Embracing the Human Condition

Since June 4th, the blogosphere and twitterverse have been teeming with authors and teens in arms against Meghan Cox Gurdon's "review" of YA fiction in the WSJ.  Her piece is rife with manipulative little tidbits from concerned mothers who worry that fiction will encourage deviant or self-destructive behavior in their impressionable children.  Gurdon takes a paper-thin view and paints it with a broad brush.

A large part of the outcry against her article has responded to Gurdon's argument that "books focusing on pathologies help normalize them and, in the case of self-harm, may even spread their plausibility and likelihood to young people who might otherwise never have imagined such extreme measures."  Yes, it's the old the book made me do it ruse.  Several authors spoke out about the lunacy of this assertion, none so eloquently as Sherman Alexie.  The primary point of his response is the cathartic, re-affirming value of dark YA literature that offers kids in dire situations a sense of salvation.  "They read because they live in an often-terrible world. They read because they believe, despite the callow protestations of certain adults, that books-especially the dark and dangerous ones-will save them."


Grace Troxel echoes that sentiment in her blog and defends dark YA literature for its ability to "contextualize" the difficult issues that teens already face and often feel they are fighting alone.  She further argues that these novels create a dialogue where for years there has been none.  And it's that very lack of dialogue that is most dangerous to our children.  


Still others, like Becky Levine, stand up against the ridiculous suggestion that the industry is trying to "bulldoze coarseness and misery" into the lives of our teens while a swarm of tweeters exclaim "#yasaves" and continue to slap back Gurdon's elitist "gatekeeping censorship" disguised as the ever-popular and totally condescending concern for the greater good.  I won't get into the question of parental guidance here, but suffice it to say I am an involved parent.


For the most part, much of the conversation I have read so far has focused on the value of YA to change the lives of teenagers who have experienced the worst of this world or the ability YA literature has to contextualize situations and start a dialogue for disenfranchised or marginalized adolescents.  All of this is valid and important.  But there is an even more crucial idea under attack here:  The human condition.  Sherman Alexie touches on it:

When some cultural critics fret about the “ever-more-appalling” YA books, they aren’t trying to protect African-American teens forced to walk through metal detectors on their way into school. Or Mexican-American teens enduring the culturally schizophrenic life of being American citizens and the children of illegal immigrants. Or Native American teens growing up on Third World reservations. Or poor white kids trying to survive the meth-hazed trailer parks. They aren’t trying to protect the poor from poverty. Or victims from rapists.

No, they are simply trying to protect their privileged notions of what literature is and should be. They are trying to protect privileged children. Or the seemingly privileged.

I think about my own son, a white, middle-class teenager who has faced some upheaval and disappointment along with the typical angst of adolescence, but nothing like addiction, rape, poverty, or mental illness.  Does that mean he should never read anything that deals with such harsh subjects? What do books like Speak or The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian or Scars have to offer my son?  The same thing that the Harry Potter books or the Percy Jackson series or any number of zombie books that he has read offers.  A look at the human condition.  We are flawed.  We have fears.  We make mistakes.  We get betrayed and hurt and life gets messy.  And some kids have been subjected to as many horrors as adults, perhaps even more.  But we pick ourselves up from whatever our circumstance and choose how to respond.  The majority of kids (a hopeful estimation) may never know such dire circumstances as those in some of the books they read, but for most kids (even the privileged), adolescence feels like a battleground where the choices they make have far more complex and far-reaching consequences and reinforcements don't always arrive on time. At least they can go through the paces and explore those questions through the pages of a book where the monsters are only ink and shadows and the kids are ultimately heroes.  


It is a hard lesson to learn that the world is not a warm lap and tender kisses and sunshine all around, but adolescence is for finding yourself as well as learning how to deal with the realities of this world. My son is not about to go cut himself or smoke crack because he read about it in a book, no matter how devastated he was by recent personal events.  But he may understand a classmate's behavior a little more. He may develop a stronger sense of relativity and compassion.  He may find a strength he never knew before.  He will have an even better sense of what it means to be human.  And he will choose what he becomes.  


While I would like to protect my children from all the ugliness in the world, I would do them far more harm if I pretended it didn't exist.  

Thoughts on the Impact of eBooks

With the rise in sales of eBooks and the constantly evolving market for eReaders, the question has arisen whether the effect of technology will drive the printed book to extinction.  I've posted about this before (Clouds in my Coffee) and I can't say I have any better answers, but it did make me wonder what the effect of audio books has been over the years and whether that looked as ominous as eBooks when it all started.  Granted, they each hit slightly different market motivations, but what is the correlation?

My husband listens to a lot of audio books simply because it allows him to read more than he would otherwise.  He listens while he's mowing the lawn, taking a shower, driving, and other less convenient places for paper books.  He still buys paper books, especially those he wants to read again or keep as a resource.  But for fun, popular fiction, he often goes the audio book route.  Ultimately, I doubt he would ever really subscribe to the whole eBook deal simply because it would just be another way to read a paper book...involving hands and eyes.

