 Tuesday, February 27, 2007
 Happy Birthday Henry Wadsworth Longfellow! You only turn 200 once!
I dare you to take a look at this picture and tell me you don't want to party with this dude. Come on! Help him blow out the candles before the roof catches fire.
Longfellow was most famous for poems like Paul Revere's Ride, and The Song of Hiawatha. Here at WORD, we like to rise above popularity contests. With that in mind, please enjoy Longfellow's lesser known poem, The Children's Hour.
The Children's Hour
-by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!
I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
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Monday, February 26, 2007
According to a well-worn proverb, a picture is worth a thousand words. In the February/March 2007 issue of Writing, we published a photograph in our "1,000 Words" column and asked you to write a dialogue in which you give Oscar--the celebrated mascot of the annual Academy Awards--some good advice on what to wear and how to be an examplary host. Here's one of our favorites. 
Oscar
A ten minute play by Doug Dyszlewski, Grade 8
Ten minutes before Oscar Awards start. Doug and Oscar are talking before the Awards Ceremony begins.
Producer: (Walks over to Oscar) You're on in ten minutes.
Doug: Are you almost ready?
Oscar: Yes, I have been ready for a while.
Doug: Okay, but just keep in mind that this year is going to be even bigger than last year so I hope you're prepared.
Oscar: You have said that every single year since I have done this, yet it's always the same.
Doug: I know, I know, I just don't want you to mess up or anything.
Oscar: Let me ask you this question: how could I possibly mess up if I just am standing there? I don't do anything, honestly it's really not that hard.
Doug: The reason we fired the guy before you was because he messed up. He fell on the an award winner and broke his leg. Would you want that to happen to you?
Oscar: No, but...
Doug: Don't forget we want you to look good, so if you move and scratch yourself or something like that when you're up on stage, you will be fired in a second.
Oscar: Okay then keep that blow dryer on me if you want me to look good.
Doug: This blow drying really doesn't do anything for you. It just makes me look like I'm doing something in the hustle and bustle here. Everyone is always doing something right before the Awards and I'll get yelled at if I'm not working, so...
Oscar: Well fine then, make me look better in some other way. I don't want either of us to be fired.
Doug: Okay then, I'll go get another gold suit to make you look newer. The suit that you have on is a bit wrinkled.
Oscar: Yes, that's perfect, another suit.
(Doug runs over to get another suit and then puts it on Oscar.)
Oscar: How do I look? Good right?
Doug: Perfect.
Oscar: There's still something missing...
Doug: There really isn't anything else to do.
Oscar: Okay.
Producer: (Walks over again.) You're on in three minutes.
Oscar: Wow, seven minutes have gone by fast!
Doug: It's fine... don't get stressed.
Oscar: Well when you told me how I could mess up... I'm getting nervous.
Doug: Now come on... you've been doing this for four years.
Oscar: I know but I never really thought of what could go wrong.
Doug: Nah, you'll do fine. I've made you look your best, as always.
Oscar: Okay, I think I...
Producer: (Walks over again.) One minute...
Doug: Okay, you're ready. Just go out there and look your best. That's all you have to do and you'll shine like the stars.
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Friday, February 23, 2007
- Poem by Min Kyung Lobb, Grade 11
Two girls sitting on a swing, swaying
Freely, dominating the air.
The slight breeze flies over their heads
Carrying each hair strand above to dance.
Grasping the momentum, laughter is heard
As the visions of ground and sky connect.
Like a dove they soar through the heavens
Catching each sunbeam on their faces
And jolt back down, down to earth.
Into the umbrage of the giant oak tree.
The mix of the crimson setting sun
And summer green grass blurs.
Wind howling wraps their little bodies
Fluttering their cool blue dresses
Accompanied by the violent squeak of the rusted swings
They ride away their tears.
Closing their eyes and reaching the clouds
They taste the bud of heaven.
Comforted by this sensation,
The sensation of freedom,
They unravel their hands and show their palms
And blow their troubles away.
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- Essay by Traci Harms
It was a gorgeous morning in June that I was spending at my grandparent's house. All of my little cousins did not understand the concept of a peaceful morning and it seemed like they just kept getting louder and louder. There was no way I was going to be able to take the unbearable noise that kept coming from their large mouths. I needed some time to myself to sit and enjoy the amazing day. I decided to step outside and bask in the sunlight and just get lost in my dreams where nobody would have the chance to bother me.
As I opened the huge patio door, I knew I was entering my throne of solitude. The first step out the door proved to me that this was going to be a place where I could spend my morning in peace. Everything was perfect and it was comparable to a utopia that I could only imagine to find in my dreams. The bright yellow sun was beating down on me like I was the only person it had to please. There was a slight, fresh breeze that combined with the sun to make it the perfect temperature for any person. With each step that I took I got deeper and deeper into the fairyland that I was creating.
As I walked toward the hammock with my bare feet, all I could feel was the cold, wet dew that splattered from the lush green grass to my body. A cute little bunny surrounded by fluff scurried right in front of me just as I was passing the fountain. I reached the hammock and plopped down suddenly, just to get lost in my thoughts. I thought about how sensational it was to be alone and not have to worry about anyone or anything else.
As I was laying there staring at the clear blue sky I could hear the trickle of the fountain and the neighbor's dog whimpering for food. I rolled over on my side to watch all the different critters go on with their part in nature. I saw a small, gray spider spinning his web between two branches of one of the broad oaks holding up my hammock. I could see a colorful butterfly fluttering gracefully around without a care in the world. There was also a busy little bee collecting pollen from a nearby lilac.
The fragrance of the assortment of flowers was so sweet I could almost taste it. My grandma meticulously put each flower in its correct place so she could make her backyard the best in town. I could hear all the birds in the neighborhood chirping in their own little language. I was starting to get lulled to sleep by the peaceful buzz of somebody mowing their lawn in the distance but the smell of my dad starting the grill kept me awake. Just as I took a sip of the tangy lemonade that my grandma had brought out to me moments before, my cousins figured out where I was. They came outside into my grandma's backyard pounding on drums as if they were the drum line in a parade, interrupting my fantasy. The best of my day was coming to a close and it was time for me to face what the world had to throw at me.
It was the best morning I had experienced in months. It was so surreal and there was nothing else that could have made it better. It was if I was in my own fantasyland and everything was just as I would have it. Everything pleased me and I was as happy as a three year old on their birthday.
That was one of the best days of my life and if I ever need to go to a happy place I just put my mind in my grandmother's backyard where I know everything will be just like paradise. 
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I know! I know!
We've been a little obsessed over Terabithia this past week. Whatever, it's a great book/movie!
Anyway, before end of day today, I'll post two new student writings. How do ya like them apples?
Check back later.
Word.
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Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Discover a place that will never leave you.
And a friendship that will change you forever.
It is not what you are expecting. ... It's better.
