The gift of "How are You?"

Being perhaps especially sensitive to affectation in those I come into contact with and intolerant of drivel laden small talk, I have for decades struggled with the question "How are you?" I just haven't known how to respond, and my (perhaps) incompetency has led me to different responses over the years, all surrounding the fixation that "How are you?" is a question with a prefabricated answer.
One is expected to answer with some variation of, "Fine."
For a while, I thought that the thing to do to keep myself and my communications pure was to tell the unfortunate and (in retrospect) well meaning people who chanced to indulge in this particular social nicety just exactly how I was doing. I was in fact seldom fine, pretty much at any given moment anything but fine, I actually never responded to that question with a fine for many years. I decided that I would give the people what they wanted-the truth.
I just didn't recognize what the truth was.
What I didn't recognize was the gift inherent in that statement. There is a reason that you are supposed to answer the question of "How are you?" with "Fine." It's more than a simple social commandment, it's a social commandment with benefits, if you will.
The question is not, "How are you in all areas of your life, how have you been in the recent past and the projected future?" The question is, "How are you, right now." In order for me to answer the question with absolute honesty, I must stop and evaluate how I am at the very moment that the question in asked. I must be mindful of my life in the present. When I do this, I discover that at any given moment, if I stop to check, I am not being shot at, starving to death, being hit by a piece of space garbage hurtling to the earth, falling over, or splitting my pants. So far, when I get asked that question, and I stop to give a thoughtful answer about how I am at the particular moment the question is asked, I'm actually doing fine.
Fine, thank you.

Accidental death or suicide?

I read Leah's post. Carnage.
I got off the phone with a friend who's brother in law is dying.  I mean body is shutting down and the ugly things are happening and it could be any minute kind of dying.
Came home and had one of those relationship talks with the old man. I feel like there's a corpse in that room also, but no one can pull the blanket all the way up yet.
What this cosmic trio adds up to, I can not say, but I feel like getting on my bike to ride up to Gold's is a bad decision.
I don't want to be a fish squished into a carpet, I don't want to sink away into my own physicality, I don't want this soulless zombie state of affairs to be happening, but this is what is around me, all these things are in my brain. The sum of my experience at the moment.
But it's Tuesday. Tuesday is the day I acknowledge all the lies we tell ourselves and others just to get through life. Those small ones that get us out the door and on our way, things like these pants aren't really too tight they just shrunk in the wash, how are you I am fine how are you, I just put the check in the mail today, he'll definitely call before 8, I'm sure my ATM card is in the pocket of my backpack, there's no way a meteor is going to hit my house, I love that haircut, those kinds of things. The lies we tell ourselves so we don't have to deal with all those little things that can chip away at us on a day to day basis.
I just think it's a lovely clause in the social contract.
So what's my theme people? Does there always have to be one? Is life a story in which you are the main character, or is life a story that's not necessarily about you?
Perhaps I need to go pluck a leaf off of something to see if it will grow.

I was at the dentist

I spent the afternoon at the dentist and am highly drugged as result. I can't even manage a shopping list, so I am not going to even try.

Awareness

Awareness of audience. Are my students reading this? I got a bunch of blog addresses today (nice work, my people) and since I gave out my blog address, I wonder who will be reading it, as each group of students are different.
I have to say, I like this very challenging, very on point, astute bunch of students. It's going to be a great semester. I hate the word challenging, it's a euphemism for so much (and I hate euphemisms!) so I will clarify.
By challenging, I mean I have a group of students who are going to make me better.
And that is one of the very best things about teaching. You get students who make you better. They seem to make you better where you need to be at the time. I remember a student named David. I did not like David. I knew I had to work harder with him, to pay more attention, to listen more conscientiously, to be willing to stretch myself in ways I hadn't before, in ways I very much did not want to stretch, just to keep my commitment to this child I did not like. I had a commitment to be the best teacher I could for him, to do what was right. The story ends happily, because I grew to love him and I am grateful to him still.
I wonder if teachers should take an oath like doctors do. It's that serious.
Well, my students, you make me better. Thanks. I appreciate the obligation I have to you to be transparent in my journey to become a better writer.
I think this semester I will look into memoir. Maybe I have some stories to tell. Towards that end, I have checked out some books about writing memoirs written by writers. Hold on to your seats.
(You might want to read some books about writing written by writers that are germane to your personal goals. I would love to guide you in your choices!)
I am so excited to share this semester's story.

