Dear Jane,

I am writing you to thank you for sending yet another perfect poem to my inbox. I wanted to let you know, as the energizer bunny of daily poetry, your well-crafted words land and stay with me throughout the days. I am so very grateful that I discovered your mailchimp missive.

I remember writing to you during March, 2019 on the heels of reading another of your poems; I wanted to excerpt a few lines to use in a blog post for that year’s Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge, but I needed to ask your permission.

In your prompt reply, you assured me it would be fine and thanked me. Today I am writing again with gratitude for your poem,”My Son on His Small Island,” and for these lines particularly:

“There the sun shines, the waves

break only themselves on the shore.”

What is it about the perfect lines that do as Emily Dickinson said,“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” Your lines did that for me when I read them—do that for me as I read them now.

Your poem came on the heels of my finishing Amy Sarig King’s middle-grade novel,  Attack of the Black Rectangles, an exploration of the right to read, with you as its standard-bearing champion in its powerful climactic moment. The middle-school rebels are standing up for themselves, confronting the elimination of “offensive” language in your stunning novel, The Devil’s Arithmetic, the book their class has been reading in book clubs…with black rectangles added by the well-meaning(?) teacher.

In the scene at the public board meeting where the censorship is being hotly discussed, and it seems as if the passionate arguments of the sixth graders are being dismissed, you show up and sit in the audience. Your support is silent, but your presence means everything to these young activists campaigning for readers’ autonomy.

In her afterword, Amy Sarig King gives you, Jane Yolen, credit for your trailblazing, your steadfast example, your honest-and-true self. I am sure you communicated with her as she completed this wonderful novel; you are a hero.

And those lines:

“There the sun shines, the waves

break only themselves on the shore.”

They endure.

Sincerely, Trish

Words for the Wee Hours

What do you do if you wake in the middle of the night, for me those hours between midnight and 3 a.m.? (I go to bed by 8:30 and rise before 5.) I am able to return to sleep sometimes, but too often I’ve got things on my mind that keep sleep out of reach. If I make it to 4 am without success, I surrender and begin my day.

Some people read to lull themselves into the land of nod. I struggle with that because a good book can carry me all the way to daylight. That has happened lately.

Two days ago, I began All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir. I resisted sleep in those darkest hours to exist in Salahudin’s and Noor’s world, the dusty landscape of Juniper, California. I turned the final page yesterday in the bright sunlight that broke through our picture windows, but it had been a keep-me-awake experience . Tears flowed. If you haven’t read it, and you enjoy reading, get it! Despite its categorization as a young adult title, great writing defies age ranges. Tahir’s exquisite writing does that.

“Sleep’s not happening, so I flip on the light and make my way to Ama’s desk, where a stack of bills has tipped over, half covering a stapler that only works if you sacrifice a box of staples to it first. The fate of this place—of me and Abu—lies in that stack” (77). Moments like this separate me from my sleep.

Last night I checked out an ebook that had been on my radar for awhile: Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus. Ushered so completely into the world of Elizabeth Zott, it became impossible to leave. This novel, both funny and heart-breaking, clever yet profound, held me captive from my midnight awakening until the last time check at 3 am.

I’m foggy as I write this, and eager to return to the California lab, to Elizabeth and daughter Madelaine and the machinations of a misogynist scientific research lab director, but I know if I do, I’ll not get anything else done until the percentage read reads 100—and I’m only at 46.

What would you do, a day trip or another sleepless night counting pages instead of sheep? This is a reader’s dilemma.

Graphic Readers

Graphic readers are a format of a book,  just like an audio or digital book. If your child wants to read a book that is a graphic reader please let them do so.  It is real reading!  Graphic novels have all the elements of a story: characters, plot, conflict, and solution.   The reader is required […]

Graphic Readers

I have made it, everyone, a full year of Tuesdays and looking at another March Challenge as I write this final-Tuesday post. It was not a decision taken lightly to commit to writing each and every Tuesday on the heels of March 31, 2022.

