With Another Thursday in Stag-Country Writing Grants, I'm Hoping Friday Will Be For Preparing for @NCTE & @LRA_LitResearch

My dossier for tenure told an honest story that, post-dissertation, I imagined a trajectory that would be quite different. Yes, I knew I wanted a National Writing Project position and, of course, I wanted to promote youth literacies and the professional expertise of teacher educators. I did not know, though, that funding sources to do such work would be under attack at State and National levels, nor that I would turn into a grant-writing machine in order to do what I know is effective for young people and schools. With almost two decades in K-12 schools, I like to think that teachers and their students are the superheroes of the nation. They matter most.

Perhaps this is why twice in the last month, I've stopped everything to write grants in hopes I'll be able to continue work with the Young Adult Literacy Labs at the Connecticut Writing Project and to sustain teacher institutes which are at the core of National Writing Project work. Since 2011, I've been successful at attaining over a million dollars in grants and revenue streams, but each and every year I grow fearful that it might be the year that everything dries up. I look to my teaching teams, the local school districts and the young people who come back year to year and I get fearful the support will dwindle away. There should just be support, but there's not. It requires grant-writing, sleeplessness, and networking to the billionth degree.

So yesterday, I worked with a colleague to put together another grant in hopes it will be funded to continue the wonderful work we do. By afternoon, I returned to my office to grade and by evening the grading continued. When a calendar-meeting invite came my way at bedtime, I looked at the calendar and thought, "Eeks. Are we that close to NCTE and LRA, already?"

We are.

The other day, when I was leaving, I walked out with a colleague who is a profoundly successful scholar in religious studies and he asked me how things were going. I responded, "I'm going home for  a walk. I need a break from all the cerebral work." He squinted an eye and said, "Cerebral work is what we get paid for. You can't take a break."

True. But I do. I need alternative forms forms of existence from time to time. Mowing the lawn is an absolute pleasure, as is cleaning the house and car. I simply love doing physical work as a relief, and walking the talk or running a 5K is nirvana. Teaching is physical, yes, but also cerebral. Sometimes, I just don't want to think. I want mindlessness and muscle.

Ah, but when I'm not thinking, that's usually when my best ideas surface.

This morning I am looking at all the presentations that were accepted with colleagues and teachers across the nation who will be presenting with me over the next two months (and I am thinking, "What the hell was I thinking?"). I am seeing deadlines, too, of end-of-the-semester angst and realizing all I can do is hold my breath as it all flows my way. Everything evolved at exactly the right time and what will be, will be.

I also remember that when I was doing doctoral work at Syracuse University there were two experiences that registered in my brain during similar fear-driven moments of the academic process. One was from an assistant provost who said, "We're training you for a rhythm in life, kid, that you'll have to get used to," and another from a mentor, Dr. Kathleen Hinchman, who said, "Crandall, this is what we do."

It is. And it is exhausting. It's also beautiful, challenging, never-ending, frustrating, rewarding and non-forgiving.

So, onward I go. Everything evolves at exactly the right time. This is written for everyone and all who ebb & flow in such fluidity.