Storytelling

#SOL25, Slice of Life, teaching, writing 3 Minutes

“We all have stories to tell,” I say to my Creative Writing class. “We tell stories all the time. We swim in them.” I draw their attention to the Thomas King quote I’ve put in our Google Classroom: “The truth about stories is that that’s all we are.”

Students bob their heads up and down. They are nodding, but they are also wary. After all, we’re starting our “Narrative” unit, and they know they will soon be writing “a story” that they will have to share with others. This is terrifying.

I have been where they are, I tell them, so I am confident that they are brimming with stories – both real and imagined. To prove this, we do an inside/outside activity (also known as concentric circles) – two circles of students, facing each other – and tell each other stories for nearly half the class. A time I was embarrassed, a time I felt proud, a wonderful gift I received or gave... The classroom is alive with voices and laughter. Stories fill the air; we are joyous.

“The stories we tell define who we are,” I say afterward, and I believe it. Then we try to capture some of what we’ve just said, to put our voices on paper. The mood in the room changes. I write, too. It’s hard.

Some days, I write quotations on the board:

“The most powerful person in the world is the storyteller.” – Steve Jobs

Even as I scrawl the words on the chalkboard – in yellow or white or pink – I am telling myself secret stories about my own writing, about my own power. At first, I don’t notice these subconscious stories. I write all the time, I think. I am, after all, writing nearly every day. I jot down ideas in random places and tell my students that I am collecting story kernels and poem fragments. I write in front of my students: I start poems and essays; I leave them half-finished to “show my process.” The students have (mostly) turned in their poetry assignments. My best poem sits, unfinished, covered with notes and nudges. I tuck it away.

Meanwhile, Monday evenings come and go. I tell myself that I’m too tired to write anything up, that I will write tomorrow. By Tuesday evening, I tell myself that it’s too late to publish a “Slice of Life” on the Two Writing Teachers blog (my writing haven). I tell myself I’ve missed the window this week, that no one will want to read this late. I will write next week.

Weeks pass. I think that I am not writing in public because I am busy or bored or boring. I think that I have already written about this or talked too much about that. I whisper to myself that a particular story is “not mine to tell” or “will get me in trouble” though I don’t know what for or by whom. One day, I manage to catch hold of a thought as it darts through my mind; almost immediately, its brethren make themselves known: not good enough, not funny enough, not interesting enough, everyone knows this, too many people are reading this, not enough people are reading this…

Ah! Well. I give myself a little lecture about writer’s block and allow myself a little laugh about having been here before. Then I set myself a writing deadline – which I happily ignore. But my self-imposed deadline doesn’t disappear. Instead, it lingers in odd places, growing bolder: “Your students have turned something in,” it says, “why do *you* get to skip writing?” “Writing is reflecting,” it cajoles, “and reflecting makes for good teaching.” “This won’t get easier,” it scolds. 

Finally, today – Tuesday, not Monday – in class, not at home, I cave. I ink the word WRITE in my calendar. I come home, play games on my phone, do a little training with the dog, chat with the children, tidy… and then I make myself say the thing out loud, even if it’s under my breath.

“I am a writer.”

And I write.

After all, “We become the stories we tell ourselves.” – Michael Cunningham

Next week, I will write again.

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Published by Amanda Potts

I'm a high school English teacher in Ottawa, Ontario. I read, write, walk & take a LOT of pictures. Sometimes my kids let me write about them. I use this space to think and write about teaching and living.

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20 thoughts on “Storytelling”

  2. Love the thought, we swim in our stories. Since I returned to TWT, I’m noticing I observe more intentionally. I think about writing. I rehearse experiences. I look for hidden meaning. Like you wrote, I’m swimming in stories, stories waiting for me to write. Your “excuses” for not writing resonate with me. I won’t say any more.

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    1. Hi Alice – Yes! I know that when I write I am more observant and, I think, more reflective as a result. I’m here again this week, reminding myself that we have stories to tell in this community.

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  3. Dearest, Amanda:

    I have missed you – and what you represent. This (safe) space; this community; this haven that I share with so many “writers.” (I have to remind myself that I belong to this group.) I am so enchanted by your story.

    I looked at my last post and shamefully concluded that I hadn’t written since August. I teach in an online school. Among my subjects is writing (English Language Arts) , across grade levels. I teach Research and Writing I and II every Fall and Spring in a different school for adults – in a rather robust 10 weeks – and I love it. My goal is to transform apprehensive learners into those who have an acute affection for literacy. I’ve converted many. It is happily transformative (smile).

    I am taking a creative writing class – which I struggle with, because I’m trying to complete the many assignments that are due, picking the ones that I think I can complete the easiest and the fastest…

    But in my heart, I want – to write – my stories. The ones that are not in response to an assignment. The book that I haven’t finished. The poems that I dream about. The projects that I happily brainstormed in the middle of the night, months ago, but I have not revisited…because…

    I am busy.

    I still tell my students that I hope they’re writing regularly on their own. Because writing is “beautiful! powerful! It is their voice! It holds their passion! It will soothe their souls…”

    #sigh

    And then, I go to bed.

    Wishing every Tuesday, that I had made it to the party that is the slice of life.

    I decided, in the eleventh hour, I would not miss the party today. I was worried because while attempting to write, I fell asleep with the computer in my lap.

    When I awakened, I saw that I hadn’t quite missed the deadline.

    I was unsure about my content. Uncertain how it would be received, and fulfilling my obligation to engage with three posts – I went to seeking…and I saw yours.

    What…a breath… of fresh air.

    I see myself in yourself mirror. I appreciate your story.

    How wonderfully crafted and woven with such nuanced subtlety, yet so powerfully poignant. Though I am exhausted, you have lifted my spirits.

    I’m so glad you posted today.

    It was more purposeful than you know.

    Your fellow writer… because I needed to type that again so I could believe my story.

    With Warmest Regards,

    ~Dr. Carla Michelle Brown

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    1. What a wonderful response. I have to admit that I read it right away and have read it several times since – I feel every bit of what you say here. May we both continue to share our writing and to believe that what we tell our students is also true for us. I’m so glad that you wrote.

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      1. I’m so glad! I was worried that I went “overboard,” (though I didn’t intend to)! I meant every….word!

        Thanks for being a beacon in what is sometimes a dim space. Your luminescence is a guide to more than you know. I’m believing a little more each day – especially after the post tonight. I made it within three minutes of the deadline – you’re inspiring me! ~Dr. Carla Michelle

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  4. I needed this. On my desktop I have four unfinished stories. I haven’t posted to my blog since July and most of my followers have long ago abandoned me. I tried Substack, but that has not sparked me into action. Your words about writing as reflection help. Thank you.

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  6. “I ink the word WRITE in my calendar. I come home, play games on my phone, do a little training with the dog, chat with the children, tidy… and then I make myself say the thing out loud, even if it’s under my breath.

    ‘I am a writer.’

    And I write.”

    Yes. 🙌🏼🥊

    Huge Tuesday Victory! 🏆

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  9. I don’t care how late you post, or if you write on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Sunday. I will always want to read your writing, Amanda. Your words speak truth, they vibrate, and they reflect something in me I often neglect. And for that, I am so, so grateful. So, yes, please come back next week. We need your writing.

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  10. Glad to have you back! Ana and I were looking at the Jetpack app together when we saw you posted: “Amanda!” she squealed.
    This slice is a good reminder to me to just show up. Enough excuses!

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