a glimpse

This defines me.

A few weeks ago someone emailed me a link to a blog. The note said, 

Here's a blog I read and it makes me think of you. Check it out.

I often fall behind on email. As much as this frustrates me about myself, I've come to accept email as the thing that falls off the plate. Thankfully my friends and family are understanding and forgive me for this. The link to the blog remains in my inbox for weeks, still waiting for me to check it out.

On Sunday my friend Rena stopped me outside the nursery at church. "I'm so glad to run into you," she said. "There's this blog I've been reading and I love it. Every time I read it it reminds me of your writing and your life. You should check it out."

You know where this is going, right? It was the same blog that had been waiting on me in my inbox. Now I was curious. A blog that reminds people of me? The first person to mention it to me is a new friend. She is the mother of my daughter's best friend. Although we've known of each other for years, we have only had a handful of conversations. Rena is a close friend of mine. She knows me well. I'm curious what makes them think of me.

Finally, finally after too long I go to the blog that has been waiting for me. I listen. I read. My heart aches. I pray.I read more. My heart smiles. I catch a glimpse of how other people see me.

And I'm humbled. Check it out to see why.

My faith defines me. But sometimes I wonder if I live it for-real out here. You know, outside of the walls of my heart. My life is messy -- a beautiful mess -- but messy and chaotic and I drop the ball (especially with email) and I forget things and I mess up and I'm always reminding myself that I'm enough, because sometimes, lotstimes, I just don't feel like I am. Then my friends give me this gift of a glimpse into who they see. And I think maybe, just maybe, sometimes I'm able to get out of the way long enough for the world to see Jesus shining out from my heart.

April Snow Brings...{CELEBRATE This Week: 134}

 

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

***** 

It was a fuzzy sweater and butterfly rain boots kind of day.

I posted this shot on Instagram on the last day of March. The caption read, "It was a fuzzy sweater and butterfly rain boots kind of day. This might be my favorite kind of day."

And it is true, I do love a good grey day. 

We've had a Spring Break filled with grey days and now that the calendar has turned to April, I wonder if it is still truth that I love a good grey day. It is snowing as I write this. The same childhood rhyme that has played in my mind for a lifetime repeats, with a slight twist.

April snow brings...

I pause and consider how to end the line.

April snow brings dinner with friends. I laughed so much with Becca and Lee, and they reminded me how much fun Andy and I have with friends.

April snow brings shopping with the girls. I tried on a pair of shoes that prompted Stephanie to say, "Mom, I think you should ask yourself how often you will really wear those shoes before you buy them."

They are completely adorable and totally frivolous. The black and white gingham next to a butterfly pattern made them perfectly eclectic and the heel was the height I quit wearing once I started teaching.

Hannah said, "What would you wear them with?"

I laughed and said to both of the girls, "The truth is, girls, there are many reasons to buy a pair of shoes."

I decided it was time for the lesson my Grandma Myers taught me and my mom reinforced. "Sometimes, girls, you build an outfit around a perfect pair of shoes. You start at the toe and build up."

Stephanie lifted her eyebrows. "You mean you only wear them with one outfit?"

"To start, and then you get creative. There are lots of things in my closet these will match," I walked to a different mirror and admired the shoes again.

"Seriously, Mom, you really need to ask yourself how often you will wear them."

Instead, I asked myself how much I will enjoy wearing them. The answer landed me a new pair of shoes.

 

April snow brings slogging through the middle.  I've been writing thousands of words each day this week. In addition, I'm moving computers...and platforms. I finally bought a MacBook Pro. I am in awe by how fast and friendly it is.

I'm remembering the middle doesn't have to shackle me. I think the middle is the hardest part. I win when I open my computer. I win when I write a sentence. I win when I say the words out loud, "I am a writer." It is this sequence that then releases me and I'm able to move through the muck of the middle.

April snow brings hope. I know there is sunshine waiting to break through. April snow reminds me the grey days are still some of my favorite.

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share your link below.

An InLinkz Link-up

For Jodi

Too much time has passed and we're going to let go of the I wish I would'ves and the I'm so sorry and the I'm not sure how it happened, because we weren't supposed to lose touch, and we're going to pick up at the truth that once best friends, always best friends.

I sent these sentiments to her when I heard of her mom's cancer. And we picked up, as though 20 years and career goals and children and death really hadn't happened without one another.

