It's a crazy crazy winter here in Connecticut. We had one of the warmest Januarys ever last month and very little snow. Oh, except for the Noreaster that brought in over 25 inches this past weekend. That was wild. Currently, it is raining out. But the air is springy and fresh. It's the kind of air you want to breathe, you know? It's as pleasant as a rainy day in February gets.

But you didn't come here to get the weather report. Like the season, I'm just warmin' up. Boo yah!

Heh. Um. I'm just in a good mood. It's Friday and it's warmish out. Most importantly, I'm going to see Shakespeare tonight at a somewhat local college. Ever since I interviewed him for READ (see issue 12), I've had an itchy hankering to see one of his shows. Last weekend, I almost went into the city (of the New York variety) to see Twelfth Night. But something came up, as things tend to do.

Through the magic of the Internet (seriously, how did we ever do anything before the Internet?) I found another Shakespeare play being performed this weekend. It is his comedy As You Like It. I had never read this one before so I took it on the past couple nights. I read the first 4 acts, leaving the 5th and final act a surprise for tonight. Shakespeare is never an easy read, no matter what anyone tells you. In fact, the playwright himself told me that his plays were never intended to be read but to be performed for audiences. So I fretted not upon reading and re-reading and re-reading scenes over and over again. In fact, in this way, you can get a better sense of the action, of the players, of the plot, of the gorgeous language, of the time, of the whole of the essence of the words of the play. But that's just the page.

Tonight, Shakespeare comes to life and I'm so amped for it! Yah! And if you're sitting there rolling your eyes at me... come on... you know there's a part of you that wants to run away and go sing songs and dance and live in the forest. Sound tempting? You can read Shakespeare's As You Like It here.

- Poem by Everett Gunther, Grade 6

Flitting and fluttering over the snow,

Flies the terribly haunting crow.

To and fro it flaps its wings,

Glossy blotches those specious things.

It knows it is a sign of dread,

It makes you toss and turn in bed.

Those hollow, deep, blackened eyes,

Look for food to feed on as a prize.

Inside the dark, wretched bird's nest,

Sleep the ones that will feed on the rest.

Hot off the press: This personal essay contest on Merlyn's Pen starts accepting entries today: 

Guys in the Media Age

So. I don't have a significant other. This isn't something I usually dwell on or even really think about - except, of course, on Valentine's Day. 

Some of my non-writer single friends buy themselves chocolates and flowers and watch sappy chick flick movie marathons. Always a fun option, but I like to take things a step further. Every Valentine's Day, I write a love letter ... to myself.

Before you think I'm crazy, let me explain. Many of us - especially writers, who are constantly editing their work to make it better and receiving writing critiques from others - tend to naturally focus on our insecurities and what we are trying to improve about ourselves. This is good in that it helps us strive to become better individuals, but at the same time can be damaging in the self-esteem department. So this Valentine's Day, I challenge you to take a few minutes to reflect on what you really *love* about yourself. List all your wonderful qualities and talents - maybe you are an incredible ballerina, or know how to play an instrument, or visit senior citizens at a nursing home every week. Perhaps you pride yourself on being honest, or compassionate, or always being able to make people laugh. Instead of only focusing on goals you want to accomplish in the future, think for a bit about all the amazing goals you have reached thus far. You're a pretty neat person! I can't think of a better time than Valentine's Day for the most important love of all: self love.