I do not want a gun

There have been many times in my life when people have looked at me in disbelief.  That look has often been followed up with the question, "What kind of American are you?"

What have I done in my life to deserve harsh questioning of my citizen's credentials? Usually, I have revealed  (to both non-Americans and Americans) something that flies in the face of American stereotypes.  For example, I don't put ketchup on my fries (I like mayo).  I also don't drink any type of carbonated soft drink - never have.  Okay, I have one can of ginger ale in my fridge for when I suffer the occasional upset tummy. I have never sued anyone (though with winter upon us, I am looking for an icy patch on which to slip). I don't own a television.  I don't drink coffee. I hate "Black Friday."  I hate football. I am, at best, agnostic. All organized religions give me the creeps.  Bud Light makes me want to vomit.  I'm vegetarian, thus no hamburgers for me. Finally, I have never ever held a gun in my hand.  I have seen guns, but I want nothing to do with them.

I am completely exasperated at the current call for teachers to have guns.  The massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary was horrifying.  I have wept uncontrollably at every gut-wrenching story I have read. This shooting, however, nor any of the mass shootings that have come before this make me want to have a gun. I love listening to every wanna-be Dirty Harry talk about how he (in general) would take down the "bad guy." These machismo-heavy pronouncements remind me the power of fiction.

Think about it.  One minute,  we have a guy who has spent his entire adult life teaching teenagers manners and some academic skill (let's say accounting), the next minute we have Rambo, saving innocent lives. He's Bruce Willis, he's Charles Bronson, he's John fucking Wayne, feted by a ticker-tape parade and a trip to Disney. Who knew that Americans lived such vivid fantasy lives?  All this time, I thought we were the most concrete operational people who had ever ruled the planet. I thought Americans saw the world as black or white, with us or against us. I had us pegged as people who lacked nuance and tact.  Such wild fantasies debunk all my beliefs.

Perhaps this is our ultimate problem - we believe our own headline and refuse to read between the lines.  Down deep, we all believe that we, through excessive violence, can save the day. You know, like Jesus did. Or Gandhi. Or Dr. King. Or Sheriff Bull Connor.  Wait, he doesn't belong on that list.  You get my point.

I like the way guns and violence are portrayed in this short clip.  It also contains one of my favorite quotes of all time.

We'll fight them in the Senate!

Today, workers in the state of Michigan suffered a considerable set back when the state house vote to pass "Right to Work" legislation. If you remember my entreaty to vote yes on Proposal 2, there are many problems with "right to work" states. Well, here we are Michigan.

The Senate will take up the bill next week.  According to the AFT, there are a number of state senators who are on the fence about this legislation.  We must put the pressure on now to help them decide which side of the fence to choose.  Call the following senators and please call them often.

District 15 - Mike Kowall  517-373-1758
District 16 - Bruce Caswell  517-373-5932
District 17 - Randy Richardville  517-373-3543
District 20 - Tonya Schuitmaker  517-373-0793
District 22 - Joe Hune  517-373-2420
District 24 - Rick Jones  517-373-3447
District 26 - Phil Pavlov (don't get me started on this guy)  517-373-7708
District 29 - Dave Hildenbrand   517-373-1801
District 31- Mike Green  517-373-1777
District 32 - Roger Kahn   517-373-1760
District 33 - Geoff Hansen   517-373-1635


It doesn't matter where you live, just call these senators to let them know that "right to work" for less legislation is bad for Michigan.

Here is the phone list for all senators.  Heck call as many as you can and keep them on their toes.  If you want to know about your specific senator, take a peek at this map to find your senator.

While you're at it, look at what's coming down the road for public education in Michigan - a parent trigger bill. 

I wonder, once public education is fully in the hand of private, for-profit companies, how long will it be before parents are nickled and dimed on everything except tuition.  Uniforms, you know because we fear children expressing themselves through fashion choices.  Books. Extra-curricular activities.  Locker rentals. I mean, the Steinbeck says, the monster "breathe (sic) profits"

The Wild West and Mrs. Robinson

I am a very busy woman.  My job requires that I do an excessive amount of work and home.  Paper grading has essentially destroyed my social life.

Also, unlike many of my age peers, I became a mom quite late in life (age 37) and still have a young son, not anywhere close to high school graduation.  He's autistic, which requires a lot of time.

Those two factors led me to sign up at a couple of on-line "dating" sites. I have to say, I am not impressed.  One site is a paid site and I have not gotten one date from it.  I am going to cancel my subscription to it and save a few bucks a month. The other site is a freebie and it's like the Wild West.

I had no idea how many young (by young, I mean 25-30) men harbored older women/teacher fantasies. I have received more than a dozen messages from men in that age range. I am charmed and flattered.  Sadly, these gentlemen have no idea how to actually communicate with women.

