Teen Jobs

Over on Author2Author, they've been discussing favorite teen jobs - always great fodder for a story or two. Teen jobs are usually sucky, minimum wage deals that you do for pocket change or so you won't have to beg your parents for money to buy new clothes all the time.

As I entered my teens, I babysat for people with lots of kids - at least 4 or 5 (or more) each. This was back in the day when most mothers still stayed home with the kids while the dads went off to work every day in the sole family car. To keep them quiet, I often sat them down at the kitchen table with a stack of paper, pencils and crayons and drew them while they worked on a picture of each other. This was good for an hour or two at least, despite comments like, "Mikey keeps sticking his tongue out at me" and "Annie keeps wiggling her eyebrows".

The first job I had after babysitting was working at MacDonald's. Yeah. I started on milkshakes, then moved on to french fries, dressing burgers, toasting buns, cooking burgers and working the counter. A favorite past time on a slow day was watching customers get out of their cars and predicting what they'd order before they approached the counter. I wrote a short story about this experience for a creative writing class in college.

Then I worked as a cocktail waitress at a student disco bar. It was loud and smoky with colored lights that flashed in time to pulsating, surround sound music. The tips were lousy but I had a lot of fun with the staff, especially after work. We went to Denny's for breakfast or over to somebody's apartment to unwind and laugh until our sides hurt. I often climbed into bed as the morning's first rays peeked over the horizon. After I'd had enough of drunks throwing up in my section, I asked to become a bartender. A slightly better job. I learned how to mix exotic drinks and to dance and play the air guitar. I also became a decent shot at pool or, as they called it, "billiards". The kiss-off song after last call was always "Last Dance" by Donna Summer. Anybody remember her?

I had other jobs, too. Carhop, aid for a special ed. teacher, clerical worker. I waitressed at the Moose Club, at a French restaurant and at a health food restaurant.

These summer jobs paid for most of my tuition and books as I worked my way through college. I developed an appreciation for all the people who work hard for a living and I know there's still a lot of stories to mine from the memories of every single one of them and the assortment of characters I worked with.

Outlining

Does anybody outline their novel? Until recently, I never believed in outlining a work of fiction. Research papers and nonfiction articles - yeah. But never fiction. I always believed in letting the story develop organically, that one thing should logically lead to another. Somewhere along the way, though, I got lost. Granted, I'd never written a novel before - just short stories and picture book manuscripts where you can keep all your characters and plot strands in easy sight.

With a novel, though, characters begin to wander away and before long you lose sight of them. I left one in a shed and nearly forgot about her. Gad, she could have died! So, I recently began outlining my novel. Not tightly, mind you. I'm just writing a little two or three line description of what should happen in each chapter in order for my main character to grow while trying to keep the reader interested. Writing a novel, I've decided, is a lot like conducting an orchestra. Not that I've ever conducted one, but I've watched enough of them to get the main idea. You have to know when to bring in the violins, then the trumpets and the flute solo, then all the strings, etc. If you forget something, the music becomes nothing but a cacophonous arrangement of unforgettable noise. The listener stops listening or, as in the case of a novel, the reader stops reading. Or worse, falls asleep. We do not want to put the reader to sleep.

So, I'm now working on an outline. I hope it helps me get through the rest of this thing without pulling out my hair.

Follow the Brick Road

Chautauqua is a magical place. When I arrived, I felt as though I'd somehow sailed over the rainbow and landed smack in the middle of Oz. On my first day there, I got lost. I asked for directions and was told, "follow the brick road". I grinned. I almost really was in Oz. An Oz for artists and free thinkers of all kinds -- musicians, artists, singers, dancers. And yes, even aspiring writers of children's books. Some people still think writing for children is "cute". Not a serious business at all. But not the Highlights people. And certainly not the 100 or so people who attended the Chautauqua workshops.

