Writing

Last week my second graders crossed the Rubicon of their writing journeys.  It was a point of no return.

They surged across the murky waters of This and That straight into the Land of PARAGRAPHS.  Not one, but two.  ParagraphS, with a capital S at the end.

No more struggling primarily with THE WORD or THE SENTENCE.  They were now in the realm of multiple thoughts populated with details, often hostile.  They were learning to tame the details to the order of the governing topic sentence.

Smiles were in great evidence as I handed back the corrected, commented-upon work.  Lovely sentences like “The brown bear camouflages with the dark, shrubby bushes” (Sebastian).

It was a huge accomplishment for them.  They were so very proud of themselves.

I always keep all their published writing on view for them to see.  It’s in choronological order: the first writing of the first day of school at the bottom of the display; the latest writing at the top.  They can flip back to see where they came from and look forward to try to make some sense of where they’re going.  I invited them to look back.

“I lick camping.” (Sebastian, September, 2008)

They were so excited to write more.  They knew that three paragraphs lay ahead.  But, for now, they were relishing the victory of two.

Then, today, I got a package delivered to school from Amazon.  I opened it at lunch.  It was a novel written by a friend of mine.  I’d known her the entire ten years she’d been working on the book: through two pregnancies, numerous health setbacks, various demanding jobs, the tribulations and distractions of raising two kids, the trials of getting an agent and then a publisher.  I knew her when she’d get up at 4:30 in the morning to find time to write before her family woke and she was still fresh.  I knew how much mind, body, and soul had gone into those pages.

As my burgeoning writers tramped back into the room after feasting on chicken, rice, and green beans, I showed them the book.  I told them the story of my friend’s labor.  I told them they could write a book one day.

Randy called out, “How many pages is it?”

Me: 359!

Roberto: Wow!  That’s a lot.

Me: It is, but it’s fun to write, isn’t it?

Some nods.  Some oh yesses.  Some doubtful silences.

Me: When you find a great story to tell with some really exciting characters, you write and write and write.  Sometimes you don’t know where the time goes.

Vanessa ( a new girl): Is it a girl or a boy?

Me: It’s a woman.  Here’s her picture on the back flap.  When you write a book, you get to put your picture in the back. (They’ve been learning how to upload pix to their webpages all week, so pix are HOT right now.)

Many oohs and ahhs and I wanna see, I didn’t get to see, over here!

Anna: She is beautiful!

Me: Yes she is.

Another chorus of I wanna see, let me see again, over here, Ms. B!

Then Isabel, who had been fairly silent through all this, raised her hand politely, as always.

Me: Yes, Isabel?

Isabel: How many pages did you say?

Me (double-checking): 359…

Isabel pondered something.  Her face twisted and frowned.  She rubbed her eraser on her cheek.

Meanwhile, Yadira shouted: I wanna see her picture!

Me: Here it is, Yadira.

Suddenly, Isabel called out rather urgently, “Ms. B!”

Me: Yes, Isabel?

Isabel: 359 pages is a lot more than two paragraphs, isn’t it?