Get This Kid a Book Deal, 2: Ghost Town-

I never let my kids write fiction in class.  Perhaps it's a personal hang up. I know all my adolescent experiments in fiction were filled with stereotypes and cop-outs like "And then I woke up. It was all a dream." 

But they beg and beg. So this week, I finally gave in...a bit. We've attempted spurts of fiction. For example, when working on describing setting, I gave them the following prompt:

"A group of teens are exploring dark woods when they stumble upon an abandoned village."

Here are some of their sentences:

"The trees in the woods looked like skinny arms grabbing for lost visitors."

"The grass acted as spikes on the ground, protecting the land from intruders."

"The woods were so dark, it was as if God forgot to turn on the lights."

(Another variation of this one was, "It was so dark that it was as if someone had forgotten to pay the light bill.")

"The dark clouds swirled above them like moths as they stared at the abandoned village."

"The radiant moonlight skimmed over their heads like flashlights in the trees."

"The animals were as terrified as two-year-olds at the dentist."

"You could almost hear the forgotten hum of the villagers."

They make the hard work of original writing look so effortless. 

Basically, I issued up the fiction challenge, and they responded with a, "Ain't no thang, lady."

Yet again, they prove me wrong. Each day, they show me how very little adults, like myself, truly understand about their capabilities.

Slack-jawed,

Ms. P

Drunk Ladies and Expired Licenses

The kids were funny today. Really funny. 

Exhibit A: Pre-writing for persuasive essays

Student 1: Ms. P, can we start persuasive essays with a short narrative that makes a point?

Me: Sounds like a pretty good idea. Use your creative license.

Student 2: (mutters) Mine expired last month.

Exhibit B: Working on similes

Me: I'll write the beginning of a simile, and you write the end. Okay, let's see...."The endless dripping noise was as irritating as...."

Student: ....a drunk lady at a golf tournament!

He does have a point.

Leftovers, Part II

(Student-written similes in italics)

CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY....

On the way through the cafeteria's back doors, I spied a calendar menu. Faced with the endless, wretched possibilities, I was as nervous as a pre-shaven sheep. Saying a silent prayer, “Please not chili. Please not tetrazzini. Please not beef tips,” I scanned the month looking for the date.

And though it’s not mentioned specifically on the list, let me tell you that there was also strawberry milk. Lots and lots of strawberry milk. The silver lining? Today was Friday and not Wednesday...Mexican Pizza day.

Once in the kitchen, I relayed my sad tale to the cafeteria workers. They, who truly understand how revolting middle school lunch leftovers can be, offered moral support and latex gloves. One of the few men among their ranks showed me the way to the dumpster and grabbed a milk crate. 

Now, this is the part of the story where I REALLY wish I had personal pictures to illustrate. However, as you know, my phone was somewhere in the depths of the dumpster, so you’ll just have to know that the next part went a little bit like this:

And my view was a little bit like this:

And afterwards, I looked a little bit like this:

But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself. Before my hands were covered in flecks of chewed corn and mayonnaise, I decided to introduce myself to the kind stranger with the milk crate.

Me: You really don’t have to do this. My name is Ms. P.

Him: It’s no problem! 

Me: What’s your name? I’d like to bring you brownies to thank you on Monday.

Him: They call me BeBop.

Me: (Thinking to myself) Well if I wasn’t going to write this story up for my blog before, your name just sealed the deal, sir.

BeBop faithfully passed each black bag down to me below, and I dove in past melted sherbert, defrosted pear halves, Thursday night’s leftovers, and slobbery chicken sandwiches in search of the elusive Kroger bag.

Bag 1. Bag 2. Bag 3. Bag 4. Nothing.

Finally, at the bottom of Bag 5 was....

I spied it, red light blinking and smeared with a thick, unidentifiable substance. I slowly removed it from the filth, as carefully as a zookeeper handling an ostrich’s egg. Wiping it on my oversized t-shirt, I felt for the power button. Miraculously, it lit up! In fact, it had received both text messages and emails at some point in its journey from my classroom to the trash bag.

After a thorough bath in hand sanitizer, it is now in working order. In fact, one would never know of its sordid past, except for a faint hint of strawberry milk. The Epic is proving to be as loyal as a California King, I tell you.

Considering writing a love letter to BeBop AND Samsung,

Ms. P

Homework Assignment:
What material possession, if any, would drive you to dumpster dive?

The Right Reverend Redneck

I teach writing. It has it’s ups and downs. Pro: Their humorous moments as authors, both intended and not. Con: Grading 154 student essays several times in one semester, especially in this season of Bieber Fever. Trust.

However, in the midst of love letters to Mr. JB thinly veiled as the assigned narrative essay, I occasionally stumble upon a gem worth all my efforts. Such was the case when I assigned “An Informative Essay in the Classifying Voice.” (Just makes you want to whip out a pen and start scribbling away, doesn’t it!) 

Here’s another life lesson: You can make middle schoolers want to write anything, including the aforementioned essay, if you introduce it with a mentor text* that’s about boogers. 

(Sorry, Mom!) But that’s another story for another day.

Anyway, the following piece was born out of that assignment:

And if, “they love sports as much as Paula Deen loves her deep fryer,” left you hankering for more middle school similes, don’t you worry your pretty little head. They are coming your way very soon. Stay tuned!

Daughter of a Preacher Man,

Ms. P

*mentor text: teacher jargon for a piece of writing you introduce to students that they are supposed to model or mimic. Don’t say I never taught you anything!