OWP06

"Mrs. Elster"

"Mrs. Elster"

Early Writing Exercise with Nathaniel Teich:  Write about A Childhood Memory

I was on my to the hospital, sitting on the console between my Auntie Judy and Mom, (remember we didn't wear seat belts in those days), being rushed to the hospital for an emergency tonsillectomy.  I was four.  All I remember was being left in the hospital bed with the book, Little Red Riding Hood as my companion.  I knew the book by heart.  Since my Mom wasn't allowed to stay the night, I had only the book to keep me company.  I literally taught myself to read that night.

So when I went into Kindergarten with Mrs. Elster, I loved her because she let me read.  Mrs. Elster was wonderful.  She was in her last year of teaching.  I loved her because she taught me how to color in yellow, and when she came back from a vacation in Hawaii, she brought back hundreds of plastic flowers so we could all make leis.  She also taught us how to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" in Hawaiian.  I was amazed!  I sang that song all summer; I still remember it.  Much to my father's dismay, during the heat of the vacation I attached the Mrs. Elster's plastic flowers to my polyester Winnie the Pooh set with a multitude of bobby and safety pins, proudly parading through my Indiana town. 

It is astounding how powerful early lessons with caring teachers can be.  Looking back, I am certain Mrs. Elster sparked my desire to travel, speak foreign languages, become an artist-and teach Kindergarten!

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Gina Partos

Besides buying a house, driving across America, and setting up my new household, I attended the Oregon Writing Workshop.  Both ventures were equally stimulating, but of course in very different ways.  While the moving adventure was a challenge of my physical stamina and a test of courage, the writing adventure was a challenge of my intellect and creativity.

First there were the writing assignments.  Initially I composed a piece entitled, "How Jeru Lost His Mind."  The work described how the caregiver of my four-year-old son lost his mind in Venice, Italy while I was in the midst of an intense graduate painting program that would culminate in a M.A. degree from New York University.  Naturally the writing was interesting because it had all the elements of tragedy:  insanity, life and death, betrayal.  However, after classroom discussion I became aware of possible negative and far-reaching consequences to Jeru (whose name has been changed to protect privacy), as the piece was to be published on the web for a worldwide audience.

I could have switched to another topic, drawing from fifteen years of exotic overseas experience as an international teacher, but this didn't seem much of a challenge to me.  I realized that over time, we repeat our interesting stories, editing each time to delete the incidents that make us look bad, expounding on the parts of our personal histories that make us look heroic, and that basically, these "compositions" are completed through a long period of trial and error.

Encouraged to experiment, I stretched to try a topic I hadn't written about: "feminism", almost a dirty word today.  While women have made advances in equality, violence against women is endemic in American society and women still earn 73% of the pay men do for performing the same work.   Social consequences of the women's movement are evident.  Many of today's couples are both working to pay someone to keep the house and nurture the children, as families haven't been able to reach a compromise as to who should perform traditionally low status, financially unrewarding domestic work.  (I personally think we should consider rewarding homemakers with media coverage and financial incentives as countries like France and Italy do-but that's another essay.)  Nevertheless, something had to be said about women's roles in American culture, however unpopular, because lack of stable childcare is having a profoundly detrimental affect on our children, our future.

Since the Writing Project does not censor, it was tempting to continue with the topic, but I felt it important to avoid the temptation to use the Oregon Writing Project as a platform for "grandstanding" feminism.  I had to be open to new ideas and difficult writing tasks.   Nathaniel Teich, our professor, suggested writing a story for example, from a llama's point of view.  Thus was born Dog Adventures I and II.  What a fabulous exercise!  Writing from an animal's viewpoint was hilarious because I got to make fun of myself and I found that my writing style changed.  Additionally, writing from another viewpoint about a fresh experience is more truthful.

Written & Illustrated By ...

Written & Illustrated By...

By David Melton

Reviewed by Gina Partos

Written & Illustrated By ... is a super book for teachers who want to self-publish children's books in the classroom.

