Young Adult Lit/Crit

4839: Electric Kisses

Jack,

I can barely express how strongly I feel about your story.  I meant what I said after your reading, that the piece was powerful, but I had no idea how powerful until I read it in its entirety this morning at work.  Imagine my embarrassment when my co-worker walked in on me bawling my eyes out behind my desk.  I'm not kidding.

I mentioned the incident to my students in a later class and they were laughing at me, but when I read it aloud to them, they couldn't even look up from their desks.  They were so moved, they couldn't speak.  I didn't do it intentionally (wish I had), but we have been working on image-driven narrative poems in this class and your piece was a perfect set up!

STUNNING!

Making Meaning in Literature

Hi All. I am posting my  final review of the PBS video series "Making Meaning in Literature." I hope you found the  reviews  helpful.
Nancy

Annenberg Foundation (2002)
P.B.S. Video Library
“Making Meaning in Literature”
Grades 6-8

The third, and final, video of the PBS video series “Making Meaning in Literature” examines “Readers as Individuals,” “The Teacher’s Role in a Literary Community,” and “Whole-Group Discussions.” The video series is narrated by Dr. Judith Langer, a professor at the University of Albany and director/author of CELA. Dr. Langer presents the latest literacy research findings while providing viewers with several examples of model teachers who promote success among their students.

Readers as Individuals

The first segment opens in Flora Tyler’s 6^th grade classroom at Picacho Middle School. A veteran of twenty-one years in the teaching profession, Tyler contends that literacy is encouraged among students when they are given ample class time to read. In order to help them focus on reading, Tyler requires that students complete a record sheet of the book that they are reading, the number of pages that they have read, and the number of pages that they plan to read during class time. Students must also maintain a literature log to list the books that they have read, to record the books that they have abandoned, and to explain why they abandoned those that they did. The record sheet and literature log also provide evidence for students and their parents of reading and learning accomplishments. Once per week, students must discuss what their books are about and report on their reading progress with Tyler. Students also give book talks to the class.

Tyler also offers advice for promoting reading success among students who are not readers. She suggests that reading skills will improve when these students set goals about the number of pages that they plan to read during class time. Tyler contends that students need to become critical of themselves as readers, to develop opinions about what they read, and receive support from the teacher about their opinions. Eventually, poor readers can learn to respect the opinions of themselves and others, and move on to literary circles. Tyler concludes that readers will grow as individuals when the teacher has high expectations for her/his students.

The Teacher’s Role in a Literary Community

The second segment focuses on Barry Hoonan, a 6^th grade Language Arts teacher. Hoonan suggests that literacy is best learned in a community that embraces stories and embraces writing. The best way to foster a literary community is through small literature discussion groups. Hoonan contends that students find meaning in a book when the teacher facilitator keeps the discussion moving and ensures that everyone has a voice in the discussion. Hoonan accomplishes this by sitting in on group discussions to listen to the conversation, to repeat what students say, and to ask questions that prompt further conversation and bring coherence to the discussion. Hoonan contends that literature comes alive when students have the opportunity to interact and interpret it. The teacher’s role is to help students make their own meaning in literature.

Whole-Group Discussions

The final segment opens on a model teacher reading aloud to students in her classroom. Linda Rief, an 8^th grade teacher at Oyster River Middle School, fills her bookshelves with an assortment of YAL and classic books. She contends that students will succeed in discovering their identity by reading a variety of books. During the first quarter of the school year, students choose which books they will read. Then, Rief chooses the reading material, which covers the same issues as the choice books. She believes that students respect her book choices and are willing to read those books since she respected students’ book choices in the beginning of the school year.

Rief argues that literacy is best learned in large discussion groups instead of small ones because larger groups are more apt to focus on the text. The teacher’s role in a large discussion group is to prompt students to divulge their opinions and to keep the conversation rolling. Rief believes the richest conversations occur in large groups, and several students agree with her. One student reports that hearing another interpretation is very inspiring. Another student suggests that discussions allow him to better understand the book. Students who do not participate orally in the group discussions write their responses in their journals. Rief hopes that students will ultimately make connections with the world by identifying with the characters in the books that they read.

If you'd like more information, go to: www.learner.org/envisioningliterature

Nancy

It's Dave!

Picture: g/f and I picking up trash at Mercereau Park in Endicott over the weekend.  What have you done for our environment lately?!?  Huh?!?

Book Club: I'll be bringing a couple books I've been working on over the past couple weeks, The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Age 13 3/4 and Watership Down.