Blackberries

Glorious day today, and I was able to take a long bike ride and actually stop and pick (and eat) some juicy blackberries. I am more of an eater than a picker or a collector. I think that those who search for hours for enough blackberries to bake something out of them (like cobbler) are making a sad and tragic mistake. Blackberries are never better than the moment you pick them, no matter how much butter, sugar and baking skill you might add, they are never better than when they are warmed and juicy from the sun. Today I found some that were like the size of pineaples. Not kidding.
I must at this time record that I do love my cobbler making brothers and sisters. I am inclined to say they are missing the point, but I acknowledge that perhaps I am missing theirs.
As usual, I am thinking of Sam and Cyrus constantly. How do I get them to experience everything I see, how do I  share with them fresh blackberries found on the side of a bike path? Not possible. Though I never could or will be able to get them to experience things as I do, it's the things that we experience together that are so precious. They are ours, they make us us.
I believe that there are different kinds of blackberry pickers. In addition to the fresh v. cobbler dichotomy, there are those that only pick the berries on the outside and never say "Ouch!", those that try their best to get as far in as possible and say,"Ouch!" then pause their picking to examine their wound and reevaluate their mission and desire for the juiciest of the berries, and those that say,"Ouch!" with a berry in their mouth and another on the way. I eat them as fast as I can and get to as many as possible without putting myself into a situation that will result in traumatic orthopedic injury (blackberries so often grow on slopes). The scratches really aren't important. They are part of the juiciest of berries.
I feel a bit like Brett Micheals, (never thought I'd say that!)  But really the thorns are part of the juiciest of berries. That's a big deal. I want those juicy berries. I guess that's why I have spent the majority of my life, figuratively at least, pretty well scratched up. I just want those berries and look at the scratches later with a bit of pride and wonder. Some of them turn out to be pretty darn interesting, and like tattoos, our scars tell our story.
So do I want my boys to eat fresh blackberries with me? Duh. Of course I do. They're yummy and nutritious. I can't say for sure if I want them to have a bunch of scratches to review after feasting, but I hope they can grow to appreciate mine and I look forward to knowing what sort of pickers they are.

It's been a while!!!

I cannot believe I haven't been back here in sooo long.  Maybe I am going for that whole "wait until you see the hand-written notes" that Timm keeps.  To all my readers, I am back with a new found confidence and a brand new appreciation for the band "Cheap Trick"!  I know it sounds crazy, but I am thinking that their "comeback" song The Flame may be the best thing that ever happened to music.  Yes, I do still hate squirrels, but I love the hair bands more than I ever knew.  Hope I get to see Dokken as a headliner here soon.

I wrote a poem

While observing a writing workshop-the kids had several tasks to choose from. One was to write a poem by comparing a feeling to an object. In the classroom, I saw a box marked, "Investigation" so I decided to put that word into a poem.

Stellar Investigations: Lava Lamp

Blobs and bubbles continually
breaking off from the larger mass
going predictably up.
Though various in size and speed
they go
to a predicatable top.
Despite all this
if you keep the lamp
plugged in too long
it will burn out.

Another day in paradise

I'm back on facebook, and my motives were unpure. I will not discuss them publicly. We will just agree that I am working on all that.
It's fun though. Like many of us who are a product of a twitter based social system, I know that every thought I have is completely fascinating. I also know enough that every thought I have should not be let out of my head, or chaos will ensue. So between my engaging thoughts and questionable social filter, I find some ways to enjoy the facebook.
It gives me something to do when I'm not texting.
This morning, on Yahoo, I read an article about a teacher who got suspended with pay because though she did not give the name of her school, basically dogged at least a few of her students on her blog. (Note: My students are awesome! I love my job! Thank you State of Idaho!) Of course we have heard of such things happening before. It's something to think about as I begin to explore these public kinds of writing, like this blog.
My mother once told me not to write anything down unless I wanted the whole world to read it. This was before computers, where the only real danger was that my note might get into the hands of the principal.
Now it might end up in the Japaneese Embassy for all I know.
There's something to be said for integrity here, maybe if I am cool with how I am and how I live, then things will end up okay. Sounds awesome. I have learned that is not true actually, and the person with a lie more appropriate than the truth sometimes wins. Or do they? What's winning?
I have not completed my coffee ritutal, which has affected my ability to compose complete sentences.
Onward.

Sam and Cyrus

Sam and Cyrus

Non verbal expression today! Click on the link to see my animoto of my two boys!

