Finding One's Voice

         I've been spending time with a small group of 3rd grade writers after school. They work for microwave popcorn, chili or nachos (sometimes) along with the chance to tell their story... in a unique way.

        The group started out with six students, then four and this week it was down to two. Just two girls.

       Yesterday was our second-to-last day of working together. One of the girls (all school year) has written pieces that sing. Her stories are infused with pizazz. Her voice has almost always been quite evident and distinctive. 

       The other girl struggles. Her writing has been bare-bones (not in a good, sparse way) and she lacks confidence. Her words plod along on the page.

       We've been creating digital stories which makes me sweat (since I am technologically a nimrod) way more than the kids. The students have brought in photographs and drew pictures to be a part of their stories. 

        Yesterday we did some video clips to insert in our pieces. When I suggested that instead of reading their bits off a notebook, perhaps they could say their spiel in a more conversational, off-the-cuff way, they both rose to the challenge... and the results were incredible.

        Each of the girls knew their story. They knew what they wanted to say because they had written it, so when they had the opportunity to use their voice and their facial expressions and their gestures to help convey their story, they did an outstanding job.  

      I have been struggling with a WIP. Struggling perhaps is not the best way to put it. Perhaps mired in the muck would be more accurate. The project has sat, stagnant, for a while. However, even though I haven't written much on it, I have been thinking about it. Ruminating. Reading other things (like Stephen King's Revival) and getting some pre-writing done.

      I'm hopeful that when I get some time to write this summer, my voice will become unleashed. I'm hopeful (fingers crossed) that I can fill in the holes that have reared their obnoxious head in my story (so far).

      What are your plans this summer?  

"Out of the Womb in Camouflage"

        I've been buried under report cards and end-of-the-school year paperwork for the past week--still am--but I had to wish everyone a happy Memorial Day.

       In the middle of the night when I was hunched over my laptop, writing comments on 27 report cards, I saw a short feature on a veteran. He had loved the camaraderie of the military so much, he signed up for a second tour of duty. During that second tour, he got his leg blown off. When asked if he knew then what he knew now, would he do it again, he replied, "In a heartbeat."

       He later said, "I think I came out of the womb in camouflage." He received a Purple Heart from President Obama. He's now busy putting his life together...

      In two days my son is leaving for an air force base. He's finished his first year of med school; it's the military's nickel (millions of nickels?) that's paying his tuition. Beginning on the 28th of May, he has four weeks of officer training. When he's finished, he'll serve for four years to pay the country back.

      On this holiday I'm thinking of my dad, who served and wanted to be sent overseas. Unfortunately for him (but perhaps fortunately for me?) he blew out his knee playing basketball and never left a U.S. base. 

      I'm thinking of that veteran who is now adjusting to life with a new leg.

      And I'm thinking of my son...

      Happy Memorial Day!

Slipping into a Writer's Style

       More than a decade ago, I joined the Gateway Writing Project. It's the St. Louis site--part of the National Writing Project--and teaches teachers to become confident writers and teaches them how to teach writing. It was a life-changing summer.

      One of the things we did (and it still amazes me) was an activity that required us to slip into the skin of a writer and write like them. (This brilliance was delivered by Dr. Jane Zeni.) Some teachers were given a Kurt Vonnegut passage. Some were given a Jane Austen passage. I don't remember the other authors that were included. I only know it made each of us closely examine an author's style. The rhythm of their writing. The way they use punctuation. Their word choice.

      After we felt we were familiar with our author's style, we were asked to insert three different sentences into the passage, and if we matched their style well, it would appear as if it were a single, seamless piece. Of course, we hoped that the other educators would not be able to sniff out the impostor insertions.

       If you could write like anyone, who would it be, and why? 

It's All Fodder

      This past Sunday my daughter, granddaughter and I traveled 3 hours (each way) to Kirksville to see my son. He's in med school there.

       I've written a number of stories about "Da Boy" some of which have been published in various anthologies.

        With our son, there is no shortage of stories...

        We got to enjoy a late lunch/early dinner at Macon's best restaurant and meet his girlfriend. Over the meal, we entertained her with retelling some of his antics.