You've seen the ads, the commercials, the trailers. Bridge to Terabithia is a film about a fantasy world filled with giants and mythical creatures, right? Well, sort of... but not really.
If you're looking for a Chronicles of Narnia or Lord of the Rings type flick, look elsewhere. Bridge to Terabithia is not set in a world that is far removed from our own. In fact, it is our own world.
The fantasy part of it is there, but it lies within the  collective imaginations of Jesse and Leslie. These two best friends have such vivid imaginations that they actually create (and rule) a world called Terabithia. In the book, the fantasy part is played down, and it's not that much bigger in the movie either.
Before I saw this movie, I was actually angry with its promoters. Being an avid believer that films should stay true to the books from which they came, I was upset that millions of young adults would see the advertisements and flock to theaters on false pretenses. After seeing the movie yesterday, I'm OK with it. As much as they pushed the fantasy aspect, I think audiences will be pleased, even if they were expecting something else.
If you are not familiar with the story, I could give you a general plot outline but that would wreck it for you. And that would be pretty lousy.
"So, I don't get it. Why should I see this movie?"
I'll tell you why. Because it is an important movie to see. Its themes touch on the parts of human nature that are often overlooked. At its best, it reaches the outer limits of the mind and twists and squeezes the heart. In other words, it has power. And it is a power everyone should tap into.
Wow. You're being really vague.
Yeah. I am. I guess you'll just have to go see the movie to understand what I'm talking about. Bring your best friend. When the movie is over, you'll look at each other in a whole new light. I guarantee it.
I give this movie 3 and a half WORDs (out of 4)
WORD WORD WORD WO
The only reason it's not getting 4 is because I reserve the full 4 for the book.
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Friday, February 16, 2007
Author Katherine Paterson wrote the novel, Bridge to Terabithia, in 1977. She recently spoke with WORD about her book, the new Disney film, and life in general.
Have you ever imagined Bridge to Terabithia as a movie on the big screen?
Not in my wildest dreams.
Have you seen the new film?
I've seen a not quite finished version.
 Are you satisfied with it? Does it stay faithful to your novel?
I was happily surprised with the movie. It is not the book, which, of course, it can't be, but I think it is faithful to the story of friendship and loss and new life that the book tells.
What do you think is lost when a book is turned into a movie?
In a book, the reader must create in his/her own imagination the world of the story. A movie necessarily supplies all the pictures.
What do you think is gained?
You gain an audience that doesn't know the book, for one thing. You also gain the vision of all those involved in the making of the movie, just as when a book is illustrated you gain the vision of the artist. It's an enriching experience.
You have often said that children's literature should not shy away from serious issues. How can books prepare young people for adulthood?
Books can be a sort of rehearsal for life situations. They can also help you know and understand people quite different from yourself.
One of my favorite lines in Bridge to Terabithia is "Even a prince may be a fool." It was one of many profound lines that the children characters speak. Do you think most children are wise beyond their years?
Most children are very wise. All you have to do is listen.
Or were Jess and Leslie special?
Of course, they are special, but, then, so are we all.
Was Terabithia a place where they could run away from reality? What else was it?
I hadn't thought of it as escape, but I guess it was, in a way. I feel they were running toward rather than running away from, if that makes any sense.
 What does Terabithia mean to you? What’s your Terabithia?
Terabithia to me is the deep place in our hearts where dreams and ideas--our imagination--is born and grows. When I was a child, we moved many times and I had a number of places that were Terabithia for me--the bottom of our yard among the weeds, the hidden corner of a porch, the old spring house on the farm, the vacant lot across the street, etc. Now that I am grown it is inside of me. But if I hadn't had those physical places of my childhood to dream in, I wonder if I would have a Terabithia inside of myself today.
What does it mean to win the John Newbery Award? What does it mean to win it twice?
The first time I won the Newbery I said to myself, "I'll never mix another quart of dried milk again." From that time on I could afford to buy whole fresh milk for my family. The second time I won, I said to myself, "I can call my friends long distance whenever I want to." And I did. Seriously, it has meant that many more people read and buy my books than I ever could have imagined. Also it means people tend to pay attention to what I say, so I need to watch what I say.
Is there a story that you’re just itching to tell? Or do you think you’ve already written your favorite?
You always hope that you haven't yet written your best book, but I have no idea what that will be about.
Read a review of the movie here.
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 What are the big issues of this book that are true in real life?
The underlying message, what the big story tries to teach you, is that you should be kind to people for who they are and not judge them right away. Just be yourself. Another message is boys and girls can be friends. They don't have to keep in separate groups, and they don't have to be boyfriend and girlfriend. It's just about kindness and your imagination, and having fun and still being able to be a child.
What are the advantages of boy/girl friendships?
They're fun! You might have more in common with a boy than you do with a girlfriend. Friends are just people. They can make great playmates, or they can be really fun to hang out with.
Did you become friends with your co-star, Josh Hutcherson, in real life?
We became very good friends. He's very funny and outgoing, and we always hung out with each other. He was just fun to talk to. We played on the beach together a lot, hung out and watched movies together. I hung out with his little brother too. His whole family is really nice, and his tutor taught me how to throw a football. On our lunch breaks we'd play whiffle ball, sometimes football. It was just a really great experience.
In real life who are your best friends?
I have a lot of older friends. My cousins are all girls on my dad's side. I'm right in the middle, and they are all my best friends. I have three other best friends. One is Julia Winter who played Veruca Salt in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I do have guy friends. I have one really good friend named Tyler. He's my parents' best friends' son. He's 18, and I feel like he's my older brother. It's really just great to be able to have such wonderful friends.
What is the message about bullying in Bridge to Terabithia?
Bullying mostly comes from insecurities about your own self. You have to be comfortable with yourself. It's alright not to be in the in-crowd. You're just who you are and your family and friends love you. You never know truly what someone is feeling inside.
Do you think boys and girls often feel competitive with each other?
Definitely! When I was little I definitely remember having competition with boys. In 3rd or 2nd grade I was in gymnastics. I was quite strong and quick. I beat all the boys in the physical fitness test in school. I thought it was the greatest thing in the whole world. I beat them all in a race and push ups and pull ups. They weren't too happy about that!
 Your character, Leslie, can run faster than all the boys at school, including Jess. How is Leslie competitive in a positive way?
She's just a very open person and wants to learn about the world, and that's how I am. She just likes to have fun. She's not running or racing to win. She's doing it because it's what she likes to do. She believes boys and girls shouldn't be separated because that's not completely fair. She's challenging herself basically, and she's just learning to have fun.
What does Leslie teach Jess about healthy competition?
He begins to realize she's not doing it just to show off like he is. I think he learns it's not always about winning. It's about doing your best and having fun with it.
Had you read the book before you started filming?
I had heard a lot about the book. I read the script and as soon as I finished the script, I read the book. What the movie definitely brings out that the book doesn't is, books let you imagine your own kingdom. Movies tend to bring the book to life. The movie shows you Terabithia instead of you imagining it.