Happened and happening

First of all, go to www.missingpiecegroup.com and listen to Waylon Jennings: The music inside. It's a tribute album to Waylon Jennings with various artists and you can listen to the whole thing for free. Shooter Jennings does an inspiring and poignant rendition of Belle of the Ball.
Since I am the media vein, the best radio station in the world is 91.9 WNRN. You can also listen to it online, but it's back East and therefore 3 hours earlier on all the programming than it says in their programming schedule. I highly suggest the Grateful Dead and Friends, which is Saturday morning from 9-11 EST, the Boombox, weeknights from 7-11 EST, and Bluegrass Sunday morning, which is sublime radio, on Sundays from 7-11 EST. I was going to give you the showtimes as Pacific time, but was totally overwhelmed by the math. So you can and should figure it out. Something for everyone, I assure you. I also enjoy the Modern Rock program.
Can you tell I love music, (I play no instruments, and sing like a drunken, overly hair sprayed, highlighted with an at home kit woman in a matching white denim vest and tight jeans at a country bar karaoke extravaganza singing Stand by Your Man for the 7th time in the same night. If you are one of the unfortunates who has not actually witnessed this, it's horrible.) and since moving to Lewiston, the musical part of my soul is crying and withered like a raisin being burned with a magnifying glass by an angry 8 year old boy. The biggest musical event here in the last year has been Rick Springfield, and though I will belt out Jesse's Girl while I'm in the car and it comes on, his work doesn't exactly feed me.
I am still reading Just Kids by Patti Smith, feeling sorry for myself that I don't know anyone who would read it, much less read it slow like I am because I don't want it to end. I can't help but feel that I went completely wrong in not moving into a loft next door to the Chelsea with a closeted homosexual artist, like she did. I'm sure I could have made that happen if I'd taken the chance. It's too late though, such a look does not flatter a 40 year old woman. It would be a tad Mrs. Haversham to me.
At least I've convinced myself I could have been a Rock n Roll poet, had I applied myself.

Listening to Zepplin on a cloudy day

Tangerine. My favorite Led Zepplin song, and they are my favorite band of all time, a no brainer because they are the solid best.  I do not remember life without Zepplin, and like the Piaget kid for whom things that not can be seen do not exist, I am pretty secure that Led Zepplin has been a part of human culture since the beginning of time. Check out the cave drawings.
So why was I listening to Tangerine when my ex husband popped into my head? (EEEW! Yuck! Douse it smash it!!!EWWW!) I have creeped out myself in my own mind, open skull, add Zepplin, shake in a side of clouds, stir.
"Thinking how it used to be/Does she still remember days like these?" The song just breaks your heart. Today I wonder if my ex husband, who's life I destroyed after he nearly destroyed mine, ever thinks of me with the longing and sadness that can be heard in the song.
(Does he even listen to Zepplin anymore? Do people who drive mini vans listen to Zepplin?)
It's not because I'm mean, and that I want people to suffer, (actually, there is a handful of people I would like to suffer somewhat and maybe after a while I could graciously end their suffering because I am so compassionate and adult, but I'm really not) it's because I want to be that princess in a tower, that woman that is forever pined for, wanted and adored no matter what by some noble, well read, extremely good looking, shirtless man. My ex husband was none of those things. The current man regularly has me confounded in one way or another.
The problem with having choices in your life is that you have choices. If you don't figure that out until you are in your mid thirties, you not only have the choices you have yet to make to deal with, you have all the ones you let slip away and all of your wrong turns behind you. You are stuck with the promise to yourself that you won't waste the next twenty years of your life not having the life you want.
And compromise becomes the double edged sword.

I discover that I continue to be uninteresting

I have no insight, no topics, nothing to share.
I learned today what a shoot out is. I thought it was something to do with shooting, but actually, it's when you sit in a gym for hours on end and watch children from different age groups make 25 attempts at the free throw. I can look at this experience in two ways: 1. The fact that I spent half of my day engaged (not really, but how engaging is a shoot out, so engaged relative to a shoot out) in such a salt of the earth activity is a milestone on my journey to normalcy, or 2. This is what my life has come to. I think I can hear the John Cougar song in the background. Should I trade in the Kia for a Chevy? Start drinking Keystone?
Can you hear he inner scream when I realized that I was going to write: Start wearing 3/4 length stretch pants and over-sized t shirts in public? when I realized that at the shoot out I was, in fact,  wearing 3/4 length stretch pants and an over-sized shirt? In my defense by the time I got back from the gym it was time to leave, and I said screw it, rather than resist. To all outward appearances, it was as if I had recieved the flier on the dress code for the event anyway.
The other thing i learned today is what that huge triangle shaped brown building overlooking the river is. It is the Elk's Lodge. I know this because I hauled ass there after the shootout for the free burger lunch. I ate two (no bun of course). As Elk's Lodges go, I must say that I was quite impressed. It was very cutting edge in a 1970's ornate some of the foam was visible through the tears in the cushions kinda way. But there's no way to make the afternoon seem edgy.
Not that it matters.