Lit Circle: Lennon people... I've got a nice bio talking about Yoko Ono's artistic career, as well as a pretty cool piece about a performance of "Cut Piece" (which is discussed in the book) in 2003 in Paris.  It goes on about the symbolism of the artisitic performance... world peace and stuff like that.  Pretty interesting stuff, I think, and definitely ties in with her relationship with John.

Tech stuff: Check out these cool links I've stumbled upon in the past week.

Pennsylvania Governor Rendell Applauds Easton's Laptop Program; Highlights Need to Implement 'Classrooms for the Future' - laptops for every high school student in PA!

Technology in the classroom (Talladega, AL) - interesting quotations include:

"State law requires that schools provided a certain amount of technological instruction, but local educators find it's what the students want anyway."

"We're trying to reach out to our audience. (Technology) allows the teachers to be more engaging, and it's more interesting to the students."

"Anything you can do to bring an interactive capability helps capture students' imagination, so they'll engage in the material."

Blogs reshape communications (Indianapolis, IN) - why kids like to blog, and how it can be used in the classroom

Party: PARRRRRTY!!!

See you all tonight!

a little more

I now have two chapters complete.  Any feedback/criticism is most definitely welcome.

Breaking Spring

She’s holding my hand. She’s actually holding my hand.

I realize that’s not the biggest step for most seventeen-year-olds, but this was major. I had just lost my virginity, and the world was changed.

We were walking down a road I must have walked down a million times. But all of the sudden, the glisten from the moonlight on the newly wet road was amazing. The shadows from the pine trees lining the ditch were shouting their congratulations and providing the specific contour and relief that echoed my life. And through all this, Danielle was holding my hand. We’d walked home together from parties more than a handful of times in the past two years, but now, she was holding my hand, fingers interlaced. We weren’t jumping around with drunken frenzy or too-ra-looing arm in arm up the lane. We were, for once, walking on the sidewalk, and we were sharing an intimate moment. Granted it wasn’t as intimate as the moment we had just shared, and that, that wasn’t even near our heads yet. The only thing we were doing was reveling in the moment. At least, I know I was; I hope she was. That need and insecurity was fleeting though. Those fears did not last within the grasp of her four fingers and gorgeous thumb.

"So how come you don’t have to be home at twelve tonight?" When she tilted her head to ask me, I almost dove for her lips; she was breathtaking.

"My parents are in Tampa. I can’t believe they let me stay home alone, but they knew I didn’t wanna miss any baseball, and they booked the trip last year, so..."

"So, I’m staying over tonight?"

"Your parents aren’t gonna care if you don’t come home?"

"No, they will. I was just seeing what you’d say. Always the practical thinker."

"I guess I’ve been trained poorly." And I really had. I could banter back and forth with girls easily enough, but something always crept up in me when I had a chance to cut loose.

"I really would like it though, if you were able to stay at my house." At least I knew how to try to recover.

"It’s ok. We’ve got a whole week."

Somehow, that thought had not yet crossed my mind. We were on our way home from the first party of Spring Break. It was Friday night, well, Saturday morning, and that meant six more days of no school and no commitments, except baseball.

"So," she was looking so good, "Are you going to throw a rager this week?"

"No," again, poorly trained. "My parents made it vividly clear that if I did the next time I got out of the house would be fall when they dropped me off at college."

"I guess that’s ok. More alone time for us."

Is she really saying this? Oh my God, yes! I was really ready for God to strike me dead right then. My life could not get any better. Danielle McConnell was excited to spend alone time with me. She sounded excited anyway; damn, I wished she was as excited as I was picturing.

When we rounded the curve and her house came into view, I was praying we would be magically whisked miles away and have to walk every step of it back to her house. I wanted to keep the feeling of that walk home for as long as I could. The sidewalk never felt so good, and when we walked through her front yard, I was miraculously enjoying the dew of the grass on the foot-beds of my sandals. I hate sandal swamp, and I was loving every minute of this; she was amazing.

We kissed goodnight for a while. At one point when we fell back a little too far and a lot too quickly into the pillars of her stoop, I thought for sure that her parents were going to wake up and kill me, but nothing happened. Nothing could ruin that night. The cosmos must have aligned to make sure that everything worked out for us.

After we finally said goodnight, I began the walk down the cobblestone path that lead to the sidewalk, and she softly called my name.

"Tripp."

I looked back, and she was lightly leaning against a pillar. She was on the toes of her right foot with the other tracing the step of the stoop. Her head was tilted and wisps of blonde hair were lightly catching the soft breeze and falling into her majestic dark eyes. I wanted to fucking melt. "What’s up?" I questioned, in my best trying-to-be-smooth-yet-not-wake-anyone-voice.

