Writing Resolutions for 2022

January 4, 2022
by Karen J. McLean
1 min read
6 Comments

Tonight, in TeachWrite’s Time to Write Zoom gathering, it was announced that the January Challenge was to post our 2022 Writing Resolutions, and that caused me to really think.

You know, I have been putting words down on paper since I was eight years old (Thank you, Mrs. Reece, for the encouragement!), and I don’t think I have ever made resolutions about my writing.

It’s about time that I did.

(Of course, when I went to load the photo, I noticed that I was so excited to write my “h’ — my favourite fauxligraphy letter — that I spelled “Twitch” wrong.  But one of my other resolutions is to cut back on my perfectionism, so — even though it KILLS me — I’m not redoing it!)

This year I am going to concentrate on my development as a professional writer, so a set of resolutions not only makes sense, but is practically a necessity.  I am glad that someone poked me to do it.

What about you?  What are your writing resolutions for 2022?

 

 

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge. 

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.

Depending On When You Met Me …

May 30, 2021
by Karen J. McLean
2 min read
Depending On When You Met Me

Depending on when you met me,
I might have been:

A five-year-old sitting alone on a stoop,
Tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth,
Brow furrowed in concentration,
As she fought to master the art
Of shoelace-tying...

A ten-year-old grade five, terrified
To be starting at her fourth new school,
This time in a different province,
And enduring the stares of those
Who'd all grown up together...

A fifteen-year-old writing in a middle-school library,
Churning out lunch-time pages for an anxious crowd,
The latest installment of a soap opera
Starring Duran Duran
Taking acceptance where she could get it...

A twenty-year-old security guard, doing outside rounds
Of a fifty-acre psychiatric hospital property,
Swinging a Detex clock and breathing in fog,
Silently begging the shadows not to move, and her
Fellow guards not to prank...

A twenty-five-year-old tour guide,
Wearing a mishmash of "historic costume",
Biting her tongue behind the wide smile,
As those who had just been rude asked,
"Can you tell me where to go?" ...

A thirty-year-old substitute teacher,
Wheeling AV carts through crowded halls,
Asking strangers to unlock classroom doors,
Ignoring "Don't smile until Christmas,"
And learning to teach math in French on the fly...

A thirty-five-year singing Duranie,
In a university stadium in Northern Virginia,
Finally seeing the original band members
Twenty years after screaming herself hoarse
At LiveAid on television...

A forty-year-old crisis intervention worker,
Answering middle-of-the-night calls
At the domestic violence shelter
A resource of resources, and
Powered by energy drinks...

A forty-five-year-old brain injury survivor,
Parking in the lot at Walden Pond for the first time,
Blinking in disbelief, relief and sheer joy,
Having made it there entirely under her own power,
And not been squashed like Frogger on the I-95...

A fifty-year-old pandemic recluse
Staring at a screen full of rectangular strangers,
All teacher-writers with words to share,
With her feeling like the first day of grade five again,
Not knowing that they were all her friends already.

Unexpected Joy in a Little Blue Envelope

April 27, 2021
by Karen J. McLean
2 min read
17 Comments

The last month or so I’ve been feeling exhausted.  Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, all the personal adverbs … exhausted.  And I know I’m not alone.

Although I do my best to go through my days singing Chumbawamba’s “Tubthumping” to my cats and dog (“I get knocked down, but I get up again…”), the getting up is getting slower and more difficult each day.  And today was grey and dismal, and just one of those days when the cats were sniffing me for signs of life, and the dog gave up on trying to get me to the car.

And then I checked the mail, and the sight of a little blue envelope with my name on it lit up my face like Broadway.

One of the best things to come out of this past year is that I have found a wonderful community of teacher-writers through Jen Laffin’s Teach Write.

These friends — and they are friends — are spread out around the globe, but we get together via Zoom to write and brainstorm together at sessions like Time to Write and Wake Up and Write.  Outside of those sessions, it’s not unusual for us to reach out to each other via text, Facebook Messenger, email, and — yes — snailmail, like tangible blue envelopes that arrive as complete surprises on the days we seem to need them the most.

Besides reading the fun message about my ever-changing names on Zoom (there are two Karens, so I mix up my moniker regularly) and the other kind words contained within, I really enjoyed the variety of stamps!

The intense gaze of the big cat is definitely my favourite, but the grouping  itself truly makes me smile.  In a way, it reminds me of Time to Write, where we are all different but similar, beautiful souls, who come together to get us where we need to go.

We get knocked down, but we get up again … and We get by with a little help from our friends.

Thank you, my dear teacher-writer friend in Texas.  Your little blue envelope today was exactly the outstretched hand I needed, and you are a blessing.

Love, Karen

This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge. 

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.