work

afraid of help? seek a supporter, maybe a champion

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

sometimes I am afraid of help, of asking for help, of being seeing to need help. my brain will tell me the following:  needing help is weakness. it’s showing lack. it’s deficiency. it’s vulnerability. it’s showing a soft underbelly. now someone will know that I don’t know it all, have it all. sometimes it’s not all self-contained and together in here. 

and that’s fine to feel afraid. fear is part of life. unfortunately. but we all need to find the right kind of help. not a “helper,” who is using help as a form of control or to externalize their own anxieties about you or about failure or about whatever is going on in their brainscape. and not an I-told-you-so-er. definitely not one of those. but a supporter. the person who comes in and stands beside you, solid, so you can lean as much as you need for as long as you need, and when you’re okay – you’re rested, recovered, reset – the supporter moves out of that position into their usual place in your life. they are back to spouse, friend, cousin, neighbor, co-worker. and you don’t feel like you did something wrong to ask for help. the soft underbelly might be one of their favorite parts of you, in fact. the supporter is there to support. and that’s that. 

sometimes the supporter turns out to be a champion. they are just as excited as you are that you are trying something new – taking a risk, being vulnerable and brave. and with each attempt they are solid. your success or failure doesn’t flag their enthusiasm for your enthusiasm. they want to hear your stories of your attempts. they want to revel in the wins and sympathize with the mistakes. and it’s even more special to me if that supporter-turned-champion is an expert at the thing I am just trying out. there is a magic there – and it took me a long while to really allow and then feel that magic. 

when an expert admires your first clumsy attempts at the thing they love and know so well. it’s like time folds backwards on itself and they are back at their starting line again, seeing their own beginning steps through your beginner’s eyes. they are seeing it all anew and loving it all again for the first time. your success becomes their success. they are suggesting and supporting out of love. because you are falling in love with their love, and it’s so exciting and beautiful. the help and support and encouragement is real and deep and sincere because they know. they were there a long time ago, taking their first steps just like you are, and they loved it then and they love it now and they want you to be great at it too and love it as much as they do. and nobody says those words aloud. but I feel it when a supporter becomes a champion, my champion. even for a moment. 

i’ve felt it for my students they’ve written something beautiful, questioned deeply, lost themselves in a book. I feel awake through their awakeness. and I’ve felt the same when a champion has seen my beginner’s efforts and it lights them up. they are alive in the process and the trying and the growing. the champion is seeing me sing my seeds awake, and they are stepping in to create the harmonies. it’s an inspiration loop. a love loop. for the thing we are working so hard to do, for being in the moment with it, fully immersed. in the truest sense of the word, it is wonderful. 

so yes, it is hard to ask for help from people who will help begrudgingly or anxiously or scoldingly. and it’s a moment of miracle when a champion steps forward to support. and when it happens to you, be soft. allow it. let it in. it can be beautiful for both of you.  

who are you in the apocalypse?

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

okay, so maybe apocalypse is too strong of a word. I googoo’d it and I don’t mean it Biblically, I mean it like a zombie apocalypse, or like that M Night Shyamalan movie The Happening where a phenomenon occurs that threatens the survival of humanity. so in that case, who would you be? 

I know one person who said they’d just want to die early on, so they don’t have to deal with the fallout and the struggle to survive. because, according to this person, what would be the point of trying to make it in the after times? I can see what they mean. if the grid goes down and there’s no air conditioning and there’s no internet then why carry on living. that said, boring. also, in a way we are living in an after time. I know many many (many) of us want to forget that we went through a prolonged global end time – dealt with uncertainty, fear, isolation, grief, death, illness that went away and sometimes stayed for a long time – but we did do that. we are in an end time, though a forgotten one. 

that said, if you could control the situation a little, at least in your imagination, who would you want to be? what character, what role would you want to play? one of protectors fighting against the threat? a crafty bandit terrorizing the countryside and looting all that traversed your territory? the scientist? a soothsayer? a farmer? a cowboy?