So, why choose eBooks over paper?  For the most part, I think people choose it for the weight factor, as well as convenience.  Why lug around 60 pounds of literature when you can have your entire library at your finger tips for just  8.5 ounces?  I know that's one reason so many agents and editors glommed on to the Kindle way back when.  Are there other reasons?

Audio books certainly have their niche and they have provided literature for a wider audience who might not otherwise read paper books at all.  They have also generated additional revenues for the publishing business.  Will eBooks find that same kind of well-defined niche or will they supplant the printed word altogether?

I would love to know how many writers have an eReader, how many are thinking of getting one, and how many refuse to be traitors to tradition.

What are your thoughts on the issue? Please feel free to comment in detail.

Learning: The Quintessential Survival Skill

I've been considering picking up some additional graduate work and the following is my response to a request for a writing sample.  The topic was "the impact of three issues that challenge educators today."  This will be the last of my rants on educational topics for a while...I promise.

As I stepped through the door into my own classroom at Heritage High School eighteen years ago, I brought my passel of ideals and my passion for literature with me and laid them right out for everyone to see.  I had no doubt that these pieces of gold would inspire my students and generate a whirlwind of learning, no matter how disparate the learning styles or how severe the behavioral issues or anemic the student motivation. I had a mission. If only it were that simple.  While I had the immeasurable support of my administration and confidence in my vision, it soon became clear that there was a lot more to being a teacher than teaching, talent, and good intentions. In college, no one really prepares you for the politics of teaching.  By politics, I don’t mean the ideology of the superintendent or the social etiquette of the faculty lunch room.  I mean the white noise that both student and teacher must endure to get the job done.  

Working in a township school, I was prepared for some disparities in the socio-economic composition of the student body, but the most persistent motivational roadblock came not from the students themselves, but from their parents.  Politicians argue about the accountability of the school districts for the quality of their children’s education, but one of the most damaging cultural attitudes that teachers must face is a devaluing of education by the already disenfranchised.  In this particular community, many of the parents had never finished high school, let alone gone on to college.  They were farmers or factory workers who saw school as a necessary evil.  Other families may be broken, one-parent homes relying on school to babysit their children while the parent worked two or three jobs just to make ends meet and avoid welfare.  The frustration, exhaustion, and formative experiences of the parents translated to a mistrust of school as an institution and even an adversarial relationship with education itself, an attitude which was ultimately inherited by their children. They did not see education as an opportunity, but rather as just another yard stick with which to measure their deficiencies.  It is difficult to help these students (and their parents) see the value of learning for its own sake, but that is part of our mission.  

 As our economy struggles, the divide between the haves and the have-nots grows and so does this attitude that education is not for everyone.  Lack of equity in the distribution of resources has always been an issue.  Some school systems simply do not have the same access to funding or the most modern resources essential to educational growth.  And with the lightning pace of technological advances, many schools cannot keep up, which again pits the more affluent communities against the poorer communities and the politicians get to decide who gets funding based on academic performance rather than need.  Their altruistic but misguided answer is No Child Left Behind legislation that is intended to hold public schools accountable for sloppy standards, bad teaching, and poor programming.  However good its intentions, NCLB is in large part perpetuating some of the most pervasive problems as it widens the gap and confirms those old prejudices against education. It has created a “teach to the test” mentality in many school systems that are terrified of losing their funding or being labeled as “the bad school” and abandoned by anyone with the means to transfer their child to a “choice” school.  Administrators have begun to pressure, and in some cases bully, their faculty into using a canned pedagogy that may encourage a stronger performance on the test but that will surely hinder true learning, which is whole the point of education.  Jobs are threatened, innovation is stifled, and whole populations are ignored in the name of that sacred test score.  Sadly, NCLB is now a significant part of the problem instead of the solution.    

Solid, veteran teachers will continue to inspire their students and help them learn, but in some ways their efforts may be hobbled by politics.  First year teachers do not have the experience to help them discern where an appropriate line can be drawn between content and learning so they rely on their administration and their mentors. Moreover, the efficacy of the assessment is only as good as the instrument, and we have plenty of research that demonstrates the biases and limitations inherent in many standardized tests.  So where does this leave ESL students and students with learning disabilities and other special needs?  With the ever growing diagnoses of children with ADD, ADHD, and Asperger’s Syndrome, as well as other issues that affect learning, the current trend in response to NCLB is to make few accommodations while forcing them to participate in this flawed evaluation process. There is no specific measurement of their growth as a subset of the population.  Through my own teaching experience, I saw the number of students with these issues in my classroom grow year by year.  Some of these students had early intervention, but many went undiagnosed or unserved for years.  In addition, the influx of non-English speaking immigrants is disproportionate across regions, yet these students are introduced to our classrooms, often with little support depending upon the availability of funds and programs, and included in our standardized testing which will impact that carefully guarded average that represents “adequate yearly progress” and subsequent NCLB approval.  

