Preparing for Day One

We are one week away from starting classes again (school starts on Monday, classes begin on Wednesday), but have been in pre-session meetings since last Thursday.  During and in between those meetings, I've been talking with various colleagues about the importance of writing.  The more I said, the more hypocritical I felt.  With my mouth I was saying yes, it's important to write, to let your students and colleagues see and know that you write.  A new colleague shared extensively with us about the importance of writing in the classroom and our departments are collaborating on creating a whole-school writing protocol, complete with rubrics that will help all disciplines work towards competence in writing in each and every discipline.  But here it has been seven months since I've written here!  That is about to change . . . I hope.

Thing is, I go at this in jags.  sometimes I'll be on a writing jag and other times I'll be on a reading one . . . and rarely am I on the two at the same time.  For me, it's almost physically impossible as they require two opposite actions of me.  And yet one feeds off of--and inspires--the other, so I really should be able to do both, right?

Yes.  I am determined.  Wish me luck!!!

Trying my hand at writing with a quill pen at the Jane Austen Centre in Bath, England.

Crazy Enough

"The ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones that do."  Change the world.  Back in the 80s I thought I could change the world.  One person at a time.  I read Ann Kiemel's books...devoured them...about being just one, but that God and I, we'd change the world.  "You watch.  You wait.  You'll see."  That was my mantra.  I embraced the idea whole-heartedly.  I challenged my friends and my students to join me on my journey through change.  It was exciting and energizing to think about...and to make the effort.  I carried that energy with me through the 90s and loved it all, loved the idea that I could make a difference.  In all my thinking about change in my world, there came changes in me.  As I traveled the world, literally, I began to see things differently.  More globally.  I began to think outside my world...and realized it would take more than just me (and God) to effect some of the changes I saw.  That was a good place to start, but it couldn't stop there.  I would have to encourage others to effect change in their world, too, if we wanted to make a dent at all.

In recent years, I have started each of my classes with a 10-minute writing session.  Initially, it was just free-writing designed to wake their brains up, but for the past few years I've been more focused and intentional with what I want my students to think and write about.  This morning, I paired the above quote with another one about making a difference:  "You can't change it all at once.  It's gonna take multiple people at separate stages of people's lives taking and making a difference.  It's not just gonna take me."  I guess that's where I am now--realizing that where I am attempting to effect change in the lives of the young people around me, I am not in a vacuum.  Many came before and many more will come after.  This could be daunting and/or discouraging, and could possibly cause one to say "why bother then."  But there's also this:  "I can do all things through Christ." I am crazy enough to believe it is indeed possible to change my world after all.

Photos taken in Butterfly Wonderland in Phoenix, Arizona

Change

Susan Wittig Albert is one of my favorite contemporary authors.  I've been reading her books for some 20 years, now.  Maybe more.  Her website tells us that she "is the author of the novel, A Wilder Rose, the true, untold story of the writing of the Little House books.  Her award-winning fiction, which has appeared on the New York Times bestseller list, includes mysteries in the China Bayles series, the Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter, and a series of Victorian-Edwardian mysteries she has written with her husband, Bill Albert, under the pseudonym of Robin Paige.  She has written two memoirs: An Extraordinary Year of Ordinary Days and Together, Alone: A Memoir of Marriage and Place, published by the University of Texas Press.  Her nonfiction titles include What Wildness is This: Women Write About the Southwest (winner of the 2009 Willa Award for Creative Nonfiction); With Courage and Common Sense; Writing from Life: Telling the Soul's Story; and Work of Her Own: A Woman's Guide to Success Off the Career Track.

She is founder and past president of the Story Circle Network and a member of the Texas Institute of Letters."  

Having read nearly everything she's published, I think it's safe to say that I admire and respect her on a number of levels.  I am "friends" with her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter and read her blogs faithfully.  Now, this week, I am embarking on a journey inspired by her book Starting Points:  Weekly Writing Prompts for Women with Stories to Tell.  My plan is to do much of the woodshed writing in my private journal, but to write at least one entry a week inspired by the daily writing I do based on the prompts.  We'll see how it goes.  I always have grand plans at the start of the year to "write more."  This year, I hope to actually do that.  Wish me luck!

