Gosh I love the last day of May. Forget about the fact that the weather is gorgeous and the flowers are, um, whatever. Today has a much more special meaning to me than sunshine and pollen. For today, my friends, is Walt Whitman's Birthday.

WWWWD?
- A poem by Bry

I imagine myself walking, climbing, treading the mountains
I am one man hiking his way to the top, to the peak of all peaks!
What lies in the distance is an unknown, an always known,
A question we all must ask.

What would Walt Whitman do
At the top of the mountain?
Would he stand there and laugh at the sky?
Would he fly off like a bird to the future of earth?
Would he sit for a spell, and just cry?

What would Walt Whitman do
Dear friends all around me?
Would he become one with the grass and the moon?
Would Walt breathe the air of ancestors, long gone, never forgotten
Or hideout in the universe's shed.

Walt Whitman, my friend, oh what would you do
If the mountain itself crumbled under you?
If the world turned to dust and left all of us,
Tell me what would you do, dear Walt Whitman?

"We're connected," he said, "You and me, on this thread,
This thread between space, between blurs.
If you tug on my beard, ancient rhymes will be cleared
From my mouth, to the page, to your WORD."

Walt Whitman, Walt Whitman, oh what would you do?
"Come with me. I will show you..."

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

On The Beach At Night Alone
 - A poem by Walt Whitman

On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining--I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids,
All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same,
All distances of place, however wide,
All distances of time--all inanimate forms,
All Souls--all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes--the fishes, the brutes,
All men and women--me also;
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages;
All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe;
All lives and deaths--all of the past, present, future;
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd, and shall forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.

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

Happy birthday, brother.

To read last year's birthday wishes, click here.

The following book review was written by Miss Erin, Grade 10. WORD is proud to welcome Miss Erin and we hope she will bring us many insightful book reviews in the future.

Wildwood Dancing
Juliet Marillier

Jena and her four sisters have plenty of everyday worries, with their mother gone and their father ill. They do have something they can look forward to during each Full Moon: they have a portal into the Other Kingdom, the world of fairies and dwarfs. But dangers lurk there, too. When the Night People pay a visit to the fairy court and one of Jena's sisters begins to fall in love with one, Jena begins to have doubts about their monthly visits.

At first the language of the story seemed flowery and heavy, which is not necessarily a bad thing, just something you have to be in the right mood for. Once I got a little way into the book, I was completely entranced. The author has weaved an amazingly visual and absorbing tale. Jena is a very sympathetic heroine, you can feel her fear, her joy, her anger, her contentedness. In fact, she reminded me just a little of Pride and Prejudice's Lizzie Bennett. Wildwood Dancing is a thrilling and beautiful book that I couldn't stop reading.

Visit Miss Erin at her literary blog.

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

While perusing the Internet today (for research, I swear!) I came across a most disturbing article. Apparently, Tom Wayne, a man who owns a used book store, has so many books that he doesn't have the space for all of them. Libraries and thrift stores won't take the extra books--they don't have the room either. So, Tom is burning them.

Yes, this is probably a publicity stunt. To "raise awareness" about how people aren't reading. But isn't there a better way?

 

Clearly, with the proliferation of the Internet, people aren't reading books as much as they used to. (And yes, I'm aware of the irony of posting this blog on the Internet while complaining about it at the same time.) There are some really cool things online. I mean, where else can you get the biographical information about your favorite author and a site where you can watch cheese age? Good stuff! But is it really worth it if it causes the destruction of books?

 

The books that are being destroyed aren't even banned books. Not that I agree with the idea of banned books, but at least then there's a reason for the obliteration of knowledge and culture. An ignorant reason, but a reason nonetheless. Burning books for attention is just senseless.

 

So, I implore of you: Go out and buy some books! Whether it be the book you've read a thousand times or one you've always wanted to read--build up your own library. That way, there is room in book stores and libraries and thrift stores for new treasures. And innocent pages won't be led to the slaughterhouse.

 

A colleague of mine just sent me a link to a very cool site! It's called Book Mooch and it is a way to give away your old books, earn points, and get free books from other random people out there in cyberspace.

Unfortunately for me, this doesn't work very well. I hoard my books. I never let them go. Sure I'll let close friends borrow books of mine from time to time, but I have a serious problem parting with them for good. So yeah, not the site for me.

But for the average, non-lunatic reader who likes to share, this place is for you.

Check it.

Bridge to Terabithia comes out on DVD in a couple of weeks (June 19). Plenty of time to read it if you haven't already.

Watch this movie trailer for a taste of what you've been missing.

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

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

"The world used to be a bigger place," says Captain Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) in Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End (in theaters today, May 25). "It's still the same," answers Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp). "Now there's just less in it." More false words have never been spoken. AWE packs in more action, more humor, and more suspense than the first two Pirates movies combined.

 

When we last left Sparrow, he was at the bottom of Davy Jones' Locker and Barbossa was brought back from the dead to help. In AWE, the motley crew of pirates needs to save Sparrow. They must band together with pirates from across the globe to save piracy itself from extinction because the East India Trading Company is out to control the seas.

 

There's an ancient sea goddess bound in human form. And don't forget Will Turner (Orlando Bloom), who wants to save his father from Davy Jones. And will Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley) earn back Will's trust after it seemed like she was in love with Sparrow?

 

Oh, and there's also a little matter of Sparrow seeing hallucinations of crabs made of stone, an elusive peanut, and multiple versions of himself (although I don't think anyone would complain about that, especially the women in the audience!).

 

Confused? OK, admittedly, AWE is a little hard to follow if you aren't paying attention. So pay attention! Aside from all the action-packed swashbuckling, thieving, and double (and triple, and quadruple) crossing, there is also an intricate plot unfolding so keep your eyes open for it!

 

Even though the running time is over 2 hours and 45 minutes, the action never stops, and you'll never look at your watch. (Unless you make the mistake of drinking a large soda while you're watching!)

 

From the morose opening where captured pirates, including a little boy, are being hanged, to a spaghetti Western-ish standoff, to the most un-romantic wedding of all times (followed by the most romantic kiss ever), to the sword fighting, to Keith Richards making a cameo as Sparrow's father, you're in for a summer blockbuster.

 

Dead men might tell no tales, but AWE is one tale you won't want to miss!

The following interview was conducted by Jessica Livingston, Associate Editor of Know Your World-Extra Magazine.

Ahoy there, matey! It's that time again--the pirates are back! Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End sails into theaters tonight! When we last left the crew, Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) was at the bottom of Davy Jones' Locker. But the real shocker was that Captain Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) is back among the living! Weekly Reader recently caught up with Rush and found out all the dirty details (and we do mean dirty! Haven't pirates ever heard of soap?) about the new film. We'll bet all our pieces of eight that you won't want to miss this!

