There’s a place in my mind where teaching and writing converge.
Yes, I teach writing, so of course, there is a literal place they converge.
And yes, after a productive summer of writing, I started teaching again just a couple of days ago, so there is an actual time they converge as well.
But I mean something a little different than both of those more literal concepts of convergence suggest. What I mean is that writing fuels my teaching; and teaching fuels my writing. Robert Frost famously wrote, “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” For me, every time a new semester begins, the opposite feels true. For me, teaching writing is an example of two roads converging.
A few weeks ago I wrote about how both teachers and students inspire me, and I mentioned my graduate school Shakespeare professor, Ann Carver, as one of the teachers that inspired me the most. There are not a lot of sources of encouragement for one to become a writer. The cliches of the starving artist, the pauper and his pen, have, after all, a strong foundation in reality, and if you ask most people what you have to do to become a writer, they can’t even tell you where to begin. As a result, parents don’t often encourage their children to pursue any dreams they might have of becoming a writer. And even most teachers are more rooted in scholarly than creative endeavors.
As a graduate student I was very good at both types of writing, and I was struggling with deciding whether I should pursue a PhD and the scholarly work that would entail or an MFA and the creative work that would prepare me for. Most of my professors suggested I pursue the more scholarly route, envisioning me happier in a stable academic future than bearing the uncertainties of a creative one.
When I presented this quandary to Dr. Carver, she echoed advice that only one other person had ever given me, another teacher, my high school creative writing instructor, Catherine Rotter, who had told me, “Do what you want to do; there are ways to get by.” Dr. Carver pointed out that I was choosing between creating primary and secondary materials, and that she was confident I would excel at either, and should therefore follow the path I would find more personally fulfilling. Then she added with a wink, “Although in my decades of teaching, I’ve watched hundreds become scholars, and very few become poets, and I believe you are already one of the few.”
I chose the MFA, primary materials, and although there have been lean years, I have never regretted that choice. They say it only takes one to make you believe in yourself. Dr. Carver was that one for me, and I like to believe that I have been a similar one for at least a handful of my own students. As I prepare to enter the classroom for my 42nd year, I remind myself of that with the following poem, and I hope it helps other teachers remember the importance of what they do as well.