Author David Melton seems an enthusiastic teacher and a real advocate of children's literature.  He appears genuinely supportive of the artistic endeavors of children as well.  In this book, Melton provides numerous samples of children's work throughout the text, with title covers that are clever and well illustrated.

The Tiny Trio and the Case of the Missing Mozzarella shows three mice, one tied to a stake, with the remaining two apparently in search of the missing cheese.  Doo-Dad the Katydid depicts a katydid dressed in a kind of cape, with a flowered bonnet, holding a suitcase and reading a map next to a sign that says "Cracker's Corner." The Dragon of Ord  is illustrated with a picture of a pointy-headed dragon flexing all muscles to push a giant boulder off a cliff.  You get the picture.  Children's creativity and individuality seem to have been encouraged here.

Writing as a Road to Self-Discovery

Writing as a Road to Self-Discovery

By Barry Lane

Reviewed by Gina Partos

Writing as a Road to Self-Discovery could teach any person how to delve into enough memories to pen an autobiography.  Most striking about this text is the sheer volume of exercises designed to trigger memories and strategies to initiate writing. 

"Digging Potatoes", "Cave Writing", and "Snapshot Writing" seem as if they would be very effective in writing about memories.  Lane thinks about writing as a kind of potato plant.  Mostly we write about the leaves and stem, but what we really should be doing is digging potatoes.  Lane says writing is "digging potatoes" because "a potato is an unresolved question, a memory that asks to be written about, a person or place or event that has haunted your memory for years, a crazy idea you love to think about, a smell or song that triggers a thousand memories."

To find potatoes, Lane would ask beginning writers very probing and intuitive questions like:

    Who was your biggest influence?
    Who was your first love?
    Who were you afraid of?
    Who comforted you?
    What was your biggest nightmare?

When writers find the answers to these questions, they have the potato.

"Cave Writing" involves writing and drawing pictures about a memory.  Drawings can take on the character of a cartoon.  I've tried this technique and it works amazingly well.  The mind's eye has a great deal of memory it seems, especially if events took place when one was young, and language was not as well developed.  I could see this technique working very well as a preliminary writing exercise with young children.

"Snapshot Writing" draws upon our visual memory to stimulate thinking and writing.  Writers are supposed to imagine that they are focusing binoculars upon a particular moment in their lives.  Then they use their arm as a pen, drawing the picture, writing about smells, sounds, objects contained within the snapshot.  Once again, this exercise would be ideal with young students or visual learners.

While the pre-writing exercises in this book seem effective and imaginative, I think even more powerful were the kinds of questions Barry Lane asks students to ask of themselves, about their past lives.   In the "Definitive Chorus" Lane instructs writers to:

Make a list of all the people in our life who at one time or another told you who you are.

Think of how each person defined you and write the first thing that comes into your head.  Write two or three sentences of them talking to you and telling you who you are.

One by one, answer the definitive chorus.

    For example:
        Mom:  You never finish the milk with your cereal.
        (Get a life, Mom.)
        Dad: You're too sensitive.
        (Men have feelings too, Dad.)

Writing as a Road to Self-Discovery is full of very personal exercises like the "Definitive Chorus".  Lane seems to have written the book after having taught self-exploratory writing to prison inmates.  Some of their fascinating stories are contained within this book, and all seem to draw on highly personal memories that helped shape the men the prisoners were to become.  So for them, the exercises used here were therapeutic. 

I would certainly recommend this book as a form of therapy to teachers of individuals who have undergone traumatic events in their lives.   Writing as a Road to Self-Discovery can help painful souls destroy the effigy they once were as they write away their sorrow.

Internet Public Library Kid Space

http://www.ipl.org/div/kidspace/

Web Review by Gina Partos

I love http://www.ipl.org/div/kidspace/ !!! 

This website is a sub-category of main website, http://www.ipl.org/ , the Internet Public Library.  To get to Internet Public Library Kid Space, simply type "kid space" into the search browser on the main website, http://www.ipl.org/ and you will find a plethora of literary activities and links for young readers and writers to explore!