We hugged after too many years and the truth stirred in my soul. She's the best friend who was there when I couldn't decide what college to attend and I thought no boy would ever want to date me. She was the best friend who was there when we flew across the lake on jet skis and met after school at her Geo Tracker (the red one with the black top) and ate pizza too late after the Friday night games. She was the best friend who I offered quiet strength when the mean girls locked their sights on her. Vacations in Florida and never enough sleep overs and you-have-to-buy-that-skirt all became anchors twenty years later when we both needed a best friend.

Once best friends, always best friends.

We live on opposite sides of the country. From the outside, we may seem like an unlikely duo. She pursuing an acting career from NYC to LA. Me, teaching in a small town in the Midwest just miles from the lake where we spent our summers.

We visited, in her parents' kitchen -- she and I and her sweet momma. We talked about the whirl of life -- our careers and the unexpected twists. Her gig with Disney Channel, my books. We shared stories of agents and editors. We were tethered by the unspoken understanding between two hearts who have experienced deep loss and grief.

The stories flowed and the minutes ticked and I realized I never really lost my best friend. The years didn't bury us. The years didn't separate us. Our paths were more closely linked than I could imagine. We stayed in touch.

She lost her mom this week to cancer.

Days later, we sat in her parents' house, surrounded by a lifetime of pictures stuck fast to foam boards. The ground was familiar, the same location I visited for the past 20 years, but the emotions were all wrong. I sat behind her computer screen, trying to make the words right for an obituary that isn't supposed to be written. I listened to her stories. I told some of my own. We smiled, remembering the playful spirit of her mom, and then, like a cruel switch, the laughter turned to tears.  

She was hesitant when she said, "I need some help writing something for the pastor to read from me at the funeral. I'm not a writer, but I have this."

She placed the notebook on the table. It was thick and beautiful. An ornate cover on a notebook the size of my hand. "Maybe you can read it and help me?"

I looked up at her. "This is your notebook?" I asked.

She nodded, tears brimming on the lids of her eyes. "Mom gave me it to me and asked me to start writing in it. I have been. I think there might be something here to say on Saturday, but I just don't know."

She trusted me with her notebook. It is not a slight gift. The tears slid quietly down my cheeks. "It would be a privilege to help you."

Our time was short. I wouldn't take her notebook. "I can snap some pictures of the pages you think say what you want."

"None of it says what I want," she said. She opened the notebook and flipped to the words she wrote earlier. "Here is probably where you should start. When I wrote this, I didn't think anyone would ever read it. I'm embarrassed."

I touched the smooth pages covered with the same handwriting I remembered from high school. "Jodi, this is a gift. These pages...you sharing them with me...it's a gift. I'm glad you wrote."

That night, I read her handwritten words.

She documented the location, time, and date of her mom's passing.
She scribbled some scripture.

And then she did the most remarkable thing.

She counted the gifts. Number 267 through 278. Her soul was swallowed in sadness and Jodi found the celebrations. Not just one celebration, but twelve celebrations. One after another, she found something to celebrate.


She reminds me to love more. She is a bold testimony to the truth of scripture -- the joy of the Lord is my strength (Nehemiah 8:10). In the midst of loss, she chooses to celebrate.

There is power in this kind of gritty joy.

An Uninhibited Playful Writer {CELEBRATE This Week: 197}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*******

In February 2016 I was a mess as a writer. I was struggling with my most recent book and my editor from Stenhouse, Bill, said, "Keep going."

"It's kind of hard to keep going when I don't know what I'm making." The words may have been spoken in a tone more whiney than I care to admit. It wasn't the first time I defined the problem for him. I wasn't sure what I was creating. Was it memoir? Narrative? Informative? Professional and practical?

"I can't really find a mentor," I said, "And I need one."

There was silence on the other end of the phone and I wondered if maybe this were the end of the line. Maybe this was the point when Bill realized I wasn't going to cut it as a writer. Maybe this was when we just gave up on the book and on me.

"I think you're writing lyrical essay," he said.

Having no idea what a lyrical essay is, I googled it. 

Bill said, "It's not exactly what you're doing, but I think it's close enough to help you have something similar to look at."

I kept scanning the Google results. and he said, "Have you ever read anything by Eula Biss?"

"No," I said scribbling her name on a sticky note.

"I've been reading her essays and her writing reminds me a little of the way you write. Not exactly, but there are lines that are reminiscent of the way you write."