 

WORD: How is Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End different from the other Pirates movies?

Rush: The first movie was mostly about the curse on Barbossa and all of his pirate gang. In Pirates 2, the introduction of Davy Jones brings a much greater supernatural/mythological feel to the story. In the third film all of the numerous story lines that have been established really start to clash. Questions such as "Is Jack Sparrow able to survive the power of the Kraken?" or "How did Barbossa come back from the dead? Who helped him? Why?" and "Does Elizabeth feel guilty for betraying Jack?" ... Well, all of these crucial issues find surprising solutions.

  

WORD: I read that in this movie, it has been said that "piracy is at stake." What does this mean?

Rush: The pirates from all over the world--whether they are from England or the Caribbean or Africa or Asia--they are being stamped out and executed by the East India Trading Company, which is like a corporation that wants to control the seas for their own profits. This is more or less what happened in history. The great age of piracy only lasted from the mid-1600s until the early 1700s.

  

WORD: Everyone in the Pirates movies seems to be "bad guys"--pirates, thieves, traitors, etc. Yet pirates have a huge appeal. Pirate costumes were even the most popular costume this Halloween. What do you think the appeal is of being a pirate?

Rush: In their day, a lot of the pirates were probably adventurers and sailors who had a criminal past. They might also have come from impoverished backgrounds or situations where their chances for success in society were minimal. At sea they were free from the laws of any country. It was a tough and violent life, but perhaps being a pirate gave them a sense of freedom, and they could create their own memorable identity. I think this is why people admire them and dress up like them at Halloween or for parties. Books like Treasure Island and plays like Peter Pan made the pirate life seem very attractive and adventurous.

 

WORD: Did you feel a lot of pressure making this movie, knowing how popular the first two Pirates were and how much money they made?

Rush: We all knew the first movie told a very fresh and exciting story, but because it was such a huge runaway hit that meant the next two films had to be really good. And the writers and the producer and the director were determined to make them great. They liked the characters as much as the audience did and they wanted to create a memorable and worthwhile epic. Parts 1 and 2 are like one big movie with an intermission. Pirates 3 has bigger and better stuff in it. It really goes right off the edge of the map.

  

WORD: Did you do your own stunts in this movie?

Rush: I worked very hard on my sword fights. I had to prove to the audience, as the oldest pirate, why he was still the meanest leader around. Which meant he had to be deadly with a sword--and fight dirty and unfair--just to survive. All of the actors, of course, have stunt doubles because sometimes in the big wide shots with dozens of pirates fighting at full speed, it is too dangerous for the actors. When you watch the film on DVD, see if you can pick when and why the doubles might have been used.

 

WORD: Is this the most challenging movie you've ever been in? Why?

Rush: Some movies are challenging even if they are relatively small in budget and focused on few characters because there may be complicated emotional story lines that the actors have to make very truthful and honest and interesting. A film like Pirates also offers a challenge because of the size of the budget and the scale of the production. Sometimes I would be filming complicated sequences with lots of dialogue, on a badly rocking ship 30 miles out to sea, with a monkey on my shoulders and its trainer always yelling out instructions to it, or with cannons going off and debris and smoke going everywhere. So I suppose it has been the most challenging, but that has also made it the most fun and the most memorable. We have been together as a team for over 4 years now, so it's been a big part of our lives.

 

WORD: Growing up, were you a fan of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland? Was it exciting when they redesigned the ride to have characters from the movies?

Rush: I only got to go to Disneyland with my two kids about eight years ago when I first went to America, but I knew about the ride because we used to watch the Mickey Mouse Club on TV when I was little. It is a great honor for me, and kind of crazy, to know that Barbossa is now in the ride as a fixture. I hope to take my grandchildren to see it, even though I don't have any yet.

WORD: Were you always a fan of pirate and adventure movies? What do you like about them?

Rush: I've always loved sword fighting movies. My favorite is Scaramouche, which isn't about pirates, but I recommend that you check it out. It is a very old movie, but it has one of the longest sword fights in the history of movies set in a theater, and the actors are really doing it--all of it. Adventure movies like Indiana Jones and Zorro are great, particularly when there is a blend of action and humor.

 

WORD: In a summer full of sequels, why see Pirates?

Rush: There are seven and a half hours now in the trilogy. It is a big work. It has many significant principal characters, as well as a gallery of very popular minor ones. Also the plot is full of many details about the period, the attitudes and the conditions, and hopefully it is unpredictable and full of surprises. The main characters are forced to make very important decisions about what they truly believe in. So as well as being fun, I hope people try and imagine what they would do in the same circumstances. I know just from reading chat rooms and fan web sites how involved and perceptive the audience is.

 

WORD: What was your favorite part about filming this movie? What was your least favorite part?

Rush: My favorite part was the sword fighting rehearsals and then being able to visit many different parts of the Caribbean, which is so far away from Melbourne, Australia, where I live. My least favorite part was when the monkey would get anxious or frightened and shriek. I was scared he was going to bite my nose.

 

To find show times for Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, click here.

 

To learn about how your class can order Know Your World - Extra, ask your teacher to click here.

As you probably guessed by the subject line, today is Michael Chabon's birthday! Yay! Chabon is the author of Wonder Boys, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, Summerland, and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay (which, incidentally, won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000). His new book just came out last week and it is entitled The Yiddish Policemen's Union. Look for a review of the novel here at WORD soon.

"Literature, like magic, has always been about the handling of secrets, about the pain, the destruction and the marvelous liberation that can result when they are revealed."
     - Michael Chabon

Totally unrelated: Check back here on WORD, Tonight for an exclusive interview with Geoffrey Rush, one of the stars of Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's End.

The following work of non-fiction was originally going to be included in our latest electronic issue, Student Writing Showcase. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, we had to cut it from the project. However, we are pleased to present The Music of Love, here on WORD. It is a wonderful piece of student writing that should be read and celebrated by as many people as possible. After you have finished reading it, talk to your grandparents and find out their true love story. Then write about it and share it with us. You can send your work to word@weeklyreader.com.

 

The Music of Love

by Polina Senderova

 

I glance up at my grandmother.  She is staring at the passenger seat, though I don't see anything very interesting on it, or in it.  She bends forward and mutters something to my mother.  Something about my grandfather. 

 

I pull on her sleeve, and she turns to me. "Grandma, how did you and Grandpa meet?" It was a random thought, though I admit I had been interested in it in the past.

 

She sighs.  "It was long ago."  She looks back to the front seat and gazes at it for a second.  But I am already too curious to let it go.

 

"But how?" I plead. "Tell me!"

