Last week my daughter rediscovered decorating rocks as a quiet mindful activity. It was something she started in the spring, during lockdown, but was lost in the hubbub of summer fun. Now that we have hit our stride with remote learning she has gravitated back to that quiet screen-free experience.
Over the past few days I have found myself being drawn into her work. It is calming and I appreciate the creative exercise. I find myself keeping an eye out for rocks as we take our walks. I have realized that the rocks speak to me. This is a phrase I have heard others use but did not give it much thought. The rocks do not really use a voice. Rather, their shape informs me. I see the contour, the color, or texture of the rock and connect that information to what I carry with me at that moment. Maybe the rock connects with a memory, something I just did, or a food I am craving.
As a teacher of writing I feel the same phenomena occurs with the blank page. The empty space does not talk to the writer. In fact, the vast white space does little for the writer but provide an invitation. It is the thoughts, feelings, and experiences that the writer carries to the page that guides them. The trick is finding one that fits with the invitation of the page. I wonder how I might make that transparent for my young writers?
Our early writing classes are purposefully constructed to allow students to mine their experiences and to build a safe writing space. At the start of a new exploration we build in time for students to brainstorm so that they are armed with ideas before jumping into the new unit. Does this provide enough time and space for the page to talk to the student? Going forward I want to incorporate mindful moments before every class and model my inner dialogue showing how my current reality inspires my creativity. I guess creativity does speak.