The most important thing I have learned about my writing is how to distance myself from it so that I can improve it. I think this maturity has really made a difference in my ability to accept feedback and to revise my work. Previously, I never considered letting someone else read my work to make it better. If I proofread it myself, I only looked for typos and grammatical improvements. Rarely did I consider revising on a full scale as I have done with every piece we have written for class. The more I rewrite my papers, the better I am at it. I believe that I can continue to improve my work through revision. In case you are thinking that I must have been arrogant to think my work didn't need improvement, please know that I am not so guilty of arrogance as laziness. Rereading to revise is much more time and energy consuming than simple proofreading is.
The second most important thing I have learned about my writing is that it is better when it comes from my heart. While this revelation may not seem earth-shattering, it has helped me define my voice more clearly. I don't waste so much time trying to distance myself from my writing as I did before. Writing from a dispassionate, emotionless voice isn't my style, so why should I bother with it? I have learned to limit my chattiness and hold back on humor when it isn't appropriate, but I don't worry about making my work sound so formal. Trying to sound formal when you aren't can really come across as trying to sound formal when you aren't! An absolute incorrectness of which I shall never again be of a notion to engender. Really.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
From Silence to Self - Revised
As a child, I was extremely shy. I was so shy my family always introduced me with the challenge, “This is Piper. She’s shy. You can’t make her talk.” To which almost everyone responded by trying to get me to speak. Grrrr… In some ways being shy determined my destiny because in order to express myself, I had to write. I have had to accept that I could not then, cannot now, and may never be able to communicate as effectively through the spoken language as I do through writing. I don’t recall when I began to enjoy writing. Nor do I remember a time when writing was not my favorite means of expression – my only means even. Writing allows me to be brave, emotional, melodramatic, or eloquent. It allows me to be me.
Throughout my life, I have written to and about myself, always hopeful that through my writing I would find the real me, the one behind the shy girl, who was petrified of being revealed and then rejected. I avoided situations that required too much talking and exposure. In high school I chose to study Latin because I would not have to speak it. Being in the debate club did not interest me; being on the newspaper staff and yearbook staff saved me. These venues gave me opportunities to be heard without speaking. I preferred the resume to the interview, the written exam to the oral, the autobiographical sketch to the speech. That clichéd assignment to “write an essay on what you did during summer vacation” was heaven; show and tell – hell!
I am abysmally inept at oral expression. If I try to speak when I am angry, I cry. When I am nervous, I laugh (too loudly) or I use my hands (which I see as my body’s way of telling me I should be writing instead!). I always say the wrong thing. I do not recommend inviting me to a funeral if you want comfort or to your hospital bed if you need encouragement. Don’t believe me? “Uncle Joe would have loved this funeral,” inspired my widowed aunt to more tears. And, “at least you get three squares and a good night’s sleep in here,” caused my husband to request more sedation. So for me finding the right words means write the right words!
How then did I end up being a teacher? Why would I choose a career that put me in front of others and interacting verbally all day long? I don’t know exactly. I suppose I simply let my shyness define and drive me until I finally encountered my passion for teaching. Teaching inspired me to be a little better and try a little harder than I ever thought I could. My desire to light students’ fire for learning through literature and writing was consuming. I have always felt that literature could teach us everything we needed to know about life. Through teaching I began to develop, what I referred to as, “me, the teacher.” This “teacher me” was determined to share my love of literature and writing. I learned that I might have to step out of my comfort zone to be effective with high school students who, it turned out, did not have the same love of literature and writing that I did. Somehow I moved beyond my shyness and fear and put my love of teaching and children first. As I look back it seems that it was effortless, but I know it took all the energy I had. Students accept me for who I am. I believe they see my sincerity and my passion. I know they overlook my foibles and shortcomings. They allow me to forget my shyness.
Writing serves me in the same way. When I am writing, I become more than myself and simply myself in the same moment. I love this thrill of getting into a voice that is totally me and totally beyond me at the same time. I am vulnerable yet fearless, confident yet humbled. It is exhilarating…until I remember I am writing for others, not just for myself. My shyness re-emerges, and I am left unsure and doubtful…frozen by my fear of failure and rejection.
