I was just thinking. (Yes, I tend to do that occasionally. But don't worry, it doesn't happen too frequently.) Have you ever read a book more than once? And not just twice, or even three times, but so many times that the binding is all cracked and the pages are in danger of falling out and you could probably recite it line for line?

I'm asking because right now I'm re-reading Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding for about the zillionth time. (I've also read Bridget Jones's Diary a zillion times as well. The first one is better, but Edge of Reason has its charm.) It's partially because I haven't had a chance to go to the book store in awhile, and partially because if I don't have something to read on the train I'll fall asleep and miss my stop and not be able to come in and blog for all of you, and I don't want all of you crying. I just can't handle that pressure! But anyway, I'm mostly re-reading it for the zillionth time because, well, I love it. I do. I know every joke, and I cry at the same parts every time. But I still love it. And I never get bored reading it.

It's a really weird phenomenon.

Seriously, right? I mean, I'm sure you all have read a book multiple times, and it didn't bring you any less pleasure. Maybe, if you were older when you read it again, you were able to appreciate it on a different level. Maybe it brings you comfort. Of maybe it's just an awesome book. But it's weird, because I don't think there's any other type of medium where this can be replicated.

Movies can be watched multiple times and still be enjoyable, but I feel like you need more time in between each viewing. If not, it gets a little tedious.

TV shows definitely can't be watched multiple times. For example, I love the show Lost (which starts again today, by the way, and I'm so excited!), and yesterday, last year's season finale was on. Now, I tried to watch it to get pumped for today. But, after just a few minutes, I had to turn it off. Not even Josh Holloway could keep my attention. I would much rather have been reading my book!

Now, if a hottie like Josh Holloway cannot keep my attention on a second viewing, well, then that gets my attention. It just goes to show you how much pleasure you can get from a favorite book.

So, what's your favorite book that you've read ten bajillion times? What do you like about it? Are you excited for Lost? We can compare our theories tomorrow.

I know you all know there is a writer's strike going on (because I mention it practically every time I blog. What can I say, I like TV!). But the Grammys are going to go on as scheduled.

Hear that sound? That noise was all of us collectively sighing in relief. Because seriously, in my book, it's not an award show without the scripted witty banter and the "hilarious" jokes from the presenters.

The writers struck up some sort of deal thing, and they're going to be allowed to write for the Grammys. They've been on strike for awhile, so they must all be desperate to do some writing already.

I'm glad that the Grammys will be on. A lot of my favorite performers were nominated this year for various categories: Foo Fighters, Amy Winehouse, Fergie, Rihanna (although I am kind of getting sick of "Umbrella." Ella, ella, eh, eh. Oh man, now it's going to be stuck in my head again for another three weeks), John Mayer, Justin Timberlake, and Paramore. I'm excited to see who will win.

Speaking of Paramore, I just so happen to have an interview with lead singer Hayley Williams. Want to see it? Sure you do. And if not, well, I'm not going to lie, I'm going to be a little hurt. But no pressure. Anyway, here it is:

WORD: How would you describe yourselves as a group and how would you describe your music to someone who's never heard it before?
Hayley Williams: I would say that the last record we did is fun and catchy, and the new one has an edge to it. Live, we're interactive, and fun. We don't take ourselves too seriously.

WORD: Is it weird being the only girl in the group?
Williams: There are times on the road where you feel lonely, but the dudes in the band are like my brothers. Outside of the band I only have one or two girl friends.

WORD: Are the guys ever over-protective of you when you're on the road?
Williams: [laughs] They can be sometimes.

WORD: What kind of school did you go to?
Williams: I went to a program similar to home school, but it had more interaction with other students. There were 90 students in the school. That's where I met Josh and Zac. [When the band formed] everything just sort of fit with us.

WORD: How long does it take to write a song?
Williams: Some songs might take a day or five minutes, but some might take a month. Sometimes it's easy and quick. I like hearing the music first, and then writing lyrics. The guys are good about letting me write what I feel. We're a great team. Without one of us, the band would be completely different. We hang out all the time. We're all very close.

WORD: Are your parents supportive of you playing in a band?
Williams: Our parents are all great. I think if our parents saw us struggling, they would worry more about us being away from home. They love coming to shows. Our parents are awesome.

