Drafting Thoughts for Exceptional Connecticut Student Writers (the @writingproject way)

          This morning, I will be attending a breakfast with outstanding student writers from Joel Barlow High School. I drafted the following, and wish I had a few more hours to edit.

So, this is intimidating. I am honored to be asked to speak to you at Joel Barlow High School, yes, and to have the opportunity to acknowledge topnotch writers from the school, true, but trying to figure out what to write (or in my case, to say) is a little challenging because…

…well…because these kids may be way smarter than me and, if truth be told, much better writers than I’ll ever be.

            My colleagues and I who spent over a decade working with high school writers in Kentucky used to secretly fantasize about how our own writing might score if we were blindly reviewed by a group of strangers asked to put a number on our portfolios. “Hey, Henry,” one teacher might say, “Whatchu think about slipping some of our own poetry into the mix to see how it would be rated? We could put in your essay about working the Kentucky Derby and that OpEd you talked about where you discuss teacher wages and pensions.”

“Oh, BRINE,” would be a common response (while teaching in Kentucky, I got used to my name being a variation of shrimp and a wonderful sounding one-syllable drawl, “That would unethical. We can’t do that.”

We all wanted to, however, because it was rare, extremely rare, 4-leaf clover and shooting-stars rare, for a kid in any school to get the top-notch, highest rating. In Kentucky, that category was called distinguished and it was a category saved for only the best writers in the state. Secretly, however, every English teacher in our schools wished we could tell our students, “I was one of those distinguished writers once myself.” The reality, though, was that most of us who taught went through schools where very little writing was required and, to be even closer to the epicenter of reality, a vast majority of us, the English teachers, did not see themselves as writers. We had dreams, though, that if we subversively submitted our own prose the State would write us back with invitations for the Caldecott Awards, Nobel prizes, and guest appearances on Ellen or Oprah.

Of course, that never happened, but it was definitely a conversation in the teacher room around the coffee maker. “I wonder how well I’d score.”

My own relationship with writing and words is quirky, as I imagine many in the room might also claim. As a little boy in upstate NY, I had a grandmother who saw herself as a writer and who kept notebooks and notebooks of her poems, thoughts, doodles and dreams. Every time my sisters and I visited her, she would read us more of her work and then, with crayons, she’d set us free to pages where we could create pages and pages of artwork we thought would make it to the Metropolitan, but that looked more like melted M & Ms or ice cream sandwiches smeared on the page than Monet, Pissarro or Renoir. We left scribbles in her notebooks and by the next time we visited, she edited our work with markers and ideas, turning our blobs of pinks, greens and blues into creative masterpieces of dancing frogs and battling lawn gnomes. In other words, she taught us that putting marks onto the page mattered and what we invested onto her Mead notebooks were later turned into the poems, essays and comics she wrote. She saw something in our crap that not one of us intended. She made meaning out of our craziness.

Some of you may have had teachers like this, too, who saw something in your submitted work that you didn’t quite know was there.

Mr. Powers often says, “When the best student writers come your way you simply hope you don’t screw them up.” 

I always interpreted this as, “Stay away, kid. I don’t want to be blamed when you write a NYTimes best-selling memoir and need a scapegoat for how teachers ruined your craft.”

Seriously, I’m not sure if you really know, have really processed, or can really comprehend what this writing accomplishment means during your junior year. If you are being recognized today, it is because there is something brilliantly amazing about the way you put words onto the page. Some of us – maybe even some of your peers – might say this accomplishment, above all accomplishments, is an obnoxious achievement by the nerdiest of all nerds….but, let’s just say it…they’re jealous.

Heck, I’m jealous. Do you know how amazing it is that your writing was selected as outstanding as it is? I need to stop for a second and give you a round of finger snaps (that’s what writers do) because what you’re being recognized for is quite amazing.

(Note: Bryan. This is when you encourage the audience to do finger snaps for these amazing kids). 