me, I want to be a retired warrior, living down an out-of-the-way, nearly forgotten country road. I’ve concluded a life of combat to live quietly with my animals and plants and books. I sometimes wake up from dreams in a hot sweat, but I can quiet that part of myself when I float in the cool pond nearby or put my feet in the flowing stream on my periodic hunts for winter meat. I would be skilled and storied but only use my skills to protect and provide for myself and my farm, and my stories a guide for my decisions in the present. and maybe. maybe one day a band of adventurers, brave ones, stumble onto my land and I can invite them to pitch their tents outside my home and rest, share supplies and necessary wisdom with them before they continue on. maybe they would ask me to join them and maybe I would consider it. does the old sage, the crone, have value outside of their homestead? 

so yep. that’s who I’d be. in the apocalypse. but maybe that’s who I want to be now. skilled, wise, self-sufficient, able to give but not defined by it, centered in nature. 

okay now it’s your turn. who would you be? 

on the process, Feb 5 to Sept 16

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

well. this is a ridiculous amount of time to try and describe, let alone summarize. so I won’t. but I can recall some peaks and valleys for you:

  • lap swim in the deep winter months – the ones where spring seems like a legend or a dream – was renewing; the water reminded me of the need for regularity and rhythm, to sometimes float despite the denseness of the darkness
  • talks with friends keep me afloat; so many of my dearest people are far far far away, but that is only physical distance, and we can surmount the space with intentions to be together; they give me flashes of warmth and joy
  • the creation of a home – a physical space that feels like a light landing place after time away – is a creative endeavor, and one that I undertook this summer with some steady focus; it was a long time coming, and now walking through each room, admiring art and the placement of furniture, vases of flowers, small and precious objects, I feel this place and I have arrived somewhere new together
  • no matter how many strategies and safeguards I think I have in place for my health and well-being, I sometimes fall ill and need help; for me the challenge is in asking for support – I don’t want to burden others – but my loved ones love me back and want to help, and I can accept that aspect of love; more than anything mutual support deepens our relationship and does not burden it
  • newness is also creation – new experiences, new relationships, they are tender buds that require tending and care; newness is soft and precious and sometimes exceedingly rare and sometimes scarier than I anticipate but it is overall beautiful and vital and the biggest and best part of being alive
  • at times there is nothing to do but exist, to be present and in the presence of loved ones at a meal or on a walk or under the sun or in the open air, to be present while alone, to be present in a crowd, to be and just be
  • the fallow times for my writing – and for this book project about Annabelle – feel wrong, but all things need rest, I think; I am returning to it now, just in thoughts, and I think I may try some new and big changes, go back to poetic language, add lists and impressions and focus on emotion and beauty over plot and trust that the reader will let me lead them

so, yes. the process has been meandering but full. we’ll keep trying. everyday anew.

Read Aloud Series, Book 6: A Series of Unfortunate Events – The Bad Beginning

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Ah, how I love to read this book aloud. So many fun voices, especially for the evil Count Olaf and kindly but mostly ineffectual Mr. Poe. There are lots of literary references that the kids don’t necessarily get (e.g., Mr. Poe, the Baudelaire children) but I like to know that whenever I pick up this book, those winks to the adult reader are lurking. Speaking of lurking, the book’s tone is so distinctly dry and gloomy it really pulls the kids who are listening into the world of the Baudelaire children – a world of danger and uncertainty.

But let me back up to the bad beginning. There are three children, Violet, Klauss, and Sunny. Their parents are killed suddenly and so they are left orphaned. Mr. Poe is the executor of their estate and, following their parents’ written will, they’ve been sent to live with their closest living relative, Count Olaf. As the story progresses things become more dire for the children and include a daring escape from a tower and outwitting the villains with an ingenious ploy.

As we read, students wonder about who will save the Baudelaire children and how no adults have noticed their distress. Throughout the novel, Violet, Klauss, and Sunny work together and live by their wits to maneuver through their difficult circumstances. Ideally the children listening feel the tiny seed planted that suggests that they too can save themselves if the going gets tough.

Time and again I return to The Bad Beginning for adventure, for excitement, and a chance to tap into the students’ imaginations – for their minds to imagine themselves as the heroes of their own stories – and for the pleasure of introducing them to the first in a long series of books about the Baudelaires.