How true is the movie to the book?
I think it matches it really, really closely. It's such a great story. It's not cheesy, it's real, and powerful. It shows you that you really have to love what you have and pay attention while the people you love are still alive because they can teach you a lot of things.
The book was banned in some areas when it came out. What do you think of that?
I'm shocked, actually. I think books make kids deeper people. They can teach you the world.
How is fantasy dealt with in the movie?
It was a really wonderful experience. All the stunts were so much fun to do. Josh was definitely into the stunts! Once we had to pretend the sticks were swords. We did a lot of our own stunts. I liked climbing the tree, just jumping from limb to limb, jumping really high. I knew if I fell or flipped I'd be caught by the wires.
How does this compare with previous acting?
We did a good amount of work in a studio as well as outside ... I love being on location. It was great being able to fantasize and have equal amounts of stunts and acting. It was just a great experience all around, and being in New Zealand made the experience more incredible.
This is the fourth movie you've made that was adapted from a novel. Does your acting really have to be true to the book? How much wiggle room do you have?
Usually, what I do--I read the script or the book beforehand. It's also just a choice I make to read the script and see how close it is to the book. I took Leslie's energy portrayed in the book and combined it with my own and just tried to become Leslie.
What kinds of books do you like to read?
I love to read fantasy fiction. I’m opening up to other books too, like biographies.
Read a review of the movie here.
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Actor Josh Hutcherson plays Jess Aarons in Bridge to Terabithia. He recently spoke with Current Events' associate editor Sarah Caron about his role in the movie and life in general.
 How did you prepare for this role?
I read the script first and, after I read the script, I read the book. It translated very well from the book to the script.
For me, I just imagined that I am Jess Aarons. I guess it's kind of method acting in a way. But method actors tend to stay in character throughout the whole process. When I am not filming I am just Josh.
Is this movie true to the book?
Yes.
The book was banned in some areas when it came out. What do you think of that?
I didn't know it had been banned. But it is very unlike a typical children's book. That's one of the reasons why I really liked the script. It's unlike a lot of family movies there are out right now ... it does have some deeper shades to it, though.
How is fantasy dealt with in the movie?
They used Weta Workshop to create special effects. They were the same people who did Lord of The Rings. They've used them a lot for all the special effects.
Did you do any of the stunts?
I did almost all my own stunts ... there were just a couple of them that were too dangerous. I did as many as they let me do.
What are the big issues of this story that are true in real life?
I think that there are kids who are outcasts and they get kind of picked on at school. They need to find a good friend to hang out with and create sort of a fantasy world like we did in the movie.
What advantages are there of boy/girl friendships?
I think there are advantages to boy and girl friendships because they can lead to other kinds of relationships ... at the same time they can lead to other kind of diversity. It widens kids' horizons on what they like to do, I think.
Did you become friends with your co-star, AnnaSophia Robb, in real life?
We were really good friends. We still are. She came here to visit once because they were going on a trip somewhere and were able to stop by here in Kentucky.
In real life who are your best friends?
One of my best friends is Kiefer Winings. We've been friends since I was 5. Shannon Wadda is my girlfriend and we're really good friends.
What is the message about bullying in Bridge to Terabithia?
The message is sometimes people aren't going to change their ways and you are going to have to find ways to stand up to them.
 Do you think boys and girls often feel competitive with each other?
I think so, especially at the age we are in the movie, which is about 6th grade or so. It's really competitive. But once you get older there isn't so much. For me, I like to let girls win because I just feel like I should.
What kinds of books do you like to read?
I have to do a lot of reading for school for my literature class, so I don't have a lot of time to read ... but my favorite genre is the fantasy genre. It's different. I also love reading scripts. It's probably my favorite thing to read.
I'm home schooled. It makes it a lot easier as far as scheduling goes because you can do it all on your own time. Actually, I am a year ahead in school.
Is there one scene that stands out in your mind the most -- either because it's a favorite or because it was more challenging?
The scene that has the really, really long stunt sequence was my favorite. In the script it was a 6 or 7 page scene, which is really long for a script. It took like 2 and a half or 3 weeks to shoot that one scene.
What's been your favorite role so far?
I liked playing Jess quite a bit because he had a lot of highs and lows. He had a large character arc.
Read a review of the movie here.
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Wednesday, February 14, 2007
On the back page of READ's Valentine's Day issue, we asked you to send us a list of words in order to fill in a Madlibs story. Today, we give you the weirdest stories we could handle. Thanks to everyone who submitted their words!
Oh, and make sure to check out interviews with China Miéville to win a free, signed book! Also, read an interview with the man who wrote Finding Neverland -- Allan Knee. And then, when you're done with that, you can read a super cool story about John Wilkes Booth by 17 year old, Sarah Solomon! WORD is just BURSTING!!! Happy Love Day!
The Alligator and the Crocodile
A Love Story by Bryon Cahill and Audrey Wright
Once upon a lie, in a swamp in the far reaches of a corner of the world no mortal man had ever stepped foot on, lived a sad, little alligator named Tyrone. Tyrone wasn't always sad. In fact, he was often referred to as the swamp's most passionate fellow! However, recent developments have brought on depression.
In the past nanosecond, there have been six different weddings in the swamp. Tyrone attended them all. The first few were blistering and Tyrone was so happy for the couples! But by the fourth wedding, he had begun to think, "Where is my true love?" Once that thought was planted in his head, Tyrone couldn't shake it. He tried smiling at the few remaining single girl alligators that were left in the swamp. But they would have nothing to do with foggy Tyrone. For you see, the few remaining single girl alligators in the swamp were perky.
After about a month of having his flirtations scorned, Tyrone decided to head out for cereulean pastures. "There has to be an alligator-ess out there for me… somewhere." He said to himself as he packed up his things and left his home.
Tyrone searched Zanzibar and Wal-Mart for his one, true love. But as he soon discovered, all swamps were the same. There had been a rash of alligator weddings throughout the land in the past couple years. He blamed the epidemic on mudslides and cursed his fowl luck. Distraught and strong, still, Tyrone pressed on.
One day, when he had just about given up hope of ever finding his uber love, Tyrone was crawling through a particularly funky patch of land. It was so hot that Tyrone began to hallucinate. He saw a dragon and an elf in a boxing match on the back of a velvet rhinoceros. The strangest part of all was that the rhinoceros was commentating!
"In this corner, weighing in at 14 grams, the winged champion of fire, the repulsive demon of the air, the eater of oxen and villages—The Vile Dragoon!" At the mention of his name, The Vile Dragoon raised his massive head and breathed doorknobs into the sky.
"And in this corner … an elf." The tiny man with a pipe in his mouth winked at Tyrone, and with that, Tyrone fainted.