This book I'm reading

is called "Just Kids" by Patti Smith. Did you know she was deeply involved in love with Robert Maplethorpe? It is so beautifully written, complex and simple juxtaposed against each other. The union of style and subject is breathtaking. The prose is one long poem.
Right now, which is of course long ago, they are living at the Chelsea hotel in a period of extended magic. I have seen the Chelsea from the outside, getting a ride from my Dad after spending the weekend with him in New Jersey, back to my apartment in Manhattan. As we drove through Chelsea, I knew where we were but didn't-my father was born with the ability to negotiate the streets of Manhattan via car while I was only able to travel with confidence on foot-I told my father that this was the neighborhood I hoped to move into. Because it is lovely and calm and exciting and perfect, graceful and restrained. I had nothing but confidence that it was in my future, so comfortable did I feel in my murky plans of wanting to.

Now, though I have no direct desire to live in Chelsea, I feel that exact same thing. Complete confidence in my murky plans of wanting to. It is impossible for me to articulate what it is I actually want or if my future happiness depends on my application and commitment to action or in the systematic reduction of desire. Yet I sit reading in my basement bedroom in Lewiston, Idaho, a place two years ago I did not know existed without a feeling of contentment but with complete confidence in my murky desires.

Stress

I know what stress is, kinda. I know, or what I think I know, is it is your body's response to a situation you can't get away from that you would like to get away from. So your body has a flight or fight response and releases all kinds of chemicals so you can save your own life. The problem is, in modern day, or at least for humans and I think that probably for a long time, you can't save your own life from the things that bring you down. Much of the time, they are things that you sought out, or things that you need to save or maintain the life you want or think you want. The physiological response that is stress actually slowly kills you. In the meantime it makes you feel like utter crap and makes you not look cute.
Since I got back from the East Coast, I have felt like complete crap, have really struggled to get through a day, and do not look cute at all. I have been unhappy and miserable. I have been waking up tired, looking forward to going to bed and feeling like I could drop dead by like 9:30 in the morning. I have coped by making daily lists of things I must get done, exercising as much as I could muster, and putting one foot in front of the other. But I have felt completely overwhelmed.
A colleague and friend suggested to me today that it was stress that was doing it to me, and I kinds think she is right.
Today at least, I felt better. I felt great today, had a great day. Why all of the sudden this change took place I do not know. I don't think it's that the situation has changed, because it has not changed at all. Is it that my attitude has changed? I don't know that it has, as the things that I want to get away from but can't are still most loudly and definitely in my life. Is it my coping techniques that have paid off? Basically what I did was "act as if" and forced myself into a structure that would get me through on a day to day basis. I wish I knew why this sudden change in how I feel occurred. Feeling good is so much better than feeling like you're dying.

In other news, last night we found a kitten in a tree that seemed to be stuck up there. It was crying. We decided to leave it and if it was still there today, we would help it to get down, which I did. I gave it a can of tuna, and went inside. Five minutes later, i come out, and it is on the garage roof, crying again. I pull up a chair and it will let me pet it but I just couldn't quite get a hold of it. I don't really like ladders very much, so I decided to just leave it there for a while and see what happened. A little while later, I hear a muffled crash outside, and figured the crazy kitty had jumped off the garage. I go outside to see, and it had jumped from the garage (detached garage, by the way) to the roof of the house. I could not even engage in the situation, decided to just let it play itself out. Well, the next time I go outside the cat is on the hood of the car, and a few minutes later again, back on the roof of the garage. Clearly this cat has a whole lot going for it. The garage is attached to the cantina, which pleases me because perhaps this kitty will run off the squirrels.
I think it will, cause I love it and it loves me.
I believe it's name is AC (Airborne Cat).

