Reader. Teacher. Writer.

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Until recently, everything I have written in my blogs is truth. Some of it is allegory, concealing a kernel of truth in a story that few will recognise or understand.

A couple of weeks ago, I started an online course in writing fiction. I thought it would be great professional development as an English teacher to expand my horizons in writing techniques, crafting meaning, and creating and developing plot and characters.

So far, it has confirmed for me that my approach to teaching students about writing is effective and valuable. It has also confirmed for me that my classroom emphasis on drafting, editing and proof-reading is not misplaced.

Beyond that, I have really enjoyed the challenge of assignments that require me to respond to a prompt or to create something new.

Obviously, I draw on my own experiences and people I know for inspiration. I believe every writer does that. It’s near impossible to write about something you have not felt, experienced, or at least imagined in some detail. The stories that endure are those which relate strongly to common human experience.

If you read my pieces of fiction, you will probably recognise me in some of them. Others will see a glimpse of themselves, or a quality that they share with one of my characters.
Please don’t read anything into that. I am not commenting on real people, but rather taking an element of a character or situation that interests me, and doing something different with it.

It’s encouraging that professional development has also become personal development.

I don’t believe that anything I write will actually be published anywhere other than on my blog. I don’t aspire to that. I do enjoy writing, and I hope that you might enjoy some of my work if you take the time to read it.

You can find my writing at wordynerdbirdwrites.wordpress.com
Feel free to leave feedback if you would like to. Constructive comment is always appreciated.

Fabulous poetry.

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I’ve just discovered and followed a wonderful blog where a contemporary pop song is reworked as a Shakespearean-style sonnet. By “just discovered” I mean that I followed a link that a friend posted, and ended up spending an hour there reading the sonnets.

One might expect that the spirit or intent of the songs might be lost, but these sonnets remain true to the tone and message of the songs they are based on.
I don’t know who the author is, but this poetry is absolutely brilliant.

Find Pop Sonnets at http://popsonnet.tumblr.com/

Not only is it clever poetry, it’s something that can break down the barriers between Elizabethan and 21st century English. 
I’m definitely going to use some of these with my classes. 

Late night confession: I’m broken.

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Pain is a lonely place to live in.
It’s an insular, remote little world all your own.

It’s isolating because it makes you feel like nobody really understands except someone who experiences the same kind of pain you do… and even then, you don’t want to burden them with your pain because theirs is enough to bear.
It’s not about martyrdom.
It’s about realising how fragile even the strongest, funniest, most courageous person can be.

I usually don’t write about my pain because that enables it to take power over my thoughts to a greater extent than I am comfortable with.
Besides, I don’t want to be the whiny person that nobody likes.
Even when I am alone, there’s something within me that wants to say that I am okay, that I will get through it, that I can handle it.

Yet I know that isn’t always true.
Sometimes I am just broken and, quite honestly, I don’t know how to not be broken anymore.

I so wish things were different.
I wish I could move the way I used to.
I wish I could fall asleep as easily as my husband does.
I wish I could wake up refreshed each morning.
I wish my spine was not so fragile. I would love to go boxing and punch my frustrations out on a leather bag, or run until I was exhausted in a good way, or smash a ball around the squash court.
I wish I could hold a baby for longer than a few minutes without aching.

I wish I didn’t feel so sorry for myself.
I wish I could sleep.

Laxative Proximity.

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Today, I developed a new phrase which I think is going to prove very useful for me, if not for anyone else. 

The term is laxative proximity.  

It describes the phenomenon where the effect of a particular individual’s presence gives one the feeling or mood commonly known as “the sh*ts”. 

The higher the laxative proximity (LP), the greater that effect.

Some people can manage to have a powerful LP effect from a considerable distance. All it takes is for someone to mention their name, or they send you a text or email, or they comment on a friend’s Facebook post… and those telltale first sensations of the LP effect kick in.
Others have a more cumulative effect: the more time you spend with them, the worse it gets.
At the same time, some individuals are so toxic, it’s impossible to be completely immune. 
Hence, it should be noted that LP has quite a strong residual effect. It can take considerable time for the effect to wear off. 