The prompts for the first week of January have to do with changes.  Significant changes in my life over the past year.  An easy question on the surface.  There are changes that time brings to us, that we can do nothing about.  Unstoppable changes that come with aging.  The eyes grow dimmer, the joints ache more in the morning, the energy drops a little more than it used to at the end of the day.  Those are things to be expected, and yet they are not necessarily easy dealt with.  They are part of what comes with living longer, though, so I must find a way to deal with them.  That, too, is easier said than done, but must happen if I am to move on with my life, my future, and not stay rooted in the past--or even the present.

Photo:  New decals on my laptop :)

Words Matter

QuickWrites are just that.  Quick.  They don't allow for revision.  But that doesn't mean what you write during that time shouldn't be revised.  QuickWrites just give you the time to get the words down quickly so you can take your time with them later.  Here's the second poem I wrote during the QuickWrite on Tuesday.  First, the 90 second version based on the last line of Robert Wrigley's poem "Do You Love Me?":

"Say it. . . . Say it to me."
I wonder what he means by that.
Say what?  Say what to whom?
Why does it matter
that we say the words too?
"Actions speak louder than words."
Yet we want the words.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me."
Ah.  But they do.
they have, and they will again.
"Say them over again to me
Wonderful words of life."
"I am the Way, the Truth, the Life."
"The Word of God."
"The Word made Flesh."
"the Word . . . dwells among us."

Say it.
Say it to me.
Words
Matter.

On the last day of the main part of this retreat, Linda asked us to choose something we had written during the week to share with the whole group (about 50 of us).  Now, that was daunting, I must say.  But I decided to read part of this poem.  I actually marked the lines I wanted to read, but changed my mind twice about which ones to include (she said to choose something short, or selections from something longer).  While this isn't a short poem, I felt there were too many references to things people might not get.  Here's the result:

Why does it matter
that we say the words?
Actions speak louder than words.
Yet, we want the words.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me.
Ah, but they do.
They have and they will again.

The Word was made Flesh and dwelt among us.

Words
matter.

In Spite of Everything

In spite of everything, God
is still in charge.
I mean--He's there.
He sees all, knows all.
He's engaged in a great civil war
testing whether mercy
trumps justice.

In spite of everything, I
don't blame Him.
Not for wars, pestilence,
hate, loss, pain.
Nor all the things that bring down
happiness.
And life.

In spite of everything, He
loves me.
This . . . I know.
I've seen it.
Heard it.
Felt it
deep in the marrow
of my bones.

In spite of everything, Love
will triumph over evil, mercy
will triumph over justice.
The lame will walk,
The blind will see.
And we.
Shall.
All.
Be.
Changed.
In spite of everything.

I wrote this a few days ago (June 25th) during an early morning QuickWrite session with Linda Rief, the writing mentor at this year's Boothbay Literacy Retreat in Boothbay Harbor, Maine.  I had the privilege of attending this retreat for the first time and I am already needing to go back.  Amazing.  That's the word that kept coming to my lips.  The word I kept rejecting as not adequate, not enough.  What else is there, though?  What word can you use to describe 5 days of "sitting among greatness," as one participant tweeted?

During these five days, we were quite literally listening to legends, writing beside game-changers, soaking up energy from cutting edge learners, thinkers, teachers, writers.  Maybe the word I should use is lucky.  I was so lucky to be there.  Maybe the word I should use is inspired.  I was inspired and excited to go back to my classroom, my kids.  Maybe the word I should use is again.  I need to do this again and again.

The poem comes from a line in Edward Hirsch's poem "In spite of everything, the stars."  The idea of a QuickWrite is to read a short poem, then take a line that speaks to you and use that as the jumping off point for 90 seconds of your own writing.  Any kind of writing, just continual writing for 90 seconds.  This was Tuesday's poem.  Unedited, just as I wrote it.