"Call me tomorrow?"

"Most definitely."

The remainder of my walk was spent replaying the last three hours in my head. She lived close by, so it wasn’t a long walk, but I had never quite made it so effortlessly to the corner of my street from her house before that night. When I turned onto Ferncliff Lane, I crossed to the middle of the street. I normally walked down the center of the road. A streetlight snapped off directly above my head. I didn’t think much of it, and I continued down the center of the sleepy street until it was time to veer to the left and up my drive. My key hit the lock on the side door, and I enjoyed the feeling of not having to breathe in anyone’s face the moment a noise was heard in the house. My parents were loving, supportive, and paranoid. Well, I guess it’s not paranoia when what you think is happening is actually happening. I was quite the cover-up artist.

I walked up the three set flight of stairs into the kitchen and directly to the fridge. Officially not being a virgin did nothing for the beer-munchies; in fact, sex really was a workout. I grabbed a piece of leftover pizza and collapsed into the velvety cushions of the couch in the next room. Normally I would have turned on Sportscenter, but I was enjoying the way the streetlight was creeping through the window. The slants of orange light that fell across the coffee table by my feet were strangely attractive at that moment. I gobbled down the slice of pizza and enjoyed the silence of a vacant house. I had never known anything like the feeling of that night, and I knew that when I awoke the feeling would be less than it was in the near darkness of my living room at that moment.

CHAPTER 2

I woke the next morning to the obnoxious ring of my phone. Any loud noise at ten A.M. is obnoxious.

"Jesus, Jon, you’d better be in jail."

"Yeah, good morning to you too, Tripp. So what the hell? Your parents are outta town and you still go home at twelve? They aren’t gonna come home from Tampa to make sure you make curfew."

"I didn’t make curfew, and I left the party after you."

"Shit, don’t tell me you were playing nurse-maid to Danielle."

"I was with her, but I wasn’t playing nurse-maid."

"I’ve never seen someone so whipped that didn’t have a girlfriend."

"Listen asshole, you get any last night? I didn’t think so. Well, guess what? I did." So much for training. That was a mistake. Telling guys, even your best friends, about hooking up with a girl you really want to be with is not the soundest thing to do.

"Get the hell out. You did not bone Danielle McConnell."

"No, I didn’t bone her. We had sex, and it was awesome."

"Dude, fuck this. I’m coming over."

Jon must have been excited to talk to me in person. The drive from his house usually takes at least five minutes, and he tends to drive with no care or knowledge of speed limits. He made it in what must have been two minutes; I wasn’t even out of bed yet. I was planning on unveiling my news in a much more subtle and dignified way than a not-so-strategic defense of why I had not seen him out of the party. I had also apparently not locked the door when I got home the night before either because Jon was thudding up my steps and into my room before all the eye boogers were eradicated from my blurred vision.

"Tell me you weren’t lying on the phone."

"You know I wouldn’t lie about that. If Danielle found out I was spreading rumors about that kinda shit, she’d never talk to me again." I was trying so hard, but I couldn’t fight the grin crawling over my face. Poorly trained with girls and poorly trained with your friends may be opposite, but they can lead to similar ends, little or no physical contact.

"Dude, I now have a new respect for you. Even if you are grinning like a school girl." He hesitated for a moment and pretended to survey the room. "Have you thought about what Eli is gonna say? I mean, they’ve barely been broken up a month."

Oh shit. I had not thought about Eli, not for a second.

"You realize you havta see him in practice on Monday, and that’s if he misses the party tonight."

"Fuck. Until you mentioned him, I hadn’t thought about him at all. Not good."

"How could you not think about him at all? How the hell did you score this anyway?"

This was a question I had been reliving and actually wondering myself. Well, I’d been wondering it for the ten minutes I’d been part of the conscious world.

"It’s weird. I’ve been sniffin’ this girl’s ass for going on two years now, and it sorta just happened." I knew that while I was explaining this to Jon I would some how be abating the magic that allowed such a spectacular event in my life to occur, but at the same time, it was a discovery I had to make for a second time. Telling him might allow me to realize exactly what had happened as well.

"You know that line that I always spouted whenever I felt like I was finally closing the deal with her and getting the hell outta the friend-zone?"

Jon cocked his head and gave me a disapproving sideways glance. "Yes. In the grey of the day you may lose your way, but in the light of the night you’ll see what’s right. Please, please, I’m begging you," he actually got down on his knees and clasped his hands, "Don’t tell me that you’re going to have to rely on that line and that this is going to be one of those philosophical rants about the world and why ‘it just ain’t fare.’ I don’t think I can take that shit. It’s too damn early for that Tripp."

