- Poem by Sadaf Qureshi, Grade 11

I like the way it works its way up into my mouth,
the way it sounds when it escapes
an-eh-mauws-it-y
It starts out hard-headed and proud
But by the time you get to the third syllable it has lost its staccato,
Instead it flows like thick liquid,
as though it has slipped on the wet surface of my tongue,
and when you expect it to finish off staying down,
it gets back up and regains its composure—but with a lost severity.
There's a picture in the paper today,
About the lives they led
And what that has all been reduced to—a muddle of paraphernalia scattered on a sidewalk,
About the living, breathing, feeling, human debris that
War has left in its path,
About animosity in action
"Civilians collect their belongings from their shop
that was damaged by Israeli air strikes in southern Beirut, Lebanon."
That is the picture in the paper today.
The picture has it looking as though
Animosity never had to wipe the dirt off a scraped knee,
Or bare a bruise on its shin
It looks as though it has never had that humbling and humiliating opportunity
To get up and recover from a miss because it never does miss
Never trips up
Never forgets to strike
It looks more unrelenting and nimble than it sounds.
Still, they say that looks can be deceiving
They never say anything about sounds

WARNING: If you have not read Of Mice and Men yet, you may not want to read this blog entry. It kinda sorta spoils the ending. 'Nuff said.

In Issue One of READ magazine, we asked you a few questions about the Reader's Theater play Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck. One of the questions was:

Does George make the right decision at the end of the story? Why or why not?

Here is what a few of our READers thought:

Sarah M., Grade 7 said

Yes, I think that he made the right decision. Like they were talking about earlier in the play, you shouldn't let someone else kill your best friend. But also, he was wrong because it was murder.

Heather, Grade 8 said

I think George makes the right decision. If George didn't kill him, a stranger would have ... or he would have lived with the guilt forever. I'm not saying if a friend does something bad that you should kill them, but you sometimes have to be a little rude to get them to stop. So both ways are right.

Hayley, Grade 7 said

Yes, George made the right decision. He didnt want a stranger to kill his friend. It was like the guy with the dog said "I should have killed him myself" George thought Lennie was sorta his responsibility. He didn't do it out of anger, he did it out of love!

Laura S., Grade 7 said

George and Lennie were such good friends that George wouldn't feel right if he didn't kill him. He would probably feel sad and not be too happy that someone else shot his best friend. I think that since Lennie was so fond of the rabbits that that is what George wanted his last thought to be.That is why I think that George did the right thing.

So it sounds to me like everyone agrees that George did the right thing. It still breaks my heart though. Does anyone else out there agree? Is there anyone that thinks George should have not killed Lennie? Leave a comment below or email us at word@weeklyreader.com.

Until next time...

Oh Pluto. I'm still with ya, big guy.

Did you hear? Some smarty pantses out in Prague decided to strip Pluto of its planetary status. We're down to 8 now. Can you name them all? Can I? Oh, I certainly hope so.

Earth um Mars um Venus um Mercury um Uranus um Saturn um Jupiter um um uhhhhhhhh I probably should have gone in order. Oh yeah, and Neptune. Phew. I pass 4th grade science. Yayyyy!

I thought our universe was supposed to be expanding? Not constricting. In fact, I know a family that lives down the street from me who was seriously considering going to Pluto next summer for their vacation. They were all like "Oh yeah, you gotta go to Pluto! It's the furthest planet!" Now they won't even look at it through their high-powered telescopes. All the Plutonian brochures have vanished from their house. It's so sad.

If you all feel like I do, and you want to see Pluto get it's planetary status back, then leave a comment below or write to word@weeklyreader.com. Once I get 100,000 concerned readers on my side, I'll print out all your letters and shoot them off in a rocketship to the farthest reaches of the universe. Together, we can give Pluto it's 248 orbital years back!

Is it June yet?

Welcome back to school! Are you back yet? I may be jumping the gun a little here. When do you start?

A) This week
B) Next week
C) After Labor Day
D) I'm never goin' back, man! Never!!!

Take it easy, partner. I'm just curious. The whole gosh darn educational world is curious!

Next week is WORD's birthday. You can send your birthday wishes to word@weeklyreader.com. If you're new here, welcome. We usually have more to say than this.

