Stickers, Rulers, and Reading Journals
On Thursday night I taught in a room for the first time. Not just talking about carving over a screen, or answering questions in a chat window, but standing in front of a group of people building something with their hands, in the same room I was in.
Teaching itself has only been part of what I do for the past year, and all of it has been through CAMP, an online creative community I'm part of: an eraser carving workshop, a panel on cutting machines for creatives, co-hosting the Book Club and Journaling Club, and recording a Zine class. Some of that was me talking straight into a camera, some of it was recorded footage of an activity in progress. None of it was quite like this.
Packing for a room, not a screen
Prerecorded workshops let you retake and edit until it fits, no pressure of a live audience watching you fumble. Live online sessions let people join from anywhere, though you're stuck behind one or two camera angles, watching questions stack up in the chat while your hands are busy demonstrating something. In person, you get the fastest feedback of the three, you can see exactly where someone's stuck and step in to help. What you can't do is reach across your desk and conjure supplies out of thin air. I had two rulers in my bag, which would have been plenty if I hadn't underestimated how many people would want one, but pencils were nowhere to be found, so I ended up dashing out mid-workshop to beg a stash off the children's librarian.
Next time, more rulers. Definitely more pencils.
The nerves, and what quieted them
The week leading into the workshop, the doubts got loud, the same way they tend to right before a finish line: was I qualified, would anyone actually show up, had I over-planned or under-prepared. I did what I usually do with a feeling like that: gave it somewhere else to point. Getting the A Moment Carved website live before the workshop became the deadline my brain could actually do something about. I carved a few Summer Reading Collection bookmarks in the days before, ran some errands, kept myself moving instead of leaving space for the worry to spread. And Terry came with me the night of, helping set up beforehand, tidy up after, and take photos throughout. I didn't carry the evening alone.
In the room
Once people were actually there, most of that worry stopped mattering. Turns out you're never too old to appreciate a good sticker, and saying so out loud broke the ice faster than anything I'd planned. So did admitting how far my own reading journal has grown: a repurposed planner that filled up, grew extra taped-on pages, and this year needed the full rebind that got its own post a few weeks back. Everyone laughed. It felt less like a demonstration and more like a room full of people nodding along.
I got a mix of familiar faces from other library events and people I was meeting for the first time. I loved hearing what everyone was currently reading, and talking with a few who'd never kept a reading journal before but wanted to give it a try. Somewhere in there, one woman misheard me and thought I'd said I was a comedian. I had to clarify: Canadian, not comedian.
What touched me most was how much everyone genuinely seemed to enjoy the activity, and how excited they were to take their finished journal home with them.
What it gave back
People show up to workshops like this because they're genuinely interested in what's being taught, not because the person teaching it has some invisible certificate saying they're allowed to. It's easy to forget that carving into an eraser, or keeping a reading journal, feels second nature to me now in a way that planning a garden or throwing a football never will. We're all walking around with something someone else would love to learn.
I spent most of the night cheering everyone else on, and only realized afterward that they'd been doing the same for me. It's a strange kind of milestone to sit with rather than rush past.
For now, I'm just glad the room was full and the stickers were a hit. I'm already looking forward to finding more excuses to teach, in a room or out of one, whichever the next opportunity calls for.
Thank you to everyone who came out, brought a friend, or is reading this wondering if the next one might be for you. It probably is.
ā Tokig