I believe that my observation and definition of LP may just prove to be a significant moment in history.  
I Googled the phrase, and it seems that nobody has used the term in this sense on the internet before.  There were two or three occurrences that seemed like very poor internet based translation in response to some of the 1,350,000 results (in 0.73 seconds, no less) that suggested various forms and uses of laxatives for physical relief and/or colonic cleansing.

It really does seem as though I have achieved something I’ve often thought I’d like to do: creating a newly-coined phrase of my own.

Gosh, I’m feeling very accomplished for this early on a Friday night. 

Australia’s response to those in need.

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Australia's response to those in need.

Today’s offering comes from ‘First Dog on the Moon’ because I am so ashamed of our government on this issue – and many others – I have few things to say about it that can be published.

One day, Australia will have to come to terms with her guilt.

How to Really Achieve the Perfect ‘Beach Body’

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Fabulous advice for absolutely everyone. From “Sass & Balderdash”, a blog I love reading.

Katie's avatarSass & Balderdash

As sunny skies and warmer temperatures promise to banish any lingering winter sweaters to the back of the closet, we’ll soon be welcoming the beginning of swimsuit season — which also means it’s only a matter of time before we’re besieged with advice about how to obtain the elusive “beach body.”

You’ll find clues in clever magazine headlines (“Make ‘Em Swoon this June with a Toned Tummy!”) and lurking in every unwelcome pop-up on the Internet, as if attaining this “beach body” is a high-stakes, low-calorie scavenger hunt whose success predicts how much fun you’ll have this summer. One article will guarantee the fat-busting powers of this or that super fruit! An esteemed blogger will extol the virtues of bodyweight exercises! That one famous personal trainer will insist that following his two week plan will whittle the waist of your dreams!

Without disputing the efficacy of any of those methods…

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Sad pants off… Happy pants on.

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It was a really rough week at school for a number of reasons. I had been feeling very low and quite emotional for a couple of days after receiving some quite negative feedback from some of my students who preferred I didn’t know who they were, via my boss.
I was struggling to get past that until some lovely things happened to remind me that my professional life is not defined by negative comments from one group of students.

Thursday morning was complicated by things way beyond my control. I was supervising an exam and nobody came to take my place, so I couldn’t leave to take my Year 12 class. Given that the day before I found it really hard to go in there, I was thankful for the reprieve despite the obvious inconvenience that went hand-in-hand with it.  I was worried that the Year 12 students would think I just didn’t bother; in that sense, my missing their class couldn’t have happened at a worse time.  While still in the exam room, I sent them a note to apologise and explain what had happened.  The good thing was that it gave me time and distance to decide how I was going to deal with the issues I was facing in there.  I wanted to talk with them about it, but not while I was still upset enough to cry or sound whiny. I didn’t want it to be a knee-jerk or emotional reaction.

Later in the morning I ran some auditions for the school musical. This year we’re doing “The Pirates of Penzance”.  Two of the senior students who have both had leading roles in previous years auditioned together – she played Frederick and he played Ruth. It was absolutely delightful. That was the first time I had smiled, let alone laughed, in almost three days. They had no idea of how I was feeling, nor did they realise just what amazing therapy they were for me.

That afternoon I had my drama class. The students were performing plays that they had written themselves.
Those kids were amazing. They wrote clever scripts and performed them beautifully. There were some fabulous moments of humour, some well-developed drama, and very clever characterisation.  I saw one young lady who started with little confidence perform with confidence and style. I saw three young actors with a lot more experience perform a highly comedic play with at least eight roles, achieved cleverly with the change of a hat, glasses, jacket or prop to denote a different character.
After their performances, we had a little time so we talked about the plays and what they thought of their performances. I was so encouraged to hear them praising each other and saying really positive and constructive things without any encouragement to do so from me. We shared some fun moments and we laughed together. It was one of those moments where we all bonded as a group and everyone left feeling great.

On that same afternoon, we had our ‘Professional Learning Community’ staff meeting. This is where we divide into groups and discuss things like assessment, teaching and learning strategies, motivation, and all that type of stuff.  I was so tempted to just go home and avoid the whole thing, but I went along like the good girl I am.
The “icebreaker” was to tell everyone the high point and the low point of our teaching in the past few weeks.
I shared about my drama class and their great performances, but also about the positive bonding time afterward. I shared my frustration about not having been relieved from exam supervision that morning as the “low point” because I was still hurting over the year 12s and didn’t want to tell anyone about it.
In the course of the discussion, I was reminded that everyone has low points, nobody gets things right all the time, and that those issues don’t mean we’re not good at what we do. They just mean we’re human. Another colleague remarked that half the time when we think things are failing miserably, the kids don’t even realise. I responded with the observation that it’s like a play on stage – we know the script, but the kids don’t, so half the time when we think we’ve failed miserably, they are none the wiser.

