Oh, the last week of classes. I’m almost sad that I’m taking next year off from teaching, because I love my students. It would be nice to see some of them again in future courses. But…I get to take the whole year off! In what other profession could you do this? I’ll write my third novel, do something about that darn dissertation of mine, and reappear on campus on fall 2009. Exxxxxxcellent.

In my grad course on children’s and YA literature, we ended the class with Gabrielle Zevin’s Elsewhere, which is a novel I love but felt uncertain about how to teach. In the end, though, it went well. It followed on the heels of John Green’s Looking for Alaska, so we talked a bit about both books’ interest in last words. I didn’t even plan that when putting the syllabus together! And I asked the class penetrating, well-expressed (irony, irony) questions, like, “So, what’s up with all the talking dogs?” Elsewhere turned out to be a lovely ending note for the semester. Hmm. Maybe I’ll even write an academic article about the novel.

In my creative writing class (children’s and YA fiction—I’m sure you sense a theme here, a theme that is decidedly odd for someone (me) who spent ten years studying Renaissance literature), I had my students practice storytelling. Not writing, just telling stories about their childhood. I’ve got this theory that you can become a better writer by listening to how people tell stories about their lives, by practicing telling your own, and by retelling other people’s experiences. Of course, it’s just a theory. What do I know about such things? But the nice thing about this theory is that it reminds you of how rich human experience is. Not everybody is a writer, but everybody has stories, and how they are told can tell you a lot about dialogue, quick and dirty character construction, and narrative structure.

Well, regardless of whether my theory makes sense or is a bunch of silliness, I was glad I asked my students to do these exercises, because I got to see a classroom of smiling, laughing students. I know I’m being a little sentimental, but it was just so heartwarming to see that they felt comfortable sharing their best and worst memories with their peers. It was a little bit like a twist on the Sally Field acceptance speech: I looked at them and thought, “You like each other! You really like each other!”

In other news, Thomas won the bouldering competition at Chelsea Piers, and the prize was a 50-minute massage. And you know the best part? He gave it to me! He said giving me the prize was his motivation for winning. How sweet is that? It’s sort of like the modern day equivalent of killing a bear to offer your wife a warm and fuzzy bearskin. I have an awesome husband.