So, I was given only 10 minutes to speak and I did a Google Search and it said that for every page of writing, it takes roughly 2 minutes to read. That means that, at page 2, I have to speed things up because I still have 3 more pages to go if I am to fulfill my 10-minute obligation.

It is also why I want this next paragraph to be about Jack Powers. Well, not just Jack Powers, but Tim Huminski, too. Actually, not just about these two gentleman, but about all the English educators who work in your school. Scratch that, I want to make a comment about all the teachers at Joel Barlow and even the school’s administrators and superintendent of this district. Why? I’m not sure if you really know how truly miraculous this school actually is. I’ve been in Connecticut since 2011 and every February I am invited to your school to read a few portfolios (and yes, I think I’m doing something wrong because they keep inviting me back to score more. One of these days I’m going to get it right and they’re going to say, “Crandall, thanks for helping but we’re moving to different scorers next year). 

For the last 20 years I’ve researched and studied the teaching of writing in K-12 schools across the United States. The data collected has been grim. The truth is that a vast majority of kids across the United States continue to graduate with limited opportunities for writing and scant preparation for writing for post-secondary schools and real world success. 

Over and over and over again I have seen schools destroy writing instruction for their students. They don’t offer choice, they teach literary analysis alone, and they rarely have young people write for audiences other than the teacher. Now, as a faculty member at Fairfield University, I get to work with incoming freshman and, well, trust me….I see the shortcomings of writing instruction in K-12 schools. Students know a tremendous amount about writing for tests and writing to check this box, and that box, but they don’t know writing as a way of life. Writing, in reality, is living. Young people need to realize that composing a life is actually life itself. 

It is a way of knowing. It is a way of being human. It is the essence of growth, reflection, entertainment, argumentation, information, flirting, and memorials. We've built our civilizations on words.

So let me go back to Jack and Tim (I can call you by your first names, can’t I?) and all the other teachers at this school. Let me go back to the administrators and Board of Education and the family support that stands behind the Junior writing portfolio process. I’m sure there’s much grumbling about it being too much and numerous complaints come this way. "This expectation doesn’t help students in the real world. It's a waste of taxpayer's money." I attest, however, the opposite. Every junior who makes it to their senior year at Joel Barlow should count their blessings that their school cares enough about them to maintain this expectation. At a time where curriculum is being dumbed down all across the nation because testing companies have taken over what matters in schools, Joel Barlow maintains its resistance (and its integrity) to uphold expectations for their graduates so they're prepared for a post-high school life. 

 An Irish poet, Brendan Kennelly, once wrote that the world’s oldest trilogy is “I Love / to Believe/  in Hope.” Every time I score Barlow portfolios I leave saying, “the expectations for students at Barlow to be writers gives me hope.” I’m in absolute awe of the writing I read every February from this school and, truth be told, my soul is restored. This is a ceremony for exceptional writers, and I also think it’s important to recognize that the teachers, administrators, family members and staff have fought hard to maintain integrity for you as they put forward hope for a better tomorrow.

(Bryan: This is where you encourage finger snapping again.)

Wow. Look at that. I’m on page 3, and I’m starting to think that maybe 2 minutes per page might be a little abrupt. Who ever calculated the pace may not have accounted for the occasional, dramatic….

….pause (count to ten)

At this point I’m sure you’re wondering why this guy, Bryan, was asked to come to your celebration over bacon, bagels, scrambled eggs, and orange juice to squawk at you, and what credentials makes him worthy of giving a speech. I am not a writer who has written a best-selling novel or who crafts the texts that your librarians can’t wait to order. In my head, of course, that’s who I am, but it’s not me. You must also know that I see myself looking more like Adam Levine than I actually do (and I don’t even have a single tattoo). Rather, I’m a writer who writes to advocate for K-12 teachers and who craves better writing instruction for all. See, I’m a National Writing Project Director and that licenses me to run programs across the state to keep the act of writing on the scholastic radar.

