line in bold type should stand out to us: students (and all writers) need to stand behind or beside their words.

The Chinese character for "sincerity" is formed by two radicals, one for man, and the other for word. Thus, the Chinese idea of sincerity is a man standing by his word. Perhaps we are not sincere enough.

Perhaps we don't demand enough of our students in this regard. Perhaps we need to be more demanding of sincerity in their writing. Perhaps we too easily accept work that is not entirely honest, written to get a grade rather than to be real.

When students know they will have a live audience, such as at a poetry slam or even a school assembly, perhaps they will reconsider the purpose and quality of their own writing. Perhaps if they know they are communicating to real people, perhaps they will be more real.

Further, perhaps the writing that teachers produce is also insincere. Perhaps we are not writing honestly ourselves, not standing by our words.

Perhaps we need to get real in order to set an example for our students.

Yeah, perhaps we need to just get real.

I Don't Grade Papers Anymore

"When students are not constantly exposed to the process of being judged, they are more likely to develop and trust their own standards and those of their peers."

This sounds true. I know it is true. Why do I know it is true?

I don't have to look any further than myself and my own writing to know that this is true. I came into teaching out of a career in which I was paid to write (for newspapers and magazines). My writing was never "graded" or judged. Certainly, it was edited in some part, but never judged the way we are tempted to judge student writing. In the world of professional writing, the pressure to meet deadlines was greater than that to be "perfect." Read any newspaper any day of the week and you'll see what I mean. Especially in the dailies, there is a level of perfection that one never expects journalists to achieve. In some regard, we expect more of high school students than we do reporters. But I digress.

When young writers are no longer writing for a grade (some are satisfied with a C--they just want to get by), but for the sheer pleasure of writing, they tend to be motivated to write for writing's sake, to explore, experiment, play. I have had students like that, though some sarcastically referred to them as "overachievers," or "suck-ups." No, not really. They merely loved to write. Grades were secondary or even inconsequential.

More importantly, they learn to trust their instincts. You can see the evidence of this assumption in their revisions. They are making writers' choices--they're moving whole blocks of text around, using stronger verbs, adding more details, paring down a sentence, etc. Of course, not all of our students operate at that level, but many do. And if I as a teacher can take off the pressure of grades in order to encourage them to write for the sheer pleasure of writing, I will have done my job well.

"I have a dream...."

Portfolios

In the section, "Setting up writing portfolios," the writer gives a practical outline for structuring the portfolio. In this particular model, the portfolio has a dual purpose: 1) to keep track of a student's progress; and 2) to encourage a final product. Thus, the brochure goes on to suggest weighting the grade heavily toward the former, and less toward the latter category. This makes sense to me and sounds fairly easy to manage, though time consuming.

The questions for me would be: How many pieces of writing would I expect my students to produce? What specific expectations would I have for each paper?

Letter to the Editor

The days of common sense and equal treatment under the law are over.

Recently, I traded business for the public school classroom. To become a teacher, I took a series of exams, was fingerprinted and passed a background check, and provide proof of identity.

Between graduate school and being hired by a district, I was fingerprinted three times. I had to show I was competent, trustworthy and safe. That's why I provided my work history, college transcripts and other documents as proof.

Barack Obama, "Leader of the Free World,” is responsible for exponentially more than teachers: setting foreign, policy, commandeering the auto and health industries, solving global warming—not to mention commanding our armed forces with all their personnel, equipment, and weapons…

Nuclear weapons.

Yet, Obama was neither fingerprinted nor subject to one background check. Not only has he refused to show his college transcripts, he's hired numerous lawyers to keep them secret. He hasn’t produced his birth certificate. (Sorry, that posted on the Internet is widely agreed to be a digital forgery.) And while Congress deliberated on John McCain’s citizenship status, Obama’s remains shrouded in mystery (so much for transparency).

I’ll be fingerprinted again in the fall when I start teaching for another school district. They'll want my transcripts, resume and birth certificate. Meanwhile, Obama continues to stonewall America about his African roots and other personal facts.

Think: Obama is neither qualified nor authorized to teach in public school, yet he has been given the keys to the White House and the cipher code to one of the world’s largest nuclear arsenals.

Has he provided sufficient proof he is competent, trustworthy or safe? Would we let him teach our children?

Yet he is leading our country to God knows where.

