The Legacy of Teachers

From the Tip of My Pen - A Writer’s Tip of the Month – November 2007

by Fran Stewart

The Legacy of Teachers

A year ago, in October of 1996, I started my keynote address to the Georgia Council of Teachers of English by singing “Heaven, I’m in heaven . . .” I’ve never been intimidated about speaking to large groups, even though for most people, fear of public speaking is even greater than their fear of dying. And those 350 teachers? I loved it. My speech at the GCTE’s annual convention was a recounting of the three English teachers who changed my life. Without those three blessed people, I would not be the person I am, the writer I am, today. They led me into a wonder world of books, and they insisted that I take responsibility for my actions; they encouraged me, and they made me hone my writing skills, because they would not accept anything less than my best effort.

Last month, on a book tour in Colorado, I was invited to speak to a much smaller, but equally important, group of teachers – the middle school and high school teachers in the small town of Florence. Listening to their comments afterwards, about how much they appreciated hearing someone acknowledge the gift that teachers give on a daily basis, made me very glad that I’d taken the time years ago to write thank-you notes to the teachers who had influenced me. The thank-you notes I received in return made it worth while. Now that I’m old enough that most of my teachers have left this earth, I’m doubly glad I took the time.

I’d like to encourage you to sit down right now and pen a note to a teacher who made a positive difference in your life. You see, if it weren’t for that teacher, you might never have discovered the breadth and depth of richness experience that a world of reading could bring to you. If it weren’t for that teacher, you might not be a writer today.

Do it now, before it’s too late.

Book Clubs – the Last Bastion of Literacy?

From the Tip of My Pen - A Writer’s Tip of the Month – October 2007

by Fran Stewart

Book Clubs – the Last Bastion of Literacy

The last time I was interviewed on the radio, this was one of the questions:

According to a report of the Independent Book Publishing Association, over five million American adults belong to reading groups. Why do Americans love books so much?

That sounds like an encouraging statistic, doesn’t it? Luckily, I knew about the question ahead of time, so I could formulate an answer, or at least the idea of an answer. Even without an interviewer asking, this is something that we as writers should think about. Without readers, we would be nowhere.

This country was founded by people who believed that unless people could read, they couldn’t vote intelligently. That still holds true today. The thought of five million Americans reading and discussing books is quite positive. I’ve seen statistics, though, that say that 30% of American adults are to some extent illiterate. That is not only shocking, but disturbing as well. When people vote based on sound bites put together by marketing companies, or speech-writers’ blurbs, then we ultimately get the government we deserve.

It’s good that there are five million people in book clubs. And there are many other people who love books but don’t join a reading group. That still leaves a couple of hundred million people who depend on television for their information and entertainment. I encourage people to buy books, particularly through independent bookstores, since that is one way to ensure that freedom of information will continue in this country.

I’m going to keep buying books by writers whose work I enjoy. That’s the way to be sure that quality books will always be available. I also threw out my TV set fourteen years ago. Try it, and then, if your heart leads you in that direction, perhaps you could consider volunteering with an adult literacy group.

Go on. I dare you. It’s a good idea.

Give me a good book any day.

Writer's Tip of the Month - September 2007

From the Tip of My Pen

by Fran Stewart

Vision – Who Are You?

Did you ever wonder who writes those author bios on the book jackets? Did you ever wish you knew more about a particular writer? If you, like I, have been disappointed sometimes in the sparse information—Shelly Writer lives with her husband and two dogs in northern Oklahoma—you might look on Shelly Writer’s website. There you are likely to find a button that says About Me or FAQs. So go ahead and read all about Shelly.

Then, plan what you’ll say on your own website. I’ve been working with a business coach. Yes—writing is a business. He didn’t like my About Me button. He suggested that I write a vision statement in the form of what he called a corporate culture position paper. Sounds a bit intimidating, doesn’t it? And why on earth would something like that be necessary for writers when all we want to do is write?

This turned out to be one of the most worthwhile tasks I’ve approached lately, and I thoroughly recommend it to you. I chose to take my name—I know, you don’t have to say it; it’s a schoolgirl approach—and turn the first letters into my statement. When you read this, you will know who I am, much more than anything that says Fran Stewart lives with various rescued cats by a creek on the backside of Hog Mountain, Georgia.

Because of space restraints, I can’t put the whole statement here. For now, let’s look only at the letters that spell FRAN:

Far-seeing: I have developed a sense of perspective in my life, and I understand that while all things change, always, there is a more basic way in which we are all one; we are all connected; we are all the same.

Responsible: Since I believe that thought is creative, I am 100% responsible for my thoughts, my actions, and my responses at all times. I am someone who lights a candle to dispel darkness. If I find darkness around me, I know it is time to light another candle.

Accountable: What I promise to do, I do to the best of my ability, using all the resources at my disposal.

Nurturing: I choose to be kind, to encourage others, to lend a helping hand when one is wanted. In all circumstances, I speak well of people. In all my actions, I look for the highest good that I can offer, and I act from compassion, knowing that other people do not need me to fix them, as they are not broken.

In my work as a writer, an editor, a speaker, I hold to these principles. If you ask me to meet with your writers group or your book club, or if you want me to speak to your organization or teach a writing seminar, this is what you will get. Naturally, I’d like you to visit my website www.franstewart.com and check out the rest of my name as well. And then email me with your culture statement. Who are you? What do you believe in? What does your writing reflect?

If you haven’t thought about it, chances are good that all we’ll ever know about you is that you live with a spouse and two dogs in northern Oklahoma.

From the Tip of My Pen

A Writer’s Tip of the Month – August 2007

by Fran Stewart

Precision Postcards

Browsing through treasures at Coffee Buy the Book in Roswell, I came across Robert Olen Butler’s had a good time: stories from American postcards. I’ve always been a sucker for a well-written postcard. Butler, according to the book jacket, collects early twentieth century picture postcards, and had a good time is a collection of short stories, each based on one of the cards. We even get photos of the cards—front and back.

There is an art to writing a postcard, one that we writers would do well to hone. My newest project—don’t I need another one?—is to write postcard-length stories, as a number of writers have done before me. Reports from them suggest that this is harder to do than one might think. How does one get a beginning, a middle, and a satisfying end, into a square that measures three inches on a side?

Write small.

Be concise.

Have fun.

Postcard #1

Tomorrow, I think. The second time the waiter spilled soup in Archibald’s lap, I began to think he—Archibald, not the waiter—must have already been suspicious, since I was so careful not to betray anything in my countenance—nothing, that is, except concern for his dear sweet self. And the bouillabaisse stains on his pinstripes. A miniscule drop splashed on the hem of my yellow silk, but I didn’t mention that to the waiter, who was positively abject with apologies. I plan to wear the yellow to his funeral—Archibald’s, not the waiter’s—before I leave for Paris. See you soon, my dearest.

Postcard #2

Well, mum, she tried it again. You were right, as usual. So sorry I ignored your advice. Not that I’m particularly worried about the outcome. So transparent. Why didn’t I see it as clearly as you did? Had to trip the blundering fool twice. If she could pay him, I can pay him more. Tonight, I think. Then I’ll be home for a good long rest. After the funeral.