WORD: When you were playing at school talent shows, did you know you were going to make it big? What was your defining moment as a band?
Williams: I remember when we were playing Cornerstone [a small concert]. A lot of smaller bands got their start there. I don't think we even dreamed about Warped Tour. We started [as a band] in talent shows at school and church, and moved up to being the local band. We just got really lucky.

WORD: I know you're all still in your teens. Do you guys still attend school?
Williams: Josh, Jeremy, and I just graduated. I've actually been out for about a year. I did some Internet courses while the band was on the road.

WORD: What was your favorite subject when you went to school?
Williams: I was better at English and reading than science and math.

WORD: Is that when you realized you liked writing and got interested in writing lyrics?
Williams: I do remember having a lot of assignments expressing ourselves, like journal writing—that's when I really started enjoying it. My mom was a teacher at my school when I was younger, so I always had encouragement. She always thought it was good that I said what was on my mind.

WORD: What would you want to be if you weren't in a band?
Williams: This band is our career—we want to keep doing it. For a time, I thought about going to cosmetology school to do something girly and creative and not as aggressive. But I just don't really see not being in a band right now. This is what we want to do. Paramore is our dream.

WORD: I read that some of your items of clothing are on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of fame in Ohio. How were you selected to donate your clothes? Have you seen the exhibit?
Williams: We got extremely lucky. People from Warped Tour suggested an exhibit where they would make a time capsule where people could be exposed to Warped Tour and see what goes on there. I guess they figured we have become a big impact on the tour. We were so grateful! It's crazy that my dress is on display in a place where items from Johnny Cash, and even newer [acts] like Madonna and *NSYNC are hanging.

WORD: What's the best part about touring?
Williams: We love our fans so much! It's crazy to think how quickly things happen. We like hanging out with our fans.

WORD: Have you ever had any crazy experiences with fans?
Williams: There are always going to be some awkward run-ins. We were walking to the mall, and some kid jumped out in moving traffic! I think he wanted to give me a hug, but realized that some big people from the tour were protecting me, so he gave Josh a hug instead. He ended up following us around the mall. [But] we enjoy it because it means people are enjoying our music.

WORD: What do you like to do in your spare time?
Williams: On the road, you're in a different city every night. We [the band] love going out to eat as a group. It's really good friend time—time to build relationships. We love Mexican food and going to TGI Fridays. At home me and the guys like going to the park. We like being kids.

WORD: It sounds like you spend a lot of your free time with the band.
Williams: We all get along really, really well. We all really love each other. We love sharing everything together. It's awesome.

WORD: Do you have any advice for teens who would like to be in a band?
Williams: Know why you're doing it. You could end up doing it for the wrong reasons and get burnt out.

***

So are you happy that the writers will be writing for the Grammys? Which artists do you think will win in the different categories? Do you love Paramore as much as I do? Will we ever be able to get "Umbrella" out of our heads?

Now, if only the writers would settle the strike and come back to writing for TV, all would be right in the world. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm getting so sick of reality TV...

-by Carrie Lissette Lara, Grade 10

I am from a refrigerator Kenmore
From arroz con verduras and horchata
I am from the clean beige carpet in my living room
and the great smell of my mom's enchiladas
I am from the red roses in my garden
The apple tree from my very own yard
Whose long gone limbs I remember
As if they were my own.

I'm from ojos cafes and daddy's little girl
From mis papis Maria and Carlos
I'm from vamos a jugar futbol and let's go to the movies
And from let's go camping.

I'm from portate bien chamaca! And fijate con quien te juntas!
And no friegues conmigo porque vas a ver nina!
I'm from partying all day long with the family.
I'm from Chicago
from tamales and pupusas
from mi bis abuelo Jose que hace y vende quesos y mi abuelita que es
costurera all their lives.
The memories that I've had with my parents
Los traigo en mi Corazon
I'm Mexican and Salvadorian for life.
Y soy la Rosa que florecio Del Bello rosal
When my parents saw me for the first time.

Editor's Apology: The above poem has some Spanish words that are missing accents. Sorry about that. I don't know how to include them using this bloggy software. :(

It's a real thing. No, seriously, the Bloggies is a real thing. Apparently this thing has been going on for eight years. Who knew?