- Poem by Kat Lucas, Grade 10

I was once lost amidst the brambles
my only shelter—
the heat of the jungle

my úarîra
once ran among the elephants
my hair a wild mass of tangles
dangling over a dirt-smeared face
riding on the backs of my
friends, i abused my body

my manasa
clouded by the tendrils of
mist that weave their way through the branches of
twisted tress
splashing around the cool water
I could not comprehend the meaning of kala

my jîva
could not express how
alone
I felt as the elephants slept peacefully,
I pleaded to the stars, let my spirit fly!
let me glide among the clouds and be free of the boa constricting my soul!

my cry was answered—
kala found me

out of the jungle family came
bearing dayâ. gently they
spoke with me and my soul soared on the
wings of the heron

together we are one, our spirits bound by the
power of the stars

      Hi everyone!  Sorry it's been a while since my last entry; I just got moved into college and the past few weeks have been a flurry of packing and unpacking boxes and getting my new room situated.  I'm taking my first Creative Writing class -- Intro to Fiction -- this semester, and I'm excited to share my experiences with all of you!

         Summer always makes me think of kids' lemonade stands. Just last week we drove by a lemonade stand -- and my dad bought out their whole inventory.  He's always supported youngsters who dream.  And he's taught my brother and I to do the same.  Granted, I'm only a sophomore in college, and my brother is just a junior in high school -- but to elementary school students, we are Role Models.  I write notes of congratulations and encouragement to young writers I read about in the newspaper who have won writing contests, and I teach writing camps for kids during the summer.  My brother, a cross-country runner, cheers on kids at youth track meets. 

         In the same spirit, I want to tell you about a book I just read by young writer Baxter Graham.  I met Baxter when he contacted me through my website, and he sent me a copy of his children's book, Old King Stinky Toes.  I was blown away!  Every so often you discover one of those rare books that really speaks to you, that rejuvenates you, that you finish reading and promptly turn back to page one and start reading again because you loved it so much.  For me, Old King Stinky Toes is one of those books.

        Baxter is only eleven years old, but he already has figured out how to tell a great story!  This picture book, written in rhyme, is about a "good and kind king" ... except for one thing: his toes stink!  His subjects make fun of him, which upsets the king.  This story of Old King Stinky Toes is a humorous tale with a bigger life lesson: embracing all of yourself – even your "stink" – and turning disadvantages into advantages.  Combined with beautiful illustrations by Baxter's teacher James R. Martin, this is a gem of a book that will have you smiling from ear to ear.

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.

Monday, June 19, 2006 (cont.)

SOUTH DAKOTA

Feelin' Presidential
South Dakota is known as "The Mount Rushmore State" and they promote it EVERYWHERE! There's really no need for advertising. I don't know why you would come to this state and not see the presidents.

This thing is wicked impressive, man. "It's probably the most impressive man-made thing I've ever seen." Dan said. And I agreed. I mean, I'm always impressed when I think about major bridges and skyscrapers and how humans can conceive of such things, let alone build them.

They had a museum at Mount Rushmore that was very informative. The artist, Borglum, came up with the idea to permanently pay tribute to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt by exploding their faces into a mountain. They started work on the massive project in 1923. You should see the pictures of the guys who worked on this thing. Dangerous stuff.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

MINNESOTA

We've got a lot of time and miles to make up today and tomorrow so we're kind of blowing through a couple states. Sorry Minnesota. Hey, I really like your windmills.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

WISCONSIN

Cows. Lots of cows.

ILLINOIS

Traffic through Chicago. It was bad.

OHIO

I bought a tee shirt bearing the state's name at a rest stop. Nothing else to report.

PENNSYLVANIA

The road has made me weary (can you tell?) and I'm looking forward to hitting the last few stops on the way home.

Next stop ... New York.
Wow.

Poem by Misha Agunos, Grade 8

Portals
acquired from various shops,
as gifts,
ordered
it matters not where they came from
but where they take me
some oft used
others, roads less traveled
All my favorite

