"I've been a schoolteacher. I always try to get the kids to finish talking before the next one starts"
About this Quote
Marion Zimmer Bradley distills a teacherly instinct into a principle for how voices should share space. The remark is about more than classroom management; it is a philosophy of attention. Let one child finish speaking before another begins, and you cultivate listening rather than mere waiting-to-talk. You make room for thought to reach its end, for an idea to develop contours and consequences, and for the speaker to feel their words have weight. That small act of sequencing is a quiet defense of dignity.
Bradley knew about orchestrating voices. As a bestselling novelist of The Mists of Avalon and an editor who fostered new writers, she managed choruses of characters and contributors. Fiction depends on timing, on letting a line land before the next line reframes it. Anthologies depend on giving each story its moment so the collection becomes conversation rather than cacophony. The classroom rule mirrors the craft rule: respect the turn, because meaning emerges in the space where one voice is received by another.
There is also a practical psychology here. Human attention is finite. When two people talk at once, no one truly hears; understanding splinters, and authority rushes in to impose order. By insisting on finishing, a teacher not only curbs noise but equalizes power. The loud child cannot dominate, the quiet child is invited in, and the group learns that patience is part of participation. It is a small lesson with civic implications. Public discourse today often resembles a room of overlapping monologues. Bradley’s guideline suggests a cure so simple it feels radical: take turns.
Embedded in that simplicity is a moral claim. Completion matters. Thoughts deserve their full arc, and communities thrive when they can hold that arc without interruption. Whether shaping a classroom discussion, a writers workshop, or a culture’s ongoing story, the rule remains the same: make space, then meaning will follow.
Bradley knew about orchestrating voices. As a bestselling novelist of The Mists of Avalon and an editor who fostered new writers, she managed choruses of characters and contributors. Fiction depends on timing, on letting a line land before the next line reframes it. Anthologies depend on giving each story its moment so the collection becomes conversation rather than cacophony. The classroom rule mirrors the craft rule: respect the turn, because meaning emerges in the space where one voice is received by another.
There is also a practical psychology here. Human attention is finite. When two people talk at once, no one truly hears; understanding splinters, and authority rushes in to impose order. By insisting on finishing, a teacher not only curbs noise but equalizes power. The loud child cannot dominate, the quiet child is invited in, and the group learns that patience is part of participation. It is a small lesson with civic implications. Public discourse today often resembles a room of overlapping monologues. Bradley’s guideline suggests a cure so simple it feels radical: take turns.
Embedded in that simplicity is a moral claim. Completion matters. Thoughts deserve their full arc, and communities thrive when they can hold that arc without interruption. Whether shaping a classroom discussion, a writers workshop, or a culture’s ongoing story, the rule remains the same: make space, then meaning will follow.
Quote Details
| Topic | Teaching |
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