Creative Community

I love the scratching of pens and the crumpling of paper. I must press hard when I write; the pages in my composition book crackle when I turn the page. These sounds are comforting and energizing when I'm alone, but they are even more so when I'm with others who are writing or drawing.

All of my seated class use the first ten or fifteen minutes to write a journal entry. I used to use this time to grade or plan, but I decided that instead, I would write with my students. Now, I bring in a composition book just as they do. I don't know if seeing me write matters to them, but the shared activity means a great deal to me.

Writing is, and, I imagine, many other art forms are, often solitary endeavors. When people in one room devote themselves to creative work at the same time, even if their efforts are separate, the air changes. The charge is almost tangible.

I experienced this fully for the first time in a high school creative writing class. The teacher would give us time, and the only requirement was that we read, write, or do something creative that had nothing to do with homework. I usually wrote in a journal with multicolored pens and markers. Everyone around me took out a novel, began to doodle, or worked on drafts of poems and stories. A girl next to me copied her favorite lines of poetry (often e. e. cummings) into a small green spiral notebook. I craved that time. It felt like that thick and serene silence of a snowy field, but it had those little sounds (turning pages, sighs, uncapping markers, pencils sizzling across paper) of branches cracking, ice bits clicking, and something happening.

The Ink Quill Society is now official with a constitution, officers, and regular meetings. For the past three weeks, we have spent the majority of our meeting time with a few creative prompts. Libraries are magical places anyway: that communal effort of studying or reading, the fairy godmother or -father presence of the librarians, and the quiet breathing of all those books and the characters, knowledge, and words that fill them. But when we, four or five of us gathered around a study table, hunch over our notebooks to fill or draw lines, the shimmer intensifies.

Whatever deluge of work or stress has preceded or will follow that half hour, I feel renewed, more connected to my creative self, more sure of my identity as a writer (in addition to wife, mother, and teacher), and assured that others like me are striving to maintain a commitment to creative work.

Mrs. James
Faculty Editor