Bomer, Notebooks, and Strategic Assignments

 

Bomer, Notebooks, and Strategic Assignments

In Chapter 11 of Building Adolescent Literacy in Today’s English Classrooms, Randy Bomer lists a handful of useful perspectives to inspire meaningful writer’s notebook entries. Two, in particular, stood out to me: “Starting with Little, Nearby Things” and “Asking ‘How Am I Feeling?’ and Then ‘When Was Another Time I felt This Same Way.’”

 

Starting with Little, Nearby Things

I like this one. I’m a victim of the greatest plague known to mankind: writer’s block. When I want to write, I cannot. When I cannot write, I have my ideas. While Bomer’s latter-mentioned “Thinking Towards Writing” helps with this issue, I want to address the very specific predicament of wanting to write about something entirely new to oneself but having no new ideas when sitting to write. The “Starting with Little, Nearby Things” strategy involves the writer looking around and taking in her surroundings. There is a small, over-watered succulent on the coffee shop’s windowsill. Her recently cooled cappuccino mug has a chip just behind the handle that would undoubtedly cut her mouth if she were left-handed. Her feet stick ever-so-slightly to the floor when she bounces her right knee in an over-caffeinated frenzy. Any one of these details could inspire a poem, a short story, or a somewhat-too-specific rant about floor care in the modern coffee shop.

I especially appreciate this strategy because it reminds me of advice that Jesse GrothOlson gave me back when I did improv under his guidance. Starting with a random, whacky idea can be fun, but is often devoid of meaning. Silently performing an action while your scene partner silently performs a different action is always fascinating. The two of you keep interacting with your imagined surroundings until one of you does something that feels very specific and compelling. The scene starts from there. Even if an improv stage is empty (apart from the performers) and the scenery exists only in the mind of the performers and the audience, a small interaction with an imagined object can inspire an infinite number of meaningful stories.

 

Asking “How Am I feeling?” and Then “When Was Another Time I felt This Way?”

I appreciate this strategy for similar reasons. Linking feelings is a powerful way to discover themes in one’s life. These themes can then be further explored as notebook entries. This also works for the actor. When presented with a character with complex actions and emotions, it can be difficult to replicate the emotions described on the page in a convincing and realistic manner. Finding common ground with the character, however, can lead to a performance where the line between actor and character blurs to the point where the two are nigh-indistinguishable. If finding ways in which we relate to the words on a page can evoke interesting performances, why can’t finding ways in which our current situation relates to our past produce compelling journal entries?

I enjoy these two strategies because they remind me that acting and writing aren’t as different as we may believe. After all, what is writing except for performing our thoughts with a pen?

 

Bomer also discusses the power of utilizing intentional strategies over assignments when teaching students to write in their notebooks. If we want our students to explore complex emotions and concepts, they must have a degree of ownership over how they write about these things. Because of this, it is critical to remember that student freedom is a must in notebooks. It can be tempting for the teacher to colonize the notebook for all the interesting, one-off writing assignments that they want to text without the consequences of grading. Even if some of these assignments are worthwhile literacy-building activities, the notebook serves a different purpose. The notebook is not for teacher-guided writing—it is for the student to develop literacy outside of the classroom. It needs to remain a sacred place of self-expression.