Before we hung up, I'd found an essay online by Eula Biss. "Time and Distance Overcome" changed me as a person and as a writer. I bought her book, Notes from No Man's Land: American Essays, a collection exploring race in America and her response. Often I read snippets of Eula's writing before diving into my own work on the book.

This week I was at a Choice Literacy writing retreat. The theme was Ourselves in Our Writing and the anchor was Textbook Amy Krouse Rosenthal.  It was a perfect place to live my decision to embrace a playful spirit. It occurred to me that perhaps Amy was writing lyrical essay also. She is definitely more playful than Eula, but both weave facts and poetry and story together to leave the reader deeply moved.

Decidedly uninhibited, I stopped thinking and jumped into the essayist pool. 

I decided to begin with No. 2 pencils. Brenda (my Choice Literacy editor) thought it would be a good idea for me to jump. She even had a story to share with me about No. 2 pencils.

The next morning, she laughed when I told her at breakfast how hard the writing was. "I bet," she said. "You're going to have to write a lot of the wrong things in order to find just the right things for your essay."

I brought a meager 339 words to response group and explained that I was trying to learn how to craft a lyrical essay. I knew they would be kind with their encouragement, but I didn't' expect it to be so energetic. Maybe I wasn't going to drown in the essayist pool. Perhaps I have a little more than a doggie paddle to keep me afloat.

They didn't have any No. 2 pencil stories, but they did have glue stories. The idea of school supply nostalgia grew out of our discussion. Earlier, Brenda mentioned she hadn't thought of the No. 2 pencil story for years. It only came to mind because of my topic. I began wondering what other school supply stories are buried.

Why not throw it out to the universe and see what people have to say? It's the kind of thing a person with an uninhibited playful spirit would do. Do you have anything to share with me about No. 2 pencils? It can be a joke, quote, passage, poem or story obviously or thinly connected to a pencil. Will you help me spread the word? Please use #SchoolSupplyStories so I can find them in social media. 

Cheers to playing as writers!

STEADFAST {CELEBRATE This Week: 207}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*******

I love The Giving Keys. It's a company dedicated to fighting homelessness. They give jobs to people, because a good job is the best way to break the cycle of generational poverty and homelessness. They are a pay it forward company, always looking to make the world a little better through people and their products. 

The first key I bought was for my friend Kim when she retired from education. Kim and I shared a love for kitschy jewelry. We liked things with whimsy and the more offbeat, the better for both of us. Kim was also a realtor. A Giving Key was the perfect gift. I bought her one with INSPIRE imprinted on it because of the inspiration she was to me as a mom, educator and business woman. At the same time I bought myself one with the word LOVE. 

When you get a Giving Key you are encouraged to live your word until you meet someone who needs it more than you do. Then you pay it forward by giving your key to the person who needs it. 

Here's my story of how I gave LOVE away after Kim's funeral.

I gave BELIEVE away last May to Monica, a person who invested in my daughter's life for 9 months. During that time, I was called to BELIEVE healing could happen. Monica was a key person in her healing. I like to think about Monica wearing BELIEVE around her neck and knowing that even though it's hard to bring light to dark places, she is capable of turning the course of lives.

Last week I gave away STEADFAST. If I'm honest, I wasn't planning to give away STEADFAST. It's my word for the year, so I expected to hold on to it. I didn't want to give it away. But when life got hairy and my friend Jasmine needed to cancel our get together, I knew it was time to send STEADFAST out into the world.

I kept wearing STEADFAST around my neck. I like the kitschy-ness of it. I like that it reminds me of Kim and the way she used to shake her key at me when I was wearing mine at the same time. I like the way I pray differently and live out the word when it travels with me all day.

A key gets real heavy around a neck, when you know it's supposed to be passed along and you're holding tight to it instead. I supposed this is true for most things, not just keys.

I saw Jas a few days later. I was beginning to feel like a thief, wearing her key around my neck. It was time to give STEADFAST away. And then I got all embarrassed. 

Why does this happen to me when I'm about to lean into love in a big, bold way? 

I did it anyway, mostly because I don't like the feeling of keeping something that's not mine. Jas knows about The Giving Keys, so there wasn't much explanation needed.

"I'm supposed to give you this. It says STEADFAST," I said passing the key from my neck to Jasmine's palm.

She laughed in her easy way. "God is funny, isn't he?" she said taking the necklace. 

"Wear it until you meet someone who needs it more than you. Then pass it on," I said.

She laughed again. "There's a good chance I'll need this for awhile."