Tyrone slowly opened his eyes. At first, he was sure he had died and gone to the Port-O-John. He was lying in the coolest pool of water he had ever known and he was surrounded by tipsy trees. A dish of food rested just out of his reach and he swam over to it.
"Hey there, stranger." A soft voice whispered. Tyrone was so scared that he exfoliated up and hit his head on the branch of a tree. When he came down, he looked around. First he beheld a vision of beauty—a female crocodile. Then, he saw the bars on every side. He was in a cage!
"Where .. where am I?" Tyrone asked.
"It's called Yaks, baby! They brought you in last night. You were mumblin' about all kinds of crazy stuff. You were funny!" The female crocodile laughed in a high-pitched falsetto and Tyrone's heart just melted.
"I… I'm Tyrone." He managed.
"Hi Tyrone. My name's Ally Gattore. You're cute."
"Really?"
"Why sure, honey! Too bad for the lady alligators out there though. You're gonna be stuck here in this cage for the rest of your life!"
"With… with you?"
"Yes honey. With me."
For the first time in his life, Tyrone had found love. 
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On the back page of READ's Valentine's Day issue, we asked you to send us a list of words in order to fill in a Madlibs story. Today, we give you the weirdest stories we could handle. Thanks to everyone who submitted their words! And happy Love Day!
The Alligator and the Crocodile
A Love Story by Bryon Cahill and
Mrs. Dewees' class at The Chiles Academy
Once upon a lie, in a swamp in the far reaches of a corner of the world no mortal man had ever stepped foot on, lived a sad, little alligator named Tyrone. Tyrone wasn't always sad. In fact, he was often referred to as the swamp's most supercilious fellow! However, recent developments have brought on depression.
In the past one millionth of a second , there have been six different weddings in the swamp. Tyrone attended them all. The first few were punctilious and Tyrone was so happy for the couples! But by the fourth wedding, he had begun to think, "Where is my true love?" Once that thought was planted in his head, Tyrone couldn't shake it. He tried smiling at the few remaining single girl alligators that were left in the swamp. But they would have nothing to do with pungent Tyrone. For you see, the few remaining single girl alligators in the swamp were cadaverous.
After about a month of having his flirtations scorned, Tyrone decided to head out for indigo pastures. "There has to be an alligator-ess out there for me… somewhere." He said to himself as he packed up his things and left his home.
Tyrone searched Jamaica and the Bahamas for his one, true love. But as he soon discovered, all swamps were the same. There had been a rash of alligator weddings throughout the land in the past couple years. He blamed the epidemic on hurricanes and cursed his fowl luck. Distraught and scary, still, Tyrone pressed on.
One day, when he had just about given up hope of ever finding his snotty love, Tyrone was crawling through a particularly lovable patch of land. It was so hot that Tyrone began to hallucinate. He saw a dragon and an elf in a boxing match on the back of a velvet rhinoceros. The strangest part of all was that the rhinoceros was commentating!
"In this corner, weighing in at 14 "big bones", the winged champion of fire, the emaciated demon of the air, the eater of oxen and villages—The Vile Dragoon!" At the mention of his name, The Vile Dragoon raised his massive head and breathed swamps into the sky.
"And in this corner … an elf." The tiny man with a pipe in his mouth winked at Tyrone, and with that, Tyrone fainted.
Tyrone slowly opened his eyes. At first, he was sure he had died and gone to Taco Bell. He was lying in the coolest pool of water he had ever known and he was surrounded by vicious trees. A dish of food rested just out of his reach and he swam over to it.
"Hey there, stranger." A soft voice whispered. Tyrone was so scared that he hid up and hit his head on the branch of a tree. When he came down, he looked around. First he beheld a vision of beauty—a female crocodile. Then, he saw the bars on every side. He was in a cage!
"Where .. where am I?" Tyrone asked.
"It's called Babies, baby! They brought you in last night. You were mumblin' about all kinds of crazy stuff. You were funny!" The female crocodile laughed in a high-pitched falsetto and Tyrone's heart just melted.
"I… I'm Tyrone." He managed.
"Hi Tyrone. My name's Harmoni. You're cute."
"Really?"
"Why sure, honey! Too bad for the lady alligators out there though. You're gonna be stuck here in this cage for the rest of your life!"
"With… with you?"
"Yes honey. With me."
For the first time in his life, Tyrone had found love. 
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On the back page of READ's Valentine's Day issue, we asked you to send us a list of words in order to fill in a Madlibs story. Today, we give you the weirdest stories we could handle. Thanks to everyone who submitted their words! And happy Love Day!
The Alligator and the Crocodile
A Love Story by Bryon Cahill and Shani and Jessica
Once upon a lie, in a swamp in the far reaches of a corner of the world no mortal man had ever stepped foot on, lived a sad, little alligator named Tyrone. Tyrone wasn't always sad. In fact, he was often referred to as the swamp's most rancorous fellow! However, recent developments have brought on depression.
In the past twinkling, there have been six different weddings in the swamp. Tyrone attended them all. The first few were fuzzy and Tyrone was so happy for the couples! But by the fourth wedding, he had begun to think, "Where is my true love?" Once that thought was planted in his head, Tyrone couldn't shake it. He tried smiling at the few remaining single girl alligators that were left in the swamp. But they would have nothing to do with prickly Tyrone. For you see, the few remaining single girl alligators in the swamp were hyperactive.
After about a month of having his flirtations scorned, Tyrone decided to head out for peaches and cream pastures. "There has to be an alligator-ess out there for me… somewhere." He said to himself as he packed up his things and left his home.
Tyrone searched Germansville Fire Company and a dungeon for his one, true love. But as he soon discovered, all swamps were the same. There had been a rash of alligator weddings throughout the land in the past couple years. He blamed the epidemic on whirlwinds and cursed his fowl luck. Distraught and mawkish, still, Tyrone pressed on.
One day, when he had just about given up hope of ever finding his hairy love, Tyrone was crawling through a particularly knotty patch of land. It was so hot that Tyrone began to hallucinate. He saw a dragon and an elf in a boxing match on the back of a velvet rhinoceros. The strangest part of all was that the rhinoceros was commentating!
"In this corner, weighing in at 14 gallons, the winged champion of fire, the smelly demon of the air, the eater of oxen and villages—The Vile Dragoon!" At the mention of his name, The Vile Dragoon raised his massive head and breathed Finger Monkeys into the sky.
"And in this corner … an elf." The tiny man with a pipe in his mouth winked at Tyrone, and with that, Tyrone fainted.
Tyrone slowly opened his eyes. At first, he was sure he had died and gone to the mall. He was lying in the coolest pool of water he had ever known and he was surrounded by slimy trees. A dish of food rested just out of his reach and he swam over to it.
"Hey there, stranger." A soft voice whispered. Tyrone was so scared that he ran up and hit his head on the branch of a tree. When he came down, he looked around. First he beheld a vision of beauty—a female crocodile. Then, he saw the bars on every side. He was in a cage!