Once in an undergrad writing class, I was so overwhelmed by this feeling that I immediately started rewriting parts of the essay. When my professor conferenced with me about the essay, she opened with, “What happened?” I was mortified. How could I explain that I lost my voice because I wasn’t certain that I could pull off being as witty and self-deprecating as I had attempted. Then she said, “It was as if you lost your voice. You were going along so well. Your essay was hilarious and then you dropped the humor and began explaining the situation rather than reliving it.” I was completely caught off guard that she saw right through me and so thankful that she had. She encouraged me to go back and rewrite, using my original thoughts and voice. She helped me learn to write honestly and for myself rather than to impress my audience or to be right.
I wish I had the motivation to write for the sake of writing. Unfortunately, I don’t. I require an assignment to put fingers to keyboard. Thankfully, this doctoral program has provided me with more writing assignments, I mean opportunities, than I ever imagined! I say “thankfully” because each time I write I learn something new about myself. Each time I put myself out there I gain confidence. Each time I risk rejection by letting someone read my work, I grow.
I find everything I need in the written word – hope and inspiration, comfort and courage, strength and guidance. Whether it is through my writing or the reading of others writings, it is how I communicate with the world and myself. Writing is my voice.
Throughout my life, I have written to and about myself, always hopeful that through my writing I would find the real me, the one behind the shy girl, who was petrified of being revealed and then rejected. I avoided situations that required too much talking and exposure. In high school I chose to study Latin because I would not have to speak it. Being in the debate club did not interest me; being on the newspaper staff and yearbook staff saved me. These venues gave me opportunities to be heard without speaking. I preferred the resume to the interview, the written exam to the oral, the autobiographical sketch to the speech. That clichéd assignment to “write an essay on what you did during summer vacation” was heaven; show and tell – hell!
I am abysmally inept at oral expression. If I try to speak when I am angry, I cry. When I am nervous, I laugh (too loudly) or I use my hands (which I see as my body’s way of telling me I should be writing instead!). I always say the wrong thing. I do not recommend inviting me to a funeral if you want comfort or to your hospital bed if you need encouragement. Don’t believe me? “Uncle Joe would have loved this funeral,” inspired my widowed aunt to more tears. And, “at least you get three squares and a good night’s sleep in here,” caused my husband to request more sedation. So for me finding the right words means write the right words!
How then did I end up being a teacher? Why would I choose a career that put me in front of others and interacting verbally all day long? I don’t know exactly. I suppose I simply let my shyness define and drive me until I finally encountered my passion for teaching. Teaching inspired me to be a little better and try a little harder than I ever thought I could. My desire to light students’ fire for learning through literature and writing was consuming. I have always felt that literature could teach us everything we needed to know about life. Through teaching I began to develop, what I referred to as, “me, the teacher.” This “teacher me” was determined to share my love of literature and writing. I learned that I might have to step out of my comfort zone to be effective with high school students who, it turned out, did not have the same love of literature and writing that I did. Somehow I moved beyond my shyness and fear and put my love of teaching and children first. As I look back it seems that it was effortless, but I know it took all the energy I had. Students accept me for who I am. I believe they see my sincerity and my passion. I know they overlook my foibles and shortcomings. They allow me to forget my shyness.
Writing serves me in the same way. When I am writing, I become more than myself and simply myself in the same moment. I love this thrill of getting into a voice that is totally me and totally beyond me at the same time. I am vulnerable yet fearless, confident yet humbled. It is exhilarating…until I remember I am writing for others, not just for myself. My shyness re-emerges, and I am left unsure and doubtful…frozen by my fear of failure and rejection.
Once in an undergrad writing class, I was so overwhelmed by this feeling that I immediately started rewriting parts of the essay. When my professor conferenced with me about the essay, she opened with, “What happened?” I was mortified. How could I explain that I lost my voice because I wasn’t certain that I could pull off being as witty and self-deprecating as I had attempted. Then she said, “It was as if you lost your voice. You were going along so well. Your essay was hilarious and then you dropped the humor and began explaining the situation rather than reliving it.” I was completely caught off guard that she saw right through me and so thankful that she had. She encouraged me to go back and rewrite, using my original thoughts and voice. She helped me learn to write honestly and for myself rather than to impress my audience or to be right.