Teaching has always been a challenging vocation and certainly not a profession for the weak-hearted.  Education, however, is the backbone of any society and no matter what the political climate or the changing demographics or the gap in generational attitudes, learning is the essential point.  A student cannot effectively acquire content knowledge unless he learns how to learn first.  At its very core, learning is a survival skill, one that needs to be nurtured and fed and practiced throughout life.  Good teachers lead their students onward through the white noise and help them develop the most crucial competency they will ever master—the ability to learn. 

Fast Food Education?

Caution:  The following post may rant, rave, or otherwise inflict strong opinions upon the reader.

The week before I graduated from college, looking forward to working on my Master's degree and beginning a career as a teacher, I was treated to dinner out with my parents.  Though I embraced my calling  whole-heartedly, graduation still brought out the jitters and uncertainty of my impending "adult" life.  My parents apparently felt it their duty to add to the butterflies in my stomach by choosing that night to question my plans and denigrate what I thought of as a noble and intellectually fulfilling field of work.  They wanted me to be a lawyer or even a doctor, not a teacher.  Teaching would be an abominable waste of my talents.

As I sat there with my jaw hanging open and my stomach in knots, two things came to me.  First, I realized that my parents had no idea who I really was or what talents I possessed.  Second, I realized that these two people, with their college degrees and their white-collar jobs had already forgotten who had led them to that place of success and who had prepared the daughter sitting in front of them go out and blaze her own trail and quit sponging off them.  They may believe both their own success and my impending launch into independence was all of their own making, but anyone who knows my family dynamics would laugh out loud at either supposition.  By some miracle, I left their doubts and denigration in the dust and pursued my own dream anyway. After 20 years of teaching, raising my own children, and writing, I wouldn't change a thing.

Sadly, my parents' cynical and demeaning attitude towards teaching continues to infect our culture and ultimately tear down the once high standards and respect that used to be and should always be associated with teachers.  This morning, I saw this story on the Today Show:

Believe me, I know what it is to face such malice, and what makes it worse is this infuriating notion that because we teach "children" we are no longer human beings with the right to protect our own safety. I emphasize the word "children" because it's obvious that high school students like the one in the video are not those helpless, wide-eyed little creatures we like to think of when we say that word.  This guy was physically a man.  At 5'2 and 100 lbs, I certainly would have felt threatened.  In fact, our 6'1 male band director was assaulted by a student with a hammer and sent to the hospital one year.  Another was jumped by 3 male students after school and beaten severely...all because one of the boys was told to spit out his gum 3 times before he was sent to the hall for mouthing off.

What struck me most about Mrs. Hadsock's plight was this general attitude about teaching in the United States.  Have we become no more than babysitters?  Are we simply custodians or surrogate disciplinarians for parents who don't have the time or inclination to actually raise the children they spawn for whatever reason? (modifier purposely ambiguous there).  If a kid acts out to the point that he endangers someone else's safety, why does a teacher get both blamed for the kid's actions and punished for protecting herself and her students? A student does not get a "get out jail free" card just because he is chronological still considered a kid, nor do the parents.

Our government has passed laws that require us to educate our children to a certain age to protect those children from the kind of industrial age slave labor and mistreatment we can find in any Charles Dickens novel.  Why?  Because we should care that our children grow up healthy, happy, and educated and become responsible adults who continue to make our country financially, politically, and morally strong.  Otherwise, why not leave them in the sweat shops and blacking factories and corn fields?

I chose to teach because I love literature, learning, and writing.  But even more, there is a certain magic that happens when a kid discovers something new, both for the kid and for the teacher.  It's a physical sensation as much as it is an intellectual one.  That tingle that makes you feel strong and smart and capable of anything.  It's intoxicating and completely addictive.  What's more, I know how priceless the ability to learn is and what teachers sacrifice to share that with their students.

Teaching is not a cushy job that gives you lots of holidays and the summers off.  Most of us work practically non-stop.  A teacher never stops looking for inspiration, for those little connections that may spark magic in the classroom.  We think about ways to reach our students even in our sleep.  Never mind all the grading and paperwork and preparation we have to do. We come to our mission with awe for the sheer impact it can have on a single life.  But for a growing number of parents and kids, teachers are like those frozen burritos you can buy 4 for a dollar at the Quick-E-Mart:  cheap, convenient, and filling the most basic purpose.  There is no respect, no sense of honor, no reverence for the deliverer of the most crucial survival skill a kid can master—learning.