The site runs quickly.  Graphics are fabulous and open rapidly (I don't wait more than 5 seconds for a window to open-so this site meets the "impatient Gina" criteria).  And even better, kid space is fun and exciting!!!

In the reference section, beside the usual almanac, encyclopedia, and dictionary, there and GREAT LINKS to newspapers written by kids, sports pages covering girls and boy's sporting events (you know that's super-super-super rare in any mainstream newspaper), and magazines written by kids!

Did I say links?  What?  Say it again louder!   LINKS, LINKS, LINKS GALORE!!!

There are links to safe and fun websites from around the world for kids who want to submit creative writing samples, read plays, read difficult to obtain literature like aboriginal stories from remote areas, explore the New York Public Library, get into the Rosetta project and read books in Polish, Italian, Romanian; just to name a few.  Don't believe me...check out this link, from the sub-category "Reading Zone", for yourself:

http://www.ipl.org/kidspace/browse/rzn0000

See how boring my web report is after having visited that page?  Now go check out the main category page from Kid Space:

    Fun Stuff 
    Math & Science 
    Art & Music
    Orca Search
    Story Hour

http://ipl.org/div/kidspace/

There's so much to do at Kid Space, so stop reading my little report and go explore!!!

Why We Must Run with Scissors

Why We Must Run with Scissors

By Barry Lane

Reviewed by Gina Partos

The title of this book is apt for its content.  Why We Must Run with Scissors is irreverent and madcap, epitomizing the overused phrase "thinking outside the box."   This book is bursting with writing prompts and strategies to motivate the most reluctant writers, especially those "trouble-makers" who are tired of and will not cooperate with status quo assignments. 

Dog Adventure II

Dog Adventure II

Gina Partos

Hey, looks like she stopped at a campground. Lots of dogs and kids to chase. This is great! But hold on a minute. What’s going on here? She’s chaining me to a tree. Now she’s bringing the child human and those stinking cats into the cabin with her. I can’t be chained to a tree! I can’t protect her and the kid. Doesn’t she know that she needs me? Forget about the cats, take me inside! I have to be free. I have butts to sniff.

Oh, this is just perfect. There’s a party going on. I keep hearing, “Bonaroo festival this, Bonaroo party that”… and there are a bunch of campers smelling like beer singing at the top of their lungs and playing guitar. I’ve had just about enough. I’m going to poop and poop big. UH, UH, UH, UH ohhhhh. I’m still chained to this tree. There’s nowhere to poop, nowhere to hide. That’s it. Crumby music, chained to a log. I’m pooping right here.

Next morning. Dragged back into the car and packed up again like a sardine. Cats still poopeemeowhurling. Up and down, up and down these rolllllllllling hills. This ride is interminable.

Whoa there Nelly! We stopped. Can this be home? But this is strange. All the humans live side by side each other in little rooms. And everyone is drunk. I can smell the liquor on them. Nasty! Why is she staying here? The stench from those rusty vans … pee, poop, drugs and vomit. I’m sleeping in my female human’s room. I’ll tear into anyone who touches her and the kid.

Oh happy day. We’re going for a walk. I love walks. Next to a train track. The smells here are great. I can tell there have been a lot of humans moseying along here who get into as much garbage as I do. This is the best. Nothing like pooping next to a train track. Hmmm. Now where do I pee? I have to find a really great spot. Got it! Right next to this dead squirrel. This rules!

Back in the van. All day is a long slow climb. I’m tired of leaning on one haunch. We stop and it’s really windy and dusty. My human boy is tired and falls flat on his heiny running into another one of those side-by-side room places I hear my female human call a “motel.”

The good part is that it’s walk time. She takes me to this place with really thick, green grass to poop, but it smells like dead human bodies mixed with formaldehyde! I’m not mixing my poop in with dead human smell. Noooooo way! I’m holding it in until tomorrow. I can see my female human’s becoming testy; she’s tired. She’ll give up soon.

