Welcome to the September issue of Wild Greens.

Wild Greens is back to school with our September issue, Loose-leaf, where we take a break from arranging our sharpened pencils in order of length and snapping open and closed our three-ring metal binders to dive into some required (just kidding—mostly!) reading.

Maggie Topel’s digital logo for the issue takes us back-to-school shopping for the artist’s favorite supplies.

“Fallen Leaf on Snowy Bootprint – Liaoning – China,” a photograph by D C Nobes shows a golden brown oak leaf fallen in an early winter. A summer leaf portends potential fortune in “My Leaf,” a sonnet by Jared Brey.

Joanne Macias’s photograph plays on the idea of loose leaf tea in “Where Did I Leave My Cup Again?”

The delicate art of middle school note-passing is the subject of “Notes,” a poem by Valerie Hunter. Luciana Grosu’s illustration “First Day Of School” mixes digital and traditional drawing.

Jane Berger Herschlag’s personal essay, “The Best Mother-Teacher is Love,” shares recollections of teaching creative writing to young students.

Hayley J. Boyle’s watercolor cover for the issue, “I Wish You Could Hear This,” depicts the sounds of fall.

Get the kettle going, welcome the change in seasons, and steep yourself in the art and writing of this month’s Wild Greens.

-Rebecca

My Leaf

Notes

The Best Mother-Teacher Inspires With Love

by Jane Berger Herschlag

Teaching creative writing to children is the equivalent of being let loose in a candy store: an endless array of delights is to be had as they explore their surroundings through the written word. They have unique perspectives and are inquisitive. They are love sponges; and as we work together, I revel in their excited, animated conversation, their openness and sincerity. They sense my enjoyment and are eager to please.

Creativity is nourished by safety, which I enjoy spreading. Being supportive, uncritical, empowers and builds self-confidence. As they mirror my pleasure with them, they make me feel accepted and loved. Since safety is paramount, I begin the first class with what’s not allowed: no wounding one another, no ridicule, name calling, never anything nasty about a classmate, friend or family member. I remind them that a safe place to play or write, means no one gets hurt here. In make believe we can vent anger at imaginary things. The lack of inhibition, the quickness of their imagination, and unabashed spirit to embrace the outrageous, are often abundant in the young, but as we age, it is tempered.

Even the shyest child, in time, lured by the contagious excitement of others, will raise their hands and become active participants, ideas flowing from them. The class moves from a jumble of words to cohesive phrases in poems and stories. It’s as magical as baking cakes from a mess of flour, sugar, and eggs. Immersing myself in my students’ attributes nourishes my own desire to minimize the inhibitor, logic. The beauty and simplicity of their phrasing can be amazing. I have been known to borrow a line from a student, and credit them as I would any writer or speaker.

Eight-year-old Bertha’s first two lines inspired me to borrow it and write a poem; I read to the class a week later. They learn that borrowing can be honoring, not stealing. Bertha, class 2-A, 7-years-old, wrote:

Deprivation or judgement can cause an insatiable hunger or anger; a stingy unwillingness to give more than one got, or a craving to give in order to vicariously get what one was denied. Surviving a childhood fraught with abuse and danger, as I did, I opt for and relish the second choice. School was my oasis, one adult and thirty children, a safe place to be. 

To wake up the imagination, love is insufficient; they need child-friendly tools such as photos, song titles, cartoons, a look around the room for their favorite objects. I suggest short partial phrases: the sky; when the fierce wind; his poncho; the very scariest … These prompts enable them to till their own soil, especially if they don’t feel crimped by expectations of compliance to a predictable outcome. Soon they invent their own prompts for classmates to follow. This gives them the mental exercise to freely play with ideas. If they feel that they are stuck, idealess, they simply look around to find an object to focus on.

Life doesn’t exist without conflict. The more outgoing children are instantly active; the more reticent often have more unresolved issues at home with a sibling or parent. But the truth-telling from classmates, lessens their inhibitions. Peeking out from their turtle-shell, they raise their hands to have their ideas heard.

