My Annual Guilt Trip

It's summer. Hooray. Notice the absence of exclamation points.

I love having my children home for the summer. They are great kids. They get along (most of the time), and I really do enjoy their company.

However, it is not always good for my writing life. As I explain to my students when advocating for quiet writing time, composing poetry engages both hemispheres of the brain. The logic/math side is also home to your brain's dictionary, the awesome vocabulary you need to write a rich poem. The creative side of your brain helps a poet translate visual and sensory images into words, recreating experiences for the reader.

Exploration International.

So, with my whole brain concentrating, if a teenager interrupts my writing time to say "I can't find my socks," I short circuit. It feels a lot like getting a shock when you pull a cord out of an outlet too quickly. I have a hard time switching from that level of focus to laundry.

The push and pull of being a writing mom is never greater than from mid-June to August. That's why my biggest summer trip isn't to the beach or the woods. It is my annual Guilt Trip.

And, since this is only the second official day of summer vacation (13-year-old Julia finished school Friday), my children are happily laying on the guilt.

Here is Julia's parody of the Pink song, "Just Give Me a Reason."

Pink is a new mom. I wonder if she'll be taking a guilt trip this summer.

Enjoy, all you writing mommies and daddies. Then, let me know whether this should be a proud mom moment, or whether I should lobby for a worst parent of the year award.

Right from the Start
Parody by Julia

Right from the start
I had work to do.
It wasn't fun
but it needed to be finished.
You came along to the laptop
asking me for hugs
and I just couldn't focus.
Now I need to get this poem done,
uh-oh.
Then we can have some fun,
uh-oh.
Right now please leave me alone
so I can write
my
poem.

I'm sorry I don't understand
why you're so upset at me,
I only want a hug.
(I don't have time right now.)
Please don't get angry at me.
I'll just walk away slowly
so you can do your work.
(That would be very nice.)

Every time you do your work,
uh-oh.
Your attention levels start to change,*
uh-oh.
Why can't I just have a hug?
One hug. One hug.
Oh.

Oh, llamas are cute**.
but you can't care
while you're working
at your laptop.
I want a hug. It'll just take a sec,
why can't you show me some love?
CAUSE I'M WORKING

Here's the official Pink music video. I love this song. Julia and I are fond of singing it together in the car, when I am not busy writing.



*While I appreciate Julia's use of slant-rhyme in this line, I am even more relieved that she did not rhyme "work" with "jerk." As in: "You start to act like such a jerk."

**It's a family in-joke. Unless you're a Monty Python fan. Then you'll get it.

30 Habits of Highly Effective Poets #18: Betsy Franco on "Bed Head"

Greetings, fellow morning people! How are those sparkly brains today?

I was working with the fifth graders at Swansfield Elementary yesterday. When I explain my preference for quiet during writing time, I have everyone point at the two sides of their heads. Most of the kids know their brains have two lobes. One side is logical -- your computer, but also your dictionary. The other side is creative -- your artist, your outside the box thinker. Writing poetry requires accessing both sides of the brain. If you talk to me while I'm writing, I feel like an electric cord that's been pulled out too fast -- zap!

Brain lobes from www.biausa.org

That's why I love children's poet Betsy Franco's writing habit: bed head. When your brain is waking up, there's a beautiful quiet space for thinking and for poetry.

Here's Betsy:

I'm a morning person, so I used to jump out of bed and write. But I discovered that there's a very creative space between waking up and getting out of bed. If I have any problems to solve in my novels, poetry, or plays, I just lie there, and the solutions come. Characters talk to me about things I've had them do or say, lines of poetry come to me that solve rhythm issues I'm having, and so on. I definitely have a pen and a thick pad of paper on my nightstand.  And I've learned to write in the dark.  Turning on the light breaks the spell.

For instance, I'm working on a novel that's written in both prose and poetry.  I added a party scene in which the main character scans the room and spots some people he recognizes from school.  I didn't think his ex-girlfriend was there, because she's not into partying, but I woke up and could picture her leaning on her boyfriend's arm. She was pretending to be comfortable, but I could tell from her eyes that the whole scene looked like a circus to her.  And my main character picked up on that, too.

I also worked out many of my concrete poems in A Curious Collection of Cats and A Dazzling Display of Dogs in that weird, creative morning space.  It was easier to picture the visual part of the poem and how it meshed with the words.  Here's a poem from the cat collection that came to me in the morning.

copyright 2009 Betsy Franco, A Curious Collection of Cats, Tricycle Press

Try it.  If you're a morning person, keep your eyes shut, concentrate on something you're writing, and see what happens.

Thank you for visiting, Betsy. A Curious Collection of Cats is one of my favorite books to use when I work on concrete poems with kids. Check out my lesson using Betsy's poetry from the book.

Does Betsy's advice remind you of Winnie-the-Pooh's "Thotful Spot?" Enjoy your time a-bed.