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Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

 

 

What is voice in digital writing? We know it when we see it, but it’s difficult to define. In one sense, everyone has a voice, right? So shouldn’t every piece of writing have a voice?

However, we’ve all read things that touch us in a certain way. We feel like the writer is speaking right into our ears. The writer is with us all along the way.

Yesterday I had the privilege to see many wonderful authors at the Mississippi Book Festival in my home town of Jackson, MS. I’ll write more about this great day later this week. Kate DiCamillo told me (yes, me because I got up the courage to ask her a question.) that the voice of the narrator in The Tale of Despereaux carried her through the writing of the novel, and this voice carries the reader through as well.

Voice is elusive and difficult to teach. Actually, I don’t think voice can be taught. Voice needs to be discovered. My students discover voice by writing a Slice of Life every week. By writing about something personal, their personalities appear on the page. They post their Slices on our class blog at Kidblog. (Click here if you would like to follow our blog.)

This week we only had a few days together because of the extensive rain and flooding in our area. When we met on Wednesday, my kiddos were full of stories about the flooding. Jacob’s house was flooded, and he was excited that he could write about it. He wrote three and a half pages in his notebook. Others went directly to the blog to write.

Lynzee’s voice comes through in her poem.

Fearsome Flood

Half the yard gone,
Bayou is swollen,
Stranded in the house,
Some in shelters,
People afraid
Of the
Fearsome flood

And Tobie is, well, always Tobie on the page.

When my sister and I were getting dressed, we turned on the news as always, but this time, there were no commercials, no GMA, only local news. We watched a bit, getting dressed, when all of a sudden, it smacked us right in the face. We dropped dead, got buried, and stayed there until we rose as zombies. Okay, maybe I exaggerated, but we were pretty shocked. By the fact that… “Iberia Parish schools are closed,” said Dave Baker. I asked my mom what that meant, but on the inside, I knew. NO SCHOOL!! But that is bad because, well, it must be pretty bad to cancel school. For like, 4 days.

Digital writing makes an unique voice more possible. Daily blogging allows students to discover their own voices and to share that voice with others. My students are having conversations with each other. I am not the only one they are writing for. An authentic audience offers my writers a reason to write and a pathway for discovery.

Please join the conversation by posting a link to your unique voice, your own blog. Tweet at #DigiLitSunday. Google+ community here.

Twitter Chat with Katherine BomerSunday AUg. 28, 20166-00 CST (1) copy

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Poetry Friday round-up is with Dori at Dori Reads

Poetry Friday round-up is with Dori at Dori Reads

 

With the threat of flooding gone and a need to connect with others, I attended a writing workshop led by my friend Sandra Sarr.

Sandy moved to Louisiana two years ago and quickly embedded herself in the arts community.  From her travels here to research her novel, she met interesting people like Dennis Paul Williams.  She once took me on a visit to his studio.  In 2013, University of Louisiana at Lafayette Press published a large coffee table book of Dennis’s artwork.  I bought the book, but hate to admit that it just sat on the coffee table.

But Sandy’s ekphrastic exercise brought me closer to the images housed in Soul Exchange.  She made color copies and handed them out.  This is the one I picked.

DPWilliams painting

 

Before Sandy instructed us to write, I started writing.

Secrets shared
like a kiss
softly touching
a cheek.
Even while
she’s sleeping,
she hears
the sound
of singing,
a lullaby.

Sun glows
through the window.
She traces the line
of her face
in the mirror
only touching
the outline–
That space
where skin
meets sky.

She’s never lonely
within
covers of lace
because she knows
the secrets,
the ones whispered
on the wings
of a prayer.

Even her hair
glows like
rainbow light.

–Margaret Simon

This was just the free write, but I was happy with it.  Then Sandy asked us to circle words from our free write that had some power for us.  She handed out notecards for us to write our words on, tear them apart and put them back together into a new poem.

 

Words taken from my free writing.

Words taken from my free writing.

 

This was the resulting poem.

Enter dark space
a line draws her face
whispers
secrets

Her protector
sleeps
in covers of lace.

Angels kiss
her prayer.

Opening
the path to grace.