I am an all-or-nothing girl. When I commit, I commit. My husband jokes that that is what has gotten through these past 38 years together, that and the fact that I never want to admit I’m wrong.

Today I had an array of thoughts to explore here on this momentous day, but I decided to review drafts stored in the “Posts” on my site since the beginning. I found this from March 2019 and picked, a spin-the-bottle choice.

The Oregon Council of Teachers of English (OCTE) runs a book club twice a year. We use a classroom-ready text in winter, last year it was Kim Johnson’s This Is My America for example, when everyone could use lighter fare. This year we selected graphic literature, two examples, for our four-week long exploration: Displacement by Kiku Hughes; and Victory! Stand.Raising My Fist for Justice by Tommie Smith, Derrick Barnes and Dawud Anyabwile.

We have had a difficult time enlisting a crew of adult readers to be honest, but those few of us who’ve engaged with these graphic texts have benefited greatly. Initially, I was not a fan of the graphic format. To be honest, I don’t think I knew how to read them well. It was a student, a wonderful, quirky eighth grader who set me straight.

I sidled up to Taylor for a reading conference about a decade ago and opened with my standard, “So, how’s it going?” He was reading one of Brian Selznick’s stunning novels, Wonderstruck. Do you know it? Kids were inhaling Selznick after the movie of The Invention of Hugo Cabret came out.

He began telling me about what he loved, focusing on the art rather than the words. I tried to deter him, directing him towards the text. Then he asked, “Ms. Emerson, don’t you read the pictures? You need to slow down.” There was no malice in those word, words I have heard so often in so many contexts, just sheer appreciation for the power of slow, an understanding that reading layers is essential when reading a graphic format.

So…slow. I have devised my reading protocol for graphic reading, and I share it with any student who’s interested; it’s my process. Interestingly, it is the strategy used by several of the adults in this OCTE book club. I gobble the text first, my habit and the way I was taught, and then I go back and read the art. (It takes longer!) I have learned how to read and appreciate the affordances of this literature format.

Within the format lies a wealth of genres, opportunities for exploring fiction and non-fiction, from memoir to dystopia to fantasy. Craft moves, mentor text moments abound. The two we’ve been plumbing lean toward the memoir while Hughes’ has an element of fantasy that is deftly handled to bring the history and emotional impact of Japanese internment to readers of all ages. Tommie Smith’s story is worthwhile for anyone and everyone.

I hope that I am not alone in my awakening; I hope Taylor’s words echo for everyone. I finally get the bigger picture: WE WANT READERS and THINKERS.

Turn the Page

Can it be the end of January? Reading bookends my month, as I struggle to recall a title that I really enjoyed—arguably far-fetched—but can summon the basic plot. I have written this in today’s morning pages:”Last day of January, hit a reading slump. I picked up a mystery, Brazen, by Loren D Estleman, tried to stay with it…almost did, skimmed the end. Hollywood’s former grandeur, its allure, is lost to me.”

But, no, that’s not really true. Wasn’t there a book I gobbled up recently that centered the golden age of Hollywood with its main character? What was that book called?

It seems like I’ve just finished it, but when I look over my book list (yes, I keep one of those with brief, or not-so-brief commentary), there it is, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid, completed on… December 29th? How can that be?

My book list serves me in another way this morning as I eye the stack of books that I am returning to the library without having finished. Do you have that experience? I’ve discovered a great review, reserve the book, and find that when I actually begin to read, I am not engaged. I spend time actively looking for books: I am a reader. This morning, though, the question arises: “What if I never find another great book? What if I’ve lost my love of reading?” My reading list reminds me to keep at it.

While working with students yesterday, I traveled back in time with a book and author the teacher I was filling in for had introduced to his students, Chris Van Allsburg’s gem The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Each student had selected one of the brilliant artworks from the text and was using it to craft a story.