Exploring the countless realms
since before my public education
leading me to another world
not only telling,
but showing
Narration
accompanied by continuous acting
stripping away all earthly ties
with but a few sentences
spiriting me away
past the worries of man
to a benign, alien haven
past the simple,
day-to-day commonness
making me ride
side-by-side the characters
on the very same
rollercoaster of emotions
in the park of the story
each event a curve
or loop
or stomach-wrenching drop
every phrase painting a new scene

through the brushes of suspense, romance, horror and countless others every setting whole, fully thorough down to the individual grains of sand or single blades of grass devouring chapters in the light of the midnight oil with the same curious passion that compels astronomers, archaeologists,
and treasure hunters
to make the planetarium their dwelling for days on end
to spend weeks in the depths of the middle of nowhere
to endure months in sweltering jungles swarming with exotic, deadly beings satisfying my voracious hunger for complexity pure ecstasy nourishing my exhausted mind as it dives into the sea of words feeling waves of content as its waters gently lap at the shores of my |
intellect
and become immersed in the ocean between its covers
engulfed in fires of is pages
enveloped in the pockets of temporary, fictional bliss

THIS
is my ode
my thanks
to the indulgence
of books

When Phoebe Rusch, 17, submitted her play "3/4 of a Mass for St. Vivian" for consideration in the VSA Playwright Discovery Award last year, she probably never dreamed that she would be selected as a top winner or that she'd find herself in Washington DC this summer ... overseeing the production of her play at the venerable Kennedy Center.

All things are possible, especially if you have talent on your side.

A soon-to-be senior at the Interlochen Arts Academy in Michigan, Phoebe's play is based upon the stories her mother told her about her youth and friendships. It is a true story about "two wildly different and tenacious young women fighting to answer the most infinite of life's questions: How do you explain why we love? Why we die? Why we need to believe? Set against the backdrop of the tumultuous early 1970's, their philosophies unite and collide as they develop a lifelong friendship."

Critics and audiences are saying "wow." In an article published in last week's Washington Post, Phoebe's director, Paul-Douglas Michnewicz, was quoted as saying "I should say that I think Phoebe will be one of the great playwrights of the next generation."

And, a review in today's Post calls "3/4 of a Mass" a "fully realized new work."

If you're in Washington DC, try to check out the production at Theater Alliance at the H Street Playhouse 866-811-4111 Through Sept. 3

 

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.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

IDAHO

Real quick drive through. Nothing happened. We ate no potatoes.

MONTANA

Pretty much the same. Quote of the trip is worth mentioning here: "Any day out of Fulford is a good day." Amen.

WYOMING

Yellowstone National Park
When you think of Yellowstone National Park, what comes to mind? For me, it was always this far off, fantastical place that I would never visit. Not anymore, baby!

I have trouble with the size of things. The only way I can relate this to you is by saying that you could probably fit 20 Central Parks in Yellowstone with plenty of room to spare. Dang, this place was big!

We arrived late (what else is new?), around 4 or so. Once you're inside the park, you still have to drive about 100 miles to get to the other end. Seriously. We stopped to see some stinky sulfur pits… again. And we laughed at the mud swamps that blurped all over the surface like lackadaisical bullfrogs on a coffee break. Or something.

Driving through the park, we encountered a ton of elk and bison! Some were even in the road! There are signs everywhere saying not to approach the wildlife. Well, don’t worry about that, partner. I wasn't going near these beasts. Well, I did get near enough to take pictures. Luckily, they did not charge me and I did not get gouged. Yay!

Dan saw a bear run into the woods on the side of the road but it took off before I caught a glimpse. I was so disappointed! Argh! But wait… what's this? About 20 miles up the road there were 10 or so cars parked haphazardly all over the place. "What's going on here?" I whipped out my camera and got out of the car. There, minding his own business and eating leaves was a young bear cub. Wow. I kept my distance and snapped a few shots. He looked straight at me for one picture. Check him out! -->

I stood in awe for about 5 minutes and then felt guilty for intruding on his lifestyle. He's used to it, I'm sure… but still. ... See you later, bear. Live well.

Shortly after 6:00 we arrived at Old Faithful. The geyser you can set your watch by. Apparently, that's a myth. It erupts approximately every 92 minutes or so. Of course we got there right after it went, so we hung around the gift shop and I purchased a few things for the fam. Then, we took a quick hike around the grounds and came back to Old Faithful. There was a Park Ranger giving a little talk about volcanic rocks and ash and the general history of Yellowstone. 200,000 years ago, a volcano erupted and created this gigantic hole in the earth. That's where we stood. Whoa.

At 7:43, Old Faithful began showing off. She bubbled for a minute and then spouted a few teasers before WHOOOSH!!! Yah! U.S.A.! U.S.A! Hee hee. We live on an untamed, beautiful planet, my friends. Rock and roll.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Goodbye Wyoming
It took us quite a while to get out of Wyoming. As we were driving through the mountain ranges of the west, we stopped at an overlook to get one last view. We got more than that.