 

"It will be hard. The memories are harder to remember than to forget." But I knew by her tone that she would try, that she was glad I asked.  "It seems like only yesterday," she begins.  "I was young, new, fresh. Alive." She has a distant, far-away look in her wrinkled, cerulean eyes as her story begins.

  

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

 

She was 16 years old when her violin instructor told her that she was ready for what was perhaps the most thrilling voyage of her life.  She was to journey to America to attend a music festival in New York City.  It was the experience of a lifetime and one she knew she'd never forget.

 

She arrived at her room in the dormitories. She had no roommate, and she was in a large room, big enough to fit a football team in, all by herself.

 

Her first day there was the first in the country, and, of course, a lot went wrong. She had several near-vomiting experiences of the strange American food, and a few conflicts with some complicated technology she did not know how to use. 

 

The year was 1938, and the small village in Russia from which she came was completely behind in the development of society, especially in comparison to the U.S. Her first day, she had a private lesson and signed up for recitals, competitions, and master classes. She survived breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and heard a few concerts. Once, she thought she heard someone else conversing in Russian, in the cafeteria. It was during lunch, and she got so excited that she spilled her glass of water on the floor and did not get a chance to say anything. Her teacher, however, did speak Russian so she was able to communicate with her.

 

"Maria," she told her, "your hands are too tense to play."

 

It was fine to play with tense hands in Russia, she thought.  The tension was what kept her in tune and in rhythm. 

 

After a long and tiring day she dropped on her soft, high throne of a bed and fell fast asleep, with dreams full of memories of the friends she missed and of the little everyday traditions America just did not seem to hold.

 

The second day she had chamber for the first time, which is where she first met him.

 

"I'll never forget the first time I laid eyes on your grandfather.  He was--" she paused dramatically, "--he was shy, out of place, and lonely.  Just like me."

 

He played first violin, and she was second. They also had a violist, a cellist, and a pianist, but she didn't get to know them nearly as well. It was a flea of a room, disproportionately small in a large building, in which the six of them were forced to squeeze like freckles on an otherwise pale face. 

 

Their teacher was a short, stump woman with a large suitcase full of scores for them all, which obviously weighed her down even more than her enormous glasses.  She handed out a Dvorák quintet, a very quick-paced piece full of tricky rhythms and very high positions, especially in the first violin part. 

 

"Richard, Maria, Cathy, Jordan, Anna," she called out, addressing all of them in position order in her strong, conspicuous Korean accent.  "In this class you will learn to play together, in tune, in tempo, in time. There are five of you here and only one of me, so please try to cooperate and this will be easier for us all."

 

My grandmother, however, had not understood a word of what she said and had a Russian translator later clarify it. But at that time, she merely smiled and nodded, deciding not to give herself away.

 

As they began to play, she looked around, observing the others. She was not the only nervous one; the first violinist, my grandfather, was also quite flustered, (although he still played exceptionally well, whereas my grandmother's insecurities tangled with her performance.)

 

After they sight-read through the piece once, the teacher provided them all with comments, but Maria, of course, couldn't understand them, and it seemed that Richard didn't either.

 

They went on to the next movement, where the two violinists played a solo together.  Maria felt the bond between them, through their violins and the music they played.  He felt it too, and he gave her a timid smile when they ceased.  Their teacher let them conclude and the others left while Maria and Richard walked to the cafeteria together. 

 

"You--you like play?" Maria struggled to say something he might understand.

 

He looked at her for a moment--straight into her eyes while his own scrunched up like a napkin--then nodded his head and exhaled.  "I like play."

 

She beamed and he led her to the cafeteria where they sat and ate lunch together.  They did not say a word the whole time.  Maria often considered other things that she could try to say, but eventually gave up in despair.

 

When they were finished eating, they walked outside and both sat on the steps with their cases.  "Play?" one of them said.

 

Five minutes later, they were both in Maria's room, practicing their instruments. It was their only common language--the song they played.  They played it over and over again, each time feeling closer to each other.  Before they knew it, it was late and they found themselves running to the cafeteria again before it closed.  They each consumed one small piece of bread and half a drumstick. They implicitly decided to go to a recital playing that night, with a guest musician from northern Europe. They both enjoyed his repertoire and his interpretation of the song.

 

The next day they sat together on the bus to the school in which their orchestra rehearsals took place. She stared out her window at the windmill they passed and sighed. Two days in America, and she already had a friend.  She turned around to look at him and he smiled. 

 

They arrived at orchestra and she opened her case, putting aside the Russian flag she used to cover her violin. To her surprise, he opened his case and she saw a German flag sticking out of it. She stared at it for a moment, mesmerized, until she blinked and returned to her own instrument. 

 

They played Schubert's infamous Unfinished Symphony, along with a Mozart concerto in which they were accompanying a girl who won first place in the previous year's competition.  

 

And so it went on for the next few days, which turned into weeks, as both their concerts loomed closer and closer.  Before they knew it, they were all dressed up and standing backstage, silently wishing each other good luck for their final concerts, in both chamber and orchestra. 

 

The orchestra performance went smoothly, and no mistakes were heard, at least not by the audience. Then came chamber, and the five artists were waiting backstage for the previous group to end. Finally, the anticipated applause came, and four small girls exited the stage, beaming at the world and wishing Maria's group good luck.

 

They walked out onto the spotlight: Richard, followed by Maria, and then the others in their order. My grandparents exchanged a look before they started to play. It was part of the plan, they were supposed to, but there was something more in that look than was required. It lasted forever, seconds broadened into weeks, into years. Richard took a quick breath, their cue for an upbeat, and they began...

 

They began to play, and Maria, at that moment, saw and heard nothing more than him as her violin expressed how she felt: vibrating as she tore through the strings with her bow. 

 

The concert ended (they closed it) and the crowd went wild with applause.  They all bowed synchronously, grinning at each other in triumph, and exited the stage. 

 

That night, all of the other children threw a party, but Maria and Richard decided not to go, and opted instead to spend their last night on the continent together. They walked outside, where it was getting dark and the stars were just coming out and winking upon the couple. They looked at each other, joyful, yet still miserable deep inside that they could not use words to tell each other how they felt.  They couldn’t make a promise to come back to America next summer or even to visit each other. They weren't even able to express their love to one another.  Not with words, anyway.

 

That night was when my grandparents shared their first kiss. It was a spontaneous kiss, with no warning or words before it. They both simply bent in after walking a distance and connected.

 

It was their last day before a year of no contact, for they had no way of keeping in touch.

 

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

 

"Those were hard times for us all." My grandmother tells me. "After we parted ways, I had no way of knowing if he was even alive." Her voice turns forlorn, and I realize how hard the memories must be. "But then, finally, after a long, presumably endless year, we met again."

