Category: reading life (Page 1 of 8)

“Rule 2: General Duties of a Student: Pull Everything Out of Your Teacher: Pull Everything Out of Your Fellow Students”

Who are my teachers? Who are my fellow students?

Finding teachers (recognizing them, really) wasn’t too hard, but this Rule also mentions fellow students and that was a much harder find. Who exactly are my fellow students? Without being enrolled in a school or class, I’m kinda just on my own. My teachers are the successful authors and artists and thinkers whose books I can study, but who then are my study-buddies?

Perhaps the real answer is one I’ve been avoiding for over a decade now.

My fellow students are my fellow writers who are at or slightly above where I’m at right now in my craft and career.

The trouble is that I am resistant to joining writers’ groups. I always have been. I’m not sure why either, other than I’m not naturally a joiner and I am painfully shy and awkward when it comes to meeting people and making friends.

The other problem is that I’m not exactly sure where to look for fellow students who are at my same level. I can find beginning writers easily enough. But I’m not sure how helpful that would ultimately be for my own growth.

And I can identify writers who are further along than me, but they won’t want me in their groups for the same reason I’m resistant to joining a group of beginners: too much gap between their skills and mine.

Finding fellow students is probably a good project for me to undertake, but for now, for this week-to-week experiment in following Sr. Corita’s Rules, I’m fudging it a bit and defining fellow students as those writers and artists whose newsletters I subscribe to. They are also, in a lot of ways, my teachers. Teacher/student is a fluid designation, then. Those who can teach us are also themselves students.

I am both teacher and student too. In some ways, Rule 2 and Rule 3 are leading to the same destination: pulling everything out of everyone. Who the teacher is and who the student is may change and shift at times, but our “General Duties” remain the same.

But how to do that pulling? How does it work to “pull everything out” of one’s teachers, one’s fellow students?

What I did this week was read and listen and watch more deliberately. I took more notes on what I was reading. I spent time with pieces of advice and examples and words of wisdom from my various teachers, reflecting on these small lessons in my notebooks, mulling them over and trying to make connections. I spent more time copying quotes and ideas down, letting them sit for awhile before moving on to the next chapter or the next video.

Essentially, being more attentive and more thoughtful.

Also this week, I just started reading In Praise of Slowness, and I think its thesis fits with my idea that “pulling everything out” requires thoughtfulness and deliberate study. It requires a slowing of the pace so that ideas can sink in and take root. Carl Honore’s book is also proving to be one of my teachers at the moment, so I need to make sure I pull everything out of his book that I can.

I’ll admit that following Rule 2 this week was harder than last week’s Rule 1. Rule 2 requires a lot more slowness, more time for inquiry. It’s not just about being in a place but about relationship between people (even if those people are only coming to me through the pages of a book). Relationship, study, learning: these things take time. If things are too haphazard, the “pulling out” of everything turns into a half-hearted scurrying for crumbs.

I tried hard to do more than scrape up crumbs this week, but I’m not sure how successful I was. Got some good lessons and ideas from my teachers (namely, Derek Sivers, James Scott Bell, Ursula Le Guin, Mervyn Peake, and Rebecca Roanhorse). But reflecting back on the week, I don’t think I’ve quite achieved EVERYTHING.

Maybe the lesson is that this Rule requires persistence. Pulling everything out of one’s teachers and fellow students requires patience, diligence, and humility. It can’t be achieved in a week. Not even a semester or a year. We often only have limited time with our flesh and blood teachers and students, and so trying to pull everything out of them in the school term can feel like an impossible race against time.

But what if we continue to pull things out of our teachers even after the last bell has rung and summer vacation beckons? What if we hold onto their wisdom, their advice, and keep it rolling around our brains, peppering our journal entries with their ideas, mulling things over well past the semester’s end?

I often think back to things I learned in classes gone by, of wise words from my teachers, of projects and lessons done in a classroom or workshop. I continue to pull new things (and old things renewed) out of those experiences. The general duties continue even as the classes have ended. Even decades after.

Just as I am continuing to trust my place in the downstairs room, I have to continue to pull things out of my teachers, my students, and myself. Attentiveness and trust. Thoughtfulness and patience. Slowing down and sitting with things for awhile. Openness and humility.

Rule 2 is a general duty. It’s always there for us to follow. We must never stop the work of drawing forth the good and the true from one another. We are all of us teacher/student. Not just for a week, but always.

What Does One Do with One’s Comics?

I used to buy a lot of comic books. So many, in fact, that I often didn’t get around to reading them each month, and then more books would come the next month, and I would fall further behind. But I continued to buy them, and store them in those plastic bags with cardboard backing to keep them straight, and I swore I’d read them some day.