Our timing couldn't have been more perfect. When we pulled off to the lookout point, there was this dude standing there on the cliff with a great, big para-glider strapped to his back. "I think that guy's gonna jump."

He had two friends with him and they helped him straighten out his para-glider behind him. The wind caught it and he ran to the edge of the cliff. "See yaaaaa!" He yelled as his feet left the ground.

I applauded and watched the dude glide down through the sky for a couple of minutes and then we got back in the car and lamely drove down the mountain. "He's crazy." Dan said. I wasn't so sure. It looked like a lot of fun.

One Last Wyoming Thing
We came upon Crazy Woman Creek, Wyoming today. We stopped by and saw all my ex-girlfriends. They live together in a big crazy house on a hill.

Next stop ... South Dakota.

TODAY ONLY!!!

Did you stumble across our blog today? Lucky you! For one day only (well, actually it was yesterday, too, but alas, that ship has sailed) you can watch streaming video of An Evening With Harry, Carrie, & Garp, taped at Radio City Music Hall last week.

Get there quick to watch Stephen King, John Irving, and J.K. Rowling read from their novels and answer questions from the audience.

Today, August 11, 2006 is the only day you can do this! Hurry!

Check it out by clicking here.

The following is a short story inspired from the first line of the poem Valentine for Ernest Mann by Naomi Shihab Nye.

You can't order a poem like you order a taco. I know from experience that this is true. It was April. Cold and hungry I made a run for the border. On the radio, the DJ was making a strange announcement.

"That was Little Chainsaws by Exposed Eyeball. You're listening to KEWL, kewl radio all the time. This just in: it's National Poetry Month! Have yourself a poem, why don't ya? Go on, have one!"

I turned him off. I wasn't very interested in his bizarre antics, though I was intrigued by the notion of a National Poetry month. As I pulled up to the large, obnoxious menu board outside of Taco Bell, I tried to focus my mind on the task at hand.

"Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?"

"Yes, I'd like to hear Allen Ginsberg's Howl please." Apparently, my mind was otherwise focused. The voice at the other end was unimpressed and silent. "Hello?" I asked.

"I'm sorry sir, but we seem to be all out of Howl today."

A wiseguy, eh? Very well, I thought. I'd continue to play along. "How about a Shakespearean sonnet then?"

"No."

"Walt Whitman?"

"Sorry."

"Keats?"

"Not today sir."

"E.E. Cummings?"

"cert-Ainly !nOt!"

My stomach rumbled. I gave up the game. "All right, just gimme a Chalupa."

- Poem by Gabriela Margarita, Grade 9

Being a stranger to this country,
I am at the mercy of my guide.
He leads me through the narrow streets
of a city that sings
with age and the scents of wine.

His city swells with music, and charm,
it grows with the heartbeat, every note
rising higher, lasting longer than the last,
with the soft reassurance that everyday
will bring you closer to old age.

He speaks of it as if it were his only passion,
words seem to come easy for him
and he tells me a story of the city when it slumbers--
how the stars hang low, glowering in the velvet of the sky.

Then he asks me of my own home,
and I plainly say,
I come from a world full of gray little faces
who wander by each other shiftlessly,
a place where I lost my language,
a place where I lost my faith,
and all he does is smile.

When suddenly the street narrows once more
and I am a young girl again and he is,
transformed.

Into a great white bird that
continues to guide me down the alley
that has drawn us once again
closer together.

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.

Friday, June 16, 2006
OREGON

Wild River Goodness
We woke up this morning in a motel in Brookings, Oregon. What's up Brookings?!? That's a shout out. Here's another: Thank you thank you thank you to the kind woman at Wild River Pizza. We ate there last night and I left my jacket by the pool table. I didn't care all too much about the jacket actually--it's a 10 year old windbreaker and I really need to break down and buy a new one soon--but Dan's cell phone was in the pocket. Argh. Not good. We had an hour this morning when we were freaking out about it. Long story short (too late), the kind woman at Wild River Pizza retrieved said jacket and phone for us and we were relieved and amped to get back on the road. Yay!

Petting Zoo
West Coast Game Park Safari in Bandon, Oregon rules! We entered the zoo through a door in the gift shop. Upon opening the door, it was like Dorothy opening the door onto Oz. There was a cool little billy goat there waiting for us.