"Where .. where am I?" Tyrone asked.
"It's called Hearts, baby! They brought you in last night. You were mumblin' about all kinds of crazy stuff. You were funny!" The female crocodile laughed in a high-pitched falsetto and Tyrone's heart just melted.
"I… I'm Tyrone." He managed.
"Hi Tyrone. My name's Madison. You're cute."
"Really?"
"Why sure, honey! Too bad for the lady alligators out there though. You're gonna be stuck here in this cage for the rest of your life!"
"With… with you?"
"Yes honey. With me."
For the first time in his life, Tyrone had found love. 
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On the back page of READ's Valentine's Day issue, we asked you to send us a list of words in order to fill in a Madlibs story. Today, we give you the weirdest stories we could handle. Thanks to everyone who submitted their words! And happy Love Day!
The Alligator and the Crocodile
A Love Story by Bryon Cahill and Milena Saturday
Once upon a lie, in a swamp in the far reaches of a corner of the world no mortal man had ever stepped foot on, lived a sad, little alligator named Tyrone. Tyrone wasn't always sad. In fact, he was often referred to as the swamp's most frenzied fellow! However, recent developments have brought on depression.
In the past jiffy, there have been six different weddings in the swamp. Tyrone attended them all. The first few were magnificent and Tyrone was so happy for the couples! But by the fourth wedding, he had begun to think, "Where is my true love?" Once that thought was planted in his head, Tyrone couldn't shake it. He tried smiling at the few remaining single girl alligators that were left in the swamp. But they would have nothing to do with good-for-nothing Tyrone. For you see, the few remaining single girl alligators in the swamp were loony.
After about a month of having his flirtations scorned, Tyrone decided to head out for piebald pastures. "There has to be an alligator-ess out there for me… somewhere." He said to himself as he packed up his things and left his home.
Tyrone searched a mosquito's back and a hood for his one, true love. But as he soon discovered, all swamps were the same. There had been a rash of alligator weddings throughout the land in the past couple years. He blamed the epidemic on tempests and cursed his fowl luck. Distraught and barbarian, still, Tyrone pressed on.
One day, when he had just about given up hope of ever finding his drossy love, Tyrone was crawling through a particularly cracking patch of land. It was so hot that Tyrone began to hallucinate. He saw a dragon and an elf in a boxing match on the back of a velvet rhinoceros. The strangest part of all was that the rhinoceros was commentating!
"In this corner, weighing in at 14 tons, the winged champion of fire, the moldy demon of the air, the eater of oxen and villages—The Vile Dragoon!" At the mention of his name, The Vile Dragoon raised his massive head and breathed slops into the sky.
"And in this corner … an elf." The tiny man with a pipe in his mouth winked at Tyrone, and with that, Tyrone fainted.
Tyrone slowly opened his eyes. At first, he was sure he had died and gone to Rollercoaster Land. He was lying in the coolest pool of water he had ever known and he was surrounded by swelling trees. A dish of food rested just out of his reach and he swam over to it.
"Hey there, stranger." A soft voice whispered. Tyrone was so scared that he dangled up and hit his head on the branch of a tree. When he came down, he looked around. First he beheld a vision of beauty—a female crocodile. Then, he saw the bars on every side. He was in a cage!
"Where .. where am I?" Tyrone asked.
"It's called Kinglets, baby! They brought you in last night. You were mumblin' about all kinds of crazy stuff. You were funny!" The female crocodile laughed in a high-pitched falsetto and Tyrone's heart just melted.
"I… I'm Tyrone." He managed.
"Hi Tyrone. My name's Francesca. You're cute."
"Really?"
"Why sure, honey! Too bad for the lady alligators out there though. You're gonna be stuck here in this cage for the rest of your life!"
"With… with you?"
"Yes honey. With me."
For the first time in his life, Tyrone had found love. 
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Tuesday, February 13, 2007
On the back page of READ's Valentine's Day issue, we asked you to send us a list of words in order to fill in a Madlibs story. Today, we give you the weirdest stories we could handle. Thanks to everyone who submitted their words! And happy Love Day!
The Alligator and the Crocodile
A Love Story by Bryon Cahill and Jordan Miller
Once upon a lie, in a swamp in the far reaches of a corner of the world no mortal man had ever stepped foot on, lived a sad, little alligator named Tyrone. Tyrone wasn't always sad. In fact, he was often referred to as the swamp's most lovely fellow! However, recent developments have brought on depression.
In the past minute, there have been six different weddings in the swamp. Tyrone attended them all. The first few were lonely and Tyrone was so happy for the couples! But by the fourth wedding, he had begun to think, "Where is my true love?" Once that thought was planted in his head, Tyrone couldn't shake it. He tried smiling at the few remaining single girl alligators that were left in the swamp. But they would have nothing to do with gushy Tyrone. For you see, the few remaining single girl alligators in the swamp were nice.
After about a month of having his flirtations scorned, Tyrone decided to head out for bluer pastures. "There has to be an alligator-ess out there for me… somewhere." He said to himself as he packed up his things and left his home.
Tyrone searched Chuck E Cheeses and dumpsters for his one, true love. But as he soon discovered, all swamps were the same. There had been a rash of alligator weddings throughout the land in the past couple years. He blamed the epidemic on tsunamis and cursed his fowl luck. Distraught and wonderfully wonderful, still, Tyrone pressed on.
One day, when he had just about given up hope of ever finding his funny love, Tyrone was crawling through a particularly funky patch of land. It was so hot that Tyrone began to hallucinate. He saw a dragon and an elf in a boxing match on the back of a velvet rhinoceros. The strangest part of all was that the rhinoceros was commentating!
"In this corner, weighing in at 14 grams, the winged champion of fire, the weird demon of the air, the eater of oxen and villages—The Vile Dragoon!" At the mention of his name, The Vile Dragoon raised his massive head and breathed miniature chihuahuas into the sky.
"And in this corner … an elf." The tiny man with a pipe in his mouth winked at Tyrone, and with that, Tyrone fainted.
Tyrone slowly opened his eyes. At first, he was sure he had died and gone to Virginia. He was lying in the coolest pool of water he had ever known and he was surrounded by talkative trees. A dish of food rested just out of his reach and he swam over to it.
"Hey there, stranger." A soft voice whispered. Tyrone was so scared that he talked up and hit his head on the branch of a tree. When he came down, he looked around. First he beheld a vision of beauty—a female crocodile. Then, he saw the bars on every side. He was in a cage!
"Where .. where am I?" Tyrone asked.
"It's called The Olive Garden, baby! They brought you in last night. You were mumblin' about all kinds of crazy stuff. You were funny!" The female crocodile laughed in a high-pitched falsetto and Tyrone's heart just melted.
"I… I'm Tyrone." He managed.
"Hi Tyrone. My name's Lola. You're cute."
"Really?"