Then, when that some day came, I didn’t read them. I decided to sell them back to a store and make some money and free up copious amounts of bookshelf space.

But I still really love comics. I’d love to buy them again. I just don’t know what to do with them once I’ve read them? Keep them? Sell them back? Give them away?

Comics (the floppy magazine comics, not the trade paperbacks) are in this weird space between disposable and keepable (yeah, I know that’s not a word).

This is all to say that I took my daughter to Free Comic Book Day 2024 and we brought home a haul of comics, and now I’m itching to start subscribing to a few books, but what do I do with them once I start buying them? I don’t want to have boxes and boxes of comics again. Do I read and purge right away? But then what if I want to reread the comics? I might (I tell myself). And comics aren’t cheap. So I’m spending four or five bucks per month (or more) on something I’m just gonna get rid of?

This is why I’ve started reading comics on the Hoopla app from the library. One, they are free. Two, I don’t have to worry about them taking up space.

But still, as a person who loves physical media, there’s something wonderful about holding a floppy comic book in my hands. Going to Free Comic Book Day reminded me of that feeling.

Maybe I start small. Start with one or two subscriptions. See how it goes. And if the issues start piling up and space gets limited, then off-load them. Sell them or put them in my classroom or something.

Now which series to start with… The new TMNT looks pretty good…

(Free Comic Book Day did it’s job, I guess. It got a new customer.)

Creative Writing: Week Two

I told them that input could be whatever they wanted, so I have to refrain from being judgy about their choices, but after looking over their input logs from the first week, I think it might be time to talk about high-quality input versus low-quality input.

It’s a tricky subject because it reminds me too much of the snobbish position that certain kinds of literature are better than others, that comic books and video games are worthless, that pulp literature and Hollywood movies are for the unwashed masses, etc. etc. All that elitist crap.

I’m a “more/and” kind of person. A “yes” person. I like liking things, to quote Abed. And for too long, science fiction and fantasy were looked down on as “lesser-than” by the literary establishment, and I don’t want to contribute to that kind of judgment, a judgment more often born out of snobbery and cliquishness than actual merit and quality.

But. But, but, but…

There are certainly artistic avenues and byways my students could be exploring that they aren’t, and if they did explore those byways, they might find them rewarding and much more satisfying than what they are reading/watching/listening to right now.

I’m tempted, therefore, to maybe give them more required reading/viewing/listening/etc. Not a lot, but a few assignments each week that they have to engage with. “Read X by Wednesday and we’ll talk about it in class.” That kind of thing.

Yeah, I’m backtracking a little from what I said at the beginning of the term, but I think/hope it will help them see that it’s not about which art is “good” and which is “bad” so much as it’s a question of whether the art I’m inputting is expanding my life as a writer or limiting it. If it’s limiting/narrowing/same-old-same-old, then what’s the point? A kind of familiar numbness? The comfort of hearing my old notions parroted back to me? Inertia?

Or is it that they don’t know what else is out there? If I’m going to assign better input experiences for them, then I need to meet them where they are. Maybe something like the book recommendations John Warner does? They give me a list of their last five input experiences and I put together a list of five more to explore that are of a potentially better quality. It’s worth a shot.

We’ll be watching Richard Linklater’s School of Rock in Week Three, partially because I want to introduce the concept of going back and exploring the influences of those who influence you.

I feel like I’m only in Week Two and the year is almost over. These quarter-long classes we do at my school just don’t feel like enough time, especially this fourth quarter with senioritis hitting hard and Easter and all the random days off and schedule changes. There’s SO MUCH we could be doing in this Creative Writing class. If I am going to teach it next year, I’ll need to scale back my ambitions for the class considerably. At the moment, there’s too much I want to do and no time in which to do it.

I need to repeat my mantra from the beginning of the year: “Slow learning.”

We don’t have to do it all. We can leave a few chips on the table. We can do less. We can go deeper on the things that matter for us right now, not some predetermined schedule.

I need to remember that. I’m building a space for them to write creatively and develop ideas and skills. It takes time to build that space, and maybe we only start to build it together, and it’s up to each student to finish building it on her own (or with each other, after the last bell has rung on the school year).

Whenever I want to do too much, I end up regretting it.

For now, we’re looking at input. Better quality. Exploring influences. Finding the good stuff that will expand your imagination. Leaving the stuff that limits you.

I’ll go down this road with the students until I feel like we’ve gotten what we need. Then we’ll move on. Maybe that’s by the end of Week Three, maybe it’s by the end of Week Four. Maybe we stay on this for the rest of the school year — IF it’s yielding fruit and helping us all grow.

Otherwise, we can keep going down the road: going slow, but going beyond the surface of things.

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