 

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

 

Maria was split right in half trying to decide what to do.  Half of her wanted to race to that camp faster than the swiftest bullet on Earth and waste no time in trying to find him. But the other half was more cautious, more hesitant, more afraid of disappointment. During that year, she had taught herself a bit of German with every hope of being able to speak to him. She wanted nothing more than to surprise him with his familiar language, a feat she knew he would love.

 

She breathed slowly and impatiently as her train came closer and closer to her destination. She stared out her window as she passed animals, farms, and people, living their own lives. As she came even closer, the familiar windmill which she so acutely remembered welcomed her back. 

 

She couldn't help jumping off the train when it came to a halt, regardless of the heavy bags that weighed her down. When she arrived at the campus (she had to walk), she stepped inside the office to check in. 

 

The receptionist recognized her from the preceding summer.  She received the key to her new room, and made her way upstairs until she saw her door. Suddenly, she heard someone say something, and she could have sworn that it was in Russian. She turned around, hoping perhaps her roommate was able to speak it, but instead, she saw another. 

 

As her head turned, she realized something, and her eyes widened. She knew that voice--as little as she had heard it, she had dreamed of it every night for a year. She turned fully around and nearly banged heads with Richard. Her heart danced around in her chest, full of life, harmony, and completion. Her eyebrows camouflaged into her copper-colored hair as she desperately tried to think of something to say. 

 

What was the word she had memorized on the train ride? What was that phrase her German acquaintance had told her to say, should the need arise? She could not remember a single word of the language which she spent every waking moment of the past school year memorizing. She stuttered something in gibberish as she looked up at him. He, however, was smiling, as he repeated, perfectly and clearly in Russian possibly better than her own. 

 

"Welcome back," he had said, "I missed you."

 

Absolutely perfect Russian! Better than even mine, she thought. "Me, too," she answered in her native Russian, then shook her head blinking and repeated the phrase in German: "Me, too."

 

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

 

"I doubt anybody was more surprised than I was," my grandmother tells me. "All the obstacles were put aside and we were able to truly communicate. In my whole life, there was never anything nearly as magical."

 

WORD would like to welcome our new Associate Editor, Alicia Zadrozny to the team! We actually stole Alicia from Children's Publishing here at Reader's Digest and we're very happy to have her. Today is her first day and she's already in a blogging mood! Yah! The following entry is Alicia's take on Khaled Hosseini's latest novel, A Thousand Splendid Suns.

I am in 72nd place and I'm proud of it. It's not really a race that I'm in. Rather, I am eagerly waiting to get my hands on a reserved library copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns.

Many other people will have the chance before I do. This much-anticipated second novel by Khaled Hosseini comes out today. In 2003, Hosseini wowed the world with The Kite Runner. I was more than "wowed" by this story about two Afghan boys and their troubled friendship. I was moved. I was awed. I was blown away. I remember hearing from so many different kinds of people who felt the same way. I was amazed how this book even touched "non-readers." They too would sing its praises.

Of course, many people have high hopes for A Thousand Splendid Suns. Today, I read an excerpt of the novel and my excitement remains strong. This time we get a woman's perspective. The novel tells the tale of two women who live through three decades of Taliban tyranny and civil war in Afghanistan. From the morsel I sampled, A Thousand Splendid Suns promises a rich read, complete with delicious descriptions and endearing characters.

Well, I have just got so worked up that I may have to head to a bookstore tonight instead of waiting. Then again, this book is going to fly off the shelves. And I might end up being number 72 in line, anyway.

- by AC Lobos, Grade 11

There are things that roam in the darkness
In the bleak of midnight they run free and wild
None can see the bitter and empty hearts that they shelter
Free to witness the fear of all who approach their realm
Few can see them as they pass through a blanket of black
Darkness, their only friend

Shadowy ravens fly at the echo of their eerie laughter
Til the light of truth shows what was never there
Aid will never come to those who see it
For the memory will last till the curtain falls on man

Well, here we are.

In case you haven't heard, our entire staff here at Weekly Reader has moved to Pleasantville, NY. We are now part of Reader's Digest. Yah! Click here to see a picture of the building. I'm sure there are better images out there. If you know of one, please let me know.

Today, well, today we are the new kids on the block. This place is pretty big and we are getting our bearings slowly but surely. A bunch of us ate lunch in the cafeteria and it was quite good. Although, I opened a ketchup packet the wrong way and it shot out all over me. Grr. But it's all good!

So yeah, check out the Reader's Digest web site (the link is above) when you get a chance. I'm still unpacking but I just wanted to give you a heads up on our new mailing address.

READ Magazine or Writing Magazine
Weekly Reader Publishing
1 Reader's Digest Road
Pleasantville, NY 10570

And, of course, you can always email us at word@weeklyreader.com.

-Slightly Off-Centered

Yesterday was the final day of the International Reading Association (IRA) conference. I don't have anything really exciting to report because I spent pretty much the entire day in the Weekly Reader booth. I didn't meet any authors or go to any lectures because I was chillin' at the home base, mixing it up with teachers from all walks of life. And that, in itself, was something special.

I'm about ready to leave now. The four of us that headed out here together in an oversized minivan just five days ago are ready to pile back in and groove on back to the states. Canada was truly a blast, eh? I thank you for your good will and best wishes.

Before we leave this fine country, we're stopping by a small, mostly unknown place called Niagara Falls. I hear they've got, like, a bunch of water or something? I dunno. That's just what they tell me. ;)

So yeah, overall, the trip was just jam packed with inspiration and ideas. Gotta give a great big shout out to IRA for making it all possible. How does one give a shout out? Um.

YO IRA..... WORD!

Yup, that oughtta do it.

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.
Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."
     - Grouch Marx

Coming soon to WORD: More student writing than you can shake a stick at! How's that for barking up the right tree???

Wow.

You know what? The International Reading Association (IRA) conference is superb! I cannot begin to tell you how much fun we are having here! ... oh wait, yes I can. And it starts now.

So today was Tuesday, the penultimate day of the show. And, true to form, the day started out miserable and quickly moved to fantastic... and here's how. (Editor's note: The following paragraph is boring. Please skip ahead to the **starred** paragraph to read the good stuff.)

I was scheduled to work the Weekly Reader Booth at 8:00 a.m. I arrived at the convention hall in plenty of time, but of course, just as I was about to gear up to talk to my first teacher of the day, I realized that I had left my business cards back at the hotel. It seems like a minor thing, but really, they are essential for making contacts. So I ran back to our rental van and attempted to drive back to the hotel. I say "attempted" because the traffic back to the hotel was horrendous! I was on the verge of a meltdown in rush hour traffic because I knew that there was a very important lecture I wanted to attend at 9:00. I somehow managed to maintain my rage and turn the van around and head back to the convention hall. Grrr! Oh I was so mad! I can't even tell you.

