March Darling Files

Beautiful Awful Paragraphs

I am in full on Festival of Faith and Writing mode, which means I am in full on teacher mode, and I am having so much fun preparing this workshop.

Here is an activity that didn’t make it into my workshop, but that I think is worthwhile (and was a blast to teach).

When I taught 7th grade, one of the books we studied was Gary Schmidt’s The Wednesday Wars. One thing I wanted my students to notice about Schmidt’s writing is his ability to make a nasty situation beautiful. This doesn’t mean he gives it a happy ending. It means he turns a situation beautiful enough for us to bear; which is one of the great miracles of story. If we can find a way to tell it so that others can bear it, I believe it is in that communion we are able to move forward.

Here’s an example from the book:

“Do you think I complained about picking up old lunches that had fungus growing on them and sweeping asbestos tiles and straightening Thorndike dictionaries? No, I didn’t. Not once. Not even when I looked out the clean lower windows as the afternoon light of autumn changed to mellow and full yellows, and the air turned so sweet and cool that you wanted to drink it, and as people began to burn leaves on the sides of the streets and the lovely smoke came into the back of your nose and told you it was autumn, and what were you doing smelling chalk and old liverwurst sandwiches instead?”

The first few sentences are negative and snarky, but the tone changes in the last one. Holling notices the world outside his situation. This is what I wanted my students to try in their writing, and since I believe a teacher who teaches writing must also write, here’s the example of an “Awful Beautiful Paragraph” that I wrote:

My boss warned me about black ice- the kind that’s invisible on the pitch black road when you’re driving before the sun comes up. One twitch, sneeze, or even a blink and the car slips and skids or maybe flips off the road. He didn’t warn me about lake effect snow; thick flakes the size of my palm falling down so fast you can’t see anything in front of you. That’s what I drove 45 minutes through to get to Dunkin’ Donuts because it was my day to bring treats to my fellow 7th grade teachers. I shook as I parked the car, as I walked on the sidewalk, my feet making the first prints in the snow.

“You made it!'“ the Dunkin’ Donuts lady said, beaming at me and it wasn’t until I saw her smiling at me that I realized how scared I’d been, and realizing it, all I could do was lock eyes with her and nod.

There’s not much that smells better then a freshly fried donut and deep whiffs of sugar and cinnamon, vanilla, and butter to calm me down. “I’d like a dozen,” I finally said, stepping toward the lady, ready to pick out raised glazed, old fashioned slathered with chocolate, and my favorite, cake with rainbow sprinkles.

The sun turned the sky blue and orange as it rose and I walked to my car, holding the box of donuts. The snow stopped falling, as is the case with Lake Effect snow, but the sun’s rays showed what it left: ice crystals along the sidewalk and the road, like unused tissue. I was nervous getting in the car, and thought about putting a seatbelt around the donuts. I slipped a bit as I reversed the car and, afraid again, glided the last block to school; gripping the steering wheel and watching the sun’s glitter off the freshly fallen snow.

How about you? Can you write an Awful Beautiful paragraph?

There’s still time to sign up for the Festival, and for my workshop!

And, for paying subscribers, here is a sneak peak into my very exciting planning process: