Bring a smile here:
Write, Read, Smile
  • Home
  • About
  • Blog
  • Just for Kids!
  • Contact

Raised in a Barn

6/29/2014

5 Comments

 
Picture
Yes, Mom. I was raised in a Barn - just not the kind you're thinking of. 

A couple of weeks ago I started this post:

I used to tell my students all the time that yes, they could think of something to write. Of course they could. They had so many great ideas in their heads just waiting to burst out onto the page. I’d encourage and challenge and push: You can do it.  

I know that writing isn’t easy. I knew it then and I know it now. I know that writers write, and that in order to follow your dreams you have to actually get up and go after them. When you love something, you just do it.  

Until you feel a tiny bit like you can’t.

And that word - can’t - worms its way into your head and then into your heart and then into the keyboard. And nothing comes out.

There’s a reason I often wrote the word “CAN’T” on the board in my classroom with a big red Ghostbusters-style circle-backslash symbol.

Apparently I need a sign like that over my own desk.   

Lately I’ve let life’s little distractions get in the way of my dream-following. I’ve let worry, doubt, and mindless television take over. I haven’t been writing when I should be writing. I should be writing whenever I can, carving minutes out of even the busiest days. Because we make time for the things that we love.   

I wrote that. I couldn’t think of anything more to write, so I stopped and didn't post.

Then something incredible happened. 


Picture
I had a very last-minute (but oh-so-perfectly timed) opportunity to attend the Chautauqua East Workshop at the Highlights Foundation in Boyds Mills, PA.  

My first response was that I didn’t have time. My second response was that I hadn’t written for children in months because of that wicked, wormy can't. I believed I had nothing to share. What business did I have being with all these real writers?   

My husband’s response was to practically shove me out the door.  

“Are you doing this or what?” he asked me. “Either you want to write for kids or you don’t.”

My husband is wonderful.

I want to write for kids. So, nervous, excited, and completely certain I didn’t belong, I went.

It changed everything. 


Picture
I spent six days with a warm, generous, and incredibly talented group of people, faculty and conferees alike. I sat in the beautiful Barn at Boyds Mills and learned about what it takes to be a great children’s writer: how to create genuine characters, paint vivid pictures with words, and develop a strong voice. I received guidance, encouragement, and eye-opening feedback on my own work.

My mentor, Jillian Sullivan, embraced my work and taught me to really get to know my characters. I hung on every word of Kathy Erskine, creator of amazing, true characters who stay with you well after reading the final page. I discussed with K.L. Going the challenges of being a mom of young children and finding the time to write (and boy, she sure has!). I had warm and incredibly helpful conversations with Clara Gillow Clark and Susan Williams Beckhorn. I absorbed the wisdom of Peter Jacobi, Patti Gauch, and Laurence Pringle. I even talked to Jerry Spinelli about my Louisville 5th graders’ love for Maniac Magee and butterscotch Krimpets. And those are just a few members of the faculty – there were so many more, each more influential than they could possibly know. 


My fellow conferees were inspiring as well. I got to know Kate Garchinsky, a gifted writer and illustrator whose passion for her winged subjects just bubbles out of her. I witnessed Sheila Wright's dedication to the craft of writing - both her own and that of her peers. I heard clever and wonderful story ideas from so many and immersed myself in the energy of writers at all stages of their careers. We kindred spirits from a variety of backgrounds very quickly became friends. 

I did yoga in the mornings, walked in the woods, and shared delicious meals and equally delicious conversations.  


I wrote.     

Perhaps most importantly (because of that insidious can't that had creeped its way into me), I heard brilliant, successful writers say that they, too, struggled. They, too, faced countless rejections. They, too, had bouts of self-doubt. They, too, still have much to learn.

A million thanks to the Highlights Foundation for their work in raising writers in the Barn – shaping and celebrating, teaching and lifting up. I left the Barn with a new lease on my writing life. I still can’t come up with the right words to explain it. As a writer having just returned from Writer Wonderland, you’d think I’d be able to. It seems I still have a lot to learn.

I guess I’ll have to plan a return trip.

Because when we love something, we make the time for it. Even when it’s hard.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and diving in, even when you think you can’t. And here’s to the Highlights Foundation. Thank goodness for them!   