Equal treatment and common sense, anyone?

Barry Lane, Ch. 14: "Befriending the Language" (on teaching grammar)

I am impressed by the ease with which I can adapt Lane's ideas to my own classroom. He has provided them in such a way that I can write succinct, focused lesson plans for a variety of objectives, especially in the area of grammar. His "Spinoffs" are truly nuts and bolts, the kinds of ideas I desperately needed during my first teaching year.

I also like the idea of contracting with my students to improve their own grammar, whether in their journals or for formal assignments. Only when they decide to take responsibility for their own grammar will they begin to improve.

This issue also leads to the idea of grading. Rather than grade students on the content of their writing, I see it beneficial for them if I grade them according to whether they are improving their own grammar through revision base on rubrics they have helped to create.

Barry Lane, Ch. 11: Giving students choices

I learned this lesson the hard way. Last year, I had my seventh graders write a short story. I established some parameters, which they very quickly either forgot or ignored. I think the latter was more commonly the case. But I digress.

I discovered that the ones who ignored my boundaries wrote far more interesting or risky stories. Some were downright hilarious. I also discovered that those who were more freewheeling about my requirements wrote more, rather than less. Not a few of my students wrote stories that took up 10-20 pages, far more than I expected. Of course, some rambled on and got lost in the process, but I was pleased that they were having fun with their writing.

From then on, I decided to give my students the permission and power to choose as often as possible. I will continue this practice into my second year.

After The End/6-8/Graphing a story

I found this particular section useful. Graphing a story seems to reveal more than using a more simplistic plot line. You can graph various aspects of the narrative, such as emotional states of the characters, action, even keep track of how a writer uses vivid verbs, appositives and other "brush strokes" (thank you, Warren). Right away you can determine a number of variables, and decide where the story needs more work. I suppose this can be applied to just about every kind of writing, whether poetic or transactional. I would relate it to a seismograph or an EKG.

My Stepfather

Snuck into my sisters’ rooms,
held their bodies down in the dark.
Clamped a hand over their
tiny pink mouths.

Whispered threats
of cigarette burns
and a fist. Crept away
with no trace of blood.

Twisted mother’s heart with lies,
stroked her fears with his coiled tongue.
Claimed the victim. Heard
the voice of devils.

Moved like a snake. Spoke slant.
Kept everyone spellbound
with his unblinking
yellow eye.

On Harper's Writer's Toolbox

It's obvious that Harper is not reinventing the wheel, but is giving it a good push up the hill. I really like her approach to making Lane's ideas accessible through the use of graphic shorthand. I'm with her all the way about having a common language,and symbols do the trick.

I'd like to carry this further and relate the same idea to Warren's presentation on teaching grammar: why not come up with some symbols for "ing", apositives, absolutes, etc.? I'm not sure what kinds of symbols I would use, but I think it's worth contemplating.

I also like her idea about color coding the text so that students can get a bird's eye view of their draft--they can see where the weaknesses or imbalances are very quickly.

Need to get that toolbox filled right away.

Warne on Teaching Conventions in a State-Mandated Testing Context

We all face the dilemma of having to "teach to the test," whether the ISAT for you Idahoans, or the WASL for us Washington teachers. As is typical, I had to prepare students to write two-point and three-point responses to a prompt. I hated it as much as my students did. But I digress.

I am encouraged with Warne's directive to use examples from the books that students are actually reading. In my class, for example, I certainly could have used passages from the Twilight series and other popular books. After all, that's where they were, and many of them might even be able to quote whole paragraphs from Eclipse. What a great way to get them to buy into conventions if they can see how their favorite author is doing it.

Sentence combining exercises have their place, and I would follow through with the same strategy: use their books for examples.

Lu Chi's Wen Fu: The Art of Writing

Team, here is the URL to read Lu Chi's Wen Fu. I think this is worth storing on your hard drive, or at least bookmarking for future use.

Enjoy!

http://www.mnstate.edu/gracyk/courses/web%20publishing/LuChi.htm

On "What's Right With Writing" (Rief)

In his essay "The Art of Writing," ancient Chinese poet Lu Chi observed: "In making an axe handle by cutting wood with an axe, the model is indeed near at hand."

Like Lu and so many others, Rief suggests holding up models to students.