I know there are some lemon teachers out there, more and more every year precisely because of this attitude.  We give education majors more hoops to jump through instead of higher standards and greater inspiration.  We demand our teachers teach to a flawed test instead of teach our kids how to learn.  We lower our standards so we can raise our numbers.  It's no wonder this generation is filled with a false sense of entitlement and false self-esteem.  It's all based on nothing.  Their advancement, their diploma, their sense of self-worth.  Show up and get a medal.  Actual participation is optional.

To Mrs. Hadsock, I say thank you for caring, thank you for inspiring, thank you for demanding that you get the respect you deserve.  For those who consider teachers to be nothing more than convenience food, shame on you.

Fear and Loathing

I just read a writer-friend's post on The Abyss of Suckitude and she has nailed some things right on the head.  Maybe it's the artistic temperament, but I think we all go through some version of what she describes.  It got me thinking about this last year of writing...and not writing...and why I've been in such a funk.  I'm working on my third YA novel, now, and each one has been a different experience.

My first story was in many ways a catharsis for me.  It was a taking back of things in my childhood that had been so rudely stolen by the dysfunction of my family.  I know.  There is dysfunction in all families. But trust me when I say mine is pretty royally screwed up.  So, I took things from my MC and forced her to grow up and confront her own guilt and longing.  Catharsis.  (not necessarily "writing") I don't know if I'll ever publish it, but I will treasure it.

My second novel was a journey.  I learned where my writing could go and gained more confidence in it. I crafted and molded and dug deep.  I met characters who refuse to leave me even now, refuse to be quiet while I try to move on.  They are still waiting for their day in the sun.  I have to believe they will find it when they are truly ready.  Or at least, when the world is ready for them.

Novel #3 is a whole new experience.  In some ways, I'm afraid of it.  I have big plans for it...maybe too big.  That is part of the problem.  What if I choke?  What if in the end, I truly deeply suck?  There is only so long I can blame the upheaval that has been the last three years of my life for hindering my writing.  Now I need to take charge and make it happen.  What if I can't do it?  There are people I don't want to disappoint, including me.  What if I only think I can write? Am I kidding myself?  If that kind of doubt isn't enough, the next step is to pick apart my draft and search for every fault just so I can beat myself in the head with it.  How many good writers do that? I have almost managed to convince myself that all good writers to that.

But somewhere deep down, there is this odd little person who thinks she can really write.  Who believes she has some fascinating stories to tell.  And behind that funny little person is a host of characters all waiting to be heard.  Waiting to be discovered.  Waiting to change someone's life, even if it just means they live in someone else's head (or heart) for a short time.

I've taken my share of rejection and handled it.  I don't blame my crappy childhood for my adult failures (mostly). If anything, I might have to give thanks for it.  The store of emotions and experiences I have to play with is vast and oh so interesting.  I've learned to kick myself harder than anyone else can just to stay ahead of things and that's not always bad.  What doesn't kill us makes us better writers, right?

And then I find those bits of gold that remind me why I write.  Those same gilded clubs I beat myself with are what make me a writer.  They are voices that won't be silenced.  The moments of crystalline brilliance that I cannot be afraid to own.  The little morsels of humanity that force us into a kind of intimacy with ourselves that only books can bring—both in the writing and in the reading.

So I'm going to kick my fear and self-loathing in the butt and write a stunning YA novel.  You know that saying:  Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.  ~Ambrose Redmoon


I think I have found just enough in my writing to make that judgement.

Will Technology De-value Our Books?

As I was thumbing through my usual blog quest and twitter scan today, dystopian visions of a Brave New World sort began to cloud my writerly fantasies of what the future will hold not only for me and my books, but for books in general.  Several cyber acquaintances are exploring the ramifications of the electronic world of publishing.  I'm not pronouncing the end of literary days or anything, but I do wonder.  No matter what lay ahead in technology, story telling and books will endure, but will they hold the same value? Or will it simply become our dose of soma, minus the euphoria?  Something to maintain the status quo, fill a void but only with white noise?

Nathan Bransford's post looks at the economic philosophies that drive market evolution and applies them to the publishing world, namely to the bargain ebook phenomenon.  While his post is hopeful, it does leave me wondering if books will be as valuable to our grandchildren as they are to us.  I won't rehash the whole doomsday prediction of the end of paper books, but as technology takes us in a new direction, will books become no more than a disposable blip on the kindle/ipad/computer screen?  I tend to agree with Nathan that quality will always find its way out and the everyman march to mediocre is a myth. (I pray!)

I admit—I'm a book junky.  I hoard them, spend money I don't have on them, stockpile more than I can possibly read, and lie there and inhale the sent of paper and ink and glue as if it were crack.  I pet their tattered bindings and talk to them when we're alone.  Kind of pathetic, I know.  But to me, books are not only my drug, they are my religion, my family, my consolation.