First on all, they are pretty quick to want to text message.  I feel like texting is the new first base. That's because getting a woman to text a picture is clearly the new second base. Not that the picture sharing is a one way street.  I have received one too many pictures of half naked (and very muscular) torsos - taken in the bathroom mirror. Of course, they want a picture, equally naked, in return.  This is when our conversations come to a crashing halt.  I won't send that kind of picture.  Perhaps if we had been dating for a while and I wanted to get him worked up a bit, I could see myself willing to send a raunchy picture.

I don't want to make any hasty generalizations, but I find this race to raunch disheartening.  I like sex, but the men who are trying to contact me seem to be missing out on the beautiful dance involved in human intimacy. They seem to want porn at their finger tips and to make no intellectual connection.  Why not agree to meet for coffee and then see if there's a spark?  I don't get it. Is this a generational issue?  I cannot compare because very few men my age have contacted me.

Who are you?

I don't have anything particularly interesting to say on this rather mundane Friday night.  I do have, however, a curious question - who are you?

I was checking my little map to the right and I see all sorts of places and no comments left.  That's okay, I guess.  I just would like to know who you are.  I'm pretty sure I know many of my three or four loyal readers.  But the rest, I haven't a clue. Please leave a comment here and introduce yourself. If you feel comfortable, tell me what part of the map you claim as your own. I won't bite, I promise.

What's next?

Proposal 2 did not pass last night.  I spent the early part of the day, freezing my toes numb, talking to voters outside the precinct.  I worked from seven until about 2:30, when my back could no longer handle it.  I'm glad I did it, though; that type of work makes me feel alive.

Now that collective bargaining is not constitutionally protected (but anti-gay marriage is) in Michigan, what does it mean?  I don't know, but I don't have a good feeling about the future of education in the state.  I am worried that "right-to-work" legislation will pass in a heartbeat. A bill like that will financially choke the unions, as many teachers in a variety of districts, mine in particular, have taken pay cuts. We still have the threat of a charter school over our heads heads at my school and I am quite certain the for-profit company that were to take over would fire anyone for organizing activity.  Maybe I should go down a rebel. The idea is appealing.

Or, I can start to formulate Plan B - a career change at the age of 45. This is a scary prospect, but one I cannot dismiss.  Perhaps the universe is sending me a sign to take a chance on something new.  I have to gather my wits and figure out my qualifications for anything.  I am certain I must have marketable skills.

In the meantime, I will continue to try and impress some agent with my book. And, of course, I will continue to teach to the best of my ability.

Proposal 2

In the week leading up to the election, I want to review some of the proposals that are on Michigan's ballot.  The first I want to discuss is the one that is most vitally important in my world: Proposal 2. On the ballot, Michigan voters will see

PROPOSAL 12-2
A PROPOSAL TO AMEND THE STATE CONSTITUTION REGARDING COLLECTIVE BARGAINING

This proposal would:

• Grant public and private employees the constitutional right to organize and bargain collectively through labor unions.
  

• Invalidate existing or future state or local laws that limit the ability to join unions and bargain collectively, and to negotiate and enforce collective bargaining agreements, including employees’ financial support of their labor unions. Laws may be enacted to prohibit public employees from striking.
  

• Override state laws that regulate hours and conditions of employment to the extent that those laws conflict with collective bargaining agreements.
  

• Define “employer” as a person or entity employing one or more employees.
  
  

Should this proposal be approved?
YES __
NO ____

I want to urge all of you to vote YES on this proposal.  The seventeen years I have spent in education have proven to me just how important the right to collectively bargain is, on many levels.

On a personal level, if the right to collectively bargain is effectively destroyed in the state of Michigan, I will no longer be able to afford to teach. In February 2011, Diane Ravitch explains that a starting teacher in Arizona makes only $26,000 a year.  I don't care how low the cost of living is any given area, a teacher could not afford to pay off student loans, pay rent, and pay for a large percentage of classroom supplies on that salary.  More than likely, a person making this salary is going to work two jobs, making him/her a less effective teacher. In my own district, due to pay cuts, we have teachers who are eligible for food stamps. Way to save the government money.

Did I mention classroom supplies? A teachers' union contract can address the issue of basic supplies, such as paper, pencils, etc. Teachers must have access to basic supplies; if not, the union will file a grievance on behalf of the teacher.  Just yesterday, I met an Ontario teacher who has not been given the supplies she needs to properly teach her class.  I saw her at an office supply story, buying paper for her classroom with her own money.  This widow could have been spending that money on her own daughters or saving it for the future.  Instead, her principal has refused to give her any resources.  I urged her to file a grievance, but like so many people, she is afraid of bucking authority.  Her contract and all teacher contracts, properly should protect people like her.

