Tag Archives: thinking

Why writing? an addendum

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Last October I wrote about why I write for National Writing Day:

I write to think. I write to process information. I write to learn. I write to explore. I write to understand. I write to encourage. I write to teach. I write to implore. I write to celebrate.

I write because I am a writer.

However, as a writer, writing is my nature. An astute student in class last night wanted to know what to tell her students who DON’T write why they should. What is the purpose of writing for non-writers in the real world?

A really good question.

Sepia toned image of an open journal, a pen a lamp base and flowers.
writing to reflect

I think writing is essential for communication. The type of writing may vary, but writing clearly ensures that your ideas, needs, plans, and instructions are understood, whether you are a mechanic, scholar, or game designer. I can’t tell you how many IKEA builds have gone wrong without actual written instructions. Writing reviews for annual evaluations are a necessary trial in most professional jobs; writing well may determine the raise you get. Testimony is more powerful in writing. My car was rear-ended and I wrote a detailed explanation of what happened before I could forget the details. I didn’t need it (the other party paid for repairs), but if I had needed to work through insurance and police reports, I had a well-crafted, detailed, and timely written explanation.

Writing is a practical way to ensure that your words are not misconstrued and it leaves a trail of conversation that can be useful. The reason I use e-mail for all my student (and parent) exchanges outside of class is so that I have the documentation of any conversation– just in case. Texting offer the same thing, as do any of the video-chat apps that let you keep the recordings. (I love Marco Polo for that.)

Mostly, though, I think we all need to write in order to fully tell our stories and be heard. We learn better when we are uninterrupted in our listening. We can be more explicit in our descriptions of our world views and how we came to develop them. Through our writing we can express what it means to be human in ways no other medium can. Writing matters.

The Doctor is in.

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Office sign with name, title, and job description
The sign by my office door made everything real.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I took this picture. Moving across the country (temporarily), doing all the new faculty events, composing syllabi for four classes, and the first week of teaching kept me busy. After next week, I think I’ll begin to find a new routine for this exciting time of my life.

One thing I already know for sure. This is the kind of job I was born to do. I love surprising students with the unorthodox kinds of classes I like to teach.

I opened each class with a song from Queen (Don’t Stop Me Now) or The Who (Who are you). I borrowed and tweaked a couple of ideas from Aaron Levy. I read aloud from Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. I used slideshows heavy with images and light on text (the way slideshows are supposed to be used). I asked questions. I left the syllabus off the agenda until the closing moments of the first class–with a quiz to make sure everyone at least opened it. Having a quiz meant I could hold them accountable to the material in it without having to take class time for it. These are teachers; they should know how to find and read a syllabus.

I borrowed another element from Dr. Levy’s class: the feather circle. I changed it up and made it the red pen circle. Full disclosure: a red pen was the only prop at my disposal, but I made it work by talking about how red pens were associated with poor work, disappointment, and a restriction of personal voice. I gave writers the power back by giving the holder of the red pen the uninterrupted power of the floor until it was passed to the next person. I’ll expand the whole concept in another post, but it was a great first day exercise.

I also introduced don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements to two classes and asked them to collaborate on posters for their classrooms that represented each one. Again, not the usual way to begin a semester, but I think everyone enjoyed something a little unorthodox.

By the end of the week I was absolutely spent. And absolutely content. It’s going to be a fantastic year.