It surprised me that I could write something that quickly and be OK with sharing it with others...because that's the next step:  sharing.  The only thing that made that part doable is that everyone else had to do it, too.  Sitting there listening to what others did was fascinating--that each one could get something completely different from the same poem.  That's the beauty of the QuickWrite.  It's quick, it's uncensored, it's honest.  And so many times amazing.  There's that word again :)

Zambia Mornings

I've been in Livingstone, Zambia, on a mission trip for the past week with a group of 45 students and adults connected with my school.  It's been an amazing experience to say the least.  Today is our last day of work before we conclude the trip with two excursion days--tomorrow to Botswana for a safari and Friday to Livingstone and Victoria Falls for various experiences (including bungee jumping for a few!).  My job on this trip has been to keep in touch with the parents.  I chose to do that via a blog--Into Africa (www.taamissiontrip2013.blogspot.com).  Because the internet is slow at night when everyone is here using their phones and such, I spend the days at the lodge writing while everyone else is out working.  It has been peaceful and quiet, these African mornings.  Quiet enough to write a poem :) 

In the morning

there is the table at the edge

of the Kaazmein Lodge patio.
In the morning

there is my computer, a pen,

my much-traveled journal,

the bottled water with its

hard-to-open caps.

And always there is

the blue African sky.

There are sometimes companions

(Robbie, Jacob, Christi one day;

Ahilyn, Adrian, Narce,

Alejandra on another).

There are brightly colored squares

on the black table cloths.

Workers are sweeping--

calling good morning to me

while tending to business and

listening to canned music.

There are zebras grazing

peacefully,

wildly.

And always there is

the cool-yet-warm African breeze.

My view looks across

the patio to a footbridge,

and an island.

Mornings, there are

African kingfishers,

African mockingbirds,

African herons.  Or bitterns.

Or some other kind of

long-legged African water bird.

My job on this trip is to write--

a thing I’ve often longed to do

in the quiet of the morning

at a table with a view,

a breeze,

and sometimes a companion

or two.

My job on this trip is to share—

to put into words an experience

that defies words.

My roommate asks how

we will be able to share

all we’ve experienced.

We can’t I say.

We can try, but words

—which I love—

cannot

do justice

to

Zambian Mornings.

~ Rondi Aastrup
   Kaazmein Lodge
   Livingstone, Zambia

Relief and Accomplishment

For the past month, I've been working on a big editing project.  One that has required us to reflect.  One that has asked us to look at the key experiences of the past six years of our school's life.  We are preparing for our accreditation visit next month and I'm on the writing and editing team for the self-study.  It has been an interesting journey.  My assignments were to write chapter one (the school profile), head up the focus group about curriculum and instruction, and then edit the whole project.  Last week, I was editing every spare moment.  Some sections went through three and four edits, and some are first drafts (and it shows).  When different people are writing different sections, it's challenging to try to put it all together as if it came from one source, one voice.  Hence the late nights and the hours (five and six hours each the past two nights) of work after a full day of teaching!!!  All told, I logged over 50 hours of overtime--for which I cannot be paid since I'm on salary.  Something's a little skewed about that, but that's another story. . .  

All of those 50+ hours, I was accompanied by my friend and colleague, Jill.  She is actually the leader of the whole project and she truly has put her heart and soul into it.  She was able to take Monday off as we finally put the project in the mail to the visiting team at about 5 p.m. last Sunday.  I took a few hours off, but didn't want to miss out on my teaching.  The principal sent us out to dinner and a show Wednesday night, though, and we had a good time, first going to Brios for supper (delicious) and then to the Mesa Arts Center to see The Good Lovelies in concert.  Now, prior to last week, I had barely heard of this band, but Jill knew their music and really wanted to go.  I'm always game to learn new things, so I didn't mind going...and was pleasantly surprised and the delightful time we had there.

Our seats were great--third row in a small, intimate theatre that held about 200.  This women's trio of Canadian folk singers were funny...and good.  It was somewhat of a shock, though, to look around us and see that we were, besides the singers, the youngest people in the room, by far.  Don't know why that demographic...but we all enjoyed ourselves.  The girls kept saying "thank you for coming.  You're all so attentive!  And it's true.  The audience was on their best symphony hall behavior, quietly listening during the songs and clapping enthusiastically at their conclusion.  We also gave them a standing ovation at the end, which I believe delighted the singers enormously.  They are relatively new--only about 6 years old as a band.  I was impressed.

