After completing the monthly challenge, I realized I needed a plan that would push me to write but also offer structure. I have decided to try to use the strategies put forth in “Craft Lessons: Teaching Writing K-8” by Ralph Fletcher and Joann Portalupi. This will allow me to practice craft with my own writing and provide, possibly, mentor texts to use in Grades Three and Four.

Exercise the Imagination: explore a single “what if” question.

What If...

What if I was that snapping turtle perched on that rock?

Sitting here. Warmed by a rare visit from the sun. Savoring the solid coolness underneath. I lazily peer out at the quiet pond. The liquid sheet of greens and grays masks a teeming banquet. If it is my wont, I could glance up at the blue sky. I relish the hint of humid air. I ignore the two shifting shadows that stop momentarily and float by. Should I crawl forward and seek food? Just a few steps, then a glide. I can wait, though. I am patient.

I would embrace my stillness if I was that snapping turtle perched on that rock.

Instead, I stop for a few seconds and peer at the snapping turtle. I quicken my pace knowing the bell will ring any minute and I must return to the frenzy of afternoon classes.

They hadn’t played in almost a year. Time. Illness. Commitments. Loss. Inertia. On Friday night, they reconvened. Poker Night. But things were different. My neighbor said in consternation, “It’s the death knell”. The boys who had played together almost forty years had traded in their wild antics for quiet politeness, iced water and an early night.

I told him to try again. “It’s been a while. You just lost the rhythm you had as a group. The flow will come back. Don’t give up yet."

The flow will come back. I tell that to myself, too. In retrospect, it was easier writing when I sliced everyday. Back then, it seemed overwhelming. I thought slicing one day a week would be a breezy relief. 

Oh, but it is harder. Maintaining the momentum is more challenging. Writing requires frequency. Frequency restores rhythm.

“I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up.” Uhm, that sounds right.

I’m not a phone person. I value its utility. I communicate with it. I went out and purchased a cell phone. The problem is the overall responsibility involved.

I have to remember where my phone is. I’m a leaver. In the car. At school. Anywhere in the house. I am a clueless tracker. Where could it be? Not with me.

The true challenge is dealing with the battery. It exasperates me that I also have to worry about charging the phone. It worries me that I never remember. My phone is usually almost dead or just plain dead. I resent its high-maintenance ways. I am beginning to think my phone makes me look bad.

I had planned to include a photograph of my cell phone for this slice but I left it at work. Again.

The minute I read the title out loud, I realized my mistake. I had chosen a book about a grizzly bear who is stung by a bee. What was I thinking? I waited for the onslaught.

My group is an all-boy group. Despite the fact they are in elementary school, I call them my old men. Our conversations and our connections are easily derailed by medical complaints: sore legs, head aches, old bruises that still “kill”, microscopic cuts that sting “so bad” nothing can get done. One complaint is enough to wipe everyone out. On cue and en masse, they start pulling up their pant legs and sleeves and examine anything that can be considered a mark worthy of a story.

All hands shot up to relay their war stories about bees. One student jumped up and down as he relayed his very detailed encounter at camp with two bees. “And you do know, Ms. G that bees die after they sting you. They just die. I saw them fall to the ground”.  He nodded his head vigorously at me. 

I considered myself lucky. I was able to contain the conversations and get back to the book and reading. A few minutes later, I heard the same student call my name. “Ms. G. I was never stung by a bee. I made it up.” 

I knew the book selection was a bad idea.

Time Does Not Bring Relief
“So today is....”

 “Sunday. It’s Sunday, April 3rd.”

“Today is Patsy’s birthday.”

I nod.

“She would be...”

I say carefully, “She would have been 76.”

“But that’s so young.”

“I know.” I steel myself from his pain. My pain.

His face twists and tilts. His eyes well. 

“But Patsy went away.”

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

Loss envelops and crushes us for an eternal second.

He brings his hands up and shrugs. “But that’s how it is.”

We return to everyday life.

Poetry Friday

O Me! O Life!
By Walt Whitman
O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who  more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
 Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined; 
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

New Learning 
Taking risks pushes you to be better.
Your harshest critic is yourself.
Reading other slices is invaluable for both ideas and craft.
Writing comments can be intimidating.
Receiving comments is validating.
Having a purpose to write propels you forward.
Feeling part of a community carries you.
It was wonderful to meet such a great community.
Realizing you do not have to produce a masterpiece every time.  
Even when you know you have nothing, write down something.
You become better at judging your own writing.
Writing can be very challenging.
Writing can become an obsession.
You actually do learn things about yourself when you write.
It will be strange not posting on a daily basis.
Age hasn’t made me write any faster. Still turtle slow.

Thank you to TwoWriting Teachers.  Thank you to all the Slicers for sharing their writing and comments.