Longing for Writing Space as an Early Career Researcher Professor

I woke this morning with the longing to write, the need to carve time for creativity, to voice the thoughts swirling around in the ether.  Simultaneously, university course work tugged at the coattails of a writing desire that has become more and more elusive over the past several weeks.  I wobbled against its weight.  The pull of grading, of announcements to students clarifying their questions, and of emails to colleagues scheduling meetings worked to stifle what I know to be true: if I do not write, I cannot teach writing, nor can I teach future teachers how to teach writing.

Attending the Illinois Reading Council (#IRC2016) reminded me of the passion I need to reignite: writing to discover new ideas and to nourish the ideas that have had little time to take root.  A small group of professors with the College Instructors of Reading Professionals answered questions, and more importantly offered much-needed encouragement in my pursuit of what fills me as a professional.  Anne Gregory with NIU said it best when describing how early she rises each morning to workout: "I deserve this . . . and you deserve the time for your passion." Deserve.  I deserve the time to write.  That one word shifted my thinking profoundly.

But it did not shift my ability.

In a late afternoon session yesterday, Ralph Fletcher showed us poetry and encouraged us to draft a few lines ourselves.  I stumbled.  My phrases were lackluster.  The poem ended awkwardly with no connection to Fletcher proposed be our final two lines.  And how I needed that punch to generate an image, an idea about a memory long past.  I could then, and now, feel the rusty spigot creaking little by little with each word.  No pressure except for the words pressing themselves against the narrow faucet opening.

When Kelly Gallagher spoke in his session about voluminous writing in the classroom, I nodded agreement.  How can students improve their writing and enhance idea generation, organization, and detail development without constant opportunities to experiment with craft and improve writing stamina?  His strategies for engaging students in low-pressure writing without increasing the grading workload should be easy to implement in any grade level.  In fact, I am eager to add his Reading Reasons to my collection of professional resources to become as well-referenced as so many other reading and writing experts.

But then, let's flip the voluminous writing concept back to us.

Are we creating the space--time and place--for low-pressure writing in our own professional and personal settings?  In a sense, everything I have written in the past several weeks has been for a "grade."  Grading students' essays and communicating with colleagues or partner schools via email are higher-pressure writings that become evaluated by the people who read them.  Likewise, reports, course syllabi, and students' degree study plans cannot receive failing grades.  I like having a job.

Blogging is that release for me.  Writing in this space solidifies the ethereal thoughts, giving them legs to stand on . . . and hands to shake loose whatever weight might be hanging onto the tails of this new coat I am trying on.

So tell me, how do you create the space for writing?  What do you recommend for early-career researchers and professors?  What helps you reignite writing when other weighty obligations begin to take over?

Career Crossroads with a Ph.D.

When I started the Ph.D. program nearly five years ago it was because I needed to know about literacy instruction, how it affected my middle school students, and how to do it better.  Fast forward four and a half years and see how the direction has shifted ever so slightly.  But a few degrees on the compass changes everything.

My dissertation, successfully defended on March 28, 2016, documented a narrative inquiry study about planning professional development.  Interest in literacy instruction and student motivation led to studying those topics, but this interest also led to presenting at conferences, co-facilitating institutes, and planning large-scale professional development to be implemented across the country.  My friend and colleague in the National Writing Project who I worked with in the most recent planning adventure has often said that teaching her high school students fills her.  That is partially true of me, too.  But more so, being with other teachers as we plan, work through school demands, and become smarter together fills me.

Knowing I belong in a professional development or adult-learning career, I have applied to various universities within the metro area.  I also keep my eyes open for curriculum positions.  So today I come to a crossroads in my career.  As I consider my family and the ages of my children, the idea of commuting to a university in downtown Chicago makes me queasy.  I continue to apply for positions at these institutions of higher learning because I am passionate about teaching pre- and in-service teachers.  However, commuting to satellite campuses and teaching online courses are my best family-friendly options.  Unfortunately, a newly-minted Ph.D. cannot (or should not?) make demands such as these.

Nervous and scared of the unknown, I began applying to the local school districts when junior high language arts position openings started appearing.  After teaching 8th grade in Kentucky for ten years, this feels safe to me.  No matter what I tell myself about needing some Illinois classroom experience or getting known in a school district, it is safe. Period.  My whole family would continue comfortably within my comfort zone (and theirs, too) if I return to the middle school/junior high classroom.

A few degrees on my compass has changed my direction and now I'm facing risks, a scary unknown.  I realize now that I should embrace the words spoken by the director of national programs at the National Writing Project during our recent initiative:

You know it's scary but you keep having these experiences where you walk up to that scariness and then you do it and then you're on the other side of it and you realize you can do things you didn't know you could do.

Am I ready to walk up this new pathway?  Is my family ready for the scariness of possible commutes, irregular hours, unpredictable pay?

It's time to decide.  My next interview is in just a few hours and I need to prepare my answer if offered a position.