Reflection on things fantastic

Words are Few

2012-02-29T06:30:00.000-05:00

My mind is tired. I'll let the pictures talk today (er, this week).

A Sunday Drive

2012-02-27T06:30:00.000-05:00

Last night I found out I'm not as adventurous as I thought; I am no Huck Finn, nor am I Ishmael or even close to a Charles Wallace. My family is out of town, so I decided to take a drive into the countryside with my camera. I intended to get out of the car - I didn't, that is, until I came back into town.

I was looking for water (so I told myself); I was looking for a path off the road; I don't know what I was looking for, really. I may have found it if I had stopped and walked - I didn't. But the park was nice. Sorry. The pictures aren't great, but it's what I got over the course of an hour or so tonight. It was fun even if I didn't walk the country.

Oh, and the deer were much more curious than the cows.

Quality or Quantity?

2012-02-22T07:38:00.000-05:00

Last weekend was one for the record books. With the exception of June and July, I can't remember a recent weekend that was better for our family. We didn't do anything special, in fact there were times when we didn't do anything but sit on the floor and laugh at the silly antics of our boys.

Hmm...

The height of our rest together came Sunday night when we played hide-and-seek before bath time. It's the best when our two year old counts with his eyes open and runs to your hiding place with as much joy as if he didn't know where to look; or even better, he is so excited about his new ability to count to ten that he counts along while he's hiding nearby.

We haven't laughed like that as a family for months. It was quality time.

I'm wondering though, do our boys care whether we're laughing and having a grand time, or would they simply prefer the presence and attention of their parents?

Let me digress for a moment. When I was doing my student teaching, I tried to make connections with each class - that is, getting to know each student a little so I could teach effectively. It was interesting to observe, however, that I was kept at arms length most of the time. There were a few who seemed to enjoy my company, but it was very difficult to reach any sort of meaningful level of relationship.

Of course it was only a few weeks out of their school year that I joined them, and to be honest I think that's why they didn't let me in - they knew I was leaving.

Sure, I have students in my own classes who I can't reach personally, but they're the exception. And most of the time our interaction is limited, there isn't much quality time to be had. But that's just it, I'm there every day.

It's the same with my children. Even the most insignificant moment is meaningful because we're still together. I am led to believe that more and more small interaction is what it takes to create those quality times we all want.

"Dad, will you do this puzzle with me?" (Then do the dishes.)
"Dad, play with me!" (Then change clothes.)
"Dad, tell me a Thomas story!" (Then turn on the car radio - or not.)

It's amazing how often getting the correct order of operations will turn into deep experiences, after all, insignificant moments don't really exist - remember?

Write a Letter

2012-02-20T07:30:00.001-05:00

The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis is one of those books (or volume of books) I plod through; I read several things at a time, but this work is one I put down for long periods, pick up now and then, and read slowly.

Several weeks ago I came across this:

It is the immemorial privilege of letter-writers to commit to paper things they would not say: to write in a more grandiose manner than that in which they speak: and to enlarge upon feelings which would be passed by unnoticed in conversation.

Lewis was a teenager when he wrote that. A genius for sure.

I am often convicted when I read his work, but this time Lewis shines a light on something rather simple: letter writing. The volumes mentioned above total over 3,000 pages, I doubt I've even written 20. Times have changed, but time has not; I can't help but think the writers of long ago, and not so long ago, used their time more wisely.
Yet more important is the act of corresponding slowly and carefully. It has always been a privilege to writers "to commit to paper things they would not say," not only to letter-writers; the advantage of thinking through what one will say, and then seeing it all out on paper before the recipient does, is a large one.

Too often I have slapped together an email to keep in touch with a friend without much thought going into it. Sometimes I just text.

Do you remember what it's like to get a long letter from a friend? I hope there isn't anyone reading this who hasn't received one. A friend of mine used to practice letter-writing with me, and we would certainly discuss things likely left unsaid in person. What was more delightful was the thought of my friend sitting down and using his time to write me. And even though we would both apologize for a long letter, I know we both wished there was always more.

Write one this week.

Ordinary, Common, or Familiar?

2012-02-15T07:37:00.000-05:00

Monday I mentioned that I'm reading Walking on Water, by Madeleine L'Engle. She is challenging me to think about my faith, and the reality of things, in a new way; she's presenting me, again, with childlike faith. It's been great to read this reflection on art and creativity right after reading Wind in the Door, which has in it some of the same ideas - however, in this nonfiction book she makes clear that ideas she presented in her fictional work are to her "probable impossibles."

Like time travel for instance, she presents it as a skill mankind has lost.

This line of thinking about what's real pushed me to think on the concept of ordinary things. We all have an idea of what is holy, what is acceptable to God, and what is common, those things we use for our own good each day. And what is it that makes us sort out the holy from the common? What is it about the lofty ceilings of a church that are so much more acceptable to God than a loft in a barn?

Well, nothing.

If we truly believe the Psalms, 24:1 says, "The earth is the LORD's, and everything in it, the world and all who live in it," then there is indeed nothing he doesn't cherish. Prayer alter or street curb, pew or rocking chair, all are his.

And this is where we get caught up with our ability to love consistently. We take this idea of the common, the ordinary, into our homes; our meals are no longer communion with our children where we dine on the Lord's fare, they are times of consumption when we fill our bellies. Listening to a child tell a story is no longer a work of creativity, it's the noise at the back of our head as we do a chore or check our email.

What I long for is to see all things in their true form, especially my family. If I could get over the fact that nothing is common or ordinary, I might be able to care for my wife's needs before my own every day.

But it's so easy to confuse the familiar with the ordinary. I end up treating the games and stories of my children as trivial because I experience them often - and I do this with most things. However, frequency does not dictate worth. Those silly boys are (or should be) a constant reminder of grace, of joy and gladness. Familiar but very extraordinary; and because these small bundles are so full of life, I should be praising God every time I see them - no matter how often.

The best poem in the English language, Paradise Lost, has many theological truths within it; in the fourth part Milton says,

"...so little knows
Any, but God alone, to value right
The good before him, but perverts best things
To worst abuse, or to their meanest use."

May we put on God's perspective; value the smallest things today - their creator does.

Origin of Man O' Clay

2012-02-13T06:00:00.000-05:00

Today I'm participating in the Origins blogfest brought on by: DL Hammons, Katie Mills, Alex J. Cavanaugh, and Matthew MacNish. Thanks to all of them for hosting!

Hop around a little from any of the links above and read how this same dream of writing got started in so many different ways.

As I mulled over my dreams of writing, I realized I can't quite place where, or when, mine began. Somewhere between my home school days when my mom made me write every day in that stupid journal, and those late nights during college when I sat in my empty room with a passion to write and nothing to write about, I just knew.

I knew I had to tell stories.

And I guess I've come a decent way from what my mom got out of me; "I just want you to write whatever you feel like writing." Many feverish minutes later she read, "I hate this journal, I hate this journal, I hate this journal..." Sorry mom - and thanks, too.

I have to say, though, that my dream for writing must have blossomed every time I read something wonderful - that is, full of wonder. I remember reading C.S. Lewis in the front yard on sunny afternoons; one day in particular we (mom and I) read about the interaction between Trumpkin and Susan in Prince Caspian. Susan defeats the dwarf in a shooting contest, and through that and a couple other feats by the children, he warms up a bit. Eventually the stubborn and faithless dwarf comes to believe in the children, and in Aslan.

I suppose it's times like those that spoke to me, and without my knowledge the seed was planted. The fruit of that still-blossoming tree is something yet to come, in a way. Publishing would be great, but really I want to see people changed. Isn't that why we write?

We know we've been changed by what we've read - it's only the dynamic Trumpkins we like because we see the growth - and we want to do the same for someone else.

(I thought I was done with this post, but Saturday night I was reading Run with the Horses, by Eugene H. Peterson and came across this:

William Stafford was once asked in an interview, "When did you decide to be a poet?" He responded that the question was put wrongly: everyone is born a poet - a person discovering the way words sound and work, caring and delighting in words. I just kept on doing, he said, what everyone starts out doing. "The real question is why did the other people stop?"

That feels familiar, and I hope I never stop delighting myself in words.)

My story started with stories, and so it will continue. God makes good and beautiful things from the dust; may he continue with me as I remember I am but clay.

Book Trends: Attracting the Distracted

2012-02-10T06:00:00.000-05:00

I mentioned recently that I was reading James Patterson's Maximum Ride, which I enjoyed. The day I finished it I immediately picked up another book, one I was very excited to read: A Wind in the Door, by Madeleine L'Engle. This is the second book in L'Engle's Time Quintet, coming after A Wrinkle in Time. (Now that I've finished that as well, I'm reading Walking on Water, by L'Engle, which is a must-read).

These two books were published three decades apart, the latter first, and I can't help but note the difference in layout for reasons I'll try and explain. The experience of Maximum Ride was a somewhat new one, mostly because it is the definition of a page turner. Each chapter is hardly two pages, sometimes barely one, and I flew through it. I didn't notice the effect this had on me until I opened A Wind in the Door; I found my eyes darting over the full pages of L'Engle's work, and my fingers itched to move. I felt like I had been driving 90mph and then had to slow down to 30 - you know that feeling? It's as though you're crawling.

The thing is these books probably had about the same word count, and I'm guessing they were both written for the 12 and up crowd (though L'Engle might have said something like, "Emphasis on the up"). However, A Wind in the Door is 211 pages, Maximum Ride is 413. The result: I read much slower, especially because the older book was thick not only in appearance, but also in content.

I find the comparison of old and new Young Adult books fasinating, and what I've seen in the two books above is that in order to get children to read, publishers have had to engineer their books to be quick reads. Even the large volumes like Harry Potter use the short chapter ruse to keep you going.

It works.

The truth, and I think it's a shame, is that many children wouldn't read these same stories without the device. There are plenty of my students who have needed from August to yesterday to practice sitting still for 15 minutes. They have to have something to keep their attention, and turning the pages often does it.

I blame TV and any other visual entertainment. And now that cell phones do everything, including show videos and other images, children have access to exciting visual stimulant at all hours of the day. And have you noticed the size of TVs these days?

"Creative involvement: that's the basic difference between reading a book and watching TV. In watching TV we are passive; sponges; we do nothing. In reading we must become creators. Once the child has learned to read alone and can pick up a book without illustrations, he must become a creator, imagining the setting of the story, visualizing the characters, seeing facial expressions, hearing the inflection of voices." --Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water

Did you catch that? "...a creator...visualizing the characters." I'm just about convinced some of my students are slowly losing the ability to create mental images; call me an alarmist, but I think the next few generations of parents are going to have to fight for their children's imaginations.

And so these same students, the ones picking up books and leafing through the short chapters of newer books and comparing them to Dickens or even L'Engle, have to have something to keep them going, keep them reading. So they turn pages, quickly.

Driving 90mph is a thrill; driving 30 - or even better, walking - is what I want my children and my students to enjoy. You just notice so much more that way.

Refuse to be Random

2012-02-08T07:46:00.001-05:00

I've not totally figured out why so many people are attached to the idea that being random is somehow beneficial. In high school several teachers had posters that read, "Practice random acts of kindness." At the time I thought that was cool, it made me think about doing things for others. Now I see the folly in it.

First of all the idea doesn't quite work. If you set out to do something random, it is no longer random. The thing you thought was random is now something you've set your mind to. And I guess that's the point: our random acts should instead be intentional.

Then there's the trickle of randomness into relationships - especially romance. If a couple is no longer spontaneous, their love must be dead. And the danger to most marriages is that people go into them thinking the romance will remain random, spontaneous, and "alive."

My marriage is alive, yet I don't think I've been spontaneous in loving my wife in years. And the truth is I can't afford to be.

In order to serve my wife, in order to put her before myself when I come home at the end of each day, I have to plan my course of action. I tell myself the kinds of things I know she needs from me, and I set out to do them. Don't get me wrong, these are my best days and there are plenty of bad ones. But I'm learning the bad days can be undercut by my intention to love my wife and children.

Is that Iron Man's hand? "No, dad, it's me!"

If we wait for this kind of love to happen on its own, it will not be. If I don't tell myself, my deepest self, to take a backseat, it won't. And I'll come home expecting my wife to dote on me, my children to throw themselves at me in obedience, and all of them to seek my comfort. Maybe I exaggerate. But I don't think all that much. That deep self wants attention and usually acts or thinks in terms of entitlement.

The heart wants what it wants, and mostly it wants to be the center - of everything. Unless I train my heart to love, it will only take.

Nothing, after all, is random. There is order. There is a plan. Choose to be part of what God is doing, choose to love like he wants us to.

Do You Like My Blog?

2012-02-01T05:30:00.000-05:00

Teralyn Pilgrim over at A Writer's Journey is putting on a blogfest today called Critique My Blog. Click on the link to see her blog or the launch page.

So, do you like my blog? I'd love to know what you think.

Here are some of the things Teralyn posted as far as doing your critique:

Appearance: Does it appeal to you? Is it too busy,or too plain?
Layout: Is it difficult to navigate? Is itcluttered, or sparse?
Frequency: Does the blogger post too often? Notoften enough?
Content: Are the posts interesting? Unique? Arethey focused, or all over the place?
Quality: Are the individual posts too long, tooshort, too sloppy, or too generic?

Jump in! Whether you are participating in the blog hop or not, I'd appreciate your thoughts. Take a look and leave a comment on this post. Thanks!

IWSG: When You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say

2012-02-01T05:00:00.000-05:00

Once again, thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh for hosting the IWSG! Check out the launch page at the link above and join the fun!

I don't know how many times I've heard it, and that little saying might be cliche, but it's a worthy saying. I've said it in my classroom countless times - and I don't even have to finish it, I just say, "Hey, if you don't have anything nice to say," and the student usually says, "Don't say anything."

The same is true of writing. And although nice isn't quite the right word - maybe worthwhile fits better - the idea is the same.

Often I find myself panicking if I don't have anything to post, or I can't get myself started on a short story or poem that I think I HAVE to finish. The truth is I don't have to finish anything, and what's even more true is if I force it, the product will stink anyway.

In college I knew I wanted to write; I had this burning feeling that I needed to be writing something that reached someone, I needed to write something that mattered. And I still feel that way (with not much to show for it, I might add). However, I came to a realization: I was in a waiting pattern. Whether I told myself I was too young, or just didn't have material pouring from my fingers, it didn't matter. Nothing came. And I was fine.

I'm trying to tell myself I'm still fine. When I WANT to write something, when I want to sit still and let the story unfold in front of me, and it doesn't come, I need that reminder. I'm fine.

