Editor's note: I usually don't like these "I Am From" poems. But this one is exceptional. It was mailed to us via "snail-mail" which means that I had to type it out instead of copy/pasting from an email (wah!). So yeah, it must be good.

The imagery in this poem is stunning. The way the words hold each other takes my breath away. Read it out loud to a friend. No, of course you aren't from the same things Tia is. But we can all learn a little about the sound of poetry from her piece. Where are you from? Tell us.

-----------------------------------

The Age of Reverie
-Poem by Tia DeShong, Grade 11

I come from gold-tipped blades of grass,
resplendent wading pools and ceilings spun from stars.
I'm from skinned knees and lips stained strawberry,
blithe daisies braided into crowns and dusty, bare feet.
I am a sea thrown into a summer breeze.

I come from dusty volumes mounted high on rickety shelves,
the smell of worn leather and ink.
I'm from bitterness invading my mouth from a steaming mug,
while rain pelts aged windowpanes.
To find me, read between the lines.

I come from pews carved from cedar and prayers encouraged from beads,
melancholy hymns and exalting cries.
I'm from incense speckled air and virtuously painted walls,
nagging thoughts and clawing doubts.
I'm a candle flickering briefly.

I come from lace-up sneaks and self-destroyed jeans,
hair available in Technicolor and loud music.
I'm from blood-stained hands and tattered flags
living in a nation that longs for a new creation.
Am I a sinner or a saint?

I come from roads painted weary with traveling footsteps,
Swimming in the seas and erasing the horizons.
I'm from chasing the sun and dancing with the moon,
speaking in tongues and letting the sovereignty sing me a lullaby ...
I'm from everywhere, yet nowhere at all.

On the last day of every month this year, we will be posting the best student writing that we received in that month. Does that make sense? In other words, on February 28th, we'll be posting the best student writing we received in February. And so on... each winner will receive a prize. Yah! Prizes! Woo hoo! I will post more about this later. But for now...

You are January's Student Writer of the Month!!!

From The New York Times --

KENNETT SQUARE, Pa., Jan. 29 -- In eight months of waiting for Barbaro's shattered bones to heal, the horse's owners and his veterinarian said they had not seen the Kentucky Derby-winning colt become so uncomfortable that he would refuse to lie down and rest. Until Sunday night.

So on Monday morning, the owners, Roy and Gretchen Jackson, and the veterinarian, Dr. Dean Richardson, decided enough was enough. At 10:30 a.m., Barbaro was euthanized, ending an extraordinary effort to save the life of a remarkable racehorse whose saga had gripped people around the world.

Read the full article here.

Onto The Rainbow Bridge
- Poem by Erika Sentz, Grade 7

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
You sleek and stellar man
Your eyes still twinkled
As you tripped upon the sand

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
Your will to live and fight
Barbaro, oh Barbaro
We'll miss that naughty bite

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
As you walk upon the sky
Barbaro, oh Barbaro
We'll think of you day and night

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
Run, be free, as you gallop with them all
Secretariat, Man O' War, and more
Barbaro, oh Barbaro
You've given them the dreams and hopes
The tries and a larger heart

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
Your feisty pull
Your gallant head
Your mighty will to live

Barbaro, oh Barbaro
Onto the rainbow bridge

Why hello there,

Get in your entries now! The deadline for READ Magazine's Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry contest is Wednesday, January 31! That's like... tomorrow. Well, actually it's the day after tomorrow, but it might as well be tomorrow because it's just that close!

You can find out more details here.

Here's a poem that will not win this contest:

One Lonely Sneaker
I once met a man named Horatio,
He told me I should rhyme his name with "ratio."
But I didn't want to,
So I didn't.
And that really showed him who was boss.
But then he pointed out to me
That I actually did
In line 2
And it was quite an embarrassing revelation, I must say.

Oh, and did I mention he wore one lonely sneaker?

------------------

Reasons why One Lonely Sneaker will not win the Ann Arlys Bowler poetry contest:

1) It is a poem of very poor quality.
2) I wrote it.

Enter now. Peace out.

- Story by Austin Siegemund-Broka, Grade 9

Gregor lived on an island.

At least, most of the time he did. Usually, he had the whole paradise to himself, a luscious, green patch of land with abundant animals and fruits. But every once in a while, the beautiful surroundings would melt away and Gregor would be left looking at a drab, white door. He would be in a small room of white tile, with only a simple wooden chair, upon which Gregor sat. There was a small bare lightbulb on the ceiling and gray-brown stains around some of the tiles.

But that was very rare. Mostly it was just Gregor on his island. It wasn't a large place, small enough for Gregor to know exactly where he was all the time. There was crystal blue surf, as warm as a Jacuzzi tub, and powdery white sand. The plants were always full and green, but not only green. There were huge flowers and vines, some purple, some orange, some pink. They gave the island a splash of brightness.

Gregor thought about this blessing bestowed on him. This is my favorite place, he thought. My favorite place ever.

As wonderful as his paradise was, though, strange things had begun to happen on Gregor's island. He felt it was no longer his, like there was a presence watching over it. Mostly, there were voices. Sometimes, just out of the baby-blue sky, voices would come. There was often a male voice, and sometimes a female one, too. These invisible speakers weren't loud, but they weren't incomprehensible either.

What they said, however, worried Gregor more. He often caught the entire conversation, and remembered specific lines of dialogue. "He has a form of schizophrenia," the male voice had said once. Gregor didn't know the word, but it sounded bad. There was a long pause before the female chimed in.

"Schizophrenia? I'm afraid I don't understand, doctor."

"I believe it to be a very acute form of the disorder. He imagines he's somewhere else completely."

This had come as a shock to Gregor. A disorder? What did they mean, these people? And where else could I be? I'm on my island. MY island. I can see things. I can hear things. I can touch things.

"It's funny," the man said. "There's absolutely no history of mental illness in his family. I think he's one apple that fell way off the tree," Gregor realized with a cold dread that he was the "he".

Last week ... or maybe it was two weeks ago ...

   If it was that long ago, what took you so long to tell us about it?

Yeah. Sorry. My bad. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah... about 60 weeks ago, I was getting coffee with the editor of Writing magazine. I have a tendency to talk her ear off in almost every situation and this day (about 537 weeks ago) was no different. I was telling her how much I was enjoying a book I was reading. The book in question was A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. We had both seen the author read from this exact novel at an event in New York City a while back (you can read about that night here) and she had bought me the book for my birthday.

ANYWAY...

As we're talking and preparing our coffee, a woman next to us overhears the conversation and jumps in.

"I love that book," she says. "I've always had a thing for John Irving." (I assume she meant John Irving's writing, but then again, what do I know? Maybe she's in love with the guy?)

So OK. Now we're talking to some stranger about literature. Awesome! I love it when this happens!

"You should really read the book though," she says. "The book is so much better than the movie."

Huh?

At this point, I surmised that her eavesdropping faculties had malfunctioned. She had heard us wrong. I was talking about the book, A Prayer for Owen Meany, not the movie it was adapted into, Simon Birch. How she made this mistake, I have no idea because I must have said "Owen Meany" at least 3 or 4 times before she spoke up.

Side note - As if this rant isn't confusing enough to follow, try making sense of this: Why would Hollywood disregard a perfectly good character name like "Owen Meany" and change it to "Simon Birch"? What could those west coast fat cats possibly have to gain from committing such a travesty? Show me the marketing research that says "Simon Birch" is a more suitable name for a tiny dude with a high-pitch squeal of a voice than "Owen Meany" and I will show you faulty research. Come on. It's not even a contest.

Side note's Side note - OK, I have an answer to the madness. I just checked IMDB.com, and according to them, "Author John Irving doubted his novel, A Prayer for Owen Meaney, could ever be turned into a film, and sold the screen rights on the condition it not be released under the same name as his book." Well alrighty then! This, I can live with!

Now back to the game...

So here's my problem with this woman that got coffee with us and, consequently, with pretty much everybody in America: if we happen to overhear someone talking about a book, we automatically assume, they are talking about a movie. I don't blame the woman for her oversight. I've probably been guilty of this, too. And I'm not a complete snob. There are plenty of films out there that, I'm sure, are much better than the books they come from. I just can't think of any right now.

Argh. I think I had a point originally, and I think it was a good one. But it is obvious now that I have completely lost it and am even coming off as some kind of angry literary purist jerk. I suppose that's what I get for waiting 900 bizillion weeks to write about it.

Wow. Sorry.

---------------------

Starting over...

I like A Prayer for Owen Meany. It is a book that I have enjoyed reading. Owen is a fascinating character. And the story is warm.

The End

According to a well-worn proverb, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the January 2007 issue of Writing, we published a photograph this photograph in our "I,000 Words" column and asked you: What memory from your own life does this photograph prompt? What places or persons does it remind you of? Write a narrative essay that begins with the words "I remember ..."

Here is one of our favorite submissions. It comes to us from Rachel Ourand, a junior at Huntingtown High School in Huntingtown, MD. When she looked at this image, she was reminded of a photograph on the fourth page of her family album—a picture of a rusty, blue car with the seat pushed up to reveal a melted lunch box on the floor.

