Not so long ago I decided that my readers might like to see a more or less regular blog entry from me here on the Imperfectly Ordinary website, so I set about deciding what to write about… Maybe I should have put that into uppercase and added ponderous gong sound effects. What resulted was perhaps the worst case of WRITER’S BLOCK I can remember having to suffer through. The way I got through it is a good story in itself, and so I’ll share it.
Back during my high school days anyone who bothered to take a careful look would have discovered that I was a walking swirl of self contradictions, not the least of which was a compulsion to work hard to avoid betraying any hint of enthusiasm at anything my peers might consider evidence of being smart. I was afraid of the consequences…if you have read A Gift of Dreams you’ll recognize what I’m talking about and you will recognize the formidable Miss Montgomery, my senior year English teacher.
At some point during the year…I can’t remember just when…Miss Montgomery blessed each of us college-bound seniors the opportunity to demonstrate our understanding of the notion of English Poetry by composing our very own sonnet. I could not have explained why, just then, but I was scared of succeeding and being singled out. But…as you can easily imagine…I was even more scared of the wrath of my teacher. After a guilt-ridden week of procrastination, I created a solution I could live with. I wrote an elaborately correct sonnet explaining in logical detail why I was unable to write a sonnet, ending it in near-perfect iambic pentameter with the line …for a sonnet I do not know how to write. Miss Montgomery was not amused, but I got off the hook with a “B” and a tight-lipped, penetrating stare from my teacher.
Fast forward to now, to my very own website, and to the assignment I have given myself of sharing the day to day adventures of being a writer with my readers by revealing some hard earned wisdom. There are times when the best way past an obstacle is straight through it, head-on.
I hope the story earns me more than a tight-lipped stare from you.
Out here where I live, in the far left corner of Washington State, it can be hard to decide just when spring has finally arrived. That’s not because lingering snowdrifts and patches of ice won’t go away, but pretty much the opposite. We don’t have the sort of winter that really matters, unless you count heavier rain and gray skies that are really dark. The grass on the lawn never turns dead and brown, it just stops growing very much, and being outdoors in shirtsleeves does not count as fun. No matter…one day the bite is out of the air and you know that the lawnmower is going to need fresh oil and a good cleaning before long and you don’t hve to imagine so hard to see where leaf buds are showing up on the trees. Then one day you can’t escape it…the air feels good on your bare arms and there are real leaves everywhere and you can hear the chug of a lawnmower at work and smell fresh-cut grass across the street.
For me that moment is like the opening of a great ponderous door that never fails to reveal new challenges and opportunities in life that I never imagined until now. You may call it something else, but I know you feel it, too. For me it is the call to explore those subtle feelings, those hints that may turn into thoughts if only I can give them room to grow a bit. It’s the sort of thing I talk about in the early chapters of A Gift of Dreams, a gift I want to share with anyone who wants to listen.
What’s going on here?
This is all about gifted children, especially about the issue of unacknowledged gifted children , and especially about my experiences as one of them. It is also a place for all of you to discuss your understanding of what gifted children are…and what they are not…and most important, about the things you can do to help them.
I wear two hats in this outfit. I have offered myself up for your scrutiny as an example of the gifted kid who got overlooked and of what happened to me as I grew up, and I am inviting you to share and enjoy the products of my work as a writer. It has always been my intention that in addition to serving as a testament to my experiences of being too smart for my own good, my written work will stand on its own merit as something you will want to read, something that will leave its own mark on your memories and make you wonder, and remember, and imagine…
Let’s talk about using this blog as a place where both come together. I’m betting that somewhere in the pages of A Gift of Dreams or I Promised You Daisies there is a scene, a passage, something that will resonate with you about your experiences. This is my invitation to share that experience with the rest of us. Whether or not it is specifically about gifted kids, I’m asking you to sign in and sound off about the way something I wrote connected with you. Who wants to be first?
We have provided information for you on our trilogy which includes “A Gift of Dreams”, “I Promised You Daisies” and “Sidedoor to Heaven”.
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