Because the story will come, the words will flow again. They come of their own volition and will not be coerced.

I often pray for inspiration. What do you do? And if you're up to it, check out my other post for today and let me know what you think of my blog. I'll say thank you!

A Little Help from Alan Jacobs and James Patterson

2012-01-30T07:42:00.000-05:00

Every now and then I'll find good words that rekindle my teaching. Because my curriculum is founded on independent reading, I don't do a lot of projects or many other formal assessments besides weekly vocabulary quizzes. It's difficult to quantify student growth this way, and I find myself questioning my method every so often. It's then that I need a reminder that even though I can't always see the benefit, reading itself is worth the investment.

Last week one of my students threw a book on my desk and said, "You need to read this. It's over 400 pages, but it's a quick read." I looked at the title and cringed. Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment. I'm still trying to get used to the Young Adult scene, and I usually avoid popular fiction when I can. Yet, when a student gives me a book to read, I like to oblige - and I need to bite the bullet and do much more YA reading anyway.

So, I'm halfway through the book; my initial reaction is once I got used to the perspective (14 year old Max is the narrator - although it jumps at places and is a bit confusing), it's enjoyable - Patterson is a good storyteller.

What's more, at the back of the book there was an advertisement for Patterson's website, ReadKiddoRead.com. The site is great, and I'll put it to use to find books for my students. However, there was also a link to an article Patterson wrote last September for CNN: How to get your kid to be a fanatic reader.

There are some great resources for parents and teachers, including reading lists. But the encouragement for me came in something simple: Patterson said, in order to get children to read, they have to read. Yes, I've known it, but it's great to hear it again and again. Find books youngsters will enjoy and they will read. Then repeat.

Yet another voice whispering to me last week was Alan Jacobs, English professor at Wheaton College. He wrote The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction, which I haven't read yet. The article I did read was Don't Worry, Read Happy: Alan Jacobs on The Pleasures of Reading.

A couple things stuck with me from Jacobs. First, he was emphatic about reading what you like. Don't always worry about reading for knowledge, and certainly don't worry what others will think about you when they see you reading Winnie the Pooh. If you like it, read it. Second, he doesn't recommend books to his students anymore. Although I can't see why it wouldn't hurt to toss out the occasional list, I do see the point: reading forced upon you (and sometimes just suggested) usually doesn't get done, and it isn't fun.

Case in point: my sophomore year in college I took a class in which we were supposed to read large portions of Moby Dick. Guess what? I didn't read much at all. Yet that summer, when I could choose what to read, I flew through the whole book and I loved every minute of it. To this day Moby Dick is one of my favorites.

Read. Read for fun and let your children - or anyone really - see you enjoying a good book. Heck, why not enjoy Dr. Seuss like you used to? It's still great.

Hide Yourself

2012-01-25T07:54:00.000-05:00

There's no doubt in my mind that I'm unable to love; the simple and most important commandment is given to those who can't carry it out. At least not the way we are on our own.

Lately it's been hard to love anyone, my students, my boys, my wife; there was a haze settled all around me that I couldn't see through. The worst of it was that I couldn't even diagnose the problem. Usually you can at least attribute your lacking to something. This time it took me awhile.

Over the weekend my older son woke up from his nap and wanted to sit with me. "Will you rock me while I watch the letter movie?" He's all about learning his letters. So we rocked and watched a whole movie. What surprised me was that he sat through the entire show; he was still, and didn't ask questions. Only when the T.V. was off did he slide down and play.

It took awhile - again - to make any sort of connection, but it came.

You see, I could tell things weren't quite right with him when he woke up. And often he wakes up from his naps in a funk. The look in his eyes said to me that he needed closeness, even to take refuge in what is his most secure place. After that, game on: he became a fire chief, ready to save the world.

At this point I remembered a couple things. First, during my time under the influence of the haze mentioned above, I was wrapped up in myself. Everything that happened, a disorderly student, a comment from my wife, a disobedient boy, all of it made me sorry for me. I couldn't shake it. No matter how much I knew no one was out to get me, that's exactly the way it felt.

Second, when I finally collapsed under the weight of I, it pushed me to my knees where I hid for awhile. My most secure place is in worship. I was able to push myself back and express my love of the Father.

It is only when we worship that we can then appropriately express love to those around us. Worship places us at the feet of Him who will restore our ability to love.

After that, game on.

Weekend in Pictures

2012-01-23T06:00:00.000-05:00

When words are few:

Say It

2012-01-18T06:00:00.000-05:00

Remember: you are dust

The last few days have been difficult as a dad; our older boy has been testing the boundaries, and yes, they're still there. I really don't enjoy bringing my son back to his senses, especially when for months he's avoided outright disobedience.

However, there's a freshness to it too. After he's cried and said he's sorry, and we've hugged it out and I've said I forgive him, we know something we weren't sure about a few minutes before. That is, I'm the dad and he's the son. And even though he's acted out for two straight days, part of me can't blame him. First of all he's four, and that's just his M.O. as the representative for his age group. Second, he reminds me of, well, me.

I told myself a long time ago that if I was going to be able to love God and others every day, I would have to practice a small habit before I rolled out of bed: I'd say, "God is God; I am not."

Isn't that the ultimate boundary? Don't we all need to know it before we begin our day?

You see, this habit, this reestablishing boundaries, is so devastatingly simple you'd think it would stick. Yet I find so many ways to skip it. Why? Because deep down where he's working now, I'm still not convinced that I'm not God.

And when I do confess this simple hierarchy - and it's usually mixed with other confessions - the order is set and I can act rightly. I can worship; I can love; I can see with his eyes.

I need to be more like my four-year-old. At least when he's unsure of the boundaries, he's good at begging me to set them anew.

"What do you tell me?"
"I'm sorry."
"I forgive you."

Before you begin, say it: "God is God; I am not."

Success Is Slow in Showing

2012-01-16T06:00:00.000-05:00

I'll jump at any chance to throw in a picture of old books.

Parent-teacher conferences don't usually evoke joy. It's difficult to tell a parent their child is struggling or acting out, and I don't look forward to it. This is also a challenging part of the year because we're preparing for the almighty state tests. The work gets harder for the students, and teachers panic over all the material we have to catch up on and review. It's not a great combination.

However, now that conferences are over, I'm looking at things in a new light. Last week I wrote a post called Educational Matters Continued in which I complained a bit about NCLB. This one test is responsible for measuring how well I've taught all year long. The powers that be call it high stakes. It makes everyone sweat.

Of course I talked with my student's parents about the state test, but we talked about just plain reading too. Independent reading is the most important thing we do. Every day we spend at least 15 minutes reading in class. And, until conferences at about the midway point of the school year, it's hard to show my students, and myself, that it's paying off.

But that's just it, it IS paying off for each one of my students who have decided to read like I've asked them to. Last week I had several conversations that went something like this:

"Do you realize you've read ten books this year?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, how does that make you feel?" By this time both the student and the parent(s) are beaming.
"I don't know."
"Well, you should be very proud. Is it becoming easier to finish books?"
"Yeah."
"That's the point!" I'm trying hard not to dance. "That means you're becoming a better reader!"

This is the best assessment I've done all year, and at the end of May, when many of those same students will finish their 20th and 21st book, I will give them a questionnaire to ask some of the same questions. Their success will surprise them, and remind me that growth is slow.

The major problem with this program is that it's so hard to measure, and some of my students won't do the hard work it takes to see this kind of success. This is also why not many teachers feel like they can give their students so much time to read. It's a risk. But for those who do sell out to the hard work, and those I can convince even closer to the end of the year, that reading is worth the time and effort, I will tell myself it's worth the time and effort and continue to do things this way.

I suppose that's the whole point of this post too. I needed to tell myself one more time that it's worth it; that even though it's a grind to get my students to practice stillness and reading every day, that it's paying off.

Thankful Thursday

2012-01-12T05:30:00.000-05:00

Ann Voskamp's blog often highlights thankfulness. Her book, One Thousand Gifts, is all about seeing God's blessings, and she encourages people to join her in slowing down and giving thanks. I thought I'd join her.

That little curl is the source of so many smiles, as is the swirl below it.

Boy-projects, including art and construction, are what keep this home humming with activity. Not to mention chaos. I look around at some of their work and I'm surprised by what I see; grace, usually elusive in all its various forms, will smack you in the face when you least expect it.

So, I'm thankful for Ann's blog too. After all, we need reminders - often - that grace is there, no matter how seldom we look for it.

Give thanks.

Educational Matters Continued

2012-01-10T05:00:00.000-05:00

October of last year I wrote a post called Educational Matters. Some of the thoughts I shared resurfaced last week.

Immediately upon return from Christmas break, as in the first day back, all teachers with subjects that are tested were required to go to a testing meeting. The meeting itself was not too bad; every teacher there knows the drill. Standardized tests are on our minds all year long, and now that we're back they loom over our heads.

NCLB says over 90% of our students have to pass the test for reading this year. I won't even get into the practical side of this - and really, do I have to? Over 90%? In a perfect world.

However, no matter how much I know I just have to do my best, the pressure of it all is crushing. Couple this with the fact that the first week back from any long break, even a weekend sometimes, I have to fight my students for control of the room. By Friday I had things back to "normal," but I was feeling it.

Then one of my male students crushed me anew.
He's usually a mess when it comes to organization. His papers are everywhere, and they aren't covered with notes but doodles. He doesn't have many friends because even though he's immature, his ability to think is so far above his peers that no one wants to talk to him.

This is when things are normal.

I asked him how his break went.
"Oh, pretty much horrible."

I knew why. His parents are splitting up. Then, as he's picking up his multitude of papers, he says to me, "Are things going to get better?" I don't remember what I said, nothing helpful I'm sure.

What standardized test?

The next day I asked one of my colleagues her guess at how many of our students come from broken homes. "I don't think 80% would be an unfair estimate." I agreed.

Our students come from homes where, if they're not abusive, they're probably at least ignored. And if their families haven't fallen apart, there's a good chance it might. I don't have all that much to offer these kids on days when I'm stressing over test scores. In fact, on those days when I'm distant, I give them what they're used to: the cold shoulder.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, sometimes education doesn't matter.

Oh, and the student I mentioned above, he'll kill the test. Not because of anything I've taught him, but because he reads constantly to get away from his life.

Celebrate with Me!

2012-01-06T07:00:00.000-05:00

Short enough to write on a vine leaf...

I promised you all an announcement today, and here it is: Jessica and Dawn over at Vine Leaves Literary Journal have been kind enough to publish my vignette! It's a great idea they've had for their journal. You'll need to check it out for yourself, but they have created a place for writers to submit all those small pieces of work no one else wants - either because they're not "complete," or because they're too short.

I'm excited and thankful to be part of their project, and I'm looking forward to watching the success of the journal; the vignette is an art that is undervalued.

My vignette is called Daddy? I'd tell more about it, but it's so short I'd just be giving it away. You can follow the link above, or click here (it's on page 50).

Either way, go check it out!

IWSG: New Year, New Goals

2012-01-04T04:30:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! I hope everyone had enough rest and time with family.

Huge thanks, once again, to Alex Cavanaugh for creating the Insecure Writer's Support Group!
It is a pleasure to be a part of such an encouraging group of writers.

These last three months I've been very much encouraged by everyone who has visited this blog, so thank you to my readers too!

I don't like to get too wrapped up in resolutions for the new year, but I do have some goals. I thought I'd share them on this post, and hopefully they'll encourage you all while helping me stay focused. Also, if you'd come back and check on me, I'd certainly appreciate the accountability!

1. Read more about writing. Later in this post I'm going to share a helpful quote from a grammar book I'm reading; the clear directives in this book have made me want to read more from talented writers and teachers about how to write well.

2. Read more. Well, duh. As Iyer says, "reading is the best school of writing..."

3. Use this blog to sharpen my writing. I want to post at least twice a week, three times if time and ideas permit. This goal also includes participating in more blog fests, hops, and challenges. I'm already planning my posts for the April A-Z challenge, and if you know of any other events, tell me!

4. Submit to literary journals. This includes the new journal put on by Jessica Bell and Dawn Ius, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and others as well. Again, if you know of online journals share them with me!

Also, stop by on Friday - I have an exciting announcement! (Hint, hint.)

5. Query at least two agents and/or two publishers. My first novel is begging me to work on it, and although I named last year the year of the agent, my goal was too lofty. I think I can handle a couple more queries this year.

When I set out to create these goals, my intention was to make them doable, which includes keeping the list short and simple. In order to sharpen my writing overall, and not just with this blog, I am challenged by this quote that I promised above; I hope it will encourage you:

"Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all sentences short or avoid all detail and treat subjects only in outline, but that every word tell."

If you don't own a copy of The Elements of Style, by William Strunk, you need to pick it up. It's a great lens through which to view all your writing. The 50th anniversary edition also includes an intro and essay on writing from E.B. White, a student of Strunk.

To E-read or Not to E-read

2012-01-02T04:30:00.000-05:00

I wasn't planning on writing this...the thoughts responsible for this post came to me a few hours after blowing $3 on a bag of books from those crooks over at our public library. Can you imagine? A whole $3 for a BAG of books? A dirty shame. And when you see what I got, well, let's just say I got ripped off: nothing current, nothing trendy! I'm still grumpy.

(If only there was a sarcasm font...).

The tables were covered with old, smelly books. I quickly ran my eyes over Reader's Digest condensed editions, trashy romance novels, and, after tracking down my son in the autobiography section - eureka! a falling-apart biography of Edgar Allen Poe.

I don't usually catch our library sales at their best. However, I was spurred on by my first find, and the next 10-15 minutes reaped these:

The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Browning, which includes notes of the original owner who happened to attend the local college; the note on the inside reads, "G- H- Summer Session 1928."

Tanglewood Tales, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. This one is small and so well-used there aren't any front pages, and it came complete with burn marks.

August 1914, by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Printed in 1972, this one makes my mouth water (if you've already read the A bit about me page, you know why).

Around the World in Eighty Days, by Jules Verne. I couldn't find a publication date for this one either, but according to the Date Due card, it was first checked out on October 19th, 1952. Sadly, the last time it was read was February of '74.

(Special thanks to my wife for not only allowing me to add to my slam-packed shelves, but also for finding a couple of the books above. She must really love me!)

Leafing through their yellowed pages, I was struck by a couple things: first, I noticed the small print; second, I realized the absence of subtitles. Now, before I go on, I should clarify why subtitles came to mind at all: I am required to teach my 7th graders text features, and one of the 13 I teach is subtitles.

