The blank page as a mine (mind?) field

"Get it down. Take chances. It may be bad, but it's the only way you can do anything really good." -- William Faulkner

It's amazing to me how this generation of young people, which likely writes so much more than many previous generations (though in the fragmentary phrases and phonetic inventions of text messaging speech) seems so paralyzed by the blank page.

The academic achievement of the student does not seem to matter; high performing students and low performing students alike will say to me repeatedly: "I don't know how to start."

At first, I presumed their anxiety came from the challenge of writing an introduction. Any conscientious writer knows well the tension inherent in moving quickly from nothingness into an engaging piece of writing. However, even my attempts to have them defer the introduction altogether--just write a thesis and then go into the first point--fail for many writers.

Many years ago, I read a writing instructor refer to some students seeing the blank page as a mine field--a place where their pens or pencils travel gingerly because mistakes and failures lie everywhere. My first go-round of teaching, I saw a few of these students. Now, a large proportion seem to write just waiting for the explosion.

To counter this anxiety, I'm trying hard to have them express their ideas in whatever language seems comfortable. If the tone is informal, actually conversational, or even in text speak, I'll take it on the draft if that's what is required to get their hands and minds to move confidently across the page. "My paper will sound totally ghetto," one student told me today. However, I feel confident we can work to get their diction and tone correct in revision if we can just get them comfortable expressing on paper the great ideas they express so willingly when I ask them to talk about their position.

There are people who would say this is capitulating to the forces breaking down the English language. Maybe it is. But for me this is not a theoretical issue; I have 16- and 18-year-olds showing up each day and I'm paid to make them better readers, writers, and thinkers by the time they leave.

I simply believe that if students come to high school hearing only non-standard English at home, practicing non-standard English through constant text messaging, and lacking the wide reading that might tune one's ear to standard English, Language Arts teachers are forced to get them to express their ideas in whatever way possible.

I just think I can teach proper English employing a draft loaded down with colloquialisms, but I can't teach students how to better express their ideas if those ideas never make it past the pen.

Rediscovering Snow Days

When I decided to leave my career in software development to teach English, I knew that my thorough planning for the switch could never prepare me for everything I would encounter in my new vocation.

Some of these unexpected experiences have been arduous and challenging. Some have been exhilarating and profoundly gratifying. Some seem simply absurd.

In that last category, I place "rediscovering snow days."

Mind you, the beauty of re-encountering snow days in my mid-thirties doesn't derive from merely missing work; sloth has never been my sin of choice. When my cell phone shudders awake on the bedstand and Bill Meck's missive shimmers with the good news, I immediately jump out of bed. I inevitably spend the morning grading or making lesson plans, relishing the completion of these tasks in serenity, outside the pandemonium of the school day.

In any case, we teachers work very long hours, but we get plenty of time off during the year.

No, the absurdity and beauty I've discovered in the snow day come from re-connecting with this experience I had presumed I'd left behind. Like a sort of meteorological prodigal son, I abandoned the delight of having the elements dictate my daily work, and now I have recaptured that sublime joy.

(OK, perhaps too far.)

Regardless, things that are great about Snow Days:

The Anticipation:
Standing transfixed in her closet, trying to determine what to wear, my wife used to ask me about the forecast, and I never had the slightest idea. I worked in a climate-controlled environment that never closed and therefore wholeheartedly ignored the weather.

Now, between December 1 and March 1, I can tell her the barometric pressure in inches of Mercury and hectoPascals. I scrutinize the subtle shifts in time stamps of Doppler radar like Jim Garrison pored over the frames of the Zapruder film. I could stand in for T.G. Shuck if the situation ever arose.

Not working and feeling great
When most people have an unplanned absence from work, either illness or bereavement is the cause. Both are physically and mentally taxing, and that fatigue is exacerbated by your knowledge of the work piling up while you are gone.

Not so for the snow day. The weather did something unusual, so you don't have to work. You may feel great. If the roads clear up, you may go out and see a movie. If you see your boss there, that's fine too. He or she is also feeling great.

Playing in the snow
My back yard spills down into a valley and is obscured from the neighbors, so I can frolic to my heart's content or my back gives out. And since my dog Scout (pictured) is so adept at making a canine version of snow angels, it's only right she should be afforded the opportunity.

Sure, it takes about 20 minutes to remove all the caked-on snow and get her dry, but what do I care? It's a snow day.