I have used models in the past, and am now convinced that I need to use them more extensively. However, I am also mulling over the idea of using short texts as models (suggested by Christy)--even as small as a sentence.

For example, when teaching students how to write a short story, I could take bits and pieces of good short stories, rather than a whole. My rationale for this is because some writers are great at opening lines, others are better at characterization, others have a great way of getting out. Thus, it will be imperative to choose the BEST examples of each to model the concept.

In regard to using DOL (e.g., grammar-based "Mug Shots"), why use a poor model? After all, it is by handling genuine currency day after day after day that tellers are quickly able to spot a counterfeit bill when it passes through their hands. They're so used to the real stuff that a red flag goes up as soon as they encounter falsehood. In the same way, if students are fed the "good stuff" regularly, they will tend to be more able to spot that bad or weak stuff in language.

I need to look into this more deeply when I am back in the classroom.

On "Conferring" (Calkins)

Among those ideas expressed in Chapters 14-14, I thought that the author's insistence that students be their own critics, that they trust their own judgment, was the most valuable to me.

Students naturally want to please their teachers. This desire to please can be counter productive when it comes to their writing. If they are always looking to their instructor for affirmation, they never learn to trust their own intuition, their own visceral reaction to their writing. They will always be second guessing themselves and, eventually, stop writing for fear that their writing has no value.

Likewise, writers need to learn to spot their own errors. They need to be aware of their own pre-writing and drafting strategies, and their own approaches to revision.
Such awareness should come as a result of an ongoing conversation between the writer and the teacher, and the writer and him/herself.

I appreciate the kinds of questions the author suggests to use, questions that help the reader develop such awareness. The questions are as much directed at the writer as at the writing. (Other authors have pointed this out.) This concept is a new one to me. I hadn't thought so much about the writer in the way I understand it now. In fact, it seems to me that the writer is far more important than the writing. I will modify my own approach to conferring with this in mind.

On "Helping Writers Find Power"

I was impressed with the author's suggestion to "flood the room with useful wall charts," and especially ones that the students have created to help their peers.

If we are going to model good writing, the models should be easily accessible. Middle school students, especially, tend to forget what they learned yesterday. Having models around the room keep them immediate throughout the year.

The author points to patterns rather than rules. Children can recognize and appreciate patterns, while they often resent rules. Rather than focus on the negative (rules), focus on the positive (patterns). Let kids use their own examples.

Writing Steps/Warne

"Some scholars argue that generalizations about writing processes are far too removed from real-world practice, inevitably turn into rigid rules, or create paralyzing self-consciousness."

Ouch! So much for my undergraduate training!

I'm thinking a way through the problem of teaching students concepts about revision without shackling them with more "rules"--perhaps there is an analogy from linguistics that would prove useful here.

Remember the debate over the teaching of "Eubonics" in the California public schools? I saw the solution as teaching "standard" English as one of many dialects or conventions. I would have encouraged speakers of "Black" English to consider "Standard" English as second language, and that by doing so one would be "bilingual," rather than increasing the suction power of so much racially charged quicksand. Better to teach the convention without forcing students to abandon their home speech and make them feel inferior about their particular flavor of English. After all, within the United Kingdom, there are numerous dialects of English, from Cockney to Cornwall.

So, in regard the subject at hand, students need to be aware that there is a "convention" attached to the ISAT, WASL and other state standardized tests. They need to know the expectations of such conventions, but should also know they have the freedom to use or not use such conventions (of the revision "process") in their own composing and revising. I think that if they are able to see and hear good writing, such standardized tests should not be something that they need fear.

Everyday Editing

I am reminded about a conversation I had with Rodney last Friday about the kind of questions to use to engage students in conversation. He mentioned the same one that Anderson does in his article: "What do you notice?" (Apparently both Rodney and Anderson are reading the same books.) Anderson's approach makes sense to me.

About the DOL...I was using something similar based on what my cooperating teacher used in the high school classroom. However, I see now how modeling GOOD prose is a sounder approach. After all, if we're to present models from which to learn, why use a "broken" model. For example, if I were to teach good fashion, I would not come to work in coveralls, manure covered boots and a sweaty old John Deere hat, expecting that my students would be able to learn about good fashion by pointing out what was wrong with my attire--NO! I would be wearing a three-piece suit and highly polished shoes in order to show the best of what fashion has to offer.