I remember it was the first day back from spring break. Aunt Kathy decided to take me and Mandy out to breakfast at Denny’s for the “special occasion” as she liked to call it.  
   I was in a blue dress and Mandy in jeans and a t-shirt.  She was going to middle school which is so much superior to my second-grade self. It was OK with me though. I loved Mandy and thought it made her that much cooler.  I had a middle schooler to look out for me. What a cousin she was!  
   So I got up and put my pink backpack on the kitchen table.  I started the check list. 
   “Pencil?” My aunt asked.
   “Check.”  I answered.  
   “Book?” She always had to make sure everything is in place.
  “Check.” 
 “Paper?”
  “Check.”
  “Folder?”
 “Check”
 “OK, I think that’s it. Go put your shoes on. And where is Mandy? Mandy!”  She screamed.
 “Wait!  My lunch!”  I ran to the fridge.
 “Oh, yes. How could we ever forget Rachel’s lunch?!”  My aunt laughed.
   It was a very special lunch. I had especially made it the night before. I had a ham and cheese sandwich on “white bread” (at that age I didn’t really know the difference between whole wheat bread and regular bread I just liked to argue that “white bread” was the good kind), a Hi-C juice box, an apple, and lastly a fruit-roll-up. Last time we had fruit-roll-ups my brother, Mike, and Mandy had eaten them all before I got any and fruit-roll-ups were my favorite!  So I made sure that the next time we bought them I got one—the first one to be exact. 
   Anyway I set my lunch in my back pack in front of all my books because I didn’t want it to get squished.  Mandy came in ready to go and I put on my shoes and tied them.  Not too bad may I say for a six year old, double knots and all; I did it on my own.  We went outside and walked to the old rusty blue car.  I got in the back and set my back pack beside me so as not to hurt my lunch. Then Mandy got in the passenger side and handed me her books.  Man!  Those things were heavy!  I put them on the seat and set my book bag on top of them. 
 “OK, everyone have everything?” my aunt asked.
 “Yes, Mom. Now, let’s go!” Mandy said.
 “Rachel, do you have . . .”
 “Yes, Aunt Kathy. I have underwear.” Man, forget to put on underwear once in your life and they never let it go. I mean it was kindergarten and they had rushed me out of the house even though I kept trying to tell them I didn’t have any on under my dress. 


Aunt Kathy started the car and off we went. It was a bright and sunny morning and I keep looking out through the car window for people but I never found any.
 Next thing I knew the car broke down, not even two minutes from the Denny’s.  All we had to do is turn the corner and it was on our left.   I could see the end of the road and the turn! The car had enough power for my aunt to pull into someone’s drive way.  It was the last house in the neighborhood. 
 My aunt told us to stay in the car and she would go and knock on the door to use the phone and call my uncle.  I looked out the windows at the neighborhood and everything was quiet.  It was like one of those picture perfect neighborhoods with the ball in the lush green mowed lawns and all the cars neatly parked in their driveways.  The only thing missing was the people. 
 The floor of the car started to get warm and I could feel the heat through my shoes.
 “Mandy?”  I asked.
 “Hmm,” she replied.
 “Mandy, is the floor hot to you?  Because I can feel it and it’s hot.”
 “Yeah, it is getting warm.” At this point we both were looking at the floor of the car trying to figure out why it was so hot. 
 “Get out the car!  Get out the car!”  My aunt screamed at us.  I looked up and there was smoke coming out from the hood.

Hi there!

We have one more "Forever in Blue--The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood" book by Anne Brashares to giveaway. This one isn't signed, but it's brand new and could be yours!

The first person to write to word@weeklyreader.com wins it. Follow these directions exactly and the book is yours:

1) In the subject line, write Pants Book Giveaway. Write it exactly like that. Any misspellings or wrong caps will be ignored.

2) In the body of the email, tell us a story. Make it a good one.

That's it! Come and get it!

Word.

1/31/07 - Editor's note - This book has been given away. But by all means, feel free to tell us a story anyway. And keep looking back here for many more giveaways throughout 2007!

- Essay by Lauren Walton, Grade 8

Monopoly. Who doesn't love the game? But have you ever thought about the game pieces? Or asked yourself, "Now why do I always choose that old top hat?" Probably not. But I did.

I was in the middle of an intense game of Monopoly. I could either use my remaining $200 to buy the B&O Railroad, giving me a close to finished set (I would need only one more, the Pennsylvania Railroad). Or I could save my money and use it in the future for property. As I sat there, weighing my decision, I looked at all of the odd game pieces I could have chosen from. I could have been a speedy car or a powerful ship. Or perhaps a fashionable purse. But no, I chose a dorky and childish little rocking horse, the old fashioned kind children in the '40s played with. Why had I made such a selection? One can only hope I was choosing at random, for if I truly wanted that piece, it would display a certain speck of insanity. Yes, I am insane! I didn't choose at random, I was the first to get my piece! I had chosen that rocking horse! But why?

