The following blog entry was written by Sarah Chassé, a copy editor of READ, Writing, and a whole bunch of other Weekly Reader magazines.

I am a passionate fan of the Scripps National Spelling Bee. I stumbled upon it while channel surfing a few years ago, and I've been hooked ever since. But each spring, as I gear up to watch the finals on TV, eager for a new spelling champ to be crowned, my friends and family look at me like I'm a little crazy. They say: What's so great about a SPELLING bee? And why would I want to watch one live on television? Well, here are three good reasons:

(1) If you're a word nerd, this is your Super Bowl. Learn some fun, truly bizarre words (appoggiatura! succedaneum!chiaroscurist!) that you can toss into your next essay to wow your teacher.
(2) Ding! That's the sound no speller wants to hear; it means he or she has spelled a word wrong and is out of the running to win. But for spectators safely in the audience, waiting for the bell creates big-time suspense! (Although, because the word is spelled correctly on the bottom of your TV screen, you know before the speller does whether it's right. That can be kind of painful to watch.)
(3) You never know what kind of wacky antics you'll see at the bee. Take 1997's finals, when winner Rebecca Sealfon was so excited that she pumped her arms in the air while shouting each letter to her final word (euonym):
 
Or 2006, when Akshay Buddiga was so nervous he fainted at the microphone, but still managed to spell his word alopecoid and advance to the next round!
 
Are you convinced? If so, check out the 2008 Scripps National Spelling Bee Championship Finals tonight at 8 p.m. ET on ABC!

by Catherine Sinks

His unknown age
   a dark square house
      a couple of feet away
a white home waits
   far off in the distance
      divine thoughts run through his head

His face caught
   with a blank stare
His shadow 
   more than a shadow
His eyes 
      obscured

I can't even remember
the color of his eyes

His hands
closed

But they were
   always open to me.

Congratulations to Catherine. She was a runner-up in Writing magazine's Treasured Objects Contest. Students wrote about their favorite things in such insightful and powerful ways. Check back for the next two weeks to see more runners-up.

by Louis Varriano

Forever waiting
Never knowing Time
As it lies in its black coffin
On the dusty old shelf
Completely forgotten
And without any life

Until I feel
The occasion is right
To take it down
Open its case
And give it a voice
That cries out
To the world
And reaches the soul
In the deepest of places
And all time seems to freeze
As my ears begin to hear
The pure sounds of music
That emanate from the instrustment in my hands

It sings of the happy
And weeps for the sad
As my fingers fly
Up and down its shiny silver back
As I blow a breath of life
Into my once dead and soulless clarinet.

It is not I but it
Who grieves and babbles
And squeaks and roars
And answers and sings
And wails and REACHES us.

My finges stumble,
I no longer know the way
My clarinet's song and life are over
I clean it out with a quiet reverence
And let it sleep eternally in its cozy bed
As it waits forever
Knowing no time
Until another comes
To give it the breath of life
So that it may sing again.

Congratulations to Louis. He was a runner-up in Writing magazine's Treasured Objects Contest. Students wrote about their favorite things in such insightful and powerful ways. Check back for the next two weeks to see more runners-up.

by Daniel Valdez

On a sun-striped beach,
waves hit the bank,
making their harmonius music.
Lasting chords of concord
the presence of serenity,
seagulls sang tunes in the distance
while the creatures of the sea quietly listened below.

I felt the sand beneath my world
walking on a trace of infinite dust,
a cushion of lost and wondering clouds.
The sea breeze blew softly,
holding my cheeks lightly,
I soar away with them into
the sky, a golden feast
of Apollo's magic and strength.

The ocean was a blur of sun
rapid movements of hushed furies.
That is when I spotted it,
a reddish-pink frozen shower of color
curves and contours of perfection:
the seashell, a product of my beloved sea,
always reminding me
of time well-spent on the beach.

Congratulations to Daniel. He was a runner-up in Writing magazine's Treasured Objects Contest. Students wrote about their favorite things in such insightful and powerful ways. Check back for the next two weeks to see more runners-up.

by Jasmeet Brar

Dolphins riding the waves,
deep indigo waves, a scene caught in time
perched atop this little box
a personal haven in a boisterous world.

A fragile little trinket that says,

"Come share with me, friend."
Soft, pudgy hands wrap around this
small blue box which is more than a box.

The welcoming air whirling around this
holder of thoughts, of secrets, of dreams.
Sparkling squares throw colors in the light.
My big, brown eyes follow each carefully sculpted contour.