I'll have to experiment with the use of "reading eyes," "writing eyes," as well as "scientist eyes" and "poet eyes."

On Sommers: Student and experienced writers

Ah, the linear model: the college Writing Proficiency Exam (WPE), the SAT, PRAXIS, CBEST, WASL, ad naseum.

I remember having my first essay for the WPE rejected simply because it did not follow the 5-paragraph paradigm, not because I had nothing worthwhile to say--it just didn't fit the mold. Knowing the model is fine, but form can never substitute for content.

One idea in particular got my attention: "The predominant concern in these definitions [of revision] is vocabulary(emphasis mine). The students understand the revision process as a rewording activity...The aim of revision according to the students' own description is therefore to clean up speech..." (emphasis mine).

I confess, I am guilty of communicating wrong ideas about revision. I have done a disservice to those writers. Perhaps part of the problem in my own teaching is the pressure to get students ready for standardized testing, which includes two-point and three-point essay questions. (Love that WASL.)

Upon reflection of Sommmers' article, I see where I should reflect more upon my own revision process, and in such a form that I can apply it to my pedagogy. I am reminded of the workshop I attended with Kelly Gallagher, author of Teaching Adolescent Writers and other titles. He models the metacognative process for the students on his DocuCam, writing and revising, talking to himself aloud for the students' benefit. He does this often in order to keep the revision process in the forefront of their instruction. He also has an ongoing conversation with them about the revision process. He claims that since beginning this kind of teaching, he has seen amazing changes in the depth of his students' revisions.

As to the more experienced writers, I note the idea about "finding the form or shape" in an argument. I will make a leap here and relate this idea to Micheangelo's ideas about sculpture, that "every stone had a sculpture within it, and that the work of sculpting was simply a matter of chipping away all that was not a part of the statue." Just as finding the form hidden in the stone is a process of discovery, so too finding the form of an argument is a discover. Or, from another angle, as one writer Sommers quoted, ideas are "seeds." This perspective taken, it is the job of the writer to discover what kind of "plant" will spring from the seed of the particular argument.

On Stephanie Dix

It's no surprise that students have different ideas about what revision is. Jon's idea seems to be typical. However, Jon indicated that he did a lot of processing in his head before he put them on paper.

I am fascinated with Wirehu's and Ann's ability, considering their age, to articulate to some degree their metacognitive processes. Further, I am intrigued by the major difference in their approaches to revision between poetic and transactional writing.

For example, in his transactional writing, Wiremu "wrote and revised according to a given framework," and he "focused on the preciseness of language, correct punctuation and spelling."

What is significant to me in his case was that he "acknowledged the reader audience." This is certainly not the only difference, but I think a significant one. When I write with an audience in mind, I tend to revise differently, as well. I am more concerned about clarity and precision. However, when I am writing a poem, especially, I am more concerned about sound, form and figure. I often write more for myself than I do the "invisible reader."

Marti Mihalyi's suggestion to consider the latter was a revelation for me, and one that I can take into the classroom. It would be worthwhile to begin reflecting on my own processes from hence, making note of changes in my own approach to revision when writing poetic text.

My Stepfather

Snuck into my sisters’ rooms, held
their bodies down in the dark.
Clamped a hand over their
tiny pink mouths.

Whispered threats
of cigarette burns
and a fist. Crept away
with no trace of blood.

Twisted mother’s heart with lies,
stroked her fears with his coiled tongue.
Claimed the victim. Heard
the voice of devils.

Moved like a snake. Spoke slant.
Kept everyone spellbound
with his unblinking
yellow eye.

Barry Lane: "Don't Fix My Story, Just Listen to Me"

Ah, to achieve that golden mean between teacher input and student self discovery in the writer's conference. His use of the word "codependency" in the subtitle of Chapter 7 speaks to. We want a symbiotic relationship between teacher and student, not a parasitic one.

First, I sighed with relief when I read the anecdote about the conference he had, to which he had come "unprepared." I can't recall the many hours I spent with the students' papers that I'd drag home to grade over the weekend. Now, I am not feeling so guilty about the fact that I rarely got to them all, hoping I could address writing issues on the spot during the next week. Now, of course, I am getting ideas for a sane strategy that will both help the student, yet allow me to have a life of my own, as well.

