The Art of Waiting, Part 2
Awakening during the end of the school year
The sunlight from the greenhouse window warms my face as I look out across hundreds of tiny leaves poking through their soil. It’s late March, and we’re experiencing unseasonably warm temps. For Wisconsin, anyway. Nonetheless, my classroom is freezing, so I steal moments like this between classes when I can. How fortunate I am to have a view into our school’s greenhouse directly across from my doorway.
I scan the sprouting rows and think of the irony: Despite so many beginnings in the natural world around us, in school we count down to the endings this time of year. We attribute the end to having proved something: final drafts, final exams, final grades. We celebrate it with last-class parties and graduation ceremonies.
I’m also looking forward to the end of the school year, ready to welcome summer break with open arms, but we still have a couple months to go, and I don’t want to spend it trudging along the countdown. As the greenhouse younglings reach toward the sun, I wonder…What can I awaken?
For starters, I look at our massive scramble of Magnetic Poetry words, largely undisturbed since the beginning of the semester. It symbolizes how I’m feeling: so much untapped potential. But then a tiny, organized section catches my eye:
magic music
whispers peace
I smile, savoring the discovery, and then the questions: Who did it? What is magic music? and why does it whisper? Is this the whole poem? Why aren’t we talking about this?
Why aren’t we talking about this?
So I take a picture of it and display it for the next day’s students. I tell them that one of their classmates created it and wonder what they think, what questions come to mind, and how they might answer them. Our discussions are brief, yet spirited, and I encourage each class to play with the words between classes and during any down time. Action at the magnetic poetry board has increased, and I take pictures of each new poem that emerges. When I collect 4 or 5 poems, I project the pictures in class, and we talk about them. So far we’ve talked about 15 or so poems, all anonymously authored by students (although I have noticed a few humble blushes). It’s been such a fun bonding experience.
But this post isn’t about Magnetic Poetry.
I also look out my classroom windows and know with this warmer weather I’ll soon hear student pleas to conduct class outside. Why not? My Creative Writing students are about to begin the poetry unit. How can we not write amidst nature?
Like most teachers, however, I worry about my students’ ability to focus during class while outside. But I’m on a mission to awaken. During these warmer days, then, I begin classes with 10–15 minutes of outdoor writing, requiring students to leave their cell phones inside. After we return to the classroom, we spend a few minutes sharing our outdoor writing. These short bursts of phoneless nature just feel good as we write among gentle breezes and bird chirps.
But this post isn’t about writing outside either.
It’s about Sawyer.
Remember him? He was a Creative Writing student of mine from 1st semester who struggled to complete most of the writing despite his own sincere efforts. I wrote about him in The Art of Waiting Part 1. It’s now May, and Sawyer is still attending my Creative Writing class, still trying to finish his story, the end of the semester–and high school graduation–knocking on the door.
When my students played with Magnetic Poetry and wrote outside, they did not submit official assessments or final products, but both activities infused productive energy into our classroom. Learning happened.
Could we apply similar thinking to Sawyer? I thought about this during a recent conversation I had with him as we reflected on his writing experiences. He has written so much more this semester, but his story is far from complete. We had to address the elephant in the room: his very overdue story.
Me: What caused you to get stuck 1st semester?
Sawyer: A multitude of things. I’m not great with long-term projects, and there are so many senior classes full of projects. I’m also a Dungeon Master for Dungeons & Dragons, so I’m used to just creating the setting and initiating a campaign (story) and counting on the players to shape the story with their interactions.
I’m struck by this level of reflection and Sawyer’s ability to pinpoint a key issue so succinctly.
M: When or how did you begin to break free?
S: I struggled to find an idea because when I write, I want it to have meaning. But at the beginning of 2nd semester I finally found an idea I thought could work
M: What has been your favorite writing activity?
S: The write-ins. You give us the starting idea, and they’re short, so I can more easily see the end.
Hmm. An idea is forming
M: What still gets in the way or slows your progress?