Okay, so ebooks are going to take over the world and relegate print matter to back room "read-easies" or the Antiques Road Show or the antiquities section of the Smithsonian along with the mummies and the salvaged remains of the Titannic.  Let's say that ebooks do balance the market out and maintain the integrity of good reading.  What happens to those oh-so-precious-and-valuable signed editions?

Someone has thought of that.  Autography will allow an author to sign her ebook for a fan and digitize that personal touch for posterity. (Pardon the ironic smile)  So...what will a signed electronic edition of J.K. Rowling's next book be worth in 50 years?  Will electronic signatures be pirated and distributed en masse with a single click?  What would an e-signature be worth, then?  How is it authenticated?  Or does that point simply become moot because that sense of iconic wonder, of religious fervor, of hero-worshipping awe has simply faded away into the everyday blip of silicon-induced complacency?

I wonder...

Gold Star to Nathan Bransford

Just a short post.  If you are a writer and you don't follow Nathan Bransford, you should.  Today he posted a particularly salient piece, given a few recent meltdowns in cyberspace, that reminds us that the artistic temperament and the speed-of-light conduit of information that is the internet often do not mix well.

Miscellaneous Madness

Butler made it to the finals and almost took the championship, tragedies both small and large changed my path more than once, and writing goals took on new meaning over those 31 raging spring days.
Thank you to the March Madness crew and all those who participated for keeping me motivated and inspired.  I didn't quite reach my goal, but I gained momentum that will surely kick some April butt.

The biggest event of the month continues to haunt us as Japan struggles with the devastation and potential radiation contamination wrought by the earthquake and tsunami on March 11th.  I continue to get news from friends and acquaintances as I pray for healing and grace for everyone effected by this event.  If you wish to help, Charity Watchdog has compiled a list and some general information about organizations committed to helping Japan.

As for a small tragedy, my dear daughter unexpectedly lost her bunny last week.  Can you remember that first pet that was really yours, that you gave your whole heart to and spoiled with affection every day?  This was hers.  Aptly named "Angel," that little rabbit loved the attention and gave Ghost Daughter so much in return.  The most heart-wrenching part of it all is that Angel died basically in our girl's lap.  She was moving and content one minute and the next, dead.  Our poor girl brought this lifeless body to her daddy and asked, "Is she dead?"  After mourning and keening for a day, and a lovely funeral, Angel was laid to rest.  A heart attack is the most likely culprit.  The first weekend of April brought a 4-hour drive North to a breeder where we adopted Angel Jr. and started a new journey, Ghost Daughter, me, and the bunny.

And the writing goals?  Well I added more than 10k to my WIP, had a few plot/character epiphanies, and kicked up the pace, so the madness led to at least a more focused method.  It's odd, though, how life can show me such unexpected moments of despair and supreme grace that not only give me perspective on reality, but inspire me to want to capture it in a place where we so often go to escape—writing.  The more real it is, the deeper the catharsis.

Perhaps that is just too much philosophizing for a Tuesday...

Project 365

March flew by far too fast, but I will take some time to reflect and blog about the madness in a bit. (A good kind of crazy!) But today marks the 18th anniversary of the day Ghost Hunk and I said our vows and promised to love each other forever. A woman asked me how we managed 18 years. The simple answer is, make love an action and keep doing it every day.

To celebrate, and because blogger pal Just Mom inspired me, I'm going to take a photo a day for the next 365 days and post it on my photo blog. Why not here? I want to keep this place tidy for my writing ranting and reflection. But perhaps I just build another Blogger site for the project.  We'll see.

In the meantime, off I go to year #19!

March Madness and Spring Break...(sort of)

Well in southwest Georgia, Spring has arrived.  I gripe a lot about living here, but this is one lovely perk...spring in February.  But March has somehow hopped right in here and I have a lot to get done.  So I will definitely be a mad hare as I dash through my WIP (ha ha) and get it ready for my awesome agent.  I wish I could guarantee that my WIP will be so awesome, but it's a first draft and a bolder project than the last.

To keep me on the right track, I'm following a fabulous group of writers who are blogging to inspire.  Join me as I check in all month:

Denise Jaden (Mondays)
Shana Silver (Tuesdays)
Angelina Hansen (Wednesdays)
Shari Green (Thursdays)
Craig Pirrall (Fridays)

*I've been told there will be prizes as well as inspiration!  

Drawing conclusions... and a contest!

Check out the interview with Ruth McNally Barshaw, author/illustrator of the ELLIE MCDOODLE series for young readers, over on the MIXED UP FILES OF MIDDLE-GRADE AUTHORS blog.

Sketches and doodles are a fun trend in MG books, and one that my kids can really relate to. Ghost Daughter comes home everyday with a notebook full of adventures and commentary. I can hardly keep the kid in paper!

Tattoo Me...Please!

