adding ginger to your sass

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Do you write only for yourself, or do you use your blog to try to connect to other people?

I started my blog to cope with social anxieties. I’m painfully awkward when it comes to dealing with other real, live human beings so hiding behind technology makes it a little bit better.

Over time, I used my blog as a catalyst to make new friends and acquaintances in the blogosphere on Twitter and Instagram.

My blog kind of died.

Then it was revived.

Then it died.

And now we’re back to me trying to keep it alive.

Writing is tough, man. It used to be an outlet, but, lately, it seems more like homework. I’m hoping to revive it– again– for both myself and others.

I miss the writing community.

Writing is tough.

Writer's block feels like that time my cell phone died in my sophomore year of college right before finals.

Writer’s block feels like that time my cell phone died in my sophomore year of college right after midterms.

I can’t quite articulate why I’ve found it so difficult to write these past few months, mainly because I don’t actually know.

I started this blog when I was a senior in college, in the midst of taking graduate courses, getting ready to graduate from undergrad, start student teaching, and trying to cope with my social anxieties the only way I knew how: sarcasm.

Three years later, I’m still extremely socially awkward, full of anxiety when forced to spend time with others, and extremely sarcastic. The difference is I’m also a teacher, and being a teacher has given me a super hero cape that allows me to use my awkwardness to my advantage. I readily admit to my students that I’m weird and awkward, which, honestly, is something everyone should be proud of.

Yet, I can’t admit to myself– or the readers I have left– why I struggle to write.

It’s not that I don’t have anything to say– believe me, I’m as opinionated as ever! I think I just realized, with more and more students finding my blog and calling me “blog famous Ms. B” in the halls, that the false sense of privacy I once had in hiding behind a computer screen is no longer there.

It’s harder to be vulnerable in your online identity when your online identity merges with your professional identity.

So, I’m going to try to write more. When I make my students write, I’ll write. When I have 5 minutes, I’ll free write. I’ll dig out the writing prompt book I purchased on clearance for my students and use it for myself.

Because, honestly, writing has saved my self-identity before. I’m not ready to give up the writer-aspect of who I am quite yet.

It’s Nation Poetry Writing Month!

Being the fabulous poetry teacher that I am, I FORGOT TO TELL MY KIDS IT’S NATIONAL POETRY WRITING MONTH, OMG.

Kids, today is the first day of National Poetry Writing Month.

I first learned about this month during my freshman year of college. I’ve taken part in the month of poetic festivities ever since, following prompts provided by different websites. This year, I decided to follow the prompts given by the OG of NaPoWriMo,

So, welcome to the fun.

Today’s prompt read:

 Today, I’d like you to go to Reb Livingston’s Bibliomancy Oracle. Clear your mind, push the button, and then write a poem based on the quotation that the oracle provides. Happy writing!


NaPoWriMo, Day 1, April 2014

NaPoWriMo, Day 1, April 2014

This quote seems appropriate since I was teaching my students about cento poems today. We had a big debate about whether or not cento poems are acts of plagiarism. (Cento poems are when you take lines from other poems to create your poem.)

So, here’s a cento poem based off of my poems from the Poem-a-Day Challenge last April.

I wanted to leave you a note,
expressing my love and thoughts
when I felt a songbird break free of its cage.
I cannot escape;
my hometown always lingers.
I still have the potential
to leap–
no, soar–
into the stars,
nestled into the city skyline
amongst the flames of
standing between you
and a triumphant victory.
I started wondering if the people who held these memories with me
still associate the
two million, six hundred, thirty thousand, one hundred and eighty-six minutes
with the little girls
emerald flats and sneakers
freedom, love, serenity
with a solar eclipse
upon the songbird’s page.