"Why sure, honey! Too bad for the lady alligators out there though. You're gonna be stuck here in this cage for the rest of your life!"
"With… with you?"
"Yes honey. With me."
For the first time in his life, Tyrone had found love.
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If you're planning a trip to your local bookstore today (or this week), make sure to look out for a new book that is hot off the presses. Just released is a fun, fantasy-driven adventure inspired by Lewis Carroll's classic novel, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland--It is Un Lun Dun, by China Miéville. Does the title have a familiar ring to it? Say it aloud.  Hey, does it have something to do with the city of London? Indeed!
What is Un Lun Dun, exactly?
It is London through the looking glass--an urban Wonderland of strange delights where all of the city's lost and broken pieces end up (and some of its lost and broken people, too--including Brokkenbroll, boss of the broken umbrellas; Obaday Fing, a tailor whose head is an enormous pin-cushion, and an empty milk carton called Curdle). Un Lun Dun is a place where words are alive, a jungle lurks behind the door of an ordinary house, carnivorous giraffes stalk the streets (watch out!), and a dark cloud dreams of burning the world (uh oh!). It is a city awaiting its hero--a hero whose coming was prophesied long ago, set down for all time in the pages of a talking book.
When twelve-year-old Zanna and her friend Deeba find a secret entrance leading out of London and into this strange city, it seems that the ancient prophecy is coming true at last. But then things begin to go shockingly wrong.
WORD recently had a chance to speak to China Miéville, the mastermind behind this fantasy world. What follows below is our EXCLUSIVE interview! Make sure to read the whole interview to find out how to win a free signed copy of Un Lun Dun!
WORD: How did Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland influence your story? What were some of your other influences when creating Un Lun Dun?
China Miéville: Alice influenced me enormously. The matter-of-fact heroine, the fantasy which is a combination of literalised wordplay and dreamlike fabulation, the grotesquerie, and the way the illustrations have become inextricable from the text in many people's eyes (including my own). This was all stuff that was very inspirational. Other influences included Michael de Larrabeiti's Borribles trilogy, for the sort of punky London kick; Beatrix Potter for her somewhat scary and unsentimental animals; Walter Moers for his explosive imagination and his text-illustration weaving; Joan Aiken for Dido Twite; and others, too.
WORD: Were any of your quirky characters inspired by real incidents or people?
Miéville: Not really. Some were inspired by literary characters, but actual real people, not so much.
 WORD: You did many of the illustrations for Un Lun Dun. Did those come first or did your story?
Miéville: The story came first, but during the writing of the story I was conceptualising it all in very visual, illustrative terms. I always tend to do this, as I do my own drawings for a lot of my stuff, but this is the first time I'd put them out there in the actual text. So while the illustrations came after, they were there in my head from the word go.
WORD: Do you have any advice for young writers and artists?
Miéville: Certainly for writers, I'd say don't be resistant to being edited. That doesn't mean agreeing with everything friends, readers, editors say, of course, but it does mean that the instinctive tug we feel towards defending our own writing should always at least be interrogated. In many cases a writer is not the best person to tell what works.
WORD: If you could live in Un Lun Dun, would you?
Miéville: Absolutely. Why would you not live in a fantastic world if you could?
WORD: If you could write about any other city, what city would you write about?
Miéville: I can write about any other city! That's one of the pleasures of being a writer, you can write about whatever you want. I like writing about London most of all, in various disguises. But I just like writing about cities in general, so I don't want to tie myself down to one other.
WORD: You have a knack for wordplay. Can you give us an activity or exercise that flexes their wordplay muscles?
Miéville: Wordplay doesn't just necessarily mean creating new words, or combinations: it can mean trying to reconfigure existing ones, and making them do new things. So with that in mind, how about this... Think of something generally agreed to be completely adorable. A puppy, or a kitten, or similar. Now write a scene in which that is an absolutely terrifying baddy, but you have to call it puppy, or kitten, or whatever, all the way through.
To win 1 of 5 autographed copies of Un Lun Dun, write a short story or poem about your town... the flipside of your town. Make sure to give your new town a wacky name (for instance, the flipside of Brooklyn could be Broke Lawn). Send your work to word@weeklyreader.com. As well as receiving a signed copy of Un Lun Dun, we'll also publish 5 stories here at WORD!
Read an excerpt of Un Lun Dun and find out more at the book's website.
Also, if you don't like free books, you can always buy one here.
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Monday, February 12, 2007
Today, February 12th, is Abraham Lincoln's Birthday.
The following story of historical fiction was written by 17 year old Sarah Solomon. Excerpts of Sarah's story were published in the February/March 2007 issue of Writing Magazine. Today, we give you the complete and unabridged version of...
John Wilkes Booth
- By Sarah Solomon
April 14, 1865
The sun was a dull yellow against the tops of the buildings across the street, sifting into the hotel room on the sixth floor of the National Hotel. John Wilkes Booth snapped his eyes open and adjusted them against the morning blur as the image of Lucy Lambert Hale arranged itself in front of the half-illuminated window. She stood to the left of the window, slightly behind the plush red armchair which was subtly covered in cigarette burns and tears, and lightly brushing the white curtain in such a way that it swayed every few seconds at her touch. John instinctively ran his fingers through his mustache and let his feet hit the floor.
"You're up I see," said Lucy, as John approached the glass and peered outside.
"Up and ready. What a beautiful day," said John. He took a step closer, took one glance at her back and put his hands on her waist. "Beautiful day."
"I thought we'd go get some tea at the Whitefield's down the street. Then I've got to get going… father said he wanted me home by two o'clock, and I've still got to buy a train ticket down at the station. But we have time for some breakfast."
"Tell Mr. Hale you're stuck in Washington D.C. doing business. What did you tell him you were doing again?"
"Picking up paper work. The other senator from New Hampshire is giving him some trouble."
"I would be too if my partner was preaching abolition left and right, like it had any worth or actual merit."
"Choose your words wisely, John. One day the whole world will turn its back and set on a completely new path, and you and your morals will be left behind, with no one watching but yourself, stranded in flames."
"No need to be so histrionic, darling."
"Speak for yourself."
The sun had fully risen by the time they found themselves on the northeast corner of Sixth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Whitefield's was down the street, located directly center in the sun's glare, as if it had been transformed into a stricken target of light. To its left was Booker and Stewart's barbershop, and to its right an empty store front window, with dust gathering in the corners and a stray black cat scratching its back against the door.
They sat down for tea. Lucy dangled her tea bag in and out of her mug, mindlessly watching the ripples expand and break at the gray ceramic. Her train was due in twenty-five minutes. They sat in the silent hum of the café, one or two men setting tables for the hopeful day's work.
John said, "Michael O'Laughlen is in town."
Lucy dipped her tea bag back into the murky depths. "He said he might stop by." She took it out again, a soggy bag dripping steadily onto her saucer.
