The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 (cont.)
WEST VIRGINA

Low Moor, Virginia.
Just crossed the border. One of the last signs in Virginia was for a town called Low Moor. Say it out loud. Low Moor. How fun is that? If anyone out there reading this is from Low Moor, please speak up. I must know if your town is as cool as its name.

Find the River
We decided to get off of Highway 64 and take a scenic route through a few towns. We thought it would be faster. It looked faster on the map, anyway. Of course, the map didn't show the 500,000 sharp turns in alternating directions immediately following each other up a scary mountain!

At the top, we stopped at Hawk's Nest State Park. Although there were no birds of prey soaring in the sky, we did enjoy a nice view of the Kanawha river. Some dude was there telling his kids that the river was 23 million years old. Is that even possible? I didn't question him because that would have been rude, but Dan and I shared a doubtful glance. Oh, you know what else they didn't have 23 million years ago? Sporks. Ahh evolution.

"Come on in and see The Mystery Hole!"
What?!? That's what was painted on the side of ... I don't even know how to explain it. It was like a very large trailer but it was also like an old, rundown shack with peeled paint. It was on the side of yet another curve in the road and I almost pulled in to the driveway. But Dan was afraid that if we went to see the mystery hole, we'd never come out.

"You probably pay $4 to stand in front of a bottomless pit while some dude stands behind you and pushes you in."

"It's a mystery, though! We have to go back!"

"No way, man! It's probably just a stupid hole in the ground. They probably filled it in last year and that's why it's a mystery--because they won't tell you what they used to fill it in."

"But if we don't go back, we won't be able to tell everyone that we saw The Mystery Hole!"

"Great! I can live with that!"

Sigh.

Next stop... Kentucky.

-Poem by Margaret Neville

Lovely music
Teach me to live.
Let my soul be light as a feather,
So that I may be able to be picked up by the wind
And be carried away.
Fill my heart with lovely music.

Lovely music
Teach me to listen.
Listen to the world
The breeze
The moon
The trees
The people
The souls of the world.
Teach me
To be
Me.

The following story was received as part of Writing's Take Five Contest. Although it did not win, we enjoyed it very much and wanted to share it with you. Check back throughout the rest of April and May to read more excellent poems and stories from Take Five.

Bicycle Boy
- Short story by Adela Wu, Grade 9

It was utterly dismal, not attractive at all, but then again, it was his home. The rows of rectangular boxes for apartments sickened the mind; each looked exactly like those on either side. Occasionally, the old women below them would even enter the wrong building. (Tony had a few laughs at their expense.) And the dust. It coated the streets, leeched onto the walls, hovered in every inch of the summer air. 

What a coincidence that it was down in the filthy streets that Tony found his treasure.

The pile of rusted metal and twisted scrap lay next to an overflowing dumpster. However, Tony recognized the slim form of handlebars, pedals and the worn but unmistakable outline of two bicycle wheels.

“I’m going to fix a bike,” he announced proudly to his mother that night. The tired woman briefly looked up from the warm chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove.

“Tony, how many times have I told you not to go wandering around the streets?” she sighed exasperatedly. “It’s dangerous—”

“Stop treating me like a baby!” Tony shouted against his better judgment for he fully knew about his mother’s raging temper. To his astonishment she put down her soup ladle and sat next to him.

“All right, you win,” She grinned, opening the sewing basket. Quickly, her voice turned serious as she efficiently bit the string and grabbed Tony’s red jacket, “But with growing up, you’re going to get more responsibilities.” She waved a silver key before his eyes. “This is our house-key.” Tony blinked. “People without a home are lost people…if this key is gone, our home is gone. Then we are lost!” His mother rambled on as the sharp needle punctured the jacket and her dexterous fingers expertly folded the lining to create a pocket. She wound thread around the key and administered a final stern warning, “If you lose this key, you might as well throw our family and home away. Be careful, Tony…I trust you.” Tony smiled into his mother’s eyes as she embraced him.

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Saturday, June 10, 2006
VIRGINIA

Begin
I'm already behind. The problem is that there were six whole states I had to go through just to get to D.C. But that was accomplished by train yesterday. That doesn’t really count as part of the road trip. So I suppose I can forgive myself and move on.

We're definitely on the road now though. We totally blew off D.C. We awoke this morning after a rip-roaring good night. Weekly Reader won a bunch of awards at The Association Of Educational Publishers Award Ceremony. That made us happy.  :)

But that was then, this is, um, now.