Is it a mid-life crisis thing?  Or perhaps a need to rebel?  Or maybe just an urge to take control of some small part of my bod?  For whatever reason, I've been aching to get a tattoo.  The big question is, what do I want to etch into my ivory skin forever?  Of course a nice little celtic design would graft my love of Ireland to my shoulder for all eternity.  Maybe a spunky little fairy.  Of course horses are another passion, but I'm not sure I want just a horse-shaped stamped on my shoulder blade unless it's something really interesting.  What about something literary?  I considered a wonderful "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good" or something like that, but I think an iconic image would be more up my alley for this purpose. Or maybe something ghosty.

Here's the gig:

• I need a great idea.
• It has to be small.  I don't want it to swarm across my back.  Just a small little accent on my shoulder blade.
• It can be color or monochrome
• I'm asking my blogging buddies for help...HELP!  

If you have a suggestion, post it in the comments along with a link to the image.  OR email me with your suggestion and paste the image right in the email.  I'm open to original work by any of my illustrator buddies as well.

Hit me with your best!  

Obligatory Morals...

Apparently HARPER COLLINS has added some new language to their contracts:

New language in the termination provision of the Harper’s boilerplate gives them the right to cancel a contract if “Author’s conduct evidences a lack of due regard for public conventions and morals, or if Author commits a crime or any other act that will tend to bring Author into serious contempt, and such behavior would materially damage the Work’s reputation or sales.” The consequences? Harper can terminate your book deal. Not only that, you’ll have to repay your advance. Harper may also avail itself of “other legal remedies” against you.

There is quite a wave of response to this in the blogsphere, including the an initial posting from Richard Curtis (quoted above), a spicy offering from Ursula Leguin, and a fun romp from Jock Stewart.  Steve Laube offers a somewhat different take, citing the standard MO of Christian Book publishers.

While I ruminate...what do you all think?

Huck's Audience

With all the flurry over the recent attempt to sanitize THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN for young audiences, one important element of the question seems to have gotten lost. Who was the intended audience? For that matter, consider the newly released film version of Jonathan Swift's GULLIVER'S TRAVELS. It is being marketed as a fun "family" film, but Swift's work was carefully crafted political satire aimed at adults.

Now look closely at Twain's book. Consider when he wrote it, not only in terms of the historical time period but also in terms of the stage of Twain's own life.  Though he may have envisioned a boy's adventure book when he began writing it, his novel became something very different by the end.  The end of Reconstruction, the introduction of Jim Crow, and a flood of lynchings as well as personal tragedy led Twain to put the half-finished manuscript on the shelf for seven years before he finally picked it back up. And when he did, he came at the novel from a very different place. There is far more darkness in his tale than today's young people would understand. Does that mean they shouldn't read it? No.

However, it does mean that we should treat it as what it is.  This book has been a point of contention on school reading lists for decades primarily because of the language, yet teachers want to share this eloquent indictment of Southern Honor and Post-Reconstruction realities with students of all ages. Why? What abiding truth resonates with the young reader? I think the problem is that many teachers don't really answer that question, if they ask it all all, before they plunge in with a group of unsuspecting 8th-graders.  Does a popsicle-stick raft really demonstrate an important theme in the book?

I'm not saying we shouldn't include this in our school reading list or ban people from teaching it.  I'm just saying don't be careless with it because you think it was meant for kids to read and learn a lesson about racism and don't let a sanitized version of the text lure you into a complacence that fails to address the true issues in the book.  An adolescent main character does not always mean a book was written for kids.  Is THE LOVELY BONES a book for young readers?

You can look around and find a host of classics that have been turned into graphic novels or abbreviated versions for young readers and that is not a bad thing.  We teach books written for adults all the time.  But if you wish to teach a book like HUCK FINN, don't assume that because one offensive word has been extracted or painted a different color that it is somehow more relevant or more acceptable to a young audience.

Kids can learn a lot from HUCK FINN.  Don't boil it down to a single word and don't assume that it was written for kids.  Think about those abiding truths you want your students to glean and start there. After all, if we want them to learn how to think about the hard questions, we have to be good models and ask them ourselves.

"Light Out, Huck, They Still Want to Sivilize You"

Yes, it's time for another round of literary sanitation in the name of political correctness.  If you haven't heard, an English professor at Auburn University is protecting us from ourselves in order to preserve a classic for generations to come.  How does he plan to do that?  He has replaced the word nigger with the word slave in THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN.  All 243 times it appears.  His hope is to make the book more palatable and less taboo to parents, teachers, and young readers alike in order to preserve a classic.

While I understand his aim, I have mixed emotions about the ramifications of such a cleansing.  My guts tightened and my brain shuddered when I heard the news.  Who would dare?  But I'm sure many teachers have grown weary of explaining and testing the cultural climate before attempting to teach the text and have abandoned it altogether in the name of job security.  It's a delicate business and believe me, I understand. But there is something more to this issue beside censorship and the political conscience of a modern audience.  For me, it's as simple as integrity.