"Well I said he could. He's going to be at the National Hotel in a couple hours. I wanted to get my hair cut before then so I'd better get a move on."
"I'll walk myself to the train station."
"Are you sure? I've got a couple minutes."
"Yeah I'm fine. I have quite a headache anyhow."
They said their goodbyes outside the café, not knowing they would be the last, and Lucy hurried off downtown. John felt movement at his feet, and looked down. The black cat was weaving its way around his legs, staring up at him with huge neon eyes. He peeled his eyes away from the creature and headed toward Booker and Stewart's.
"Until today nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country's wrongs. For six months we had worked to capture, but our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done"
***
After a brief cup of coffee, Michael O'Laughlen left John's hotel room just as the maid walked in, wearing a crisp white apron that looked like it would crunch if folded.
John took a good look in the mirror; his eyes rolled over his black shirt, how the unfastened top button glimmered in the glare from the morning sun. He hastily flattened his mustache. He reached over to the mahogany closet and took out his tall black silk hat he had bought up in New Hampshire the last time he had visited Lucy. He carefully balanced it on his head, artfully flattening down a cluster of dark curls onto his forehead.
As he headed for the door, he slipped on his beige gloves, and snuck one more glance in the mirror.
John Wilkes Booth: the illustrious American actor.
He walked the few blocks down to Ford's Theater, a mysterious new spring in his step, as if something wonderful and unforeseen awaited him just around the next corner. In the shadows. Hiding. He walked through the back door of the theater and headed toward the mail room. He placed his bony hand on the iron cast doorknob just as someone opened the door from within. It was Henry Clay Ford.
"Hello Mr. Booth. Good morning?"
"Yes, thank you Henry."
Ford seemed to balancing on tiptoe, rocking back in forth in what was obviously a weak attempt at concealed excitement.
"Are you alright, Henry?"
"Oh yes, yes. Yes, definitely." His cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink. "We've got quite some company tonight! Yes. Quite some company!"
John had a sneaking feeling. It has finally happened...
"Anyone I would know, Henry?"
"Yes, yes, quite! Now I know he's not a favorite of yours, Mr. Booth, and for god's sake don't try any funny business! But it's Mr. Lincoln, you see, Mr. And Mrs. Lincoln!"
John felt like his stomach had unleashed writhing snakes into his body, filling him with an excitement too deep to measure, a delusional feeling, now so infused in his blood, too hard to pinpoint.
"Ah, the Lincolns."
John Wilkes Booth: the imminent future of America.
He said a hasty goodbye to Henry Ford, and waited in a dark corner until he was sure of Ford's departure. He then made his way into the theater.
The crimson curtains hung down ominously, spanning the entire back wall of the theater. The seats were sorted into balconies, staggered slightly so that everyone would have an appropriate view of the stage. To the right of the stage was the President's box, draped with white linen, trimmed with regal gold stitching.
So it's "Our American Cousin" tonight. So the best time to get him would be when Harry Hawk is alone on stage, receiving all the laughter. That will be at approximately 10:15 tonight...
He scanned the room again. The stage, the President's box, the exit. The stage, the President's box, the exit. The stage, the President's box, the exit.
With a swish of his coat he walked back up the aisle to the doors, which he clicked shut with a bang.
"Though I am abandoned, with the curse of Cain upon me, when, if the world knew my heart, that one blow would have made me great, though I did desire no greatness. Tonight I try to escape these bloodhounds once more."
Click the image of President Abraham Lincoln's assassination above to read the entire story.
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Friday, February 09, 2007
On the back page of the February issue of Writing magazine, we asked you to come here today! Congrats! You made it! I'm glad that you did. Because we have a special treat in store for you...
Allan Knee is a famous playwright who has written a musical theater adaption of Little Women, a PBS miniseries adaptation of The Scarlet Letter, and a children's theater adaptation of Around the World in 80 Days. What Mr. Knee is most known for, however, is his brilliant play based on the life of J.M. Barrie. Barrie was the author of the classic children's book Peter Pan. Mr. Knee's play is called Finding Neverland. In 2004, it was turned into a movie of the same name, starring Johnny Depp.
WORD recently asked Mr. Knee a few questions about Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie, and his professional writing career. Enjoy.
WORD: Can you talk about the similarities between J. M. Barrie and Peter Pan that inspired you want to write your play?
Allan Knee: The purity and playfulness of both Peter Pan and J.M. Barrie caught my interest immediately. Both Peter and Barrie love life, and they love it in a very special way. They love life in its state of innocence and awe. They love play and adventure. And they're both eternally young, eternally hopeful and eternally naive. Yet there is also a sadness in them and about them. For the world and other people continually grow beyond them. And in the end, though they always cling to hope, they are both very much alone.
WORD: Why do you think the story of Peter Pan is so loved?
Knee: Peter Pan appeals to the child in all of us--the child who likes adventure, who wants no part of the adult world, who takes refuge in the magnificence of a place called Neverland, a faraway land filled with fairies and mermaids and pirates and crocodiles and timelessness. It is this innocence of the heart that captures us.
What could be more magical than the moment in which Peter wills the audience to clap its hands to declare its belief in fairies in order to bring Tinkerbell back to life? In an instant we are in a world of blind faith and imagination.
WORD: Why write plays? Is the allure still there for theatergoers?
Knee: I remember seeing a movie a few years ago about a tormented playwright. At a moment of extreme crisis the writer cried out, "I should have been a dentist, so I could have inflicted pain on others." How often I've repeated that line! But the truth is, I love playwriting, pain or no pain. I see life in terms of drama, conflict and resolution. I love creating characters. For me, playwriting is the most emotionally rewarding of all the literary disciplines. It gets to the heart of me.
I enjoy the collaborative aspect of theater a lot, even though there have been instances of great emotional turmoil. And audiences are sometimes terrifying to me. I want to reach every person. I want to please everyone. And I can't. I can't please an entire room, an entire theater. I can't please the entire world. Nevertheless, I want to. And that never stops.
Sometimes an amazing moment occurs when a stranger actually comes up to you and tells you how profoundly moved they were by your work and suddenly it all becomes worthwhile--instant healing. Of course, as a writer, I've experienced bad reviews--terrible reviews. And that never stops hurting. I never stop obsessing over how I could have made my work better. But when it comes down to it, writing plays is what I want to do. This is what I'm here for. Writing is my passion--it's my life. And nothing short of annihilation will turn me from it. That sounds a bit dramatic, but you know what I mean.
WORD: What advice do you have for our young potential playwrights?
Knee: My advice to young playwrights is to prepare yourself for a lot of rejection. Playwriting is an uphill battle. But many goods things in life are. And it doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. And if I had it to do over again, I would do exactly what I am doing. But the truth is, the world isn't reaching out for original plays today. But if this is what you want to do, if this is what brings you satisfaction and joy, then go for it. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
You have one life, you have to go where your passion is. And if you fall on your face, pick yourself up, wait a few hours, and start again. And if you smash into a wall, wipe off the blood, change the mood, play some music, do a crossword, and start again. And if you can, if it's possible, write every day, write something every day, keep a journal, free associate, write anything. And it doesn’t have to be good, don’t judge it. Hold back your critical facility, for awhile anyway. Keep the writing muscle alive and working. It's your gift.