Take a look at the pictures below:

This last picture shows the contrast between a book I'm reading now, published in 2010, and the Browning book, published in 1927. For the City, the one printed in 2010 and a good book in its own right, is a mere 180 pages long and includes many subtitles - not to mention larger print.

Comparing old and new books leads me to believe our collective ability to digest large amounts of reading has declined. Maybe I'm off, but why would books be printed in larger print, with many of the nonfiction books chopped up with subtitles unless this is what buyers/readers want or can handle?

I'm probably much influenced by Ray Bradbury, he had this figured out in the '60s. If you haven't read Fahrenheit 451, you gotta. With the help of Facebook, Twitter, and texting, we're living the realization of Bradbury's dystopia where bite-sized information is all we can swallow. Of course, the exception I see on a daily basis is tome after tome of YA fiction - but that's for another day...

Not only does this idea sadden me, this idea of the "lightening" of books, but I'm also saddened by the loss of history if we go completely to e-reading. No electronic book will ever hold notes from almost a century ago. Nor will they quite hold my personal memories as I pass them on to my children and friends.

There will be no more inscriptions, no more notes in the margins (at least not in some interesting hand writing anyway), and no more old book smell or crinkle of turned pages.

I guess you can easily tell I'm not sold on the e-readers yet, huh? What do you think? What do you see as the benefits of e-readers? Do you see the same drawbacks as I do? Others?

How Do You Compose?

2011-12-28T20:00:00.000-05:00

I'm a new blogger, and to be honest, sometimes I question the practice. It's the speed of it all, the immediate publishing. I suppose now that I'm committed to regular posting, I'm more likely to defend it. And that's one of the things I like, this blog, and others, makes me think and write often. However, there's something about the composition style that irks me.

Over history the way we write, and therefore the way we think and communicate ideas, has changed - some would say it's more than changed, it's evolved. I'm not so sure technology serves us as well as we suppose.

Before any form of writing, people told stories and exchanged news orally. Since then there have been rapid developments: ink and scroll, printing press, typewriter, word processor (I'm sure there are some gaps in my small timeline). The idea behind each advancement is that we can speed up the process, and therefore improve it.

I'll concede the speed argument, but I'm not altogether sold on improvement.

If I had my way, I would hand write everything. As it is, I compose my blog posts on the computer, and most of my other writing is done by hand. I wrote my novel out by hand and I loved every slow moment. For poetry I certainly don't type, and sometimes I use 3X5 index cards per ten lines.

What I find is everything I write by hand is much more thought out, and much stronger. I generally fly through my blog posts, only to look at them later and bemoan their weaknesses. Of course, no matter how anyone composes there will always be that time of looking back and picking apart. But what would the world of books be like if every writer took the time to write out each word by hand? Even by typewriter?

I tend to think we'd have fewer and stronger books. More detail, more depth, more from each book.

The biography of C.S. Lewis I read a few weeks ago mentions that Lewis first used a quill and ink to write; it goes on to describe the time between each dip of the pen as a time for thought to germinate and develop. Talk about a slow process! Five to six words per dip! Imagine how long it would take to write out a first draft. Then a second and a third.

Someday I'd like to use this regularly

But then imagine you had time to think through the first draft so well that the second or the third draft isn't all that necessary. Maybe. At least, at the very least, I believe writing by hand gives me the ability to escape into my new world that's springing up around me. The slow process, often interrupted with scratching out misspelled words or word changes, becomes part of what I look forward to experiencing.

I challenge you to try it. Write the next page of your current project on a good old piece of paper. Chances are you'll hate it, and it'll take much, much longer. Then again, you might just see some of your best writing in quite some time.

Fight the speed. There's nothing wrong with slow thinking, slow writing, or slowness at all.

A Blur

2011-12-22T04:30:00.000-05:00

This Christmas, don't let everything fly by. Better yet, let's make that a goal for all of 2012.

My children are no longer babies, and I'm sure time doesn't function correctly anymore; somehow these two bundles have accelerated things. Perhaps we're all victims of Wells's New Accelerator and we're experiencing time at an unbelievable clip. That would explain a lot.

A voice often speaks this truth to me: "Be present. Now is the only time you have."

I don't know how many times I have to hear it, but it's not sinking in. When I look up from Facebook, where a friend has just posted an update on his mood, I find my children have grown an inch. Once needing a stool to wash his hands, my son now stands on his toes.

You have no idea how disturbing hand washing can be until you see your baby in the middle of it. Of course it's then the flashbacks come on; the spitup on your clothes, the midnight feedings, the haze of sleeplessness. "Dad," and there he is, drying his once-stubby hands, "can I do the water project?"

When did he learn to talk?

Be where you are.

It's an Elizabeth Taylor Christmas!

2011-12-19T04:30:00.000-05:00

Who am I kidding? What I really love, LOVE about Christmas is not the family gatherings, not the lights, the trimmings, the trappings, not new sweaters, not those cute nativity scenes. No, it's really Elizabeth Taylor - especially like this:

An oldie, I know, but such a goodie! Doesn't this just say, "It's Christmas!" to you? It's the hair that gets me, the hair plus the poker game; I just love a hand of poker after I rip open my brand new bottle of cologne!

When all the romance starts oozing out of the television, I know, I KNOW it's time to celebrate the birth of the King! It used to be the Chia Pet, now it's this:

Oh, the striking reality of it all just makes me sob. It's almost like they took a page from my playbook on how to sweep my wife off her feet! (Don't they know the most romantic thing a man can do for the mother of his children? Let her sleep! Really, a couple extra hours on the weekend speaks volumes! Especially if you douse her pillow in Ralph's Polo Romance first.)

Really, though, let's get serious about Christmas. Okay, just one more. The commercial to follow is going to set the standard for Christmases to come:

Eat your heart out Elizabeth - when did you ever give 7 billion presents?

Merry Christmas!

Deja Vu - So, I'm a Teacher

2011-12-16T04:30:00.000-05:00

As a part of the blogfest Deja Vu, hosted by Lydia Kang, DL Hammons, Katie Mills, and Nicole Ducleroir (check out the launch page here as well as each respective blog), I am re-posting "So, I'm a Teacher" from last year. The idea of the blogfest is to give a bit more attention to an old post - a great idea, I thought. So thanks to our hosts!

I hope you will read the post below and see how I was first inspired to launch the independent reading program in my classes. I have continued with the program this year, and I'm finding it very challenging and rewarding. Enjoy!

So, I'm a Teacher

I teach 7th grade Language Arts. This is my first year. If you've taught at all, you know those words are pregnant - ready-to-pop pregnant.

State assessments are about a month away. All the material that I haven't taught yet is pointing a fat finger at me, and all the lessons that flopped over the last few months are rolling around on the ground laughing their heads off. (Would my students be able to pick out the figurative language I've used in this post so far? Ah, good question.)

So, what will I do with the month that's left? abcsdefgnnjhijkjkkklnmnloopqrstuvvvvvvwxyz. (Just a brief interlude by my son who's learning his letters. It probably won't be the last.) Where was I? One month to go, right.

For Christmas I received a book called The Book Whisperer, by Donalyn Miller. And, wow, I was so convicted about my methods up to that point in the school year, that I'm now (as of yesterday) taking much advice from the book. Miller is an experienced 6th grade Language Arts and Social Studies teacher in Texas, as well as a consultant with the North Star of Texas Writing Project. (Article about Miller here, her blog here.) The gist in one sentence: in order to improve reading, wait for it, students have to read (cue light bulb above head). The simplicity gets you, no? Especially since I KNEW that already. Because, as a reader, even as a student-reader who hated assigned reading, I know that I still loved to read the books I wanted to read.

Independent reading with instruction that will help students engage their own books - that's what the rest of the school year will be like in my classroom.

And even though the state assessment just might make me puke before it's all said and done, I will push for the end of the year goal of 20 books per student. I'm gonna do it too. And maybe, just maybe, I'll inspire some non-readers to become readers, and some already-readers to read better and better literature.

Teacher Resource: Biography

2011-12-14T04:30:00.000-05:00


http://shirt.woot.com/

I couldn't resist angry Bill Shakespeare over there! Maybe if they learn to read the whole book now, they just might read the whole book later...

One of the many benefits of the reading program I've got going in my classes is the variety of genres I require my students to read. In fact, because I will complete the goal myself, it has freed me from my own reading cycle. I trend toward fantasy mostly, especially when I need an escape (George MacDonald seems to be the best antidote).

It's true of us all - we get into a comfort zone with a certain style of writing, a certain type of story, and we stick with it. We even go back to the same author over and over, don't we? Yet another reason YA books perform so well as a series!

Like I said, it's been good to branch out a bit. I've found that I've read very few biographies, and it's a personal goal to cycle back more often. I just read a decent bio of C.S. Lewis, by his stepson Douglas Gresham.

The book is called Jack's Life, after the nickname Clive gave himself when he was a preschooler (do you blame him?). Even though I'm very much a fan of Lewis, there were quite a few interesting facts and insights I learned through this book - especially about his relationship with his brother, Warnie, his involvement in World War I, and his promise to care for his friend's mother and sister as long as needed - which he did.

In spots the book is a bit repetitive, and it felt rushed from an editorial standpoint at times. However, those things were easily overlooked by the subject matter: the life of a great writer, teacher, and Christian.

I suppose there are several biographies about Lewis that are better than this one, and Gresham does mention them, but this may be a good place to begin - especially for the younger audience.

Again, I'll share what I have my students write about when they've read either a biography or autobiography (I require they read at least one), and if you have any suggestions or thoughts, let me know. And as always, feel free to use what you find!

Reading Response: BIOGRAPHY/AUTOBIOGRAPHY

There are three rootwords you should know: bio, auto, and graph. Bio means “life,” automeans “self,” and graph means “write.” Therefore, your book to meet thisgenre’s requirement should have been a book about a person’s life – eitherwritten by someone else (a biography), or by the person the book is about(autobiography).

In this letter youwill:

STATEwhether the book is a biography or autobiography.
DESCRIBEwhy you think the person is important (this means you should think about whythere is a book about them at all).
EXPLAINthree things you learned about the person from your book.

Embracing the Mundane

2011-12-12T04:30:00.000-05:00

It's hard to find time to write or read; so many times I've wanted to escape into a quiet room with a large old leather chair, plop down, and read. Sure, it's in those times (rare in the years of children) I've had the most inspiration for writing. But things change, and finding time to think about stories, or mull over new ideas for poems, has changed as well.

I now find my evenings filled with domestic chores (after a splash of afternoons where I am James the train helping Thomas and Percy with their loads, or Blizzard fighting Iron Man - or Iron Men, as it were); folding laundry, scrubbing dishes, picking up toys, and gathering trash, all these things require my (and our) attention.

By the time my wife and I have a quiet home, the boys tucked in bed, the best we can do is prop each up. The other night we talked until 11 - the next day I was a zombie, and I'm pretty sure she was too.

So, what's a writer to do?

Then, a week or so ago, I had my hands in soapy water and I was thinking about mundane tasks; the sky outside was a brilliant orange. It was then I remembered that the "mundane," the "ordinary," as we know them are an illusion. I stood there and scraped cheese off a plate; I rinsed sippy-cups; I dried a couple frying pans. And the whole time I was actually able to keep an image in my mind, an image from the sky outside, and descriptive words danced around my mind's eye.

I'm learning to embrace the mundane, the ordinary, not as lifeless moments, but as times to slowly consider, to reflect on the day, on the task, on my family, on Jesus. And if I'm able to fully embrace those seemingly trivial times of the day, it's then I realize that no time is to be wasted; all times are a gift.

It was wonderful, and the next time I sat down to write, I felt refreshed. See each moment of the day for what it truly is.

Word of Encouragement to Insecure Writers

2011-12-07T04:30:00.000-05:00

I've been pondering what it is about writers that is so easily associated with insecurity. What's curious is from the outside, from the perspective of readers (specifically those who don't write), this association is confusing. What the reader sees is the finished product, the sales numbers, maybe even the prestige. Even for writers who haven't published anything, when those who don't write hear of our bent for crafting words, they don't immediately think we're as insecure as we may be.

From my experience, the reaction people have toward writers is quite positive. We (ha! we) seem to be seen as gifted, intelligent, and imaginative - not insecure.

This is my view of other writers, too, especially the published-famous variety. One writer in particular, one who made a significant imprint on American Literature, who ended his own life due in part to his insecurities comes to mind: Ernest Hemingway.

Surely there were other forces at work before Hemingway put the shotgun to his head. However, I can't help but imagine the same questions of ability, of creativity, of originality that float around my head when I write - and specifically what others will think of me in those terms - also tormented Hemingway. And what's my reaction to this association? Absurdity! How could someone so manly, so experienced, and so gifted possibly suffer from insecurity?

If I could write something as beautiful as (insert your favorite writer), then I'll have made it - THEN all my fears will vanish. Yet, and here's the problem (and probably one of Hemingway's), all that fame, all those people talking about that intimate creation of yours, will only enhance your insecurity. Somehow you'll gravitate toward the negative commentary, even if it's less than the positive. Perhaps, once that bestseller maxes out its potential, you'll experience the most feared result of insecurity: WRITER'S BLOCK.

And doesn't it make sense? Our fears will lead to zero creativity - and that's how we all started writing wasn't it? We had some sort of spark in our mind and we had to write something down before our fingertips exploded. That's the creative "gene", if you will, that the Creator gave us. Fear has no part in that.

So, and here's the encouragement part of this, when you write, remember why you picked up your pen in the first place (or fired up your computer is more like it). You didn't want to write to please other people did you? I hope you didn't. You were answering a call deep inside yourself - keep listening to that voice.

The only way I was successful in finishing my first manuscript, and really even starting it, was remembering I had to write something I would want to read myself. And essentially that's how we should write, as though we were our only audiences. Chances are if you like what you read, others will too.

Writing Cycles and Rest

2011-12-05T04:30:00.000-05:00

I've been doing some reflecting on silence lately, and specifically how it and stillness relates to this Christmas/winter season. Just before winter truly hits, the fall rains move in; the sound a slow, soaking rain makes is melodic; I can't help but pause and take it in.

Those are such good days. They're book and fire days, or, more popularly in our house, living room-fort building days. Then, of course, the snow itself falls silently, and whatever the rain didn't mute, it blankets and holds in a sort of spell. The air is still; the birds only move when they need to; and the quickest thing around is smoke from nearby chimneys.