Play opens their hearts and minds, and pens. But harsh criticism, shame, fear, squelch free association and creativity. We play verbal games to expand their inventive skills. Even first graders love discovering nouns, adjectives, making lists of them. They quickly understand the game of simile: quiet as a caterpillar; the game of metaphor: the bowl in his heart filled with tears; even slant rhymes: plant and giant.

As in nursery rhymes and fairy tales, they love repetition, the expected, but also enjoy the surprise of the unexpected. They are proud to write with end rhymes, which I subtly discourage since it can lead compulsively compressing, stilting the free flow of their thought process. 

They beam with pride when learning to write couplets, tercets, quatrains, as if they had graduated to the land of authors. I frequently remind them that detail makes sentences sparkle like diamonds or prickle like thorns. Detail brings their readers into their written scene. Use details like chocolate sprinkles; keep adding more so your readers feel, see, smell, hear, taste more.

Most kids love to draw, and I suggest that they draw on the blackboard the strangest, weirdest thing, or animal; waking up their imaginations as they then write about their art. My artist husband visited my class and drew on the blackboard, following the request of the kids: draw a big eye, give him a long tail, etc. Then they named the creature and each student added a line about the Jingaflapa. 

We have free writes; logic and sense are tossed out the window; spelling doesn’t count; they must write as fast as they can, to make the editor take a nap so their brain is free to go wild. Out of sequence events and preposterous things erupt onto their pages.

When too young to write, they are never too young to create. They raise their hand and I speedily write their ideas on the blackboard as they compose collaborative stories or poems. As older students gain practice, we move to solo writing with a prompt. Later in the term we play The Cut Game. We hunt for unnecessary or repeated words that tell instead of show. They instantly become editors. Line breaks are a bit tricky for the very young, so I reserve it for third graders and older kids.

Nothing is off-limits for inspiration. Students and I bring in poems we like, to share. They eagerly borrow my books, and share their own. I keep a list of all books, and who they belong to. They always honored the returning of books to the classroom.

Questions invigorate them, and they excitedly form their own questions as prompt for the class, from the news, from events at home, etc. A wish, a fear, a hate or love, liberate their secret thoughts. If stuck, I ask them to look around the room, the walls, windows, friends, describe what you see, to get ideas.

We talk about the five senses, and all the words we can use to wake them up as we write. Next, we make a list of nouns, verbs, objects, and experiment with using them. They especially love telling and making up secrets. Children understand make believe, or tell us about you, your friends, family. Eagerness builds; they can’t contain themselves as ideas flood them. They raise hands, stretch out of their seat, wiggle their arms, and squeal, Ooh, ooh, Me, me. We often are sorry when the bell rings and class ends.

I type all their work, and make little books for each of them. Suddenly they are published authors. Many of them enjoy the spotlight, reading aloud, sharing their work with classmates, and at the year-end party, performing in front of parents and invited guests. It reinforces their self-esteem, their sense of accomplishment, and offers public speaking experience.

Years ago, participating in a workshop with a few uninspired poets, and an amazingly supportive teacher, I learned, if you look hard enough, you can find something of merit in each writer’s work; providing a base to build upon. Just as all kids, regardless of age, can critique a dessert, a cartoon, a story, and the writing of their classmates. Braiding comments with truth and kindness, makes all learners perform at their best. We look to find the music, mood, details, that reach our readers.

One of my college professors expected so much from us, it was a bit intimidating, but she also encouraged us to stretch ourselves to our limits, and we were surprised by what we accomplished. But to expect more than is possible, is a trap destined to instill a sense of failure. I expect plenty from my students, but I haven’t been disappointed; instead, I am often amazed. All of us have been bruised by didactic, pedantic, remote, or disapproving people. Most of us seek to be as unlike them as possible. The self-fulfilling prophecy of high expectations wins the day. Expect a lot, get a lot, and their confidence blooms.

In closing, I want you to see what delightful young writers they are. I was teaching them when the Twin Towers were attacked, and I have included some of these poems from them as well. They are included the 911digitalarchive.org.