The story of the "witch" teacher as enabler is classic. I'm not surprised that the tactic eventually backfired. Gimmicks may work for a while, but they lose their power over time. I'm glad that Barry pointed out the nature of the relationship she had established, that of a codependent one, which I would simply call parasitic. Teachers often fall into the trap of doing so much for the student that the student is eventually unable to do anything independently. I see these kind of relationships in families and between citizens and their governments. Perhaps we might call this classroom type a form of student welfare. However, the teacher has neither the resources nor the time to carry on this scenario for long.

Referring back to statements that Rodney made this morning about the FOUR BIG QUESTIONS--How? Why? What? and What if?--I like the four simple directives Lane gives for peer editing: "I like, I wonder, questions (I would help them understand the BIG 4), plan for action."

First, I've picked up on the idea that for every "negative" comment, the writer needs a good dose of "positive" comments. I like the Lane's approach better: Help the reader see WHAT he or she is doing, making no judgments couched in the terms, "This is good" or "This is not so good." Such subjective reactions do not give the writer language he or she can use, a notion we agreed upon in one of our sessions today. The young writer needs to be initiated into the language of writers in order to see and think as a writer. Not only will student writers gain valuable insights into their own work, but teachers will be less prone to "correct" or "help" the writer in the revision process.

I think we teachers tend to want to "fix" students' papers because we are so unduly influenced by our materialistic, product-oriented culture. We want results and we want them now. We need to kick the Madison Avenue mindset out of the classroom and back onto the street where it belongs. In my own case, my own natural perfectionism often drives me in a wrong direction. Thus, I anticipate that Lane's practical suggestions will prove valuable to me in my second year.

What He Could Do

Raze a heart’s rampart
with slight or glance.
Beach ambitions, bleed
dreams dry. Break
love’s bones, render
trust's marrow to dust.

Hold down bodies
in the dark. Brand
legs with leather, tattoo
wrists with cigarettes.

Twist hearts like tinfoil,
young Barbies, tit-titillation
of tongues. Be the victim
or voice of the Devil. Slither
sideways. Speak slant. Bait and hook
with his baby blue eyes.

The Art of Teaching Writing

In the second paragraph of The Art of Teaching Writing the author touched a nerve with her discussion about the classroom environment: "I have finally realized that the most creative environments in our society are not the kaleidoscopic environments in which everything is always changing and complex. They are, instead, the predictable and consistent ones--the scholar's library, the researcher's laboratory, the artist's studio. Each of these environments is deliberately kept predictable and simple because the work at hand and the changing interactions around that work are so unpredictable and complex...[emphasis in the original]

How different was my classroom! What chaos!

My failure to establish such consistency and simplicity was due in part to the fact that I was hired late in the year right after exiting my graduate teaching program. I had little time to plan out the year and felt fortunate if I was two or three weeks ahead. However, as I read the article, I reflected upon my early life and how little structure there was in my own home. I felt safer in school than I did there and, perhaps, because school was more predictable.

I appreciate the imperative of deliberately establishing consistency and stability in my own classroom.

Reaffirming the Writing Workshop

I cannot pin down any one point in this article, as it was all so relevant--I mean the whole idea of workshop. I remember participating in many a workshop in my first undergrad program. However, those experiences failed to transfer to my brain when starting out my first year at Colfax.

It seems apparent that the junior high model needs drastic overhaul, especially concerning the way time is blocked. I would like to see students in my class less frequently, but for longer periods of time so that we could actually get some writing done, just like at the university. Thus, I would propose that I would see one group of kids two or three days per week for two hours. I would also propose that there be a school-wide reading and writing day set aside every month, which could be moderated by someone like me.

This and Calkin's article reinforces my notion of creating a classroom environment and atmosphere that resembles the home as much as possible--large tables, comfy chairs, a place on the rug, plus an ample library and a well-stocked materials cabinet.

Ah, but we are always dreaming of Eden.

Haikus

Camperdown Elm tree
Hunched over like an old man
Shelter from the wind



Thunder, lightning, rain
Shake the building, rattles glass
Wake up the R. A.

Non Magical Thinking

Acting Upon the World/Constructing a Reality

My sense of failure in my first-year classroom is a shared one. As each of my NIWP fellows and facilitators confessed similar first-year experiences, I was quietly reassured that I was not alone in my regret. However, I am positive that the events of the year, painful as they were, and the faces of my students, many of whom I came to love, will never completely fade from memory. Then again, why would I want them to?