Perhaps it was because I longed for my childhood again, where I was allowed to cheat in the game of Monopoly. But that wouldn't make much sense, for when I was little I always chose the iron and set up a random business of my own where the other players (my family of course) could pay me to iron their pink, blue, green, and yellow Monopoly cash. So it couldn't be a desire for memories to be woken up and remembered.

Well, I have always loved horses. Maybe I chose the silly rocking horse so I could pretend I was riding all over the ritzy areas of Boardwalk and Park Place, with the wind whipping at my face, and a sense of freedom flowing through my veins. What am I talking about? I hate horses! Well, not hate, as my mother always says, "Hate is a strong word." But ever since that mangy buckskin sent me flying into the cow patties piled up out in the pasture after bucking me straight and hard, I guess I've never cared for them much. The stench took days to scrub off. No, that can't be it.

Maybe, just maybe, it was to connect on a deeper level with my redneck past. After all, I was born in Arkansas. But wait! I don't really care for rednecks at all! I have grown up in Chicago my whole life, and the only time I've even stepped on a farm in my life was when I was seven! I'll never forget the smell.

After much contemplation, I think I finally discovered my motive for selecting the rocking horse! It wasn't because I wanted to connect with my redneck heritage, or that I love horses, or that I longed for my childhood. It was because it is the one piece that I personally took to biting as a baby, and no one has ever trusted me with any other piece since. Oh, the tragedies in life!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Poe!

We hope you enjoyed our Poe extravaganza issue of READ this month. I know we certainly enjoyed putting it together for you. The best part, for me, was getting to interview the man. He had a lot to say and it was really quite an honor to get to speak to him. It's not that often that we get an audience with such a famous dead author. Yes, dead. Mr. Poe is dead. Long live Mr. Poe!

It has been 157 years and 3 months since Edgar Allan Poe has walked the face of the earth. But who's counting, right? Well, even though it's been so long, here's one guy (or gal?) who certainly hasn't forgotten the master of macabre.

A toast! To Mr. Edgar Allan Poe!
A man of whom I never did know
In life, although I did pretend
To meet the man to meet READ's ends

Such is the stuff of silly. I never was a good poet. Wait a minute... POEt? Surely this can't be coincidental! When Edgar (Don't Call Me "Allen") Poe wasn't busy writing the most gruesome and terrifying of stories, he bided his creative time by penning such masterpieces as The Raven, and Annabel Lee (both of which you can read in the current issue of READ). Although Mr. Poe was (and is, and always will be) revered as a great and classic poet, he once was noted as saying, "Most of those who hold high places in our poetical literature are absolute nincompoops." Oh Poe. Oh dear, sweet Edgar Allan Poe.

One of my favorite POEms, is a short little diddy. It goes like so...

In visions of the dark night
   I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
   Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
   To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
   Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
   While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
   A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
   So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
   In Truth's day-star?

Ahh. Sigh. Now I have lost my train of thought. That can happen upon reading such a work of art. What would you name this poem? I would name it "A Dream". It's simple. It conveys all. It works. Oh wait. That's what it's called. Gee golly Poe was a smart one! All right then, since I don't want to steal his idea, I guess I'll say that I would call this poem, "Stanley." No no no.

What else? What else? Well, there's TONS of Poe information in our READ issue. Have I mentioned our READ issue yet? It's all about Poe.

"Who?"
"Poe."
"Who?"
"Edgar Allan Poe."
"Oh. Poe. Why didn't you say so?"
"D'oh!"

Oh hey! OK, so I'm obviously running out of ideas here. That's OK. I've got one more for ya. Although the interview with Mr. Poe in READ magazine is mostly complete and uncut, due to lack of space, there was one question and, subsequently, one answer that was omitted. Hey, lucky you for stopping by here at WORD today! You get the backstage pass! I leave you now with this all too important dialogue:

Me: Soooo, Mr. Poe, tell me, what's death like?
Poe: Trust me brother, keep on livin'.

...And then he jumped on his Harley, nailed a killer sweet jump, and rode off into the sunset...

 Oh Poe. You so crazy!!

- Shelun Tsai, Grade 10

Fifty birds- black and fat- hunt
The bread crumbs dead
Swooping through the air
To attack the dotted ground

Fifty birds- full and lazy- wait
For cars to pass
Demanding royal treatment
Along the gray stretch of path

Fifty birds- digested and hungry- fly
Across the players’ field
Deciding without shame
To splatter down white rain

Hey. I'm supposed to be writing a play right now for READ issue 16. But I'm not. Don't tell anyone. What happened was, I started writing it and then I started zoning out, and then something else came up, and then I had to go to the library, and then it was lunch, and then something else came up, and then we had a meeting, and then I came back, and then I came here, and now here I am. Fascinating stuff, isn't it?