"No, man. It’s kinda like that actually worked out for me. We were hanging out at the party, and it all just flowed for me. Last night it just worked. We were playing beer pong and kicking some ass too. Then, we lost, walked away, and she made a move. It..."

"Wait. She made the first move? Danielle McConnell actually came on to you? Now I’m not sure if I can actually believe this. Not only did you ‘have sex,’- by the way, in my record, you boned her- with Danielle, but she made the first move. Unbe-fucking-lieveable."

"You gonna let me finish?"

Jon had risen from his previous genuflect to deliver his incredulous rant. He paused, walked to my computer chair, wheeled it to the corner of my bed, and leaned forward with a facade of dignified intent before calmly uttering, "Continue."

I cast Jon a very planned are-you done-yet? look and continued. "When we walked out of the kitchen and turned the corner she grabbed my hand. But not in a dominating way." When I said dominating, I thought Jon was going to drool. "It was soft; I wasn’t sure if she meant anything by it at first, but then we made eye contact. Jesus, that was it. We started making out in the hall, and before I knew it, we were in a bedroom."

"And then?" Jon couldn’t help himself, but a slight laugh and a gratuitous eyebrow pump were not what I was looking for at that moment.

"No way man. Mama didn’t raise no fool."

"Oh at least tell me how she looked!" He was pleading.

My genetics were winning.

"She looked awesome. I didn’t think I’d last a minute."

"What kinda underwear was she wearing . . . a thong . . . boy shorts?"

"No fucking way man. I tell you and everyone knows in two hours."

"I would never." Jon leaned back and feigned being hurt, but his smirk betrayed him. I couldn’t blame him. News like this was something that was hard to not share. Hell, I’d been planning on discreetly telling only my best friends when the time was right. I’d been awake for less than a half an hour and I was already failing miserably with that plan.

"I must reiterate, a new respect." He was leaning back now with his hands behind his head and a gigantic grin was breaking over his face.

"Hey asshole, no picturing it." I knew just what was dirtily filtering through his head.

"Oh no, what happens in this head is the express intellectual property of me." He was giggling, and even though he was right, my purpose had been accomplished; he’d stopped to tell me what he could and couldn’t do.

I sat up in bed, and with that action some reality hit me. "Listen man, don’t say anything to anyone. I know I’m not as tight with Eli as you are, but I don’t want him to find out on the National News; it’d be better if I told him."

"Yeah man, I know. I’ll let you get dressed. I’m sure you’ve still got half a stalk thinkin’ about last night." He sauntered out of my room and hummed the Star Spangled Banner. We’d seen a movie once where a guy claimed to get a...well, fill in the blanks.

I chucked a pile of clothes that was laying next to my bed and hit him in the back on his way through the door. Jon called out, "Uncalled for," in between his self-impressed chuckles.

Eli was a real problem. I had honestly not thought about him the night before. It all happened so fast, and I was so ecstatic that my friendship with him just wasn’t on my mental agenda. When something that you’ve waited for so long comes to life, it’s hard to think of anything but what’s happening. Even though he wasn’t my best friend, I did like him, and what was worse, he was a good guy. He hadn’t treated Danielle badly, and she had been the one who had dumped him. I started to feel like a shit, but then, the memory of what had transpired flew through the gates of my mind, and everything was okay again.

"You have shit for food," called Jon from downstairs.

"I know. I have to go shopping. Lemme finish getting dressed, and we’ll go to Frank and Scary’s."

"Awesome," Jon yelled back sarcastically, "I love heaping grease on a hangover."

Saying too much, Eli, this two-story conversation about crummy food, none of it mattered. The night’s magic had not completely vanished. Yet.

CHAPTER 1

Facilitating Discussion

The second video of the PBS video series “Making Meaning in Literature” focuses on the following topics: Facilitating Discussion, Seminar Discussion, and Dramatic Tableaux. The video is narrated by Dr. Judith Langer, a professor at the University of Albany and director/author of CELA. Dr. Langer presents the latest literacy research findings while providing viewers with several examples of model teachers who promote success among their students.

