Affective Dimensions of Reading

In every picture my Dad posts of me on facebook, I am reading (like the one above). At first I thought he was just doing it as a joke, but then I realized that I probably was just always reading when he was around. When I made this comment to him, all he said was, "You think?"

All right. I get it.

I've always read too much. A lot of people will tell me that you can never read too much, but I bet you that I could change their minds. You see, I read when I should be doing other things. Like when I was younger, I would read instead of going out to play with friends. My mom would always tell me to "get off the couch, put down the book, and go outside," but I couldn't help myself--I just preferred to be reading. I was insatiable.

 Besides missed social expectations, my reading can often annoy others; for example, I will have reading material on the table in front of me whenever I play a board game with friends or family. Since I constantly feel the need to multitask, I almost go crazy at the thought of waiting for other people to take their turn without doing anything myself. My friends and family have learned to just ignore it. But my reading addiction goes further than that: I will read everywhere--shampoo bottles in the shower, Oprah magazines on the toilet, poetry anthologies over sandwiches. I realize that this is all probably a little weird, even obsessive. I realize that I might be shortchanging my opportunities to have real-life interactions with people.

But I still can't seem to stop.

Luckily, growing up I had a lot of friends who already liked to read (or who could be easily persuaded). To this day I will ask my friends what they are reading pretty much every time I see them, and if they say that they're not reading anything, I will proceed to come by their house the next day with an armful of "useful recommendations" for them to get on ASAP. It's like I've become the literacy Nazi: read now or be punished by my soapbox rants on how lamentable it is that few Americans actually read a single book within any given year.

Despite my own nitpicking at others' lack of reading habits, my own current reading habits are not quite as impressive as I would like them to be, although I will flaunt the fact that I subscribe to no fewer than ten magazines and newspapers (it used to be about 14, but I got the other 4 for a majorly good deal that ended in August, and I'm too cheap to renew my subscription for full price). I set a goal at the beginning of this year that I called "The 50 Book Challenge" (check out my progress on my other blog, if you wish), but in between getting married and working full-time hours in addition to being a full-time student, I have not exactly progressed much in that particular new year's resolution. Every day though, you'll find me reading something, whether it's a magazine article or a textbook section. So I'm not being entirely hypocritical. (I guess.)

I am a little worried about how all this will affect me as a teacher: I just pray that my students won't hate me because I'm so passionate about reading that it's scary. More importantly, I hope that my students won't hate reading because I'm so passionate about it that it's scary. I also am hoping to draw on my tutoring experiences to be able to better empathize with and understand those students who grew up not loving reading. I think that a lot of the reason that students don't love reading is because they have gotten little or no choice in the matter in "school reading." I am a big advocate for giving students choices as to which books to read, so I'll be doing a lot of that in my future classroom. I'm also currently working on my own "classroom library" by buying books secondhand from library and yard sales; I'm hoping that seeing all the young adult books scattered around the room will encourage students whose first love isn't reading--oftentimes, those kinds of students have never  had too much experience reading books that were written specifically for people their age.

All in all though, I know that teaching will be a huge learning process for me; I know that I will maybe have to modify my expectations or accept the fact that maybe some people will never learn to love reading (although I don't have to accept that fact until I find someone I can't convince). I'm excited for the challenge.

Affective Dimensions of Writing

I am in third grade. The teacher has given out an assignment to write a short story, and excitement putters around in my chest. She tells us that the story needs to be two handwritten pages. I ask her after class if mine can be longer. After getting her (surprised) consent, I write a 15-page story about a calico cat and a scruffy dog who go off on adventures together. One entire page of my story is devoted to a feast that they stumble upon--I take great pleasure in describing all of my favorite foods in delicious detail. My parents are called in to talk to the teacher after I turn it in.

I am eight or nine. My new favorite book has come with my Scholastic book order: Write up a Storm by Patricia Reilly Giff (the author of the Polk Street School books). This book is going to teach me how to become a famous writer--it's going to teach me how to get all the stories in my head into the blank notebook in my lap. I climb up onto the top shelf of my clothes closet where nobody will bother me. As my right hand starts to create my first characters, my left hand stuffs stale Conversation Heart candies into my mouth. I am going to be a writer.