The Bad Beginning at 57th Street Books

The Bad Beginning at Semicolon Books

Read Aloud Series, Book 5:  The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

/ Elizabeth / 1 Comment

Oh Edward. He starts out as such an unlikeable character:  a three-foot-tall, white china rabbit with a full wardrobe, complete with footwear and hats. He’s also unrelatable since the kids don’t really play with those types of toys anymore. That’s where my own read aloud and storytelling comes in, and I sell it to them a little. They eventually get into it. 

Edward is lost at sea, buried in garbage, thrown from a train, and saved from the brink of death. Like Frindle, there is another wonderful twist at the end that has big payoffs for the kids — and they really react when it comes. There’s also a lovely one-page Coda at the end that recaps the entire story plus a little fast-forwarding, which helps to remind the students of Edward’s full journey, inside and out. 

One of the best quotes of the book:  

“I am done with being loved,” Edward told her. “I’m done with loving. It’s too painful.”

“Pish,” said the old doll. “Where is your courage?”

This is a story that slowly and gently unfolds. It’s about love and regret and finding our way home. 

The Read Aloud Series is a review of the series of books I used to read aloud to my third grade students every year after lunch. The exact order and titles changed somewhat over the years, but these are the ones that were most beloved, both for the kids as listeners and for me as the read aloud reader. Many afternoons our 15-minute read aloud time would stretch into 20, 30, sometimes as long as 45 minutes, as the kids begged to hear more of a story, or we discussed what a character did, or I reread difficult passages, or diagrammed family trees and plot lines for them. I can say that my gift as a teacher was, and still is, my enthusiasm for a good story, and these are the books that have brought me a great deal of joy in sharing with young readers over the years. 

on the process, Jan 29 to Feb 4

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

so, up front: I didn’t write like I said I would. this week I was very tired and so I took off a day from work to rest and I spent an entire day on the weekend just on the couch reading and resting, too. I think that’s what I needed. it’s hard to listen to teenagers (as their teacher) and be calm and supportive and warm and thoughtful and present day after day. so I rested. and today (Monday) was probably one of the best days I’ve had with my students in a long time. do I wish I also had the energy to write and be creative, as well? yes, of course. but that’s all I could manage this week. and I’m learning to be okay with not doing it all.

I did enough. and I will try again tomorrow.

Read Aloud Series, Book 4: Frindle

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

This is a book that the kids kind of don’t like at first. But I ignore that. It’s about school, and a kid in school, and they are kids in school, so it offers no escape. I understand. However, the main character, Nicholas, is a bit naughty and they like that. And I like that some of them try his exact same tactics with me, immediately after finishing a chapter. If I’m paying attention, which I usually am, it doesn’t work. But that means the kids were paying attention, so that worked. 

Nicholas is a naughty kid — not in the same way as Jeffrey in There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom — but he’s a bit of a stinker about school, and he devises a plan to annoy his language arts teacher. It grows and grows until it becomes a national movement. The kids are both impressed and unimpressed with that, but we forge ahead. In the final chapters, there is a twist and I love reading it aloud dramatically to see the kids’ expressions as they put it all together, and I close the book and look at their faces and we process what it all means in a bit of silence. 

There is something beautiful and intangible about this book. It feels like it’s from another time. It is —  it was written in the 90s. But there is a subtle structure built throughout showing how to disagree with someone and not disrespect them in the process. It shows how to be a worthy adversary. The disagreement — the rivalry, even — between the student and the teacher is filled with intelligence and regard and eventually with love. I don’t know how many of the kids see it, but I do. And it’s moving to see on the page.

The Read Aloud Series is a review of the series of books I used to read aloud to my third grade students every year after lunch. The exact order and titles changed somewhat over the years, but these are the ones that were most beloved, both for the kids as listeners and for me as the read aloud reader. Many afternoons our 15-minute read aloud time would stretch into 20, 30, sometimes as long as 45 minutes, as the kids begged to hear more of a story, or we discussed what a character did, or I reread difficult passages, or diagrammed family trees and plot lines for them. I can say that my gift as a teacher was, and still is, my enthusiasm for a good story, and these are the books that have brought me a great deal of joy in sharing with young readers over the years. 

on the process, week of Jan 22-28

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

so, no writing. but other creativity-related things happened. like eating beautiful meals and dancing to music that rattled the whole building, and going for a swim and thinking. as with the laps, my brain turned on the same thoughts over and over. mostly, I love swimming. I’ve got to do this every Sunday. how do I get Annabelle (my novel’s protagonist) to come to me and tell me her story, in her voice, without it feeling strange? as with all things, I think I’ve just got to start. that will be my goal for this week:  a snappy, 500-word vignette told from Annabelle’s perspective. I feel exposed just saying a small goal like that to more than myself, but I hope we’ll all be kind with how it works itself out. 

