Tag: writing

365 Days of Finding My Voice

Posted on June 27, 2012 by

When I was a little girl, I was terribly shy. Talking to most people was a physical impossibility for me – I’d rather hide behind a tree than have to speak to my friend’s parents as they opened their door. I was perfectly content burying myself in library books, finding great adventures through someone else’s life stories.

It was amazing to me, as I started my teaching career, that I could actually stand in front of people – children and adults – and actually say something that people wanted to hear. I still have those moments, honestly, when I look out at my classroom in amazement that every eye is on me. Kind of makes me shudder sometimes.

Contrary to many childhood lessons, being shy is not a disability.  There are benefits, of course, but it takes a great deal of self-reflection to discover them.  Shyness means that one can step back, observe situations, and hopefully think before speaking.  Being shy is a great quality for people watching – one of my favorite hobbies.  And of course, being shy allows us to create our own thoughts and opinions without having to share them with anyone else – which would create an opportunity for making a mistake.

First-born children, like me, are somehow inbred to be perfect. Just ask my sister, who came only 13 months behind me.  No matter what I did, it was always subject to great scrutiny as the ‘golden child’.  That’s a mighty high reputation to uphold, for sure.

Living life as a shy, first born of first-borns created an inner determination to break the cycle with my own first-born.  Wanting so desperately for my daughter to have her own voice, however, was really what allowed me to find my own.  

Suddenly I couldn’t hide anymore-I was someone’s mom.  I needed to be the one to speak, teach, and nurture the little voice I had created.  At times, her ‘voice’ nearly deafened me in those early days, but as she grew, we blossomed together.  We both learned to ask for what we wanted, demand what we needed, and express our feelings and beliefs clearly.

So last summer when I let loose this blog, my voice was born.  Surely, it was shaky at best, but it stumbled out of me and landed firmly on the page and kept tumbling and somersaulting and back flipping until before I knew it, I was a writer.  Thousands of others, some as introverted as I, were hearing my voice.  

Over the last 365 days, I’ve learned to trust it, listen to it, and share it.  I’ve learned to pause, ponder and pour it out onto the page.  I’ve learned to watch and heed the commentary it produces, to observe the emotions it creates, and to suspend that inner critic who cautions me that I’m treading on the brink of disaster.

Now that I have a little girl, I’m not so shy.  Talking to most people is not a physical impossibility anymore – as long as I can let my fingers do it for me.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Communication Breakdown

Posted on May 25, 2012 by

It’s funny how differently people communicate.  Some think that because they talk, they are communicating.  Others think that if they listen, they are communicating.  Taking notes-is that communicating?  So is body language-do we count that?

When I’m teaching, I’m communicating.  My students have silent and not-so-silent forms of communication.  Boys communicate differently from girls, and men from women.  Do animals communicate?  People of different cultures have modes of communication that are sometimes difficult for outsiders to understand.  Writing is a form of communicating, too, and probably my most comfortable mode.

I start the year teaching about precision of language, and how problematic it can be when we are careless with language and use incorrect and powerful words. When I’m teaching my students literary analysis, I hammer the idea of justification-that whatever claim they are trying to make, they need to back it up with proof from the text.  When we work on argumentative writing, we try to not only consider our beliefs, but also try to predict a counterargument.  Narrative writing needs to communicate visual ideas and sensory 
details.

The problem I’m noticing lately is when adults try to communicate only through words, and they either have little command of language, or are sloppy at it.  Some adults prefer email to face-to-face encounters, and would rather write out their feelings and opinions than talk on the phone.  In meetings, some use language to communicate verbally, others try to write it all down as it is spoken, and leave the interpretation for later.  In watching this, I’m realizing that these modes are all problematic.

The poor writer chooses the wrong word and is misunderstood.  The emailer loses the ability to show emotion and body language.  The talkers spend so much time hearing their own voice that they cannot hear anyone else, and the note takers risk having slow fingers that only catch part of the truth, and leave the rest open for interpretation.

For me, it all kind of comes back to justification and precision.  If we think, then write, we need to back up our assertions.  This isn’t to say that we all need to create lawyer-like arguments for our thoughts, but we need to think it through before it comes out of our mouth or onto a paper.  We need to consider our language, and the power of our words to motivate, measure, or make misery.  We need to choose what we say, when we say it, and how we say it with thoughts of the recipient.  To do any less opens the door for heartbreak, heartache, and misunderstandings.  I know this is a tall order-thinking before I speak is something I have to make a conscious effort towards daily.  It’s not easy, but it is getting easier.