The Bloggies is the Oscar of blogs. Well, not as prestigious as the Oscars. After all, the winner only gets a certificate, which, at least in my opinion, is not as cool as a gold statue and a basket of swag. But, at least winners don't have to worry about it being canceled on account of the on-going writer's strike, like the Golden Globes were canceled this year.

So anyway, for the Bloggies, you get to vote for your favorite blog. There are all sorts of categories to vote for too. Lots of cool ones were nominated ... however, I did notice one huge snub! That's right, WORD was not nominated! Can you believe it? I think we should all start a write-in campaign. Who's with me?

Well, despite the glaring omission of WORD (must have been an oversight by the nominating committee--don't worry, I'll write them an angry letter), I think honoring good blogs is a great idea. Blogging allows everyone to express themselves, to share opinions, to write! [Shameless plug: write for WORD! Send your entries here!] And the great thing is that anyone can blog. Do you have an interest? advice? time to kill? Write a blog about it! Anyone can do it. There's no better way to get your writing out to the masses.

Do you have a favorite blog (besides for WORD, obviously)? Who are you voting for in the Bloggies? And could you please get me some swag?

I finished reading An Arsonist's Guide To Writers Homes In New England. It was good. I wasn't thrilled with the ending though. You know how no matter how much you dislike a protagonist, you still have to root for him/her? Well this is one of those books that really pushes your likability limit. I kept wanting to grab the main character and shake him, screaming, "What's wrong with you? Why don't you just tell your wife the truth?"

Well ok then, so now what? The great War & Peace challenge doesn't start til February 1. Seeing that I can't wait that long to read another book, I started reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy last night. So far it's about a post-apocalyptic world. A boy and his father are walking down a road. Woo Hoo. It won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2007. After reading the first 50 pages, I can't for the life of me see why. I'm hoping it gets better. I think I heard somewhere that there are cannibals in it.

Shrug. I'll have to get back to you.

Word.

Well, we've been talking about doing this for a couple weeks now. I guess you've gone and made it official and there's no backing out, eh? Well alrighty then. I'm in. Looking forward to it. I don't really know what we're getting ourselves into here... but it should be interesting.

I too got the new translation of War and Peace for Christmas. This is probably the best way to do it: a friendly race amongst bloggers. Let's help each other through it. And NO CLIFF NOTES! Hee hee.

February 1st it is...

Word.

Oh Alicia, what have you done?

This is one of the books on my list of "Oh Em Gee, I better not die in a tragic accident before I get a chance to read this book." It is also on my list of "Hm, I can't take that on the subway," and "Wow, this heavy book doesn't fit in my clutch." But, despite the fashion dilemma it poses, I am up for the challenge. I have a mad love affair with the Russians and it's about time I took this book head-on. Richard Pevear is a brilliant translator and did a wonderful job with another of my favorite Russian books, The Master and Margarita.

BTW: Here's a one line summary of War and Peace, for those of you who don't mind a plot spoiler.

 

Within the 1,296 pages of War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy wrote these words, "The strongest of all warriors are these two, "Time and Patience." I don't know where this quote exists within the 1,296 pages, but I'm going to find out. And I'm feeling like Mr. Tolstoy was thinking of his future readers when he wrote this quote.

He's right. I'm going to need Time and Patience--and lots of it--to get through this book. Tolstoy forgot one other thing: superior arm strength. I have the massive tome in my hands as we speak. It's heavy. It's bulky. It's bigger than my cat.

So why do I want to do this? Well I wanted to test my literary muscles. It's been so long since I've read anything even nearly this long. And with the buzz about the new translation of War and Peace by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, I found my challenge. Plus, my sister got me the book for Christmas.

All I need now is a little Time and ... (you know). It's going to be hard now that I have a full plate of work, school, etc. etc. etc. I really question whether I can do it. (Thoughtful pause)

Wait, (thoughtful pause over) I have an idea. This is great. I have just the incentive I need. A race to finish War and Peace!

OK, calling my fellow bloggers, Bryon, Audra, Deb, and Jess! Who's in? Come on I dare you!

Check back soon to see whom the contestants and terms of the race will be. For now, I'm going to rest my arm.