I knew it. We’re back at the motel. What’s up with this? A bunch of sweaty construction workers drinking and smoking outside a room close to my female and boy human. They smell like they’ve been guzzling brew for a long time. I don’t like the look or smell of this. One of the stinky male smokers is approaching my female human. He starts human speak. I know when a human has bad intentions.

GRRRRRRRR. GRRRRRR. GRRRRRRR-URRRR-URRRRRR. RRRRRRRRRR-URRRRRRRRRRRR-RAH. RAH-RAH-RAH! [In dog speak … WATCH IT BUSTER! WATCH IT! WATCH IT! WATCH IT! BACK OFF!!!!!!!!!!]

Not so interested any more, are you buddy? The bad male human slinks away. If he were a dog he’d be slinking off with his tail between his legs! Ha! I’m sleeping close to my humans tonight.

Another long drive today. We finally stop at a place with big mountains and lots of prairie dogs to chase and sniff. Dead ones. Live ones. And morbidly obese ones. I don’t have time to stop to poop. There’s too much to do. I hear my female human complaining about “fooling around.”

“Je T’aime. Enough. I’ve had just about enough of your dilly dallying. It’s time to go inside.”

Then she takes us into another motel. Boring.

More driving, more motels. Nothing special here, but I’m glad to get out of that stinky cat poopeemeowhurling van. I saw a bum while I was out on my poop, but he was no match for my female human, so I didn’t bother.

Still more sitting in the van and driving today. At least this time we get to stay in a real big room with bath tile for me to cool off on. They must have gotten this room just for me. They even bring food to this room on a tray. My female human eats like a wolverine. And her kid is a wolf boy the way he’s chomping down sweets. 

Finally after we’ve all eaten they take me by a gushing dam. Lots of water, trees, mountains. It’s cool too. I love it here. I wish we could amble down the cliff, but this is o.k. too. Great poop spot. We’re moving up in the in the world!

A short drive then we come to a little white house. There are lots of mice in the vines outside the house. Looks like good hunting grounds! 

Hold the phone! My female human is unloading the cats. Another female human who looks and smells a lot like my female human are unpacking the van. My human boy puts food and water bowls outside the house. Ants climb up into the food, but the human boy puts dish soap around the rim of my bowl and the puny critters get stuck in the soap. 

Fresh water in my bowl! And more fresh water. My female human is nagging my boy human to keep filling my water bowl. 

“Come here pretty baby. Come on Je T’aime. How do you like it here? Have some beef jerky. Yummy huh? Mmmm-hmmm. That’s my good baby. You’re going to love this new yard aren’t you?”

“Hey Gina, he seems to like it here!”

Clean water, lots of food, mouse hunting. Oh happy day! We must be home.

Dog Adventure I

Dog Adventure I

Gina Partos

We are living in a fancy neighborhood with a big back yard. It has lots of lizards and mice to catch and a big see through fence. In a pinch, I can squeeze right through the fence. That is especially great when kids shoot off fireworks and I want to run around and bark at the neighbors. Big baloney you say! But the cool deal is that I can see every stranger human I want bark at. I hate any intruder who might harm my female human and her kid. That is my job you know.

Wait a minute? Why is she moving all this stuff again? It seems like we just got here. There she goes with the big cop next door. Heaving everything in; then it just goes out the door again. Maybe she has ants in her pants. Reminds me of that big tick I got on my back. Drove me nuts! It took her forever to find it. She must have been afraid of touching ticks because she got a paper towel. Crazy thing is, she was pulling on my nipple forever. She thought it was a tick until she noticed I had a matching one on the other side and she stopped. Humans are funny.

Well anyway, she just bought me this killer doghouse. It was better than the goldfish and tadpole pond at the old place she built for me out of all that cement. What the heck? What’s even worse is that she used to give me meat every day after I got all the shots. Now, just because the mover guy doesn’t like me barking at him and jumping on him I have to sit outside. Wimp! What’s he afraid of? All I want to do is play.

