There was a Very Important Task (V.I.T.) that had to be completed by 8am on Wednesday morning. And only the inquisitive one could do it.

The inquisitive one was up for the job! The inquisitive one was a trooper!

However, the truth is, the inquisitive one had been experiencing some health issues over the past week and a half. (Quite coincidentally, I have been experiencing health issues of my own. But that is irrelevant to this story. I only bring it up because I want to express that I empathize with the poor inquisitive one.)

The inquisitive one valiantly endeavored to work on the V.I.T. However, whenever the inquisitive one was feeling perfectly healthy, the inquisitive one’s boss sent over work. And whenever the inquisitive one was not feeling perfectly healthy, the inquisitive one was unable to work on the V.I.T. And so it was that 7am on Wednesday morning rolled around, and the V.I.T. had not even been started!

The inquisitive one, realizing that there was no time to complete the V.I.T. as planned, quickly completed the V.I.T. in a different way. And so the problem was resolved! There is a happy ending to this story!

And the inquisitive one, resolving not to think about the V.I.T. that was due at 8am on Friday morning, curled up in a little ball and fell asleep.

Strangely enough, I did not take any writing courses in college. Neither my B.A. in English nor my M.Ed. in English required me to take even a single writing course. There was a writing course requirement for all incoming students at the college (of arts and sciences) within the larger university that I attended; but I passed out of it.

True, I took many, many university courses in English literature, all of which required essay writing. Professors commented on my essays and assigned them grades. But I took no university class that attempted to systematically teach students how to write.

As it turns out, I am not the only professional writer who did not take a single writing class in college. I hear tell of others on occasion. Just this week, I read an interview with Daniel Mendelsohn, editor-at-large of the New York Review of Books, author of many books and articles, and expert in literary criticism. (I found this interview in the most recent issue of Poets & Writers magazine.) Here is what Mendelsohn is quoted as saying:

“I myself never studied writing; I just read a lot. You start by imitating the people you like, and soon you develop your own voice.”

It’s true that reading a lot, imitating what you read, and developing your own voice are all key components of learning how to write. I certainly followed this path. But I find myself dissenting, in a slight way, when Mendelsohn claims the following:

“I don’t think any kind of writing can be ‘taught.’ Either you’re a writer or you’re not, and it doesn’t matter what kind of writing we’re talking about—fiction, criticism, whatever. I do think that people who are gifted can be helped along, their craft refined and improved, by good teachers.”

In one sense, I agree wholeheartedly with this sentiment: it’s true that some people are born with a gift for writing, while other people are born with other gifts. And I agree that those born with a gift for writing can be helped along. But I find myself dissenting with Mendelsohn’s definition of teach, as well as the implication that people not born with any particular gift for writing cannot also be helped along the writing path by good teachers.

This opinion of mine surely arises from my background as a high school English teacher. The belief that sustained and inspired me during my four years in the classroom was that reading and writing can be taught—and be taught to students of all ability levels. And I found, after recovering from some major pitfalls during my first year, that my belief is substantially true.

But being a high school English teacher was challenging. It was challenging in many ways, obviously, but one of those many ways is that teaching English language arts is more loosey-goosey than teaching other subjects. English language arts and mathematics are the two main core subject areas; all of the other academic subjects build upon English language arts and mathematical skills. But these two subjects are vastly different. In math, logic and formulas rule. In English, emotions count as much as logic. And while there are formulas in English, they are looser, and they can be broken. The formulas are more like tips and tricks.

But these tips and tricks work. And they can be taught.

Of course, when Mendelsohn says that writing cannot be taught, he is not referring to the teaching of tips and tricks. He’s referring to the creation of an art form, to the advanced, invisible workings of mind that go into crafting a masterful text.

But I would argue that if that is the definition of teaching, nothing at all can be taught. You cannot teach anyone to swim, to be a scientist, to pilot an airplane, to fully understand Algebra, to create a masterful painting: the novice ultimately has to learn the skills of a discipline on their own, through study and practice. But while you can’t implant expertise into someone’s brain, you can offer them an increasingly more advanced sequence of tips and tricks. And you can monitor their efforts and guide them on a path toward greater proficiency. This is what good teachers and coaches do.

And so, there are tips and tricks that can help people learn how to write well. Where did I learn them, if not while pursuing my undergraduate and graduate degrees? I’ll explain in my next blog post.

Did you learn professional, job-related skills through taking college classes? Through personal study and practice? Through another source? Through a combination of several ways?

Thank you for the flowers. I am feeling better than I was two days ago, so that’s progress. Today I’d like to share an article I enjoyed from a recent issue of The New Yorker.

The author of the article, Cyrus Grace Dunham, describes their ongoing transition from living as a woman (named Grace) to living as a man (named Cyrus). Dunham shares that the decision to transition was difficult for them. The process entailed self-doubt as well as deep conviction. In this passage, the author shares their experience of transitioning from going by Grace to going by Cyrus:

“When I introduced myself to people, I tried to swallow my words. If someone asked my name, I pretended that I couldn’t hear them. If they asked again, I said whatever came to mind first. I’d tell one person I was Cyrus, then turn to another and say I was Grace. I said ‘Grace’ in a higher pitch. I was considerate, charming—whatever would make the people around me comfortable. Cyrus was quiet. Sometimes he went hours without speaking at all.”

