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Community Essay: Finding Connections in Free Writing

Yellow painting with swirls of other colors.

Finding Connections in Free Writing

 

As a teacher, I understand that free writing—or journaling—plays an important role in supporting the habit and routine of writing. I also understand, from many years working in the public schools with K-12 students, the sheer amount that students write matters. In our community of writers, we begin with the wise counsel of Stephen King: “If you want to be a writer, you must read a lot and write a lot.” This is true for writers of all ages.

In the past, I felt there was too much “to cover” to integrate free writing exercises in my College Writing classroom; I was in that all-too familiar trap for educators, even as I knew we wouldn’t go places without actually getting to the work of writing.

After the shift to remote teaching last March, I noticed more late assignments and more students talking about lack of motivation, especially when it came to writing. In our conversations, students reported that what they needed most: connection. Around the same time, and continuing through the summer, I joined Watch Me Work Zoom sessions with playwright Suzan Lori Parks, a writing group hosted by The Public Theater and HowlRound Studios. We’d “work” together for twenty minutes, and in the second part of each session, participants asked Parks questions about their process of writing. She talked about the essentials of writing—showing up for yourself at the writing desk and being part of a team. She said, “This group is your squad.”

I began launching our College Writing Zoom sessions with free writing. I offered a prompt, we’d write for five minutes (working our way up to ten as the semester progressed), and sometimes share brief reflections. This work continued through the summer with a small group of writers. Their writing and their commitment to the process reaffirm my own confidence in the essential role of free-writing in the college classroom.

What follows is a collection of excerpts from our free writing practice, as well as the prompts we used to awaken our thinking, and a few reflections on the process.

—Professor Ellen Brooks

I. In response to “One Bright Thing” from The New York Times.

The first installment of “One Bright Thing,” published on April 14, 2020, was a collection of “bright things” that stood out in the midst of all the darkness the pandemic brought, written by veteran writers. This is the link to those. The column was ultimately so widely read and appreciated that theTimes ran another installment, this time with contributions from readers, on May 3. I used excerpts from this second run with the summer student writing group. A few of those are below, followed by a student response by Quasim Sonson ’24.

Staying in the Fight

Genevieve Flagello, Brooklyn

I’m a social worker at a hospital in New York City. I’m on a rotating schedule so I don’t go in every day. On days I do go in, I ride a friend’s borrowed bicycle to Manhattan to avoid subways. On the Williamsburg Bridge bike path are the words in graffiti, “Cheat Death NYC” and a heart. The combination of these bolstering words and the beautiful city skyline remind me that we’re New Yorkers. We can get through anything! Even this.

Full Speed Ahead

Niels Aaboe, Manhattan

Dory has no concept of social distancing. That’s why we go to Isham Park very early in the morning, when no one is around, with a Chuckit! launcher and two balls. And every time, she dances and jumps as she waits for the first toss. I throw it as far as I can and she takes off after the bright orange orb like a bullet from a gun. Chuckit! balls take crazy bounces, but Dory, a golden retriever, can field like Derek Jeter in his prime. She snares a short hop, makes the turn and comes running back at full speed. Without breaking stride, she spits out the ball and takes off after the other one, which I’ve thrown in the opposite direction.

Student response by Qasim Sonson ’24:

Something that delights me is when I talk to my niece or my nephew. When I see them smile, and hear their voices, I feel at peace. I think that everything is gonna be alright. Something else that delights me is listening to good music. Calling something good music is extremely subjective, but I’ve been told I have good taste in music—so I guess my music is good. I like the beats that Lil Uzi Vert has on his songs, even though I dismissed him as an artist at first. I dismissed him because of the current era of rap being something that people who respect rap music from the older eras look down upon. The new artists are weird, have stupid names, and don’t say anything meaningful in their lyrics. I think that there are many newer artists who fit into this idea, but because I am open minded when it comes to listening to new music, I have found some gems of this era. Something else that delights me is when I hear good piano in a song. It inspires me to get on my keyboard, and learn it, or create something new. I am also delighted by this Japanese gummy candy that I am now able to buy again, because the store that sells it finally opened back up. The candy is delicious, and tastes different from any American candy. One thing that delights me is when I sit in the living room, and watch tv with my family. I spend a lot of time in my room chilling alone. It’s nice when we all chill together, and watch Family Feud or something. I am also delighted by the sun, when I walk outside. I don’t go outside much, but it always feels nice when the sun hits my face. It feels good. It makes me think of this one moment when I was entering the dance building at Purchase, walking through the entrance, the summer sun shining hard through the glass, and I was so at peace that I walked with my eyes closed for a moment.

II. In response to Claudia Rankine’s poem “Weather.”

The below poem first appeared in The New York Times on June 2, after the murder of George Floyd, in the book review section. The online version includes audio of Rankine reading.

Weather

On a scrap of paper in the archive is written
I have forgotten my umbrella. Turns out
in a pandemic everyone, not just the philosopher,
is without. We scramble in the drought of information
held back by inside traders. Drop by drop. Face
covering? No, yes. Social distancing? Six feet
under for underlying conditions. Black.
Just us and the blues kneeling on a neck
with the full weight of a man in blue.
Eight minutes and forty-six seconds.
In extremis, I can’t breathe gives way
to asphyxiation, to giving up this world,
and then mama, called to, a call
to protest, fire, glass, say their names, say
their names, white silence equals violence,
the violence of again, a militarized police
force teargassing, bullets ricochet, and civil
unrest taking it, burning it down. Whatever
contracts keep us social compel us now
to disorder the disorder. Peace. We’re out
to repair the future. There’s an umbrella
by the door, not for yesterday but for the weather
that’s here. I say weather but I mean
a form of governing that deals out death
and names it living. I say weather but I mean
a November that won’t be held off. This time
nothing, no one forgotten. We are here for the storm
that’s storming because what’s taken matters.