Let's look at class size.  I have sat on the negotiating team for my local.  I was stunned to listen as the administrative team suggested that we do away with class size caps.  It makes no sense.  As a teacher, I cannot effectively teach classes of 35 or more teenagers.  As a mother, I do not want my third grader sitting in a class of more than 20.  I find it deliciously ironic that Mitt Romney declares that class size doesn't matter. He attended a school that has, according  to a friend who currently works there, about 15 students per class. Given his philosophy, his own children must have attended crowded public schools. Before you ride my case, I get the security risks, but why is what is good for the golden elite never a good enough investment for the rest of us? Rhetorical question, never mind.

Lastly, I would bet good money that there is "Right to Work" legislation waiting on someone's desk in Lansing.  Of course, once teachers' unions are destroyed (along with all other unions) those all important test scores will soar where only eagles dare.  Well, not really and not really again.

Well, if in the US, we get to the point of actually have destroyed unions, we will be in great historical company.

This is an interesting map, I think.

VOTE YES ON PROPOSAL 2 and feel free to share this information with anyone who is interested. As American writer Will Durant once said, "We Americans are the best informed people on earth as to the events of the last 24 hours; we are not the best informed as the events of the last 60 centuries."

Rape

In my wildest nightmares, I never thought I would write about this. Sadly, the issue keeps coming up in regards to reproductive rights for women, specifically the right to choose an abortion.

I am ardently pro-choice.  I don't begrudge someone for having qualms about the issue of abortion. For me, the line that many anti-choice people cross is a burning desire to ban contraception. That is until this recent election cycle.  The issue of pregnancy and rape has been a hot topic.  Hottest has been the notion by extremists on the right that abortion should not be allowed under any circumstance, including rape. There have even been comments that a pregnancy caused by a rape is a gift from God. I am a woman that has had to fight off a date in my lifetime.  I've never told anyone this because I was ashamed.  That is not the story I want to share.

That story starts at the age of five, when a family member began to act "odd" around me.  He would try to be alone with me; he was found alone with me in a closet. He would pull me onto his lap and tickle me.  Yes, I could feel his penis as I tried to squirm away.  This family member made comments and passes at me until I was in my early 20's. I can't fully remember what he did manage to do to me, but I feel quite certain that I was victimized. 

I had my first period when I was nine. That's pretty young. I was still playing with my dolls and stuffed animals at that age.  I remember being very confused and embarrassed. Now, as I hear and read these comments about rape and pregnancy, I feel physically ill.  I can only imagine what would have happened if that family member had managed to rape me when I was a child.  I know he desired me because he made an open pass at me when I was 22 or 23.  He tried to caress my hair and tell me how beautiful I was and had always been.

What if he had impregnated me when I was only nine or ten years old?  It was biologically possible. Is that really God's will? A gift? What sick bastard truly believes that?  Someone who is aiming to help shape policy for a nation of 330 million people?  These lunatics cannot be allowed to win.

It takes a village.

Andrew has been playing all summer with the girl who lives next door.  She is a year older than  him.  She has an older brother (let's say 19 or 20) who appears to do nothing all day and dropped out of high school.  Mom works in the medical field and is a screamer and a thrower of objects.  We share our living room walls and I can hear everything. 

I like the girl.  She and Andrew play well together; he's happy when she is here.  He's been bugging me for a sibling, which is not going to happen, so as many play dates he can have, the better. However, I'm wondering if her mom isn't dumping her here at my house.  As I write this, she is plunking away at my piano.  This is her second visit to my house today.  The first happened around 4:30, just before dinner. She was still here as I pulled dinner out of the oven at 5:45.  I could have invited her to dinner.  Instead, I said that I was sure that her mom wanted her home for dinner. The girl, H., said that she had already eaten dinner. Hmmm.  I sent her home. Then, I second guessed myself.  

I teach kids whose homes are in the type of chaos as H.'s. I know they need all the caring adults they can get.  I know that she's a bit lonely as she and Andrew are the only kids their age on the block. Still, I don't want to train her mother into thinking that I am going to feed her kid.  Kindness, yes. Doormat, no.

Class anxiety

I am not feeling anxious about the classes I am teaching.  As a matter of fact, I am, at this moment, feeling like a pretty competent teacher.  Instead, the class to which I am referring is socio-economic class.  Based on my income, I am  middle class.  I was born middle class, though I might not die middle class.  That's too morbid to muse on a Sunday morning, so let's not.

Thanks to the draconian educational policies that currently exist, I am not securely middle class.  Should I lose my job, who knows what I will do. I need, therefore, to try to put aside some money, and come up with some sort of investment plan.  I think I can do all of that and still travel.  This post isn't about any of that.