Facilitating Discussion

The first segment opens in Tanya Shnabl’s 6^th grade Sherburne-Earlville classroom in upstate New York where she is reading Margaret Hadik’s Among the Hidden aloud to the class. Periodically, she stops to pose students with a provocative question about the book. Students readily share their responses. Ms.Shnabl contends that students need the opportunity to think in multiple levels and discussion about a book enables them to do so. I feel like a fly on the wall as I observe Ms. Shnabl’s strategy for facilitating discussion in action. The students are instructed to break into groups and record two questions about the reading that they would like answered. As a teacher, Shnabl is interested in learning what the students are interested in learning. Shnabl initially models how to ask the questions, but she ultimately wants students to lead in the discussions. Students then take turns asking and answering the questions. Shnabl attempts to get students to think on deeper level about the big picture: “If this happens in a story, what are the life lessons that we need to learn?” In order to clarify what was said or to present an alternative view, Shnabl paraphrases or restates students’ responses. She is not looking for any right answer, but instead, a horizon of possibilities. Through these discussions, students can relate to the characters and explore their own morals. Ms. Shnabl hopes that the discussions will not only enable students to develop the skills necessary for a future in a diverse world, but also to help them discover their voice.

Seminar Discussion

The second segment focuses on Dorothy Franklin, a 7^th grade Language Arts teacher in Chicago, whose greatest challenge is to alter her students’ negative attitudes about reading and writing. Franklin suggests that seminars may be the solution for accomplishing this.

The segment opens with Franklin reading aloud “Passing,” a letter about oppression, written from a son to his mother. Because the students can relate to the characters in the letter, Franklin uses it as a tool for facilitating discussion in her classroom. Franklin periodically stops reading to ask “What just happened,” and to get a sense of students’ reactions to the letter. Oftentimes, Franklin rereads passages or provides the background information students lack. The most important rule is for participants to understand that they have a voice and deserve to be heard. Franklin is proud of the students for being respectful, impressed at how deeply into the text students delve, and pleased at how students encourage one another to discuss.

Dramatic Tableaux

Dr. Jan Currence suggests that the manner in which a teacher approaches and introduces a story is important in determining whether or not students will become involved in it. In order for the story to be meaningful to them, students need to make a connection with the characters. Currence accomplishes this through dramatic tableaux. Tableaux is a strategy in which students work together to make a connection with the characters by “freeze framing” key events in the plot, which may affect characters and move the plot along. Currence also reports that students who have not previously participated in the classroom become involved when dramatic tableaux are used. Additionally, dramatic tableaux provide the opportunity for students to be able to show intelligences other than writing.

How do dramatic tableaux work?

Students volunteer to play the parts of characters. They are instructed to use only body language and facial expressions to communicate the event because verbalization is not allowed. Only two props are allowed in the freeze frame. The rest of the class must observe the freeze frame and guess which scene the players are presenting. Currence asks questions prompting students to describe the freeze frame in the context of the plot. Someone in the audience then touches one player and he/she is allowed to speak their dialogue. After the scene is presented, students are asked to reflect on the scenes and provide feed back of their experience. Teachers need to understand how students feel about the activity so modifications can be made where necessary.
The students in Currence’s classroom vote in favor of dramatic tableaux as future classroom exercises.
If you'd like more information, go to: www.learner.org/envisioningliterature

Nancy

Announcement of ALL Announcements

Hi all,

Here's the low-down about the compilation of writing:

          The DEADLINE is May 2nd, at noon.  All later submissions will not be added, due to the time constraint on getting the final copy published.

         The LIMIT is a maximum of 4 pages, single spaced.

         Please send your submissions to daughertyjsse@yahoo.com as an attachment in Word, 12 point font.

         Any questions?  Suggestions for layout?  Anything else?  Post it as a comment here.

Dawn and Jesse

For some reason they call me a hippy

It just so happens that my seminar project and class project tie in.  My seminar project is about music in YAL, and for my class project I've decided to go the chapter from a YA novel route.  The rock 'n roll part comes in because I'm basing the story on a Phish song, "Sample in a Jar."  It's loosely based of course, and I'm enjoying taking liberties with what is actually going on, and it's kind of neat when I realize how to incorporate more of the song into the plot of the story.  I'm notoriously short winded, so this will probably have to be more than one chapter for my project, but so far I have...

She’s holding my hand. She’s actually holding my hand.

I realize that’s not the biggest step for most seventeen year-olds, but this was major. I had just lost my virginity, and the world had changed.