I taught HUCKELBERRY FINN in the 90's and my students truly "got" it.  Now, keep in mind, I didn't just fling the book at them and dive into it without any context.  That would be ludicrous.  But then teaching any classic without context is not only asinine, but borderline criminal.  In his New York Times article, Michiko Kakutani sums up a crucial point here:

Never mind that today nigger is used by many rappers, who have reclaimed the word from its ugly past. Never mind that attaching the epithet slave to the character Jim — who has run away in a bid for freedom — effectively labels him as property, as the very thing he is trying to escape.

I was teaching high school juniors at the time, and when I announced our next project, several sighed and said, "We already read that in 8th grade."  These were gifted students, mind you, and they had little tolerance for repetition let alone something that has been dubbed a "kid's adventure story."  Yes, that is how it was presented to them the first time around.[shudder] Of course I set them straight and then presented the historical and cultural context, complete with disclaimers about language.  Also consider that the demographics of this school were 49% caucasian, 48% African American, and 3% other (Indian, Iranian, etc.) Moreover, the socio-economic scale reached from the poorest to the wealthiest (children of pro football players and heart surgeons, etc.) who made their own cliques to often surprising ends.  When we had finished, several students remarked that they had read a completely different book. They had no idea that that is what the book was about.  They loved it and each one of them took in the truth that they found there.  


Prof. Gribben hopes to introduce more young people to Huck by sterilizing part of the very social comment that Twain was addressing.  Of course we have seen the term pass through different usages and through its evolution, we have cringed and cursed at the sound of it.  But what is really at the heart of good literature?  Truth.  No matter how ugly, uncomfortable, or embarrassing, if we seek it earnestly, we shall find it.  As teachers, isn't that a large part of our job, to help our students discover their understanding of the world and its naked truth?  


The primary problem is not the text.  The problem is that so many teachers get it wrong.  If you think that boiling down a social commentary like HUCKLEBERRY FINN to nothing more than a jaunt on the Mississippi, than you should not be teaching it to anyone.  The rich, beautiful, harsh story says so much about Twain's understanding of a country that had just come through a firestorm, not unscathed, not instantly wiser, and certainly not romantically mussed up, but truly, brutally scarred.  This isn't a book about friendship and acceptance.  This is a book about honor and truth and clarity.  Where is the honor and truth and clarity in eviscerating the text and subjugating the context? 


In the end, Huck doesn't necessarily see all slaves as equals, but he does see Jim as a man—an honorable, brave man—and a friend.  Mark Twain simply asked that we look at him, that we look at ourselves, that we see this country as it was, warts and all and consider the truth.  Don't look away now because it makes you uncomfortable.  You'll miss the most important parts. 
  

Tales from the NaNoWriMo Trenches, Part II (The Emotional Melée)

My first friend made it easy—a sort of halfbreed cross between Inspiration and Determination.  With my lower lip clenched tightly in my teeth, my fingers warm and nimble, I launched into my WIP with a vigor I hadn't seen it quite a while.  This was it.  Time to bang out that novel in 30 days and then spend a few months making it over for the real world.  She carried me high through the first week, nudging me closer to sun with little bursts of enthusiasm.  Of course another mosher was constantly tugging at me from behind.

Hello, Guilt.  Oh yes, this little friend was high-spirited and relentless.  "Ghost Girl, you're neglecting your family!" he shouted.  "The kids can't survive on frozen salisbury steak and applesauce forever!"  I swear he even brainwashed the tater tots who glared up at me from their grease-stained paper plates and chanted "saturated fats...saturated fats...you're killing your children!" I covered my ears and pressed on, but that nasty little mosher rallied the rabid dust bunnies to revolt.  But I just closed my eyes and flung myself deeper into the pit.

Aha...halfway through the month, I felt myself slipping, tumbling in a rock slide of dwindling word-counts.  200 one day, 150 the next.  Suddenly, a toady little critter tugged at my pants leg.  Fifty more stood arm-in-arm behind him, salivating through their smug grins. Yes, it was Defeat and his minions.  Their triumphant taunts rang throughout cyberspace:  "I hit 28k today!"  "I'm almost done and I have 15 days left!" "I'm finished...time to revise!"  Yes, there I was caught in the tightly clenched jaws of defeat, clutching my meager 12,000 words in my tiny fist.  A new pile of ENG 1102 essays mocked me from the corner.  Even the Thanksgiving turkey betrayed me!  "Time to write...," they taunted.  It wasn't their fault that others were more on the ball than I was.  

But somewhere in the midst of my grading haze and my post Thanksgiving stupor, another voice sifted through the darkness.  "Look what you did!  You broke through!  You taught your students, fed your kids, and broke through!"  She grabbed me by the ear and pulled my face in close.  "There..." She pointed her bony finger at the bottom of my laptop screen.  Blinking back at me from a tiny grey box was a small but admirable figure.  Perhaps a little lean, but very well-formed and even beautiful in places.   13,340, you're not so bad.  I gave my tiny sense of Accomplishment a little pat and said, "Welcome to the moshpit, now let's go dance..."