I have both spinal arthritis and spinal osteoporosis.  On most days, I don't suffer from too much pain.  A little here, a little there - nothing the heating pad can't handle.  I am, however, finding it more and more difficult to complete a handful of household cleaning tasks without being incapacitated for 24 hours. I know this going into the cleaning, thus I avoid these tasks for slightly longer than I should.  Eww. 

I hate letting things get dirty and I hate pain, so I have fully come to the realization that I need to hire someone to do clean five things in my house: the kitchen floor, the bathroom floors (one full bath and one w.c), both the toilets (the bases, not the bowls), and the tub. 

My problem is that I don't want to hire someone to essentially clean up my shit.  In high school, I cleaned two houses and did not enjoy the experiences.  I have read Nickeled and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich, I know that many cleaning companies treat their employees like dirt.  The injury rate is high for these women. And yet, I am aware that sometimes any job is better than no job.  I even know that I cannot physically handle cleaning these areas.  None of that seems to mitigate the guilt that I am feeling as I am about to look for someone to hire. I am feeling a kind of middle class guilt about hiring someone who has slipped to, what is essentially, the bottom of the food chain. To be honest, I'm not so sure that I won't slip that far myself.

This is first world problem that I am sure will be mocked by someone, somewhere. I can't help that.  I just hope that I am not the only person who has ever felt this way.

Trying to breathe

I always have butterflies before the first day of school.  I mark that as a good sign, that I still care after 16 years in the profession. Part of me sees significant similarities between being a teacher and a performer.  We both have audiences, with whom we interact, and we both present a body of information: be it American Literature, songs, or a script. Like a performer, I take great care in my presentation.  I know, however, that my presentation is supposed to stick with the audience, and help them attain skills that they will be able to use later.  For a school like mine, the ability to use those skills on tests in the spring has become a life and death matter.

I've talked about testing before, so I won't bore you with a rehash of how it works (though if you don't know, please comment and ask me).  If you read this blog on a fairly regular basis, you'll have a basic understanding of my school's demographics: high poverty, high percentage of non-English speakers or English as a second language.  Numbers like that don't bode well for standardized tests.  My students read too slowly to do well on a timed test.  They lack the cultural background to handle the reading passages on the ACT (part of our state's testing mandate). 

Anyway, if schools perform poorly on those tests for a long enough time, they will fall to the bottom of the state rankings and then all hell breaks loose.  If a school is in the bottom five percent, it becomes a "Priority School."  Yay us!!! We're a "Priority School." This does not mean that the state will pour extra resources into much needed areas. Nope, it means that we enter the year with the sword of Damocles dangling overhead. 

A weasel...I mean monitor from the state will be on-site.   I will have to not use the word weasel when addressing this person. We, as a staff will have to decide on one of four options, if we do not meet, as yet unstated, goals: a. closure, b. restart as a charter, c. turnaround (fire principal and 50 percent of staff), or d. transformation.

That is all I know.  We have no more details than that. 

I must try to stay positive, but I also cannot be oblivious.  The state will likely set unattainable (without cheating) goals.  I must not only teach my ass off, but I must really forge ahead on finding something else for me to do.  I must try to stay calm and not stress eat.  I must keep my son as my number one priority and not let him know the churning that is eating away at my insides. I'd really like to find a date or two. Who knows if there will be time for any fun?

Anyone want to hire one slightly used teacher?  

First Concert

Yesterday would have been Joe Strummer's 60th birthday. As sad as it is that he has been gone 10 years, I can't help but smile because the first concert I ever saw was The Clash. 

I was 15 and my parents had to drive.  They dropped me and my friend off at the Fox Theatre, which was yet unrefurbished (possibly not a word, I don't care).  Though I have no pictures of the event, I would bet good money that I wore some over-sized top, a pair of jeans (with naturally formed holes), and my favorite grey boots with the black straps.  I am also willing to bet that my hair was over my face.

I was there with other kids I kind of knew, all of whom were a year older than me. There isn't much to tell, really. I didn't keep track of the set list.  I've moved a gazillion times, so I know I don't have the ticket stub.  I do remember that we were seated to the left of the stage, only three rows from the most enormous amps possible.  My ears rang for a week after the show (no exaggeration). I remember that we stood on the chairs for the whole show because there was no way I was getting down front near the real punks.  I was just an angsty teenage girl from wonder bread land. And, I loved the show and kept the t-shirt until it fell apart.

The funniest part of the night had to be the guys behind us - four guys in varsity jackets!  Jocks! Oh the horror! Well, before the show started, they were completely stoned. They sat with their heads in their hands, looking miserable.  We all had a good laugh at them.  I just couldn't imagine paying all that money and not remembering a thing. 

What's the story behind your first concert?

Do you still love me? You're fuck!

Somewhere along the line in second grade, a clearly troubled child taught his classmates the "f-word." I did not hear this word until fourth grade.  My parents swore liberally, but the "f-word" was verboten.