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

**I arrived back at the convention center JUST in time to power walk to my lecture with not a second to spare. I sat down just in time for the beginning of a speech by Mo Willems and Brian Selznick.

Willems is an author/illustrator who has penned and drawn gorgeous children's books such as Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus!, Edwina, The Dinosaur That Didn't Know She Was Extinct, and Today I Will Fly!

Selznick is the author/illustrator of many young adult novels including The Houdini Box, The Dinosaurs of Waterhouse Hawkins, and most recently, the highly acclaimed tour de force, The Invention of Hugo Cabret. (We recently featured "Hugo Cabret" in Writing's April/May issue. Maybe you saw it on page 4 in Write Stuff?)

Together, Willems and Selznick spoke about their love of writing and drawing and how they go through their creative processes to come up with fascinating new ways to tell a story! And they spoke with such humor and such love of their work that it really put their captive audience on the edge of their seats. Willems is an author who's sense of humor and love of life is impossible to ignore. "When I was a child," Willems said, "I was, what is now called, a 'reluctant reader'. back then, it was called 'a boy'." He then went on to assure us he was kidding. Boys love to read just as much as girls do. For sure.

Willems' sheer enthusiasm and good will erupted out of him and we, the audience, were mesmerized. He even conducted a draw-along session where he taught us all how to draw a pigeon. (Mine was a little off, but then again, most of what I do is a little off.)

When it was Selznick's turn to speak, he came out shining. His award-winning new book, The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a young adult novel the likes of which the world has never seen. It's "part book, part graphic novel, part movie, part historical fiction, part everything." Reading "Hugo Cabret" is akin to living it. I would love to tell you about the plot but there's just too much else to talk about. You can learn all about this extraordinary book by clicking here.

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After that INCREDIBLE experience, I went back and worked the booth some more. I met with many fascinating teachers (maybe one of them was yours?) and I got a lot of great ideas for READ magazine! Look for great things next year! And, as always, you can ALWAYS contact us and let us know what you think of our magazine (and Writing, too) by emailing us at word@weeklyreader.com. And while I'm on the subject of plugging our stuff... have you checked out our Student Writing Showcase yet? I mentioned it the other day... anyway, check it out if you get a chance. It's only just the beginning of what we want to do with YOUR stories and poems!

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I MET NAOMI SHIHAB NYE!! She's the author of The Flag of Childhood: Poems From the Middle East, This Same Sky: A Collection of Poems from Around the World, and What Have You Lost?, among many others.

Ms. Nye is sooooooo excited to be.... oh wait... maybe I shouldn't announce this just yet? Hmm... ok, well I really see no harm in it. So check it out! This past year, Writing's student writing contest called "Take Me Away" was judged by the fabulous Ursula K. Le Guin. For next year's writing contest, I am pleased to announce that we have signed on the glorious Naomi Shihab Nye to be our guest judge! How cool is that?! Ms. Nye was all smiles when we talked about it today! And she can't wait to read your work! The theme of the contest won't be announced until September, but I can tell you this with confidence: you're gonna like it. :)

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So after THAT happy experience of meeting Ms. Nye, I went to hear S.E. Hinton speak in front of a HUGE audience! Ms. Hinton is the author of the classic novel, The Outsiders. It is a timeless tale of a young boy named Ponyboy who is stuck in a gang of "Greasers." But are the Greasers really that bad? Or are they just misunderstood? What makes a bad boy bad? Who decides? I don't know, you tell me.

Ms. Hinton started writing The Outsiders when she was only 15 years old!! The story was based on her personal experiences in school. There were two sets of gangs, The Greasers and The Socs (or "Socials"). And she was fed up with both of them. She wrote her anger and disappointment and it turned into art... and it has stood the test of time.

During her speech, Ms. Hinton did speak at lengths about writing and how hard it can be. She said that the year she was writing The Outsiders, she "got a D in Creative Writing." It just goes to show that anyone can write! Even near-failing writers! You just have to find something you love to write about and get it down!

"After writing The Outsiders, I took a break," Ms. Hinton said, "When I finally came back and decided to write again, I realized... that I didn't know how to write! I couldn't write on a typewriter... I couldn't even write letters to my friends!" She sighed under the weight of the memory. "Many writers will tell you that there's no such thing as 'Writer's Block'. Well I'm here to tell you that yes Ma'am, there is."

So to make a long story short... there is always hope. All you have to do is do it. So do it. Get to it. And send it to us. Click on submit your writing in the right hand column or send your writing directly to word@weeklyreader.com. What have you got to lose?

Nothing. Exactly.

Goodnight Toronto!!!!

-WORD

Day Two, Sunday
We set up our Weekly Reader booth here at the International Reading Association (IRA) conference. It took pretty much all day and was more or less uneventful until, near the end of the day, one of our walls came crashing down. To make a short story shorter, we got a new wall. Yah!

Day Three, Today
The day started out slowly. The hotel coffee was wretched, and the ride to the convention center was filled with trying to cope with the fact that the coffee was wretched. But as soon as we got to our booth, happy faces were genuinely turned on as we greeted teachers who came from all across North America.

Many of them were very familiar with READ and Writing magazines and they were ecstatic to learn about our brand new electronic issue! Wait, this deserves a whole new section here....

CHECK IT OUT!!
The first annual Student Writing Showcase is here! Get on the phone! Tell all your friends! Sing it loud and clear! What is it? We will have a future blog dedicated to that. But for now, see for yourself! Click the link above or go to www.weeklyreader.com/showcase. And start thinking about what you want to submit for next year's Showcase. Because, oh yes, we'll be doin' it again! Count on it.

Day Three, Today (cont.)
When I wasn't "working the booth" and showing off our magazines, I also got a chance to see Lisa Klein, author of Ophelia, speak about writing, reading, and teaching Shakespeare. Ophelia was the love interest of Hamlet. In Shakespeare's play, Ophelia goes mad (crazy) and drowns herself in a river. In Klein's book, she takes the character and rewrites her part. Ophelia does not actually die in this daring, innovative new novel, but rather, she actually fakes her own death and escapes from the kingdom of Elsinore to live a new life. This is fantastic stuff! It's so cool when new authors can take old works and re-write them in ways that readers of the past had only contemplated, don't you think?

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery," Klein said in her speech. "I often ask myself, 'What would Shakespeare do?'" Ha! Who hasn't? :)

If you haven't read this book, you have to check it out. But if it slips your mind or you just have too many things going on now (what with prom, summer vaca being almost here, cracking down for finals, etc.), fear not! READ magazine is going to attempt to do something very cool with this book in the coming year. Details to come...