A sycamore in rest

I want this atmosphere around me to not only remind me to slow down, but to also be a kind of analogy for myself. A few years ago I discovered that the winter months are not the greatest in which for me to write. I suppose I realized my body actually does react to the weather; what I decided was that I should use that down time wisely and rest.

The creation does it; whole months are set aside to prepare for the explosion of growth in the spring and summer. Why not set this season aside (as much as you can), accept that you can't be as productive as you'd like all year long, and prepare yourself for growth in the warmer months? Perhaps it could be a time to reflect on what you have done to this point in your life, and what you'd like your legacy to be.

I know I've been thinking about these things lately, especially as it pertains to writing. Over the long break I get from school I'll probably work on this blog as well as my novel (You Come Too). But I'll also be mindful of the rest I need, and I'll be thinking about what kind of work I need to plan for my most productive times of the year.

I stumbled back to Ann Voskamp's blog the other day. Her post from 12/2 seemed particularly apt to my mood lately, and her posts labeled "The Year of Here" are great for reflection. Her posts are full of great pictures and inspiring words.

Her blog: A Holy Experience

Linus on the Meaning of Christmas

2011-12-02T04:30:00.000-05:00

It's the first week of December - are you ready to scream your head off like Charlie Brown because of all the crazy Christmasing going on around you? I'm almost there. And I'm not surprised by it, really.

Yes, the consumerism drives me crazy. But that isn't what's on my nerves this year. Mainly, it's the bustle of activity, the plethora of events if you will ("Yes, Christmas, you have a plethora of cattle - uh, events I mean").

We've got to slow things down.

We need to take the cue from creation. Especially when a blanket of white covers the grass, the undergrowth, the streets - everything is silent and still. There should be a collective hush among us humans, too. I'm going to do my boyscout-best to make still my soul this year, which includes crossing some activities off my list. A gathering here, a church service there, but I want my heart to be hushed because it's in awe of what happened on that first Christmas morning.

Here's what Linus had to say - notice the awed Charlie at the end:

Thanksgiving In 12 Pictures

2011-11-29T04:00:00.000-05:00

Illness kept our family home for the holiday. The result was a lot of down-time, with the exception of two great walks with the boys while Mommy rested. Below are a few pictures I took on our explorations.

It's amazing what boys will pick up and treat as treasure.

We found other things too; bare branches, hidden paths, an old hive, a late rose.

We found more trees, fading light, shadows, and finally, we warmed ourselves by a fire.

Teaching with Energy

2011-11-21T09:48:00.001-05:00

Whenever I need a refresher on my motivation to teach, I catch up on reading student letters. It's a Monday and I'm tired. I have emails to catch up on. I have plans to make. I have grades to enter. Yet, for the last twenty minutes or so, I've been answering student letters.

And there it is - this is why I teach.

I read a letter from a student telling me she just finished reading a biography of Anne Frank. She did a fantastic job describing the plight of Anne's struggle through the holocaust, including details that would make your eyes water. But, the most gripping sentence of her letter came when she answered the prompt to describe why [Anne] is important, why [her] story should be told at all. This is a paraphrase of what she wrote:

"In the book, Anne heard that it would be important for individual stories to be told so that the holocaust wouldn't be reduced to a bunch of stats."

I about jumped out of my seat - quite a feat for me any time before 9am.

Hurriedly, I wrote out my response. "This is exactly why Literature is important! The best is intended to bridge the gaps between each generation, race, and culture to ensure we make connections with one another! In this way we can stand up for each other, advocating for one another during times that are evil; and maybe we can avert another holocaust."

Today, I'm teaching with energy.

And it doesn't matter that this student is the exception, not the rule. It doesn't matter that the very next letter I read was horrible. It doesn't matter that the first class I taught today was difficult because of a couple students who won't follow directions.

Steering one student toward her incredible potential to think, and maybe someday to write, is all worth the other junk. In fact, it allows me to unleash an energy on those difficulties I didn't have before.

Doxology, & Dry Bones, by Gungor

2011-11-17T19:57:00.001-05:00

It's only been a few days since I first posted some of Gungor's music, but I just couldn't help myself. The more I listen, the more I'm convinced their music is worthy of the title "fantastic!"

This first one is called "Doxology" - insert your own words or prayer to this one.

Next is "Dry Bones." It has a very Middle-Eastern feel, and at some point I believe they're singing in what sounds like Hebrew to me - but I could be way off! And that keyboard/accordion thing she's playing is amazing.

Teacher Resource: Science Fiction

2011-11-16T07:00:00.000-05:00

Science fiction is one of those genres readers either love or hate. So many good ideas have been ruined in the minds of readers and viewers by badly designed special effects - and now too much is spoon-fed to the viewer by excellent special effects! Therefore, the best place for science fiction is in the mind; the best way to do "special effects" is with the imagination.

(I suppose this is true of most books that are turned into movies, but good science fiction contains so many moral questions, and so many imaginative ideas that it's a shame so few people get into the genre.)

One great example that immediately comes to mind is The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis. Thankfully, at least to my knowledge, these books have not been turned into movies. Characteristically, Lewis takes what is true about our existence, namely what is true about God and humanity, and molds it all into a compelling narrative. Instead of Narnia, the protagonist Ransom travels first to Mars (Out of the Silent Planet), then to Venus (Perelandra); the trilogy closes with the "gods" making an appearance on our own planet (That Hideous Strength).

Whether a fan of Lewis or not, every fan of science fiction needs to pick these books up - all three are a must read in my opinion.

It has been one of my great accomplishments this year (in my mind anyway) that I got one of my seventh graders to start reading Out of the Silent Planet - and he's stuck with it! We'll see, when he writes to me about the book, how much he is comprehending, but the fact that he's trying it is progress.

Speaking of writing about books, I realized it's been awhile since I've shared a resource I'm using in my classes. Below you will find both writing prompts I use for science fiction. Feel free to use them in your classes, or share what you do in your classes!

Reading Response: SCIENCE FICTION #1

What makes a sciencefiction book science fiction is some kind of futuristic technology, and oftenthat technology has to do with space or time travel.

In this letter youwill:

1. DESCRIBE the futuristic technology.

2. EXPLAIN how the characters use the technology, and what they use it for.

(Of course, it's a work in progress to get each student to describe and explain - thus the all caps - but we're getting there in many cases.)

Reading Response: SCIENCE FICTION #2

What makes a sciencefiction book science fiction is some kind of futuristic technology, and oftenthat technology has to do with space or time travel.

In this letter youwill:

1. EXPLAIN how the futuristic technology in your book might be used in our day and age, and what its benefit could be.
2. DESCRIBE the consequences of using the technology, either good or bad.

As I said before, if you have any suggestions, even if you aren't a teacher, I'm open!!

Thanks for reading!

New Page: Photography

2011-11-14T14:34:00.001-05:00

This post is to announce a new page: Photography. As I mention on the page itself, I'm not a pro. However, I do enjoy taking pictures. So I hope you enjoy looking at them!

The one below was taken in Arizona on our vacation this summer, imagine oppressive heat as you look at it...

My eyelids are burning...

Beautiful Things, by Gungor

2011-11-10T09:16:00.000-05:00

I don't have many words as of late, so this song is going to have to speak for me:

Be encouraged.

An Open Letter to Marilyn Nelson

2011-11-04T16:30:00.000-04:00

Dear Ms. Nelson,

Thank you for writing Carver: A Life in Poems. The voice you achieved was incredible; at times I found myself reading as though the Doctor himself wrote the poems. Of course, he would have been capable. As you revealed so skillfully, Carver was a true Renaissance man.

I'm finding that there's something magical about mixing science, good science mind you (as you and Carver know it), and all that's poetic. I have half a mind to say that's what the Lord, the "Great Creator," had in mind all along; beauty dancing with the naked elements of all that's been made. I have half a mind to say that's how "The Lace-Maker" saw things as well. For (as you know), the man of your book could see a flower for its delicate, passing-away appearance as well as its function. Perhaps, he might say, its function contributed to its beauty as much as the way it glimmered in the moonlight.

Ruellia Noctiflora

I can't decide whether to be angry at God for when he created Carver, or to praise him. For all the beauty I found in your work, I felt just as much anger at what he faced. In the end, of course I'll praise him; the Lord places his people perfectly, and Carver was no exception. In fact, as he was convinced, I know he was called to be the man he was in the face of hate, "for just such a time as this...." Yet, there's still part of me that is stirred to anger when I think of his brilliance and the way he was judged by many for only his skin.

There's a little selfishness in this too - I can't help but wish I had studied science with his direction. Maybe I could've seen then what I'm seeing now about creation. I have you to thank for opening my eyes to Carver; at least now I can further examine what he would have taught me, albeit from afar.

If you're reading this, you will have already seen that I've used your words for my blog description. Really it's more about my blog-name, Man O' Clay. When I read those words, again that which is scientific and poetic, I was moved to awe. In the same poem you said, "There is a primal, almost mystical/connection between humankind and clay,/from the footed, bellied first receptacles/to frescoed Renaissance cathedral walls." I do my best to remember this fact every day: I am dust.

Upon the dust with his breath aflame,
Into limp lungs now alive,
He gave Adam, and us all, a name.

I don't think I can say enough to you; more than once I was moved to tears through your words. I guess I will say, however, that I will be reading more of what you write - as well as more about George Washington Carver. I know I don't have as close a connection to him as you do, I don't have a "Moton Field." Yet, there is that forever of connections at the cross.

Again, thank you.
Man O' Clay

Inkheart, by Cornelia Funke

2011-10-30T15:37:00.000-04:00

One of my students asked me the other day, "Is that a good book?" After I said that it was, he said, "I should make you write me a letter when you're done with it!"

Touche, my little friend.

As some of you know, I have challenged my 7th grade classes to read 21 books this year. When they finish with each book, they have to write me a letter depending on what genre the book belongs to. So, why not write a bit about what I'm reading? Maybe it will make my minions happy when I tell them...

My first reaction to thick Young Adult books is, "I'll pass." I wasn't looking forward to another long book with little to no literary connection, and a plot soaked in action-for-the-sake-of-action-so-the-kids-will-buy-more-books kind of action.

However, I was pleasantly surprised by Inkheart.

The best place to start is with an excerpt. Mo, one of the main characters, tells his daughter Meggie:

If you take a book with you on a journey...an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it...yes, books are like flypaper - memories cling to the printed page better than anything else.

When I find truths like this early on in a book, I am much more likely to continue reading. This particular passage was on page 15, and it wasn't 6 pages later, on the header for the next chapter, I found a quote from The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame. If I hadn't been sold at that point, that would have done it. In fact, my Moleskine is full of names of writers I found through Inkheart, as each chapter has an apt passage from many different stories.

I really enjoyed the art throughout the book too. Funke's sketches are simple but compelling, though sometimes she uses the same drawing more than once - the only feature I wish would have been different.

The story itself is compelling too. Meggie is the protagonist, a young teen who loves to read. Her father is a book-mender, and we find out slowly that he is able to read things - and people - into and out of books. The major conflict begins when Meggie is only three; as Mo reads to his wife from Inkheart, she disappears and three characters from the book appear. Two of them are evil, Capricorn and Basta, while Dustfinger will do anything to return to "his" story. The ensuing action (which I will not reproduce here) is well done, and we find ourselves set up for a sequel as Basta survives along with the Magpie - Capricorn's mother.

I'm not yet sure how I feel about this leaving room for more. My initial reaction is that the story could have ended with Inkheart. I would have been satisfied seeing an end to Basta (who will surely die at the hands of Dustfinger at some point, albeit in one of the sequels), and the evil mother of Capricorn.

However...

I haven't read the next part to the story, Inkspell, or the third book, Inkdeath. And I'm sure there's more to tell in the next two books...I'm just having a hard time getting over the need to make everything in the Young Adult genre a series. I suppose Funke surprised me before, maybe she'll come through again.

Educational Matters

2011-10-25T20:26:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, education doesn't matter.

There are days I get so wrapped up in how I'm going to present new concepts, or cover all the required material, or "get that kid to get it," I forget that sometimes giving a student an education is my second job.

Just this week I was bemoaning the fact that my classes are behind according to the curriculum map. I even told a friend, when he asked what I can do about it, "Well, just stay behind I guess." I was thinking how absurd it is to rush my students on, and especially, how sorry I was feeling for myself because of all the daily challenges I face - besides simply being behind.

Then one of my students told me, "I've been gone because my mom's boyfriend kicked us out, and we'll be moving in two weeks." She's new to our school district this year. This won't be her last move. To top it off, she's behind as far as reading skills, which puts her behind in most of her subjects. When she moves again, she'll have to "catch up" with her new teachers, and the cycle begins again.

Getting her to read every day, adding words to her vocabulary, and explaining new literary concepts and text characteristics to her, all those things that are important to her education, seem a pitiful cause when compared to her life with her broken family.

(I started this post on Wednesday, the 19th, and today, the 25th, she's gone. And the most jarring thing is that the office didn't tell me she was leaving this week - she just vanished from my roll page. I pray she won't vanish from my mind.)

Another student of mine is starving for respect; his father is in prison, and his behavior is historically poor. There are days he does well in my class, that is, when I make the time to reach out to him, and there are days it doesn't seem to matter what I do. I asked him why he acts that way, one day performing at his potential, the next day not hearing anything I say. He said, "I don't know, sometimes I just don't want to."

But the look in his eye tells me a different story. I see a boy trapped by behavior that gets him what he wants, and distracts his teachers from what he doesn't know. He wants out, I can see that in his eyes, as deep as it may be, but where do I start? When I do make the time for him, he often acts as though he doesn't care by shrugging his shoulders or looking away. Yet, on those "good" days, he shows me he heard what I said by doing what I've asked him to do. And doing it well.

I can be upset by his lack of respect, his acting out, his inability to focus - or I can show him respect. Before he has earned it. Even if it doesn't work every day, I know it's the right thing to do. Maybe in that way I can show him I care for him no matter how he acts on any given day.

Both of these students are teaching me what it really means to be a teacher, and when I think of these two, it hurts. And as much as I love words and reading, my first job is to love my students.

The Storm in the Barn, by Matt Phelan

2011-10-21T13:08:00.000-04:00

I just finished reading the graphic novel The Storm in the Barn, by Matt Phelan. It's set in Kansas during the Dust Bowl, and told through the eyes of Jack, an eleven year old boy. Jack is desperate to please his father and contribute in some way, but, as his sick sister points out, the dust has taken away his chance to grow up.