Go Packers

I just read Allison's blog. She is sick, poor thing, but every day ends with "Today I am thankful for..." Like today it is Nyquil for her. It is good stuff, I am also grateful for it, though I am not using it currently.

I am glad the Packers won, but what  am I thankful for today? I am actually irritated right now by the volume and behavior in the house at the moment, and frustrated because the kids basically DO NOT LISTEN TO ME AT ALL. The oldest living here, that is completely true. If he complies it is a completely random event that occurred in sync with my command/request.
So I am thankful for....Today I watched that newest Jersey Shore online. I love it completely. I am from New Jersey, it is an accurate portrayal of guidos, but I will not say Italians. To be a guido is an affectation, not a ethnic thing. I am also thankful or my job, which I do adore. i am thankful that it is sunny out, though I did nothing outside. It was all do some cleaning, do some work, watch football game, now it's 4:30 and I have not had the outside experience for more than a few minutes. Unusual for me. Gonna be a whole week like that, a very busy week ahead.
I am thankful for reading, without which I would surely die. The printed word is how I cope. I just started reading Just Kids by Patti Smith. Talk about lovely writing.
Wish i could produce something decent myself but I am crabby crabby crabby. This would lead to something funny, but I am trying not to be negative since I read Allison's blog and was reminded of what a Debbie Downer I am. A mojo sucker, a spiritual parsite.
Hope I can find a sitter for the superbowl.

I have learned something (almost)

I never know if husbands are just very happy to point out when you made a mistake, or if they are really looking out for you. I tend to do a lot of things that could be defined as mistakes. I think it is a good thing that I am all about trying new things, doing things in a new way, just for the purposes of learning. You try to do something totally new or try to do something differently, and you learn stuff.
It's not such a good thing that I tend to jump into these new experiences rather impulsively with little thought of how my actions and reactions may be perceived by others. But how do I know how I want to be perceived when I am continually trying to figure out who I am? I have no idea. I can assure you though, that I for sure DO NOT WANT TO GET IN TROUBLE.
My husband supports that goal.  Therefore...
I do not think Sara Palin is a criminal! I fear that by the way I used her name in yesterday's entry that a reader could think that was my opinion. I think she's A ok, I like it that she wears glasses, it's super cool that she is outdoorsy, and I am strongly biased toward women who seek power. I do not think it is offensive to say that she carefully crafts her public image, just like the squirrels do. That's what politicians do. I do not see anything wrong with this. I actually prefer politicians to squirrels. 
But my husband said I should not be political, which I totally did not mean to be. I thought about going back and editing the entry, because I DO NOT WANT TO GET IN TROUBLE, but decided against it as it is a teachable moment. In addition to learning about the habits of a writer in order to support our students, we are also learning about this relatively new thing. We for sure did not have this when I was in school. As we figure out how to use it for ourselves, we figure out ways we can apply it to the classroom.
So is it in some ways limiting for a writer to blog? Could be. You have to choose your language carefully, but you can still say the same things. Could I have gotten my point across with the same vigor if I didn't write the Palin thing? Absolutely. Could I have gotten it across better? Very possibly. Here, as always, is the importance of awareness of audience in writing, something I learned a bit more about the past couple of days.

For the record, and for all of you that thought I was exaggerating about the squirrels, I wasn't. I am absolutely certain of the presence of the squirrel mafia, a vast and evil underground of vermin who are hiding in plain sight, ready to take over the world.
They are wearing us down slowly, being cute in parks, pretending to be skittish as we lure them to grab nuts from our hands. We nod our heads in subtle irritation as they invade our birdfeders. Many of us have even coated pine cones in peanut butter for them or invested our hard earned ducats in squirrel feeding devices. How foolish we humans are.
For the emperor has no clothes. He doesn't need your silly nut, doesn't rely on your inspid bird feeders because he can enter your home at will. He's got you where he wants you-right in the palm of his feces crusted paw and he's posing to take over.
Think of some of the most famous criminals, the ones that come to mind. Charles Manson was in fact appealing to many and had his followers. David Koresh was seen as a prophet by many. Even Hitler himself had a multitude of faithful admirers. Sarah Palin got a reality show for God's sake, costarring for one ill fated episode with 8 very cute, precocious, well known little cuties. Ask yourself, did these people present themselves in their true light in order to meet their ends? Would any of you out there even consider feeding a rat? Would you look on in interest or scream with disgust and terror as it climbed up to your bird feeder?
Take that same rat, give it enough conspiratorial capacity to live in the trees instead of the sewer, to hop instead of scurry, and cover that repulsive tail with some appealing fuzz. What do you have then?
I'm just sayin'.