So I've been reading up on my Harry Potter. Is it a sin that I haven't read these books yet? Yes. Yes it is. Well, I've always meant to read them. And now I am. I'm taking it slow. As long as I finish all 6 before the final one comes out (sometime this summer), then I'm good.

My thoughts on the series so far:

Book 1 - The Sorcerer's Stone - Very good. It was a great introduction to the characters and gave me a slight complex about being a muggle.

Book 2 - The Chamber of Secrets - Not so good. I thought that Book 2 was basically Book 1 mangled, mashed, and regurgitated through a straw. OK, so Harry hates living with the Dursleys. Got it. OK, so Harry is smarter than the average wizard. Got it. OK, so Hermione is annoying. Yeah, definitely got it. OK, so Malfoy is Harry's nemesis. Yup, got that, too. Everyone goes crazy for Quidditch; there's a bad guy and a showdown. Dumbledore says something wise and Snape seems to be evil but really isn't... or is he? I don't know yet! But I do know the awful spoiler that is impossible to not know in this Harry Potter crazed world so let's just leave it at that and hope that things work out in the end. Yeah. Book 2 gave me nothing that Book 1 didn't already... except the heebie jeebies. Thumbs down. Not a big fan.

Book 3 - The Prisoner of Azkaban - I just finished this one. Much better! I truly enjoyed it. Sirius Black is a serious dude. I have a lot more respect for Harry now and all the garbage that he has to put up with for just being Harry. I loved how quick the ending came. One second, Harry and Ron and Hermione were walking away from Hagrid's hut (invisible under the cloak), and the next second... BAM! Welcome to the denouement, son! But was it the finale exactly? Nope. First, there was an entire chapter of storytelling that explained pretty much everything that happened in the rest of the book. (I'm being terribly vague for the 4 or 5 people out there who haven't read it yet.) Usually, if I'm reading a book and the ending comes with a pre-packaged storytelling device, I get very angry. Not here, though. I don't know why or how, but something about Ms. Rowling's handling of the whole thing had me spellbound and mesmerized. And if those are the same thing then I was in both places at once. How can you be in two places at once? Read this book and ask Hermione. So there.

So now it's on to Book 4. I'm not going to hit it right away. I'm working on a couple other reads first. I like to take my Potter in spurts as opposed to a non-stop thrill ride. It's for the best... if you're me.

Hey, so you want to talk about Harry Potter? Leave a comment below! But do me a favor and don't ruin the story for anyone (especially for me). Don't give away major plot points, that's all I ask.

Oh, and totally unrelated... did you see the Little Miss Muffet video in the post below? It's pretty cool. just click on it and it should start playing. Tell us what you think! It's the first time we've included video on this blog and I'm curious to know how it is received.

All right... enough stalling. Back to work...

Peace.

-By Becca Giles

 

Oslo, Norway. Miranda Muffet, who has been missing for three days, was found early this morning. She was floating on a homemade raft in the Arctic Ocean after drifting 400 miles from her home in Norway. After an unconscious Muffet finally came to, she was severely disoriented. However, the captain of the retrieving boat was able to acquire some information. Apparently, Ms. Muffet had been frightened by a strange spider and went temporarily psychotic. Immediately she fled the scene and, in the process, spilled her curds and whey. Psychologists say her reaction was caused by her extreme arachnophobia. It seems that Ms. Muffet felt the sea was her only escape from the arachnid. She is currently in a mental hospital. No word yet on her release.  

SesameStreet.com

- Story by Abigail Slack, Grade 6

 

House after house, building after building flew by and a soft drizzle lingered in the air. How could my parents do this to me, Jennifer Lantaly, the cheerleader, an A+ student? Make me move away from everything I loved, everything I had ever cared

about!

 

"All because of his stupid job," I huffed.

 

"Honey," Mom said, "this is it."

 

I glanced out the window and a beautiful redbrick house stared back at me. I had to admit it was spectacular. Every inch of the yard was green. Grass spread out all along the yard, the bushes were slightly overgrown, and the large pine trees were dense. There it was, my new home, right there, nestled in the trees, just sitting there, waiting to be opened.

 

Dad pulled into the driveway and the large, rumbling moving truck screeched to a stop on the street. I climbed out of my father's silver Volvo, slamming the door and making my parents jump. Even though I was disappointed because of the move, I was overwhelmed with curiosity. I had the strangest feeling that a secret was hidden somewhere in there, just waiting to be discovered. I hurried up the front steps and slowly, I turned the handle and the door creaked open.