They ranged in age from their 20s to their 70s and came from all areas of the country, including Alasa. Some were writing picture books, some fantasy, historical fiction, mysteries, nonfiction, biographies or poetry. All were there to hone their craft and learn more about the long brick road to publication.

We were well fed, well educated, well coached and well entertained. I stayed at the historic Atheneuem Hotel looking out on Lake Chautauqua. With the second oldest elevator still in operation, vaulted ceilings, tall windows and long porches crowded with rocking chairs and wicker furniture, the hotel held an irresistible charm.

Not all of us stayed at the Atheneuem. One member of our group stayed at another hotel where, she claimed, she couldn't get any rest because her bed kept shaking. When she looked under and around the bed, she couldn't find any reason for the shaking. When she complained and asked the management for another room, they told her they'd never had anybody else make that complaint and that the hotel was full. Not only did her bed shake, but her clock radio flashed on and off periodically and sometimes she detected a growling noise. Even though she didn't really believe in ghosts, I think she finally believed some supernatural force was to blame. Finally, desperate for rest, she addressed the "ghost" - or whatever it was. She told it she was tired and needed to get some sleep so it could have one half the bed if she could have the other. Miraculously, the shaking stopped. This all sounds far fetched, I know, but the woman was totally creeped out about her close encounter with, ahh, whatever it was. Maybe she could weave her experience into picture book?

Anyhow, besides the ghost, we had sessions with authors Jerry and Eileen Spinelli, Mary Casanova, Rich Wallace, Neil Waldman, Sally Walker, Suzanne Bloom, editors Randi Rivers (Charlesbridge) and Traci Gates(Viking), Carolyn Yoder, Judy Burke and Patricia Lee Gauch (Philomel). We attended many different workshops. I couldn't go to all of them, but I did attend workshops on point of view, setting, characterization, beginnings and endings, writing historical fiction, writing fantasy, creating illustrations (with ill. Floyd Cooper), mining your memories and writing poetry, to name some.

The key note addresses at the beginning of each day were inspiring. Linda Sue Park gave the funniest speech and, for me, Peter Jacobi the most inspiring speech. They were all wonderful, however, and if I could go back to Chautauqua there'd still be plenty for me to see and do without getting bored.

In the photos above are a few of the scenes from Chautauqua They don't begin to do it justice. My mentor was Judy Burke, Managing editor of Highlights, in the third photograph.

Summer Daise

Lately we've had mostly rainy weather, as in the lower photograph, or weather that just looked like it was going to rain any minute only it went on that way day after day. The dewpoint has been in mid 60s - just like the tropics. For the first time in a week, the sun finally popped out and my gloriosa daisies grinned from petal to petal.

I have to admit, my flowers have been spectacular this year. First the daffodils and the tulips, then the peonies with their big showy blooms of pink and white, then my shasta daisies and now my gloriosas. Actually, I have some interesting mixes of yellow daisies. For a while, I had yellow coneflowers. They cross-pollinated with the gloriosa daisies and some black-eyed susans I used to have before some high tides did them in. A geneticist could have a field day in my garden. As for me, I'm just content to enjoy their sunny colors as I wait for my hydrangeas to rich their peak.

100 Books You Should Read Before You Turn 13

Okay, here's MY list. I'm sure it doesn't include all your favorites but I hope it includes a few of them at least. This is the bibliography I passed out to my 4th-6th graders before summer vacation.