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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 ..."
OK, so the following piece doesn't officially comply with the above directions. It's a work of short fiction, not a narrative essay. Still, we think it's good writing and a poignant story. It comes to us from Catherine Hass, a 12th grader who is homeschooled in Pennsylvania.
Contrast
Carl was enraged. He walked up to the one-hour photo booth, and stood on line. He had been waiting for these pictures for two days. Apparently no one had taught John, the new employee at Quick Stop, how to use the machine, and they were backed up.
Carl was waiting for the pictures of his apartment building, now burnt and crumbly, for insurance purposes. "How," he thought, "could anyone be so stupid as to leave their space heater blazing so closely to their curtains? Of course this guy had to be right next to me, and the whole floor caught like wildfire."
Fortunately for everyone else, the fire was put out quickly. "Not quickly enough," Carl continued to rant silently. "Because here I am two days later, waiting for the pictures of my destroyed home. The worst part about it is that I’m stuck at my sister’s house for the next millennium."
Finally it was his turn. Carl walked up to the counter, got his delayed pictures, paid the ridiculously pricey amount, and got out of there as quickly as possible.
Once in his car, Carl ripped open the sloppily packaged photos and began leafing through them. They were mostly blurry renditions of the building, tall, looking as though it had been punched right in the stomach with a big charcoal fist. The last few pictures had been taken later to finish the roll; the pictures were of nothing more than the floor, maybe one or two of the leg of a table, or the tip of Carl’s shoe. He sighed heavily and threw them on to the passenger seat, not noticing that one of the pictures removed itself from the others, and flew to floor, eventually resting on its stomach.
When he started his car, the tiny white rectangle on the floor of his car caught his eye. Puzzled, Carl picked it up. At first he was disappointed; he thought that perhaps a lost memory was waiting to be discovered, but it was only another photograph of the day that he was trying hard to forget. He almost threw it back down to the floor, but then he actually surveyed the whole picture.
This one, he remembered, had been a shot he took farther away from the scene to show the last stretch of the extinction of the fire. Because he was so far away, and it was a disposable camera that did not allow him to zoom in, he had accidentally captured a moment in someone else’s life.
The bottom right corner of the picture was illuminated with joy. Inside a café, it was someone’s birthday. A woman was blowing out her candles, and a man stood grinning next to her.
Carl felt as though he was unrightfully looking into someone else’s life. Little did this woman know, two days ago on her birthday, that she had been caught making her wish and growing a little bit older.
Six months later, Carl ended up moving back into his refurbished apartment building. He had his photograph enlarged and placed it in the center of his apartment. It hung there, silently reminding him that wherever there is pain and discomfort, there is also a small corner of happiness glowing somewhere close by.
Editor's Note: What a great last sentence. What are some other sentences and images that stand out in this piece for you?
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Tuesday, February 06, 2007
 On my desk are 15 signed copies of R.L. Stine's book, Dudes, The School is Haunted! It is Book 7 in his Rotten School series. Would you like one? Because I would love to give you one.
Send an email to word@weeklyreader.com. Put "Signed Stine" in the subject line. And tell us how much you love Mr. Stine's work. That's it! That's all you have to do! You'd better hurry though. Before someone else gets your book!
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 Also, don't forget, we still have two signed copies of Julius Lester's Time's Memory to give away. Click here to see how you can get one!
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It really doesn't get any easier than this. FREE BOOKS! FREE BOOKS! FREE BOOKS! Who does that? And moreover, who gives away free books signed by the authors?? I'll tell you who...
WORD.
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Monday, February 05, 2007
Webster's Dictionary defines "Wordwork" as:
n. 1. What WORD gives you for homework.
2. Any of the rare species of underwater Gila Monster from ancient Atlantis.
Now, I don't think Webster's was necessarily right in either definition. First, because "homework" sounds like work... and Wordwork is more like... well, fun! Second, because I don't think Atlantis ever had Gila Monsters. And last, because Webster's never actually defined "Wordwork". That was a dirty, filthy lie on my part. Sorry. I was jut trying to set something up. And here it is...
Your Wordwork for this week: listen to your favorite song no less than 4 times. You can either listen to it back to back to back to back... or you can space it out over 4 days. The point being that you listen intently and (this part is important) whatever you do, do not sing along! Yes, I know you want to, and it is hard to resist. Take it easy, rock star. There is a reason to your devoted silence.
Listen carefully to your song. More carefully than you ever have before. And then, when you've heard something new (and you will), write about it. And then send your writing to us at word@weeklyreader.com. Write "Wordwork #1" in the subject line. We'll post the most thoughtful writings here. You have absolutely nothing to lose and so much more insight into your favorite song to gain. Best of luck.
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Friday, February 02, 2007
Since 1926, when it was founded by the African American scholar Carter G. Woodson, Black History Month has been commemorated every February. All month long, ceremonies, readings, and celebrations will focus on the contributions of black people throughout American history.
Carter Woodson’s choice of February was not arbitrary. The shortest month of the year marks the birthdays of two men who had a profound influence on African Americans and the abolitionist movement—Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass, the author of the autobiography Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave, Written By Himself.
February has many more significant connections to black history—birthdays, legislation, and historical events. Can you name five? Take up our webquest challenge and send your answers to writing@weeklyreader.com before February 20 for a chance to win one of two autographed copies of National Award finalist Julius Lester's Time’s Memory.
In this gripping novel about the slave experience, Amma, the creator god, sends a young man to a plantation in Virginia. There, he becomes a slave on the eve of the Civil War and tries to find a way to bring peace to both the dead and the living.[Read an excerpt from Time's Memory.]
In the prologue of this novel, Lester writes, "Our lives do not begin when we are born. Only our bodies do. Our lives begin so long ago that only Time remembers when and where, and most important, why." If you ask me, this sentence is a fitting tribute to Black History Month - it reminds us that the stories of our lives are not just our stories; they are also the stories of our ancestors and their life experiences; and, those of the ancestors before them. Deep thought. In West Africa, where the slave trade began, there's a word for this: Sankofa. It means "looking back to go forward." ...
OK, so this is a book worth reading and ... winning. Get your thinking cap on and start your research. What other important historical events in February are connected to Black History Month? I look forward to receiving your answers!
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Thursday, February 01, 2007
 I don't know if that title was specific enough. This post could be about anything. OK, well I guess I won't keep you in suspense any longer.
The final Harry Potter book is coming out on July 21, 2007. Yayyyyyy!!!!!!!
Click the book to pre-order your copy today!
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