Finally she has all her stuff in the truck. Hold on a minute, some how she attached the van to the truck. This doesn’t look good. I see her loading the cats in a tent in the back. With their food and litter boxes! What’s up with that? Uh-oh, she’s dragging me up into the van now. Nothing to step on, just a big empty gap. Who does she think I am? Clifford the Big Red Dog? Super Dog? Come on.

Things have gone from bad to worse. Me, the protector, away from my humans, stuck in this van. I’m wedged in between suitcases and there’s a big piece of plywood separating me from the cats so I can’t get to them. I want to play with them. All I want to do is lick them and sniff their butts. All right. That’s it. I just realized she’s put my dog food in the fancy stainless steel kitchen bin. I can smell it, but I can’t get to it. This is too much!

We’re moving. Finally some air. But the cats are freaking out. Meowing non-stop. In stereo. First one, then the other. Whitey meows, Toonces meows. Whitey meows, Toonces meows. Whitey meows, Toonces meows. What is their problem? This is gonna be a long trip.

I smell cow dung and corn. What’s that noise? Thuh-thunk, on the road, over and over again. What kind of idiot human made this highway? The noise and the smell just made Whitey hurl. Great. Add that to the litter box poop, pee and meowing and you got poopeemeowhurling. OHHHHH help me.

Speaking of cat smell, I got nothing better to do so I might as well let you in on a dog think. I really hate to say this about my cat friend Whitey.  But I love to say this about the other evil cat, Toonces -- their poop smells worse than three-day-old skunk road kill. And the pee! That’s a new kind of torture. If girl dogs smelled like that, there’d be no more pups in the world. I might as well go to sleep.

Craft Lessons: Teaching Writing K-8

Authored by Ralph Fletcher and Joann Portalupi

Reviewed  by Gina Partos

Once in a while you come across a movie, book, or song that is so good it is relevant to both old and young alike.  Craft Lessons: Teaching Writing K-8  by Ralph Fletcher and Joann Portalupi, is such a book.  Craft Lessons includes a variety of activities that are applicable for teaching anyone to begin and then improve their writing.

First the authors instruct individuals to begin composing a piece with a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Next they use real literature as prompts to demonstrate devices or story lines that transform writing into an art.  Fletcher and Portalupi include activities to teach students how to infuse details in writing to create "mind pictures", how to embellish writing with "sensory details", and how to use pictures to demonstrate details that can be included in writing. 

Craft Lessons has it all.  Teachers are shown how to teach students to describe settings.  The writers explain how to help students use cause and effect, pattern writing, repetition, strong lead sentences, and surprise endings.  A great deal of effort is spent in instructing writers how to describe character.  Fletcher and Portalupi talk about how to describe the inner character of a person, how description of setting reveals character, how internal conflict and interior monologues reveal character, and how to describe character through gesture.

Two lessons I particularly liked in this book were how to "Unpack a Heavy Sentence" and "Experimenting with Irony".  "Heavy sentences" are short sentences that have a lot of ideas inside.  The authors use the following as an example of a heavy sentence:  "First there is all the kissing".  "Unpacking" the sentence reveals that: 

Sam kisses his mom. 
Then he kisses the baby. 
Then Grandma comes and kisses Sam. 
Then Sam kisses the cat." 

After listing the ideas or actions in short sentences, students understand how to "unpack", clarify, and elaborate upon their own heavy sentences.

In experimenting with Irony, Fletcher and Portalupi write, "Irony is similar to sarcasm, but it's not exactly the same thing.  Let's look at this poem, "Another Night."  The poem depicts a boy and his mother watching Father come home at midnight, drunk.  They rush to bed, "pretending to be asleep."  Here's the last stanza:

    Sun rises at dawn.
    Good morning, Nebraska.
    We're a perfect
    farm family.

Rarely do instructional texts hold your attention like this!  After all, most individuals studying books to teach children how to write are adults.  It is a nice change to be treated as an adult, while at the same time being provided with really useful information to help me, and my students become better writers.