The challenge set before me now is to revisit those events and figure out exactly what went wrong, to pinpoint those particular issues and formulate a strategy to avoid repeating my mistakes. In the course of reading Alexandra Johnson’s Leaving A Trace, I am confronted with my failure to keep a journal and keep track of my activity in the classroom. Sure, I have some lesson plans and outlines upon which to look back , but I now wish I had been more actively reflective about my work. Perhaps I did not see myself as an observer and researcher as much as a “depository of knowledge.”

Again, I refer to Moffett’s work about sequence. I am now more desperate than ever to develop six months to a year’s worth of lesson plans for the secondary classroom, as well as to solidify my own philosophy of teaching (by solidify I mean it should look more like wet concrete than water, but should never harden cure—somewhere between “Readimix” and clay). Moreover, perhaps forming my philosophy based on my current research needs to precede lesson planning. Strangely, this idea was never addressed in graduate school. We spent the year frantically jumping through hoops in order to get into the laboratory of the classroom.

In facing the prospect of teaching English conversation in China this fall, I am especially anxious. I have very little training in helping non-native learners in speaking, much less in writing. Moreover, I feel more confident teaching writing than I do conversation, especially without quite knowing what is to be expected of me as a university-level TESOL instructor. I am almost expecting a Groundhog Day moment the moment I step into the classroom.

The idea of “acting upon the world” is a reality in an extreme sense. Not only will I be a teacher representing the discipline and craft, but as a stranger in a strange land, I will also be representing a political and cultural self, a single grain of America to be planted in Chinese soil. In this context, I will be acting upon the world through a different, perhaps more primary, medium—oral rather than written language. However, even through speech, one can still “write” upon the world albeit through the ear rather than the eye, the primary drawback being the more transitory nature of the spoken word. But I digress.

It’s difficult enough to act upon a world that is familiar. To act upon a world that is alien is a different matter. When I consider how long it has taken me to figure out even the most simple aspects of the world in which I live, I have my reservations about entering, much less acting upon, a world in which I will long be a stranger before I find my way.

Comments on Brittain

I am intrigued about Britton's idea that in what he calls "poetic" language, the writing becomes an "object," and certain kinds of questions about such writing should not be asked, as in his example: "If after reading a poem we think to ourselves, 'So, they practice witchcraft in Peru,' or 'I didn't know Yeats was a spiritualist'--we are framing responses that are inappropriate to poetic writing." Such responses, says Britton, are secondary to the object, for the context of poetic writing is essentially internal.

I'm not sure I agree with him on this point. I do not believe that the distinctions are nearly as sharp as he suggests. Perhaps this is because, as he postulates, poetic writing begins as expressive writing--the same source from which transactional writing begins.

I've said before that it appears that Moffett's theory reflects a linear view of language and that Britton's view is non-linear. But as I read the article again, I'm coming to believe that Britton's theory also has linear qualities, despite the fact that he presents his model in the form of opposite poles, expressive writing being the center. However, in the real world, literally, if one travels along lines of longitude rather than latitude, one will eventually be leaving one pole and moving toward the other. Thus, perhaps we should think of the continuum as lines of longitude rather than latitude. Somewhere along the line, south meets north, but east will never reach west.

Why do I say this? Certainly, a poem is one sense a self-contained object, if you will, and the context is primarily confined to the borders of the page. However, it is in a sense, a microcosm of a larger context and, thus, has some transactional qualities. Sure, one does not have to or may not be able to respond to poet like one would respond to an email message, but there is a conversation taking place in the mind of the reader, directed at the poet: "What in the world do you mean, Mr. Yeats? How can that be?" or "I can't believe you made that cosmic leap!" or, "Wow." Of course, Yeats is dead and gone. Yet, his work continues to reach out toward the reader.

You may ask, "Is anything getting done?" Well, not in the same way a business letter accomplishes its mission, but is "getting things done" to be confined to mere exchange of commerce? What if the reader is inspired to do something after reading my poem? What if the reader embarks on his or own discovery about a subject addressed in the poem as a result of reading a line that speaks to the heart? Is that not, in some sense, transactional?

Again, we can go back to documents like Thomsas Paine's "Common Sense," a pastor's sermon, or one Charles Dickens' novels: Such works inspired people to join the revolution, forgive an estranged family member, or get involved in a movement to eradicate poverty or child labor. Yet, each of those kind of artifacts stand alone in their own right.

