“I am a reader.”
Until a few years ago, I was Joey Chestnut, chipmunking a book-a-day throughout the summer, as if I wouldn’t be able find enough titles to nourish me during the school year. I gorged myself on salt and peppered pages until I had consumed more than my fill. I competed in this gluttonous sport, more than satisfied to see my bookshelves reach obese levels and need expansion.
I fed on each deliciously written word, yet I didn’t give back.
“I am a reader, not a writer,” I would say.
And, to the consumer of these words, I either sound selfish or—GASP—disconcertedly familiar. {Yeah, you know who you are?}
“You see, I’m really more of a reading teacher than a writing teacher,” I would tell my colleagues—as if this was a valid excuse.
It wasn’t.
The saddest part is that I knew all the best-practice research contradicting my deluded behavior. I mean, come on, I devoured that stuff. Professional texts on literacy: that is the dessert of graduate school.
Keep the fridge and pantry full.
This unhealthy relationship with books—my own reading disorder, if you will—is certainly a consequence of my succulent environment.
I am one of the lucky ones. I never experienced word poverty.
My school and home are/were full of books. I can name a least a dozen reading role models who helped place that “just right book” into my hands, giving me the hearty nutrients of a balanced diet all while indulging my sweet tooth.
Today, my students walk away from my class marinated in that same book love. {With much thanks to Penny Kittle‘s Book Love Foundation! I was a finalist last year. You should totally donate and/or apply.}
“I am not a writer.”
The thing is, while I live to make tasty recommendations to students and peers, I wouldn’t dare waste my time whipping something up for others to even snack on. I wasn’t a writer.
Sure, I composed theoretical essays for graduate school and teaching publications. I posted various how-to series here on my blog. I wrote beside my students, modeling Kelly Gallagher’s crap draft and Penny Kittle’s quick writes. I did on-the-job technical writing, but that didn’t count. Even author Donalyn Miller used to define herself as a reader, not a writer.
I wrote only what I thought was necessary. I didn’t extend beyond this defined boundary. And I sure as all get-out didn’t write for myself.
That was not necessary.
Is this an intervention?
That is until I experienced a forced intervention. Five years of “polite bullying” from my writer-friends was enough.
“You can’t be a teacher—one who expounds the virtues of good writing—without actually seeing yourself as a writer.”
I was, like many other binge-readers, immobilized by the vulnerability of writing. How could I ever write something worthy of an audience when I know how critical that audience can be?
If anything, we can be a bit of food—er, uh, book—snobs. Am I right? 😉
From Caldecott to Printz winners, we absorb volumes of good writing. Clever sentence construction and on-point analogies excite us. We search for characters that reflect our triumphs and our greatest flaws.
The problem was saturating myself in this rich reading diet made it impossible for me to put my pen to the paper, my hands to the keyboard.
And each year, I was digesting more books but not using all of that energy I took in. I was too intimidated by the greatness around me and shameful of my own irregular attempts at the practice.
I taught my students one message about authentic writing and promptly ignored it myself.
Take the risk. Step into the kitchen.
With my colleagues support, I entered a four-week “rehabilitation” program, known among many junkies as the National Writing Project Invitational Summer Institute.
It varies by NWP site, but essentially, summer fellows are provided “sacred time” to read and write and learn and grow with and from other teacher-writers. My program was four weeks long with a mix of elementary, secondary, and college teachers, from both English and History {Yes, social studies knows how to represent. #beboyle}. I had recently read that “you learn courage by couraging,” and that’s what I did. From the first day, my fellows in the Lake Michigan Writing Project walked with me towards my fear of writing, and when I walked toward risk, I began to write. To put it simply, it was the most powerful PD of my career.
Of course, I’ll never abandon my nerdy tribe of readers, but I am so blessed to be embraced by another tribe: my tribe of teacher-writers. No longer do I see them as competing warriors on the literacy landscape, but as comrades—generally decked out in the colors of both communities.
Your Turn.
Now it’s your turn. If you’ve already decided what you’re saying Yes/No to in 2016, maybe you want to build your writing habit, or you want to journal with more intention. Maybe you want to start a blog, or try your hand at a poetry. In the comment box below, share your writing goals for 2016.
Whatever those goals are, don’t let this year go by without making them happen.
Donalyn Miller offers us this advice:
• If you write, you are a writer.
• If you don’t write, you are not a writer.
• If you want to be a writer, you must write.
• The only writers who struggle with writing are ALL of them.
• Write about what matters to you and make the rest of us care about it.
• Anyone who tells you she’s a writer must believe it herself before she can admit it to you.
I suggest that you find a NWP site in your area. Fill out an application for the Summer Institute. Sign-ups are underway.
If you’re one of my Michigan friends, there are 12—Yes, twelve!—project sites in the Mitten! Now, it may vary by site, but the deadline for the Lake Michigan Writing Project’s application is February 15, 2016. So giddy up!
Friends, check that self-doubt at the NYE door. Ignore those myths of perfectionism. Crack open your laptop, and get going on your writing goals.
Let’s not allow this year to happen by chance.
Thank you to my CSHS tribe who pushed me to attend the Summer Institute and Lindsey Boyle, who 1) wasn’t totally weirded out when I replied to our first introduction at LMWP that “I follow you on Twitter!” and chose to be my friend anyway, 2) inspires my instruction everyday by her ability to connect with and motivate her students, and 3) for the “This is good for me” sight words card in the photo, which streams her positive realism in my head.
But wait–there’s more! If you haven’t done so already, be sure to join my mailing list to receive posts sent directly to your inbox: Follow Erica Lee Beaton on WordPress.com