Jasmine is in the middle of fighting the good fight and pressing on through the hard. They just finalized their most recent adoption, creating a forever family of 7.

"What key are you going to get next?" she asked. 

"LET GO," I said. "I'm not sure why, but I know a black LET GO key is definitely the one to order." 

That night, I ordered LET GO and HOPE and BE. Three keys -- I'm going to live them well and then pass them along. Isn't this what life is all about -- living well and making it possible for others to live well, too? 

A Test of Obedience

Rembrandt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I have a hard time reading Genesis 22. The part Rembrandt depicts here, I can handle that part of the story. It's the comforting part, the relief part, the it's-all-okay part. It's the whole story before the happy ending that's hard for me.

Genesis 22 is the story of God testing Abraham's obedience. God says, "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you" (Genesis 22:2).

Even though I know the story well, I always reread this command. It makes me pause because of everything Abraham doesn't do. Abraham doesn't question the goodness of God. He doesn't argue with the command. He doesn't barter or beg.

He simply obeys

I know God is good...but I don't know it like Abraham does.

Abraham's faith makes my faith look like a speck of dust.

He trusted in the goodness of God so much that he was willing to sacrifice his own son.

Without hesitation.
Without apprehension.
Without confusion.

He simply obeys.

And Isaac follows. They travel for three days. Isaac carries the wood for the burnt offering while Abraham brings the fire and the knife.

In the text there is no indication of bitterness or fear. It is pure, radical, rapid obedience.

Isaac questions the lack of an animal for the burnt offering. Abraham replies, "God will provide" (Genesis 22: 7-8). They continue climbing the mountain.

When they came to the place of which God had told him, Abraham built the altar there and laid the wood in order and bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son. (Genesis 22:9-10)

No matter how many times I read this holy text, at this point, I still squeeze my eyes shut and think, He's really going to do it.

It's this resolve that landed Abraham a mention in Hebrews 11. There, it is revealed that Abraham believed God would bring Isaac back to life. Abraham never ceased to believe in the goodness of God.

He trusted God so much, that no matter the appointment, he would obey. God needed to know this. It is why he tested Abraham's obedience (v. 1).

And it is why this story is hard for me. God wants our unconditional obedience and he will test it by asking for the things we love most. If I live with a faith like Abraham's, then I know:

God will provide.
God is good.
God loves me.

It wasn't until Abraham raised the knife that God intervened. It wasn't enough for him to gather wood or to start the journey or to build the altar. God wanted to be sure of Abraham's obedience, positive of his heart.

It reminds me of a trust fall -- God style.

At the last moment, God catches Abraham. Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me. Abraham raises his eyes and in the brush is a ram, caught in a thicket by his horns (Genesis 22:12-13).

The Bible is intended to be read as a whole. This story is illuminated in Romans 8:32.

He who did not spare his own son, but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?

It is about radical obedience and trusting God, knowing that God gave up his own son for me. If He is willing to do this, then He is willing to graciously give all things.

We know that for those who love God all things work together for good for those who are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).

Abraham loved God so much that he simply obeyed. His courage and faith and trust in the goodness of God is inspiring.

Dream for Me {21 of 40 Stories}

(Something happening, which I love, is people are sending me songs when they hear one that reminds them of my writing.Here is one.)

Little did I know this year of deciding to LEAP would also be about daring to dream. I'm clinging to this truth about dreams:

God dreams for me.

The Creator of the whole entire world, the universe, and infinite outer space, dreams for me. The One who walks on water, heals the paralyzed, and raises men from the dead, dreams for me. The God who brings water from rocks, splits the Red Sea, and uses boys to defeat giants, dreams for me.

The Bible is filled with  stories of people who follow God's dream. They put down their dreams and pick up God's. Noah builds an ark. Daniel faces the lions. Mary is an unwed mother. Paul goes to prison.

The Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, never stops dreaming. I'm here for this time and place to fulfill a dream.  It's why Jesus said:

If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News, you will save it. (Mark 8:34-35)

Part of living the dream is knowing I have to put down my hopes in order to pick up the dream that is just for me. If I don't pick up the dream God has for me, then I lose my life. In other words, I miss the point of living, and I miss the blessings.

It takes faith to accept a dream from God. (Plus a good dose of humility.) Finding the dream for your life isn't about figuring out what makes you happy. It isn't about finding what you're good at doing. It isn't even about making money.