Say it isn't so.

In the saddest news since Barbie left Ken, today it was announced that one of comic books' most beloved couples, Peter Parker and Mary Jane are breaking up.

No!

I wonder what went wrong in the relationship. Did Spidey leave his webs all over the house? Was MJ just not as exciting as she used to be?

It's so sad when fictional characters break up. (And no, that's not sarcasm.) Even though they aren't real, people are invested in these relationships, and it's kind of sort of, well, heartbreaking. When people are little, they imagine what their significant other will be like, and often hope the story will be like one of their favorite literary romances. Or maybe that's just me? Well anyway ...

There are so many great couples in literature and comics. Superman and Lois Lane. There's everyone's classic choice, Romeo and Juliet. (Although I do hope you take the romance figuratively, in the sense that they do everything in their power to be together and that love is the only thing that matters. The whole "both people end up dead and everything ends in tragedy" thing is a little much for a real-life romance.) There's Scarlett and Rhett from Gone With the Wind. Oh, and Jennifer Cavalleri and Oliver Barrett IV from Love Story. (Although that romance ends in tragedy as well.) The list goes on and on.

My favorite literary couple is Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy from Bridget Jones's Diary. (Actually, they're just a modern version of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, which is also a super-romantic couple.) And no, I don't just love them because Colin Firth plays Mark in the movie and he's completely gorgeous. (Although that doesn't hurt.) It's just that Mark comes to her rescue and is always there for her and you just know that he really loves her ... swoon.

Anyway, what are some of your favorite literary couples, and why do you like them? What do you think of the breakup of Peter Parker and Mary Jane? And are you just as upset as I am that a fictional couple just broke up? I really thought those crazy kids could make it work. Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to eat a pint of ice cream and blast some Alanis Morissette ...

by Rebbeca Tung
Age 10

Marge snorted and reread the flyer. It said, "Madame Fange's Academy for the Troubled." Pocketing the leaf of paper and grabbing her carpetbag, she hurried to the lawn where her mother's tan, dented station wagon was parked coughing out exhaust. She threw everything into the back seat, while listening to her mother chide about the three hour long trip to Kent.

"Oh brother," she muttered rolling her eyes.

***

Marge was ushered into a cement gray, cobweb-filled building. She shook her head in disapproval at the fake potted plants, scattered lawn chairs, cramped classrooms, and the cold, impassive staff. Only Daphne, the bus driver, had been kind, providing them with valuable information. Obviously 3/4 of the academy had been phony. Students were told to clean out Madame Fange's sleeping quarters, eat gruel and brussels sprouts, never smile, and sleep on cots that were already packed with four other students!

Fortunately an odd girl named Limea had been very generous sharing gruel and helping Marge dust the wardrobe.

"Always bin stuck in dis dirt pile!" Limea growled, her eyes filled with rage. She kicked furiously at the four-poster bed as the two cleaned Madame Fange's bedroom.

"You never had a family?" Marge asked aghast at the thought of such loneliness.

"Madame Fange adopted me at an early age," the other girl replied opening the door to leave.

Marge sighed and hurried out of the bedroom returning to her dormitory. Though Madame Fange had stolen cameras and cell phones and had thrown letters away, she had failed to take Marge's disposable camera.

Now Marge held the small camera and ran down the dimly lit corridors to what was called the Discipline Room. Madame Fange and her sister, Blair, had already begun disciplinary time randomly switching kids with belts. Carefully Marge took photos of the victims, cringing at their scarred and slightly bleeding backs. Suddenly Madame Fange looked up and asked, "Where are those moronic girls?"

"Limea and Con #287900? (aka Marge)" Blair asked.

Madame Fange nodded and smirked. "I am convinced that the two are hiding outside this room behind the door."

The two spotted Marge and smiled and watched, as she hastily stuffed something in her pocket. Blair snickered, "It seems that Marge is hiding something."

Blair strode to #287900 (aka Marge) and shoved her, sending her sprawling. The camera went flying in the air and broke upon impact. Marge tried to hide it but it was too late. They had seen the camera.

***

"Well, well. Our prisoner has a camera," Madame Fange said facing Blair. Then she turned to #287900 scowling. "Have you forgotten, fool, that cameras and cell phones were prohibited the first day?"