I can only imagine how much better my world would be if more people took the time to communicate.  Isn’t it worth a try?

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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On Life & Childhood Dreams: A Lesson I Learned After 23 (Long) Years

Posted on April 4, 2012 by

Writing.jpg
 Do you remember that moment when you knew what you wanted to be when you grew up?  Please enjoy today’s guest blogger, Anne Mercado, as she shares her story of following her dreams.





“There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.” -Deepak Chopra

As adults we view childhood dreams in two ways. The first as an uncanny certainty of what a child wants despite her tender age. The second as a changing desire of an impulsive and creative young mind. For the latter, how many times have your children proclaimed their inner-most desire to become a spaceman, only to have this change the following week. What do they want to be now? The next Picasso. It’s for this very reason we initially dismiss childhood dreams as anchorless ships that sail off into the vast blue sea, never to return again.

But that’s not how it was for me.

I always knew I wanted to write. In fact, I was always writing (and reading) as a child. My younger self – during the time when I could barely spell “chicken” right – would pound away on a typewriter, basking under the sun. I wrote about nature-inspired poetry, fictional news reports and stories produced by a hyper-active imagination. I spent my after-school hours in the backyard taking in fresh air while observing chicken, dogs, grass, leaves, trees, and yes, even creepy-crawlers. These were often the subject of my writing. As I got older my intensity for writing grew with me. Pen and notebook in hand, my thoughts would materialize into words etched into white pages. I wrote more poetry, fictional news reports and stories about scientists using the moon’s magnetic field to hurl missiles at approaching meteors. There was even once when a magazine published my writing.

You’d think that with such a desire for it, I would end up just as I had always wanted to be.

Wrong. I was advised against pursuing my dream and chose a career path that had little to do with writing anything creative, unless you consider reports and contracts as page-turners. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending how you view it, I couldn’t seem to find fulfillment from the jobs I had. In retrospect, it was because what I really wanted was to churn out words. I wasted 6 years of my life, excluding college. 6 years I could have spent honing my skills as a writer. But hey, now I’m back writing. Starting from scratch, which by the way is wrought with challenges. A bumpy road indeed, but what path isn’t? If there’s anyone who claims to have had a silky-smooth road to their dreams, they deserve to be ostracized from the rest of humanity for risk of spreading false hope.

Now for the takeaway.

“The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age.” – Kahlil Gibran

Once my child told me he wanted to be a chef. Fine with me. Now he wants to be a lawyer. Nothing wrong there except I’d rather have him pursue another career (the reasons are my own and irrelevant to this post). I was thinking about our conversations and realized that my objections shouldn’t prevent him from following what he wants. It’s not my life to live after all, but his. And if defending those in need makes him fulfilled, who am I to prevent him from that? Now that we have children of our own, let’s not be so quick to smirk at their childhood dreams. These aspirations should be taken seriously and nurtured because those who love what they do often excel. Why? Because one of the best things about being human is the feeling of fulfillment and purpose that comes from passion. Passion is an endless supply of fuel, one of the greatest motivators there are. So for my child who has recently turned 5, my promise is to help him lock-down the sometimes elusive childhood dream and help him reel it in. That way, he never has to “work” a day in his life because he’ll be doing what he loves, whatever that is. As long as it’s legal, of course.

Photo Credit: Creative Common from Linda Cronin

Anne Mercado is the quirky author behind Green Eggs & Moms, which offers clever parenting tips and news to keep moms with young kids sane. When she’s not hunched over the computer working, you can find her either counting down to ten to get her kiddo to move faster, or reading a horror book. She also loves vampires and zombies.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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reading with mamawolfe: Diary of a Mad Fat Girl

Posted on March 9, 2012 by

 

http://www.blogher.com/bookclub/now-reading-diary-mad-fat-girl

 

 

I actually didn’t think I would like this book.  It was the title.  Diary of a Mad Fat Girl.  Fat just isn’t a politically correct word, and I wondered how the author could get me past the initial stereotyped image she was presenting.

Honestly, it didn’t take long.  Once I got into the first few chapters I was hooked, and I didn’t care who saw the cover!  Stephanie McAfee’s skillful characterizations of protagonist Graciela “Ace” Jones, her best friend Lilly, mutual friend Chloe, their boyfriends, lovers, spouses and an adorable Chiweeenie dog named Buster Loo brought me right into their lives in current day Mississippi and I never wanted to leave.