–Margaret Simon

What I love about this activity is the abstract way it gets to the soul where you write with authenticity and abandon all at the same time.  I want to try this with my students.  I wonder how they will handle the randomness of it.  Will they get frustrated or enjoy the freedom?  Some days, and especially hard days full of sadness, I find solace in poetry, in the act of creating.  It gets me out of my thinking brain for a minute and allows me to relax into flow. Thanks, Sandy, for sharing Dennis’s art and leading me on a path of discovery.

 

 

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Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for the Slice of Life Challenge.

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for the Slice of Life Challenge.

 

The rain started early Friday morning.  I knew this was a serious rain because school was cancelled 5 minutes before I walked out the door.  The rain stayed for days, falling in sheets for hours and hours.  By Friday afternoon, the news media was calling this an Historic Flood.  One of my colleagues posted on Facebook that her house was going under.  I watched and waited.  Finally a text came that she and her family were rescued and safe.

But the rain kept falling.  By Saturday morning, I went into a panic.  The bayou water had not risen this high in the 12 years we’d been living here, and neighbors said not in 20+ years.  This was truly an historical event.

The sun peeks through the trees. Water is up to the back step.

We put the furniture up, rolled rugs, emptied book shelves, and watched and waited.

Sofas raised up on kitchen chairs. Mimi watches the sun come out.

Sofas raised up on kitchen chairs. Mimi watches the sun come out.

Then on Sunday morning, the sun came out.  The water was a few feet from our back door, but it hadn’t come in.

Not everyone in our area was as lucky.  This incessant rain was worse than any hurricane.  And the flood waters did not discriminate.  Everyone here knows someone who is cleaning up today.

Painting the rain, collaborative work by a mother and son at the shelter.

Painting the rain, collaborative work by a mother and son at the shelter.

 

In my gratitude, I went to the shelter in our City Park to help out with an art activity with the kids.  It was crazy and messy and just what I needed.

Messy art is the best kind!

Messy art is the best kind!

 

Today, I want to focus on the sunshine.

The sun will come out.
We know this is true.
There is always light after the rain.

reflection flood poem

 

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Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

The crafting of digital media has never been so accessible to everyone. With only an iPhone and wifi, I’ve been taking videos of the flooding around my house, keeping family and friends informed with the touch of a button. (We are safe and dry at this time.)

And some have used this accessibility to create humor around this crazy disaster.

Found on Facebook

Found on Facebook

I have enjoyed playing with my own digital photos in apps like Word Swag. This is a photo of tree bark, and I added a quote.

writing quote

Some images just lend themselves to contemplation and creative thinking. I took this picture from my balcony looking through the tall windows in my house. You can see the light reflection on the window and the flood waters beyond.

Using Canva, I made this digital poem.

Light reflected poem

To lead my students to digital creativity and crafting, I try it myself.

I am interested in exploring the thinking process during the creation of digital media. What questions do students ask? What appeals to them and why? What is the deeper meaning within the image?

When my students design digital media, I ask them to share their inner thinking. By asking about the process,I motivate my students to make intentional choices. Reflection on a creative process is important. Reflection can lead to self-discovery along with inspiring the wonder of others.

How will you lead your students through intentional digital creation? Please join the conversation by linking your blog posts below.

Twitter Chat with Katherine BomerSunday AUg. 28, 20166-00 CST (1) copy

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Find more celebration posts at Ruth's blog.

Find more celebration posts at Ruth’s blog.

Birthdays are opportunities to show a person how much you love her. Birthdays are also opportunities to share your love with others.

Like eating popcorn with chopsticks

Lynzee popcorn

And chocolate-covered strawberries

Choc-covered strawberries

Like finding this message on Facebook:

Ms. Simon, 30 years ago, when we moved home from overseas, I struggled in the public school my parents put me in to fit in. My parents seeing how unhappy I seemed changed me to epiphany and I was blessed to have you as a teacher. My mother adored you. As a teacher myself, I know we aren’t always able to see the difference we make long term in a child’s life. You are an amazing person and teacher!

And spending hours catching up with your birthday sister. The waitress says, “Oh, you’re the kind of friends who can just pick up right where you left off.” She checked in on us occasionally as we talked on and on.

My birthday was a celebration of Love.

My backyard on Friday, Aug. 12, 2016.  The water has to cover the deck before it reaches the house.