Marge shifted uncomfortably, still lying on the concrete floor of the Disciplinary Room.

"I shall dismiss you now, wretch. Next time--" the woman paused, her voice trailing off. After a moment, she continued. "Next time, you will wish you were never born."

Blair kicked Marge then dragged her away. "You will be isolated from the others. Do not snoop around when you are cleaning rooms or fetching well water. I will send Limea to deliver your belongings."

The cell room was dank and moldy with moth-eaten rugs laid out for her to sleep. A single candle sat beside the rags, casting pale, barely visible shadows.

Marge sighed. This would not be an easy night for her.

***

Con. 287900 was standing outside of the building, surrounded by a fence that was covered by chicken wire as she hurried outside supposedly "fetching water." Around her arms were two buckets filled with evidence that something was going terribly wrong at the Academy. The girl regretted leaving Limea behind but, she would be the only who was allowed to collect water.

Of course, Marge had been taking pictures of the Academy, first of the small cell then of herself fetching water as Fange and Blair taunted her.

Quickly, Marge crawled under the fence using a hole that she had dug and hopped on to the Daphne's bus. No one was watching. She turned the key in the ignition and breathed deeply. Then she put the bus into DRIVE and pressed down on to the pedal. The vehicle crashed through the fence and she watched as everyone poured out of the building.

"CATCH HER!" a red-faced Blair cried. Cars pulled out of the parking lot to chase the bus but as they ganged up on the automobile, it veered away turning a sudden right into a backyard. Marge gritted her teeth as the bus parked at the police station and climbed out with her information. She dashed into the station and dumped everything on to the table.

An officer asked, "And what is this hubbub, young girl?"

"Evidence," Marge answered.

"Evidence for what?"

"Proof that 'Madame Fange's Academy for the Troubled' is a phony."

The officer began to examine each object, wearing latex gloves to prevent any unnecessary fingerprints. He looked up at Marge and began to ask another question when the Fange sisters burst in.

"Can you believe it? Our own niece ran away from home!" the two cried in unison, snatching Marge's collar.

"I'm afraid this isn't your niece and that I'll have to arrest you two for child abuse." the man replied, handcuffing the two.

In a nearby car, Limea gave Marge a thumbs-up. The former prisoner, 287900 grinned toothily and nodded. Marge was going home.

"Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing."
  - Salvador Dali

What do you think this quote means in terms of writing? Do you agree with it? Click comments below and let us know.

Then, time travel to late February and read the Leap Year issue of READ magazine.

See you there...

You've been here before. Oh yes. OK, well I stole that first line, "You've been here before." from Stephen King. It's actually the first line of his terrifying novel about a small town that pretty much goes nuts, Needful Things. But I digress...

Did you ever see our Student Writing Showcase from last year? Well now's your chance. Click here, take a look. I'll wait.

Pretty cool, right? Well we're doing it again this year... except the only difference is that this year, we want YOU! That's right! We want YOUR WRITING in our 2008 Showcase!

Send your best stuff to word@weeklyreader.com. Poetry, fiction, essays, whatever you've got, we want it!

Be sure to write "Student Writing Showcase" in the subject line of your email (or "SWS" if you're into the whole brevity thing.)

I don't have an actual deadline for this one. The deadline probably should have been like last month. Oops. See, you're not the only procrastinator!

Alright, for the sake of argument, let's say the deadline is January 31. OK? But it doesn't really matter cuz you're going to email your writing to us right now, right? Woo hoo! Looking forward to reading it!

Word.

Awkward silence
Awkward silence
With all the grace of a three-legged dog,
but harder to run from.
     - Andrew Cutler, Grade 11

There once was a man named Sam,
who dreamed he was honey ham.
He went online
to buy some twine,
and now he has lots of spam.
   -  Alik Hansen, Grade 7

We all know plagiarism is bad. And since this is a reading and writing blog, plagiarism probably ranks up there with murder in terms of evilness. OK, maybe not murder. But it is bad. And according to some, Jessica Seinfeld, wife of Jerry, allegedly plagiarized her cookbook Deceptively Delicious: Simple Secrets to Get Your Kids Eating Good Food. And she's being compared to assassins.