I’ve also thought about a couple of submission deadlines. of course, the publications I admire and covet being in the most have closed submission windows, but that’s okay. I didn’t have anything for them to read anyway. however, a couple deadlines for smaller publications are coming up that I think I can do something for, little flash pieces. the one on skin is still in the works, and I have an idea brewing for something else. 

oh, and another piece of evidence that I can work under a deadline, that I can write inside little snippets of time:  I wrote a poem today, a found poem — sometimes known as a blackout poem or an altered page poem. I did it as a way to experience what my creative writing students will experience, to see how long it might take, to imagine how hard they’ll have to think. it was hard. but I did it. so they can do it, too. 

remember loves, the stakes are not that high. just try. just begin. see you next week.

my trial run blackout poem

Read Aloud Series, Book 3: Clementine

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Book 3, Clementine

This petite book by Marla Frazee shows that girls can be Bad Kids, too. Clementine is wildly distracted and wildly creative and caring and silly and so youthful and innocent. She is a little bit manic pixie dream girl, but in a mostly harmless and very childlike way. Because Clementine is a child. She makes so many mistakes and is so much herself that through the opening chapters the kids at first are confused by her:  cutting off all her friend’s hair, then her own, then trying to fix it with red permanent marker, eating peas with a toothbrush, naming her pets after cosmetics products. Clementine also deals with loss and longing in a way that gently opens that conversation for the kids. It’s very silly and also disarming and real. 

Clementine creates a way into building curiosity and patience for a character, into experiencing the truth of the narrative before the protagonist does, and then waiting to see when and how she finally catches on. It sheds some light on how to love our friends and family members, even the most maddening ones, with generosity and curiosity. It shows how we can treat a Bad Kid with gentleness and acceptance and humor. Because we all make mistakes, and we have all wished to be embraced for who we are, and not just tolerated.  

The Read Aloud Series is a review of the series of books I used to read aloud to my third grade students every year after lunch. The exact order and titles changed somewhat over the years, but these are the ones that were most beloved, both for the kids as listeners and for me as the read aloud reader. Many afternoons our 15-minute read aloud time would stretch into 20, 30, sometimes as long as 45 minutes, as the kids begged to hear more of a story, or we discussed what a character did, or I reread difficult passages, or diagrammed family trees and plot lines for them. I can say that my gift as a teacher was, and still is, my enthusiasm for a good story, and these are the books that have brought me a great deal of joy in sharing with young readers over the years. 

on the process, week of Jan 15-21

/ Elizabeth / Leave a comment

I have not written about Annabelle, but I’ve thought about her. she is stuck, like a bug on pins or flattened between panes of glass. but I see her moving, despite the pressure of pins and glass, and she’s coming back to me. I don’t usually like to use first person in a fictional story, and that’s what’s making me shy to start again, so I will have to allow it and become comfortable with it, because I think that’s what the story calls for. 

I surprised myself by starting a new piece on Sunday — it’s about skin — and I drafted a couple of poems last weekend. it seems disingenuous to report that all these ideas are coming at me so effortlessly and that I’ve just got to open my laptop or grab a pen to catch them all on paper. but it felt a little bit like that with what I started today. maybe having a prompt helps. that’s what I had for the piece on skin. also, I decided to stay away from social media all day. unsurprisingly, it’s the calmest and most content I’ve been in days and days.

the lack of mental static is delicious. I must plan to repeat it, a day away from the online noise.

so we are approaching each other little by little, Annabelle and I. maybe I will force a final push this coming week, one with a prompt and a day without social media. why not? these stories won’t write them selves.