Of course you pay for doing something like that mid-week.  I have indeed been scrambling ever since to get everything done that needed doing before this day ended. But...it's all done now.  And so I go to my rest tonight tired, but with an enormous sense of relief and accomplishment . . .

Blessings, part 2

Not only is today's writing "Blessings, part 2," it's writing-with-sophomores, part 2.  My T/Th section of sophomores is a little bit bigger class, but aside from numbers, they are basically the same...interested and eager learners for the most part.  A fun group to teach and work with.  We are listening to Yo Yo Ma while we write...another one of the blessings in my life :)

When I was thinking of the word "blessings" a few minutes ago, I thought of how many of my friends end their letters with the word "blessings."  Quite a few of them do in fact, both male and female.  In a way, it's kind of a throw-away tag line, maybe even a trendy one.  I know when I first became a principal I was concerned (not in a major way) about how I would end--and begin, for that matter--any communication I sent from my office.  My direct supervisor always ended his missives with "4 His Kids."  His supervisor closed hers with, you got it, "Blessings."  So...what was my tag line going to be?   Truth?  I never did figure it out.  Many times it would be "Take Care."  But that would depend on how well I knew the recipient.  Most of the time, I just tried to say something that sounded like a satisfying ending...almost like the ending of an essay!  My salutation dilemma I solved with a simple "Good Morning," "Good Afternoon," or "Good Evening," depending on when I was writing.

But back to the blessings.  A blessing today is our Week of Prayer speaker.  He looks almost exactly like Kris Kristofferson, but few of our students would know who that was.  They think he looks like Jesus, a dirty-blond-haired Jesus.  And he's telling them some pretty cool stories of Jesus, so in a way, that fits.  Anyway, he's been a huge blessing to us and it's only his second day.

Looking Back to Yesteryear

My second day (and third class period) of writing with my students.  This time it's seniors.  The lucky 13 in my first-thing-in-the-morning British literature class.  We're studying Hamlet and, unfortunately, had to take a three-week break right in the middle of it, so today we'll be looking back in order to understand the things that lie ahead (see the quote from yesterday's first entry) in Hamlet's life.  But first, they are writing.

It's interesting to go through a "last semester of high school" with seniors.  They struggle with wanting to get out now and hang on as long as they can.  They are done (or want to be) with high school work, but not necessarily high school life.  Especially in a boarding school environment, I think.  For me, I have to literally look all the way back to my senior year to remember what it was like for me so I can give them my best as we go through this last semester together.  Sometimes, especially as the end nears, I feel frantic that I didn't do enough, that I didn't tell enough, that I didn't take enough time with them--as a class or as individuals.  I don't like having regrets, but that's always one of them every year.

So, what are things that I need to work on?  Using my time better in class?  Using my influence more out of class?  Going back to my thoughts of yesterday about content of character as opposed to content of essay . . . what do I give them?  What do I say and do to help them know they need Jesus more than any single other thing in their lives????

Blessings

"Reflect upon your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some."  --Charles Dickens

This is the second writing prompt of the day for my sophomores.  What are your present blessings?  List and reflect them.  Well, one of my blessings, for sure, is my students.  I feel a great happiness when I think of them and see them learning and growing.  This writing year that we spend together is not easy.  And there's not a lot of "fun" literature because it's more about them as writers than others.  But they have worked hard.  I've not had to struggle to keep them focused.  I've not had to beg or bribe them.  I know they wish it could be more "interesting" at times, but it is always practical.  Even now.  And they get that.  What a blessing!

Another blessing is my family.  I spent almost all of Christmas vacation with them.  This was a longer break than usual, too, so I made the most of it.  I miss my family a great deal.  It's a real challenge to be without them, so any opportunity to be with them is a blessing.