100 Books You Should Read Before You Turn 13
(These are novels for grades 3-6)

Aiken, Joan. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase.
Alexander, Lloyd. The Black Cauldron.
Alexander, Lloyd. The Cat Who Wished To Be a Man.
Appelt, Catherine. The Underneath.
Avi. Crispin and the Cross of Lead.
Babbitt, Natalie. Tuck Everlasting.
Banks, Lynne Reid. The Indian in the Cupboard.
Baum, Frank. The Wizard of Oz.
Birdsall, Jeanne. The Penderwicks.
Blume, Judy. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.
Boston, Lucy. The Children of Green Knowe.
Brittain, Bill. The Wish Giver.
Brown, Susan Taylor. Hugging the Rock.
Burnett, Frances Hodgson. The Secret Garden.
Byars, Betsy. The Pinballs.
Choldenko, Gennifer. Al Capone Does My Shirts.
Choldenko, Gennifer. Notes From a Liar and her Dog.
Cleary, Beverly. Dear Mr. Henshaw.
Cleary, Beverly. Ralph S. Mouse.
Cleary, Beverly. Ramona Quimby, Age 8.
Cohen, Barbara. Thank You, Jackie Robinson.
Cooper, Susan. The Dark Is Rising.
Creech, Sharon. Love That Dog.
Creech, Sharon. Walk Two Moons.
Creech, Sharon. The Wanderer.
Curtis, Christopher Paul Bud, Not Buddy.
Cushman, Karen. Catherine, Called Birdy.
Cushman, Karen. The Midwife’s Apprentice.
Dahl, Roald. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Dahl, Roald. The BFG.
DeFelice, Cynthia. Weasel.
DiCamillo, Kate. Because of Winn Dixie.
DiCamillo, Kate. The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.
DiCamillo, Kate. Tale of Despereux.
Estes, Eleanor. The Hundred Dresses.
Farley, Walter. The Black Stallion.
Fitzgerald, John. The Great Brain.
Fitzhugh, Louise. Harriet the Spy.
Fleischman, Paul. The Half-a-Moon Inn.
Fleischman, Syd. The Whipping Boy.
Fox, Paula. How Many Miles To Babylon?
Fox, Paula. The One-Eyed Cat.
Fox, Paula. The Slave Dancer.
Funke, Cornelia. Inkheart.
Gantos, Jack. Joey Pigza Loses Control.
Gantos, Jack. Joey Pigza Swallowed The Key.
Gardiner, John. The Stone Fox.
George, Jean. My Side of the Mountain.
Hale, Shannon. The Princess Academy.
Hesse, Karen. Out of the Dust.
Holman, Felice. Slake’s Limbo.
Holt, Kimberly Willis. My Louisiana Sky.
Hughes, Ted. The Iron Giant.
Hurwitz, Johanna. Class Clown.
Juster, Norton. The Phantom Tollbooth.
Konigsburg, E.L. From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E.
Frankweiler.
L’Engle, Madeleine. A Wrinkle in Time.
Levine, Gail Carson. Ella Enchanted.
Lewis, C.S. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe.
Lord, Bette. In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson
Lord, Cynthia. Rules.
Lowry, Lois. Autumn Street.
Lowry, Lois. The Giver.
Lowry, Lois. Number the Stars.
Naylor, Phyllis. Shiloh.
Lupica, Mike. Heat.
MacLachlan, Patricia. Sarah Plain and Tall.
McKinley, Robin. Beauty
Mongomery, Lucy Maud. Anne of Green Gables.
Norton, Mary. The Borrowers.
O’Brien, Robert. Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH
O’Dell, Scott. Island of the Blue Dolphins.
Paterson, Katherine. A Bridge To Terabithia.
Paterson, Katherine. The Great Gilly Hopkins.
Paulsen, Gary. Harris and Me.
Paulsen, Gary. Hatchet.
Paulsen, Gary. Nightjohn.
Pinkwater, Daniel. Fat Men From Space.
Raskin, Ellen. The Westing Game.
Rawls, Wilson. Where the Red Fern Grows.
Robinson, Barbara. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.
Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
Riordan, Rick. The Lightning Thief.
Rylant, Cynthia. A Blue-Eyed Daisy.
Sachar, Louis. Holes.
Selznick, David. The Invention of Hugo Cabret.
Sewall, Anna. Black Beauty.
Spinelli, Jerry. Crash.
Spinelli, Jerry. Wringer.
Taylor, Sydney. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry.
Taylor, Theodore. The Cay.
Travers, Mary. Mary Poppins.
Urban, Linda. A Crooked Kind of Perfect.
White, E.B. Charlotte’s Web.
White, E.B. Stuart Little.
Wilder, Laura Ingalls. By the Shores of Silver Lake.
Wilder, Laura Ingalls. Little House on the Prairie.
Wilder, Laura Ingalls. The Long Winter.
Williams, Marjorie. The Velveteen Rabbit.
Wolff, Virginia Euwer. Bat 6.