As I drove home, I thought about my year 12s. As I wrote the other day, I didn’t know if it was one, two or seventeen of them that had complained. What if it really was only one or two? I thought about each of the students and decided that it definitely wouldn’t have been some of them. I decided to talk with them the next morning at the end of my class – rationally, reasonably, and humbly.

On Friday morning, ten minutes before the recess bell, I asked them to stop working and listen as I had something I wanted all of them to hear.
When I told them that I had been informed that there were students in there who thought I didn’t like them and weren’t being treated fairly, a number of the students looked indignant and quite angry. They were as horrified as I had been. That was reassuring.
I told them that I’m aware I don’t always get things right. I told them that if I had caused offence or hurt anyone that I was genuinely sorry and had been unaware of it until this week. I said that I didn’t want any barriers between them and me. I want to do everything I can to help them finish school well.
I told them that if I seemed reserved or miserable, it was far more likely that I was in physical pain than that I didn’t want to be with them.  I told them that I don’t like to let on when I’m in pain because that’s my problem, not theirs.
I asked them to please come and talk with me, or write me a note, or send me an email, if they wanted to talk about anything one-to-one or if there was any aspect of their work they wanted help with.
I reassured them that I really do like them. I think they’re great – and that’s the truth. I love being in class with them.
I left the room at the end of the lesson feeling like a weight had been lifted off me. I had met the conflict head on and dealt with it as honestly and sincerely as I could.

The only kids who came to see me after class were ones who wanted to tell me that they knew I loved them and they had no idea where any of that came from. They told me it certainly wasn’t the majority view, and it hadn’t been discussed in the common room.  Nobody has sent me any anonymous hate mail, nor has anyone asked me to work on something specific with them.

I really hope that I modelled some good behaviour in terms of resolving conflict and apologising. I really hope that the reassurance I gave was all that was needed to set their minds at ease.  I trust that things will improve from here on.
All I can do now is wait and see.

They think what???

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Remember the old joke where Billy says, “But I don’t want to go to school! Nobody likes me!” and the punch line follows: “You have to go… You’re the teacher!”

I always thought it was pretty corny, but that’s exactly how I felt this morning.

As a teacher, it’s a really awful feeling finding out from a third party that some of my students think that I don’t like them.
I know there are people who probably shouldn’t be teachers because they make their students and colleagues feel that way all the time.
I’ve always been sure that I was not one of those people.
Now I’m left wondering if I am.

I have no idea where all this came from.
Yesterday was bad enough before my boss dropped the bombshell: long, frustrating and plagued with physical pain.
Since then, I’ve been questioning myself and wondering where I’m going wrong.

I’m not trying to sound self-righteous or indignant.
I’m so incredibly hurt, and I’m fearful that I have had that same effect on other students who were just too nice to say so.
Whether or not it was what they intended, I’m devastated.

When criticism filters down from my boss and people prefer to not be named, it’s hard to know how to react because you don’t know if it’s one, two, or seventeen of your students who feel that way.
It’s hard to not take it personally. It leaves you questioning yourself and, at the very least, your professional integrity.
Am I not really the teacher or the person that, until now, I believed I was?
How did this happen?
Am I one of those hateful, hurtful teachers?
Is it even possible to be one of those people when I actually like my students and enjoy my classroom interaction with them? Or without even realising?
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Is it so hard to say something to me?
Am I that unapproachable?
Am I past it?
Do teachers have “use by” or “best before” dates?

If only they knew how much I really do like them.
If only they knew how hard I work for them.
If only they knew how I agonise over marking their work and writing constructive comments to help them improve.
If only they knew how much I want each of them to do their best, not for me but because it’s an investment in their own future.
If only they knew the level of physical pain I endure without ever letting them know what’s going on under the surface, simply because that’s my problem, not theirs.