I, also, am capable of swearing like a drunk sailor.  But, I have worked very hard to not swear in front of my child.  At first this decision was based on the notion that he was 14 months behind in learning English, so it was best to use the very best word possibly. Since Andrew was diagnosed with autism, and subsequently with child maltreatment syndrome, I am more pleased with my choice as I just don't want to hear him repeat those words over and over.  Sadly, another child intervened and my hard work has been undone. Damn that little shit with the dirty mouth.

This summer has been daunting.  Andrew has no filter and swears at least once every 10 minutes - usually, the "f-word." That on top of his incessant pinching of my arms and thighs and my head has spun every day. This past weekend was the straw that broke this camel's back.

As a family, the three (yes, all three of us) decided to take a road trip to Cleveland.  Andrew complains vociferously about me traveling to shows or to London.  "It's not fair," he whines.  I have talked before about how my family really didn't travel and I don't want that to be the case with my child.  So, we thought a short trip, only three hours away, would be a good start.  We were wrong.

Our first stop was at the Great Lakes Science Center where he was completely over-stimulated. That led to a temper tantrum in the hotel.  He actually laid on the floor in front of the elevator and refused to get up.  That, however, was not the worst moment.  In the gift shop at the Aquarium, on Saturday morning, he wanted some junky toy and I kept reminding him to not paw everything in the store.  He told me to "fuck off." What am I supposed to do?  Yell? Whack him? Nope, none of the above.  I deaden my emotions and growl that it is now time to leave.  But, thanks to "child maltreatment syndrome, this reaction scares him senseless. He begs, "do you still love me" and then in the next breath, he tells me I'm a fuck mom. This went on for a couple of hours.  I was in tears, driving home. His father was exhausted and distraught. I looked at him said, "We don't have the answers, we need professional help." I made that call today, and I will keep making whatever calls need to be made.

I wanted so much to write about London, but I have spent two days crying sporadically.  I guess I needed to get it all off my chest.

London 2012 - Day 1(ish)

This summer, one of my favorite cities in the world hosted the summer Olympics.  I kind of enjoys big spectacles like the Olympics and love London, so why not combine those and have a visit. My friend Gill kindly agreed to tolerate my presence in her house for a week and even arranged for tickets to see men's beach volleyball.  I bought my plane ticket and left on August 1st.

Sadly, a few days before my trip, I came down with a cold that would dog me for the duration of my visit, keeping me coughing and tired most days.  Oh well.

The first night, took us to The Pelton Arms, a pub in Greenwich.  Despite the fact no none of the my friends live in Greenwich, this spot has become the home base thanks to our favorite singer, Glenn Tilbrook. Simon, Nic, Cathy, Sue, Neal, and Roger all met me and Gill at the pub. We didn't stay too late as Gill, Cathy, and Sue want to get back to Gill's so we could watch a Steve Poltz Stageit show. A shocking side note to my trip is that I did NOT see Squeeze perform.  It feels weird, but I'll get over it.

Just because there was no official Squeeze action for me does not mean I did not get a little Squeeze fix.  I traveled about with Cathy and Sue to find important spots in early Squeeze history.  For example, we found the house where they wrote "Cool for Cats," and the shop where Chris placed a slightly deceptive ad for a guitarist which Glenn answered. It was great fun and Cathy should be proud of her abilities as a detective as she located all these spots through Google maps and the following video

After our Squeeze pilgrimage, we met up with Simon and Nic in Shoreditch.  I wasn't there long as I needed to meet Gill close to Hyde Park for a couple of free concerts.  Sadly, I suffered an Olympic career ending boo-boo on my knee as I slipped in line, but I'll survive.

Inside Hype Park, we met Roger and turned our thoughts to food, beverage, and music. The first show was a band called Dodgy.  I had never heard of them, but the show was enjoyable and free.

There was a little time before the next act, so food and a spot in front of one the many big screen television was our next goal.  The park had been turned into a big gathering spot for people who wanted a communal experience of the games, but couldn't afford tickets.  We watched Andy Murray beat Novak Djokovic.  Needless to say, the place exploded when  he match was over. Perfect timing, as it was now time for the next act.

Again, I had never heard of the band, Cast.  They obviously had a larger following as the crowd was considerably bigger than for the first gig.  I also enjoyed their music much more, though I can't really pinpoint why.

That's all for the first day.  More to come tomorrow.

Can music save your mortal soul?

Last night, I attended my fourth Squeeze concert of the year.  For this one, I drove, all by myself, to Milwaukee to attend the annual Summerfest.  Squeeze was scheduled to take the stage at 9:30 p.m.