Things That Break

Things break. Things with springs, gears, wheels, sprockets. Usually they break one at a time with months - perhaps years - in between. But lately, the small appliances that make our life easier have been breaking in rapid succession. First it was the garage door opener. How did we ever get into the garage without it? The door is heavy and groans in protest every time we pull at the handle. If it's raining, we get wet. It could be worse, though. It could be January with blowing and drifting snow.

Next the washing machine broke. This posed a bigger problem. I called the appliance repairman. It will be a few days, he told us. Ugh. The laundry piled up. And up. Should I go to the laundromat? I wondered. No, better to wait. Laundromats are almost as depressing as bus stations.

Then the weed whacker broke. I know that doesn't sound like a big deal -- and it isn't, really. I just have trouble getting to my garden. The tall grasses spread into my flower beds. Everything looks messy. Maybe I should buy an old fashioned pair of clippers. They never break.

Now our air conditioner is on the fritz. We had to turn it off. It will be a while before the repairman can get here and I am not happy. Air conditioner repairmen are a hot commodity during the summertime. And Long Island is warm and humid. Doors and drawers swell and nothing closes properly. Another inconvenience.

It's all right, though. Eventually these appliances will be repaired and life will go on.

Some things are harder to fix. My son's college roommate, Chrispy (actually Chris P.), woke up a few months ago with a pain in his neck. For a while he ignored it, but the pain grew worse. He didn't have a job and, without a job, he didn't have insurance. He decided he should wait to see the doctor. So, he got a job and the day his insurance kicked in, he woke up and couldn't move his neck at all.

They took him to St. Luke's in New York and discovered he had a tumor on his c1 vertebra. A sensitive spot. Worse, it was inside his spine. If they operated, he risked being paralyzed for the rest of his life. Or dying. If they didn't operate, he faced the same odds. The doctors operated but had to remove his c1 vertebra and place a rod in his spine. He can't turn his neck anymore. Today Sean called him to see how he was doing. The doctors performed a biopsy. Chrispy has bone cancer. Bone cancer! This isn't suppose to happen. He's only 22. How can this be? He'll need radiation and we're not sure what else. At 22, people are in the prime of their life. No, it's so not fair!

All those little gizmos that make our lives easier are squat next to a human life. We can fix the air conditioner and the washing machine. We can replace the garage door opener and the weed whacker. Human lives are harder, though. We just hope and pray Chrispy will pull through this.

The Last Day, Hooray!

Today was my last day of work. As much as I love my students, teaching and the library, I do feel the need for a break. This school year seemed interminable and, with temperatures climbing into the 80s and 90s, it was simply too hot for students to concentrate on learning much longer - at least not in a cramped, stuffy classroom.

As usual, I passed out a bibliography of books for summer reading, but this time I retitled it "100 Books You Should Read Before You Turn 13". I told my fifth graders they were lucky. Unlike the sixth graders, who only had two years to read all the books on the list, they had three whole years. If they got started right away, they might have time to finish all of them. The first thing the kids did was to run through the bibliography and check off all the titles they'd already read. Most of them had read somewhere between five to ten of the books. Today, a girl named Kayla called me as she leaving for summer vacation. "Mrs. Michel, I'm almost done with The Whipping Boy. Next I'm going to read The Secret Garden."

I gave her the thumbs up and smiled. "Happy vacation!" I called.

Now for two months of rest. Oh, and a big stack of books to make my way through.