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Performance Art

Author’s Note: It is the third week, third day of the Crossroads Writing Project, and this is today’s SWP. The prompt was a picture by Van Asomebody called “The Seventh Chair” with the subheading “The fifth one ended up in Paris” or some such thing. I’ll have to get the exact details later. I think this would be better as an audio rather than a written text, but here it is in written form anyway…

The Pain

The sharp point entered my skin

The pain came a second later

And I gasped as it registered

Another second and the blood flowed

Three seconds, almost instantaneous

But to me, the one stabbed

Time slowed and I knew each moment

As it seared itself into my memory

Stabbed, wounded, I ached

I stared at the wound

Is there a doctor in the house

I wondered

There was no doctor or mother

To comfort and treat me

And so I did the next best thing

For me

I placed my finger in my mouth

Threw the stupid stabbing staple away

And there next to the trash can I vowed

Next time I’m sticking to 3-hole punches

 

Author’s note continued: Did I forget to mention that right before getting the writing prompt, I stabbed my finger with an errant staple?

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You can’t write if you can’t cry

Today’s writing prompt at CWP had to do with mothers. During sharing, tears flowed as we listened to each others. The emotion was hefty. Even a piece that wasn’t meant to be emotional made me cry. The structure was great, written by a guy. He talks about what his mom did for him at various ages: rubbing his back, making him laugh, etc. And then he talks about moving back home to be near her to do all those things for her. I cried. And that one wasn’t the biggest heart puller. I lost it when Robbie wrote about her family’s car rides beginning with the first one when her parents took her home from the hospital and ending with her mom and siblings in the limo transporting her father to the cemetery. Argh.

This afternoon we’re going to a Jim Crow exhibit at Ferris that can be so emotional from some that they require you be escorted through it, so the escorts can help you deal with unexpected emotions.

Today, we are doing a writing marathon. It involves going to several different places and doing writing prompts. I’m going to the fair, the Jim Crow exhibit and then to one of my fellow fellow’s houses to see her horses. It should be a good day. With tears and Kleenex tissue.

Thanks for playing.

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Sherwood’s Teaching Philosophy

I recently had an opportunity to do an impromptu writing assignment that describes my teaching philosophy. I had already written my philosophy before, at least twice, but I wasn’t happen with any of my previous versions. But when I sat down to write this impromptu assignment, my philosophy just spilled out of me, and I liked it. Plus, it was a 5-paragraph essay, which one of my professors told me all English majors should be able to do without hesitation. I, however, am not a 5-paragraph essay kind of gal, so I found it amusing when I finished writing and realized my philosophy was a 5-paragraph essay. And so, without further ado, my teaching philosophy….

Sherwood’s Teaching Philosophy

When I began freelance writing, I kept hearing the same advice over and over again – write what you know. This advice was important when starting out because it gave me a way to avoid the whole conundrum, “I need clips to get published, but I can’t get published without clips.” When I began freelancing by writing what I knew – parenting – I received writing assignments. With parenting clips in hand, I began pursuing and receiving assignments writing about what I didn’t know. Although I’ve never even been in a semi-truck, I’ve had articles published in Road King magazine, a trade publication for truck drivers.

When I began teaching, I realized my students were entering my classroom thinking they couldn’t write, and they would never be able to write, and they didn’t want to write. The master syllabus for the course, however, listed one of the goals as “to create a community of writers/thinkers,” which created a conundrum of its own. If students don’t think they can write, how can I create a writer community? In this, I relied on my own experience in freelance writing. I had to develop a philosophy that allowed by students to become experts.

Of course, most of my students aren’t experts in writing when they first enter my classroom, but I don’t ask them to be. Instead, I try to begin by helping students recognize what they already know, and how that knowledge might transfer to writing. To do this, I build on what students already do in their everyday lives – communicate verbally. I help students recognize the choices they already make when speaking are the same choices they can have when writing.

In my selection of texts, assignments and even word choices in the classroom, I actively work to undo any misconceptions students may have about writing or about themselves. I emphasize the process of writing, and that all writers – even professional writers and English teachers – make mistakes and/or grammatical errors, especially in early drafts. I have students participate in writer workshops instead of peer groups, and I ask students to write “author’s notes” about their writing whenever they submit it for someone else to read.

I work to help students recognize errors in their own writing and the writing of others. I want students to know what mistakes they tend to make frequently. To do this, I often refer to my own writing, and I offer extra credit whenever students find an error in any writing I do. I give students hints about what errors I tend to make. For instance, I tend to have verb tense errors in early drafts. Once students start seeing a trend in the types of errors they make, they can focus on learning how to fix those errors. It doesn’t mean the errors won’t happen anymore, but the student will know what the error is and the resources available to help fix it. With this philosophy, I can reach that course goal of creating a community of writers and thinkers.

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Attempts at Poetry

(Ye been warned. Garh.)

SWP – Georgia O’Keefe’s The Lake

Summers at the Lake

Our children, his parents

Aunts, uncles, cousins even neighbors

Gather at the lake

Smoke, flames, steaks, yum

Propane fridges flame

Fifth wheel fricassee

No one hurt, back again

Lightning can’t strike twice, right?

One camper over, maybe

Propane fills the air

Furnace clicks on and off

Middle of the night worries

He shuts it down

We’ll look tomorrow

Pile more covers on now

Tomorrow dawns bright

But a cooler is black

Sucked up against the air intake

Camper still standing

Surrounded by family

One glimpse up reminds us

Blackened tree limbs stretch out

Shading the replacement camper

As we gather at the lake.

 

And now for the rest of the story…

You might recall the Labor Day in recent years when my in-laws camper burned down? No one was hurt, but the blackened tree limbs are still visible at the campground where our families go camping quite often. We’re camping now, and the in-laws are camped in the same spot with their new camper.

Steve and I our camped next to them in our camper. We put our picnic table up under our canopy. During the course of the day, a cooler sitting on top of our picnic table was pushed up close to the camper. Unfortunately, it was right in front of the furnace intake valve. That’s why the furnace wouldn’t work. It kept sucking the cooler up against it, shutting off the air supply.

Steve found it the next day. The cooler was black except for a perfectly round impression of the air intake valve. The side of our camper, less than a 2 feet area, was also black, but I was able to clean it right up. We moved the picnic table away from the furnace intake. And I felt extremely lucky that a) my husband noticed the furnace problems and b) shut it down.

And that’s my story. I’m sticking to it. Thanks for playing.

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Trouble Me

I’m back at Ferris for the Crossroads Writing Project after spending the last weekend camping at the lake. I set the alarm clock for 5:30 a.m. and crept out of our camper in order to go home and shower before taking off at 7 a.m. Zeus and Feliz were thrilled to see someone home.

This morning the writing prompt is a musical number, Trouble Me, performed by the 10,000 Maniacs. Lots of rich information there, but I’m not sure what to write about. I am just not doing a very good job of writing today. I need to switch gears, and they are switching slowly.

I did write something, but if I were to share it, my daughter would have years of therapy ahead of her, so there is definitely some self editing going on. Maybe if I fictionalized it….

Basically, it is about how I want my daughter to trouble me with her problems, but how it isn’t always easy because I’m her mom. The dual role and conflict. How, as the mom, I can’t freak out about the little things because if I do, she’ll never come to me about the big things.

And then there was this weekend with hubby, where he was openly saying, “Someone just needs to tell me what to do,” but you can’t do that for someone else, but I listened. And hopefully he figured out what decision he had to make.

So, not a heck of a lot of interesting material here is there? Ah well, maybe after some more coffee.

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