We were walking down a road I must have walked down a million times. But all of the sudden, the glisten from the moonlight on the newly wet road was amazing. The shadows from the pine trees lining the ditch were shouting their congratulations and providing the specific contour and relief that echoed my life. And through all this, Danielle was holding my hand. We’d walked home together from parties more than a handful of times in the past two years, but now, she was holding my hand, fingers interlaced. We weren’t jumping around with drunken frenzy or too-ra-looing arm in arm up the lane. We were, for once, walking on the side of the road with a sidewalk, and we were sharing an intimate moment. Granted it wasn’t as intimate as the moment we had just shared, and that, that wasn’t even near our heads yet. The only thing we were doing was reveling in the moment. At least, I know I was; I hope she was. That need and insecurity was fleeting though. Those fears did not last within the grasp of her four fingers and gorgeous thumb.

"So how come you don’t have to be home at twelve tonight?" When she tilted her head to ask me, I almost dove for her lips; she was breathtaking.

"My parents are in Tampa. I can’t believe they let me stay home alone, but they knew I didn’t wanna miss any baseball, and they booked the trip last year, so..."

"So, I’m staying over tonight?"

"Your parents aren’t gonna care if you don’t come home?"

"No, they will. I was just seeing what you’d say. Always the practical thinker."

"I guess I’ve been trained poorly." And I really had. I could banter back and forth with girls easily, but something always crept up in me when I had a chance to cut loose.

"I really would like it though, if you were able to stay at my house." At least I knew how to try to recover.

"It’s ok. We’ve got a whole week."

Some how, that thought had not yet crossed my mind. We were on our way home from the first party of Spring Break. It was Friday night, well, Saturday morning, and that meant six more days of no school and no commitments, except baseball.

"So," she was looking so good, "Are you going to throw a rager this week?"

"No," again, poorly trained. "My parents made it vividly clear that if I did the next time I got out of the house would be fall when they dropped me off at college."

"I guess that’s ok. More alone time for us."

Is she really saying this. Oh my God, yes! I was really ready for God to strike me dead right then. My life could not get any better. Danielle McConnell was excited to spend alone time with me. She sounded excited anyways; damn, I wished she was as excited as I was picturing.

When we rounded the curve and her house came into view, I was praying we would be magically whisked miles away and have to walk every step of it back to her house. I wanted to keep the feeling of that walk home for as long as I could. The sidewalk never felt so good, and when we walked through her front yard, I was miraculously enjoying the dew of the grass on the foot-beds of my sandals. I hate sandal swamp, and I was loving every minute of this; she was amazing.

We kissed goodnight for a while. At one point when we fell back a little too far and a lot too quickly into the pillars of her stoop, I thought for sure that her parents were going to wake up and kill me, but nothing happened. Nothing could ruin that night. The cosmos must have aligned to make sure that everything worked out for us.

After we finally said goodnight, I began the walk down the cobblestone path that lead to the sidewalk, and she softly called my name.

"Tripp."

I looked back, and she was lightly leaning against a pillar. She was on the toes of her right foot with the other tracing the step of the stoop. Her head was tilted and wisps of blonde hair were lightly catching the soft breeze and falling into her majestic dark eyes. I wanted to fucking melt. "What’s up?" I questioned in my best trying-to-be-smooth-yet-not-wake-anyone-voice.

"Call me tomorrow?"

"Most definitely."

The remainder of my walk was spent replaying the last three hours in my head. She lived close by, so it wasn’t a long walk, but I had never quite made it so effortlessly to the corner of my street from her house before that night. When I turned onto Ferncliff Lane, I crossed to the middle of the street. I normally walked down the center of the road. A streetlight snapped off directly above my head. I didn’t think much of it, and I continued down the center of the sleepy street until it was time to veer to the left and up my drive. My key hit the lock on the side door, and I enjoyed the feeling of not having to breath in anyone’s face the moment a noise was heard in the house. My parents were loving, supportive, and paranoid. Well, I guess it’s not paranoia when what you think is happening is actually happening. I was quite the cover-up artist.

I walked up the three set flight of stairs into the kitchen and directly to the fridge. Officially not being a virgin did nothing for the beer-munchies; in fact, sex really was a workout. I grabbed a piece of leftover pizza and collapsed into the velvety cushions of the couch in the next room. Normally I would have turned on the Sportscenter, but I was enjoying the way the streetlight was creeping through the window. The slants of orange light that fell across the coffee table by my feet was strangely attractive at that moment. I gobbled down the slice of pizza and enjoyed the silence of a vacant house. I had never known anything like the feeling of that night, and I knew that when I woke up the feeling would be less than it was in the near darkness of my living room at that moment.

-Any feedback anyone has would be welcomed.  As of yet, I have not cemented a title.

What I'm writing - new for everyone, even my group...

