On That Dirt-Smelling Rug

I recently organized my room, and now that I can actually see my desk and chair, I feel like writing for a bit.

Five white Post-its stare at me (and bounce just a bit as I hit the keys). They contain questions I playfully asked myself a while ago in an attempt to anchor some flaky inspiration.

In February, I blogged about a new launching unit for Writer’s Workshop. In that post, I reflected on the reasons why I wanted to try something different, but as much as I pat myself on the back for reflecting early on, I realize I still have work to do. So, before going down a random cave, I read those raw 5 AM thoughts and found the five questions that will hold my hand on a properly lit path.

“I think this will be the third time,” I answered Tim when he asked how many of these units I’d written. I told him the first ones were inspired by those I learned from, but this one felt truly mine. As I say that, I picture faces behind the Post-its. Not the faces of those I refer to as mentors, but new and unfamiliar faces of people I’ve never me.

The SOL challenge made writing less lonely for me. It also made it less scary. Sure, I “had to” write something each day, and it wasn’t always a walk in the park, but when I knew I’d be interacting with people, it became less intense. If day 17 sucked, maybe day 18 would be awesome. I also discovered ideas by reading other people’s posts and hanging out in the comment section. Then I thought, do students get to feel this way?

That’s when it hit me. Every time I write sessions to inspire children to write, I write for them. What I should try now is to write for me. Makes sense, right? Lol

Let’s try something.

I’m not in my decluttered bedroom anymore. I’m in a classroom instead. There are others around me, and I can feel the palms of my hands press hard on the blue rug as they hold me up (I often fail at sitting up straight.) The rug is thick and dense, with deep yet soft fibers. It also smells like wet dirt—you know that smell after recess? I run my hands on it and bring them forward, and as they do, they encounter a notebook and a pen. My shoulders relax a bit, and I ready myself for some magic.

That’s what I picture as I write this new launching unit. I imagine myself as a student being invited to try new things, take some risks, and play a little. Workshops need more playfulness. The mentors on my bookshelf say all the time: If I want students to try something and believe they can write, I have to know what it’s like. Sure, I always write with them, but I only sometimes try the teaching points I hope they get hooked on.

Day 2. We go up and down memory lane

Day 8. We make lists

Day 11. We collect words, phrases, details

Those ideas have a different tone, not because they’re original—they really aren’t—but because I picture myself as a student when I write them. Pulling memories only became fun when writing for the SOL challenge. I don’t find lists exciting, and I envy those who can articulate beautiful prose from words, phrases, and mere details. Those writing sessions would typically make me sprint towards avoidance. But I think the company of other colleagues and students makes me want to stay on the dirt-smelling rug.

So here’s my plan in a “George’s 3” style, after way too much reflection:

Writing Partners

I’m asking teachers [who will roll this unit out] to find themselves a writing partner. I want them to unpack these twenty days together, not just to plan, but to write together before they sit in front of students. This year, I discovered how FUN it is to have a writing partner (HI AMY!)

Even though we haven’t done much writing together together, I think of her every time I forget to blog, or wonder what she’ll think when I post something. I also run to see her posts every Tuesday and feel grateful to have such talent so close to me.

Teachers are always eager to pair their students up, but we tend to work in isolation. Writing in isolation sucks. So, for this unit to work its magic, teachers need to find joy in a writing community of their peers. They need their own Amy.

Oh yeah, they also need to write. Like, for real. Not just a few sentences while students transition and we model the whole we all write in here thing, but full entries. I expect teachers’ writing volume to increase at a similar rate as their students’. I want them to find their writing voice—a voice that can significantly elevate the instruction.

Writing Flow

A typical workshop goes like this: mini-lesson, independent writing, share. And we know that one of the goals of a launching unit is to get students used to that predictable flow. However, I want to play with those rules just enough to honor one of the white Post-its I’ve chosen as my audience tonight. I want to bring a lot more conversation into each of those twenty days. I said it a few lines back; writing in isolation sucks. I can be in the room with fifteen other writers and still feel alone. Interactions are the antidote.

The structure for these twenty days goes like this: mini-lesson, dialogue, independent writing, share, and to balance time, that dialogue between writers will take priority. We always hear students talk during independent writing, and we know that [most of them] just want to talk about their ideas, or things on their minds that CAN evolve into great writing; they just don’t know it yet 🙂

Let’s set the stage for purposeful writing talks.

Writing Celebration

Yes, we celebrate writers after four weeks of writing, but if teachers become writers, too, what can we do to celebrate them? This post is already too long, so I’ll let Angie help me with that one. She can make standing in line at a bank incredibly entertaining.

I look up at my five Post-its. I think they’re pleased.

Soon, this new unit will be in the hands of many teachers—some with more experience than others, some who write, and some who might not. I hope they sit on the dirt-smelling rug. I know they will find familiar faces here.