Playdoh

The Playdoh feels creamy and cool.  The innocent mound plunges from the can and lands on my desk with a sucking plop. Mine is fire engine red and its glob overflows my palms.  I smash and squish side by side with my students.  

“Can’t we have molds?” Sean says.

“Shh!” I reply.  My focus on the ball I am rolling is fierce.

“Mrs. Young, look, a snake!”  Casey calls.

“Concentrate.” I put my fingers to my lips. 

“I can’t make anything.  This looks like nothing.”  Amanda sits in the third row complaining, as usual. She shoves her Playdoh back into its canister.

“You are being too hard on yourself, Amanda.  Just play.” I place one hand on her shoulder and return the jet-black mound to her desk.

Ryan sniffs his Playdoh in the back row.  He smiles at me and holds my eye as he brings his fist down hard on a lemon yellow snowman. 

These are my Creative Writing students 4th period.  33 would be writers waiting for the daily prompt.  I’ve written on board, “Create your own writing prompt from Playdoh.” 

At first, they sneer and roll their eyes.  They are teenagers and entitled to their scowls. It took just one little mumble from Lisa, a senior, “This is cool,” and the lids began to pop.

As my students mold and play, I begin walking the aisles and putting our task into perspective.  “The thing about Playdoh is its familiar smell and mushiness.  It just feels good, doesn’t?  It’s malleable and so many things in life aren’t.  It can be anything or nothing.  It reminds us that our work, this writing thing we come here to do, was once just play.  As you work your Playdoh, try to remember a time when play actually was your work.  Writing should bring us that kind of simple joy.” 

  There is a silence in the room now and I just let it sit there.  I can’t tell if they are getting my writing message, but they are at least engaged in the Playdoh quest. These students believe they know how to write already.  They are teenagers and therefore, know everything. These writers love their first drafts and loathe my scarlet pen.  I want them to be creative and playful.  I want them to focus on the process and not the product of their writing.  I want them to love the silent moment when writing actually comes.  And then I want them to give their words respect through the labor of revision love.  One by one they form their writing prompt.

Shelby makes a white drama mask; she writes mysteries with tense scenes and characters named “Lux.”  Elizabeth creates a sculpture of chocolate Playdoh she names “Dog in Urination.”  Her writing is full of humor and the grand stuff of every day life.  She wrote a beautiful piece last week about sitting in the flatbed of her pickup and looking at the dust road she’s known all her life.  My dreamer, Josh, makes a tiny pink angel with miniature handcuffs.  Most of us don’t understand what Josh writes, but we listen as patiently as we can. Kiandrea berates her Playdoh creation as she does her writing.  She believes that nothing she does has value, and her characters make bad choices stemming from their low self-esteem.  Another senior, Craig, ignores his Playdoh and dives into his notebook.  He has the rawest talent of any us.  Prompts are a waste of his time.  His creative juices ooze.  

Finally, our minds let go and we begin writing something worthy of our Playdoh.