I enjoyed the entire article (and there’s more: they have a book coming out soon, with the same title as the article), but I especially enjoyed the ending. I thought it was a beautiful and insightful ending. But I will not give it away. Do check it out here, if you get a chance.

What life transitions have you undergone? Did you feel that you were mixing self-doubt with deep conviction?*

*Bonus points if you noticed the Shakespeare reference in this blog post!

Hi, all!

This week I’m experiencing a flare-up of an old health issue. So I’ll keep this post short. Send flowers and love. Digital flowers and love work perfectly fine. They are perfectly beautiful.

And tell me: what setbacks are you coping with this month? We all experience them. It’s not a matter of being weak. It’s a matter of being human. So tell me your woes. And, my dear, here are some beautiful flowers and love, all for you.

Until next time,
Your friend,
Liza

The inquisitive one went on a long run through a forest in Maryland. It ended up being a longer run than expected. The inquisitive one never started to feel tired, and so kept running and running and running and running.

At some point, the inquisitive one noticed that there were many colorful animals nearby. There were brightly colored birds and brightly colored frogs! The inquisitive one had never seen such animals in the Washington, DC, area before.

“How strange and wonderful!” thought the inquisitive one.

But what was even stranger and more wonderful was that all of the colorful birds were flying like crazy in the opposite direction, past the inquisitive one. The colorful frogs were likewise hopping like crazy past the inquisitive one.

“They must love exercise as much as I do!” thought the inquisitive one, happily.

But a few minutues later, the inquisitive one realized that the entire forest was on fire, all around, everywhere! The inquisitive one stopped running and just stood there panting, afraid and horrified.

“Oh no, I must’ve run all the way to the Amazon rainforest!” thought the inquisitive one.

The fire was brighter than the brightest color displayed by any of the birds or frogs. It was hot, and everywhere, and closing in on the path that the inquisitive one had run in on. A moment later, the inquisitive one was trapped!

Surrounded by encroaching flames and terrified, the inquisitive one started to cry. Many, many tears escaped from the inquisitive one’s eyes. So many saltwater tears flowed that streams and rivers formed, and, suddenly, the fire was mostly extinguished, and the air felt cooler.

Of course, the inquisitive one could not possibly have produced enough tears alone to make this happen. You see, people all around the world were also crying about the Amazon fires. So many tears escaped from eyes all around the world that many streams and rivers were forming in every nation. Fires died out. And the water levels of the oceans rose. And then, suddenly, major cities were flooding all over the world!

The inquisitive one was standing in a rising pool of water, in the middle of a burnt-up forest. There was no way to run back home—it would soon have to be a swim! The nearby trees were too burnt to climb! There were no pieces of driftwood to hold onto, because everything was charred and disintegrating in the rising water!

But then a very large, very colorful bird flew over and landed in the pool next to the inquisitive one.

“I know where a spaceship is,” said the bird. “It’s time to go home to our ancestors’ planet. Hop on!”

“You mean Proxima Centauri b?!” the inquisitive one gasped.

“Of course, silly!” said the bird.

So the inquisitive one hopped onto the bird’s back. The bird flew them to Antarctica, where a spaceship was waiting. (Luckily, the spaceship was heated, because the inquisitive one’s running outfit was completely inadequate for the weather at that point.) They got into the spaceship and flew up, up, up: above the clouds. But at that point, the spaceship jolted, and slowed, and stopped, midair. The bird gasped, staring at the spaceship’s instruments.

“Oh no!” cried the bird. “The ozone layer is so thick with pollutants that we can’t escape the earth’s atmosphere!”

“Oh no!” said the inquisitive one.

“Hold on tight! I’m going to fire up the extra-super-propulsion chemical jet-booster secret-formula flame rockets! Hopefully that will do the trick.”

The inquisitive one held on; but suddenly there was nothing to hold onto anymore. You see, all those fumes in the ozone blew up in a massive conflagration when they came into contact with the extra-super-propulsion chemical jet-booster secret-formula flame rockets. The entire sky lit on fire, all around the earth! And this giant fire-blanket fell straight down to the earth!

As a result, tons of ocean water evaporated. The water levels fell back to where they were that morning! However, all that fire caused the Amazon to start blazing again, at the same level of that morning!

Luckily, the inquisitive one and the bird were both wearing super-retardant proprietary explosion-proof reflective-haze non-un-dis-inflammable spacesuits, so they did not suffer at all when the spaceship blew up around them. The bird flew quickly down to catch the inquisitive one. And they flew to the nearest landmass that wasn’t on fire, which happened to be New Zealand.

“New Zealand is beautiful!” exclaimed the bird, as the inquisitive one climbed off. “I have always wanted to visit the ancestors’ home planet. But I think I’d like to stay here for a while before attempting to leave again. Would you like to stay here with me?”

“It is beautiful here!” agreed the inquisitive one. “But I prefer to live in the Washington, DC, area. Nice to meet you, cousin. Keep in touch!”

And the inquisitive one sailed home.