Paul Hankins, The English Companion Ning, and Teachers Who Teach Teachers

I'll try to keep this brief: In September of last year, I was invited into a classroom of eighth graders by a teacher for whom I have enormous respect. I was there to talk about Nothing but Ghosts, but mostly I was there to do one of the things that I most love to do, which is to hang out with young people and talk with them about the books they read, the things they write, and the lives they dream of living.

(Okay, this is not auguring brief, but I go intrepidly on.)

At the close of that session, the teacher suggested that I look into something she called the English Companion Ning, an award-winning online social networking tool for English teachers that advertises itself, in part, as "a place to ask questions and get help... a cafe without walls or coffee: just friends." I do teach, of course, but at a university. The time I spend in middle school and high school classrooms is frequent, but sporadic. I don't actually fit into this community, in other words, but I was welcomed in, and I have gained enormously from the Ning conversations that carry on. Mostly I have gained a great appreciation for how right so many English teachers try to make their classrooms, how much they care about the books their students read, and how creative they are in their responses to educational needs and learning styles.

Recently, as you can imagine, there's been a conversation about the now-infamous Wall Street Journal article, "Darkness Too Visible," by Meghan Cox Gurdon. I don't need to review well-trod ground: Gurdon wrote, among other things, of her concern that YA work is getting darker, and that such darkness may be dangerous, noting: "Yet it is also possible—indeed, likely—that books focusing on pathologies help normalize them and, in the case of self-harm, may even spread their plausibility and likelihood to young people who might otherwise never have imagined such extreme measures."

The essay was, of course, a lightning rod, provoking all manner of response and reigniting that familiar debate about what YA should and could be. I have my own reasons for writing the kinds of YA books that I write—will be forever grateful to Laura Geringer who invited me into this YA world in the first place. Laura didn't mind that I love language and that my stories always seem to revolve around bright, seeking, big-hearted young people. She didn't marginalize me because I do not have within me a vampire tale or even (I'll be honest) any actual vampire or dystopian knowledge. She said, "Write and see what happens," and what has happened is that I have met, through my books, an astonishing group of young people who have entered my life as a second family.

The point I set out  to make today does in fact have to do with that aforementioned English Companion Ning. It has to do with the quality of conversation now ongoing in response to Ms. Gurdon's WSJ essay. Back and forth these teachers go, in all civility—suggesting, defending, opposing, reformulating, teaching each other and me about the books they introduce into their classrooms, the books they hope kids will read on their own, and the conversations they sometimes have with parents about books in which darkness pervades.

At the center of this conversation is one Paul Hankins, a Ning administrator, an ALAN board member, a Facebook treasure, and one heck of a teacher/reader whose path has crossed mine from time to time. I fervently hope that Paul does not mind me pulling a small quote from his Ning comments today. If anyone wonders what real teachers do, please think of Paul, and be grateful for him. Think of all the teachers who care.

Less than 80% of my students will have passed the GQE (graduation exam) when they come into Room 407 next fall. Last year, I had eighteen (remember our school is small) students with special needs. In one room alone, six of the twenty-eight students required some form of assistance and an aide was assigned to work with me in helping these students to navigate works like The Crucible, Of Mice and Men, and Tuesdays with Morrie. But we also tackled Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson. And many more texts.

Using a 40 Book Invitation, I was able to advise readers as they moved through genres like Plays, Memoirs/Autobiographies, Poetry, Historical Fiction, Non-Fiction, Graphic Novels, Illustrated Texts/Picture Books, and American Classics. At the end of the year, my 150 juniors read almost 4000 titles. We celebrated this at the end of the year.

 

   

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A YA Special Collection, second, perhaps, to none

Not long ago, I received a request from Joan Kaywell, who (in addition to being a professor of English Education at the University of South Florida, an award-winning author, the ALAN Membership Secretary, and the 2010-11 Senior Executive Director of FCTE) founded the Ted Hipple Special Collection of Autographed Young Adult Literature, a collection of what is now nearly 2,000 YA autographed books housed at Joan's university.  " Ideally," Joan wrote, "we’re collecting the manuscript, the ARC, the first edition, and subsequent paperbacks—ALL AUTOGRAPHED—of each author’s works so interested individuals can see the life of a book."  
 