Matt Phelan's sketches are what really tell the story. In the Author's Note Phelan says, "It was the faces. Against a backdrop of a vanishing farmland, these faces stared at the camera with haunting directness." He was speaking of photography from Dorothea Lange and Walker Evans, but it's his sketches that have the same effect in The Storm in the Barn.

The faces of the men who have nothing else to do but play dominoes at the town store, the faces of Jack's parents as they struggle to provide and care for three children, the faces of the town bullies after they partake in a jackrabbit drive - all of them hint at the plight of real people.

If you're looking for a way to introduce your classes to the time period, or specifically the Dust Bowl, this would be a good place to start. You could easily challenge advanced learners to make inferences on the small changes in the pictures, and give students who are struggling another way to interact with history - all with the same book. My classes are just finishing up a unit on drawing conclusions based on evidence from the story, and I wish I had read this before they started! There are so many ways to "read between the lines" in this book.

It is an extremely fast read, as the pictures dominate the majority of it, but I found myself lingering over the subtle changes in expression as the story unfolds. What struck me the most was, of course, Jack, as he attempts to help his father. All of his attempts end with frustration and yet another feeling of uselessness.

Throughout the story we catches glimpses of Dorothy and her adventures in OZ, as well as oral traditions of American folklore. Surely these stories were playing a good tune inside Jack as he brings relief to his family and his town. The story takes a turn toward fantasy, and Jack performs quite a feat.

Planet Ham is Matt Phelan's blog.

Writing as a Profession

2011-10-16T23:25:00.000-04:00

I'm tired of reading about the profession of writing. I've read a few posts by "writers" lately who are so focused on defining the parts of writing as a pro, or establishing themselves as a full time writer, that they seem to be distracted from capturing what called them to be a writer in the first place. That is, they seem to be forgetting that they are called to create something beautiful.

Maybe I'm splitting hairs, and I know I have a lot of the same dreams - I DO want to write full time - however, the last thing I want is to be distracted by this notion that I'm only a professional.

Am I a romantic? A flake? Do I place writing on too high a pedestal?

Here's a quote by Pico Iyer that I really like:

The less conscious one is of being "a writer," the better the writing. And though reading is the best school of writing, school is the worst place for reading. Writing...should be as spontaneous and urgent as a letter to a lover, or a message to a friend who has just lost a parent...and writing is, in the end, that oddest of anomalies: an intimate letter to a stranger.

(I'm trying to fix that whole "school is the worst place for reading" thing, but I think it's true. Read about my attempt here.)

I see a lot of junk out there - especially what's written for the young adult. When I was in college, I read a series of essays by Frederick Buechner called Speak What We Feel (Not What We Ought to Say): Reflections on Literature and Faith. The essays are dedicated to four writers: Gerard Manley Hopkins, Mark Twain, G.K. Chesterton, and Shakespeare. Buechner states that even four literary giants like the ones listed above only had so much to say; he tackles what he deems to be their greatest work, and then links it with what are the longings of every soul.

If that's true, if someone like Twain or Shakespeare were only at their greatest once, how much more is it true of those of us who read less and write more?

I'll now step down from my soapbox, but I think you know what I mean. There are too many books that say so little, and they tend to say it over and over again (sorry, Harry; sorry Katniss).

I know I've said this before, and I really do try and take my own advice, but I'm convinced writers should read four times as much as they write. At least. Because, after all, a prolific writer is not always a good one. Harper Lee and Kenneth Grahame are two great examples of writers who I wish would have kept writing. But they said what they had to say, said it very well, and then they sat down.

I want to be more concerned with conveying a message to whomever will hear it than with my professional status; a message I'm convicted to tell, a message I have to tell or my head will explode. Otherwise I'm wasting my time. Or yours.

I'm sitting down now.

Winnie the Pooh

2011-10-12T23:16:00.000-04:00

The bear necessities...

Oh, that bear with very little brain, that poet-bear, that eater of honey, friend of pigs and donkeys, and companion-comforter of children for decades! Oh bear, we do love you!

My parents gave me the complete collection of Winnie the Pooh on CD for my birthday this year, and the last few days I've been listening to the stories on the way to and from school. I find myself laughing out loud.

As a child, I had a couple cassettes of the same recordings by Peter Dennis, and I all but wore them out. Dennis does such a great job with all the voices, and he has been endorsed by none other than the real Christopher Robin. Check out a sample of his readings here, and I'm pretty sure this is the only place to get the CDs - I haven't been able to find them anywhere else anyway.

Disney doesn't have anything on Peter Dennis - or the original stories for that matter! The whole set also includes When We Were Very Young, and Now We Are Six - 79 poems that are just as compelling as Pooh at their best, and cute and laughable at their "worst." Of the poems, the one that has stuck with me the most is called "The Emperor's Rhyme." The Emperor uses simple math (or not so simple math) to calm himself in sticky situations, such as when the queen misuses the starch.

In The House at Pooh Corner, Pooh finds himself in the middle of a major conundrum; whom shall he go see this morning? Not Owl, because he uses long words - maybe Rabbit, because "he says sensible things like, 'help yourself Pooh.'" A bear with very little brain? I think not!

I love the way Milne uses perfect preschool-logic. In the chapter titled "An Expotition to the North Pole," Owl, Rabbit, Piglet, and Pooh are talking about what an ambush is, or is not. Owl and Rabbit are, as always, trying to showcase their brain-power by explaining to Pooh what an ambush is and why they need to be careful. Of course, Pooh's not quite listening, and he thinks they're talking about gorse bushes.

Pooh explains that a gorse bush had sprung out at him suddenly one day, and it had taken him six days to get all the prickles out.

"We are not TALKING about GORSE bushes," says Owl crossly.
And Pooh, in his characteristically logical way, replies, "I am."

I dare you not to laugh.

As seen in the picture above, my sons are beginning to be interested in Pooh and all his fluffy friends. The other day we listened to a couple of the stories on our way to the park. Both of the boys were quite tired, and I figured their silence was only an indicator of their sleepiness. However, after running around a bit, the older of the two said:

"Dad, I'm Pooh, you're Tigger, M. is Roo, and Mom is Kanga."
"Okay," I said. I couldn't have been more happy to pretend at this game!
"Let's go down by the slide," he continued, "that's the riverbank."

Isn't it amazing how closely children are listening when you think they couldn't possibly be paying attention? Well, my son's invitation to the 100 Acre Wood was irresistible to us all, and I'm sure we'll be making many more trips!

New Page: Quotes

2011-10-08T21:03:00.000-04:00

One of the ways I remember things I've read is to record small quotes. When I first began this blog, I added a couple of quotes from George MacDonald that inspired me. But because I have so many that I think about adding, I've decided to dedicate a whole page to quotes.

You can click here to go to the page, or click on the "Quotes" link just below the blog title.

Here's one to whet your appitite:

You say grace before meals.
All right.
But I say grace before the play and the opera.
And grace before the concert and the pantomime,
And grace before I open a book,
And grace before sketching, painting,
Swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing;
And grace before I dip the pen in the ink.

-G.K. Chesterton

Teaching Students to Read Meaning - Not Just Words

2011-10-05T14:04:00.001-04:00

My classes are just finishing a unit on story structure and I'm preparing for the next. So, in order to find some good examples to share during the next note-taking round, I did some research about inferences. I did find a couple paragraphs for my students to read and make conclusions about, then we'll discuss what was meant and what was actually said.

It's so difficult to convey to a 7th grader that you indeed have to "read between the lines." (You see, now we have to back up and explain, yes, this phrase is an idiom, yet another form of figurative language you have to know. The phrase means you have to use what evidence you see in the text and fill in what the author isn't saying. [All this time I've been ignoring the hand at the back of the room, yes? What's figurative language?] Sigh. At least they're asking!)

Ah, back to reading between the lines. Always I hear things like, "but I don't get it," when we've finished reading a story or article. And, besides a gap in vocabulary, a deficiency in attention, or an inability to read quickly enough to garner meaning, this is where we have to build a bridge between what's said and what's not. It's a constant battle for myself, let alone for my students - and we wonder why children who haven't been exposed to reading don't like books!

They don't get it.

So, we read. Yes, it's that simple. Yesterday I read aloud to all my classes, and it was great. They listened, or at least pretended to, and some even smiled. Some laughed! And, what was the most encouraging, one of my students reported he knew what we were going to read (as he had heard it already from his buddy), then proceeded to summarize the story! They do listen!!

Can it be that filling in the gaps, "reading between the lines," is a skill mainly obtained by simply reading?

I think so. And that's why we spend so much time reading - during class.

Morning Commute

2011-10-02T20:26:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I left for school early so I could take a few pictures. I'm not even close to a professional photographer, but sometimes my camera finds some good looking stuff.

It was raining the way to my pit-stop, and the sun was just approaching. The color change was amazing when I faced the west:

To the east again, this time behind some full-grown grasses:

The clouds were so smoke-like, but they were just warning me of rain, not fire:

I had to get these flowers, which I think are called sunflowers, although not the seed-bearing type. The second one was blowing a bit hard:

"The New Normal" by Donalyn Miller

2011-09-25T14:24:00.002-04:00

I recently discovered a great post on Donalyn Miller's blog. Mainly it's about independent reading, and how her classroom's "normal" is centered around books. In light of the state of the public system - low budgets, high expectations - independent reading can seem like a luxury.

I'm glad to say a reading culture in my classroom is my goal, and that I think I'm well on my way to it. After week five of the school year, I've already challenged students to read every day, write thoughtful letters to me based on what they've read, and - what's most important - they're actually doing it!

The writing prompts are intended to support the benchmarks, or indicators, they will be tested on come NCLB testing time. However, my students are also being challenged to think through the issues their books bring up. I'm not sure why, but this has come as somewhat of a surprise to me. I've seen thirteen year old students drawing from the abuse-filled life of David Pelzer - the author of A Child Called "It". Already we're getting at what literature should do for a culture, that is, speak for those who don't usually have a voice; in this way we live many more times over than we would if we did not read.

I can say with all confidence that that sort of thing would not be happening without a consistent chance for my students to read at school every day.

I also have to say, just like Miller does in her post, that I'm so thankful for my administration. They give us the ability to teach the literature we have a passion for, and they support me in the program I've committed to. Another thank you goes out to our school's librarian, she's great about talking up books and their worth. This has been of extreme importance because, unlike Miller, I don't yet have an extensive classroom library, and access to books is an obvious necessity.

Every day we read. That's a "normal" I can commit to.

Check out Donalyn Miller's newest post The New Normal

A Late Education?

2011-09-19T20:36:00.004-04:00

As an educator, I'm always in thought, and often in conversation, about what "works" for students. How do we get children to learn? Why do some children learn quickly, and others struggle? Often these simple questions are answered through "labels." That is, the child has behavioral problems, or learning disabilities. However, there are some who, in my limited experience, are simply behind. According to certain tests, or experts in our district, these students do not qualify for special help because they know just enough - and yet, are still vastly behind their peers.

I don't claim to have answers. Really, I just have questions. One of them is what if more school, that is, starting children in school at 3 or 4 years old, is actually harmful to educational development?

I just read an article from BBC News about the educational system in Finland. Finland, as of 2006, is on top of the world in reading and math (reading they're #1, math #2). And one thing they do differently is start children in school "late." According to the article:

"Children in Finland only start main school at age seven. The idea is that before then they learn best when they're playing and by the time they finally get to school they are keen to start learning."

I would add that being at home until that age has the possibility to give children a chance to build emotional bonds with their parents, which then acts as a springboard to other development. I teach over 100 students during my day, and many of those "low" achievers come from broken homes, and have been in school for many, many years. Would they have been better served if they had had the chance to be at home until they were seven? The numbers put up by Finland suggest they may have been.

The article also mentions that Finland lacks diversity, especially those children trying to learn a language and achieve in that second language. Their school system also combines secondary with primary grades, giving teachers longer to "get" to every student.

There are many other issues besides education that are at play. One of them being the state of the American home. Like I said, many of my students come from broken homes - as well as their counterparts in much of our country.

We need to continue asking questions about the link between the home and education. And in particular, we need to rethink our methods regarding sending children to school as soon as possible.

There's a link to the article at the end of this post, and I'd be interested in any comments you may have. It would take a big shift in our culture for us to do things the way Finland does - but it just might be worth trying.

Thanks for reading.

Why do Finland's school's get the best results?

Realistic Fiction: Three Books

2011-09-18T23:46:00.000-04:00

In my last post, Teacher Resource: Independent Reading, I shared one of the writing prompts I have my students use when they finish a book from the realistic fiction genre. There are actually three writing prompts in all for that genre to match the three they are required to read (I'll post more later).

Because I believe my students should see as many adults reading as possible, and especially their teachers, I follow the same reading regimen as my students. I didn't plan on finishing all three realistic fiction books back to back, but that's only because I was sure Bridge to Terabithia was a fantasy.

Here's a few words about the first three reads of the school year:

Tinkers, by Paul Harding, was loaned to me by a fellow teacher. My goal is generally to stick to books that my students will pick up, or might want to pick up. However, when I started reading this one, I didn't want to put it down.

The story is centered around a man named George. He is just days from dying, and his ability to control his thoughts is all but gone. We learn about George's father and then his grandfather, and both histories highlight their paternal knack for failure, which is compounded by illness. And even though George is the main character, the portions about his father, who is a poet and epileptic, are what kept me attached to this story. With a delightful and beautiful style, Harding describes the plight of George's father, as well as his power of observation - which led me to believe that Harding is a poet himself. In fact, this is one I'll read again.

My Side of the Mountain, by Jean George, is quite a different book. Like I said, I want to read books my students will be likely to read. The story is very straightforward: Sam, an early teen, wants to get away from his crowded home and return to his grandfather's failed homestead to prove he can survive on the land.

In short, as the author states in the introduction to the second edition, Sam carries out what every boy dreams of doing. In fact, he does what I would like to do as a grown man - he uses his book knowledge (yes, my lovely 7th graders, books contain recipes for adventure!) and makes himself a tree-home, hunts with a falcon, and makes his own deerskin clothes. The book is filled with sketches that detail certain plants Sam eats, as well as some of his projects. This is one I'll be reading to my own boys.

I dove into Bridge to Terabithia fully expecting a fantasy, which just may be my favorite genre. I can't really say I was disappointed, just wanting to escape to another world. However, as I read, I did escape with Jesse and Leslie to their kingdom in the woods.

Jesse comes from a family of sisters who mostly take advantage of him, and a father who ignores him, and Leslie has just moved to the area and has no friends. The two of them rely on one another for comfort, and Leslie introduces Jesse to the wonderful world of story through Terabithia. On more than one occasion this book brought tears to my eyes, and reminded me of my responsibility to lift my sons up - even as simply as paying attention to them.