My backyard on Friday, Aug. 12, 2016. The water has to cover the deck before it reaches the house.

My state, Louisiana, is in a state of emergency. The rain has come down for more than 28 hours and doesn’t show signs of stopping. They are calling this the Historic Flood of 2016. My family is fine. Our house is on the bayou, and the back yard is no longer visible. Please keep all of us in your thoughts and prayers. I know of one student so far who has evacuated his flooded home. I will be posting updates to my Facebook page.

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Poetry Friday round-up  is with my birthday sister, Julieanne.

Poetry Friday round-up is with my birthday sister, Julieanne.

rainbow sno-cones

THAT WAS SUMMER
Marci Ridlon

Have you ever smelled summer?
Sure you have.
Remember that time
when you were tired of running
or doing nothing much
and you were hot
and you flopped right down on the ground?
Remember how the warm sun smelled and the
grass?
That was summer.
Read the whole poem here.

That was Summer was the first poem for my students to unpack this year. Yesterday was my birthday. (I share the day with two PF peeps, Linda Mitchell and Julieanne Harmatz.) To celebrate my day, we had popcorn. Somewhere online over the summer I saw pictures of a teacher’s classroom eating popcorn and discussing poetry, thus “popcorn poetry.” We started this fun tradition this week.

After reading and discussing That was Summer, I suggested that my students try out the form. Some did. Some chose another form. That’s OK. No requirements, just write what you want to write.

Madison and Jacob both chose to write about the taste of summer.

That was Summer by Jacob

Have you ever tasted summer?
Sure you have.
Remember that time
you rolled in the mud?
That was summer.

Remember that time
when you ran into
a field of flowers?
That was summer.

Remember that time
when you were so hot
you drank the ocean?
That was summer.

Remember that time
when you jumped into
a pile of leaves?
That was summer.

Summer by Madison

I tried out the form and enjoyed finding my own memories of summer.

That was Summer
after Marci Ridlon

Do you miss summer?
Sure, you do.
That easy time
when days are long,
the sun shines on and on.

Remember the time
when you chased the mosquito truck
in a cloud of toxic dust,
your father spanked you
for the first and last time?
That was summer.

Remember the time
when you gathered all the blankets, sheets, and pillows,
and built a fort in the living room,
an indoor camp-out with Karen and Ralph?
You shined flashlights and made the shadows dance.
That was summer.

Remember the time
when you lay awake
in your parents’ bed
waiting for the hurricane?
You whispered Is it here yet,
and wondered where all the birds and squirrels hid.
That was summer.

Remember the time
you waited for the sound of the sno-cone truck,
when Mary Had A Little Lamb
echoed over and over,
and you couldn’t help humming along?
Remember watching the sno-cone man
pour the syrup over ice
in rainbow flavors, strawberry, lemon, and bubblegum,
a trio of colors on your frozen tongue?
That was summer.

–Margaret Simon, all rights reserved

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Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for the Slice of Life Challenge.

Join the Two Writing Teachers blog for the Slice of Life Challenge.

 

laughing with Martha

As I get older, I am learning to appreciate a good laugh, even if it’s at my own expense.  I am trying really hard to embrace this getting older thing.  My birthday is this week, and I will be 55.  There, I said it.

I enjoy listening to podcasts when I am driving, so this weekend on my drive to and from New Orleans, I listened.  I will probably forget which exact podcast it was (that happens with age), but I think it was the TED Radio Hour about Time.  Anyway, some researcher said that we get happier as we get older.  I believe this is true, except, of course, if you get grumpier.

I believe I am happier now than I was ten years ago.  My daughters are grown-ups and such delightful grown-ups they are.  I am grateful for all that I have in my life, my husband of 34 years, 3 healthy, happy, successful daughters, and a mother-in-law who likes to celebrate birthdays with me in Africa.

My girls think I am hilarious.  Mostly because I’m so stupid.  The above picture was taken by daughter number 1 after I had taken a failed selfie with daughter number 3.  I love how we laugh the same way.

I think it is time for me to embrace happiness.  To realize that happiness is precious like gold, like the rainbow, like love.

I wish for you a day (a year, a life) full of laughter.  There is no way to watch this scene from Mary Poppins and not laugh.  Enjoy!