So ok, I've been revising and revising and rethinking and rewriting myself into hole after hole, but I rather like the frame I've finally come up with. I'm going to post about a page and a half here, so you can see what I've been up to. I'd like to know if it makes sense, and if it seems accessible to teens. That's been one of  my biggest concerns as I refine and refine - I end up polishing it into something adult and not teen oriented.  Any help is much appreciated - seriously, comment the hell out of me, I don't mind criticism, I really don't. :) So, without further ado, the beginning of what I've been thinking of as a working title: 'Love vs. Lust'

The problem with love and lust is…

“Well, you can’t rape the willing.” I say jokingly.

“Oh, and you’re willing?” Pete answers; only half joking.

“Maybe.” Pause. A short, barely perceptible quaver in my voice betrays me.

“How maybe?”

…sometimes you can’t tell the difference.

        It’s one of those things that go on and on without you ever understanding how it all began. You suddenly find yourself looking at someone you’ve been incredibly intimate with for weeks and seeing a complete stranger. You were in love – he thought you were just having fun.

         Breathing heavily, we look at each other in the starlight. He reaches in for another embrace, but I flinch and pull back. “Pete, stop. What the fuck are we doing?”

“Um, I thought we were hooking up? Something about not being able to rape the willing? Come on man, what the fuck? I thought we were having fun.”

            I probably should have figured it out right from the start that all he was interested in was the sex. And, let’s face it, the sex was good. Too good. Sneaking around, getting away with it right under everyone’s noses – there’s just something fun about pissing off the heteros. Of course, they didn’t know anything. You wouldn’t believe the excuses we found to end up alone two, three times a day.

           It’s my own fault, really, I guess. I was practically desperate for him. Tall, blond, chiseled from marble…every time he walked in the shower I turned the cold water on myself full blast. Became my trademark, in a way. Cold-shower Cole. Better than the alternative. But that’s neither here nor there (plot exposition, I guess it’s called). This is a story about that summer we spent together up at Sabattis as counselors.

             “I never expected anything, Pete. I never did. I still don’t, really. If you walk away right now, we can pretend this summer never happened, if you want.”

“Well, it’s not like we can be in a relationship or anything…”

Daggers in my heart.

“…I mean, Carol’s waiting for me when I get back and I’m going to have my hands full, if you know what I mean.” Pete winks and jabs me with his elbow.

Rubbing my arm, I mutter, “Aren’t you gay, Pete?”

           Never underestimate the power of denial. I’ve always accepted that as an axiom; inviolable truth. Turns out there’s another, similar law. Never underestimate the hormonal lust of a 17-year-old boy. There are times when we’d do anything – or anyone – to get laid.

“What? You think I’m a fag? Where’d you get that idea?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you had your tongue down my throat about 5 minutes ago?”

Pete laughs. “Dude, whatever. It’s been a long summer, and I’ve got needs. We’ve had some great times and all, but don’t get all whiny-bitch queen on me. Christ, you sound like a woman.”

I turn my head quickly, and clench my jaw to keep the burning safely inside my head.

           I feel like I should offer some explanation. I mean, yeah, Pete can be a jerk, but you’re not seeing everything. The moonlit swims out to the island, the afternoons hiding out in the woods with each other, the few precious sunsets we caught at the end of each week between groups of kids. Pete was good at making me believe what I wanted to believe. I started to realize that on our last night together.

“So boyo, we gonna do this tonight, or what? It is our last chance, you know. We should go out with a bang.” Again, the raised eyebrows and bruised ribs of innuendo.

I look him directly in the eyes. They burn with that fire I’ve seen so many times. I feel myself giving in. “Where?”

Pete pretends to think for a moment. “Aw hell, why not back at your cabin? It’ll be just like the first time. Puts a good cap on the whole affair. What do you say?”

I stand and start walking down the path. “Well, come on then.”

Your first time is supposed to be amazing, romantic, and memorable; all at once. I guess I got lucky on that one – 3 for 3 ain’t bad. It took us about a week of careful planning, of veiled meanings and implied references. Did he really mean that? Was he staring at my crotch when we were swimming? Should I say something? What does he mean by that? But as I said earlier, 17-year-old boys eventually find a way.

             We crept into the staff site, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Everything was dark, and the whole site asleep. I fumbled with my keys, trying to open the door while Pete threaded his hands up my back and started massaging my neck. I finally managed to open the door, pulling him in after and slamming it behind. Pete pushed me back against the closed door and we again locked lips, this time frantically tugging at each other’s clothes. I heard his shirt rip as I pull it over his head. Belts jangled as we fought into each other’s jeans. I jumped Pete and we collapsed on the bed, half-naked, panting from the exertion. We managed, somehow, to get our boots off and then finally slipped our pants all the way down.