I took advantage of the free admission before 3:00 policy and found the stage and wandered the grounds, which were about a mile from my hotel, for a little while.  I was tired and sweaty from my drive, so I went back to my hotel to freshen up and grab a bite to eat. As usual, I wasn't very hungry, so soup, salad, and a glass of Merlot filled my belly quite nicely.

The city runs a shuttle for Summerfest, so I hopped on and met two women from South Dakota,  They had driven all that way to see Hanson (not Simon).  They, Marilyn and Ashley, were a mother-daughter team and they were really sweet.  It turns out that the Hanson brothers were staying in my hotel ( as were the ladies) and Ashley had just met the guys and of course was floating on air.

The bus arrived and I walked around for a bit with Ashley and her mom, but we quickly parted company and I wanted to head the stage where Squeeze would be performing later.  I wanted to say hello, if possible and if not, I wanted to grab a spot up front.

That was to be, as I ran into Simon Hanson (not Mmm Bop) chatting with a couple.  He saw me, called me over and introduced me to Ken and Susan. They had been to the show on Saturday in Iowa.  Ken is a drummer, so he and Simon hit it off.  The four of us wandered the grounds and then Simon needed to go check in, so I stayed on with Susan and Ken.

I had badges, from a friend, to deliver to the guys in the band, Simon was the first to get his.  So occasionally, we would head back toward the stage to see if I could find anyone, to complete my mission.  As luck would have it, who wanders around the corner but Glenn Tilbrook.  We chatted for a bit (he was eating) and he said 'I'll see you after the show."

I'll skip everything else and jump right to the show.  I decided that on this night, I wanted to just be an fan.  I took very few pictures, danced like a mad woman, and did not write down the set list.  They played the usual set, along with two new songs: "The Honey Trap" and "Top of the Form" (my personal favorite).  The audience really seemed to enjoy both of those songs.  Glenn was chatty and happy from stage and during the encore, in honor of Neil Diamond playing a few stages over, played a little "Sweet Caroline."

The wonderful show ended, the crowd went home and I went back to say hello.  Stephen, John, and Simon all stopped to talk about how the tour was going and how brutal the weather had been. Then Glenn came out, signed a few autograph, and got caught by plastic people, including one Barbie and her husband Ken.

By this time, the only people left were me (by myself), Glenn, and the plastic people.  I at least wanted to say bye to GT, so I lingered around while Barbie and her husband talked.  Barbie saw me and made a very snarky comment to me.  I will not dignify her comment by repeating it, but clearly it was meant to size me up and determine whether she should be polite to me or not.  My response led her to dismiss me, which backfired on her as GT turned down her and her husband's invitation to walk around the festival grounds with the response, "No, I really want to get back to my book."  That made me smile. So they left and I asked Glenn what he was reading.  Hitch 22, by Christopher Hitchens is his current read.  This led us to a whole conversation about writing and editing. I mentioned that I had written a novel, which elicited the most delightful expression from GT, I can't quite describe it.

He asked me genuine questions about the book.  I told him it was about a high school English teacher.  He chuckled and said, "Really , where'd that idea come from?" Smart ass.  Then we had this great conversation about editing, including how it feels when someone else goes through your work.  He shared his experience about columns he had written for a paper in the UK.  He asked what my editor had done, if she had made story suggestions and I revealed a big plot point in my story that my editor thought needed punching up.

We were interrupted by Barbie, who wanted to tell him how much the songs and words meant to her when she was a teenager and finally by someone else who wanted a picture. I had no idea what time it was.  I just knew that I didn't want to miss the shuttle and end up walking alone through an unfamiliar city.  I didn't want to go.  I never get to talk to anyone about writing. Frankly, I think he was enjoying the conversation, too. He said he'll see me Saturday and I caught the shuttle back to my hotel.

I can't wait until Saturday.  I just want to talk about writing.

Sex

Yup!  It has come to this.  Sex is the topic for tonight. Not sweaty, moaning, body aching sex that is had with another person.  I don't even remember that kind.  Nope, I am committing the ultimate switch-and-bait as I want to discuss sex in literature/fiction.

The other day on my FB profile, I took an informal survey about 50 Shades of Grey. I have just finished The Hunger Games trilogy and I thought that maybe something a little saucy would be fun. I have heard that it's pretty kinky, so vicarious living might be a good thing. 

I was surprised at how many friends gave the book a big thumbs down. Poor writing, one complained. Story drags a bit, said another. Hype and not really sexy proclaimed another.  Overall, more shoulder shrugs than I was expecting. That got me to thinking about what we as readers expect when it comes to sex scenes in a book or short piece of fiction.