Rather than penning books of poetry, young adult novels, and soon-to-be Marvel Comic movies, I spend most of my life writing academically about the teaching of writing, writing communities, and youth-centered writing instruction. Believe it or not, I spend about 14 hours a day behind my computer tap dancing my fingers across my laptop piano responding to emails, sending texts, proposing conference topics, and maintaining a daily blog. As an academic, too, papers need to be written, submitted and more often than not rejected, and even more time is spent responding to students, offering feedback and guiding the ways my students communicate with the world.

For me, writing is synonymous with dreaming. My vision for the universe is that more and more opportunities are provided to communities who sometimes are neglected and overlooked and who, for example, don’t even know that schools like Barlow exist. These are locations that do not require junior portfolios and may not even know that writing instruction is anything more than responding to writing prompts expected by state assessments. My personal mission in Connecticut has been to mix and match as many of our school communities as I can so that unlike individuals can share their worlds with one another. I’m a huge lover of stories and I personally think that communities are enriched when diversity is upheld, so it has been my mission to bring young people and their teachers together from a wide variety of backgrounds to share their stories with one another. 

And this is where I want to stray a bit from my verbal meandering to come to a single point  - the one I want you to take away today. 

Say this word with me, “Ubuntu.”

(wait for them to say it). 

Anyone know what it means? (be surprised if they know).

Ubuntu is a S. African philosophy that means I am me because of who we are together. In other words, an individual can only be an individual because of the other individuals around them. You, as writers, have achieved amazingly, and I can’t take any of that away from you. Yet, this accomplishment arrives from the fact that you belong in the company of many others. Writing accomplishments only occur when one joins the fellowship of others through the traditions of writing genres. Your individual thinking, mental meandering, silliness, and brilliance is only a thought, a mental note, and a truth because what you put to the page makes meaning for those who read what you have to say. What you have to say, however, is a direct result from how you’ve interacted with friends, gained access to new knowledge from teachers, experienced your world through coaches and mentors, and directly interacted with the individuals that have the most influence on you – your families.

So, Ubuntu. You are, because of the ways your communities have made you who you are. It’s the togetherness that needs to be valued. Your recognition today is about you, yes, and I’m in total awe of what you’ve written as 16, 17, and 18 year-olds in high school. When I grow up I hope to be just like you. Yet, the achievement is also on the bones, backs, histories, and stories of many others (some you may know and others you do not). Don’t forget that. Every word you commit to the page is the result of direct the individuals and communities influencing you. Don’t forget the influences.

Writing, too, is a way for taking action. Since you have a magical ability with the language powers you possess. I hope you will take your talents and write your way towards a better world. I’m not sure if you’ve been watching the news lately, but we are in drastic need of a better world.

See, my grandmother used to take our crap and turn it into brilliant artwork that made us proud. She had this incredible way of helping us to see that our voices matter and that everything we committed to the page was something more spectacular than we ever realized. She wanted us to doodle on the page because she wanted us to see that every mark we make with a Crayola, pencil or Bic Pen, has the potential to make a difference.

Making a difference has been my life mission with the work I do at Fairfield University and writing has never ceased to amaze me, whether through comments I make on a student paper, receiving $600,000 in grants written to support K-12 teachers and kids, publishing chapters in books to celebrate the excellence of Connecticut teachers (including Megan Zabilansky who participated in the John Legend LRNG Innovation grant), or simply touching base with my family.

Writing is communication. Writing is community. It is an act of being with one another, and with without a community, there’s no one to communicate with. And that’s Ubuntu. Write as you do, but write to enhance, uphold, and celebrate the communities you belong to and that have made you who you are. Write to empower those communities, but also to uphold those communities that haven’t had the same fortunes as you've had.

            And with that, I offer a final lap of finger snaps).

            (Snap. Snap. Snap.)

            Congratulations.