The reason (well, one of them anyway) that we didn't see the D.C. sights is because I saw them last year. And Dan's seen them before, too. Dan is my road trip buddy. He's in the Air Force and I've known him all my life. He keeps us safe. He's good people. I think he's sick of me already, though. Ha! Not really. Maybe.

Led Zeppelin is blasting. The windows are rolled down. And we're in Virginia. Yayyy Virginia! I hear Route 66 is the most famous road in America. We're on it now. I'll tell you something about Route 66. So far ... I'm not very impressed. Show me something, 66! Bring it!

Something's Fishy
Apparently, Virginia is "Kilgore Country". We just passed a barn that announced that fact on a very large banner. I wonder if they mean Kilgore Trout, Kurt Vonnegut's famous character/alter-ego. Probably not. It's probably the local High School's basketball team. Go Kilgore!

"Where should we go?"

"Oh, I dunno. Go to the hoop. Get in the paint!!"

"How about you just drive across the country?"

"That works, too."

Hey, Where'd Bry Go?
There are caverns all over Virginia. We keep passing signs for Shenandoah Caverns and Luray Caverns and even something called "Endless Caverns". Every time we see a sign for a cavern we discuss the possibility of going. By the time we decide that yes, we should go and see the caverns, it's too late and they're gone. It's just as well. I'm sure I would have got lost in the Endless Caverns, fallen down some awful pit and have to live with Gollum and the Ghoulies. Yeah. Keep driving.

Today is all about driving. We have to put many miles behind us now so we have more time to hang out in national parks and Badlands, more time to explore the California coast and mountain ranges. To wit, we must hurry. We're on limited time here.

Verona, Virginia
I just saw two households. They both seemed alike in dignity.

Next stop... West Virginia.

 

Dear Faithful Blog Readers and Writers,

"I've been everywhere, man. I've been everywhere. I breathe the mountain air, man. I've been everywhere." - Johnny Cash

I have just returned from a cross country road trip. Well, "just", meaning that I took two weeks off and returned very late in the evening last Thursday. The purpose of the trip was to have fun, enjoy a vacation, and not to blog. Of course, I can't seem to do anything these days without thinking of how I can relate it to the blog. So I brought my laptop along for the ride and wrote about every state that we drove through. At times, I was eager to write. At other times, I wasn't.

For whatever it's worth, I'm going to be relating my journey through this great land of ours to you over the next couple of weeks. As always, feel free to join in and comment on anything, whether you agree or disagree. Whether you've been to these not-so-distant states or whether you've always wanted to go. Maybe you live very near to a place where I've been. Heck, maybe you saw me driving through your town! That'd be weird. At any rate, I'll start posting about my travels tonight. My hope is that, at the times where I am less inclined to discuss literary topics, others will jump in. It's a pretty big country, to say the least. What will follow here is merely my speedy ramble through it.

- Bry

The American Library Association (or ALA) is holding their annual convention this week. And what better place to have it than good ol' New Orleans?

With the 1 year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina's massive destruction rapidly approaching, New Orleans is ready to prove that they have bounced back quick and are ready to host grand scale conventions again.

Well over 14,000 ALA members are expected to pour into New Orleans this week. Librarians and educators alike are eager to help spread the word that the "Big Easy" is back, baby! Yah! And you know how those librarians love to party! Look out!

Read the New York Times article here.

Do you ever look at something so much that you don't really pay attention to what it's saying? I do, all the time. Last night, for example, I was writing a letter on a notepad when I actually stopped writing and looked at it closely.

I bought the notepad when I visited the Muir Woods National Monument in Mill Valley, California two summers ago. The trees were immense, tall, and the kind that you want to put your arms around. (I'd never thought of myself as a tree hugger even though one of my favorite children's books is Aani and the Tree Huggers, but there I found myself wrapping my arms around a tree trunk and relishing its sturdy stability.)

At the end of my hike, I wanted to buy a souvenir under $5 to take back. That ruled out a tee-shirt and left me with choices such as pen and magnets. Since I wanted something even more "special," I kept browsing through the racks until I found my notepad.

The notepad was made from recycled paper. A fuzzy beige, it had a sketch of a looming tree and these words:

Advice from a tree: Stand tall and proud - Sink your roots deep into the earth - Be content with your natural beauty - Go out on a limb - Drink plenty of water - Remember your roots - And enjoy the view!

Aha! Perfect! I paid for it and took it home.