It is no easy task to craft fiction—it boggles me—but several of the students let the cryptic images carry them away. One in particular took Van Allsburg’s rendering of an open window and wallpaper with birds in a direction I have never before imagined. “No,” the student explained, “they are not flying away. They have come into the window from outside…to be safe.” I remember hearing Chris Van Allsburg speak once, and his words echo: “For me, story always starts with images. I know I’m not alone.”

Yesterday marked my last day of teaching in January, 2023, but it gives me hope: There will always be other stories to discover.

Inner Journeys

Have you ever been in a book club? I hadn’t been a member until I retired and even then, I have only been a member for a year. My calendar bears titles as well as the familiar.

When I was invited to join, I debated. The reading would be no problem; I’m a reader, but I only knew a couple people in the group and book clubs are as varied as the personalities in them. I had heard stories of clubs where books took a backseat to wine-drinking and local gossip. Not my thing.

This one, however, has been running more than 20 years, with one of the founding members still going strong. It meets at 8:30 a.m. every fourth Monday, so I figured wine-drinking wouldn’t be a problem. Even though the first year was a Zoom one, and I felt somewhat disconnected from the closeness that the other 10 members shared, I hung in there. And I’m so glad I did.

Last Monday we met in person, as we have been able to do since the weather beckoned us outside and hesitation to gather abated. Despite the stormy morning, the five of us who could attend were all smiles. We discussed our last year’s final title, Cloud Cuckoo Land, yet another masterpiece by Anthony Doerr, and began our selection process for the upcoming year.

My reading sisters have been through some tough times lately. One had to step away to take care of a mom on hospice, another because of family difficulty, another because of job pressure. One of us is enduring treatment for lung cancer. One was MIA on this day because of Covid. Nonetheless, the Inner Journeys crew persists.

Our reading year begins this November, now also known as Open Water month! We set off together with this title, and a raft of others follow, all sure to take us places we have never been.

Close Reading

Even though I have been a reader for a long time, I had never been a member of a book club. Yes, I had been invited to attend one or two with friends who thought I might be interested, but the fit never felt right—too much wine, not enough book; too much book, not enough life.

Last September my good friend Michele invited me to join her group—one that has ebbed and flowed here for almost 20 years. It was perhaps not the best time to initiate new members as the group was meeting virtually, but she and I have been sharing titles for years. Frankly I was flattered to be asked.

My maiden voyage was to be the October meeting when, as luck would have it, the club usually would have had their weekend retreat (Covid canceled that; Delta was its name!) to decide on the selections for the upcoming year. “No pressure,” I was assured numerous times, but I needed to submit a couple—maybe three—titles for consideration before we were to meet, with book reviews, something for the group members to read beforehand.

Michele explained how the Zoom version would work, now in its second year, and answered my questions, providing a bit of bio for the members I did not already know. Nine of us, were I to join, would comprise the “Inner Journeys” reading sisters.

To that first meeting, I brought Ruth Ozeki’s A Tale for the Time Being and Jenny Offill’s Dept. of Speculation. Though I love them both, my enthusiasm for Ozeki carried the day and was our selection for February. Best of all, the Inner Journeys tribe welcomed me with open hearts—and minds, readers all.

Each one of the books we’ve read and discussed is better for my having shared it with others, different perspectives and insights deepening my own understanding. I struggle to be a critical reader; I admire anyone who can craft words and publish, but I have learned that even a book I wouldn’t have chosen on my own, is richer for the opinions of others.

Monday we discuss Klara and the Sun. I can’t wait!

Worth a Listen

Oh, the overwhelming confrontation with an overflowing email inbox. I have not been away that long, but there are hundreds of them. I want to delete them all, that’s the truth, but might I miss what matters? (And what is what matters, truly?)

Yesterday I declutter with an icy check mark, except I leave Krista Tippett’s OnBeing podcast email. I love her in principle, but in reality, often too many words for me to grasp. I can attend to Pádraig Ó Tuama and Poetry Unbound almost every time; perhaps it’s the lilt of his Irish cadence, but Krista…not so much.