Daphnee, a 3 ½ year old Miniature Dachshund / Chihuahua mix (Chiweenie)
http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/chiweenie.htm

Ace Jones, the mad fat girl of the title, and her tall, willowy and beautiful BFF Lilly reminded me of girls I used to teach with when I was young, single and figuring out the world.  Ace and Lilly teach, live and love with passion.  Ace leads with her heart and not her head, a strategy which lends itself to poignant humor and situations the reader can imagine herself alongside the characters – well, maybe not the hilarious drag bar scene!

As if Ace and her pals weren’t enough, Stephanie McAfee’s addition of the fabulous Gloria Peacock and her friends Daisy, Birdie and Temple absolutely sealed the deal for me.  The addition of these mature, wise matriarchs provides grounding and depth for the story and characters.

I could just picture Ace and her girlfriends, desperate for advice on their love lives, grasping for advice from the more ‘experienced’ ladies: “I look at Gloria Peacock, who smiles at me.  ‘Follow your heart.  It won’t lead you wrong.’  ‘Mind did,’ Daisy says.  ‘More than once.’  ‘I think you were following something besides your heart, Daisy,’ Birdie says.

Gloria and her cohort represent female strength at a mature age, and highlight McAfee’s ability to create complex female characters.  Add in a bit of tragedy and a whole bunch of humor, and you’ve got a book to lose yourself in for an afternoon.

But Diary of a Mad Fat Girl isn’t a typical single-girl-finds-the-right-guy predictable type of love story.  Ace and her pals sample life with enviable gusto, and just when I thought I had it all figured out, I didn’t.  Kind of like life.

I’m still not crazy about the title, but Diary of a Mad Fat Girl has the ability to move the reader out of their own reality and into the lives of these strong women living in Bugtussle, Mississippi, and to let us know that stereotypes are meant to be broken.

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Flying Alone

Posted on February 23, 2012 by

Last week I did something new.  It wasn’t as delicious as trying a new flavor of ice cream, or as adventurous as flying down a zip line.  It wasn’t as bold as a new hair color, or as daring as quitting my job.


Last week I flew alone.  Solo.  No friends, no kids, no spouse, no colleagues.  Just me, my overstuffed suitcase and a carry-on bag full of papers to grade, books to read, and stories to write.


Flying alone meant trying something new.  I could get myself out of the house quickly because all I had to worry about was me. It meant that for the first time in a very long time I didn’t forget a thing.


Flying alone meant it didn’t matter where I stood in the boarding line because it was just me.  I wasn’t concerned about entertaining anyone, or making sure I was close to the window or the bathroom.  It meant I could be the very last person aboard because I had a confirmed seat and I didn’t need overhead luggage space.


Flying alone meant I wasn’t worried about sitting next to a chatterbox or a screaming baby-I had my earphones, my iPod, and a book to bury my face in.  I didn’t even have to check who was sitting in front or behind me, just in case they received an accidental kick in the seatback or a quick seat recline in the face.


Flying alone meant I could actually watch the entire movie from beginning to end without interruption.  My tray table only had my drink on it, and I didn’t worry about elbows flying over to spill it.  It meant could read my book, write an article and listen to music for five glorious hours.  I only had to pack the snacks that I liked, and didn’t have to ration them. And if it wasn’t 7:00 a.m. I could have even indulged in a cocktail without guilt.


Flying alone meant that in Dulles airport I didn’t have to take small companions straight to the bathroom, or wait for anyone to catch up with me.  It meant that I actually had one hand free to maneuver through the shuttle, and arrived first to the baggage claim area.  And when my luggage came off the carousel, I was completely free.


Flying alone meant that the next moves were all mine.  I got to choose what I ate, where I went, and how I got there. It meant I could browse the gift shop and the bookstore for as long as I wanted.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have a hand to hold on take-off and landing, or anyone to watch my bags while I went to the newsstand.  It meant that I had to eat lunch alone, and keep my thoughts to myself.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice or opinions.  I had to decide which shuttle to use, and how much to tip the driver.  It meant that I didn’t have anyone to exclaim to as I spied the Pentagon or crossed the Potomacfor the first time.


Flying alone meant that I had a lot of time to myself to think.  I had to wonder what my family was doing, and if they got to school on time.  It meant that I couldn’t see their faces as they raced down the ski course or before they fell asleep.


Flying alone made me realize how much I wished I wasn’t flying alone.  It meant that I missed my family.


Next time, I’ll take a kid or two with me.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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