Voices

A month ago, I attended my yearly writing retreat at Whispering Pines in W. Greenwich, RI. It's a weekend filled with presentations on children's writing, illustrating, and marketing from some of the industry's most influential editors, agents, authors, and illustrators. It's a time to network, meet up with old friends, make new ones, and have some plain old fun. This year was no different. As a matter of fact, I'd say it was one of the best ever.

I had a one-on-one critique with Ammi-Joan Paquette, an agent with the Erin Murphy Literary Agency, about my YA novel, Melody's Song. I sent in 25 pages of my manuscript for one of the mentors to read and critique, and I was fortunate to have Joan as my mentor. She was thoughtful, honest, and gave me some positive feedback. One of her suggestions, making my main character, Melody, 13 rather than 14 because she sounded innocent rather than edgy, was a good idea. Interestingly, when I began reworking the story, a new voice emerged, one I hadn't heard before. It was a slightly younger Melody and her words poured out onto the page.

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Sometimes when life feels too good to be true and everything is lined up in a row like baby ducks following their mama, you can’t help but think that something’s about to go wrong. That’s exactly how I was feeling last summer. And, bang, did I turn out to be right.

The first time my theory started to take a shape was on a Monday, a beach day. Mondays in the summer are the only days we get to go to the beach together. The only day Mom closes the antique shop for the morning so we can hang together. Summer is her busy season and on the Cape you make the best of it when you can.

Mom’s packing a picnic lunch with egg salad sandwiches, juice boxes and grapes. She places them carefully in an old wicker basket from the shop, the one with handles, puts the checkered napkins on top and closes the two wooden flaps. “Let’s go! We’re leaving,” she shouts, twirling around, nearly bumping me. “Here, Mel, you take this. Tell Mia we’re ready and I’ll get Max and Dad.” I smile at Mom, happy to take orders now that she’s finally ready.

“Mia!” I shout, sprinting up the stairs, “The bus is leaving!”

What's next?

With all the uncertainties of late, I finally contacted the Fulbright Teacher Exchange team and told them of my plight. It was something I was dreading but knew was inevitable. They were very supportive and told me the best thing to do was withdraw my application and reapply next year. I'll just have to update my application. They certainly understand the climate of what's happening to schools and teachers around the country. My hope is that things will be better next year. Time will tell.

So for now, I continue to teach my 5th graders. I work on my new novel and wait for warm weather and dream of the ocean. I wonder what's next for me. I have a feeling something's just around the corner and I can't wait to find out what it is.

Dashing Dreams...

2011 has been a roller coaster of a ride and it's only February. I found out at the beginning of this month that I've been accepted to participate in the Fulbright Teacher Exchange Program. As you can imagine, I was thrilled to hear the news. It's been my dream since college to go back to England and see the country and learn more about their educational system. With the Fulbright, I'd be teaching 5th grade for a semester next year, while another teacher would be teaching my classroom here. We'd even exchange houses. With the roof collapse at my school, I was worried. How could I accept the Fulbright if I don't even know the fate of my school? But it looks like they are rebuilding the school and that the students should be reporting back by next September.

But then, another blow. Twelve teachers at my school received pink slips. The budget is being cut and state funding could be cut by 20%. At the next School Committee meeting a week later, seven teachers got their notices rescinded but five did not. I am on the list of five who did not. It's all about money and seniority. Even though I've been teaching for 12 years, I am the fourth from the bottom of our seniority list. It feels like I've been rolling around under a huge wave and can't find my way up. I'm devastated! I'm not sure what to do or where to turn. One thing I've decided to do is appeal. It may not help my situation, but I know it can't hurt. I am willing to do just about anything to get my job back. I love my job! I love my students!

And what about the Fulbright? My dream of going to England and exchanging positions with another teacher are dashing. But maybe, just maybe, this door closing means another one will open. Maybe something even better will come through. I don't know the answers, and only time will tell. But one thing is for sure, I need to be patient. And patience can be hard to find.

Wild Winter Woes

A week ago, I was in my classroom giving my 5th graders time to work on their persuasive essays. They had three choices to write about: 1.) why students need or don't need homework, 2.) why students need more than 15 minutes of recess, 3.) why it might be a good idea to have a four-day school week. I told them they would have more time to work on them, but to get their thoughts down and begin a rough draft. I hoped that the choices would be pertinent to them and that they could persuade someone to make a change.

