Following the Voice

Photo via Stephen Harlan on Unsplash

A Lesson from George Saunders (and a bunch of elementary school kids)

Back in spring, I was fully immersed in George Saunders’s writing guide, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life, in which Saunders gives a master class on, among other things, how to pay attention. Both to what you’re reading and what’s going on around you. And it’s in the spirit of paying attention that I share this story of volunteering at my son's school on a Thursday, which is when the gym teacher, Coach Jeff, comes to do physical fitness with the class. That morning, for whatever ill-advised reason, Coach Jeff decided to tell the kids his full first name.

Jeffrey. 

The kids told me about Jeffrey while I was handing out slice after slice of pizza, as it was Teacher Appreciation day and I was acting as their lunch lady while their actual teacher enjoyed a special lunch with her colleagues.

JEFFREY!

The children couldn't believe it! How hilarious this was. That an adult human whom they called Coach Jeff could possibly, actually, in real life have the full name Jeffrey. One of the girls, a third grader (my kid's in Montessori so all the elementary students are in the same classroom), started imagining herself as Jeffrey's mother (or perhaps his (soon to be ex?) wife) and saying things like, "Jeffrey lost the car keys!" and "Jeffrey take out the trash!" 

The kids were loving it. It was absolutely insane and brilliant, and watching this girl in action made me hate the fact that I'm a grown up who is not a comedian. 

I don't know exactly how it happened, but the name Jeffrey somehow morphed into Ronald. So the girl, the ringleader, she started embodying this new character, similar to Jeffrey, but with his own story, not one of domestic inadequacy, but of unrequited love. "Ronald" began scrolling through all the weapons in his dancefloor arsenal. He tried flossing, hula, Macarena and stuff I have no idea what to call it, in an attempt to win the affection of some imaginary person who was never named in the improvisation. 

The kids were absolutely howling with laughter. A couple of them also began to personify "Ronald" with their own versions of his horrible dance moves. They'd all picked up on the rules of the story, so to speak. While all this was happening, my son kept asking me if I'd let him turn off the lights because that's what the teacher does when everyone is being too loud. Hmmmm...my poor boy has my penchant for logic and order and rule following and shutting down the fun. Thou shalt not play!

Shortly thereafter, the children (and by extension myself) were scolded for being too loud by one of the other pseudo-lunch ladies. The horror of it all was that I still had a full thirty minutes left as lunch lady and I wasn't allowed to let them go outside. I told the Ronalds to write comic strips of their hero’s misadventures, and off they went. When their teacher finally came back to the classroom (how do they do this all day, every day?), the kids were jumping out of their seats, shoving their Ronald stories in her face. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about that day. I didn't know why it was so miraculous to me, but then, of course, as I was reading A Swim, George explained what I’d witnessed. 

"Following the voice." 

Saunders writes: "I had a couple of uncles....[who could] create these funny personas and stay in character, sometimes for a strangely long time....What they were doing, I can see now, was improv: reading the room, adjusting their performances accordingly, trying to entertain the audience by imitating a person, and sometimes that person was imaginary.

This approach might be called "following the voice."

An idea for a voice appears, and off you go. You just "feel like" doing that voice. (And you find that you can.) Sometimes the inspiration for that voice might be a real person....The main thing I'd like to say about this mode of writing is that it's fun. When I do it, I'm giving almost no thought to anything but sustaining the voice." 

So, yes, I guess Four Russians can give us a Master Class on writing and reading and life. But, I guess, so too can a classroom full of elementary school students.

But you have to be paying attention. And you have to fight your instinct to turn off the lights.