Because I Can Teach: students

Inspired by Julia Cameron’s advice, I faithfully write three morning pages. I originally wrote three college-ruled composition book pages. When I found a blingy gold-glittered book wide-ruled comp book I couldn’t resist, I wrote four pages (the equivalent of the college-ruled). Currently I write two graph-paper comp bookpages, which are equivalent to the 100-lines in college and wide ruled comp books.

Having an upper limit is comforting—I have a history of pushing myself too hard and too fast. I would reach an original goal, and then keep pressing—as if overdoing was necessary to doing at all. Of course, after a couple of months, I would burn out and throw over my commitment to my journal. An upper limit offers me a psychological boundary and guilt-free stopping point.

That same page-count is also a lower limit, which can challenge and stretch me. There are mornings when, at first, I have nothing to say. But I keep writing—only to find some germ of an idea, a sudden turn of direction that I wouldn’t have otherwise discovered. I’ve come to trust that showing up for my journal ensures that my Muse will show up, too. (See posts on The Adventures of Journaling and Journals, Diaries, and Kitty.)

Another way to think of page requirements is that proverbial net Robert Frost referenced when he said, “Writing free-verse is like playing tennis without a net.” A stricture can be a structure, like a spine, from which a body of work can be built. Anyone who has been paralyzed by indecision, or frozen by fear of the unknown, knows the importance of having a starting point. A page requirement can serve to motivate a writer to start. Peter Elbow, in his iconic book Writing Without Teachers, advises the importance of free-writing. But that free-writing is done within a set time limit.

A page-count might offer security and direction; and, if used consciously, inspiration. In my Senior Writing Seminar, we titrate, in a period of three weeks, from writing one to writing three daily morning pages. Student Priscilla S. Boa-Amponsem enjoyed the goal of daily writing three full pages: "It gives me space. I can relax into my writing." Page requirements, if viewed as open space for free exploration, can empower us—leading to vast discoveries.

Unfortunately, for all the many reasons discussed in our blog posts, students use page requirements in a get-it-over-with, not-too-honest fashion. To meet their page quota, they fiddle with margins; fonts and font sizes; line spacing and first page information. They pad with long block quotes; interminable introductions of The History of Everything Up Until Now, and Flintstoning and not Landing the Helicopter. Last pages are plodding summaries of what was written in the previous pages, with no additional insight or finale dismount. In short, too many students treat page-counts as a chore, a worry, a punishment; a source of resentment, and a justification for grade-griping. No wonder that they often ask “How many pages do you want?” Over and over. It’s as if they don’t believe the syllabus—or don’t want to.

When asked “How many pages do you want?” I often answer “None. I want less grading to do.” My less snarky answer is “How ever many it will take to Wow me.” As the introductory quote to this post says: “Don’t count words; write words that count.” Focus is often the answer—writing more about less, as urged by One Paper Clip: Detail, Design, Depth.

Speaking of depth, consider what sailors do when the sea is becalmed so no winds can fill the sails, or when a ship runs aground and can’t float. Mariners will row out in a smaller boat to sink an anchor a distance away. The hawser, an attached rope, is then brought back to the larger yacht or ship, from where crew kedges—pulls on the rope until the vessel moves in the desired direction.

Page requirements are what make the game of writing possible. Even this blog is inspired by my goal to post 100 essays by Spring of 2020. Without that goal, I might not be so focused or inspired. Goals, in this case page requirements, are the anchors we need to throw into an unknown depth to move our ship forward. Let us all endeavor to count and to count on our words as vessels to help us navigate life in meaningful, deep, adventuresome, significant, and pleasurable ways that count.