Sitting on a nighstand as the
sun and moon take turns filling their posts
in the sky many times over,
this little box longs to be opened
as the tulips longs for morning so it can blossom.

But now, moonbeams
shine on this little blue box and long to
mingle with the secrets within.

Congratulations to Jasmeet. She was a runner-up in Writing magazine's Treasured Objects Contest. Students wrote about their favorite things in such insightful and powerful ways. Check back for the next two weeks to see more runners-up.

by Selena Perkins

The scent of curry still lingers on the insides of my pockets from my last trip. I guarded precious hand-carved statues and necklaces made of exotic beads from the many possible thumps and jabs throughout the journey. I sacrificed a paint chip from my top left corner, right next to my ivory handle, in the airport just before getting on my flight back home. My once gleaming evergreen shell has now been dulled down to a moss green. My cold brass lock, still just as the day I was made, served as a barrier between the world and the secrets hidden amidst layers of rose-pink silk inside.

I traveled to Taiwan, Ethiopia, Iceland, and Cuba. I spent a summer enveloped in Alaska's never-ending sunlight; I lounged for three weeks, coated in flies, on the coast of Mozambique. Guatemala held the brightest stars I had ever seen.

I was filled with too-ripe plantains and the most vibrant chili peppers the world has to offer. I was engulfed in a sea of drumbeats on my way to a hotel and I watched strikingly beautiful women dance the flamenco on street corners in my haste to catch a flight.

Now I sit in the corner of a teenage girl's room, my pockets filled with notes passed hastily during history class and dried rose petals commemorating past boyfriends; my brass locks only unlatched every so often to cram in a few more mememtos of youth. Here I'm left, curry burning, aching for the day I will once again see the county the world has to offer.

Congratulations to Selena. She was a runner-up in Writing magazine's Treasured Objects Contest. Students wrote about their favorite things in such insightful and powerful ways. Check back for the next two weeks to see more runners-up.

Click here for Student Writing Showcase 2008.

That's not much fanfare! Well, I could tell you about all the great student writers we have showcased this year. I could discuss the wonderful authors who have leant their voices and commentary (like M.T. Anderson, Karen Cushman, and Cynthia Leitich Smith). I could describe the way neat-o video version of 1,000 Words. I could tell you all about the Letter To Self article and writing prompt. I could write up a super-duper self-promotion that shows in detail how each one of these things makes for a really cool place to chill out, read some excellent student writing, get inspired, and moves you to write whatever your heart desires! I could... and I kind of just did... but I think I'll just pipe down and let you check it out for yourself.

AND if you do get inspired and DO write something. Send it to us at word@weeklyreader.com. We're always looking for the best student writers to publish right here on WORD!

Cheers mates! Enjoy!

If you haven't figured out this week's theme by now... um... it's birthday poems inspired by Billy Collins. Come on, you knew that!

Turning Ten
by Becky, Grade 6

The whole idea of it makes me feel
Like I can do anything,
Everything.
I can fly with the birds,
I can ride a dragon.
I'm going to turn ten.
Some feel the need
To let go of past games,
Imaginary friends,
All the things considered
Childish.
They think
That turning ten
Means crossing a threshold
From which
You may never return.
But I believe
At 11, 15 or even 30
At heart,
We are still kids.
So opinions are very different,
Unique,
Yet they have one likeness,
Turning ten,
Is
No
Small
Thing.

For the record, I'm 30. And I like to think I'm still a kid at heart. Here's a couple of monkeys celebrating birthday poem week to prove it. Look! They're wearing people clothes! Hahahahaha! Oh monkey.

This seems to be a popular concept here at WORD! Keep your birthday poems coming! Here's one from a student who managed to incorporate a monkey into her writing! Yay Birthday Monkey poems!

Turning Twelve
-by Emma, 11

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like Christmas came early this year.
Like a monkey in a
forest of banana trees.
Like a young child playing in a cool stream
on a hot summer's day.
Turning twelve.
Oh, how I wish it would come sooner!
"You may babysit when you are twelve", my parents say.
I have been eleven for years-an eternity-
or so it seems.
Turning twelve.
The thought of it makes me want to do a a little
dance in place,
or squeal like I do at Christmas, when I open my first present.
Turning twelve.
This is the beginning of
being treated like a teenager,
not a child,
of staying home alone,
of babysitting,
of walking home from school,
of being responsible,
of growing up.
Turning twelve.
How long it takes, but I know it will come.
Someday...
Turning twelve.