"Whoa. What's up, dude?" He didn't answer but he looked up at me and winked and chewed. "You're great! Hold on a sec!" I went back through the door and bought him an ice cream cone full of goat feed. He loved it! He ripped it out of my hands and ate it up. "That's good stuff, huh?"

I hung out with him a little bit and then moved on to "The Nursery." There, a pair of zookeepers brought out ferrets and opossums and foxes and a descented skunk and even a bear cub! My favorite one was definitely the baby fox. I held him in my arms. Sweet.

Walking around the open zoo, we got to pet deer, a couple llamas, and more goats. It was tres cool. And the level of coolosity (not a word) was raised by all the little kids who were wide-eyed and enthralled by the animals. The peacock calls and the cougar growls mingled with the delightful shrieks of children. I didn't even care that it was raining.

Saturday, June 17, 2006
WASHINGTON

We drove into Silverdale, Washington late last night. Very late actually, around midnight. We were so spent from the road but we had to champ it out there. That's where my lil bro lives. Corey. He's an engineer and he works on submarines. So basically he's a part of the whole American protection system. He plays with wires and computer programs and makes sure that the subs don't sink. Rock 'n' roll.

We woke up early and drove the car onto the ferry. The ferry ride was a pleasant hour's journey over Puget Sound. When we got to Seattle, we went straight to Safeco Field and bought tickets for the Seattle Mariners game. It was around 10 a.m. so we had some time to kill.

We walked across the street from the stadium and hung out in an outdoor restaurant til the game started. While we were eating our clam chowder and mussels, I noticed the people at the table next to us were looking over our way. I said hello and exchanged brief pleasantries before the big dude commented on my shirt.

"Death Cab for Cutie, huh?"

"Yes sir! They're pretty much my new favorite band."

"Hey Sandy," he said to the woman at the table, "look at his shirt!" As it turns out, Sandy is the lead guitarist's aunt! How cool is that?

We chatted for a few minutes about how cool her nephew's band is and then shook hands and wished each other well. They went into the stadium to watch the game and we did too, a little later.

The Mariners slaughtered the San Francisco Giants 8-1. Me, I'm a Yankees fan. But as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. With this in mind, I was cheering my fanatic head off for Ichiro Suzuki and company. And, for the record, every time Barry Bonds came up to the plate, the entire stadium booed like our lives depended on it. Long live Ruth's record. Aaron's too.

Next stop ... Idaho.

What could prompt J.K. Rowling's first visit to America in six years?
What could push the most vile, gross, and vomitous descriptions out of Stephen King's mouth?
What could possibly possess John Irving to produce high pitched screechy words?

Answer: An Evening with Harry, Carrie, and Garp

It happened last night at Radio City Music Hall in New York City. There were over 6,000 eager readers in attendance to hear three of the world's most powerhouse, contemporary writers read their work. All proceeds went to Doctors Without Borders and The Haven Foundation.

The writers were introduced by Whoopi Goldberg, Tim Robbins, Stanley Tucci, and Kathy Bates. Even Salman Rushdie made an appearance and participated in the Q&A session with his kid at the end of the night! It was a surprising, starstruck event!

Stephen King was up first. He read the infamous story of the Pie Eating Contest that appears in his short novella The Body. You may remember this story from the movie Stand By Me. Without getting into too much disgusting detail, the story is basically about a very large boy who is sick and tired of everyone making fun of his weight. So he enters the town's annual pie eating contest and sabotages his own stomach with <ugh> castor oil. After ingesting five blueberry pies, his stomach starts to rumble. And then ...

I will be interviewing Mr. Mark Twain in the very near future. Or maybe it will be Mr. Samuel Clemens. I'm not sure exactly who will be showing up yet.

Sidenote: They're the same person. Mark Twain was Samuel Clemens' pen name (or pseudonym, if you will).

Yes he's dead. But use your imagination here. Anything you'd like me to ask him? Send an email to word@weeklyreader.com. Write "Mark Twain" in the subject line and put your question in the body of the email.

He's the author of Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer, A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court, and about a gazillion other things! He's a very cool guy. And he'll answer any question you have. All you have to do is ask.

Oh yes, and don't forget to tell us what grade you're in... or will be entering in the fall.

Seriously now, ask a good question and we may just very well publish it AND your name in READ magazine!! At the very least, you'll get a personal email back from Mr. Mark Twain himself!

Word.