Thanks for reading.

Teacher Resource: Independent Reading

2011-09-13T20:40:00.000-04:00

All my students are required to read within certain genres, and as long as they follow the guidelines I provide, they get to choose each book they read. One of those requirements is that they read three books from the realistic fiction genre.

Once they've finished reading each book, they write me a letter proving they read the book; the letters are not a lot of work, but I ask them specific questions depending on what they've read.

Below is the prompt upon finishing their first realistic fiction book:

Reading Response: REALISTIC FICTION #1

One thing thatmoves any story along is characters. You should be familiar with the protagonist of your book, who is themain character, and the antagonist,who is the villain (or anything working against the main character).

You will include THREE things in your letter:

Introduceme to the book’s protagonist – tell me all about him or her.
Introduceme to the book’s antagonist – tell me all about him, her, or it.
EXPLAINhow the protagonist and antagonist interact throughout the story.

Like I said in my initial post about the reading goal (click here for initial post), I really like the letter writing format for differentiating instruction. Just this week I've had several conversations with students about what exactly a protagonist is; I've also had conversations about the same prompt, but the conversation is centered around a better description of the protagonist.

Feel free to comment upon the above questions or methods - I'm always open to suggestions. And also feel free to use these ideas as well!

Independent Reading for My 7th Grade Class

2011-09-10T15:57:00.000-04:00

A new year brings a new stab at challenging my 7th graders to read their brains out. I've made some necessary changes for this year, such as requiring fewer books and more writing, and after three weeks, most of my 100+ students are off to a good start.

I started my students off last year with a hefty reading goal in the middle of January - after reading Donalyn Miller's The Book Whisperer (a must read for any teacher of reading - especially in the lower grades [5-8], and, depending on the class, for high school lit teachers as well). This year I hit them hard the first day (well, even before that - at our open house I made it very clear they were going to be challenged to read 21 books this year). Even though this year's students will have much more time to complete the reading itself, the writing part of it all is much more challenging this year.

For every book my students read they have to write me a letter based on the genre of their book. This was another thing Miller does with her classes, however, I have very specific prompts that are designed to hit specific indicators, and according to her book the letters she had her students write were based mainly on aesthetics.

I really like the letter writing for three reasons: it's a great way to communicate one-on-one with every student, a simple way to keep them accountable, and I can differentiate instruction on that same one-on-one level every time I write back. This includes pushing the students who would have read over 20 books anyway, and encouraging those who will barely finish 10 - or one for that matter.

Besides getting every one of my students to read, the most difficult part of this program is convincing my students they actually can sit still. Right at the beginning of each class period we read quietly for 15 minutes. After three weeks we're all settling in to the routine, but it has taken every day of that three weeks to do so. 7th graders by nature are not good at being still - and neither is the rest of our culture - but good and faithful practice does wonders. Of course, I will fight with a stubborn few the whole year, that's just the reality of the beast (I'll fight them on everything else I want from them too).

In future posts, I'll share what I'm reading as well, as I intend to complete the same 21 book goal.

Read about last year's attempt by clicking here: Reading Goal (along with yet another endorsement for George MacDonald).

A Writer Waits: Week Seven

2011-09-06T20:19:00.000-04:00

It seems like it was such a long time ago that I first sent my proposal. In fact, it seems like another life now that school is in full swing, and I'm thinking again about lesson plans and my hair is falling out because of classroom management nightmares. Summer was good on so many levels, not to mention a great time to write.

The agency I submitted to said to wait eight weeks before giving up (they didn't say it so bluntly, but they may as well say it that way). So, one more week and I can move on (okay, give up - on them anyway). The frustrating reality is I won't get to any new proposals until a nice break in the school calender. It's hard knowing I have what I think is something good to publish, yet I can't work on it during this season.

Interestingly enough, it's also a reality I'm learning to appreciate. I of the opinion that any writer should read more than write, and this season allows me to read with my students and look forward to coming back to my book with fresh eyes.

I'm reminded of a quote (I can't think of the source): something like, "The best thing that could happen to the craft of poetry is for poets to take a one or two year break from writing."

There's not enough observing, listening, thinking for much good writing to be created. So, I'll take a deep breath and wait. When I come back to my work, I'll be glad for the break.

Thanks for reading.

Memories of Childhood & an Interruption

2011-08-11T16:04:00.001-04:00

While we were on vacation, during some much needed veg-time, my three year old son said to me, "Dad, I love the way you talk." My heart melted. Compliments are good, and I'll take them from anyone as long as they're genuine. But spontaneous remarks from my little boy top anything I can think of.

I was in the middle of this post when my above-mentioned son said:
--Let's have a meeting.
--What kind of meeting?
--A meeting about obeying and disobeying.

Then he said:

--Let's pray about football a lot, and baseball, Jesus, disobeying, obeying (love the order there), letters, lights, trees, Jesus - that he died on the cross for our sins, windows, bricks, walls, boxes, chairs, wheels on our car, ceiling...(thoughtful pause)

--What about people you can think of?
--Daniel, Wes, Tim, (my brother), Momma, scrapes...
--Scrapes?
--Um-hm, fingers, hands, arms, head, feet, legs, diapers, shorts, undies, shirts - you're typing all the things that I said?
--Yes.
--Papa! You're typing so well!

At that point, he started climbing on me, so the meeting ended. Interruptions like that are the best...

So, to pick up where I left off: "spontaneous remarks from my little boy top anything I can think of." And they are. The main reason they're the best is because of the unblemished love he has for me - and I can say that because I remember having those same feelings for my dad when I was a boy.

I remember visiting my dad at his office and trying to time my breaths with his. In my little-boy head, I wanted to be exactly like my dad, even to the point of breathing in and out at the same time for the rest of the day.

I remember wanting to sit close to him so that I could look at his hands, look at his face, and look at the way he did things so I could do exactly the same thing. Now, when I receive comments from my son like that, about the way I talk, it makes me want to build on every moment I can to his advantage. I want to see the love in his eyes, receive it, and fully express my love for him.

I want to gush love to him.

May it be so.

A Writer Waits: Week Three

2011-08-09T11:08:00.000-04:00

This one will be short and sweet: still no answer from the original proposal - five more weeks until I write them off as uninterested. In fact, and this is sad, I would almost rather they reject my proposal at this point (today) than never answer (I'm starting to think "never answer" is going to be the response, if you can call it a response). When I began this week-to-week update of my proposal status, I really thought I'd have more details on my rejection by now.

What a disappointment.

Not only is it disappointing as far as what I can share, it's also a bummer because it means they haven't even looked at my work...

Waiting produces some interesting thoughts. There's a whole line of thought that deconstructs everything you've written, and it happens the longer you wait. Should I have done this in the query letter; would it have been better to summarize these points instead; all the way to: why did I ever think this would ever be published?

And so, I wait. A swirl of thoughts still ricocheting through my mind, and I'm forced to wait.

A Writer Waits: Week Two

2011-08-02T15:24:00.000-04:00

It's hard to believe it was only two weeks ago that I first sent my proposal - it feels like months. I didn't post yesterday because my family and I were traveling, and to be honest, it was a great distraction from thinking about all things related to writing and waiting - especially waiting.

(I'll have to post some pictures of our beautiful surroundings later...)

I've been working on the whole waiting thing for some time, and every once in a long while I think I'm getting good at it...then I send a proposal for my novel that I've poured myself into for the last three years and waiting seems like sitting in a room full of needles.

There are lasting moments that are, in fact, moments, yet it's as though everything but myself is moving at break-neck speed; I'm treading through quicksand watching the events of my life zip by on walking escalators. Then, when I'm really seeing things clearly, I realize just how much I can miss when I'm letting my impatience rule over me. I struggle from the slimy quicksand, leave my writing dream in capable hands, and again join my family.

I think (I think) I'm still hopeful about getting published, yet the hope I had last week wasn't quite as tempered with impatience. This week, I'm making it a goal to wait with optimism, and not let anything pass me by - especially on vacation.

Parenting Panic: Creating "Normal"

2011-07-27T23:11:00.000-04:00

Raising children puts everything into such a sharp perspective - especially when you're not expecting any new insights. Just yesterday we were going along with our daily business, I think I was following my little boys into the next room, and this thought hit me like a heavy diaper:

"We create 'normal' for our children."

It's not such a deep thought, it's not even surprising when you really think about it. Every time we talk with our children, every time we ignore them, every time we sit down at the table to share food (or don't), every time we discipline (or don't)...you get the picture. Just about everything we do on a regular basis, and we do it without thinking about it because it's "normal," we shape our children's view of how people live.

Remember the first time you went over to a friend's house and saw the way they ate together, did laundry, spoke to one another...? It wasn't until the summer after my sophomore year of college that I found out that women could whistle (a song at least, my mom can blow your eardrum out). And it's not like I ever even thought about it. I stayed with a friend all summer, and his mom would whistle little tunes. The first time I heard her I thought it must be his dad - then I walked around the corner and saw who it was. It was in that moment I knew what my "normal" was for whistling music. Of course, the next moment I knew how absurd it was. More often than not, normal is shaped for us without our knowledge. In fact, it just might be the only way.

I know my boys will have experiences like that, and it probably can't be helped, nor do I think I have to "fix" it. But it's another heavy load to carry as a dad. I want my children to see normal, but not see it so much that they think their way is the only way. I mostly want them to see what God's normal is, that is, love and hope and peace. And when they see the absence of these things in other people and their families, I want them to work toward being vessels for Him to work through to establish them.

After all, it's His normal that is the true normal.

A Writer Waits: Week One

2011-07-26T19:52:00.000-04:00

It's been one week since I submitted my proposal to a literary agency. This particular agency says it could take up to eight weeks to respond - if they respond at all. So, I thought a weekly update on my state of mind would be apt, or at least mildly amusing.

Week one state of mind: hopeful (still). I'm well aware this hope could (and probably will) quickly deteriorate into hopelessness. As for now, I'm picturing my proposal in some email database just waiting for the right eyes. And of course they haven't seen it yet - how could they have seen it? Surely they would have fallen all over themselves to call me and beg me to send the rest of my novel.

Hope is such a good thing. In fact, because I'm full of it now, I'm going to be sending out more proposals to more agents and possibly publishers. This whole writing career I'm seeking (and hoping for) seems so close, yet even now my hopeful state is salted with reality; my skin is going to have to grow another layer, and I need to develop a taste for rejection. (My previously mentioned hopeful state is now speaking things like, "Rejection is just a chance to grow!" "You don't want anyone who isn't excited about your novel anyway." Blah, blah, blah. I guess the longer I write this post, the more reality seeps in and turns my hope to pessimism.)

Better sign off before I decide it's all impossible. Besides, the natives are restless.

A Word About Writing

2011-07-22T23:53:00.001-04:00

Any writing here has taken a back seat for quite awhile. Two little boys have demanded my attention this summer, and I, willing most of the time, have obliged. However, my writing has not altogether stopped.

My goal for this year, no matter how unreasonable, is to snag an agent for my novel. And, after much work in the early morning hours over the past 4-5 weeks, I sent my first proposal on Monday. My wife deserves so much credit - she edited until her eyes popped from her head - and I refuse to think about comma placement and the details of other grammar minutia for the present.

So now for the best part: waiting. Waiting for the rejection. If the average number of rejections most published authors holds true for me, I'll be in for at least 40-100 - at least. And that's if it ever happens. The way of seeking an agent first seems to be the right thing to do these days, so I suppose there could be more rejection after I find one of those, or if I do.

Writing is joy, no?

The Summer Is Upon Us...

2011-05-19T15:52:00.000-04:00

...And there will be much reading,
Much sleeping and writing.

And then, there will be silence;
Ah, the silence, the sound of which
Will echo into slumber of the mind,
A slumber bringing back a breeze
Of fluid thoughts, which, flowing
Kindly, chill the burdened forest floor.

And, so, the summer whispers...

Sonnet #1

2011-03-26T13:50:00.001-04:00

Back and forth, back and forth, together you
And I. Back, your eyelids droop, forth, again
They falter; swaying thus we rock into
Dreams awaiting you, yet my eyes remain
As they were - though a dream it seems to me.
Content as my heart is your breath on my
Face, weary as my brow you seem to be:
Your legs are slack across my own, and by
The sweat-beads on your head I know you sleep
A deep and peaceful sleep. Golden curls crown
Your boyishness - for its waning I weep.
In such thought, sweet and sorrowful, I drown.
While over your features my eyes roam,
I see, my child, that your face is a poem.

The Secret Adversary, by Agatha Christie

2011-03-20T17:14:00.001-04:00

As one more step in my reading goal, and the beginning of another reading challenge - read about that challenge at the Agatha Christie Reading Challenge here - I have finished The Secret Adversary. I have read many of Agatha's books, but this was my first one that included the sleuths Tuppence and Tommy.

Like every other book of Agatha's that I've read I was absorbed. Yet with this particular one, it took a bit. The story as a whole was good, but was thinner than some of her other work. I know now that it was only her second publication, and it makes sense. I wanted more of Tuppence and Tommy; I was well into the story before I really cared for them. It may be that if it was any other detective story, I might not have continued after the first chapter or so. However, because I've grown to trust Agatha, I knew she would make me happy in the end. And she did.

Tuppence and Tommy are the best of friends, have been since they were children, and go into business together as amateur detectives. A series of events lands them a job with a mysterious Mr. Carter, who needs certain papers that a Jane Finn is thought to possess. Many times they are thrown off the right track, and both come close to death, but in the end Tommy sniffs out the culprit of it all, the anarchist Mr. Brown.

The two main characters grow close, despite their uptight Englishness - which Agatha seems to be poking fun at throughout the book - and we are left wanting more of them both. I liked best a portion of the book where Tommy finds himself caught in the nasty rendezvous of the well organized anarchists. While hidden away, Tommy sees and hears many of the members arrive and report to a meeting. They gather around a table, at the head of which sits a bearded German. Each crook gives a number instead of their name, each one coming from a different level of society, and some from different countries. Eventually Tommy is caught, we have to wait many chapters to find out if he's alive, but the descriptions of the evildoers are classic.

What makes me like that part so much, though, is that it reminded me of a book by G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who was Thursday. It also made me curious to know which book was written first (it was Chesterton's by 14 years). Chesterton's story involves a very similar meeting of anarchists, with a very compelling evil boss. Though instead of the unknown Mr. Brown, his story puts "Sunday" in plain view. The anarchists in both stories are given the very characteristics we want them to have: grotesque grins, piercing eyes, and devious laughs. Indeed, we are driven to want their demise just as our protagonists do.