I never knew what it was like to not love writing or to not be obsessed with words. I have kept a journal since I was six and have been involved in creative writing outside of school for just as long. When I was in elementary school, I wanted to write novels, and when I was in high school, I wanted to write poems. Now that I'm in college, I'm most interested in the genre of creative nonfiction and have been trying to manipulate the essay form for years. Throughout my (almost) 25 years of life though, one prevailing theme has been the intense need to record my own memories and thoughts. In high school, I kept no fewer than six journals, each with its own purpose and medium--I kept three online journals (each varying in content and intimate details according to the audience), two personal journals (one for experiences, one for thoughts), and one journal that I co-wrote with friends (we each made an entry and then passed it on to the next friend in line). I know that to most anybody, my writing habits will seem excessive. I don't expect to be understood. I just know that I have an intense need for written expression that will never be satiated as long as my fingers can type and my mind can think.

Like with so many other hobbies of mine though, I have found that my writing habits lately have dwindled down until they are hardly habits at all. Besides my blog, now I seem to only write when I have to--assignments for class, notes at church, phone messages at work. My passion for writing has never ceased, but my free time seems to have been taken away entirely. I mean, I've gone down to having only one journal, and even that has been poorly kept as of late.

Throughout my schooling years, my favorite assignments were always those that allowed me some choice in what I could write about and that allowed me freedom to let my writing voice be heard. However, even though most of my school assignments were not, in fact, formatted this way, I took the liberty of tweaking every assignment so that it became something that I actually wanted to do. Often, this rebelliousness has served me well--usually teachers praise me for my creativity and see that I have put more time and effort into the piece than the simple assignment guidelines called for. Other times, however, I have not been so fortunate, and I have, as the saying goes, fallen flat on my face. Those were the teachers that were the most formidable in my opinion--the ones who said, "This is how I said to do it, and this is how it must be done. I AM THE LAW." I didn't generally get along with such people very well.

In my own teaching, I hope to be a pioneer in reformulating the way that writing is taught in schools. I do realize that there is a time and place for every style of writing, but I think that far too many writing assignments are drafted to be as bland as turkey bacon. I believe that everyone wants to tell their story and that everyone, deep down, is a writer. Idealistic? Yes. But I think that with enough passion and enough determination, I might be able to teach even the most apathetic and stubborn students a thing or two about what writing is and (more importantly) what it can be.

Playing the Pundit

Hi everyone, my name's Torrie and I live in an apartment that smells like somebody else's cats. I like cooking, rock climbing, and watching The Biggest Loser with my husband, and I firmly believe that a gooey chocolate-drizzled cookie has the power to bring peace to the world (or at least world peace to me). I also believe in faking it til you make it, shaking it 'til you break it, and baking it 'til you cake it. Actually I just like playing with words late at night when I should be in bed but somehow find myself still doing homework. As if the dorky wordplay wasn't enough of a clue, I am hoping (expecting, really) to graduate next spring with my degree in English Education and my minor in Psychology.

I wish I could say I wasn't always so nerdy, but it just wouldn't be true. I would venture to say, however, that I am now slightly less nerdy than when I started college--after all, when I started at this blessed university over five years ago (heaven help me), I was a math major. I soon repented though, after a grueling differential equations class taught by a barely-understandable foreign professor. The only reason I hadn't just done English and Psychology in the first place was because of a guidance counselor back in high school who, when I expressed my desire to teach language arts to high schoolers, told me that "English teachers are a dime a dozen" and that I'd never find anybody willing to hire me. But, after suffering through three levels of calculus and a completely redundant stats course, I decided, "Screw the counselor's opinion. I'm gonna do what I wanna do." And thus it went.

On a more serious note, I really do believe that my switch to the English track was one of the most inspired choices of my life. You know how sometimes you just follow your gut feeling, even though everything around you tells you that your choice is nonsensical, impractical,  or, in my case, "completely useless?" I mean, I'm sure most would-be teachers get some sort of flack for having such low-paying dreams, but I think English teachers might possibly have it the worst. After all, people argue, what on earth can you do with an English degree? (People who think this obviously have no idea how rare it is to find a person who can write effectively without grammar check, but I digress). I guess the point I'm trying to make is that I went all-in for a subject I feel truly passionate about, and I've never regretted it. Even though I'm currently in Level 2 of the STEP, my real dream is not to teach high schoolers--my real dream is to get a PhD in creative writing (the true queen of all "useless degrees") and teach college-level creative writing courses. My real dream is to become a real writer.

And I will.

Useless or not.