10-minute Tasks

Dissertation finished. Now what? Since finishing my degree, which consumed the last three years of my life, I have been struggling with how to begin the more creative aspect of my life again. If you have been following, which you probably have not because I haven't posted recently, you might have seen some of my starts and stops. I tried. I stopped. I tried again. I stopped again. Well, now that I have no more excuses, I have been struggling with how to start again, but this time, in a lasting way. My wife suggested 10 minutes. Find a task that only last 10 minutes that will make me feel good and nourish my creative side. That could be writing, reading, going for a walk, talking with a close friend. I just need to find 10 minutes in my day that I can start writing poetry again. Honestly, I have been a bit terrified to start writing poetry again because I have been writing academic prose for so long, I am worried that I may have forgotten how to be creative, expressing myself in poetry. No APA citations. No parenthetical references. No reference section. No chapters. Just free-flowing emotions onto the page or screen.


Now, I have a strict rule (or at least I had a rule) that I can only be creative when I write using a pen and paper; no computer. All of my previous poetry has been handwritten, then revised, edited, and finally typed onto my blog for semi-public consumption. So, for all of my starts and stops, I am once again starting afresh with 10 minutes today, then 10 minutes tomorrow, then 10 more minutes the next day. Hopefully, some of it will be good enough to end up on this blog.


We shall see.


We shall see.

Dent

There have been a few things on my mind recently.  The first one deals with the above quote.   I have always admired Steve Jobs, but when I finished reading his biography, his drive to be innovative and create something the world has never seen, infected me.  I completely agree with the fact that we exist to do something.  Jobs felt that it was to do something great.  I am feeling a loss of purpose, which leads me to another thought cloud weighing heavily above my head: I am not in the classroom anymore.  This is the first year, where I do not have 27+ students of my own, in my own space, collaborating and inspiring.   My job as a teacher was simply defined.  My role as a teacher/mentor has always been deeper.  I thrive on inspiring others to greatness.  I love questioning the status quo, and better yet, having my students do the same.  Now, as a coach, I am charged with mentoring other teachers via instructional technology. This is not a bad path, but I am new to it.  I feel like a small fish in a much larger district pond, sometimes feeling unsure as to how I achieve the same greatness (if only in my head) I had as a teacher.  I am both excited and scared about how to proceed.  I feel confident that if I continue working the way I have always worked, that I will achieve some semblance of notoriety amongst my colleagues, which brings me to my third and final thought.  I am older. I’m not old, just older.  I read recently that there are two patterns of innovative genius in this world: Picasso and Cezanne.  David Galenson, studying museums and galleries during and after his doctoral work, noticed a pattern.  “Those who follow the Picasso pattern are brilliant young people who produce their greatest efforts early in life” (Drew, 2011, p. 47).  As they get older, they continue to be creative and create, but their greatest works came early, with very little new innovations.  “Those who follow the Cezanne pattern gradually accumulate knowledge and experience and continuously incorporate what they have learned into their work” (Drew, 2011, p. 48). Just as in wine, they get better with age.  So, which pattern do I follow?  I am inclined to believe (and hope) that I still have great work to accomplish.  At 35, I can’t imagine that my greatest accomplishments are behind me.  To be clear, I am immensely proud of all that I have: family with beautiful children, successful career making a difference in the school district where I was raised, and relative health.  However, I can’t help but recently look at younger generations of talent; so much, so early!  

Teachers are, by nature, humble creatures.  We don’t seek recognition because we feel that our calling is greater than rewards and accomplishments.  However, teachers are ones who need recognition more than others.  I can attest to the fact that years of anonymity can begin to wear on an individual.  Now, especially without the fandom of my students, I am feeling something.  I’m not sure how to describe it, but it is palatable.  Perhaps this is where my desire to write again stems from.  I am all, but finished with my dissertation (ABD), on a new career path, with the potential to affect more change than before.  What do I want?  Do I want to be a famous author?  Poet?  Change-maker for my district? Do I want to be an educational consultant, touring conferences giving advice on how to improve education?  Do I even know the answer?  I have ideas, but are they worth sharing?  Are they worth money?  I can’t help, but feel that wanting some sort of financial recognition for my hard work does appeal to me.  It is not the most important item, but I would be lying if I didn’t feel that it wasn’t important.  Hmmmmm….