Picture
5 Comments

Let Them Be Bored

6/11/2014

1 Comment

 
Picture
Ahhh, summer… sunshine, flip flops, swing sets, fireflies, sandcastles, grass stains, time.

Lots of time.

Along with countless popsicles and playdates, I’m betting that your kids will also get sunburns, skinned knees, bug bites, and bored. I know mine will.  

When I was a kid and I got bored, my parents would tell me and my often-also-bored sisters to go outside and play. When we complained that that would be boring, they told us to make something. We had all that we needed – construction paper, glue, glitter, stickers, crayons, markers. We practically had a Michael’s in our hall closet.  

At least one of us would survey the materials, frown, and whine. “But I can’t THINK of anything to make!”

My dad would reply, as parents often do, “Use your imagination.”  He’s a writer, so he probably said that more frequently than average.

“I can’t!” would come the inevitable reply. “It’s just. Not. Working.”

Our imaginations weren’t working. So one day, my work-at-home dad, in a stroke of genius and exasperation, told us to MAKE NEW ONES. He gave us empty two-liter soda bottles, the hose, and a jar of rainbow glitter.

“Make one,” he said.

So we filled our bottles, dumped in the glitter, screwed on the caps, shook, and watched with delight as the sparkles danced on their watery stage. An imagination – just like that.

Believe it or not, it worked. If we could make our own imaginations, we could make our own fun.      

We now could shake those bottles and watch those sparkles and think of things to do. I was fortunate enough to have younger sisters who repeatedly allowed one of those things to be what I can only describe as high-concept performance art. They let me boss them around as choreographer of spectacular dance routines to any number of C+C Music Factory songs. I still can’t believe they didn’t get picked up by MTV.

Oh, what a brand-spanking-new imagination can do! I grew up a short drive from the ocean. We went to the beach almost daily. We had a swimming pool in our yard. I have three sisters, all of whom are close to my age. I still got bored. We all did.

That’s what kids do. They get bored.

And that’s a good thing. 


Each year, a wonderful principal for whom I once worked includes in her end-of-year letter to parents a message about the importance of boredom. Unplugging our kids from technology and the busy, scheduled-ness of life can help them plug into themselves. That’s how imaginations grow.

They’ll realize that they don’t need TV, video games, smartphones, and other such buttons and touchscreens as much as they think they do. It doesn’t take a whole lot to create a game, a fantasy, a story, an adventure. All kids need is time, which is and should be bountiful in a child’s summer, and the absence of an end goal determined by someone else.  

They’ll learn to solve problems themselves, sometimes pretty creatively.

They’ll figure out how to work with others to come up with something to do and then do it. My sisters and I eventually learned how to work collaboratively without tearing each other’s hair out. (Well, most of the time. Sometimes those braids were far too tempting.)

They’ll discover that there’s a world of wonder inside of them. They’ll realize that they can imagine and create independently. And then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be able to write about it later. Or they’ll be able to write about any number of things because they can solve problems, work collaboratively, and embrace their own incredible imaginations. 


Sure, send them to camp. Plan and schedule activities. Take action-packed vacations. Spend a whole lot of time with them. We should do these things. We need to.   

But also let them just be. 



Let them get bored, and then let them figure out on their own how to not be bored. (In a way that doesn't lead to ER visits, broken furniture, and/or traumatized pets, of course. These are often the first not-boring things kids think of. Especially when they are VERY BORED.)

These days I often wish for the imagination of a child. Maybe I just need to make one out of what I can find in our recycling bin. Or perhaps I should pay even more attention to the little ones around me and how they go about doing things. 


As I write this, my four-year-old is involved in a rousing game of “Cushion Rescue,” which involves his Rescue Hero action figures and cushions removed from the couch. There is a lot of very exciting stuff happening here, and I didn’t have to tell him to do it. He’s not looking at me for what’s next. Ten minutes ago, he was SO BORED. I’m sure it won’t last all that long, but he did it by himself. It’s a start!  

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and a little bit of oh-so-boring boredom.

Happy Summer! 
1 Comment
    Thoughts on writing, life, and a smattering of stories.

    Author

    Kelly Hochbein

    Archives

    November 2015
    August 2015
    January 2015
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014

    Categories

    All
    Just For Kids
    Stories
    What-ifs
    Writing

    RSS Feed

    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
    Picture
Proudly powered by Weebly