Student response by Chyanne Carmichael ’24:

 

At a time like this, some may argue

that all lives matter.

 

But let’s be real here.

 

Who ends up at the bottom of the list?
Who ends up getting the short end of the stick?

Who ends up taking the long way home?

 

Of course all lives matter,

but why aren’t black lives protected?

 

If we truly are the proud citizens of one nation,

under God,

why has it taken so long for America to say

black lives matter?

 *

“White silence equals violence!”

the crowd chanted in unison.

Among the voices heard was eighteen year old Bella.

She’d never imagined herself protesting for Black Lives Matter,

on paper she had it all:

 

A mother that loved her,

A dad that protected her,

all under one roof in a house that could fit an entire rally.

 

But once she turned on the news,

saw the fatal death of George Floyd,

and heard her furious parents demanding her to turn off the television,

 

she realized that the bubble she lived in,

just like the rest of the world,

is biased towards people who don’t look like her.

 *

Student response II, by Qasim Sonson ’24.

What’s taken matters. Perception Breaking, Shatters. Black blood spilled and spattered. The world is a disaster.

 

Drowning in a sea of fire. Like that target. We have always been the target.

 

Help.

 

I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Something bad seems like its coming.

 

Black lives shouldn’t need defending. 2nd civil war impending. The struggle for true freedom is never ending.

 

Name after name after name. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Amaud Arbury. Elijah McClain. All unjustly slain.

 

Protest, riot, riot, push back. Fight for a day in which I don’t feel my life is in danger because I’m Black. It doesn’t matter if I never see that day. I want that for my nephew, and my nieces. I’m not religious, but for that, I Pray.

 

Hate and violence ravish the human race like a plague. In that, I guess we’re facing two pandemics.

III. Inspired by Deputy Editor of the The New York Times Review Tina Jordan’s  “From Our Home to Yours,” a GoogleDoc collection of “Suggestions, lists, distractions and quarantine diaries from our reporters, critics and editors,” I created the below prompt:

For me, Jordan’s list is a reminder that as writers, we also don our researcher hats, and the information we gather often finds a place within our writing—directly or indirectly. I think of John Berger’s assertion—”Our vision is continually active, continually moving, continually holding things in a circle around itself, constituting what is present to us as we are.” What are those “things” that are currently holding your attention?

Student response by Emma Listokin ’24:

What I’m reading: I am very slowly making my way through Glennon Doyle’s “Untamed.” A fantastic memoir focusing on what it’s like to be a woman and how women have the power to break free of expectations and burdens. 

What I’m watching: I am hoping to watch the Clinton-Lewinsky documentary sometime soon. My family and I have been discussing politics and that particular scandal came up. I am really curious to do more research on Lewinsky as I’ve heard she is incredibly resilient and well-spoken. I seek out women to admire and inspire me.

What I’m obsessed with: Two self made women:

  • Brittney Vassuer on youtube. She is incredibly smart and does home and lifestyle videos. I’m addicted to watching her videos.
  • Nabela Noor on instagram. Nabela is really creative and owns a homemaking company and vlogs about her day and i find all of her vlogs really inspiring and motivating - so much so that I started my own blog!

IV. In response to an excerpt from During the Pandemic by Rick Barot:

I used an excerpt from Rick Barot’s prose poem “During the pandemic,” asking students to borrow the first line, “During the pandemic,” for their own entries.The poem appeared in Together in a Time of Sudden Strangeness: America’s Poets Respond to the Pandemic, edited by Alice Quinn. 

An excerpt of Rick Barot's prose-poem During the Pandemic. An excerpt of Rick Barot's prose-poem “During the Pandemic.”

“During the pandemic…” by Luna Saul ’24:

During the pandemic, life slowed to a crawl. Minutes felt like hours, or sometimes hours felt like minutes. It was as if Time itself had some vendetta against me and sought revenge by making itself incalculable. The only interaction with people was via the internet or work, and if I was lucky, I would see a friend on a walk. There wasn’t much to do, schoolwork had been done for the day and my brain had no intention of focusing on anything else. Often during classes, I would zone out and sink into the fantasies my mind creates, now is not very different. The most interesting events were thunderstorms. The snare drum that was the rain, the symbols that were thunder, the world was playing a symphony to entertain us.

“During the pandemic…” by Isobelle Novak ’24:

During the pandemic, I found myself. It turns out that a couple months of isolation really makes you come to terms with yourself. I’ve never really liked being alone, always seeking out other people almost as an attempt to escape being alone with myself. Honestly, I’m grateful for the way I got to learn and know myself. I meditated, did shadow work, wrote poetry, made a song, tried new things. Forcing myself to struggle with isolation is how I got to understand and love myself on a deeper level. At the same time, now that I have this newfound sense of myself, I feel out of place at home. It almost seems as if I’ve outgrown this place.

During the pandemic I fell in love!

Follow-up reflection, by Isobelle Novak:

When typing this up, it was honestly hard for me to not tweak my sentences or expand now that I’ve gone through the first semester and 2020 is almost over. In the moment, I was really just reflecting and writing it down. I’m really glad I did this freewrite, though, because even at that point I had so much more learning and loving to do just like I still do now. It’s really nice to be able to reflect on yourself being grateful and learning new things, especially as you keep experiencing even more. What’s most important about freewriting, I’d say, is making it whatever you want. That seems like it should be obvious, given the term freewrite, but really write however feels most natural/most you, ​even if it’s scrappy or about something seemingly obscure.