Poem by Jeremy Johnson

But did you ever notice that sci-fi characters rely heavily on lasers?

"Uh oh, captain, there's a giant lizard coming at us!"
"Shoot the laser at it."

"Uh oh, captain, how do I get to the planet's surface?"
"We'll shoot you down there with a laser."

"Uh oh, captain, I have a horrible disease."
"The doctor will shoot a laser at you and cure you."

"Uh oh, captain, our space ship battery is out of power!"
"Let's all shoot our lasers at it to charge it up."

"Uh oh, captain, I'm hungry!"
"We have a laser that makes food."

Yes, sci-fi is fun, but it can get a bit wacky. Science shouldn't be an excuse for lazy writing. New inventions have to be presented carefully and realistically in a story.

You have to do it right, the way Jule's Verne did in 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, and H.G. Wells  did in The Time Machine.

Otherwise things just get silly.

Click "Read More ..." to make fun of futuristic cars and practice writing about the future of science.

Today is Bloomsday. Today is what?!? It's Bloomsday, silly! On this day, June 16th, in 1904, the book Ulysses by James Joyce takes place. That's right, the entire book spans the course of one, long day in Dublin, Ireland.

Now, before you pick up this book, let me warn you: it will frustrate you. It's not an easy read. Not by a long shot. It's not even a quirky challenge. When I first tried to read Ulysses, I got about 100 pages in before I gave up and threw it across the room, screaming and tearing out my hair. Ever since then, I have tried time and time again and every time I pick it up, I get just a little bit further, a little bit further. And yet, this mammoth novel never seems to end. It just keeps on going and I keep on chucking it. And every time I pick it up again, I start at the very beginning and slowly work my way through. The last time, a chunk of pages came out and I actually had to glue them back together. That was kind of amusing.

You would think that, from my words, I am chastising Joyce and giving Ulysses a scathing review. Quite the contrary. Although I have never actually finished reading Ulysses, it is one of my favorite reads. Now how in the heck is that possible? Well... I figure it has to be one of my favorites because I keep coming back to it no matter how insane it makes me. I love trying to figure out what exactly is going on and just when I think I've got it, I realize that, oops, I don't. So I go back and I try it again. And if I can't get it, I make something up and it's kind of like I'm writing my own story along with Joyce. And mine and his are interwoven and they become a third. And that's better than fine with me. That's awesome.

Click below to read the opening lines from Ulysses. Don't worry if you can't understand it. Try to figure out what is going on, and, if you can't, try to make something up that is somewhat close to what is going on. The more you read it, over and over again, and the more you fill in your own version of the story with details, the more you will come to realize that your vision and Joyce's really aren't that different.

It's good stuff, right? Happy Bloomsday!

Click here to read the opening lines from James Joyce's Ulysses.

Stuck for a fictional story idea? Use strange news events as inspiration. Here's a good example:

Imagine that you are a bank teller in Jackson, Mississippi. It's 10 a.m. on a Friday morning, and everything is quiet. You are waiting for the lunch rush of workers cashing their paychecks for the weekend.

Suddenly, a mummy walks into the bank!



Only its eyes and lips are visible. Its arms, face, and head are covered by bandages. Over the bandages, it's wearing normal street clothes.

The mummy walks up to the counter and asks for help. Before you can figure out what to do or say, the mummy jumps over the counter, shovels handfuls of cash into it's clothing, and bolts out the door!

This is a true story.

Ready to write? Are you hungry for writing fun?

Hungry like the wolf? By the way, have you ever been so hungry you wolfed down your dinner?
(Woah ... hold on. In that first question I used wolf as a noun. In the second question I used wolf as a verb.)

Is that right? Can I do that? Sure I can.
Do you know why? I just did, and so can you.

Click "read more" to find out how to pump some animal instinct into your writing.  

Today, June 12, is Anne Frank's birthday. She was born on this day in 1929 and is world renown for her diary (Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl) which recounts her experiences during the Holocaust. In 1933, the Frank family fled to Amsterdam, where they hid from the Nazis until they were sent to a concentration camp. It was there in 1944 that Anne died from typhus.

I've been thinking about Anne Frank a lot lately, particularly while reading Markus Zusak's The Book Thief , a novel about the experiences of a 12-year old girl in Germany during the Holocaust. The main character of The Book Thief, Liesel, also turns to books and words to give her solace during the difficult times of war. The two books deserve to be on the same bookshelf and would make for a moving and fascinating side-by-side read.

