Toots and Paperclips as Teaching Tools

The last few weeks of my Intro Creative Writing classes consist of Fiction Workshops. My students write and email the class a 4-5 page Fiction piece for everyone to read and digest. They write a letter to each author discussing what they love about the piece, what needs to change, where they see successful areas and how these areas are working to create a successful narrative. I've been so proud of their improvement and hard work as writers and additionally, their ability and confidence in discussing the work. They can acutely identify summary and scene, sensory detail, flashback, and a sense of developing tension with the precision of sharp-tongued 18-year-olds.

I had one fascinating teaching moment I want to share with you. These are moments where my experience as a teacher doesn't fit the normal profile of what people think I encounter everyday. According to my brother, I go to work everyday in a 'lady business suit' with a briefcase and quietly and thoughtfully lead with a quiet thunder. In reality, I'm in a pair of jeans, a nice shirt, and a pair of heels I keep under my desk that have never left the confines of my office. I also swear like a sailor, despite my best efforts to keep my tongue in check. Every once in a while a soulful and giggly 'SHIT' seems to break through the stagnant air and ignite case of the giggles.

This event involved a student I'll call K. K is a dedicated writer who cares deeply about how others perceive her work in the class. She is what I consider a quiet thunder. She is highly introspective and talks only when its a meaningful and well crafted statement. She came to my office about a half an hour before her workshop and stood in the doorway, heavy Jansport backpack still on her back, and looked terrified.

"What if they don't like it? Its really not good enough, I mean, I feel like I could have submitted something better, I should have submitted something better." She rubbed her hands together when she said this, her green Eastern Michigan University jacket making a small swish-woosh sound as she moved.

Moments like this are quite frequent and I've learned to approach them like a coach--as encouraging as I can be while giving them a practical application for improvement. So, I told her about my first workshop as an undergraduate and how terrified I was. I told her that I ended up crying in the ladies bathroom because I was a hardcore nerd that wanted to be the best.

"But to be a good writer," I told her, "you have to be accepting of your faults and willing to hear the criticism of others because they are your primary audience." I also explained how we'd worked all semester to create a sense of community in the classroom and that no one was going to Hemingway her.

Hemingway, def: The kid in the class that thinks he/she knows everything and isn't afraid to share it with everyone.

K still looked like she was going to cry so I told her about my paperclip trick. I told her that I get nervous everyday to teach and the way that I transferred the tension was to hold onto a paperclip. I hold it under my thumb against my index finger so that it looks like I'm making a very important point. When I feel stumped, I press more firmly on the paperclip and then press my thumbnail to my bottom lip to make it look like I'm deep in thought.

I showed K the ropes of holding the paperclip to look deep in thought and was immediately reminded of the 'sniff-the-fart-acting' scene as described by Joey on friends:



I can connect some of my best teaching moments to Friends, and remind my students of this often. I told K all about the beauty of the paperclip trick and sniff the fart acting then gave her not one but two brand new paperclips. My teaching breakdown was thus:

1. She'll be thinking more about how to use the paperclip then her workshop.
2.We broke the ice a bit by comparing and contrasting this method with sniff the fart acting.

During her workshop she sat right next to me and I noticed her holding the paperclip up and moving it around in her hands. She looked pensive and insightful. I pointed to my nose and then looked off in the distance as if I was holding onto a deep thought. It was a good moment. Nothing connects you to your students more then a fake toot and a paperclip.