In writing lab, the students never ask questions except, "May I use the restroom?"
They shift and whisper and futz with their phones. Some put earbuds in, others stare out the window.
Once, I looked up from my own writing and noticed that everyone's pen was moving, spilling words, as Ellen Kort puts it.
Why do we all have this need to express ourselves, to tell the same stories with our own words?
How many times do I hear people tell me they can't draw or write or sing or do whatever creative thing it is they want to do? Why are we so competitive and critical when it comes to self expression? Shouldn't we approach it the way we do breathing, as something to notice, to appreciate, to practice, to share? What if we thought of each person's art as a manifestation, as inevitable and varied and interesting as the shape of a face?