Find me one person in the world who has nothing to say about her name. (Then find me a writer who doesn’t wish, longingly, to write like Sandra Cisneros.) Whether adored or despised, our names live with us. We cherish them, announce them proudly, turn away from them shamefully, shrug them away, change them, and twist them into nicknames. They are our identifiers and our travel companions. Points of mockery and praise, they make us cringe, stand tall, and perk our ears at their sound. 

The chapter “Names” in Sandra Cisneros’ House on Mango Street introduces us to Esperanza:

In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.

The lesson is simple. Students read this short chapter and then explore their own names in a free-write. The narrator’s own playful and personal associations make it easy for students to dive into the deep waters of their own names. Without knowing Esperanza, we feel like we know her as we might an old friend, simply based on these vivid descriptions. And so we can get to know any young writer who takes the same plunge. Each voice, inevitably, sparkles.

-Maya Pindyck

Maya Pindyck is a poet and T&W teaching artist.  You can read more about Maya here.

Different
By Magda Chinea

My name is different and easy. It represents a shade of dark. Some people say it like it’s a long name. A lot of times, people say it wrong. Only Spanish people say it right. My name represents everything about me—from my head to my toes—from my outside to my insides. My name comes from a beautiful place that I wish to visit. My name is also a sort of mistake, but as much as people make fun of my name and mess it up, the more I like it. I love my name: Magda Luz Chinea, and I will never change it. It is the reflection in my mirror.

My Name
By Ashanti Garner

My name. It’s like a windy day or a huge black cloud. My name is like a question with no answer. I feel it’s pointless. I don’t know what it means, or hardly where it comes from, and I don’t really care. My mother named me. I don’t know what she was thinking. I wish I were Tiana or Emmanuella… 

I believe most lesson plans can be tweaked to fit writers at all levels. This idea came to me a decade ago while getting an MFA in Creative Writing.

During a workshop, Honor Moore, author of The Bishop’s Daughter, gave us a writing prompt and quickly added: “Don’t forget to use descriptive detail. Appeal to all five senses.” 

I found her words humbling, because hours earlier I’d conveyed them to twelfth graders. Yet the message can’t be repeated often enough as many writers, young and not so young, often share only what they see, omitting the other senses.

Fast forward to today, and I just finished teaching the use of sensory details to second- through fifth-graders whose skills vary depending on their age and placement in general education or a gifted and talented program.

The challenge: How to adapt one lesson plan to fit many needs?

With younger students (say first- through third-graders), I suggest spending a lot of time brainstorming, followed by creating a group description of their classroom.

As inspiration, I offer passages from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, and Eudora Welty’s One Writer’s Beginnings.

I then ask students to write a description of a place they know well.

“Your goal is to be specific,” I explain. “Don’t just say the cafeteria is noisy. Who makes the racket? What exactly do you hear?”

Here’s a second-grader describing Jamaica:

“I hear the birds chirping nice and loud and sometimes the rustling between coconut trees. Also, I hear the nice orange rooster crowing in the early morning when the sun starts to come out.”

Younger students may need a second session to polish their portraits of a place. It’s an opportunity to encourage them to include details they left out.

With older students (fourth grade and above), I go deeper, using their descriptions as a jumping off point. Writers compose descriptions of places for a reason—to create a setting that will frame, if not drive, a story. Isn’t the Hogwarts School in the Harry Potter series the perfect setting for learning wizardry? 

During this second session, I ask students to use their descriptions as the setting of a story, whether true or make believe. 

I use an excerpt from James Baldwin’s short story “The Rockpile” to show how a hill of rocks evolved into a story about a boy forbidden to play there.

Here’s a fifth-grader describing her tomato garden: “I can hear the bugs eating a spoiled tomato as they buzz by racing to it. Starvation in their eyes.  Thanks to some magic water, one stalk grew sky high.”

A fourth-grader transports readers to a basketball court: “You can hear sneakers squeaking from running on a silk floor. You also hear basketballs dribbling up and down the court….One day, a boy shot a ball and it grew arms….”

I encourage students to take a closer look at their world, sharing its sparkle and bumps, rhythm and scents, and whatever they feel.

-Linda Morel

Linda Morel is a nonfiction writer and T&W teaching artist.  You can read more about Linda here.

For a two-part lesson plan that guides students through sensory description of place, go here; for how to utilize the descriptions to develop a story setting, go here. 

For a sample of student writing that came out of this exercise, go here.  Continue to check out our tumblr page at teachersandwriters.tumblr.com for more student writing from Linda’s residency, as well as other student writing from other T&W writers’ residencies, too!