And of course anarchy loses. In Chesterton's story it is due to the plainness of Sunday - he's not all he's cracked up to be - and in Agatha's, Mr. Brown's blind pride defeats him. You must read both.

I just watched the sun set

2011-03-17T22:20:00.000-04:00

And now I remember colors and light.

As I rotated slowly backward, the sky was an alive and burning yellow - the yellow threw itself into orange, an orange that gave way to mild blues and pinks. When I looked straight up, there swayed regal purple and sorrowful blue. Looking into the sky like that is like looking into a deep pool of water; it swirls and changes with new currents, and flows one color into another.

I sat still. In the grass, only interrupted by a few sleepy birds, I sat still. Oh, how long it's been since I've been that still for that long. Finally I rose and looked up, only to see the mirror of the sun. I stood still. The moon, not quite full, was already throwing its share of color on the darkening sky. She was veiled by a thin dress of cloud, and, like her sire, surrounded by ribbons of blue and purple.

I can't help but think of what MacDonald said through Anodos in Phantastes: "The moon, which is the lovelier memory or reflex of the down-gone sun, the joyous day seen in the faint mirror of the brooding night..." and, "the enchantress moon...with her pale eye...sank into my soul..."

And now I remember colors and light.

High Tech Toys for Boys

2011-03-15T15:37:00.008-04:00

As a father, I want to give my two boys the absolute best. And these days there are so many things out there to buy. I just searched a little bit on Amazon to see what kinds of toys are being advertised on their main page, and it's all very eye-catching. In fact, my older son said, "what's that-and-that-and-that-and-that?" when I first got on the site. There's everything from remote control cars, to train sets, to four wheelers, to movies - and not to mention video games, scooters, singing toys, guns that shoot, guns that make noise, and the list goes on...

Don't get me wrong, my son has many of the things listed above, and I'm sure he'll continue to get use out of them and have great fun in the process (and I will too). But what's got me to thinking about all of this is the fact that I'm discouraged with the level of imagination that I see day to day at school. I can't seem to get into some of my student's brains, can't seem to get them to explode on a book like I used to do. I want them to be excited about the ideas they read about, but mostly they seem bored.

I'm fairly certain I'm competing with their TVs, phones, Ipods, and gaming systems. Some of them do have imaginations that are alive and well - very well in fact. But I want to see more of it!

So, when I go home and my little one wants to watch his Thomas show, I'm a little more hesitant than usual. I don't mind if he watches the movies he has, and I don't mind if he wants to play with a toy that makes noise for him, or that has some other kind of convoluted mechanism - all have benefits for sure. However, when he uses his imagination for the main part of his activity, that is the pinnacle of play.

I can't help but think that what the Oompa-Loompas of Wonka's factory said about TV is applicable to most of the gadgets my students (and child - and I) use so often. Here's a bit of their song:

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, never, NEVER let
Them near your television set -
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
...
They sit and stare and stare and sit

Until they're hypnotized by it,

...
IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
...
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
...
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
'Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY...USED...TO...READ!'

Since I was in middle school myself, I've loved Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I still love it, and what the song says is true - reading used to be much more popular among children. So I will read to my boys as much as I can.

And besides reading? Well, I have a few recommendations for those of you looking for "high tech toys:"

1. Cardboard

Do you know you can get FREE cardboard at places like Lowe's and Home Depot? Yes, free cardboard. When our oldest had a birthday in December, we made a train out of two washing machine boxes - we still play with them. We color on them, push them around, and, obviously, crawl through them. What a wonderful toy - and what a great way to stimulate the imagination!

2. Pillows and blankets

The other day I was covered and recovered in a pile of blankets and pillows for well over twenty minutes (that's at least two hours in child time). We also like to combine the pillows and blankets with chairs for a more stable game, such as when we need to build a house or fort.

3. Sticks

Oh, what fun a stick can be. Did you know it is almost impossible for a preschooler to walk by a stick and not pick it up? At least a male preschooler anyway. We collect them, throw them, shoot all kinds of stuff from them, and mostly swing them (I feel like I should apologize to my sister here for that one incident of stick-swinging - sorry sis, but I HAD to swing it after all, I understand that now...).

4. Sticks + Water

Now we're talkin'. Yes, combine a stick with that second element of boydom that will not be left alone and what do you have? The perfect game. Because, after all, wetness that you can hit at someone else, or yourself, is the greatest time. I didn't even have to ask him to pose by this small body of water, he gravitated toward it like I reach for my coffee beans in the morning - no thinking, just moving, must - have - puddle. Did I mention that the stick was IN the water to begin with? Bonus. Kodak doesn't make moments like this one!

5. Living sticks (also known as trees) Only trees rival sticks and water. I have so many memories that have to do with trees, and I still like to climb them. I should admit, too, that I'm a bit jealous of my son's size sometimes. The tree he's climbing in the picture begged me to come too, but only a small child can squeeze up branches that grow like that. It's amazing being surrounded by a tree; the light dances on your arms and face, the wind says things to you it's never said before, and the perspective you gain from its height is like, well, it's almost like reading a book...

He is here

2011-03-10T12:26:00.001-05:00

So much of what I'm feeling and thinking recently has to do with where I am throughout the day. Of course, when I'm at home, I'm thinking about being at school, and when I'm at school, I can't wait to get home. That's just part of who we are as humans - we can't quite grasp the present, can't quite see things the way they really are.

I just read a great post on The Good Book Blog called, "Hello, My Name Is YHWH." (It's a great site, by the way.) The author of the post, Kenneth Way, refers to an article he read himself about what the
Name YHWH means with regard to the account of Moses and the burning bush. You'll have to read it yourself, but its basic conclusion is that God was trying to tell Moses, and through Moses the Hebrews, that he was WITH them. Instead of "I AM who I AM," we should read something like, "I AM present where/when I AM present."

And isn't this the core of what we long for, the thing Adam and Eve had and lost, the very thing we will do when all creation is remade? That is, walk with him "in the cool of the day." That's the supreme promise we hear over and again; Jeremiah, Isaiah, Micah, John (should I list them all?), they all foretell of how he is and, soon, how he will be with us. He is Immanuel.

There's another piece of this that keeps calling out to me. Every night, when I'm sitting with my son waiting for him to sleep, I think back to my own boyhood, and I remember what it was like to fear the night. I didn't know what it was, which made it that much more powerful, but I knew its feeling; the quiet dark spread itself over me like the blankets I was in, and with it came something deeper - a longing that played itself out mostly in the form of despair. Yes, I know my son feels it too. He doesn't want to sleep because he's rolling around with the same pitted stomach, the same desperation of the unknown.

And what does he need? He needs to know that I'll be there when he wakes up. It doesn't matter what I might DO, nor does it matter what he might do, if I am there - it only matters that I am present.

Oh, how I want to be there all the time with both my sons. Yet the way things are now, it is not possible. But somewhere I hear a voice say, "...it was not that way from the beginning." Just like we were meant to walk with the One who created us, we were meant to walk in a much more meaningful way with one another.

That's been lost.

One day, one day soon, we will all walk with him. All our longings will be met, no more to be mixed with the empty night-despair; we will wake to a newness unimaginable.

Reflect on that, and be where he is - even now.

Martha Baum's Paintings

2011-03-08T14:16:00.001-05:00

I don't know much about art. A few years back I was out of work, and I would go to the library almost every day (oh, that was good in so many ways!). My first stop was the art section where I would grab the same copy of van Gogh; I would turn to the same pages every day: The Road Menders, Starry Night, and anything else of his with trees. There was just something about those colors and the way the lines moved my eyes over them - I couldn't get enough.

These days I don't look at much art, but I've stumbled upon Martha Baum's paintings. For some reason I thought of those days with van Gogh when I saw her work, which is not much like his. Yet, something in the colors, again, makes me go back. There's also something about lots of the subject matter. Many of her paintings are of boats, and it's these simple works that I like so much.

This one reminds me of Wind in the Willows. I can see Rat and Mole climbing in and out of a boat like this. The crisp white, the green shore, and still water make me want to climb in too.

This one is similar, yet the rippling water adds quite a bit. Can't you hear the soft lapping sounds against the wood of the boat? And again the colors draw me in; maybe it's that the painting is clearly that, a painting, yet so lifelike that makes it so compelling.

The tone here is a bit different; maybe the sun has just begun setting.

This one adds an engine, I think that's what it is, and I'm not sure I like it quite as much, but I include it here because Baum uses the water space so well. Even though the reflection of the boat fills some of the water space, there's still more water than boat. What a great way to make you feel just as solitary as the boat.

A different example than those above. Something about the sails made me post it though.

You can visit Martha Baum's page for yourself here, or you can click on the painting of her's on the right side of my blog's home page, here. Visit Artspan Contemporary Art page here to search other artists.

The Poetry of C.S. Lewis

2011-03-05T14:40:00.001-05:00

I've been a Lewis fan since I was a young boy. I started with The Chronicles of Narnia in my preteen years, only to read and reread them many times since. When I go back to those seven books, I travel not only to Narnia, but also to my childhood. That's the beauty of a book; those experiences you had so long ago roll back under your nose and you breathe them again. I remember well sitting on our front lawn on a sunny day in southern California reading about Prince Caspian and his rebel forces. I remember the rainy days too (as close to winter as we got), curled up in front of a fire, galloping through the air with Fledge. Now I look forward to making those same kinds of memories with my boys. In fact, I just might look forward to those times even more fervently than I look back and long for another day full of reading as a child.

As a college student, and now as an adult, I've continued to read Lewis. His nonfiction books compel me to be the type of Christian who longs after the reign of the King, and they show me how to be "merely" Christian. Right now I'm reading his collected letters. From the time he was a boy, Lewis, or Jack as he liked to be called, was a genius. He was reading Greek and studying the great poets when he was barely a teen.

Nothing, however, matches his fantasy work (in this I include his Space Trilogy). Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength just might be my favorite of his. That is, until I picked up his poetry last week. If you like Lewis, but you think you don't like poetry (believe me, everyone does, deep inside everyone likes the rhythm of words and the creativity of the imagination), just try him out. One of the main reasons, I think, that poetry has fallen out of popular culture is because people have stopped trusting poets. Their poetry has become so obscure, so unreadable and unidentifiable, that people won't even try. That's what I love about Lewis; yes, there is the occasional poem that's over my head, but the very first two lines in his collection of poems goes like this:

I am so coarse, the things the poets see

Are obstinately invisible to me

The poem is called "A Confession," and Lewis goes on to describe the things "the poets" see in nature: "A patient etherized upon a table," compared to evening; "Waterfalls," and "torn underclothes;" "glaciers," and "tin-cans." Indeed, there are poets these days (just listen to Writer's Alminac sometime) who seem to be going for shock value more than relateable comparisons, and originality more than beauty.

Lewis says he is, "...like that odd man Wordsworth knew, to whom/A primrose was a yellow primrose," and one "compelled to live on stock responses." Those stock responses are what we all relate to in things like music today - especially the folksy music that tells a story. It's the bizare music, the strange "original" music and poetry that doesn't hang around like the simple, the beautiful, the well-played and well-written kinds. Those are what we need more of, those "stock responses" to "dull things" like:

...peacocks, honey, the Great Wall, Aldebaran,

Silver weirs, new-cut grass, wave on the beach, hard gem,

The shapes of horse and woman, Athens, Troy, Jerusalem.

Give poetry a second, or first, chance. And go with Lewis.

Teacher-reading

2011-03-01T13:36:00.003-05:00

Toward the end of January I started to carry a book in the halls of my school. Most students walk by without making eye contact, even the ones I know (sometimes especially the ones I know). One student, though, seemed to make it a point to poke fun at the fact that I "always have my nose in a book." After a few consecutive encounters with him, I asked,

"Do you like to read?"
"Well, no, not really."
"Hm, I think you might like some of the stories I read..."
"Yeah, but if my friends saw me carrying a book, they'd just laugh."
"Ah, I see. Don't you think the skills you'll gain from reading are more important?"
"Yeah, I know."
(Surprised at how quickly he responded in my favor) "Yeah - there are some great things to read out there..."
"Yeah, I know."

Wow. I couldn't believe how he responded. Call it what you will, I really do think it was important for him to see a teacher reading...

Our next encounter was even more encouraging: I saw him at his locker and ducked into my room. I grabbed a small magazine called "Read." The edition I saw first was all about boxing, and specifically Muhammad Ali.

I handed him the magazine and said, "I thought you'd like to read this."
"Oh, yeah."
I showed him all the parts of the edition. "All of these are different things about boxing and Muhammad Ali."
"Cool. All the things I like!"

I'm not sure if he'll read it. But for some reason I think he might.

This is why I read when everyone is watching. This is yet another reason teachers MUST read.

Reading Goal

2011-02-24T14:07:00.001-05:00

I have given my students the requirement of reading twenty books by the end of the school year. I assigned the requirement the second week of January, and I am giving them up to the very last day of school, May 26th, to fulfill it. So, naturally, I am going to meet the same goal. You can see my progress on the left side of this blog.

My inspiration came from a book by Donalyn Miller called, The Book Whisperer. I have been astonished at the difference this goal has already made in my classroom - which is, of course, combined with at least fifteen minutes of reading time every day. Just barely over a month and my students have read and written more
than all the previous months combined. I have been more motivated to read as well; I have completed several books myself, and am using this goal to search out the YA genre, as well as inspire my students to read.

I have one criticism, however, and I think it's an important one - one that I'm not sure how to overcome. I can't help but be discouraged about the fact that a reading goal like this begets fast reading. This is something that Miller, in her experience, which is vast, claims improves reading ability more than anything else.

I believe her. The only thing is, fast reading (or reading in bulk) is not always a good thing.

Right now I'm rereading a book by one of my all time favorite authors, George MacDonald. The book is Phantastes, and is so good I will not rush through it. I find myself "stuck" on certain passages because they are simply too beautiful to read only once. I read and reread such parts, marveling at the depth of thought, savoring the truth of such imagination.

An example:

...I lay half dreaming in the hot summer noon, with a book of old tales beside me, beneath a great beech; or, in autumn, grew sad because I trod on the leaves that had sheltered me, and received their last blessing in the sweet odours of decay; or, in winter evening, frozen still, looked up, as I went home to a warm fireside, through the netted boughs and twigs to the cold, snowy moon, with her opal zone around her...