I had forgotten this, but Anne actually received her diary from her parents on this day on her 13th birthday - June 12, 1942. Afterwards, she described the event to her diary "Kitty":

On Friday, June 12th, I woke up at six o'clock, and no wonder; it was my birthday.... Soon after seven I went to Mummy and Daddy and then to the sitting room to undo my presents. The first to greet me was you, possibly the nicest of all. ... I hope I shall be able to confide in you completely, as I have never been able to do in anyone before, and I hope that you will be a great support and comfort to me.

Anne's father was the only member of her family to survive the Holocaust. When he returned to Amsterdam, he found over 300 pages of his daughter's writing, including her diary about their two years in hiding.

Anne had deep aspirations to be a writer. During her time in hiding, she wrote many stories, fairy tales, and even the beginning of a novel. Click here for a close-up view of Anne's original writings which are part of the Anne Frank the Writer: An Unfinished Story online exhibition. I just spent some time on this website and I have to say, it's a fitting tribute to a courageous and awe-inspiring girl, human being, and writer.

- Short Story by Ishan Chatterjee, Grade 6

I'm Tom Bernstein. I'm twelve years old and live in Goresville. I have one sister. Her name is Mary. She's seventeen, and really crazy. My dad is a retired inventor and has constructed the first time machine in his company, Timeworks.

My mom died in a car accident when I was seven. She used to be an actress. She always went berserk when dad said his time traveler would be done in a year, and asked her if she would go on it with him. But it turned out I went with him instead.

I was eight, and playing in the park with my sister. I checked my silver pocket watch. (At the time it was my most prized possession. It used to belong to my great-great-grandfather, and was handed down the generations. To stop me from losing it, my dad told me that the person who didn't take responsibility for it would be cursed for the rest of his life. Thus I carried it wherever I went.)

"It's 2:13," I told my sister, "Dad's coming in seventeen minutes."

"I wish he'd come sooner," she responded drearily. Some time later dad pulled up, honking the horn.

"You look happy," droned my sister, gloomily observing the frown on his face.

"Be quiet, and help Tom pick up the balls you were playing with."

"What's the problem?" I asked as the car door clicked shut.

"Bad day at work. We were almost done, before someone realized that an internal wire was not hooked up properly. None of us have fingers that are small and nimble enough to connect the wire to the splitter. So we'll have to dissect the machine, and put it together again," Dad explained.

"I'll try to connect the wire and the splitter," I suggested, flexing my fingers.

"You will?"

"Sure." His face brightened, as we swerved in a sharp U-turn to go to Timeworks Headquarters.

CLICK THE WORMHOLE TO GO TO TIMEWORKS HEADQUARTERS!!!

Being a Rock Star is grueling.

Case in point: I recently interviewed an up-and-coming punk/pop band called the Plain White T's. Their touring schedule is intense. The group will play 200 shows before summer's over.

That means that every other day these guys are in a different town. The day in between each town is spent in a van (that frequently breaks down). AND every night before they get in the van, they scream their heads off on stage until midnight. And they do this ten months out of the year.

                     The Plain White T's on stage

It's the kind of lifestyle that should burn them out, but they just keep on going ...

Last night I watched the National Spelling Bee championship on television. It was soooo cool! Those kids are amazing. I tried spelling along with them on many words and I don't know if I got two of them right. Probably not... but maybe.

13 year old Kerry Close came away with the 1st place trophy by spelling the word "Ursprache".  URSPRACHE?!? Come on! What the heck is that? If you look up the definition at dictionary.com, it just says "see  protolanguage". OK, so then you see protolanguage and here's what you get "A language that is the recorded or hypothetical ancestor of another language or group of languages." In other words, English is the protolanguage (or ursprache) of the language spoken at national spelling bees. Ha!

At any rate, I hope you got to catch some of the show. It was very entertaining. And if you're like me (a big word nerd), you were sitting at home, cheering and applauding with every letter. Especially when 14 year old Saryn Hooks was let back into the compitition after being dismissed for supposedly spelling a word wrong. As it turned out, the judges had the wrong spelling and Saryn was correct! Talk about high drama! Yowsa! In the end though, Saryn placed third behind second place finisher Finola Hackett, 14, of Alberta, Canada. And of course, the champ, Kerry Close.

Congrats to all who participated! Can't wait for next year!

Now it's your turn! There is one word in this blog entry that is misspelled. Can you find it? Look closely. When you see it, shout out "I'm awesome!" and then leave us a comment saying which word it is and how awesome you are.