Tales from the NaNoWriMo Trenches, Part I

As promised, it's time to spill my guts about the whole NaNoWriMo whirlwind.  First, there is a very specific kind of mental gymnastics you have to do to commit yourself to this process.  I decided to do NaNoWriMo primarily to kick-start my new YA WIP and motivate myself passed whatever obstacle was keeping me from breaking through.  I won't call it "writer's block" because I had a fair idea of what I was writing and where I wanted to go.  It's more like a supra-sensory overload that left me spinning in neutral.  Perhaps it was even one part fear of failure.  After all, I had just written my best work yet and somehow it still didn't break out (not that it won't, soon).  So I told myself that it didn't matter if I didn't finish the book in 30 days, just as long as I made some real forward progress.

Okay.  All set, right?  Not exactly.  I had to stretch something else, a muscle that is strung so tightly it just might rip in two if I'm not careful.  I'm talking about the meta-writer, the constant editor that lives in my head and refuses to let me just vomit on the page.  But if you are going to write 50,000 words in 30 days, you have to let that baby fly!  Ouch!  Not so easy for this perfectionist.

Flexing.  Stretching.  Laying out the outline before Nov. 1st.  Check.  Hey, I even spewed some real stupidity on my awesome Scrivener note cards.  All right!  And then the righting began.  Frozen dinners, too much TV, not necessarily bathed on time—that was my kids' side of the bargain.  Ghost Hunk is rarely affected by these bouts of creative diarrhea, but he does eventually step in and man the standby parent booth when necessary.

And there I was, stoked and stretched and all warmed up.  I spat out 1200 words the first day.  Logged another 800 the second day.  Stumbled through about 250 on day 3.  Then I hit a 2K day and danced a rather conspicuous little jig at the café, though I saw very little of my family and spent the wee hours of the night preparing for class the next day.  But my main concern was...is this crap?  No matter how much I screwed up my courage and my resolve, I still could not fight the urge to spend 20 minutes searching for the right word or go back and add that certain something to the previous scene to connect the dots.  But I did manage to throw down a few painfully nasty tidbits and move on just to keep the momentum going.  I'll come back later!  My mind couldn't help itself...it kept wandering off to the revision process already. Scratching that itch just enough to distract me from my forward motion. Back! Back, I say! (kkkaccchhhh!)  And on I marched.

By the time I got to November 20th, I had more than 13,000 words down and the satisfaction that I had indeed broken through.  By that time, however, I had also lost that sense of reckless momentum and had a new stack of papers to grade and a Thanksgiving dinner to prepare as well as a significant ghost kid crisis to diffuse.  And 37,000 words to go?!!  Oh the pressure!  It was either vomit or take a long nap and sleep it off.  I chose to sleep it off.

I'm all for NaNoWriMo and applaud those who whiz through it, some hitting 50k by Nov. 15th!  I might do it again, but I don't think I can ever kill my meta-writer or even bind and gag her long enough to spit out 50k in 30 days.  But the whole experience gave me two awesome gifts...a breakthrough and a new bit of writing software that kicks some butt.

Next:  The emotional melée of NaNoWriMo...

 

Crafting a Story vs. Writing a Story: Tales from the NaNoWriMo trenches

Coming soon...

Halloween and NaNoWriMo...Oh My!

Well it's here. NaNoWriMo, and I greeted it at 3:00am with a firm resolve and a bad case of insomnia. So what the heck! I wrote 500 words. Not my daily goal, but it's a start. More to come later.

Now what about the Ghost kids and Halloween? Ghost Son is officially a teenager, so no pictures could be had of him and his banana-toting buddies, but Ghost Daughter can safely say she was the only Falcon on the streets that night:

Countdown to Chaos!

Less than 48 hours until NaNoWriMo begins and I'm not ready yet. Egads! I'm taking today and most likely tomorrow to get my plot straightened out and get myself poised for the attack. My students are doing poetry, which will make it a little easier on me as far as my reading and prep load.

I'm hosting a Write-In and believe or not, I think at least 3 people will actually be there! As far as I know, however, I'm the only kidlit writer in these parts. Anyway, ELEMENTS Coffe Co., crank up the expresso machine and the teapot and get ready for us!

Full disclosure, I am picking up my WIP for this one, but since I'm scarcely 4,000 words in, I'm taking it as a reboot and not vying for a win (if you know what I mean). Lots of buddies are participating this year, so I hope they have their extra powerful motivational boots on so they can kick me in the pants with wild abandon! Now, if you haven't yet checked out Nathan Bransford's awesome advice for NaNoWriMo prep work, get your buns over to his blog and drink it in.

Write on, folks!