I think I've read that at least five times in the last two days. I'm entranced by the feelings these words invoke, and MacDonald takes me to a place I want to go in my mind, and in my body, over and over again.

So, if I'm too concerned about finishing the book - which is an admirable goal - how can I read and reread parts of a book that deserve more attention? How can I relish words that I can't afford to rush past because the beauty is too profound to go one more day without?

So there's the balancing act: improving reading skill while teaching the art of savoring a book.

Reflection on Yeats' "Leda and the Swan"

2011-02-20T13:56:00.001-05:00

I finished reading my little book of Yeats. It wasn't the first time I had read it, and I didn't realize how much he wrote about mythology, and especially about Troy and Helen. The poem in the title of this post, "Leda and the Swan," is about the rape of Leda by Zeus. In the myth, Zeus takes the form of a Swan and forces himself on the beautiful Leda, who then bares Helen. The poem Yeats wrote about it is short, and if I didn't know the myth I would have been lost.

Yeats mentions Helen and Troy in several of his other poems, such as "No Second Troy," and, "A Prayer for my Daughter." All of these poems got me to thinking about Zeus and how he functioned as the god of gods; "Leda and the Swan," the poem and the myth, make him a father to beautiful Helen.

Zeus the deadbeat.

The lightening-god's fling brought upon both Troy and Greece unimaginable grief. A father he was not. How would it have been if Zeus had restrained himself (in this myth and others)? How would it have been if he had even fathered Helen, or protected her from her first destructive marriage?

Zeus the lust-god.

What a contrast to the Father we have through Christ. He does not father illegitimate children, does not take what is not His own, does not leave us in our loneliness. This is the difference: all is His. He makes us all His own again through a willing human mother - comes Himself to patiently reclaim all creation. And He is available to all, now. Just like a father should be.

God the Father. Now that's a myth, true myth.

An English Teacher Confession

2011-02-05T17:09:00.000-05:00

Here it is: I'm a horrible speller. I lean on spell check heavily. So heavily in fact that the other day, when I was responding to student letters, I opened a Word document to check myself (this is a normal practice). I just typed the words in and left them there throughout the day.

Well, when I was done with my document, I looked at the words I had checked. And they are:

Butterflies harbor dying succeeded likable similar easier nickname criticize suspenseful? Awful verse sonnets explain nonsense mean description rereading

I'm not sure where the question mark came from, but it fits, doesn't it? Maybe this doesn't make any sense to anyone else, but I thought it was entertaining. Not to mention the "Awful verse...explain nonsense mean...rereading." Ha! I love poetry, but I know there is so much awful verse out there. If you can call it verse at all - does anyone actually try and write verse anymore? And don't tell me free verse is "verse." Gag. That's poetry (poetry?) I rarely read because I find it so lacking.

I recently picked up my lone copy of Yeats. I'm rediscovering a few gems, including lines like, And live alone in the bee-loud glade, ("The Lake Isle of Innisfree") and, Come away, O human child!/For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand, ("The Stolen Child"). And even though I don't like all that I read of his, Yeats has his moments - some very profound. I like what he says about the nobleness of his well-beloved in "The Folly of Being Comforted." Not a quality of a woman that is much praised these days.

My human child is crawling on me, so I'll stop.

Harry Potter vs. Lord of the Rings

2011-01-31T22:36:00.000-05:00

I once made a vow never to read any of the Harry Potter books. It was one of those things I said just to sound a bit smarter than all the other folks who had read them. Well, I'm halfway through The Sorcerer's Stone. Vow broken.

The main reason is to hold up my end of a bargan with a student, you know, as part of my plan to encourage students to read more - even better (!) - books. We were arguing, my student and I were, about whether Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings was superior.

Our conversation went like this:

Without a doubt, Lord of the Rings is better (says the teacher).
No way (student), Harry Potter.
Have you read L of R?
No.
Have you read H P?
Well (hm, how do I say this?), no.

So, again, I'm halfway through book one (he, by the way, is working his way through The Hobbit - ha!)

Let's just get one thing straight before we go any further: J. K. Rowling has nothing - nothing - on Tolkien.

Yet (stay with me here), I couldn't put my finger on the "how" quite like I can now. And this is it, Rowling, in her haste to write a good story, wrote a story that moves quickly. It's easy to read, and the characters are likable when they're supposed to be. Tolkien, on the other hand, didn't just write a story. In fact, he spent most of his life creating a world, a very beautiful world I might add.

So when I'm reading Harry Potter and I'm enjoying myself, I'm enjoying myself in a much different fashion than when I'm reading about Middle Earth. When I read about Harry making his path at Hogwarts, I smile because I want him to make it, and I want Malfoy to biff it on his broom. But when I read about Lothlorien and the trees of the Golden Wood, I am struck by awe. Or when the unlikely friendship between Gimli and Legolas develops into a bond beyond brotherhood, I am reminded that love for others breaks down the thickest and oldest of walls. And lastly, and maybe the most sobering, is the sacrifice of Sam for Frodo to the very end. Just typing about it makes me smile.

Basically, I want to be able to read a page and appreciate it for its beauty alone - not just read a story.

And that's it. Depth of thought.

Could this be THE problem with our withering literary landscape?

So, I'm a Teacher

2011-01-25T15:43:00.000-05:00

I teach 7th grade Language Arts. This is my first year. If you've taught at all, you know those words are pregnant - ready-to-pop pregnant.

State assessments are about a month away. All the material that I haven't taught yet is pointing a fat finger at me, and all the lessons that flopped over the last few months are rolling around on the ground laughing their heads off. (Would my students be able to pick out the figurative language I've used in this post so far? Ah, good question.)

So, what will I do with the month that's left? abcsdefgnnjhijkjkkklnmnloopqrstuvvvvvvwxyz. (Just a brief interlude by my son who's learning his letters. It probably won't be the last.) Where was I? One month to go, right.

For Christmas I received a book called The Book Whisperer, by Donalyn Miller. And, wow, I was so convicted about my methods up to that point in the school year, that I'm now (as of yesterday) taking much advice from the book. Miller is an experienced 6th grade Language Arts and Social Studies teacher in Texas, as well as a consultant with the North Star of Texas Writing Project. (Article about Miller here, her blog here.) The gist in one sentence: in order to improve reading, wait for it, students have to read (cue light bulb above head). The simplicity gets you, no? Especially since I KNEW that already. Because, as a reader, even as a student-reader who hated assigned reading, I know that I still loved to read the books I wanted to read.

Independent reading with instruction that will help students engage their own books - that's what the rest of the school year will be like in my classroom.

And even though the state assessment just might make me puke before it's all said and done, I will push for the end of the year goal of 20 books per student. I'm gonna do it too. And maybe, just maybe, I'll inspire some non-readers to become readers, and some already-readers to read better and better literature.

Why Reflect?

2010-09-27T23:09:00.000-04:00

The main reason for this blog: to reflect.

A life that goes by without reflection is a life blurred. When I look back, I pin meaning to my life, see what I missed and how to move forward meaningfully. Each time I stop and look around, I move forward with a slower step.

This is why I love poetry so much. Poetry makes its reader roll each line on the tongue, reread and search for meaning. So much of what is in the bookstore these days is meant for consumption - read, buy, read, buy. Hello Kindle! 100+ books at my fingertips, but which one to read first? Oh, I wanted that one too...

So...

Somehow blogging misses the mark too, and this is why I've put off having one for so long. Most blogs seem to be written by people who would be better served to write less, read and reflect more. So, yes, I'm a bit two-faced. However, I'll compensate by writing only when I can write a post that I can think about and mull over for a few days (at least). I think it was Eugene Peterson that said (to paraphrase), read (scripture) like a dog eats a bone - savor it, make it last.

In the spirit of the most interesting man in the world: "Read slowly my friends!"

Another book (Locomotion)

2010-09-25T09:58:00.000-04:00

Locomotion by Jacqueline Woodson, published 2003

Quite a simple read, but it'll make you cry and laugh and want to hug a kid. Maybe your kid, or maybe not. It's all written from Lonnie's point of view in poems. Lonnie is a 5th grader who lives in the city away from his younger sister. A fire took their parents and they've bounced from group homes to foster care. Lonnie asks questions a hurting 5th grader would ask, and does everything he can do to be with his sister more.

Like I said, it's simple, quick, but read it because it'll make you cry.

What I'm reading: 9/21/10

2010-09-21T11:22:00.001-04:00

Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt, published in 1975

A quick enjoyable read. The Prologue is a great example of a good hook - in fact, if you read it I'm sure you'll continue with the rest of the book, even if you don't read "Young Adult" books (more on YA later). I'm about halfway through and I'm thinking about using it in my classroom.

The main character is a little girl who is suffocated by her family at home, she runs away and is kidnapped by a family of immortals. She quickly falls in with them, but the question remains, will she join them?

Tennyson: Selected Poems, ed. by Myra Reynolds, published in 1913

An old book I bought at an estate sale. I'm only into the first sketch on Tennyson's life, but I'm looking forward to reading the actual poetry.

It's always good to read about struggling writers, especially someone like Tennyson as we know the power of his talent now. The first few publications of Tennyson's work were torn apart by critics and, following the death of his best friend, Arthur Hallam and other family struggles, from 1832-1841 he published nothing. During the ten year period Tennyson honed his craft and reworked his initial work. The next year, however, brought Poems by Alfred Tennyson and his fame was instant. Wordsworth commented, "He is decidedly the first of our living poets."

A good reminder that nothing worth reading comes easily.

Tolkien

2010-09-17T15:58:00.000-04:00

(The following is a poem by J.R.R. Tolkien to C.S. Lewis. A wonderful start to any blog, indeed, anything about myth or story by Tolkien (or Lewis) is worth a re-posting.)

To one [C.S. Lewis] who said that myths were lies and therefore worthless, even though 'breathed through silver'.

Philomythus to Misomythus

You look at trees and label them just so,
(for trees are 'trees', and growing is 'to grow');
you walk the earth and tread with solemn pace
one of the many minor globes of Space:
a star's a star, some matter in a ball
compelled to courses mathematical
amid the regimented, cold, inane,
where destined atoms are each moment slain.

At bidding of a Will, to which we bend
(and must), but only dimly apprehend,
great processes march on, as Time unrolls
from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
and as on page o'er-written without clue,
with script and limning packed of various hue,
an endless multitude of forms appear,
some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer,
each alien, except as kin from one
remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun.
God made the petreous rocks, the arboreal trees,
tellurian earth, and stellar stars, and these
homouncular men, who walk upon the ground
with nerves that tingle touched by light and sound.
The movements of the sea, the wind in boughs,
green grass, the large slow oddity of cows,
thunder and lightning, birds that wheel and cry,
slime crawling up from mud to live and die,
these each are duly registered and print
the brain's contortions with a separate dint.
Yet trees are not 'trees', until so named and seen
and never were so named, tifi those had been
who speech's involuted breath unfurled,
faint echo and dim picture of the world,
but neither record nor a photograph,
being divination, judgement, and a laugh
response of those that felt astir within
by deep monition movements that were kin
to life and death of trees, of beasts, of stars:
free captives undermining shadowy bars,
digging the foreknown from experience
and panning the vein of spirit out of sense.
Great powers they slowly brought out of themselves
and looking backward they beheld the elves
that wrought on cunning forges in the mind,
and light and dark on secret looms entwined.

He sees no stars who does not see them first
of living silver made that sudden burst
to flame like flowers bencath an ancient song,
whose very echo after-music long
has since pursued. There is no firmament,
only a void, unless a jewelled tent
myth-woven and elf-pattemed; and no earth,
unless the mother's womb whence all have birth.
The heart of Man is not compound of lies,
but draws some wisdom from the only Wise,
and still recalls him. Though now long estranged,
Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed.
Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned,
and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned,
his world-dominion by creative act:
not his to worship the great Artefact,
Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind.
Though all the crannies of the world we filled
with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build
Gods and their houses out of dark and light,
and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right
(used or misused). The right has not decayed.
We make still by the law in which we're made.
Yes! 'wish-fulfilment dreams' we spin to cheat
our timid hearts and ugly Fact defeat!
Whence came the wish, and whence the power to dream,
or some things fair and others ugly deem?
All wishes are not idle, nor in vain
fulfilment we devise -- for pain is pain,
not for itself to be desired, but ill;
or else to strive or to subdue the will
alike were graceless; and of Evil this
alone is deadly certain: Evil is.

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate
that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate;
that seek no parley, and in guarded room,
though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom
weave tissues gilded by the far-off day
hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build
their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,
and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,
a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith.

Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme
of things not found within recorded time.
It is not they that have forgot the Night,
or bid us flee to organized delight,
in lotus-isles of economic bliss
forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss
(and counterfeit at that, machine-produced,
bogus seduction of the twice-seduced).
Such isles they saw afar, and ones more fair,
and those that hear them yet may yet beware.
They have seen Death and ultimate defeat,
and yet they would not in despair retreat,
but oft to victory have tuned the lyre
and kindled hearts with legendary fire,
illuminating Now and dark Hath-been
with light of suns as yet by no man seen.

I would that I might with the minstrels sing
and stir the unseen with a throbbing string.
I would be with the mariners of the deep
that cut their slender planks on mountains steep
and voyage upon a vague and wandering quest,
for some have passed beyond the fabled West.
I would with the beleaguered fools be told,
that keep an inner fastness where their gold,
impure and scanty, yet they loyally bring
to mint in image blurred of distant king,
or in fantastic banners weave the sheen
heraldic emblems of a lord unseen.

I will not walk with your progressive apes,
erect and sapient. Before them gapes
the dark abyss to which their progress tends
if by God's mercy progress ever ends,
and does not ceaselessly revolve the same
unfruitful course with changing of a name.
I will not treat your dusty path and flat,
denoting this and that by this and that,
your world immutable wherein no part
the little maker has with maker's art.
I bow not yet before the Iron Crown,
nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.
In Paradise perchance the eye may stray
from gazing upon everlasting Day
to see the day illumined, and renew
from mirrored truth the likeness of the True.
Then looking on the Blessed Land 'twill see
that all is as it is, and yet made free:
Salvation changes not, nor yet destroys,
garden nor gardener, children nor their toys.
Evil it will not see, for evil lies
not in God's picture but in crooked eyes,
not in the source but in malicious choice,
and not in sound but in the tuneless voice.
In Paradise they look no more awry;
and though they make anew, they make no lie.
Be sure they still will make, not being dead,
and poets shall have flames upon their head,
and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall:
there each shall choose for ever from the All.