I wish I had the motivation to write for the sake of writing. Unfortunately, I don’t. I require an assignment to put fingers to keyboard. Thankfully, this doctoral program has provided me with more writing assignments, I mean opportunities, than I ever imagined! I say “thankfully” because each time I write I learn something new about myself. Each time I put myself out there I gain confidence. Each time I risk rejection by letting someone read my work, I grow.
I find everything I need in the written word – hope and inspiration, comfort and courage, strength and guidance. Whether it is through my writing or the reading of others writings, it is how I communicate with the world and myself. Writing is my voice.
Drop Out Prevention - Why I Care
My interest in dropout prevention has evolved over the years as my awareness of the depth and breadth of the problem has grown. When I was a high school teacher, I would come in contact with the occasional student who dropped out, but it wasn’t until I became an administrator that I began to understand how profoundly confounding the problem is. The frustrating part is that students who drop out of school are so disconnected from school by the time they decide to drop out that attempts to save them fall on deaf ears. Their decision to drop out is not sudden. It is not based on one bad incident or a single confrontation. The decision to drop out is made after years of negative encounters with teachers, other students, or administrators or all of these groups.
I was an English and Latin teacher at Carver High School for many years. Kids dropped out. I don’t remember one particular kid that made me say this must stop. I always counseled them to stay in school. I became most aware of the problem when I became interim principal of Carver. I would have kids come back to me wanting to re-enter school after they had dropped out. I was in a position to take them. I would decide on a case by case basis. Some were simply too old with not enough credits to finish by the time they turned 21. I directed them to the community college to get their GED. Some just wanted their social security check. I let those kids back in. I figured some motivation was better than none. I was always touched by their sincere appeals to get back in school. I wished I could record their stories for the ones who were sure dropping out was the only choice.
As an assistant principal at Carver High School, I realized I needed to do something to help these students. The frustration for me was that it seemed so obvious who was going to dropout. These students never went to class. They would tell you – “When I turn sixteen, I am dropping out.” If we were able to convince them to stay in school past the magic age of sixteen, they would usually lose hope by the time they were seventeen and quit then. I decided I had to do something. Because Carver High School was on Judge Manning’s list to be closed if we didn’t make adequate improvements in student achievement, we were already looking for programs to help students.
To address our students’ academic needs, Carver had applied for an $800,000 Small Learning Communities grant to create a 9th Grade Academy which would have served all our 9th graders. We planned for this grant to allow us to focus on this difficult transition year for our students. During the previous year ninth graders made up over 50% of the students referred to the office for discipline problems, their attendance rate was the lowest of the four grade levels, and sixty-seven were retained, because they did not pass six of eight classes. I realized that all of these deficits were also indicators for students to drop out.
Using the SLC grant we planned to address these issues. We had selected eight teachers to team up to be the 9th academy teachers. They were to have a common planning period and staff development to help them with the teaming approach and planning. The academy would have access to new remediation and acceleration computer software and the Connected Schools program to address relationship building. I was very excited when we sat down with the selected teachers to talk to them about what they thought of the plan. My excitement quickly turned to disappointment when these teachers told me they loved the idea of the academy but had one reservation. They said their participation depended on one deal breaker - that repeating ninth graders not be included in this academy. They said these students were too much of a distraction in class and took too much time and attention away from new ninth graders. They wanted the 9th grade academy to work, but they didn’t believe it could with repeating ninth graders in the program. While I was frustrated by their opinion, I didn’t feel like forcing these students on the program would benefit anyone, especially the very students about whom I was most concerned.
What was I going to do? No way could I ignore these sixty-seven students left without the support they would need to be successful. I started studying this group of kids. I gathered as much data as I could about them. I looked at their attendance, age, previous grades failed and classes failed. I looked at demographics and exceptional children’s status. The more I learned about them, the more I realized how desperate their situation appeared. I knew too much to turn back. I had to figure out a way to help them. My first step was to find teachers who were willing to work with them. I was on my way to setting up a mentoring program and connecting them with a person in the school whom they felt cared about them. I intended to set up an individual growth plan for each student to encourage their success. I even tried to figure out a way to call them 10th graders even though they weren’t. I was well on my way to setting up a plan for these kids. Then, I got my job as principal of Walkertown Middle School. I was very disappointed that I couldn’t follow through on this program. I really felt like I had abandoned these kids. Even though they never knew I had “adopted” them, I had and I felt like I had to find someone to carry on the plan. I tried to leave the kids in good hands, but I knew in my heart that helping these students wasn’t that staff member’s passion.