Allegedly (We must be sure not to assign blame until it is proven one way or the other. After all, I certainly cannot afford to get sued. Especially by someone with pockets as deep as Seinfeld.), the book was eerily similar to The Sneaky Chef: Simple Strategies for Hiding Healthy Foods in Kids' Favorite Meals by Missy Chase Lapine.

Did she do it? I don't know. Both cookbooks involve finding ways to get kids to eat healthy. Both came out around the same time. Both have really, really, really long names. (I mean seriously, the cookbook names sound like the titles of emo songs or something. Come on Fall Out Boy, "Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)" is too long for the name of a song! But I digress.) But is it plagiarism?

Maybe it's just a coincidence. The world is fraught with similar products. Look at Coke and Pepsi. Or ... other things that are similar, which I can't seem to think of right now. But there are plenty.

If Mrs. Seinfeld did in fact plagiarize the idea, she should be punished, and not just because she's rich and I'm jealous. (Although I am.) Plagiarism is bad. We've established this already. I don't know if I would say it's as bad as being an assassin. Well a literal assassin anyway. Wait a minute. If you're a plagiarist, aren't you technically a literal assassin, because you're killing something literary? OK, that's a stretch, I know, but I totally just blew my mind with that.

Well anyway, has anyone actually seen these two cookbooks? Are they that similar? Would you eat your vegetables if they were hidden in something delicious? I would probably end up picking them out and hiding them in the couch cushions or something, but that's just me. Anyway, don't plagiarize, kids!

In the January 4th issue of READ, we presented a Charles Dickens classic called The Child's Story. The ending was a little difficult and we asked you to tell us what you thought of it. The following is an interpretation by student READer Maggie Smith.

In Charles Dickens's short piece titled The Child's Story, a lone traveler walks along a road and interacts with characters that represent stages in his life. Each of these characters call to the walking man, and invite him to join them in whatever activity or occurrence sets apart that particular age, such as learning as a child or teenager, or being in love like a young adult. At the end of the short story, the narrator speaks directly to the traveler as a grandchild to his grandfather. This surprising point of view makes the piece take on new meaning.

For example, the clever narrative explains the grandchild's understanding of the grandfather's life, and how he or she knows that their grandfather loves to remember and to enjoy simply being with his family, and they love him back. When I read this passage, I envision a grandchild telling the story to his beloved grandfather as their happy relatives look on. The line "because this is what you do to us, and what we do to you" explains the close relationship this family has.

Also, the grandchild narrator mentions several events that explain the grandfather's life. The mention of the young man falling in love just as "somebody I won't mention did with Fanny" is clearly the child hinting shyly at his grandfather's wife, presumably named Fanny. In addition, all of the children of the middle-aged "always busy" gentleman leave to go to sea, India, abroad to seek riches, and Heaven. These specific examples are probably the grandchild's way of mentioning his aunts and uncles.

Lastly, the narration in Charles Dickens's story sheds light on how young children view life in simple stages that seem vastly far away. The grandchild uses simple language and foreshadowing, while never exactly stating what is going on. The reader must deduce the meaning of each character and event by themselves. Also, the child's mention of the journey as "magic, and very long when he began it, and very short when he got half way through" emphasizes the simple, sparse viewpoint of the child.

In conclusion, this revealing and surprising narration in The Child's Story is bright, beautifully simple, and uses small clues to illustrate both the child's and the grandfather's lives. Charles Dickens used this to his advantage, and this story still rings true even today.

If you haven't yet read Dickens's story, you can find it on page 14 of the January 4th issue of READ... or here.

In the January 4th issue of READ, we presented a Charles Dickens classic called The Child's Story. The ending was a little difficult and we asked you to tell us what you thought of it. Here are just a few of your responses.

Jack Spahr
The last line of the story titled The Child's Story was: And I think the traveler must be yourself, dear Grandfather, because this is what you do to us, and what we do to you. The traveler was one who went on his way along the path seeing as a young boy grew from a boy to a grandfather. I suppose that the traveler would be the grandfather as he travels through life. As he travels he follows a path almost like a time line until he comes to the end. Unfortunately I did not understand the "because this is what you do to us, and what we do to you" part of the final sentence. Perhaps it has some meaning relating to what he and the child did as they both went through the path. As he walked and met the boy time and time again they did many things together. I'm not too sure about what it does mean although the sentence does hold some significant meaning.