My friends are a blessing, too.  I have many...too many to count, but not too many to appreciate.  Here, at Thunderbird, each one is very different from the other.  There are not many overlaps in interests--or time together.  That's been interesting to me, to virtually have a different friend for many of the interests in my life.  Last night I went and watched Downton Abby with one of those friends and had a great time laughing and enjoying the life of 1920s Britishers.  I look forward to next week's episode and the time to share again.

Semester Reflections

"Sometimes, you have to look back in order to understand the things that lie ahead." --Unknown

I'm writing with my students today.  It's been awhile since I've done that.  Years ago, I did it all the time.  Actually kept a journal in my classroom and wrote whenever I had them write.  I got away from it for some reason and have missed it.  Today, at the beginning of a new semester, I've resolved to get back to it.

So it's 1:10 p.m.  I have 16 sophomores in the room, heads bent over the page reflecting on the past semester.  What are things that worked in your academic life?  What are things that need work this new semester?  What will you do to assure success in 2013?  I love the sounds of thinking!  It's a beautiful thing to see and hear.

And what is it that I saw and heard from them last semester?  And what did they see and hear from me?  We learned to write from the ground up.  Bit by bit, piece by piece, we learned how to build an essay.  For some, it was easy.  The words flowed easily and smoothly.  There was no struggle to let them loose from their mind.  Others had to fight--with themselves, with those around them, with the distractions that are part of an active classroom.  But they learned.  And so did I.

There are always things that I know for sure work.  And then there are those I need to work on.  It's sometimes hard for me to explain something that comes so easily for me.  Not that writing is easy.  But I know how to do it...  So I have to try to remember what it's like to not know.  And sometimes that frustration keeps me from doing my best.  That's what I will work to improve this semester.

Now, it's nearly 2:30 and I have the AP class with me.  This is a full classroom of juniors and seniors.  With them, I want to do more serious academic writing and thinking.  We've had a good semester, and they've done well, but we need to start focusing on the test prep.  I don't like teaching to a test.  Something in me rebels against that.  I don't know what exactly.  I like the freedom to determine what is important for my students and that takes it all away from me.  Which may be what frustrates me.  I am far more interested in the content of their characters than in the content of their essays!  But that makes it a little difficult to take an AP test if all I've done with them is develop who they are . . . and not what others think they should know.

Architectural Delight

Twice during this month I've spent time exploring the grounds and residence at Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West located about 10 minutes from my new home in Arizona. Until my first visit with my sister at the beginning of the month, I had no idea that one of the buildings connected with my work place was designed by the Frank Lloyd Wright Foundation, but it made sense once I learned that. Wright's "bring the outside in" designs that made him famous was so obvious I dont know why I didn't think of it sooner,what with the fish pond and water fall that is the focal point of the building's lobby.

My first visit, we just wandered the grounds enjoying the desert beauty that was so close to the heart of designer who lived here 6

months of the year during the latter part of his life. The house and design studio

seem to organically rise out of the desert floor like a ship that has run aground.

I took the 90 minute tour last week and was completely fascinated by the life of this man who was clearly a genius, but one of a somewhat dubious personal philosophy and practice. The tour guide was knowledgable and personable, one who wore no rose-colored glasses when it came to the personality he presented to us. I appreciated and enjoyed the tour immensely, enough to know I'm going to need to come back and explore further.

Meanwhile, I'm reading T.C. Boyle's The Women which chronicle's Wright's life from the perspective of the women in his life (4 wives and a couple of mistresses). The writing in this book is particularly beautiful making it a joy to read for that reason alone. The stories of these women are also compelling...and sad in the long run. Wright was charismatic enough to attract these (and others) women, but didn't seem to know how to take care of a relationship for any length of time. But the writing...it's as beautiful as F. Scott Fitzgerald or Alan Paton or Willa Cather. Just. Plain. Amazing.

Gathering Leaves

by Robert Frost

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,

Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

I have become increasingly negligent with this blog. I'm not sure why. I think about it quite a bit. I am constantly looking for things to blog about. I even have the time. I just haven't done it. It's not that I'm not interested in doing it any more. I am. It's just that sometimes I wonder at the weight of what I write. Like Frost's poem here: Next to nothing for weight...next to nothing for use. I want what I write to have some weight, some merit, some use...for myself if no one else. But that's a pretty heavy demand, especially if you're going to write every day. I ask my students to write five times a week in their journals. I give them writing promts 2-3 of those days, but they are supposed to come up with something worth writing down the other 2-3 days. An even heavier demand of reluctant writers I'm realizing.