And how am I supposed to fix this?
Walking into the classroom and saying, “Hey guys, I hear you think I don’t like you. Well, you’re wrong. I do…” is just going to look and sound phoney.
If they can’t tell from the way I try to encourage them and give positive feedback, faking a smile when I’m hurting isn’t going to convince anyone.

Besides, smiling wasn’t really possible today. I was proud of myself for just holding it together and not crying in front of them. Talking about this with them in class wasn’t an option.

Maybe I should just give them the link to this blog. Or maybe that’s too impersonal.
Maybe I just can’t do anything right anymore.
Maybe I need to sleep on it… again… and hope that tomorrow is better.

It’s official: Australia’s Prime Minister is a real winker.

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Australia’s Prime Minister has proven to be a real winker… or something like that.

I was listening to 774 ABC Melbourne radio in the car on my way to work this morning when a woman named Gloria phoned in. In introducing herself, she told the Prime Minister that she was a grandmother with several chronic, life-threatening illnesses who had to work on a phone-sex line to make ends meet.

When she said that, Tony Abbot smirked and winked at the radio host, Jon Faine.  Obviously, I didn’t hear that on the radio, but it was all captured on film, since the station had the video camera rolling as well. Not surprisingly, outrage immediately flooded Twitter, Facebook and every other social media site people could get their fingertips on.

Apart from the fact that it’s kind of creepy, it’s totally inappropriate.
Gloria didn’t call to be sensational or give anyone cheap thrills.
She called to let the Prime Minister and all of Melbourne know how she feels about the way things are for her now, and the ways in which they’ll be worse when the Government’s latest budget is implemented on July 1 this year.

He acknowledged she was doing it tough and then started talking about how repealing the carbon tax would give her an “extra couple hundreds of dollars a year” more.
I was dumbfounded.
For someone in her situation, is “a couple of hundred dollars a year” more going to make a significant difference? Is it going to release her from having to work that part time job on the phone lines?
He didn’t even sound sympathetic. She was just another opportunity for him to tell the world how good he thinks he and his Liberal Party Government are.

I’ve got news for you, Tony Abbott. You’re getting harder and harder to believe all the time.
Gloria was right. You don’t give a stuff.
And I don’t feel very nice about you either.

The reasons I love my job.

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I really love some of the people I work with.  I need both hands to count the awesome people that I consider to be my friends as well as my workmates.  I don’t need to name them. They know who they are.

There is a lot to be said for knowing that there is always someone who you can always turn to for advice, a shoulder, or a laugh.
It’s refreshing to know that when someone smiles at you, they mean it.
When they ask if you are doing OK, you can be honest because they actually want to know.
I can tell them when I’m struggling, and I can share my joys and victories with them.
They see humour in the things that make me laugh, and they will cry with me, or for me, on those days when that is really my only option.
They know, too, that I will do the same for them. It’s really great to know that I can make the difference in their day that they make in mine.

Some of the greatest joys in my working life come from knowing who those people are and sharing part of my life with them. I am thankful for each one of them every day. To be honest, those people are often the difference between me actually being happy to go to work or not.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my job. I love working with my students and seeing them grow in confidence and knowledge. I thrive on classroom interaction and banter.  I have positive  student-teacher relationships with most, although not all, of my students. They know I do my absolute best for them.
When I am teaching, I know I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing.

There are times, though, when being at work and functioning properly is a really tough challenge.  Some days are just plain, hard work both emotionally and physically.
I hate it that I’m so weak and vulnerable. I hate it that my body lets me down. I hate it when my students see a glimpse of my pain or my inability to cope with it.
I hate the guilt that goes with all of that.

One of my greatest fears is that someone will decide I’m not up to it anymore, or I’m not good enough, or that I’m too broken to keep on teaching.
So I suck it up, put my sassy pants on, and keep going. I choose to invest my time and energy into my students and my friends. The days are much more rewarding and enjoyable that way.
A long walk up to the staff room doesn’t happen any more often than absolutely necessary, and that’s OK.
I’m not isolated because I am blessed to share an office with some of my friends. Others make a point of catching up with me through the day or by email or instant message.
It’s hard to feel sorry for yourself with friends like mine.

I really do love some of the people I work with.
Others… not so much.