Abby Johnston
The Child's Story seems like it was written by someone older than a child. This story seems like some kind of life story wound into something interesting to keep a child amused. The last line surprised me, but after I thought about it, it made more sense. These children were either dying or going far off to somewhere, just like a grandfather would, yet the parents weren't terribly sad, they knew it would happen and they accepted it. I think this story helps the grandfather accept dying.

Chris Covert
The last line in The Child's Story was very well-written by Charles Dickens. It was easily comprehended and sent a large message. It was very powerful. It did not surprise me because that title stated that it was a story from a child. I understood it. The last line states that the boy thinks his grandpa is the travelling man because he watches people change as they grow up until they leave and all he can do is remember them, as the boy can watch his granpa get older and pass away, leaving the boy to remember him.

Connor Fitzgerald
It did not surprise me much to know that the speaker was talking to the grandfather. The last sentence told that the speaker was speaking to the grandfather, and as the story progressed from the beginning I began to know that. Thankfully the story was easy enough to understand, and I began to figure out its deeper meaning once I was finished. I already explained what its basic tale was. The traveler goes on his travels and meets along the way multiple people. He's simply meeting the same person after an amount of time and doing things with him. All in all it was a fine story though with a good deal of meaning to it.

The last line of the sstory did surprise me a little because it sounds like one of those stories that tells you a lesson, and usually someone older tells you something like that. I think that I understand some parts of it. One part I believe I understand is throughout the story it is telling you what is important to people at each age. For example, it was important for the child to play, and for the young boy to learn, and so on. The child could be telling the story of how they thought their grandfather watched them grow up, and watched them go through those phases in life. Plus, he won't be able to find them becouse they grew up, and are "gone" forever. Only when he wants to remember them, is when he can see everyone again. I hope that explanation made sense, because it did to me. :)

Later today... come back to WORD to read Maggie Sullivan's extremely thought out and insightful explanation of Charles Dickens's The Child's Story...

In the meantime, if you haven't yet read Dickens's story, you can find it on page 14 of the January 4th issue of READ... or here.

That's weird that you mentioned that story yesterday, Jessica. Well, not too weird because it's news. But let me tell you why it's at least a little strange...

I just started reading this book called An Arsonists's Guide To Writers' Homes in New England. Now before anyone gets worried about my mental health, let me say that it is a work of fiction by Brock Clarke (author of Ordinary White Boy). So far, it's quite good. It's about this dude who burned down the Emily Dickinson house in Amherst, killed two people (accidentally? I don't know yet), went to jail for ten years, got out, married, and had a couple kids before the "real trouble started". That's where I am now. Chapter Two. It only seems like a lot of stuff was packed into Chapter One because it was. That's all. But it worked. I like Clarke's voice. He seems to have biting shades of Chuck Palahniuk (arthor of Fight Club, Haunted, and more).

So the weirdness was that you wrote about true-to-life deviant vandals at Frost's house while I was reading about an imaginary dude burning down Dickinson's.

Fire and ice. Heh. Word.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-from "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost

Well, apparently Mr. Frost wasn't the only one who took a road less traveled.

According to a story on CNN, teens broke into the poet's house. (Don't worry, he wasn't harmed. He wasn't even there, because, well, he's been dead since 1963.) The vandals had a crazy house party, and they destroyed everything in the historic landmark.

How could they do that? Don't they have any respect for the four-time Pulitzer Prize winner? I know I do. I don't care much for poetry. (With the exception of Shel Silverstein, because he's awesome. I mean, seriously. I dare you to read The Giving Tree without shedding a tear. Go on, I can wait.) But even I quote from "The Road Not Taken." It's such a meaningful, thought-provoking, insightful ... excuse me, I'm getting a little ver clempt. (That means "choked up," bubbala.)

I'm sure if you haven't heard of "The Road Not Taken," you've read--and quoted, maybe without even realizing--other poems by Frost. How about "Nothing Gold Can Stay"? You totally have. And if not, tell your teachers you should be reading some Frost. At best you'll get some brownie points for wanting to learn more about poetry and a great American poet, and you'll enrich your brain. At worst ... well, no. There's no "at worst."

