Just Keep Writing: A Message for My 8th Graders
First year of teaching in the books. A lot of ups. A lot of downs. I worked with severely struggling writers, and the downs did not consist of their skills; the downs consisted of their inability to see the worth in wanting to produce a finished product—just finishing something, anything, a single thing they can hold in their hands with pride.
Much of this year was about me preaching about writing stamina, showing them that writing is not perfect immediately, that it takes a determined desire for self-exploration with a paper and pen to see what's really in our heads, what we're capable of. Some of them discovered amazing things. Others were content with hardly ever taking the first step. They chose to watch from a distance while their peers stepped into unknown territory. They stood too far away to hear of their findings and favored the worlds they currently inhabited. "Nothing good is out there," they seemed to say most days. "Writing takes you nowhere."
But there was certainly one thing every single one of them left with learning from me (and probably heard to the point of insanity), and that was, "Just keep writing." I didn't care what they had down. I didn't care if it was their best. But the only way to get better is to stop whining and to "just keep writing."
At the end of the year, we watched Finding Nemo, and we charted the transformation of Marlin (Nemo's father) and his change from clutching the past to realizing the importance of experience and living a story worth telling. They assumed it was an easy way to coast through the end of they year, and even adamantly bickered that Pixar was too kiddish, for they are "basically in high school, Mr. V."
Then, I asked them to consider the person they are now and who they want to be after high school, and they looked at me like I had two heads. I said, "Many of you are afraid to change, like Marlin. Many of you are missing out on the experience that is needed to live life to the fullest. You, too, are characters in a story. You must take note of your transformations. I hear you talk all the time about what you want to do—or will do—but most of you know nothing of what it takes to get there. It's time to consider how you view your experiences."
Sound harsh? Well, students at this school are used to my tough-love talks. They are the last kids that need coddling. They need to taste reality in order to wake up some of those apathetic taste buds. Otherwise, most of them are prone to drop out from a high school just down the road. Otherwise, they will continue to live in a limiting box of stingy, negative perception.
So, I had one last message for them before the year ended. Out loud I read my letter to them all about the importance of my token phrase, "Just keep writing," and what it means beyond classroom walls...
At the end of Finding Nemo, Marlin finally gets to tell his son that sea turtles can live to be over 150 years old. He swam all over the ocean to get to his son, swimming away from sharks, dodging through a forest of jellyfish, freefalling down the mouth of a blue whale and getting spouted out its blowhole, and when it’s all said and done, this is the information he first wants to share—sea turtles? Why?
That little fact, that tiny piece of knowledge, represents Marlin’s transformation as a character. Earlier, he told Nemo he never desired to meet a sea turtle, but now he finally sees that he’s living a story that he is proud to tell. That he can find joy in passing learned knowledge down to his son. He realized that experience is everything, that if you want to pass down your story, you have to live a story worth telling. What I want to talk to you about is this: You, too, should want to live a story worth telling.
This year, maybe you walked into this class thinking that writing was only done in school, something that you should only do when a teacher tells you to. But here’s the truth: Before you even walked in my class, you wrote every single day. Maybe not on paper. Maybe not by picking up a pen. But every single day, you have been writing a story, and you will continue to write it when I’m not around. You have a say in what characters will be involved. You have a say in what your setting can look like. You have a say in the purpose of your story. And you certainly have a say in who you are. You have always been a writer, and you always will be, because being a writer means that you make the choices, and that’s an amazing opportunity.
However, it takes effort.
If you do not keep writing, if you do not spend your days making these important choices, do you think you’ll end up living the life you want? Do you think you will be happy? No.
Here’s another reality: you can’t tell the future. You don’t know what experiences you will have in high school. You may know what you want to do, but you cannot predict everything. You will certainly have difficult times, and you will most certainly have joyful times. But no matter the person you are now, you can write yourself into the person you want to be.
Marlin let his past control his life. He allowed his past to control him so fully that he lost the ability to change and to appreciate life’s unexpectedness. And like Marlin, if you meet each new experience without the ability to change, to adapt, or to be positive, you will not be able to enjoy life. You will cringe in fear at everything that comes your way.
Now, I know there are unexpected dangers in this enormous, mysterious ocean we call life. But that’s where writing comes back in. The best writers—and the happiest people—know how to write themselves out of the unexpected. The best writers just keep writing. Sometimes, like Marlin, all you will be able to do is act, and you may not feel like you can plan for anything in your life. But even then, you are still a writer, and you can tell yourself: “I’m going to write my way out of this.” You will reconsider your story: its characters, its setting, its purpose, and the hopes, dreams and desires of its main character—you.
The best writers understand that the life you want is written by picking up the pen and planning, trying it out, giving it all you got, constantly editing and revising for what works best. Sure, at times, you will want to look back at what didn’t work and scratch it out, cross it out until it’s behind a block of ink. Like Marlin tried to do.
But it doesn’t matter. Like Dory would say, just keep writing. Otherwise, life will write you.
This world owes you nothing. It’s harsh, but it’s true. This world hasn’t promised you a darn thing. So if you let the pen rest on a blank paper, you can’t expect the world to write a story you want to live. You have to write it yourself.
Just keep writing, and create a story worth living. Just keep writing, and take every unexpected moment in life as a chance to edit and revise, to make your story stronger. Just keep writing, and be able to tell those after you about the ages of sea turtles, so to speak.
Just keep writing.
Just keep writing.
Just keep writing.
Sincerely,
Mr. Varney