What writer's face

I hate squirrels. I have always hated squirrels because the get the big salad of the animal kingdom, they get credit they don't deserve. They are rodents. They move into your attic, if they are so inclined. They steal bird food, and anything else they can get. I don't know for sure but I bet they carry ticks and lyme's disease and lots of other plagues. They are vermin. They are rats with fuzzy tails.
It aggravates me even more that people feed them, because they are not little Disney characters, they are a foul plague to all forms of life. I had a neighbor who fed a squirrel, and he busted into her apartment when she left the door open, demanding food and making himself completely at home. He would not leave her alone after that. She would walk to the laundry room and he would block her path, staring at her menacingly. I would have to throw rocks at him.
There's one who lives near my house, he's huge and gnarly and red. You could tell that in his day, he was probably the muscle for some squirrel kingpin, cuz he's so beat up looking. He once stole a pack of Camel Lights from the table in the cantina. He still runs across the roof, and I yell and hiss at him. He'll just lean over the roof and look down at me like,"Lady are you kidding me?"
Not only are they aggressive, self righteous, thieving foul vermin, they are murderers. The squirrel gang terrorizes our neighborhood by eating the fiberglass around people's headlights and then eating the wires so people's headlights don't work. So far, the only cost to society has been a few tickets and expensive car repairs. I think it's just a matter of time before they start experimenting with putting holes in people's brake lines in their cars.
I hope it's not too late.

When I was mentally preparing to post today, I realized that one of the gambles of writing a blog is "What is no one thinks I'm interesting?" What if you find out that I really don't have a lot going on? Eventually I am going to have to move to emotional topics. Well, what to you think of the squirrell rant?

Still working on day two

I am determined to spend at least ten minutes a day on this, as I know the rest of you are. I am experimenting with this new form of writing, not sure how it will fit into the way I've been doing things. In the interest of openness to new literacies, and in a quest to find a way to balance the content of this class, the readings, discussions, etc with the writing portion of this class (on campus it's easy to get both) I committed to spending a semester blogging and I will see how this works for my students.
Working on my courses today, I had in the back of my mind the whole time-"What I am I going to write about?"  What do I write about when I know that mainly my college students will be the audience? (Any other member of the audience arrived here completely at random). Knowing that my students will be reading this and that I am solely in the role of professor will most certainly (we can only hope) narrow my range of topics and affect the way I address things, the language I use, and maybe for a while how stupid I am willing to look. I have never written like this on a daily basis as a professor. For years I have kept notebooks, and often I share the contents with my students. But the notebook is not in itself a platform that is solely Dr. Tower's. So is writing a way to help you figure out who you are, even when you are not being every part of yourself? Hmmm.... I always learn new things about writing as I teach this class, and this experience will likely give us some new perspective on audience, in the least.
This will be interesting, because I am hoping not to post lectures, we have the class for those things, the course platform I mean. I am looking to participate in this experience with my class. Most of us have not done this before, and I don't think any of us have done this for a class before.
So I wonder what topics I will choose, what kind of writing I will do. I think that will depend upon our responses to each other-we will then through this learn about the role of response in the teaching of writing...

Welcome to the blog 305 students!

Hello to everyone-I have been working on things in the course, the first week is the toughest! We will soon get into a routine with things, and part of that routine will be your daily writing. I know that you are all busy, so I will expect a minimum of 5 days a week on your blog. What should you write about? That is up to you. It is important for you to pursue topics that interest you. You may choose to write all semester on a particular topic and explore it in detail, perhaps through various genre's or by looking closely at small pieces of a large topic. The important thing is that you develop the habits of a writer so that you can teach writing. You will begin to understand and appreciate what your students are going through because you will be experiencing the same things. It is very important that writers share their work and get feedback from others. That is why I put you into groups. You will visit your group members blogs and comment on their writing-always positively-and offer questions, ask for clarification and maybe get some inspiration yourself. Since we are an online group and can't share writing in class, I thought I'd try this blogging thing out this semester so that you can share writing with others in your group.
These blogs are open to the public by default, that means if you set one up all of your group members will be able to access it. You must send them your blog's address also-and please send yours to me. Even if you have sent it please do so again so I know I will have everyone's, so that I may visit your work and be sure that people are responding to their group member's work.
Looking forward to sharing this experience with you all-hope it works!
Holly