There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin. You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.

-- Annie Dillard

I.

I believe in the importance of teaching writing as a permission-giving practice. I operate under the assumption that storytelling itself–giving a person the freedom to find their authentic voice, their most sincere stories, whether or not these stories are destined for publication–is a radical and deeply humane act, and one that should be given space to breathe and thrive.

My teaching practice has been enriched and informed by writer Natalie Goldberg, cartoonist and writer Lynda Barry, writer and professor Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer, spoken word artist and teacher Andrea Thompson, and poet and teacher Stuart Ross. I have also learned from my teacher colleagues at the Toronto District School Board, and my many students, of all ages, past and present.

I use free-writing and other exercises that emphasize both form and play, along with an atmosphere of affirmation, to allow students (whether they are high school students or professionals returning to school) to access what Allen Ginsberg called 'the muck of the mind' and consequently generate authentic work.

There is something about both the privacy and the openness of the page (whether it be writing or reading) that is near revolutionary in our lives today; it provides respite from the noise of technology and the sameness that pop/corporate culture demands.

And I think it does us such good to keep noticing and giving voice to our astonishment!

II.

“These days, I think there is a real gap between me and the next person, there is a space between every human being. And it is not a frightening space. The empty air which exists between people might be crossed by emotion, but it might not. You need something else, or you need something first.”

—Anne Enright, The Wren, The Wren

Here, a character in Anne Enright’s excellent novel The Wren, The Wren, is thinking about the possible limitations of empathy, and the need for perhaps a new means of connecting, of crossing the space between us. Later, she calls it “translation”. In my view, the slow careful work of reading and writing can sometimes provide such a crossing. And it seems particularly important at a time when we often find ourselves siloed by our experiences and identities.

III.

“And she points out that she has had many other important things to do with her time, such as raising children and participating in politics. “Art,” she explains, “is too long, and life is too short.” 

—Grace Paley, in The Paris Review, when asked about the meagerness of her writing output

Paley got this right: art is too long and life is too short. How do I justify the quiet solitude and exile required by the writing life when the world seems to be crying out for a more active and noisy commitment? Shouldn’t I spend my energy dismantling capitalism, the patriarchy, planting more trees?

My answer to this? Well, yes. But also: the work of noticing, of reading someone else’s words carefully, of crafting your own sentences with attention is in itself a positive—even subversive—act.

IV.

“If you show someone something you've written, you give them a sharpened stake, lie down in your coffin, and say, ‘When you’re ready’”

—David Mitchell, Black Swan Green

My work as a high school teacher, creative writing instructor and mother has forced me to grapple with how essential storytelling and poem-making is to the formation of self for young people and how vital it is to be exposed to a multiplicity of voices—perhaps especially for those who feel they have lost their means of expression. My experience with mental illness (and especially an acute episode of Pure OCD and anxiety/depression for which I was hospitalized) has taught me that we are all vulnerable to both our circumstances and our bodies’ frailties.

Storytelling and poem-making represent a way for me to overcome some of those vulnerabilities and to bridge my various selves. Teaching writing, and reading works that inspire me, allow me to connect to humans in a way that both transcends and elevates the everyday.

My workshops emphasize specific, descriptive (not prescriptive or bossy) feedback in a supportive environment. No sharpened stakes allowed.

Please come join me in one of my courses. We will write together!