But...a crop is a crop, according to Frost. And who's to say where the harvest shall stop? Who's to say what's meaningful? What seems lightweight to one, might make all the difference to another. And so...I'm determined to do what I ask my students to do: write at least 5 times a week here. Don't hold me to it. But I will try...

Photo: an impromptu sketch one of my seniors made of me yesterday afternoon.

Long time no see...

The past couple of months have been crazy for me. Not bad, just overly full and draining. What a difference between January when I wrote every single day and the subsequent months when I wrote less and less! Actually, I've been writing nearly as much as usual, just not here on the blog. I'm going to try to get back to it this summer.

We had our last day of school this past Friday. It is a strange kind of relief to walk out

the door that last day. Even though I know I'll be back the following Monday, it's a whole different kind of rhythm, a whole different kind of mood. Between May 31 and June 7 we had 6 different graduation services. Each of them was beautiful...so sweet and spiritual. The students worked hard to make everything go smoothly. I was so proud of them! Everything went off without a major hitch, and the minor ones were known only to a few. That, too, was a relief.

This week, we have staff meetings each day, but they are loose and focused and productive. We enjoy being and working together. Good thing! We see a lot of each other!

On a side note, my bird feeder went through a two week lull where I did not see one single bird there. Then, all of a sudden last week, they came back and have emptied the feeder about every other day! I don't know where they went, but it's nice to see them back...

Photos are of the flowers in my sister's gardens

I have had a repeat performance today of another Friday a couple of years ago where I injured my eye.  Then, I got straight shampoo in my eye just as I was going off on a weekend writing retreat to Cape Cod.  This time, I somehow got my hairbrush in my eye this morning as I was getting ready for school.  I cried the whole day, literally.  Made for a strange day of teaching, with the students thinking they'd brought me to tears!

I came home early and just closed my eyes and rested them.  It felt good, although I also felt guilty for leaving early when I know it was adding to the burden of others.  Fortunately, I stuck it out until just before school got out, so it wasn't too bad (I hope!).

Meanwhile, my poor neglected blog!  I have had things to blog about...all the lovely birds I've seen in two weekend visits to my parents...the joy of sitting on their back patio and just listening, and watching, and reveling in the colorful birdlife around me:  humming birds, goldfinch, bluebirds, orioles, indigo buntings, purple finches, tree swallows to name a few...  

But school is just sucking the energy out of me right now.  There are just three more weeks left.  Sometimes I think that's too much time, others I think it's not enough...  All I know is that the time will pass quickly, and then I will be able to catch my breath and get back to regular blogging.

For now, some of the birds I've been enjoying...except that blogger won't upload them right now.  I'll have to do that later =(

Writing from Art

I got interested in using art as a story prompt when my oldest niece was very young. I went with her and her mother one afternoon to a furniture store...one of those huge places that sets up scores of room settings to show you how furniture pieces can be put together. My niece soon tired of the task at hand and it fell to me to entertain her while my sister pressed on to find whatever it was she was looking for (I don't recall now what it was). We wandered a little bit more and finally found a setting that had two comfy easy chairs side by side facing a large painting of a barnyard. My niece was quite taken with it, so we sat and looked at it for awhile.

I don't remember whose idea it was, but we started telling a story about what we saw in the painting. Julie was as engaged in the story as I was, maybe even more, contributing names, ages, conversation. We sat there for quite a long time, totally entertained until my sister finished her business. I remember thinking about how amazing this little girl's imagination was. I started to think about telling stories about art and even went so far as to sketch out some stories of my own.

Then books like Girl with the Pearl Earring and Girl in Hyacinth Blue were published, setting of a new wave novels with an artist/work of art emphasis. And instead of writing a story myself, I began reading every such book I could get my hands on. I like to think there's still an arts-related book in my future, but for now content myself with connecting my students with art, taking them at least once a year to Boston's Museum of Fine Arts for a creative writing experience and writing along side them as much as possible.