So, perhaps the distinction between poetic and transactional writing is not so sharp after all. If they are at opposite poles, as Britton postulates, one can always travel from the north to the south, and vice versa.

I Am From
[Revision 2]

Iowa sharecroppers, eyes rimed
Black with barren earth, faces
Weathered like fence posts
By whiskey and want

Kentucky coal cast and cured
Inside the mantle of the earth
Festering in my fathers’ lungs
Like invisible slug pearls

Two unlikely lovers meeting
In a bright church hall
Living in a shuttered house
Leaving each other in the dark

I am from wanderlust and war
Mekong Delta and Tonkin Gulf
Aircraft armed with Tomahawks
Cluster bombs and Napalm

Shipping in and shipping out
Unread letters and telegrams,
Barbecues with WestPac Widows
Strange men on the back patio

Armageddon of separation and divorce
Uproot and run from trouble
Keep in step with the family dance
Sweep it under the rug

Courtrooms and counselors
Welfare checks and a million moves
Hand-me-down jeans, second-hand shoes
Stay inside to avoid prying eyes

Eternal soap operas, baby sitters
Canned fruit and powdered milk
TV dinners and Wonder Bread
Tupperware and paper plates

Ether of family secrets
Held in orbit like satellites
By gravity of silence
Indenture to denial

Reaction to Moffett article

As a new teacher, I still feel a bit in the dark about scope and sequence. Thus, Moffett’s assertion that there is, in fact, a logical sequence of forms intrigues and encourages me: “The student is never assigned a subject, only a form, and the forms are ordered according to the preceding ideas. Thus, the assignments are structural and sequential.”

The sequence that he suggests—going from interior monologues to, ultimately, essays of generalization and logical argumentation—seems to defy the status quo, at least, at the university level. Moffett’s suggested sequence confirms my idea that students should start from what they know. However, I am not advocating that teachers indulge young writers’ tendency toward narcissism, as per our conversation on Tuesday, but every student knows something. An interior monologue, for example, can function as exploration. In the words of Oregon author George Venn, each of us possesses a “magic circle,” which starts with the self and moves outward toward family, neighborhood, community, nation and the larger world (Marking the Magic Circle: Poetry, Fiction and Essays).

I heartily agree with Moffett’s assertion that “one doesn’t learn exposition just by writing it all the time. An enormous amount of other learning must take place before one can write worthwhile essays of ideas; that is the nature of the whole abstraction process.” I would add that an enormous amount of living must take place in order for the writer to have something to say, for abstractions come from life experience. For example, while attending a university expository writing class, I wrote an essay about my stay in Taiwan (August of 1990-June of 1991). While living in Taipei, I survived an earthquake, 6.2 in magnitude.

As one can imagine, the seismic event made a lasting impression on me, so much so that I still cannot shake the incident from my memory. Having had gone through such an experience, I was able to make a number of abstractions, as well as form my thoughts in metaphors, such as the following: “If there was a seismograph of the heart, what would the nod of the needle reveal?” It is through experience that we can make such “cosmic leaps,” as Robert Bly calls them, with genuineness and authority. If I had known earthquakes academically only, it is unlikely I would have made such a leap, being far upwind of Bly’s “dragon smoke” (News of the Universe: Poems of Twofold Consciousness).

I am interested in Moffett’s research and curriculum to adapt to my own pedagogy. I was deeply disappointed with one aspect of my graduate teaching program: my “methods” class turned out to be little more than a gripe session among two other student teachers. We talked next to nothing about methodology in the English classroom, and subsequently I felt terrifyingly unprepared for my first year. I will want to leave this program with greater sense of direction for my second year.

I am from...

[draft]

I am from

I am from black Iowa fields

and Kentucky coal mines

deep in the earth’s groin.

I am from whiskey and want,

Irish clergy and stalwart Scot.

I am from divorce and remarriage,

miscarriage and blight.

I am from uproot and migrate, run

from trouble and sweep it under the rug.

I am from wanderlust, R &R

and the Tonkin Gulf.

I am from arming aircraft

with kid-killing bombs

and Tomahawks missiles.

I am from TV dinners

and baby sitters,

soap operas, hula hoops

and Tupperware.