 Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The following story is an interpretation of the 1,000 Words image in the September, 2006 issue of Writing Magazine.
Pete Saves The Day
- Story by Elle MacGillis, Grade 7
Once upon a time at a grand hotel in Florida, called "Shades of Green," there lived a tree frog named Pete. Pete lived on the golf course near the edge of the hotel's property (hole number eight to be exact). Pete was a pretty normal tree frog; he had plenty of polliwog friends, a nice warm tree for a home, and many insects to eat. But there was one thing that made him different from other tree frogs. Pete loved to hang-glide. It wasn't just his hobby. It was his LIFE. Day and night he would hang-glide, hang-glide, and hang-glide.
 One rainy afternoon, Pete was hang-gliding over the hotel swimming pool. He was looking for an unlucky bug that had fallen into the pool, when he heard someone cry. He looked over his right shoulder to see Macie, the monarch butterfly, who lived in the marsh next to the golf course Pete lived on. Her wing was caught on a thorn bush that stood right outside the front entrance of the hotel! Unfortunately, the thorn made a hole all the way through her wing! Pete swooped down and started circling Macie. He did not get off his hang-glider though, for fear that he would get caught on the bush too.
"Please, Pete, help me!" Macie cried.
"Just stay still and I'll swoop down and grab you!"
Pete started circling lower and lower. When he was right above Macie he stuck out his tongue and slurrrrrped it right onto her head. With a short pull to the left and a jerk upward he pulled her off the rose's thorn and up to his hang-glider.
"Gotcha!" Pete smiled at Macie. She smiled back. She wrapped her legs around Pete as she closed her eyes, ready to hang on for her life. Within a minute, the wind was at their backs as they took off toward the "Critters in Need" hospital.
That night Macie underwent reconstructive wing surgery. The surgery, with physical therapy, would enable her to fly again!
The next day she awoke to Pete at her side.
"Pete, you have no idea how much that meant to me yesterday! Without you I don't think I would have survived." Macie whispered.
Pete tried to talk but found he could not speak. Instead he just smiled and nodded his head as tears rolled down his cheeks.
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That's one small step for man, one giant leap for Britney Spears. ... Oops. I did it again.
What? OK, so it wasn't that garbled.
When Neil Armstrong first stepped foot on the moon back on July 20, 1969, he spoke the words that would forever remain in our memories: That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. However, that phrase didn't always ring true with word enthusiasts and geeks everywhere (present company included). The problem with the grammar is that man and mankind are basically the same thing. When using them both together like this, it is repetitive.
Armstrong has always insisted that he said:That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind. Do you see the difference? This way, the correct way, means that the step he is taking is a small one for him but a great big one for everyone. Oy.
At any rate, new technology out of Australia has actually found the missing "a" in Armstrong's words. It was hidden by inflection, a slur, and about 8 bizillion miles of interference. So we can all sleep a little easier now. The boys at NASA have their A.
Oh, and the new Australian technology also deciphered what Armstrong said immediately after those famous words. He said, "I'm guessing there's not going to be a burrito stand up here. Man, do I love burritos." 
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Monday, October 02, 2006
I attended the National Book Festival in Washington, D.C. this past Saturday. The morning was dabbled with spurts of rain that were just long enough to cause some discomfort. But thankfully, by noon, the blue skies had at last moved in.
The event was held on the National Mall, a long, open park behind the Washington Monument. There were various, large tents set up for author appearances. The tents were split up by categories: "Fiction and Fantasy", "Poetry", "Teens and Children", "Home and Family", etc.
 The first author I heard speak was Khaled Hosseini. I have heard from many people that his book, The Kite Runner, is a thing of beauty. I'd been meaning to pick it up for months but never got around to it. However, after hearing him speak, I marched on over to the book sales tent and, after an insane half hour of waiting in line, purchased his novel.
Hosseini told the audience that he originally wrote The Kite Runner as a short story. He submitted it to various magazines (including The New Yorker) and was rejected every time. He decided that his story was not as effective as it could be. It was too, well, short. Hosseini continued working on it, turning it into a novel.
