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?

Writing for Publication Fears

It is finally here--the last semester of coursework before I conquer comprehensive exams, submit a proposal, conduct research, write a dissertation, defend the dissertation, and finish.  So perhaps the end is not really in sight at all.  The strange thing is I am more worried about successfully completing one of my classes this semester than I have been about coursework since my first few weeks in the literacy program.  As a qualitative researcher, I would have thought statistics might rank as the biggest scare, but it so far has not come close to what I fear in "Writing for Publication."

In this class, we are expected to submit a polished manuscript to a journal (in addition to reading, responding, discussing, etc.).  Why is this task so frightening?  In previous semesters, I have gathered data, coded, used data software, written memos, and summarized findings.  I have written literature reviews, compiled digital portfolios with extensive hyperlinks, and mindmapped my heart out.  I have submitted conference proposals (and presented), redesigned a course syllabus, and planned workshops.  The journey to this point has been rich with incredible learning experiences.  So what makes this class different?  The audience just got tougher.

First of all, I have no idea what my topic might be.  My inclination is to pick up a narrative I worked on last semester about co-teaching with a friend of mine.  Yet, even though it has embedded research, it is still a narrative which may not find a journal home.  Another thought is to flesh out the experiences of last summer's institute attendees as we begin planning for next summer.  This appeals to me right now in ways it didn't before I had to think about what to write for this class.

Next, I am not sure which journal I should woo.  Most familiar are Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, English Journal, Voices in the Middle, and Language Arts.  Others are probably more appropriate for what I will write, though.  I am not really interested in writing about strategies at this point but about experiences in particular learning conditions--especially the adult learners (teachers) during professional development.

All these obstacles will be overcome with time.  Fortunately, I know the professor pretty well.  She, along with the others in the class, will do what we always do in this PhD program--support and push.  I have already made progress in pushing away the fears of writing by, yes, writing.  My phantom audience has allowed me to voice my concern, list my strengths, and discuss some action items (thank you).  I feel the familiar release that writing gives me.  And for now the fog clears.