Full Circle

When I was a kid in elementary school, I knew that I wanted to be a writer.  My first book was hilariously titled White Guys – it was done in white crayon on black paper, and I believe I was in kindergarten or first grade.

I distinctly remember writing stories in fourth grade, and trying to get my friends to write stories so that we could assemble them into a book. I sincerely believed that that book would get published.

By sixth grade I had decided that I wanted to be a journalist (at least that’s what it said in my sixth grade yearbook – which I kept until my 35th year, when the dog decided to take a dump on it.)

But in high school I got away from writing, at least creatively, as my honors and AP English classes harped on critical writing and finding symbolism in every goddamn thing we read.

Somehow, I decided to become a math teacher. Probably because I liked math, and often tutored my classmates in it.

In college, I was part of an Honors program. In my freshman year I had to take an advanced level English class, and I earned one of the few A’s. My instructor was dismayed to learn that I wasn’t going to be an English major, and he strongly encouraged me to pursue that.

In another Honors class (I forget which one – but I remember having to read The Illiad for the second time that year,) I had to write a myth. I think we were limited to fifteen pages, and I may have written closer to twenty. The professor didn’t comment on it very much, but I do remember this one: A bit long, but well-written. I got an A on that paper.

But after that it was off to student teaching, and before I knew it I was teaching fourth grade. I was a generalist. I taught everything, including Reading, which I loved. The next year, I taught fifth grade.

Then, I decided to move to Chicago and teach on the south side in a school that was demographically African-American and economically impoverished. Nearly all students received free lunch. I taught every subject in sixth grade, including reading. The school was housed in two buildings. One building included grades K-3, and the other building was for grades 4-8. While the K-3 building had a library, we in the 4-8 building did not. There were no classroom libraries either.

Yet, I had to teach reading. We also didn’t have a basal reader (thankfully,) but we didn’t have classroom novels either.

So, I turned to Donors Choose and wrote a grant proposal. I was awarded a small sofa and a carpet. This was the beginning of my classroom library and reading corner. I had students order from Scholastic Book Club. The students didn’t order much, but I always ordered a bunch, especially if they had $1 offerings, which they often did. Then I used the bonus  points to get even more books.  I bought bookshelves, baskets, and labels with my own money, and categorized all of the books that I purchased by genre and reading level. I even developed a system for checking the books out. I took advantage of the University of Chicago’s Internet Project and got a computer programming student to teach me the ropes of using PHP-based websites. I used that knowledge to create an online book review / booklist for my students. I convinced the principal to give me a computer for my classroom. I was amazed at how much the students took to reading, and how much they enjoyed talking about what they had read (especially with an online forum.)

It went well, I think. I enjoyed bringing my love of reading to a group of students that didn’t have a lot of books at home. I allowed students to take books home with them, and they often stayed there. I was okay with that. I had usually ordered multiple copies with Scholastic.

After five years in Chicago, in 2006, my wife got a new job that forced us to relocate to the suburbs. It turns out that if you work for Chicago Public Schools, then you are required to reside within the city limits of Chicago. I no longer did, so I got a job with a suburban school district. The job was teaching math in a middle school. This was the end of teaching reading for me.

That summer, I decided to start writing a novel. I had had a middle grade novel floating around in my head for quite some time. My wife bought me the book No Plot, No Problem, by Chris Baty, and I was inspired, even though I hadn’t done any serious writing since college. I cranked out a couple of chapters during caffeine fueled summer mornings. Well, that’s not exactly correct. I wrote a little and revised a lot, and was overtaken with perfectionism. I did not follow Baty’s advice to write a “shitty first draft.”

Then, life happened. The chapters were shelved and the next summer we had a baby. I did not think about the book, except whenever my wife’s grandparents asked me how it was coming along. Then I felt shame. Instead of tackling it again, I just retreated from it further.

I started looking for graduate programs on-and-off for years after that, so that I could make more money at work. But I didn’t want to do a bullshit “instructional leadership” degree (no offense to anyone that has one of those.) I thought I might do something in Math, but there really wasn’t anything exciting available.

So my lovely wife, who had recently published a book of her own, decided to do some searching of her own. She knew that I wanted to do something cool for my Master’s degree, and she found a program that seemed to be specifically tailored to my needs and interests: Hamline University’s MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults.

She found it at the beginning of November, which meant that I had two weeks to apply. The application required a critical essay and twenty-five pages of a manuscript (in addition to letters of recommendation.) I spent some time on the critical essay, but I didn’t have time to crank out twenty-five pages. So I pulled out the stuff from 2006.

I figured my wife would be satisfied if I applied by the deadline. I didn’t think I’d actually get in.

But I did.

I had to scramble like crazy to read forty books and complete my annotated bibliography. I was forced to read children’s novels again. I have been reading picture books and some chapter books to my daughters at bedtime, but now I had no choice but to revisit those beloved titles at the middle grade and young adult levels. As I was doing this work, I came to realize: I love this stuff.

And when I went to the first residency, I learned more about writing creatively than I had in my previous thirty-six years combined. It was incredible. I met amazing people, who are encouraging and talented and awe-inspiring.

So begins my two-year journey towards an MFA. I have to turn in forty pages of manuscript by March 10th. I also have to turn in a critical paper, and read ten more books. I have been assigned a faculty advisor, who will read my materials and send back suggestions.

I’m back to where I started as a little kid: I want to tell stories. I want to write books. I’ve come full circle.