But back to the matter at hand, how could those vandals do such a thing? Maybe we should give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they didn't know it was Frost's house. But still ... I say it's unforgivable!

And when the vandals get caught--which they will--it will be, ahem, poetic justice.

By Dustin Wahl

It was getting dark. The swamp was full of dead plants and smelled like someone forgot to take a shower. An old man with wild hair and a face smeared with dirt waded through the waters. He had a .20 gauge attached to his back, and he was looking for something to shoot.

Through the rotting weeds came the extremely elusive rubber ducky! The old hunter sneered a horrible murderous grin. He cocked his rifle. But then, something strange happened. The ducky started to drift, against the current. The hunter was astonished as it slowly swam away. He quickly gathered his senses and followed.

The hunter, with the mind of a killer, shot at it four or five times. He missed but kept chasing the duck. Finally, he cornered the rubber ducky. "I'll hang your hide on the clothesline!" he shouted "or a coat hanger. Ha!"

"You can't do that," said the ducky. "I'm plastic!" But, either way, he was cornered.

The hunter took aim. Just as he was ready to fire, the ducky spoke up again. "I don't know how I got here. I think I fell out of the window, but I just want to go back home. I hate it here. My little friend loved me and I loved him, but I don't know how to get back to him."

By this time the hunter was crying his eyes out because of the sad story. Truth be told, the little rubber ducky knew exactly where he was. He made up the sob story at the spur of the moment. He was trying to sneak past the crying hunter, when the hunter, between tears, asked the duck, "How is it that you can talk?"

"What?!" exclaimed the ducky. "You've never heard a rubber ducky talk? Well, I guess I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Mr. Bubbles. I was just going to take another bubble bath, when I fell out of the window. I was carried by a small stream of water to a sewer in the ground. That carried me to a huge river, which carried me here. Any questions?"

By this time the hunter was ready to wake up from a dream. But he noticed something about Mr. Bubbles. He was kind of a different duck. That was when the hunter fainted.

If you've ever seen a rubber ducky swim on its own, well, it's a sight to see. That Mr. Bubbles was moving. He had evaded the old hunter, but there wasn't any time to celebrate. This duck had a mission. You see, Mr. Bubbles wasn’t normal. He got senses about things. Big things. And that day he had the strangest, most bizarre sense of all: the president was apparently going to be crushed by a falling piano. I know it sounds weird, but Mr. Bubbles was never, ever wrong.

* * *

The next day Mr. Bubbles was sitting in the office of the president's secretary, waiting for some loon screaming about taxes to leave. He finally got removed by the security and Mr. Bubbles hopped up on the desk. You might be wondering how Mr. Bubbles got past the secret service. All I know is, rubber duckies have willpower. And they have guts, which could be why two security guards were tied up in a janitor's closet. Anyway, there sat Mr. Bubbles, trying to explain to the stunned secretary how the president was going to be hit by a falling piano in a matter of minutes. When the secretary finally gathered her wits, she called security. As soon as she said the word "security," Mr. Bubbles was gone.

Outside, the president was trying to find a way to get away from all of the yelling reporters. In the process, he almost stepped on Mr. Bubbles. "Excuse me," shouted Mr. Bubbles over all the noise. "but, um, could I have an autograph?" The shocked president didn't say a word. Mr. Bubbles looked up. Sure enough, he could see a piano falling out of a three-story window. "Um, come here quick!" said the nervous ducky.

"What?!" the president shouted, unaware of anything that was going on around him.

"THERE'S A PIANO ABOUT TO FALL ON YOU!!" That finally got him to look up.

"AAGGGHHH!!!" Everyone seemed to see it at the same time. And everyone but the owner of the piano was happy because no one was injured, all thanks to Mr. Bubbles.

Well, here we are. 2008. Back to school, back to work, yada yada yada.

In the holiday issue of READ, we said that we would post student writing during the last week of December. Well, we tried, but were obviously unsuccessful. Sorry about that. We will resolve to do better in '08. Starting with our first student writing piece this afternoon!

Come on back.

Word.