I don’t delete Krista this time because she’s talking with Kate DiCamillo—and Kate has my heart. I am not alone—she holds many hearts. So I listen, notebook open, pen in hand, but for the 50 minutes, I listen, no other windows open, no breakfast preparation, my coffee turning tepid. And it is not difficult.

I do take notes, and rue my inability to sketch as a response to what I hear (@hardltanartist knows how!). Kate speaks to this even, how her world includes pictures in stories because they, too, like animals, provide, “a shortcut to the human heart.”

At several points in the conversation, tears prickle, at several laughter erupts, at several I ponder and truthfully, run my tiny counter narrative “but.” But, I come away thoughtful and heartened and hopeful. I hope you’ll take the gift of these 50 minutes for yourself—even if it’s while you’re making a salad for dinner.

Graphic Readers

Graphic readers are a format of a book,  just like an audio or digital book. If your child wants to read a book that is a graphic reader please let them do so.  It is real reading!  Graphic novels have all the elements of a story: characters, plot, conflict, and solution.   The reader is required […]

Graphic Readers

I have made it, everyone, a full year of Tuesdays and looking at another March Challenge as I write this final-Tuesday post. It was not a decision taken lightly to commit to writing each and every Tuesday on the heels of March 31, 2022.

I am an all-or-nothing girl. When I commit, I commit. My husband jokes that that is what has gotten through these past 38 years together, that and the fact that I never want to admit I’m wrong.

Today I had an array of thoughts to explore here on this momentous day, but I decided to review drafts stored in the “Posts” on my site since the beginning. I found this from March 2019 and picked, a spin-the-bottle choice.

The Oregon Council of Teachers of English (OCTE) runs a book club twice a year. We use a classroom-ready text in winter, last year it was Kim Johnson’s This Is My America for example, when everyone could use lighter fare. This year we selected graphic literature, two examples, for our four-week long exploration: Displacement by Kiku Hughes; and Victory! Stand.Raising My Fist for Justice by Tommie Smith, Derrick Barnes and Dawud Anyabwile.

We have had a difficult time enlisting a crew of adult readers to be honest, but those few of us who’ve engaged with these graphic texts have benefited greatly. Initially, I was not a fan of the graphic format. To be honest, I don’t think I knew how to read them well. It was a student, a wonderful, quirky eighth grader who set me straight.

I sidled up to Taylor for a reading conference about a decade ago and opened with my standard, “So, how’s it going?” He was reading one of Brian Selznick’s stunning novels, Wonderstruck. Do you know it? Kids were inhaling Selznick after the movie of The Invention of Hugo Cabret came out.

He began telling me about what he loved, focusing on the art rather than the words. I tried to deter him, directing him towards the text. Then he asked, “Ms. Emerson, don’t you read the pictures? You need to slow down.” There was no malice in those word, words I have heard so often in so many contexts, just sheer appreciation for the power of slow, an understanding that reading layers is essential when reading a graphic format.

So…slow. I have devised my reading protocol for graphic reading, and I share it with any student who’s interested; it’s my process. Interestingly, it is the strategy used by several of the adults in this OCTE book club. I gobble the text first, my habit and the way I was taught, and then I go back and read the art. (It takes longer!) I have learned how to read and appreciate the affordances of this literature format.

Within the format lies a wealth of genres, opportunities for exploring fiction and non-fiction, from memoir to dystopia to fantasy. Craft moves, mentor text moments abound. The two we’ve been plumbing lean toward the memoir while Hughes’ has an element of fantasy that is deftly handled to bring the history and emotional impact of Japanese internment to readers of all ages. Tommie Smith’s story is worthwhile for anyone and everyone.

I hope that I am not alone in my awakening; I hope Taylor’s words echo for everyone. I finally get the bigger picture: WE WANT READERS and THINKERS.