It's about obedience. Doing what I'm made to do, even when it doesn't make sense. I'm enamored by people who follow their dreams. Often it seems so natural and easy. From the outside it seems like they are living a dream based on happiness and talents and treasures.

In reality, there is risk every step of the way. There are moments upon moments when they choose to do things they are afraid to do. When people dare to follow God's dreams, when they leap, there is always fear. 

The feeling of fear is a sign of living with purpose. It is proof of obedience. It is faith in action.

*********

I've been reading about dreams. Here are two of my favorite books on the topic.

CELEBRATE This Week: LXXVI

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*****

  

I posted this on my IG feed this week and the words stuck-fast to my heart. We walk the hard to get to to the celebration. This is a truth of human existence.

We walk the hard to make it to the celebration.

This week is holy week. On Thursday I sat around a table with an eclectic mix of people. We were there for a meal, but not an ordinary meal. Thick thorns served as the centerpiece, along with unleavened bread and small cups of deep red liquid. We remembered.

Not only did we remember the last supper of the Savior, but we remembered the way God is active and alive in our own lives. I was humbled to sit at this table. Looking around, we were quite a collection of God's people -- spiffy on the outside, ragged on the inside.

A man buried alive in a farming accident six months prior sat beside me. He is evidence of a good and healing God. A young mother, after a long rainy day of meeting need after need after need of her three small children sat on my other side. She is evidence of a strong and resilient God. A man widowed too soon in life sits across the table. He is evidence of a God who offers peace and love. Those eyes I fell in love with more years ago than I can count, caught mine when we broke the bread. He is evidence of a God who offers grace and mercy. His arm rested gently on the back of the chair of the woman next to him. A woman who buried both her son and grandson in the last eight weeks. She is evidence of a God who is big enough to shoulder the ugliest this world has to offer. At the end of the table sits a woman who is making hard choices in the name of her health. She is evidence of a God who cares. There is a man who works long hours this time of year, yet takes time to remember this night, this turning point in the life of Jesus. He is evidence of a God who provides.

I am surrounded by their stories. My heart feels a holy beat. We span generations. We span occupations. We span hobbies and interests and talents. We see different ways the world spews ugly into the lives of people. We each have a different journey. Yet, we are all on the same quest to love God and love people.

We came together around the table for a spiritual meal, to remember the sacrifice of Jesus. We ate dinner together, washed feet, broke bread, took the cup. We prayed, worshiped, and remembered.

We remembered we have a good and active God. We remembered the story ends in victory.

This is the celebration of Easter. The events leading to the celebration are hard, ugly, and violent. They break my heart and pierce my soul. Easter reminds me that when the story turns hard, it isn't the end. Easter reminds me when we walk through the hard, we find the celebration. This is why I celebrate -- ragged and tattered and scarred -- because celebration isn't lack of hard, it is the wherewithal to walk through the hard.

CELEBRATE This Week LXXXVII (87)

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*****

I turned my Instagram account public. I've been using it to collect & document celebrations. I love it. Please follow me there: @ruth_ayres to find celebrations throughout the week.

*****

My family had the privilege of hosting 8 friends (slicers, teachers, writers) from 7 different states for dinner.  It is one of those moments when you know as it's happening it is affirming  you, changing you, and positioning you all at the same time. We laughed and cried and laughed laughed laughed.

Perhaps you don't recognize them from the photo. You will recognize them from their blog names. From left to right in the photo, you will find...

Ramona from Pleasures from the Page and Washington State

Linda from Teacher Dance and Denver, Colorado

Becca from Nguyen's Prairie Home Companion and Indiana

Christy from Read Write Inspire and Illinois

Mary Helen from Book Savors and Indiana

Kim from Write Kim Write and California

Lori from Colors of My Life and Memphis, Tennessee

Elsie from Elsie Tries Writing and Springfield, Missouri

Andy grilled for us. He'd do just about anything for these women. They handed back pieces of me when my writing life was fragile.

It is a risk to open our worlds to others. I place words -- honest, raw, beautiful, messy words on the page -- and build a story. Bit by bit my story unfolds in notebooks and articles and books and blogs (traveling through time from Inspiring Readers and Writers and Two Writing Teachers and now here).

I have a lifetime collected in scraps of stories, always turning to the page to gather words.

I look at this photo and it anchors me. It reminds me that I always get more than I give when I clack words and open my world.

