(September 2025)
So, the end of August rolled in, and I sat down to map out the usual rhythms of my September newsletter. Week one? That one always writes itself—it’s what I’ve been reading lately. Week four? That’s reserved for a wild-card writing prompt or a quick Google search for something fun. Week three is my favorite—I get to share whatever thoughts are bouncing around in my head (and let’s be honest, I always have a few). But week two? The “what I’m writing” week? This month, it stopped me in my tracks.
Because the truth is—I haven’t been writing. Not really. Not unless you count emails, grocery lists, or the ever-growing sticky note in my planner labeled “things I should be writing but am not.”
August is tough. It feels like it’s a month where everything changes, and sometimes, quite suddenly. Children who were home full time and gone to school for a good chunk of the day. The weather, which was so hot we swam in it most days, finds us shivering and looking for a warmer layer (which I know excites some of you. I cannot relate. I am already fearing winter). Today, I looked out my window at my backyard to see some of my dogwood’s leaves blushing red, a color I’m sure it was not wearing yesterday.
Change is exhausting. It requires an adaptation of our entire selves: physical, mental, emotional. The regularly scheduled programming of my life has suddenly been disrupted. And, as a result, I have not written. Not one single word. The novel I’ve been working on? It’s been stuck at 25,000 words for months. Occasionally, I reread it. Sometimes I add a sentence. Mostly, I stare.
And then the familiar feelings show up. The “I should be writing” guilt. The “why can’t I just get myself to do this?” spiral. Shame, that old familiar friend, creeps in and pulls up a chair.
How does a writer confess that she’s not writing?
Just like that, I guess. And once it’s out in the open, it’s easier to deal with. It’s accepted. It’s reality.
What I have been doing, though—is teaching.
And I forgot how much I love it. Sure, there’s grading and rosters and attendance and rubrics, but if I had my way, I’d just lock the door and learn for the sake of learning. We’d talk. We’d read. We’d write. There’d be snacks. It would be great.
Right now, we’re diving into rhetoric, which I was not taught in high school. Or college. It wasn’t until grad school, when a professor casually dropped the word in conversation, that I scribbled it down in my notebook like, what is that and why does everyone else seem to already know it?
In its simplest form, rhetoric is about persuasion. And sure, we all recognize it in political speeches or glossy magazine ads—but what about Instagram reels? YouTube shorts? That oddly compelling TikTok voiceover? Are we paying attention to the way persuasion shows up in the small stuff? The everyday?
The first major assignment my students had to complete was entitled “Rhetoric in Reality.” They had to find areas where they hadn’t necessarily been aware of rhetoric before. Some of their responses surprised even me. “Just Do It” came from prison inmate Gary Gilmore’s last words on death row (yes, I looked it up and you should too). KATSEYE is a group selling Gap denim (yup, go ahead and look them up too). Selena Gomez is selling Rare Beauty Cosmetics. People who have nothing to do with the products are pushing them at us consumers. It makes me wonder: have I purchased something just because I attach it to another person who recommended it to me? Did I ever research it myself?
It made me stop and ask: How many things have I purchased, followed, or believed in just because someone I liked told me to? How many things have I not questioned?
Because rhetoric is everywhere. Not just in marketing, but in our conversations. In how we introduce ourselves. In how we frame our stories. Everyone’s got an angle, whether they know it or not.
And here’s the part that gets tricky: once you start seeing it, you can’t unsee it. As I told a few of my students in their feedback, “Rhetoric is so tricky because once you begin to see it, it shows up everywhere. Even in your everyday conversations with friends. The goal is to recognize it, without letting it overwhelm you.”
So that’s where I am. Writing less, teaching more. Watching the world shift from summer into fall. Watching my students shift from passive consumers to critical thinkers. Remembering that even if I’m not writing chapters right now, I’m helping others write their way toward understanding—and that counts too.
We keep going. We change what we can, accept what we can’t. We teach, we learn, and we remind ourselves: rhetoric is everywhere. And maybe, if we pay attention, we can get just a little better at naming it.