S: I just get busy with life: studying, school activities. Also perfectionism. It’s all or nothing when I write. I type then delete, type then delete…I’m always concerned with being unique and not cliché. Going from my brain to words on paper is hard. It’s also why I don’t like revision. I spend so much time thinking through things the first time.
Many students relate to this. I relate to this.
M: Does having this extra time help or hurt? I’m worried about his answer and have been thinking about this every time I check progress and see there’s so much he still has to do.
S: Yes and no. It’s more about timing than the amount of time. Timing it when I can focus and I’m not so distracted by all the other things going on.
M: So, you’re currently not finished with your story. What if I said you didn’t need to finish it?
S: Part of me would probably celebrate a few seconds, but it wouldn’t feel right. I want to finish the story; it’s not done: There’s no passion inside the story.
“There’s no passion inside the story.” Sounds like a writer to me.
Sawyer has written lots this semester. As he mentioned, he did figure out an idea at the beginning of the semester. Then he spent weeks writing a detailed, part by part summary of it. He’s now in the process of actually writing the story–including the real-time action, dialogue, thoughts, etc. But I’ve seen the writers block creep back in. It’s that focus on the end that’s stalling him.
While it warms my soul that he wants to finish his story, I’m not sure there’s enough time. His ideas might be too big for the time we have left. Do I need to see the final copy in order to determine Sawyer has demonstrated writing proficiency?
My greenhouse thinking tells me a warm yet resounding “No.”
We’ve modified our approach to this writing assignment so much that the original assessment documents no longer fit. But in our conversation above, Sawyer not only raised the bar, he provided a way to awaken his learning: Write-ins and passion.
I still want Sawyer–as a senior–to celebrate the end of his high school years. So we’re going to get there in 3 classes! Here’s how: Each class he’ll pick one of his summarized sections and use it as a “write-in” for that day; he’ll spend 30 minutes writing the actions, thoughts, and dialogue for that section–the passion. Then we’ll talk about the skills he’s shown and can improve for the next section. We’ll repeat that for the other two classes. And then Sawyer…won’t be done with his story.
But the process will show me how much he has learned about writing.
It’s Sawyer’s last day of class, and he has indeed followed our 3-class plan, demonstrating his ability to develop complex characters, tension in scenes, and symbolic descriptions. Sawyer will pass Creative Writing and graduate high school. He’s all smiles as I congratulate him, but even with the ability–and the right–to close this chapter of his life, he tells me he wants to add a few thoughts to this blog post. He’s not only processing what he’s learned about himself, but also trying to help others understand students like him:
Perfectionism gets in my way. I’ve always been a good student, good at learning things. But with big projects or something I don’t understand right away, I procrastinate. I put it off because I don’t think I can do it right. Then it snowballs.
It’s hard to settle down with the idea of not being perfect. I know in my head it shouldn’t matter, but if I’m not 100% accurate, I’m a failure. When it comes to writing, it needs to be accurate to the ideas in my head, the word choice has to be spot on. The writing has to be good writing. The notion of writing a bad first draft or sloppy copy as a place to start…I’d just be so embarrassed if someone saw that writing and thought that’s the kind of writer I am…
I’ve also learned I struggle with focusing myself. During COVID especially, I developed some bad habits. I didn’t know what to do with all the unstructured time, and even during the “structured” times like online classes, I’d sometimes play video games. Figuring out how to prioritize and balance my time has been a challenge ever since.
I look at Sawyer’s words, and I see so many of our students who silently struggle. Who crave structure. Who fear vulnerability. Who are stuck. Who don’t know what questions to ask. Students who are waiting for someone to realize they aren’t lazy but that their minds also teem with their own sets of magnetic words and crave grassy hills upon which to sit and process.
They are waiting for someone to help them awaken a path, an opportunity, a possibility they cannot yet see.
Waiting is indeed an art. It’s messy and requires continual attention. I can’t say I’ve always waited well. But that’s why it also requires patience, trust, and grace…from both teacher and student.
Thank you, Sawyer, for all you taught me about waiting.
Sawyer will attend the University of Wisconsin-Stout this fall and major in game design. I can’t wait to see what he awakens in himself and in others.