My plan: make a dent in the universe.  How? Experience and my nature tells me to just keep doing what I am doing.  I have a strong work ethic and I am sure something will happen.  I’m just not sure what it will be.

Begin again

After years of dryness; blank pages; being too busy; waiting for inspiration to come, I have decided to begin anew.  In the past, this blog has been a place where I can collect my poetry, sending it out into the digital world, maybe getting a few comments here and there.  I’m sure that many of you have since left in search of other writers, poets, essayist, who post regularly.  I always told myself that I would return, one day, when I had more time.  When I finished my degree.  When things slowed down at work.  When the kids got older.  The truth is, that I can’t wait any longer.  I must begin writing again.  Please bear with me, as this is going to be very, very rough.  There will probably not be any waxing poetic, until I can knock the rust off of my writing brain, slowly using those muscles again.  I’ve heard of muscle memory for physical exercise.  I wonder if it exists for poetic exercises?  In any event, I will begin posting regularly again.  For a while, I won’t allow any comments, because I won’t need any.  I will just be airing out my mind, trying to moisten the dryness of my brain.

I’ve attempted to revitalize this blog, but more importantly, I am trying to revitalize myself.  We shall see how it goes.  I think journaling in prose will help get the juices flowing.  The truth is, I got tired of waiting.  I’m getting older, and I am getting more anxious.   Call it some sort of middle-age turning-point, but I really want something to happen.  I have decided that I can’t wait any longer.  I need to make it happen.  What exactly?  I’m not sure, but I’m willing to begin this journey again, a bit older, perhaps wiser, perhaps not.  Either way, I’m starting.  One word at a time.  Let’s go.

A Call to Everyone

When I first started this blog in 2005, my intention was to "publish" all of my poetry;  I wanted a more formal place for all of those words I had written on napkins, journal margins, backs of menus, etc...  More importantly, though, I wanted feedback.

As the comments came, I began to realize that my poems were not finished (I never, actually, thought of them as finished).  My posts were constantly being read and re-worked and reworded and rewritten.  It humbled me. It made me a better writer.  It made me a better reader.  I wanted to share my feedback for other writers/bloggers.

The plateau came about a year later.  I had run out of poems, and people had run out of comments.  I tried posting various things, but no one really noticed.  So, I stopped posting.

I never stopped writing, though.

Now, five years later, I'm blogging again, looking for those same connections to other writers.  Except this time, I no longer want to use my blog as just a publishing tool.  I want reflective, metacognitive writing... not just my own, but others' thoughts as well. I want people to offer analysis that will articulate a deeper understanding or relationship to my writing.  I want people to synthesize and help create nothing but great writing.

So, I'm sending out a call to everyone.  Whether you follow this blog or not, start writing.  Start commenting.  Start analyzing.  Start reflecting.  Just start.

Let's surround ourselves with writers and writing.  Let's write!

Music

There have been a lot of things I forgot in my five-year absence from the blogosphere.  As I return to sending out my writing into this void, things are slowly coming back to me.

I had forgotten the power of music.

Last night, I went to a concert: Parachute opening for Goo Goo Dolls.  It was an amazing show, full of good sets of great music.  However, the thing I enjoyed the most was watching (and feeling) how, as each song reverberated through the audience, people from all walks of life transformed.

There were fat people, skinny people, teenage girls, pre-teen girls, parents, old-timers, kids, adults, groupies, obsessed Goo Goo Doll fans, and people new to Parachute.   All came together last night to listen to some music.  It may sound strange, but I was surprised at how much fun people had.... even the ones who didn't seem to "dig" the music initially.  It only took a few songs before EVERYONE was having a good time.