 

I gasped. I had never seen anything so beautiful. An old brown staircase sneaked up a wall and the kitchen was bright with many windows. There were counters and old brown cupboards. I walked into the kitchen and reached out my hand and touched the glassy, brown counter. It felt cold, like the window of a car on a winter day. I took in

every detail. Inside a nook, surrounded by windows, I gathered, was the place to put a table. It was cute and homey. I advanced up the creaky stairs, running my hand along the smooth railing. I walked down the hallway and peered into a bedroom. I could tell that this was my room. No master bathroom or giant closet. There were just a few windows on a soft yellow wall.

 

"My bed will go perfect with these walls," I thought. Just then, I noticed something shimmering on the white carpet. I knelt down and saw a locket with a note. The sun danced upon the golden locket. I reached down and picked up the note. A strange riddle was written on it. It said, O lucky one who finds this locket, a place beyond your dreams awaits you, a magical world and just one simple word, wear the locket and simply say 'open', to discover the amazing world of Anazora.

 

"What is this?" I asked myself. Was this some sort of trick? Could I really wear this locket, say "open", and discover a new land?

     

Even though I should have told someone, I was dying with excitement. I slipped on the locket and fastened the clasp. Shivering with anticipation, I said in a loud, clear voice, "open." My brown golden locks swished behind me and the room around me became unclear. Just like that, the room disappeared and a burst of light surrounded me.

Click "read more" to, um, Read More!

Why do you write? 

This is a question I always ask myself at the beginning of a new year -- and, each year, my answer is more or less the same: because I want to connect with people and make a difference in the world through my written words.

The world, however, is an awfully big place, and sometimes it can be daunting to think of your words out there, attempting to touch the people who read them. I'd like to share a story that always helps me find inspiration and motivation when I get overwhelmed:

A terrific storm pounded the coast all night long. The following day, a man walked alone along the beach that was covered with hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of starfish that had washed up on the sand by the high waves and were now stranded.

Far ahead of him on the beach, the man saw another beachcomber who was constantly bending down, straightening up, throwing something -- stones? -- into the ocean, and then bending down again.  As the first man walked closer, he saw that what the other man was throwing into the ocean was not rocks or sticks, but rather starfish, one by one by one.

"What in the world are you doing?" the first man asked when he reached the second man.

"I'm throwing these starfish back into the ocean because if they don't get back in the water soon they will die," he answered.

 "But there are hundreds -- thousands -- of starfish on this stretch of beach alone," the first man protested. "What possible difference can you make?"

"Well, to this starfish," the second man said, holding one of them in his hand as he prepared to toss it into the waves, "I can make a big difference."

With each word you write, you too can make a big difference.  Here's to a new year full of imagination and inspiration.

Hello Writers!

Just a quick note here to tell you about what's going on with our 3 major writing contests this year.

1) TAKE ME AWAY - The winners of the Take Me Away contest have been chosen and notified. Thank you all for participating. We had over 1,700 entries this year! Wow! The winning poems and stories will be published in the April/May issue of Writing magazine.

2) Student Writing Showcase - The deadline for ALL student writing showcase entries is tomorrow, Thursday, January 11, 2007. Make sure to get your entries in before midnight tomorrow night! There are no rules or restrictions in this contest. (How refreshing!) Simply email your poems/stories/essays to word@weeklyreader.com. Make sure to write "Student Writing Showcase" in the subject line. The winners will be published in a special bonus super duper wowee zowee electronic magazine on May 11, 2007. This contest is brought to you by the editors of READ and WRITING Magazines.

3) Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest - The deadline for this contest is Wednesday, January 31. You still have a few weeks to compose a brilliant poem of lyrical bliss. Think beauty. Think art. Now stop thinking and write! Click here for more information and to print out the submission form.

That's all she wrote, my friends! Make sure to get in while the gettin's good! Can't wait to read your work!

Peace.

It's a new year and it's time to read some new books. "But which books?" you may be asking. Fear not. The answer is here in this very blog entry! Here at Weekly Reader we have piles of interesting new books! While no single human being could be expected to read them all, I’ve made a spirited attempt over the last couple weeks. Here I present to you three books I recommend to fill your winter downtime.
First, there is a book about a misanthropic Australian high school student caught up in a deadly plot.
Second, preview a book about the dark ironies of a Boston slave living through the Revolutionary War.
Third, check out a book about mice saving the world from eternal darkness. This could shape out to be a very interesting year …

Teachers are everyday heroes, there’s no doubt about it. But it’s not everyday that we get to see a movie about students who are heroes too. Today, an inspiring and relevant movie about an out-of-the-ordinary teacher and group of students comes to theaters near you. Freedom Writers is a must-see.