I also met Jane Yolen today. She is the author of many books including Pay The Piper:A Rock 'n' Roll Fairy Tale. We have collaborated with her on a number of projects over the years and most recently, she read a fairy tale written by a student writer on none other than (you guessed it!) Student Writing Showcase!

And if that weren't enough to fill a whole week (let alone one day!), I also met with the hip cats over at Flocabulary! And yes, I understand that saying "hip cats" makes me sound like a complete poser, all apologies. But these guys are great! You absolutely have to check out their web site! Shakespeare as Hip-Hop?!? Shut up! Awesome!

And speaking of fantastic web sites, I also met a guy from Teaching Matters. I have so much to say about this organization that I will have to wait until a later date to get into an in-depth discussion here, but for now, giver their site a well-deserved gander!

There's just so much cool stuff goin' on at IRA this year but unfortunately, I have to get some sleep now so I can be fresh again in the morning.

Until then,
WORD!

Dear Moms,

Here are two student written poems that pretty much say it all. You're the best! Thanks for everything!

Love,
WORD

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Good Money
- by Amelia Titus, Grade 11

Mother, mother, where have you been?

Did you step in a coffee shop,
[God knows you love them]
and get lost in Tuesday's specials?

Or sit on the corner of your own
mother's bed at 4 a.m. and watch
her jerk in the dark?

Or did he put you in the spin
cycle like he does all the dry
cleaning clothes?
[God knows you love the smell
of fresh dryer sheets.]

A smell that used to cling,
sticky, in the air outside
our worn-wood home,
before all the sawdust and
sample bathroom tiles moved
in, their suitcases crammed
with overextended adjectives.

You thought,
"Good money will buy me
a kitchen where I can cook duck
and finally learn to be a chef."

[Of all things, God knows
you are not a chef.]

Good money will buy me
hardwood floors and
a wine refrigerator,
where all good things
are bottled and cold.



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

A Rose for Mama
- by Kimberly Woodcock, Grade 6

I live on a small dirt road
On a cozy little farm
Away from the town's center
Away from other barns

Across the way from my farm
Is a meadow filled with flowers
When I lay in the field and daydream
I feel that I have different powers

One cloudy and useless day
When my daddy had left for town
I remembered it was Mama's birthday
So I picked all the flowers that I found

When I saw the perfect flower
I dropped all of the others
It was the most perfect thing ever
And should be given to all mothers

I ran home shouting
With just one thing in my hand
But I tripped accidentally
And the flower was crushed in the sand

My mama came out and got me
And asked "What happened, darling?"
I told her about the flower
And her look was very startling

She said she didn't care about that
It was the thought of the gift that counts
She said she loved me for thinking of her
And the flower didn't matter an ounce

I always loved my mama
And that's the way it goes
Now every single birthday
I give my mama one single red rose!

Today... well, allow me to explain. Not that it matters much, but the date on this blog post is going to say "Sunday, May 12". It's a lie! Don't believe the hype! For some reason, WORD blogs three hours in the future. It's really still Saturday. So when I say "today", I am referring to Saturday. Sorry, just had to get that nonsense out of the way. So where were we? Ah yes.

Today, we drove to Toronto, Canada. It was an 9 hour trip in a rented mini-van and there were four of us. It was Jives, Vegas, Kate, and myself. We are here because the always fantastic, never disappointing International Reading Association (IRA) conference is in town. It starts on Monday but we had to get here early in order to set up our Weekly Reader booth at the convention hall tomorrow. Basically, the idea is that teachers from all over are going to come visit us and we're going to exchange ideas and talk about great books and share our magazines with them. It's really a fun time! Plus, we get to be in Toronto! Woo hoo!

Crossing the border into another country was unnecessarily nerve-wracking. We prepped ourselves, "getting our stories straight", as Jives said, like we were some kind of criminals with ulterior motives.

"OK, so when we stop and the border guard questions us, here's our story: We're going to a conference in Toronto where 20,000 teachers are going to swarm us for information about Weekly Reader. Can everyone remember that?"

Yes! Because that's really why we're here!

Hmm... well, maybe it was funnier in the van.

At any rate, we made it across the border and this is the first official WORD blog entry from another country!

Helllllllloooooooo down there U.S.A.! How's the weather?  :)

So we're here. Canada is cool. More to come later. But for now... a special treat! Not only is today road trip day, but it is also National Limerick Day! We made a point to write a few limericks on our long, 9 hour drive today, just for you! If you are unfamiliar with limericks, you can start by learning all about them by clicking here. After you read ours, try some of your own! They're fun! And they practically write themselves! Cheers!

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Limerick The First

From Connecticut we set forth,
On a trail that led us north.
Voyagers in a green minivan,
Traveling as careful as we can,
We must find a beast named Gorth!

Who is Gorth you ask? We don't know. We're still trying to find him. :)

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

Limerick The Second

Today is the day of limericks,
Of rhyming words with slick tricks.
These poems are fun!
They're for everyone!
And they're a great way to get your kicks!

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

Limerick The Third

Our best driver sits in the back,
He yaks and he yaks and he yaks.
When there's danger ahead
He makes us not dead.
Only the pedal he lacks.

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

Limerick The Fourth

There once was a girl named Vegas.
She said her name was Brooke (but it's Vegas).
"The desert's too warm
For my delicate form!
So take me to Toronto!" she begged us.

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

Limerick The Fifth

There's this dude I know named Jives.
He likes writing limericks as he drives.
He watches the road,
As onward we go,
And the miles of nothing pass by.

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

Limerick The Last (a.k.a. Welcome To Shmaltzville)

Off to Toronto we go,
Traveling along forest roads.
We're a happy group of four
And our spirits do soar!
Together we're never alone.

Awwwwwwwwwww. Ha! Whatever. Goodnight.

Word.

In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Sara Verbanas' conclusion... keep reading.

 

The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)

- By Sara Verbanas

 

"That it be boy-o!" Uncle Petey glared at me and motioned with the flick of his hand to come along "Now, we meet your father." I felt my throat tighten as I strolled one step behind Uncle Petey, feeling the eyes of the crew glaring at me with interest and awe.

 

We came upon a wooden door that led to the captain's cabin. "Come on lad don't be shy now! We ain't got all day ya know!" Petety rapped his knuckles on the door, and then a voice sounded within.

 

"Who goes there me-hearty?"

 

Petey pushed open the door and across the room a figure emerged from the shadows of the corner, to reveal a tall, strongly built, bronze-skinned man. His attire contained a black hat with a pair of old, grungy-looking pair of boots and his hair was braided just like Petey's (except this guy had some beads in his). 

 

"Aye matey, is that how you'd greet your own blood?" I stared at the man for a moment realized what Petey had been fussing about. This man standing right in front of me was my father! "Keith? Aye me-hearty! Tis' can't be him! He's so scrawny and pale!"