The sad part.... the really difficult part, was watching the lights come back on and people exiting the space to re-enter reality.  It was almost instantaneous; people went from smiles to a determined visage attempting to navigate the arena and parking lot.  Why were people so eager to return to the outside world?  Didn't they want to hold on to those earlier feelings brought on my listening to music.

The transformation back to "normal" was sad to watch.  Girls who were bubbly and excited were now serious  and indifferent to what lay outside the arena.  Guys who jammin' to the concert were now just stoic and ready to leave.... perhaps ready to go to bed and possibly even work the next day.

On the ride home, our own change was more gradual.  We reminisced a bit, as if the concert were such a long time ago.  However, by the time we entered the highway, it was quiet and decompressing.

So, how can we hold onto that feeling?  How can you re-enter the world still with a piece of concert fun?  Is listening to the radio enough?  I don't think so.  Maybe I need to go to another concert to figure it out.

Just One More Chapter...

"Just one more chapter,' she thought.

Alice knew that there was only one more chapter, but she just couldn't seem to keep her eyes open.  Now, as she lay in bed, trying to finish the book, she thought back to earlier that day.

Alice usually walked home from school the same way every day.  Today, however, something unseen seemed to pull her down Tenth Street.  Sure, it was a longer route, but something was appealing about cutting through the city, and using this alley.


As she walked further, the sun seemed to slowly dim.  At the time, she didn't think much of it, but looking back, she knew the light was disappearing.... being replaced by something unnatural.


She came to the bookstore.  The large oak doors were carved with characters from Alice in Wonderland.  The whole store was out of place, stuck between two empty parking garages.  Alice didn't think twice as she entered.  The tinkling of the bell echoed off the damp, concrete walls announcing her arrival.


Alice looked around slowly trying to take it all in.  That's when she saw Mr. Linden.


Mr. Linden was an old man.  He was an old man.  He hunched a bit and ached as he walked.  Despite his withered body, his eyes were still sharp and twinkled when he cracked a smile.


"Welcome to my little store.  Can I help you find anything in particular?" rasped Mr. Linden.


Alice could smell his musty breath and see that he was missing three teeth.


"No, thank you," replied Alice.  "I'm just looking."


"Well, look at this!"


Mr. Linden pulled out a hard, leather-bound book.  It was much larger than the other books in the store.  As Alice looked at its cover, she heard Mr. Linden explain.


"No one has ever finished this book.  I guess it is just too intense for some people.   You, my lady, look different.  Perhaps you might like to take a peek!"


Alice began to open the book when Mr. Linden snatched it away.


"Better not!  I changed my mind.  I don't think  this book's for your.  Why don't you look at those magazines over there in the corner."


Mr. Linden pointed his shaky finger toward the magazine stand.  Alice turned to look and them looked back at Mr. Linden's counter.  He was gone.  The book remained.


Alice knew she shouldn't have taken it, but she had to.


Now, lying in bed, she recalled Mr. Linden's words, "No one has ever finished this book."

"Just one more chapter," she thought.
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This was a writing exercise I modeled for the class.  I have the class choose a picture from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick.

It is a great set of photos with a caption.  The kids' writing is always impressive.

And So It Begins...

"If you want to be a writer, write."--Neil Gaiman 

Well, I tried that and found that I ran out of stuff to write about.  I think Neil also said something to the effect of: if you don't have anything to write about, go live your life---get a job or something.


It has been five years since my last posted poem.  For any of you out there who actually followed my writing, you were probably not surprised that the poems stopped coming.  I pretty much wrote about my childhood, first love, sex, the death of my mother, and my family (not necessarily in that order).  I reached a point when I felt  that I was writing the same poem, same line, over and over again.  So, I stopped.

I didn't stop writing, just stopped writing poetry.  I still continued to write next to and in front of my students every day: memoirs, editorials, short stories, expository pieces, etc...

So, here I am---five years later---ready to begin again.  I've turned thirty, had three kids, and moved to suburbia.  Now is as good of a time as ever to begin again.

And so it begins...