 

Freedom Writers (MTV Films/ Double Feature Films) is a true story about a gutsy English teacher at Wilson High School in Long Beach, Calif. who uses writing and literature to change to the lives of her high school students. It is based on a 1999 book The Freedom Writers Diary: How a Teacher and 150 Teens Used Writing to Change Themselves and the World Around Them, by The Freedom Writers and Erin Gruwell. 

 

A first time teacher, 23-year old Ms. Gruwell (played powerfully by Academy Award-winner Hilary Swank) arrives at the first day of school hopeful and optimistic about the year ahead. She knows that her racially diverse students came from tough backgrounds—most are gang members in a post-Rodney King Los Angeles and live in the ghetto—but she is unprepared for the fights and her volatile classroom. Still, Ms. Gruwell is tougher than her pearls and red jacket demeanor. She sticks around. 

 

One day, when one of her students draws a racial caricature about Jamal, a black student in her class, she uses the incident as an opportunity for a lesson on tolerance. She tells her students about the Holocaust and begins to talk to them about the struggles of people throughout history and across all races.

 

As the movie progresses, Ms. Gruwell realizes that if she wants to connect with her students, she has to first understand where they’re coming from and listen to them. She gives each student a black and white composition book and asks them to start writing everyday—anything; poetry, lists; songs; journals. Her students first reaction is "Everyday is a war for us out there. How is studying grammar and literature going to help us?"    

 

In response, Ms. Gruwell assigns The Diary of Anne Frank to her students (many of whom have never owned their own books) and begins to teach them about the Holocaust and the Civil Rights movement. As the students read these stories, they start to write down their own life stories--and become a community engaged in a "Toast for Change."

 

"The kids learned to pick up a pen instead of a gun, and the act of writing saved them," says director and writer Richard LaGravanese who based his moving screenplay on the book The Freedom Writers Diary, a collection of the students’ and Ms. Gruwell’s diaries.

 

"Writing might be one of the best vehicles for some of my students to escape their horrific environments and personal demons. Even though they're not held captive in an attic or dodging bombs in a basement, the violence permeating the streets is just as frightening--and just as real," reads one of Ms. Gruwell's entries in her diary. In the movie, Ms. Gruwell uses writing to teach her students that literature can change lives because it shows you that you are not alone.  

 

"I have great respect for Anne Frank for writing about her life in the attic, but to me, my neighborhood is somewhat like her attic. ... Like Anne Frank, I live through the pain of being stuck in my house because I don't want to become a casualty of war, gang warfare that is going on outside of my bedroom walls," writes one student in her diary.

 

So, how do you make a movie out of a book? LaGravanese selected excerpts from the diaries in the book and spent months interviewing the original Freedom Writers. The result: an emotional and realistic drama that sheds light on some of their most compelling stories and struggles.

 

Eva (in a powerful performance by April Hernandez) is a tough yet sensitive Latina girl whose father was arrested when she was a child. She witnesses an accidental shooting and has to decide whether to protect her friend or reveal the truth (i.e. do the right thing). Andre (played by Mario) has a brother who is on trial and may go to jail. Sindy’s (Jacklyn Ngan) family came to LA from Cambodia. She hasn’t been to prison, but has lived in a refugee camp and saw her best friend shot in front of her. As the movie progresses, each of these students struggles to make the right choices for their lives. Will they succeed? You must watch the movie to find out.

 

Freedom Writers is an inspiring and humbling film with magnetic performances by Swank and the cast of newcomers who play her students in Room 203.  The chemistry between them is palpable. But, it’s so much more than that. It’s a message of hope, tolerance and empowerment, an example of how the voices of teens need to be heard, and about how human suffering can be lessened through sharing and understanding.

 

We're all familiar with the famous inscription on the Statue of Liberty: Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

 

Well, I was thinking about this quote while watching the movie--and it struck me that it fit Ms. Gruwell pretty darn well. She opened her arms to a group of students who had been abandoned by the system and gifted them with respect, hope, and tools for survival. In turn, her students were brave enough to let go of their fear of change and accept the lamp of light that was offered to them.

 

Now, these are what I call heroes. If you want to be humbled and inspired this weekend, go watch Freedom Writers. Then come back here on Monday and let's talk about it. ...

 

Did you see the movie? What did you think? What was your favorite scene? Did you know about the Freedom Writers before the movie?

 

Freedom Writers is rated PG-13.

The following blog entry was written by Jessica Livingston, Associate Editor of Know Your World-Extra Magazine.