 

Petey turned to me and looked me up and down. "Aye but he gots the heart of a pirate, Captain." 

 

"Well then," My pirate-father said, "Don't you be tryin' any tricks now. There ain't no where else to go besides the deep blue yonder where you'll be eaten alive by sharks." Petey grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to my long lost father. "Well, you aint the buffest lad to take the job, but we can make you as greedy and heartless as we here pirates!" I felt his arm place itself heavily on my left shoulder, causing my body to tilt sideways. "Now, we will start breaking you of your proper habits and mold you into a strong and dirty pirate!"

 

The captain led me out of the cabin and brought me up to the top of the deck. The crew went on with their own duties as if they hadn't noticed I was there. "Now how bout you be gettin' to work, son?" I was handed a bucket of dirty water along with a scrubbing brush. "This here deck needs a good scrubbing, you best be getting it done before dark or you'll miss eatin'."

 

*                  *                  *                  *

 

There were plenty of times I went to bed without dinner, but I eventually figured out a way so that I would get done with all my chores and was then able to eat while my food was still hot on the table. If I were to get up early enough, then I could get done with the deck so it would dry before the crew woke up and walked all over it and made it dirty again. 

 

Over the years, I became musuclar and my skin began to turn from a young boy's pale white to a young man's bronze. 

 

Eventually, I discarded all ideas of escape from my mind. After hard labor and deathly trials I finally won the respect and approval of the crew. My father and I became great companions. I was told that because of my cold-heartedness and my exceeding greed, I would become the co-captain of the ship! One day, my father will be dead and I will become sole captain of his ship.

 

Aye, tis' truly a pirate's life for me!

 

Yar.

In the April/May issue of Writing Magazine, we published the picture below and asked you to write a story about it. The following is one of the many 1,000 Word interpretations we received. Enjoy!

Venture Onto Land
- by James Mowery, Grade 12

Hi my name is Termitimous but you can call me Termite... Termite the turtle. I live in the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Hunnington. I am here today to tell you about my journey onto land.

One sunny day I decided to work on my backstroke, as I always do on beautiful days. On my way to the whirlpool I felt a sharp, excruciating pain dart down my left leg. This had never happened before. I began to ponder the idea of this pain that was enveloping my leg. I decided to swim to the surface. Maybe some fresh air will do the trick, I thought.

As I popped my head from the brim of the water, the pain got worse. It was then that I remembered that I forgot to eat my breakfast. It is too far to go home and eat, I thought. I'll just look around and maybe I'll find some food somewhere.

The pain began to creep to my right leg, my body went tense with every pulse of blood that ran through my veins.

Land, I've never been on land before but I have to rid myself of this abhorring pain in my legs. Just for a few seconds, long enough to acquire some food and stretch. Then I'll be on my way back to the whirlpool swimming laps. Okay stay calm pull yourself together; you'll be just fine.

What was that? A shadow just dashed by me on my right side. The pain is growing. I have to eat but... the sun disappeared as a dark figure snarled above me. The shadow of the beast seemed to devour the sun's rays as it began to inch its way towards me.

The pain is no longer an issue. It is as if it took flight. My teeth began to chatter as I tried to utter my last words. ...

Then the beast spoke. His voice struck fear into my body. It smashed my dignity, digesting away at my thoughts. He told me that I should have stayed in the water. My body cringed with every syllable he spoke. The fear is growing. I began to sob, praying for him to let me live.

"I'm not going to kill you," said the beast. "I'm here to protect you. There are many dangers out here. This is no place for a turtle,"

He let me go.

Together, we walked down the beach for a while, conversing about the differences between our worlds. The time grew late and I had to depart from his presence. He said goodbye as I jumped into the water. 

That was the day I discovered how fortunate I am to have the ability to live in two worlds.

Goodnight.

In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Deb Chadwick's conclusion... keep reading.

The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)
- by Grace Kim, Grade 7

As I rose, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Pirates, with eye patches, crutches, and talking parrots on their shoulders, all shouting, "Ahoy, Master Keith!" and grinning with their black and gold teeth showing between their lips. It was just as I read in books and magazines. They all had either a pistol, or a dagger with curved edge. I closed my eyes and thought, what if this was all a dream? Soon I'll have to wake up and see those ugly amateur clowns trying to perform their dumb tricks. I slowly opened my eyes wishing it wasn't a dream. I could still hear the loud voices of the pirates, smell the salty water, and see the blue wave hit the wooden walls of the ship.

I reached into my pockets and touched the golden brooch. Maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was magic.

I looked around. Some pirates were drinking rum. Some were eating apples from the barrels. Some were examining the map, and some were sword fighting. I didn't want to go back home. I much rather wanted to spend my 13th birthday with these real pirates than some dumb clowns. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

"What shall we do, lad?" asked Uncle Petey, munching on an apple.

"Let's go find hidden treasures! Or invade another ship! Anything that pirates do!" I answered.

"Then treasures it shall be!" exclaimed Petey.

"Ahoy! Land!" shouted the lookout. As we approached through the fog, a figure of an island slowly appeared. Something bright flew in front of my eyes. Then another, and another. Finally, after my sight was filled with those bright lights, one of them landed on me. As I looked at it closely, I figured it was a pixie.

The pixies were figures of tiny people in elf suits with wings like those on butterflies. They danced in the air, making our way brighter through the fog. Uncle Petey grabbed one of them and trapped it in an empty lantern. The trapped pixie banged the glass wall of its cage, trying to break it open. It was no use.

Our ship reached the shore and we came down to the beach. Uncle Petey took out an old map from his pocket. Looking around he spotted a palm tree, much taller and leaner than the others. He walked toward it, and we followed, each holding a pixie lantern. Uncle Petey walked through the forest, looking down closely at the map. He walked for about two hours and then stopped. He ordered some of his men to dig up an area. They dug for a long time, but there was nothing. No treasure, no jewelry, no gold, silver, no nothing.

"What is goin' on?"

"We don't know, sir."

"It says right here! On the map!" Uncle Petey turned to the pixie in the lantern.

"Where is the treasure?"

The pixie gave no answer.

"Where is the treasure?!"

Still no answer. Uncle Petey became irritated.

"Fine. If you tell me, I will let you out."

The pixie shook its head.

"I'll give you 1/10 of the treasure if you tell me."

Again, it shook its head.

"I'll give you half if you tell me."

Still, no use.

"I'll give you 90% if you tell me."

The pixie finally smiled and nodded. Uncle Petey opened the lantern and let the pixie out. It flew through the forest and we followed.

It led us to a plain where it was hard to tell where was where. It pointed to a spot and the men dug. Soon a wooden chest appeared. The men tried opening it, but it was to tightly shut. Uncle Petey looked at the pixie again. "I'll let all the pixies go, if you open it."