All that was running through my head on our last night together.

It’s close to two in the morning, and about a half-mile walk from the docks to my cabin. Pete reaches out for my hand as we walk, but I pretend to stumble and then casually switch my flashlight to my left hand. He puts his hands in his pockets. We walk in silence, until I can’t take any more.

Any thoughts?

Nick, James, Jesse

It turns out I will be around on Wednesday for scholars day.  Could people meet at 3:00?  If not, when can people meet?  I don't plan on bringing any new material, but I think James has made progress on his, ahem, novel.  I also get the feeling that Nick's is evolving rapidly, and Jesse seems to have found his muse!

regards,

cwj

Project Update: OFA BOOK CLUB

       I've been posting semi-regularly, so I hope that at least some of you have an idea of what I have been up to.  A good friend of the family, Lisa Russell, is an English teacher at Owego Free Academy. Lisa generously offered to let me take over one of her ninth grade classes once a week for the rest of the semester. I was a little unsure about this at first, because I have had absolutely no experience in a high school classroom (at least not since I graduated 3 1/2 years ago...). I began with idea that I was going to start a book club, similar to our first few minutes of class, where the students could read outside class and would come in and discuss the books. 

A big fear of mine going into this project was that the students would decided that they weren't going to do it because the other classes did not have to do it. My first day this fear almost presented itself as a reality when one of the students asked why they had to do extra work. Lisa was extremely helpful in the success of this project by giving the students extra credit. However, the students responded very well, and are thoroughly enjoying the project. (I am not even sure if they remember that they are getting extra credit, no one has mentioned it to either Lisa or myself)

When I first decided what I was going to do with this class, I didn't realize there were only ten students  (the number has since dropped to nine--for some reason this is the class of disappearing students, the class began with 30 students in September).  With nine students I found that the students ran out of things to say about the books without giving away the entire story. My first day I got a lot of plot summary from the students. This was frustrating because I didn't really want the students to give away the story. However, the students were very good sports, and  I explained to them that the point of the operation, in addition to getting them to read books that they want to read, is to get their fellow classmates interested in what they were reading also, and that if you tell them the entire story, there is no reason for them to read the book themselves. I was amazed at how quickly the students were able to pick up what I meant and transform it into their own discussions.

As wonderful as these students are, however, they do not read very quickly. Having my own plate more than full, I can understand that students have busy lives and that not everyone reads as quickly as I do. With a class of only nine students, however, talking about the same books over and over again tends to get a little tedious.  So, I had to learn to be creative.

One week I had the students pair up and discuss their books with each other. I gave them about ten minutes to talk about what they were reading, and then brought the class together as a whole. Each student then had to tell the class about their partner's book. This was very successful. Not only did the students enjoy getting to really learn about other books one on one, they were so engaged with the discussion as a class that we ran out of time sharing these books. I think that this was my most successful class. I was very surprised at how well the students responded to this exercise.

Another week I decided that I would have the students pick their favorite scene, or a scene that they found very interesting, and read it aloud to the class.  This went over better for the students when they were listening than when they were reading. The listeners payed attention very well, and even asked questions about the book after the student was done reading. However, the students disliked reading aloud, I think that the role of reader was not taken very seriously.  One student was absent, four of the students forgot their books,  and two more did not choose a scene to read aloud. I decided that the students who forgot their books would not be getting out of the assignment that easily, and had them read their favorite scene from the book they were reading as a class (The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman by Ernest J. Gaines). I think the main issues with this assignment was confidence--most of the students were embarassed to read alound, and those few who were not embarassed read so quickly that I had to slow them down several times to understand what they were reading.

When I sat down and talked to the students, I discovered that they really are enjoying the project, and that many of them had discovered that they really do like to read. Also, most of the students would prefer to read a book than to watch a movie made about a book. They were unanimous in hating reading for English class, because of the book choices the teachers make, and many of them felt that English class diminished any enjoyment they got from reading. I found this very sad.

I think that the best thing I am getting from this project is the experience working closely with students.  Their feedback has helped me greatly to understand what students like and dislike, as well as how they learn.  Course objectives that I feel this project helped me fulfill are: Demonstrate awareness of young adults' literary, educational adn social interests and concerns through field experience and data analysis; build an initial repertoire of literature teaching methods, strategies, background informations, literature links, and resources; develop habits of reflection and collaboration including thoughtful listening; through modeled experiences, approach and experience young adult literature both from the perspective of the young reader and as the prospective teacher of that young reader.