When I got the job at the middle school, I was amazed to see how easy it was to pick out these potential drop outs that I had known so well in high school. I made a decision to focus on how to make a difference in the lives of these students. I also realized that middle school was the real place to start. If we could help them at this age, before they became so cynical and so hopeless then maybe we really could make a difference.
I was an English and Latin teacher at Carver High School for many years. Kids dropped out. I don’t remember one particular kid that made me say this must stop. I always counseled them to stay in school. I became most aware of the problem when I became interim principal of Carver. I would have kids come back to me wanting to re-enter school after they had dropped out. I was in a position to take them. I would decide on a case by case basis. Some were simply too old with not enough credits to finish by the time they turned 21. I directed them to the community college to get their GED. Some just wanted their social security check. I let those kids back in. I figured some motivation was better than none. I was always touched by their sincere appeals to get back in school. I wished I could record their stories for the ones who were sure dropping out was the only choice.
As an assistant principal at Carver High School, I realized I needed to do something to help these students. The frustration for me was that it seemed so obvious who was going to dropout. These students never went to class. They would tell you – “When I turn sixteen, I am dropping out.” If we were able to convince them to stay in school past the magic age of sixteen, they would usually lose hope by the time they were seventeen and quit then. I decided I had to do something. Because Carver High School was on Judge Manning’s list to be closed if we didn’t make adequate improvements in student achievement, we were already looking for programs to help students.
To address our students’ academic needs, Carver had applied for an $800,000 Small Learning Communities grant to create a 9th Grade Academy which would have served all our 9th graders. We planned for this grant to allow us to focus on this difficult transition year for our students. During the previous year ninth graders made up over 50% of the students referred to the office for discipline problems, their attendance rate was the lowest of the four grade levels, and sixty-seven were retained, because they did not pass six of eight classes. I realized that all of these deficits were also indicators for students to drop out.
Using the SLC grant we planned to address these issues. We had selected eight teachers to team up to be the 9th academy teachers. They were to have a common planning period and staff development to help them with the teaming approach and planning. The academy would have access to new remediation and acceleration computer software and the Connected Schools program to address relationship building. I was very excited when we sat down with the selected teachers to talk to them about what they thought of the plan. My excitement quickly turned to disappointment when these teachers told me they loved the idea of the academy but had one reservation. They said their participation depended on one deal breaker - that repeating ninth graders not be included in this academy. They said these students were too much of a distraction in class and took too much time and attention away from new ninth graders. They wanted the 9th grade academy to work, but they didn’t believe it could with repeating ninth graders in the program. While I was frustrated by their opinion, I didn’t feel like forcing these students on the program would benefit anyone, especially the very students about whom I was most concerned.
What was I going to do? No way could I ignore these sixty-seven students left without the support they would need to be successful. I started studying this group of kids. I gathered as much data as I could about them. I looked at their attendance, age, previous grades failed and classes failed. I looked at demographics and exceptional children’s status. The more I learned about them, the more I realized how desperate their situation appeared. I knew too much to turn back. I had to figure out a way to help them. My first step was to find teachers who were willing to work with them. I was on my way to setting up a mentoring program and connecting them with a person in the school whom they felt cared about them. I intended to set up an individual growth plan for each student to encourage their success. I even tried to figure out a way to call them 10th graders even though they weren’t. I was well on my way to setting up a plan for these kids. Then, I got my job as principal of Walkertown Middle School. I was very disappointed that I couldn’t follow through on this program. I really felt like I had abandoned these kids. Even though they never knew I had “adopted” them, I had and I felt like I had to find someone to carry on the plan. I tried to leave the kids in good hands, but I knew in my heart that helping these students wasn’t that staff member’s passion.
When I got the job at the middle school, I was amazed to see how easy it was to pick out these potential drop outs that I had known so well in high school. I made a decision to focus on how to make a difference in the lives of these students. I also realized that middle school was the real place to start. If we could help them at this age, before they became so cynical and so hopeless then maybe we really could make a difference.
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