Girl Talk

Girl Talk   

As the first female commercial landowner operating a gallery on A1A Beach Boulevard in St. Augustine, I found myself in a kind of 1950's time warp.  Sexism was alive and well here in the Deep South.   It was surprising and annoying that every single man who entered my premises invariably proceeded to instruct me as to me how to invest in my business, how to manage my business, and the type of art I should be producing for my gallery.

What many men don't understand is the female point of view.  We are all socialized toward the male point of view; as a result, many males and even females are unaware they are parroting a male viewpoint, without even considering the female mind.  Lack of consideration of a feminine vantage point is evident in the manner in which we communicate about human beings in every day speech and writing by utilizing "men and women" exclusively, as opposed to "women and men".  It takes no more syllables to pronounce "women and men" and opposed to "men and women".  In my opinion, using "men and women" in speech exclusively implies masculine predominance and categorizes women as second-class citizens.

An established general lack of consciousness in allowing women equal status to men in basic communication, along with historical subjugation of women, and a host of other deeply ingrained, old world, bias against females, seem to make many men feel they have the privilege to direct a single, independent woman's behavior in her career.  No matter that the men who have entered my business have no training whatsoever in my field, they simply feel justified in volunteering unsolicited advice.

First there was the man who came in and advised me to install track lighting throughout the gallery, purchase new display cases, and advertise daily.  Granted, I had already considered such improvements at a cost of about $7,000 just for the first month.  I told the man that every thing he said was a great idea, but that it just wasn't in the budget, and if he would be willing to front me the money for those improvements, I would be delighted to implement his ideas.  Suddenly, he was no longer interested in "helping". 

Then there were the fellows who wanted to take over for me; they merely wanted me to liquidate the gallery/studio and install either a hot dog restaurant called the "Dog Place", a dish network storage space, an ice cream parlor, utilize the parking lot to display various grades of dirt, and finally, open an acupuncture office.  For some reason, these gentlemen seemed to feel it acceptable for me to sit back, passive as a cow, and let them determine my destiny.  After all, what was I, a single woman, doing with such a fabulous property?   Certainly what ever I pursued was a colossal waste of time!

So then, why was I the one in a superlative situation?

Perhaps it's the fact that due to lack of birth control and physical prowess women have been relegated to positions determined largely by their biology: mother, nun, or prostitute.  History has proven that most men want to know what a woman is doing with her sexuality, hence the overt distinction evident in the titles Mrs. and Miss. 

I personally find any reference to my sexuality, where life begins, offensive.  That's why I am delighted to live in an age where technology allows me to assert my intellect, albeit with pesky, unsolicited advice, and live outside tightly conscripted sexually oriented roles imposed upon women.  Think of our predecessor's alternative:  women who were chaste were nuns, having to live without family.   Women who were not chaste were mothers, subject to their husband's or male heir's whim.   Prostitutes had to serve in such a personal way that my forward thinking hero, Victor Hugo, spoke of such an existence as being akin to slavery.   In any event, no role allowed women complete assertion of free will.

Admittedly, I love my own chosen role as a mother to my beautiful son Michael.    I so love being a mother that when I did go into business, I put up a sign saying, "open elementary school hours-closed elementary school vacations".  Boy if this didn't raise a stink amongst the good ole boys up and down the boulevard!  I must have been crazy to not want to stay open and make money!  Why on earth would I want to close to take care of my child?  Well big daddy, this is a lady business, and that's a woman's point of view.


Why they all asked me, didn't I move down to St. George street where I could make the big bucks?  Hmmm.   Maybe it's because I'm across the street from the beach, the building is appreciating at an obscene rate, so all I have to do it sit here to make money.  Meanwhile, you're running back and forth across the parking lot to and from your car for appointments, working up a number one heart attack with your type "A" personality, and I'm at the beach having Dilly bars with my boy, throwing Frisbees to the dog!

I open when I want.   I close when I want.  And then, if I'm ready for a new adventure, I sell my building.  It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind!   

So for now.......I decide it's high time to hit the Oregon trail, but with the same standards as before:  exercising the free will the Creator gave my soul, while passionately pursuing meaningful work and building rich relationships.  Now that's girl talk!