One Writer's Musings

Working with Jen Stratton reminds me that there is much more to books than writing!  I met Jen after she had published Nick Springer on the Move. I was not privy to her writing process, though I know she was inspired by her own relationship with Nick to write his story. Before his death about a year ago, she and he did numerous presentations together. I know, in her grief, that it has been challenging for her to move forward solo.  While I can’t assuage her sorrow, I hope by getting his story to more people, I am helping to amplify her commitment to sharing his story. 

We have discussed Jen’s interest in writing a children’s book that features adults and children with physical disabilities, but our conversation focused on centering all kinds of people, on normalizing physical disabilities as more routine than extraordinary. I’ve asked friends for ideas and leads.  When I reported back that one acquaintance had recommended a particular conference in NYC, Jen shook her head.  There are so many barriers to access—money, figuring out how to navigate spaces that are unfriendly to people with physical disabilities.  Able-bodied people take for granted that everyone is like them. Her reaction startled me—I, too, as an able-bodied writer and person, had not realized all the obstacles that are routine for those with physical disabilities and those writers, like Jen, who consider how accessible events or locations might be.

Jen’s work as a writer and as a professor of literacy inspire me and have made me think a lot about my own blind spots as a teacher and writer.  I’m tuned into representation—in terms of class and race and faith and family structures, but talking with Jen and thinking about the gap in children’s literature in terms of physical disability has asked me to consider more deeply other blind spots. I know I write as a 61-year-old, white, straight, married woman of privilege. I have spent my adult life as a teacher, spent the past 29 years as a mother. I think it’s useful to be doing an internship with a mentor who has gently and kindly challenged me to a greater awareness of all I had not perceived until spending time with her.

In a writing workshop recently, another student challenged my vocabulary—it was too fancy, she protested, too erudite.  She had to look up several words. First, I felt chastened, then defensive. Is my writing elitist? Maybe.   As a writer, I asked the parents of a child who uses a wheelchair for mobility to read a post I had prepared some weeks ago for grad school. The mother and I had a good conversation. She recommended that I remember the mantra “person first-disability second” as I wrote. I recognize that It’s important for me to acknowledge and accept all I don’t yet know or understand about the world Jen evokes so thoughtfully in her own work. I’m a beginner with a beginner’s mindset, trying to learn as much as I can and humble about the mistakes I have made and surely will make again.

And then there’s the call to action.  Last night, I listened to a talk by Jacqueline Winspear, author of the Maisie Dobbs series that I adore. Maisie is a psychologist, a nurse and a private detective; in the books. She solves mysteries, but Winspear has succeeded in creating a world that feels familiar and three-dimensional. When she understood she was writing a series, she asked herself what topics were important to cover.  Everyone in Maisie’s world is treated with respect and dignity. I aspire to be as calm and methodical as Maisie, who uses meditation and intuition as easily as she uses analysis and evidence.  I found myself wondering about what I will write—maybe after my memoir—about teaching and learning, how my time with Jen will influence the stories I choose to tell, how I might bring more of Jen and Jacqueline Winspear into my own prose.  It’s a tall order, but one I’m looking forward to considering.