The special collection, says Joan, was officially dedicated on May 23, 2007, and honors a man who was the founding member of the Assembly on Literature for Adolescents (ALAN), an organization that is now the largest assembly affiliated with the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) with both a national and international reputation. I, in turn, am honored to now have some of my books (both in galley form and in published form) winging their way to the collection. 

I urge you to find out more about Ted Hipple, Joan Kaywell, and this remarkable collection—which includes handwritten manuscripts, galley mark ups, and rare first printings—by visiting this web site. 

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My ALAN moment

I found myself in Orlando at the ALAN convention; I also found co-Egmont USA authors James Lecesne (Virgin Territory) and Tricia Rayburn (Siren).  Egmont USA's Katie Halata, who coordinated our days so spectacularly, is snapping this photo. I didn't know what to expect of ALAN; this was my first time there.  But what I found were teachers who—mostly on their own dime, taking their own vacation days—had carved out time to learn about new stories and where they come from.  There is a powerful commitment to our young out there; I felt the heat and passion of it through the day and over the course of the dinner that Katie hosted—a dinner that included such guests as Matt Skillen, Susan Groenke, Melanie Hundley, Shannon Collins, Steve Bickmore, and incoming ALAN president, Wendy Glenn.

ALAN is a class act.  I was proud and happy to be there.

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Well Groomed

I have been out of my home more than I should be of late—at meetings, at conferences, at gatherings. I have not found the time simply to be. Last night, as I walked through the dusk of my city, Philadelphia, toward the ALAN cocktail hour at the NCTE event, I felt a floating disassociation from myself. I counted the things that I should be doing, the things that would never get done.

That welling was countered almost at once by the embrace of HarperTeen's own Laura Lutz (who is a dark-haired version of the young Amy Irving, I finally decided); by a conversation with the delightful Matt Phelan; by the long rat-a-tat with HarperTeen's Emilie Ziemer, not just a dancer herself, but an exemplary reader (and good soul). It was further improved by time spent with Jill Santopolo, and by listening, then, to writers talk about their process and their teaching.

Are you a lawyer? someone asked me. No, why? I wondered. Because you ask so many questions, came the answer. A familiar accusation.

There was a dinner after that—eating on stools, family style, in the Osteria kitchen; it was like a scene straight out of Top Chef. Chris Crutcher talked about freedoms of speech. Patricia McCormick was her extraordinarily lovely self (we share friends, as it turns out, and experiences in special places). Alessandra Balzer and Patty Rosati were gracious hostesses. I wasn't entirely sure, to be honest, just why I was there, how I fit—if I would ever fit—within that lit world glamor. But I was very glad to have been invited. To have touched down, for a brief spell, within that world of books.

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Rain Smear, First Drafts, and the National Council of Teachers of English

You should see the view through my office window, I wrote to John V., one of my earliest dance teachers, and still a dear, even if he's moved to Germany. Take a picture, he wrote back, and I did—the panes smeary with rain, the sky beyond somehow broken. It was the end of a day in which a long-loved novel found its final line, in which I stopped holding my breath, and exhaled. Anna sent a box of royal riviera pears from California—five of them, green golden. They arrived on my stoop the very instant I typed the book's final words. I don't know how she does this, how she is always here when the big things happen, but, in fact, she does and is.

In any case, in any case: A first draft. I will wait, let time do its thing. I will then work it through all over again. And then again. And more.

In the meantime, I'll be attending the National Council of Teachers of English conference at the Philadelphia Convention Center on November 22nd. I'll be traveling this way and that, among the booths, then attending, thanks to Laura Lutz, the HarperCollins-sponsored ALAN cocktail event before heading off for what should be a pretty spectacular dinner. I wonder if any of you plan to be there. If you do, I hope you'll let me know. I would love to meet you.

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