Here are a few more student written birthday poems inspired by Billy Collins' On Turning Ten and READ magazine!

Older
by Iman Siddiqui

The whole idea of it makes me feel
Like a rotten old banana peel
Everyday and every night
Holding on to my child-ish right
Sometimes I want to be alone
With everything silent to the bone
No matter how I feel inside
There is a hole open wide
Everything is changed
And I'm the one to blame
Sometimes the change is good
Just like it always should
Everything is crazy
Now it has become hazy
I can't take it anymore
All that knocking on my door
I'm sick and tired of all these traps
Closing on my weakened back
Older and older, day by day
No more time to go out and play
As I've matured, bigger and stronger
It will stay for longer and longer
Even if I cannot go out and play
Hopefully I'll enjoy my 13^th birthday

----------
Turning 13
by Christine Leong - Grade 6

The whole idea of it makes me feel
Like the shriveled old grape on 42nd street
The idea of 13 creeping up on me
Is slow but consistent
Week by week, day by day
Hour by hour, minute by, minute
second by second
It's like the lioness
About to pouce on her prey
It is like an ocean
Full of "Happy 13th Birthdays"
Swarming around me
Trying to drown me
You might wonder why?
Why are you afraid?
But, I'd simply answer
They expect so much more
They expect you to be great
They pile work on your head
'Till you can't balance any longer
Then they pile more work
And you drop like a bomb
You see, turning 13 isn't all that bad
But it's the door to independence
The door to freedom, high school
College, your job, adulthood
Being me of course,
I would never want to
Think of all this
So right now I'll just
Sit back and relax and
Concentrate on, not being 13,
But being 12.

Don't ask me why we're posting another birthday monkey picture. I don't have the answer. He just looks so happy! Oh... I guess that is answer enough.

In READ's Poetry issue, we asked you to write a few birthday poems using the first line from Billy Collins' poem, On Turning Ten. Here are just a few that we received.

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

Thoughts on Turning Ten
- Vivek Shankar, Grade 6

The whole idea of it makes me feel,
A little uncertain and strange,
As my birthday draws closer,
I close my eyes and whisper.
“Who am I? Who am I?
Ten years have passed so quickly,
I don’t understand,
The silent, ceaseless nature of time.
More is expected of me,
Than ever before,
Shocked am I,
As the day passes on.
I look back to remember,
The meandering course of life,
The times of happiness,
And the times of sadness.
Each memory plays a part,
In the twisting life of a human,
I look back and wonder,
What is there to live for?
I am a speck,
In the vast painting of life,
Looking back to remember,
The decade that has passed.
Who knows? I say,
But what I know,
Is to work your way through hardships,
And enjoy the pleasure of life.

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

Turning Twelve
-by Joseph Farhat, of the International Baccalaureate Baker Middle School

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm about to explode
in a happy little fireworks display,
for that turning older
is the best thing
you can feel in your lifetime

Twelve might not be as great,
as your other birthdays you remember.
The day you turned one,
the fifth celebration of your life,
the great double digits of ten,
your sweet sixteen,
your fun twenty-one,
and any other birthdays you favor.

But I will not forget,
my twelfth birthday,
for to me it was very important,
because there at the big one two,
I felt I could do anything
If i could put my mind
to the task

Now as life slowly passes,
right before my eyes,
I reflect on my favorite B-day,
my wonderful twelfth.

Now as my poem comes to a close,
I want you to think,
about your wonderful birthdays,
and compare it to
your twelfth.

-Anana Witterman, Grade 8

Gnarly oak sentries guard the entrance of the park,
Fragile, copper leaves adorned with a lace of dew.
Perpetual branches tug at the heavens ... intertwining.

Calm and composed, a delicate cherry blossom tree breathes softly,
Outstretched, humorous arms playing tug-of-war with the geentle breeze.
Light pink cotton balls tingle slightly ... a strong gust hurtles past.

Propelling itself from a lofty branch is a morning dove,
Its smoky plumage rippling in the fresh morning light.
Coasting on an invisible elevator ... laughing at the sky.

An undulation brook courses through the pebbles,
Its mirrored surface echoing the late autumnal hues.
Fragments of a peaceful afternoon ... scattered on the innocent surface.

This is the final runner-up in READ magazine's 2008 Ann Arlys Bowler Poetry Contest. It was supposed to have been posted yesterday but we screwed up. Sorry about that. We were so close to having a full 14 days too. So much for perfection.

Check back later today to read one student's new character for the Spoon River Anthology!