 

if-you-laugh-a-lotwhen-you-get-older-your-wrinkles-will-be-in-the-right-places-laughter-quote

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Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

Please use this button on your site for DigiLit Sunday posts

“Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said. ‘One can’t believe impossible things.’

I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!”

― Lewis Carroll

Welcome back to DigiLitSunday. Believe it or not school has started for me. Summer break flew by, and my focus has quickly changed to being prepared for my students. I have not prepared as much as I would have wanted to. I have read some professional books. I’ve had conversations with my colleagues. I’ve been reading blog posts from #cyberPD.

When kids come into my classroom, however, who they are is the most important thing.

I am lucky that I teach my students year after year. Once they’ve been identified as gifted, they become mine for one academic subject every year while they are in elementary school. My relationship with them is most important to me. It matters. It endures.

Last week teachers sat together to review policies and learn about new curriculum initiatives. We decorated bulletin boards. We arranged desks, prepared supplies. I enjoy this part of the process. Like cleaning your house for guests, the tasks have a purpose.

When the guests arrive, the preparation stops and you spend time together telling stories and making connections.

When my students start coming to me this week, I’ll be ready. I’ll talk to them about their summers, the books they’ve read, the places they’ve been.

I’ll also leave space for believing the impossible.
A new year.
A new notebook.
Clear pages ready to be written.
We are still becoming our best selves.
Leave room for who you want to be.

For the first day of school, there was a rainbow in the sky.  Not kidding!

For the first day of school, there was a rainbow in the sky. Not kidding!

I invite you to jump into this journey with me and join our DigiLitSunday community. You can join the Google+ community here. Put your information into the shared Google doc. Link to this post weekly and Tweet using #DigiLitSunday. We are a community of educators who support each other. Please visit at least 3 blogs and leave a comment.

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Find more celebration posts at Ruth's blog.

Find more celebration posts at Ruth’s blog.

 

I take a walk in my neighborhood.  One of the gifts of living in South Louisiana are the live oak trees.  We have been getting rain every day this summer.  It helps to keep temperatures reasonable, in the 80’s rather than the 90’s, and it resurrects the resurrection fern.

This morning the sun was up and glowing on the fern.  I often refer to this phenomenon in my poetry.  A word search on my blog turned up 9 results.  To celebrate the fern today, I am re-using the lines in a photo-poem.

My senses awake like resurrection fern after the rain,

Grandmother Oak holds her jewels
of resurrection fern and Spanish moss
like modest ornaments.

 

 

 

Fern glistens in the emerging sun.

 

 

 

Her branches open wide for resurrection fern.

img_7408

Being present is easy
when the light shines
on resurrection fern
making shadows to
fascinate me.

img_7410

Live oaks reveal God’s name,
open resurrection fern.

I also found this poem gift from Diane Mayr.

Image by Diane Mayr

Image by Diane Mayr

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Poetry Friday round-up  is here today.  Leave your link .

Poetry Friday round-up is here today. Leave your link .

 

 

Hollyhocks don’t grow here in South Louisiana.  On a recent visit to upstate New York, I was attracted to their stately stalks with large blossoms.  We encountered a few at the local garden supplier in Hebron, NY.
purple hollyhocks

 

Later, Tara let me know that she went back and bought some for her garden.  

Hollyhocks at Old Bedlam Farm.

Hollyhocks at Old Bedlam Farm.

And then I encountered an image in Better Homes and Gardens. I didn’t order this magazine, but it seems to keep showing up in the mailbox.  I love the images of wild gardens that I could never grow.

 

 wild hollyhocks

While in New york, we visited Owl Pen books. I found a treasure, a collection of Emily Dickinson’s nature poems. I used the form of one of these poems and wrote my own version. This poem and the book are headed to my next poetry swap friend.

The Garden
After Emily Dickinson

I’ll tell you how the Hollyhocks rose–
A Blossom at a time–
The Petals glistened like Rubies–
The Bees and Hummers buzzed–
The Trees unfurled their branches–
The Bulbul–beloved–
Then I said softly to myself–
“That must have been the Dew!”
But how he wept–I saw not–
There seemed a dampness sincere
That little ants did clamor here
And led me to the waiting pew,
Woven easily among Lilies–
Morning Glories in blue–
And then I saw– You.

Poets and Readers: Use the Link Button below.

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