A Writer's Meme

I got this meme from Write on Wednesdays:

What’s your favorite genre of writing? I enjoy reflective writing, travel writing, and poetry

How often do you get writer’s block? Almost every time I write...for a few minutes, at least. Sometimes it lasts longer, but not often. I usually have something to say =)

How do you fix it? I browse through other stuff I've written, read through inspirational quotes I've collected, just start writing until something substantive comes to mine

Do you type or write by hand? I used to love to write by hand (have dozens of journals for all kinds of reasons and purposes, but now my hand goes to sleep after I've written awhile, so it's easier (and faster) to type.

Do you save everything you write? Yes. I have whole file drawers of things I've written.

Do you ever go back to an old idea long after you abandoned it? Yes. Often I find the second go at it is successful.

Do you have a constructive critic? My father.

Did you ever write a novel? No

What genre would you love to write but haven’t? Short story or novel

What’s one genre you have never written, and probably never will? Fantasy or Science Fiction

How many writing projects are you working on right now? I've been trying to write every day on this blog at least for the month of January. So far so good, mostly. I also have a weekly newsletter for parents, a monthly inspirational piece for church, and a quarter newsletter for our Alumni.

Do you write for a living? Do you want to? Not presently, although that is a secret ambition of mine =)

Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper? I've had several pieces published in both magazines and newspapers.

Have you ever won an award for your writing? I once won third prize in a national contest for a poem I wrote. I went to see Les Miserables with the prize money!

What are your five favorite words? Possibilities, Difference (as in "make a..."), can (as opposed to can't), Grace, Family

Do you ever write based on your dreams? Once or twice

Do you favor happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers? happy endings

Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen? Several times. It's one of my favorite creative writing exercises.

A 48-year-old Memory

[When I was six years old, my sister, cousin and I spent the first of nine summers with my mother’s parents. We were a year apart in age, I being the oldest. A few years later, my youngest sister also joined us. During that time, our grandparents lived in three different homes in NH. I wrote this about the first of these places for a writing assignment about "place."]

Candia, NH, 1961 -- a 48-year-old memory

I come in the front door. It bangs behind me as I step into the front room of the cottage Papa and Mama call "Candia." The room is dark and cool, and not one I spend much time in. Instead, I head right, past the big black pot-bellied stove, and up the short flight of stairs guarded by a birch tree railing. I run my hand over its rough yet silky bark. I like the contrast of white and black, of smooth and jagged edges. My head rises above the floor and I step into the brightness of the kitchen.

Mama is there, and that means warmth and light and love. I sniff the air hungrily. Mama always has something in the oven--bread, cakes, loafs, potatoes, squash. This morning, it's bread. Whole wheat.

I climb onto the couch that crouches across the room from the oven. It is covered with a Navajo Indian blanket patterned in bright pinks, greens, and blues. Over my head, on a long shelf amidst dozens of books, sits the Bim Bam clock. I can't tell time yet, nor do I really care much about it at age six, but I ask anyway. "Mama? Is it time yet?"

Mama glances over her shoulder at the round face of the Bim Bam. "Soon," she says. "Just a few minutes, now." I wriggle in anticipation. I love the Bim Bam. I wait, not very patiently, until I hear the warning whir that signals the sound-delight to follow. A short delay, and it comes: "Bim Bam, Bim Bam, Bim Bam, Bim Bam" it repeats over and over until it has counted out the 10 o'clock hour. Then it is silent, and I have to wait another 60 minutes until it "goes" again. 60 minutes. That's a long time, although there's the half-hour "Bam" to break up the wait a little.

I climb down from the couch and go over to the picture window and gaze at the pine needle-littered forest floor beyond, searching for the now familiar red coat. "Has he been here yet?" I ask Mama.

"Yes. He came while you were out front in the strawberry bed with Papa. But he'll be back," she says, looking down at my disappointed face. "He'll be along for lunch, you know."

I sigh. I will have to see my red squirrel friend later. For now, I content myself with a stolen finger-full of the cookie batter Mama has just made.