Home is where I get to be wholly me.  It is an honor to host these women who have helped me believe my story matters. They call themselves the Ruth Ayres Fan Club. It makes my cheeks rosy and my heart tingle. Andy claims presidency of the club. This makes me laugh.

I used to worry about getting the story right.

Now I know Story refuses to have anything to do with getting it right. Story defies perfection. Story refuses stagnation.Story laughs at being controlled.

As a writer the only right thing is to catch the story as it spins.

I celebrate finding this truth because I'm surrounded (in my home and around the globe) by people who write their stories because I write mine.

I'm pretty sure this is the best gift anyone can give.

Blog Challenge Reflection

Surprised.

This is the emotion that is driving my reflection. This week I've been surprised as I've stepped through the 7-Day Intentional Blogging Challenge hosted by Jeff Goins.

I was surprised I joined. It was a whim, and I invited Jen Vincent to join too. I was surprised she said yes. I was surprised the way we checked-in and encouraged and supported one another many times each day throughout the challenge. I had forgotten how much I need writing buddies throughout the process. This surprised me -- collaboration is one of my core beliefs, and yet as my life journey grew rocky these past few weeks, I retreated. This challenge reminded me of the way writers need each other during challenging times. More importantly, it served as a reminder that people need each other when life gets challenging. I didn't expect this life lesson from a blogging challenge.

It reminds me that writing always gives more than it takes.

I'm surprised at how my thoughts on blogging have expanded. Lately, through a course with Tim Grahl, I've been pushed to be intentional about using my online space to do two things:

1. Create lasting connections.
2. Be exceedingly helpful.

I love these goals. I'm unsure how all of the feelings in my heart about why I blog and what this community of teacher-writers means to me can be boiled down to six words, but I 'm glad. I like simplicity. It's a worthy mission and one I've been developing since I first started blogging more than a decade ago. I was surprised how the Intentional Blogging Challenge has supported and encouraged me in this mission, while at the same time gave me new resolve and permission to be someone who creates lasting connections and is exceedingly helpful.

Ultimately, this is my biggest surprise: the permission to emerge as a stronger and more purposeful writer than ever before. For those of you who are long time readers, following me from space to space, watching me walk away from a popular blog and land here, floundering as I learned to write for myself and an audience of One rather than for hits and popularity, you know this is not a slight thing.

Anais Nin's words have been ringing in my mind.

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

It is not a slight thing to learn you can blossom again.

*****

{This post is part of a 7-Day Intentional Blogging Challenge hosted by Jeff Goins. For more information and to see what others are writing, check out the invitation and Facebook page.}

Make a Plan? Teach Student Writers to Think in Parts

When I was a little girl, my dad let me help him plan our route for family road trips. I slid the heavy map out from under the couch and Dad wiped the dust from the cover of it. Lying side by side on our bellies, we opened the map to Indiana. I  put my finger on our town. Dad opened his pocket notebook and we began planning our route, step by step.

Today I don’t plan the route for road trips. I just open my map app, type the name of the place I’m going (I don’t even need an address) and push “Go.” The route choices appear and I tap the one that will take the least time.

It reminds me of the way students “plan” their writing -- whatever is going to take the least amount of time.

Lots of students don’t need a plan in order to write a draft. In fact, sometimes a plan hinders the draft. I watch others make “plans” after they write the draft, and then pass the plan off as “prewriting” to their teachers. All of this makes me question the planning phase of the writing process.

There is no doubt, planning is essential to writing well. The question becomes --

What kinds of planning strategies help students write well? I think the key is this...

Writers think in parts.

Narrative writers think in scenes. Non-narrative writers think in subtopics. Poets think in lines and stanzas. The most effective planning strategies scaffold students to think in parts.

Here are two lessons to help students think in parts.

1. Storyboards (4:34 introduction to storyboards)
2. Oral Storytelling (video lesson)
   
   

(Don’t forget to check out the resources for each of the lessons. The link is in the description of each video.)

The storyboards lesson is designed for older students and the oral storytelling lesson for younger students. However, both can be adapted to all experience levels.

If you’re looking for a techy option for planning, I’ve had lots of success with Google Slides. The slides automatically set students up to think in parts. Each slide is a different part.

The important part of planning is students take a little time to think through the parts of their writing. It doesn’t have to be elaborate and it doesn’t have to be lengthy.

It does need to be thought through!

Add a comment to join the conversation and let me know how you help students plan in parts. I'd also love to hear how you use the storyboard templates.