        For instance:

• My boy took advantage of a "special" senior skip day--in the fall--that was held for just his friends. He expected me to believe him.
• Our son refused to get his hair cut or use a hair net for marching band. His hair was too long to be hidden under his hat. His solution: have the girls in the marching band put his hair into dozens of tiny pigtails, using pink and purple and green rubber bands. To make the matter even more comical, this was during marching band camp, and it was also the day that yearbook pictures were being taken. In the yearbook is a portrait of our boy looking quite, uh, unusual... 
• Our child, so excited that it was almost the end of his junior year of high school (on the second-to-last day before summer break), turned himself into a human bowling ball and slid across the cafeteria. He slammed into a garbage can, causing it to tip over. He got suspended--the end of the school year came quicker than he had originally thought--and had to take some finals early.

       And there was the time when we had to rent a Speedo swimsuit for him while in France. He was under the impression we had bought the suit--new--for him to wear, since it was required for the water park. Ooops. That was one of the many stories I didn't have time to tell. It'll have to wait until next time...

McDonald's was NOT where we dined. We ate at AJ's, but I had to turn
so the sun was at my back when I took the photo... and there are the golden arches
filling up the background. What an incredible photographer I am... ;)

       When you have kids, you not only get gray hair and wrinkles and an ever-increasing waistline because of them and an addiction to chocolate, you also get fodder for stories.

        How do your kids react when you tell (or write) stories about them? A talkative mom wants to know.

The Need for Speed

        A few weeks ago I was heading to the airport. It wasn't even the crack of chicken yet. I had a 6 a.m. flight, and was told to get there 90 minutes before the flight, so there I was, on a mostly empty highway a little before 4:30 in the morning.

        Fortunately, I had just gotten onto the highway not even a minute earlier. Otherwise, I might have gotten to an even faster speed. Unfortunately Bruno Mars and "Uptown Funk" had just come on the radio. My right foot mashed down on the accelerator as I danced in my seat and rocked my head back and forth to the insanely contagious beat.

        Were those disco lights, to add to mood? No, they were a police car's flashing lights. While talking to me, the officer saw my suitcase, asked me if I was worried about missing my flight (as he tried to figure out why I was going 78 in a 60). No, I wasn't worried about getting to the airport too late, I told him honestly, but I also didn't tell him the whole truth.

        "Officer, a really good song came on--Uptown Funk--and I couldn't help myself."

         Now when "smoother than a fresh dry Skippy" comes on, my foot instinctively eases off the gas pedal.

         What song makes you groove (and possibly speed) when you're driving? A woman who's $86 poorer wants to know...

         

Happy Mother's Day (Early)

          If you're interested in reading what I was like as a kid, check out my story in the May issue of Sasee. I was a wild child for most of my teenaged years. Luckily, my parents didn't give up on me (and give me away). "The Blessings of Being Chosen" pays homage to my mother.

       Also, Cathy C. Hall has a story there in Sasee as well. It's a sweet story. It's a story that most girls can identify with, and what happens in the last quarter of the story is what many girls would hope for. 

       And if there is a Listen to Your Mother show in your hometown/city, it's probably this Saturday. I would highly recommend it. I will be in the audience at the St. Louis show on Saturday afternoon. Our school librarian, Dr. Jenny Gray, is one of the performers. She came last year, heard me perform, and with just a tad of encouragement, submitted, auditioned and was accepted for this year's show. I'm really excited for her. She's had a blast (just like I knew she would).

This is a picture of my birth mother (Imogene) and my half-sister.
Note Imogene's forehead that goes on for miles and miles.
Sometimes DNA plays cruel jokes on us...

This is a picture of my mom. She was a stay-at-home mother
for most of my years growing up. My brother and I had stuff like homemade frosting smeared
onto graham crackers as an after school snack. Is it any wonder I now have a butt
as wide as a semi-tractor trailer truck?

               If you're lucky enough to have your mother still with you, have a great day on Sunday. And if you're like me---and you've lost your mother---fill your day with the family you do have. (I'll be traveling to Kirksville with my daughter and granddaughter to see my son. It's going to be a full, fun-filled day.)

            And if you want to have a good cry, if you want to be moved, if you want to read a poignant piece so you can be transported to a time in your past, read Lisa Ricard Claro's story about her mother. I didn't plan on tears welling up at five something in the morning, but Lisa took me there.

            What is one of your most favorite "mom" memories? And if you weren't close to your mom, how about a wonderful grandma memory?