The pixie shook its head.

"I'll give you 93% of the treasure if you open it."

The pixie still shook its head.

"I'll give you 95% if you open it."

The pixie shook its head again.

"Argh! I'll give you 98% if you open it." Finally the pixie nodded and flew into the keyhole of the chest. When the chest was opened - from the inside - it was full of jewels, gold, and silver. The pirates were delighted, but they remembered that they had to give the 98% to the pixies. Not wanting to share, the pirates grabbed the chest and ran to the ship. Unfortunately, they got lost. They looked at the pixies and begged.

"We'll give you 99% of the treasure if you lead us to our ship."

The pixies shook their heads.

"ARGH!!!! We'll give you ALL of the treasure if you lead us to our ship." 

The pixies agreed and led the pirates back to their ship.

As soon as we were about to leave the island penniless, one of the pixies grabbed me. It handed me something. It was my mother's jewelry box. I then remembered my parents and what kind of confusion they must be in. Then I started to miss them. I went to Uncle Petey and said, "I think I should get going, now." Uncle Petey looked at me with amusement.

"If you say so."

With a blink of an eye, I was suddenly back in my bed. I was in my pajamas, and it was morning. Mother's jewelry box wasn't with me. I got dressed and went downstairs. My parents were in the living room with some dumb clowns.

Even though I was in my bed when I came back, I know it wasn't a dream.

It was magic.

In the April/May issue of Writing Magazine, we published the picture below and asked you to write a story about it. The following is one of the many 1,000 Word interpretations we received. Enjoy!

The Journey
- Allison Bowling, Grade 7

As the turtle slowly pulled its body over the wet sand, seagulls circled above, ready to swoop in. The small creature struggled to reach the safety of the sand dunes where the woods left the vast sea behind, a memory soon to be forgotten.

For hundreds of years turtles have crossed this path hoping to make the journey across the isolated island. But crabs and seagulls swarm the path knowing that the unlucky turtles will come this way. Few ever leave the island.

As the small turtle slowly crawled across the beach, sand sticking to his shell, crabs began to gather preparing for an easy meal. When the turtle realized that his end was near, he gathered up his last bit of energy and safely made it to the forest.

He slowly made his way through the short patch of trees, leaving the sand behind. Over the next three hours the turtle covered the distance of the land. At once when coming to the end of the stretch of trees he stopped to ponder whether he should leave the safety of trees where the predators dare not enter.

Reluctantly but steadily the small creature pulled himself onto the sand and across the beach. As the seagulls began to swarm and crabs began to gather, the turtle pushed himself on, soon reaching the wet, foamy sand.

As the tide slowly carried the turtle back to sea, other turtles began their journey, hopeful they could make it too.

In READ Magazine's pirate issue (yar), we asked you to write the conclusion to a story called The Pirate's Life For Me. To read the first part of that story, click here. To read Deb Chadwick's conclusion... keep reading.

  

The Pirate's Life For Me (Part II)

- Deb Chadwick, Grade 11

I have been on this boat for the past 8 months and I have learned a lot: how to sword fight, rob ships, and gain the trust and respect from all of the other pirates. The one thing that I love the most is my new sword. From the very moment I held it, I knew that it was mine.

Uncle Petey has taught me well and I hope I've made him very proud. One day, Uncle Petey had been looking for Black Island, a dangerous island where the dead wander. He had said that a lost but very valuable treasure could be found there, but the treasure was protected by some kind of a monster. When the island was near, Uncle Petey and I lowered the smaller boat into the water and began to row toward the island.

 

Uncle Petey seemed scared as we entered the cave. The closer we got to the treasure the colder we became. We entered a chamber that was large and damp. Water was dripping from the ceiling. As we got closer to the treasure we saw the monster. She was half-woman, half-snake, and she had a very long tail.

 

Uncle Petey told me to get the gold while he distracted her, but I was the only one to get out of the cave alive. When I got back to the ship, I told everyone what had happened. The next day we had Petey's funeral. We filled a coffin with all of Petey's belongings and set it off to sea on fire. When it was over, all the other pirates decided that I should become the new captain because of my bravery. It's been 3 years since we lost Petey but I promised everyone that I would be just as good of a pirate as he was.

I'm sailing away today, to a new job and opportunity. Change isn't easy, but every time I balk at the notion of it, I'm reminded of a poem from Edgar Lee Masters's Spoon River Anthology.

If you haven't bumped into it yet, Spoon River Anthology is a must-read collection of poems by the inhabitants of a fictional town, Spoon River, in Illinois. Each poem is an epitaph by the people of that town, and together they reveal many, many secrets, and tell one big story. It is said that many of the characters in this poetry collection were inspired by various people Masters came to know throughout his life.

So, anyway, the poem is a short and simple one:

64. George Gray

I HAVE studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me—
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.	5
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail	10
And catch the winds of destiny
Wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one’s life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire—	15
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

When I graduated from high school, my friend Gift inscribed and painted this poem for me, and gave it to me in a simple wooden frame. This frame is one of those things that I have carried around with me wherever life has taken me.

Those lines: "I know that we must lift the sail / And catch the winds of destiny/ Wherever they drive the boat" ... well, they remind me everyday that I must not be afraid of change, of taking chances, and of going out on a limb ... and that's a good thing to be reminded of, isn't it? I think George Gray would agree.

I hate the word goodbye. Don't you? It has so much finality attached to it. So, I'll turn to other words in other languages or from other times to take leave of my WORD comrades:

A bien tot - French, literally translated as "in good time" .... i.e. see you around
Au revoir - French, literally translated as "to be seen again" .... i.e. see you soon
Farewell - from Middle English "fare thee well," may all go well with you
Phir Milenge - Hindi/Urdu, literally translated as "we'll meet again"

The world is a small place so ... yes, we will meet again -- maybe when we cross each other on our respective sail boats on the ocean of life ... or on the page, if nowhere else.

Thank you to all the students who wrote conclusions to "The Pirate's Life For Me", a story that was featured in READ Magazine (Issue Date April 27, 2007).

Just wanted to let you know that, yes! we got them! And we'll be posting the best of them next week, right here on WORD. But that's not all...

We have also received many "1,000 Words" interpretations concerning a certain turtle that escaped from a picture frame! This image, of course, was in the April/May issue of Writing magazine and we will be posting the best of those next week as well!

Next week's shaping up to be big in the world of student writing! You're not gonna want to miss this!

So come on back! Every day next week, starting Monday, May 7 all the way through to Friday, May 11! It's pirates and turtles week here at WORD!

Who loves, ya baby?*

*Editor's Note: Please don't sue us, Telly Savalas.