I have two sex scenes in my novel.  Neither are particularly explicit, though the first one is a little more detailed.  I pull out of both scenes before I have to say anything like "he plunged into her waiting and wet womanhood with a lifetime of pent-up passion coursing through his veins" (I don't even know how to write like that. To be honest, I don't know if people actually write like that.  Probably, just better than what I could muster). I leave the juicy tidbits up to the reader's imagination.  It's fairly obvious what is about to happen in both scenes and I just don't think the reader needs or even wants me to connect the dots. Besides, by the time I got to the second scene, I was giggling uncontrollably.  Not the case with the first one.

Is less better? Does it depend on how artfully the scene is written?  Anais Nin has some very graphic descriptions in her stories and I don't object.  Yet, she might be the only author I have read who aims to be sexually graphic (other than Ginsburg).

I've decided against 50 Shades of Grey.  I don't mind sex (are the gods listening out there), but I'm not sure that I'm interested in a book where that has been the big selling point.  I mean, I've seen porn and it's pretty stupid.  I prefer to use my brain a little more productively.

Actions > Words

I know, I know.  I should have started this process a long time ago.  I cannot even begin to formulate what an awful school year I had and how I allowed that to interfere.  But, I am now ready, even if I am scared to death.  It is a frightening prospect to make oneself vulnerable. I think that is why I love museums and music and other forms of art so much.  The artist cuts open his/her veins for us and shows us what's inside.  I guess I am about to really take that leap.  I've been talking about my book.  But it has been sitting on my flash drive, unloved for a while.  This summer must be the summer.  Walking instead of just talking.  Now, I need a little feedback.  Below, I have included a copy of a query letter I am set to send to agents this week.  Tell me honestly, does the story synopsis I have written have a good enough hook?  Is there something there you would want to know more about?  Just tell me - I'm opening my veins for all to see.



Dear Potential Agent (who will love me and my work),

I’d like to present to you a synopsis of my first novel, High Reality. It is the story of a mid-career English teacher working at low performing inner city school.

High Reality is a 40,000 word story set at Michael Collins High School located in a current day immigrant-filled Detroit area neighborhood.  The main characters in the story are Zoe Greene, a married English teacher, and David Tilford, a divorced Art teacher.  Aside from teaching English, Zoe is also the Student Council adviser and the teachers’ union vice-president. The two have successfully kept a two-year extra-marital affair secret, though their secret is under threat due to external circumstances beyond their control – reality television.

The school has been chosen to be the filming location for a reality show that is supposed to highlight the challenges in teaching in a high poverty, low-English proficiency neighborhood.  Of course, the reality of the reality show is that it will be edited to heighten any drama to boil quickly and manipulated from behind the scenes to urge people to behave their worst.  This manipulation mixes with the real life racial and ethnic tensions that have besieged the school for years, ultimately resulting in a drive-by tragedy.

I am a veteran teacher (16 years) who has spent her entire career teaching American Literature in a school similar to the one in my novel.  Because of my experience, I believe that my story attains an authenticity without being bogged down in overly technical educational terms.  This is a story that will appeal to both teachers and non-teachers.

I am also a mother to a wonderful and bright seven year old son, who is high functioning autistic.  His father and I adopted him from China in 2005.  My inability to get pregnant is a trait my main character Zoe and I share.

The manuscript has been edited by a Long Island freelance editor who spent nearly 30 years in the publishing industry.

In the fall of 2011, I was published for the first time.  In October, RED OCHRE LiT (http://www.redochrelit.com/index.html) published my first short story, “Tea With a Friend,” a fictional account of my meeting with my son’s birth mother.

Stranger Danger

The statistics seem pretty clear, a child is more likely to be kidnapped by a family member than by a total stranger. That doesn't mean that we parents don't worry about strangers. We worry so much that schools and safety agencies teach about "stranger danger." To be honest, most children are wary of strangers anyway and cling to parents in new situations. Not my child.

Nope, my boy is the ambassador to the world. We take a walk, he absolutely says hello to everyone who passes. That, in my mind, in a good thing. His cheery greeting brings smiles to the world. Every parent (and I mean every parent) who walks his/her child to my son's school knows my son. Both his dad and I have had the experience of being some place only to have a complete stranger say "hello" to Andrew, by name. This is because, due to the autism, he is great with adults. Not so great with same age peers, but adults just eat him up. Thus, our problem.

Due to the likelihood that he suffers from Child Maltreatment Syndrome, with a dash of Disorganized Attachment thrown in, he has very little stranger danger. He talks to everyone, thus no one is a stranger. He does ask me for permission to talk to new people, which is a good thing.

Today, his school caused me a bit of a scare. I had to run errands, so I sent a note to school explaining that the sitter would pick him up, as she does when I am working. No problem, except at the end of the day, he did not make it to her car. She went into the office and was told that he left with his mother. Not true. Meanwhile, someone else called his dad, who dashed out of school to go get him. I called his dad to confirm that he was going to retrieve the boy from the sitter, only to be mildly chewed out. No one called me. That stirs up an issue that is not entirely related here. I suppose that the school thought I was still working.