The following day, my school world, and everything in it, collapsed along with the roof of my little country school. The day after giving my students this writing prompt, we had about 15 inches of snow and, no surprise, another snow day. While I was taking this reprieve from school to work on report cards, I got a call from a fellow teacher that the roof in the library had caved in. I thought that perhaps a little water was leaking from the ceiling and that it would be a nuisance, nothing to worry about. My teacher friend called back within 10 minutes and asked if I wanted to take a ride over to see the damage. Why not? I thought. It would be a nice break from report cards. When we got to school, it was immediately apparent that this was much more than a nuisance. This was a disaster!

In the past week, I've been to the school twice to take as much as I can in a short period of time. The first time, it was about five minutes. The second time, about 10 minutes. An engineer had to escort each teacher into their classroom for safety precautions. Needless to say, it was a nerve wracking experience. Did I take what I need? Am I taking everything the students will need?

When I begin a new phase at the Middle School tomorrow (the 4th and 5th graders have been moved to the regional Middle School) my first priority will be to hug my students and help them feel safe. This is what I need right now so I'm sure it's what they need, as well. We will write about our feelings about what has happened and how this has changed us. Perhaps in the days ahead, we will come up with a new writing prompt, one that will be more pertinent to what the students are going through right now. Or, perhaps, I will keep the ones we have as they might just be the things the students are thinking about, or want to think about. Perhaps we don't want to think about what has happened for too long, perhaps we want to get back to our safe routine. A new routine it will be, but as the word defines it, a routine will be just what we need.

The story is finished. Now what?

I finished revising my story, a young adult novel. Again. I added another layer and am feeling pretty good about it. Now what? Should I query the agent I met at the writer's retreat last spring? She read the first 25 pages and gave me a positive critique and suggestions for improvement to help deepen the story. Should I hold off and wait for the retreat coming up in March? Should I query publishers or should I query agents? So many questions. What's the right way to go?

One of my writer friends, who also happens to be an editor, recently posted a blog on her site that was very interesting and got me questioning. She wrote that editors are inundated with requests and querys this time of year and that if writers want to be noticed, and not be just one in a pile of slush, they should hold off. I am eager to get my story out there but should I take her advice? Should I wait a month or so? Or should I take the plunge and send it out now?

Feeling thankful...

It's the day after Thanksgiving and I'm in a very relaxed, easy-going kind of mood. Yesterday was frantic with preparing a feast for my family, including my parents and brother, Dell, and his wife, Liz. My daughter, Kyla, was busy as well, making two pumpkin pies, one a cheesecake and one with a crumbly nut topping, green beans with almonds, a sweet potato pie, and an apple sausage dressing. We cooked up a storm and had fun watching it all come together. It was a special Thanksgiving as we haven't had my parents here in five years, since they moved down to Florida. It's been nice having them back in New England and it was a special treat having them join us for Thanksgiving.

As I looked around the dining room table yesterday, I couldn't help but be thankful. Thankful for my parents who are now close by, thankful for my three children who aren't children anymore, but fun-loving, creative adults. Thankful for Dell and Liz, who graciously drove from Lowell, MA to Orleans to pick up my parents and bring them to my house in R.I., and who always have interesting topics of conversation to share, from books to movies to the latest Etsy craze. And last but not least, I'm thankful for Don for putting up with me and giving us a second chance at something new.

I feel blessed. And it's times like these when we can relax and reflect on what is truely important and meaningful in our lives. For in another day or two, it's back to work and the start of the most wonderful time of the year, if not the most hectic. So for now, relax, have some more pie, and enjoy the rest of the long holiday weekend.

Falling into winter...

Fall is definitely here in southern New England. The temperature was 40 degrees when I tumbled out of bed this morning. Brrrrrr...I love fall with the changing of the leaves to shades of gold and red, biting into crisp, tart apples, and the smell of wood stoves burning. What I don't love is the anticipation of frigid temperatures and icy walkways that come with winter. What I love, though, is the first snowfall; walking through the fresh powder, tilting my head to feel the light patter of snowflakes in my face; watching Hannah, race down the driveway, her snout digging through the snow, making tunnels.

Am I crazy? I am a dichotomy of loves. I love snow when I'm home to enjoy it or when I'm cross-country skiing. I hate snow when I'm about to leave for work or about to leave work for home and snowflakes swirl across the windshield, blocking my view. I'm sure I'm not alone in this love/hate relationship with winter. But as winter looms in the distance, I can't help but wonder if my friends and family who live in warmer climates have the right idea.