If books are food for thought, then what I read is definitely junk food--Bridget Jones's Diary, The Devil Wears Prada, The Nanny Diaries, and the like. If a book has a plot that centers around finding love while still finding time to go shopping (two of my favorite things, by the way!), I just eat it up.

 

They're not Shakespeare. Most don't even have original plots. In fact, give me the set up for any of these "chick lit" books, and I could tell you how they end. A girl from small town, U.S.A. moves to the big city (usually Manhattan). Her job is horrible, but luckily she has a best friend to fall back on. And then there's that guy who seems so mean at the beginning of the story. Well, he comes to her rescue, and they fall in love. Predictable. Clichéd. Maybe even trite. Doesn't matter. I cry every time.

 

There's just something about that happy ending. When I sit down to read, it's nice knowing that the story won't end in death or tragedy (except for some scorned lovers here and there). They're quick reads, and when I finish, I'm happy.

 

Maybe they're not the meatiest, but these books are always what I'm craving. And in this world clogged with Dickens and Steinbeck and Melville (oh my!), it's nice to read something that's light, but just as satisfying. And in my opinion, there's always room for dessert.

Happy New Year!
We're starting 2007 off right by bringing you an exclusive interview with Ann Brashares, the author of the highly acclaimed Travelling Pants series! The interview was conducted by Sarah Caron, Associate Editor of Current Events, a magazine here at Weekly Reader.

 

Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood, is the fourth and final installment of the Travelling Pants series. In it, Lena, Carmen, Bridget, and Tibby are on summer break from college and heading off in different directions for all new adventures. When we interviewed Ann Brashares about her new book, we could only fit part of what she had to say into our magazine. It was such a great interview that we had to share the rest with everyone here.

On the Sisterhood ...
With the girls being nearly 20, Brashares said that she had no choice but to introduce some more mature themes in Forever in Blue. "This is a young adult book. It's really not intended for the younger readers," Brashares cautioned, saying that she sometimes will warn parents at book signings that it might be a good idea to have kids wait to read.

"The characters are nearly 20 and I feel like I cannot write them at a different age than what they are. But I'm also a mother. I can't not think about the readers so I felt a little bit of a pull. I have a certain amount of conscious and consciousness about it. I try not to have it be too graphic or two disturbing," Brashares said.

Now, the Sisterhood series is complete, but Brashares says that there still might be more in store for the girls. There are talks going on about another possible movie. "Six months ago, I would have said to you, 'No there aren't any more movies planned' but they are working on a new one right now. It's a good possibility but by no means a certainly," Brashares said. And although this is the last book in the series, Brashares admits that there could be a book about the girls as adults sometime far in the future. Brashares also says that she plans on continuing writing for teens.

On being a writer ...
"Being an editor demystified the writing process for me." Brashares, an editor before becoming a writer, says. "I would watch people write their books and I would see the first drafts and all the mistakes and how much an editor can add to it. I just saw that books are sort of living and flexible. It was sort of like I backed into it in a way. Having seen so many approaches to this ... it was kind of like you don't have to be a genius to try this. I've seen great writing and bad writing. It made me think that you don't have to have any sort of gifts to at least try to tell a story."

She said that she always loved reading and telling stories, but wasn't in the habit of writing them down. "I spent so much of my time in my head. I told myself stories all the time, I still do. I didn't write down many of those stories but I wrote down a few when I was younger ... when I was a teenager."

Despite Brashares' success, she says that she isn't sure what to think of it all. "It's hard to say or know anything about it. Part of it is you just think 'That was lucky.' I came into my writing career with very low hopes. I thought I could just patch together some type of living. I can't believe I am getting paid for this. In a way it feels like the luckiest thing possible to connect to a reader as a writer. There is something deeply gratifying about it. That is my favorite part of it."

Advice for aspiring writers ...
"The first commandment of writing is always to read. The more you read, the more comfort you have with language. But just read for pleasure. I know a lot of people would say write everyday. It's a good idea, but not essential."

Brashares also says that having unplanned time -- time where you aren't off to soccer or lessons -- is helpful too so you can exercise your imagination. "I am a big advocate of having a lot of unstructured time. I was, if anything, very under scheduled. I have spent a lot of time in my imagination."

 

Current Events is an excellent magazine that covers the world news for students. Have your teacher order it today! Also, you can look forward to a **NEW** Current Events blog coming to a computer near you in September... details to come...

 

ONE MORE THING
The first 4 students to leave a comment about Ann Brashares or the Travelling Pants series will get a free SIGNED copy of her new book, Forever in Blue: The Fourth Summer of the Sisterhood. It hits stores Janaury 9. Why buy one when you could get one for free? Leave a comment below and tell us why you love this series! Hurry! Before someone else does!