Value of a Nickel
While some of us are writers by volition or trade, I happen to believe that writing can be cathartic for practically anyone regardless of whether they usually enjoy it. I frequently recommend it to friends who are going through tough times or who experience a particularly difficult relationship issue. “Write a letter you never intend to send,” I tell people who want to bite someone’s head off. Write it, put it away for a week, then read it again. Chances are you won’t feel the same in a few days. If you do, you’re probably in a relationship that isn’t healthy.
For those of us who aspire to writing as a profession, however, we all know about writer’s block. Not only can it be crippling, it tends to have a snowball effect. It undermines our self-confidence, which causes us to question our efficacy as creatives. This, in turn, inhibits our ability to think creatively. It’s a vicious circle.
Many years ago, in a high school English composition class, I had a most creative teacher whom I loved dearly. She had a way with students: she kept most of us motivated, even those scientifically-oriented students who proclaimed to abhor English. One day, about midway through the term when many had been complaining about writer’s block — although they didn’t know the terminology — she gave an assignment to open our minds.
She walked down each row, placing a nickel face down on the corner of each desk. Back in the day, a nickel would buy a soda, which was a treat to a high school student. While handing out the nickels, she explained that, if we finished our assignments as instructed, we would be allowed to keep our nickels.
Here were our instructions: we were to write a 100-word essay about the back side of that nickel. It could be about anything we saw on that nickel, but it was to be a minimum of 100 words about only the back side of the nickel. We were allowed to ask questions, and we had only that class period to finish which was approximately 50 minutes remaining.
If you aren’t aware, Thomas Jefferson was on the front of the nickel, and his home — Monticello — was on the reverse. Also on the reverse was “E Pluribus Unum” — which translates Out of Many, One. This is on the Seal of the United States, adopted by the original Congress but never adopted into law.
How does a classroom of 14-year-olds put 100 words to so few details? A home with its name. A single phrase. “Five Cents.” And United States of America.
The problem, which did not surprise our teacher, became limiting ourselves to only 100 words! Once we started, we discovered there was so much to learn — even without benefit of research materials — and share about so little. Most of us kept our nickels.
If you find yourself stumped for material, I suggest picking up the closest common household object. You might learn something!