I dashed to the school, grumpily demanded to know why I hadn't been called. No good reply. My biggest concern is that someone thought he had left with me. What if that "mom" had been some random lady looking for a child. I know that's unreasonable and that because so many people know my son, that would not have happened. But, autism is a communication disability. It took a couple of hours for him to actually tell us how the end of the day happened. If a stranger had tried to take him, he might not have been able to communicate that something was horribly wrong.

Now, I feel like I need to have on file pictures of people who are allowed to take my boy home and that everyone needs to have that file. I know that I have to have a meeting with the school to insure this never happens again.

Numbers rule my life

I teach English, so the title of this post might confuse a few people. Words should rule my life - beautiful words that stir the soul. Sadly, that is less true than I wish. As a teacher in the state of Michigan, I am the sole cause of the decline of civilization. If a high school student fails, blame falls on me alone. The student is not responsible, nor are the parents - just me.

The state has mandated a new teacher evaluation process. This new process must include data from tests given to the students. Our building has chosen to given the same test, twice in one semester. How the students score on this test will then be factored into my evaluation. This year, the percentage that is tied to my performance is 2.5 percent. In about three years, that will jump to a whopping 40 percent. The test the tenth grade English students took included a short story by Ernest Hemingway and 25 multiple choice questions. It was hard. How did they do? Look for yourself.

 

Coral – English 10 Pre/Post Test Scores Total Points Possible - 25

February 2012 and May 2012

1^st hour

Name	Pre-test # Correct	Post-test # Correct	Change +/-
1	9	12	+3
2	7	10	+3
3	7	Did not take	NA
4	9	Did not take	NA
5	10	9	-1
6	8	6	-2
7	9	12	+3
8	13	11	-2
9	19	17	-2
10	13	Did not take	NA
11	20	21	+1
12	6	8	+2
13	16	16	No Change
14	8	17	+9
15	11	10	-1
16	9	Did not take	NA
17	16	16	No Change
18	15	10	-5
19	13	Did not take	NA
20	10	18	+8
21	15	13	-2
22	9	9	No Change
23	5	Did not take	NA
24	13	12	-1
25	2	Did not take	NA
26	11	12	+1
27	6	10	+4

 

5^th hour

Name	Pre-test # Correct	Post-test # Correct	Change +/-
28	17	17	No Change
29	17	18	+1
30	17	18	+1
31	19	17	-2
32	14	14	No Change
33	10	19	+9
34	8	15	+7
35	12	16	+4
36	13	13	No change
37	16	15	-1
38	13	9	-4
39	15	14	-1
40	18	16	-2
41	11	17	+6
42	18	19	+1
43	11	14	+3
44	11	10	-1
45	13	15	+2
46	18	15	-3
47	12	13	+1
48	14	12	-2
49	13	13	No Change
50	11	18	+7
51	16	5	-11
52	Did not take	14	NA
53	Did not take	10	NA
54	19	16	-3
55	3	6	+3
56	16	14	-2
57	14	13	-1
58	17	19	+2
60	16	11	-5
61	12	11	-1
62	8	15	+7

7^th hour

Name	Pre-test # Correct	Post-test # Correct	Change +/-
63	6	15	+9
64	19	16	-3
65	9	16	+7
66	16	17	+1
67	7	6	-1
68	Did not take	18	NA
69	5	Did not take	NA
70	18	18	No change
71	15	15	No change
72	13	Did not take	NA
73	Did not take	17	NA
74	10	Did not take	NA
75	2	Did not take (class change)	NA
76	20	14	-6
77	Did not take	15	NA
78	Did not take	5	NA
79	Did not take	7	NA
80	10	14	+4
81	20	20	No Change
82	16	15	-1

It looks like a mixed bag of numbers. The are a number of students who added or dropped by one or two. A handful of kids made big jumps and two had disappointing tumbles.

You know what's actually missing here? The kids themselves.

Do I get bonus points for the increase in score by the student who lost both parents this year? Or the student who was kicked out of her house earlier this year? Can I take credit for the increase in score by the student who just told me that the gas and electricity has been cut off, thus suggesting that it has been a rough year at home? How about that kid that lost 11 points? That student is patently dishonest and has been caught plagiarizing - do I really have to take the blame for that score?

It's funny. Every time a college-educated adult has given me a hard time about my summer's off, I counter by asking why he/she didn't become a teacher if the job is so easy. Their universal reply: I don't want to deal with those kids. Same with my own student. If I venture to ask if anyone would want to be a teacher, they exclaim in unison, "These kids are too rotten! I'd kill someone!" But on these kids, and how they might do on a test on any given hormonally-challenged day, my career hinges.