The Kite Runner is a story about two Afghani boys living in their war-torn country of Afghanistan. When Hosseini was two-thirds of the way through the writing of his novel, 9/11 happened and the news emerged that Al Qaeda terrorists had been hiding out in Afghanistan. At this point, he gave up the writing. He didn't think that the world would want to read about a country that had produced the terrorists.
Luckily for the world, his wife convinced him to keep going. She told him that "the world needs to see Afghanistan in a different light. Now, more than ever." Taking her advice, Hosseini pressed on.
Hosseini said that his book has often been mistaken for a memoir. It is fiction. Although Hosseini was born in Afghanistan, he insists that the plot was derived entirely from his imagination (save for the setting of the novel and the politics therein, of course). Yet still, people insist that The Kite Runner's main character, Amir, is the author in disguise. Hosseini admitted that a few of the characters in the book are based on real people. For instance, the character Hassan was based on a servant in his childhood home. However, the author is adamant about the fact that Amir is not Hosseini.
"A woman once asked me," Hosseini told us, "How is Sohrab doing?" Sohrab is a character in The Kite Runner.
"Well," Hosseini told the woman, "It's a novel. Sohrab doesn't exist."
Then the woman looked at him with a knowing smile and leaned in to whisper to Hosseini, "You tell Sohrab, I said hello."
Of course, this got a big laugh from the audience and Hosseini laughed right along with us. That all too rare connection between author and reader was achieved. It's always a special treat when you get to share some behind-the-scenes insight with writers. I look forward to reading The Kite Runner, and I will, of course, give a review when the last page has been turned.
Come back throughout the rest of the week to read more coverage of the 2006 National Book Festival.
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Thursday, September 28, 2006
The following story is an interpretation of the 1,000 Words image in the September, 2006 issue of Writing Magazine.
Sammy
- Story by Alex Lindstrom, Grade 7
"Ouch, my head hurts now," said Redeye, as the drop of water slammed into his tiny head. It was torture for Redeye and his brother and his sister (Hopper and Sticky), as they tried to make their way in the pouring rain to the massive leaf hanging from the tree. The slithering boa constrictor, Sammy, was close behind. His goal was to finish what he had started ...
Once, there were twenty-eight little tadpoles swimming happily in a crystal clear pond, fed by a bubbling waterfall in the middle of the Amazon Rain Forest. The pond was full of water, piranhas, and lots of redeye tadpoles. The parents of the redeye tadpoles lived in the beautiful pond too, making sure all the babies were well fed and out of danger. Every one of the tadpoles had a perfect, carefree life.
Every day the young tadpoles swam and played wonderful games of chase and hide-and-go-seek in the warm water. They were then fed by their mother, who caught buzzing insects with her long, sticky, pink tongue as they flew by. After they were fed and had swam and played, they would take a nap in a secluded area of the pond behind a giant rock under the lily pad. They loved every aspect of their simple life.
One day, while the babies were out chasing each other around, playing under the rushing waterfall, and hiding behind rocks, they heard a piercing cry from their mother, begging and pleading for them to swim under the rock as fast as they could. All of the babies, both startled and afraid, slowly went over to their mother by the rock ... all except three. Then they saw it, the image forever imprinted in their minds, a boa constrictor, with three of their siblings, Lucy, Leaf, and Mudpie in its coils. It opened up its massive mouth, and swallowed them whole. 
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Tuesday, September 26, 2006
In honor of Banned Books Week, we give you a poem about book burning. For more information about the freedom to read, you can check out the current issue of READ Magazine.
FIRE
Poem by Lydia Warters, Grade 8
I am the fire
Crackling heat burning strongly
As I take in paper
I am the heat
Warming
The house of Mystery
For I am the fire
I feel sorry
As I eat up books
Burning the amazing world of a story
I will take away its magic words
Page by page
A book never read again
I am sorry for I am the fire
I see the words
In the pages of a book
Melting away
A path of black smoke
Trails silently behind me
Two girls stand deep in thought
They speak no words
I burn on
For I am the fire
I hear the crackling pop
Of myself
As I burn on
The silent noise
Of a page turning
In the last book remaining
I hear for I am the fire
I wish the best
For the house
In which
I once so strongly burned
I will soon be gone
So
I hope for the best
For everyone
I wish this for I was the fire
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