One of a Thousand

Well, I am now one in a crowd of a thousand who made it to the second round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest.  Actually, technically, I’m one of two thousand — there’s me and 999 other hopefuls in the Young Adult section and then another thousand in General Fiction.  This first round was based on nothing more than a 300-word pitch of our novel, so it’s great news in the sense that I now feel like I have a functional query letter (which has been absolutely the hardest thing to write, harder even than the 67,000 word novel!)  But now the hard stuff begins — they actually start to read our novels!  The next round is based on the first 5,000 words of the novel, and the pool of a thousand gets narrowed to 250.  And so the waiting begins… March 23rd can’t come soon enough!

My Attempts to Enter the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest

11:17 p.m.  So busy working on my lesson plans (STILL), missed 11:01 by 16 minutes.  That’s okay, I still have time!

11:26 p.m.  ARGH!  Lots of difficulty getting the webpage to load correctly!  Finally am getting somewhere… now waiting for my DESCRIPTION (not the pitch, but the DESCRIPTION) to load.  Description isn’t even anything to be seen by judges, but necessary for if / when the novel’s excerpt is available for review by Amazon public.

11:27 p.m. ARGH!  It’s still working to load the description.  Is this normal?  What if it’s stuck in a loop and never stops pretending to load?  It’s only 212 words, people!  HELP!  whimper…

11:29 p.m. I can’t move on.  I’m stuck waiting for Part I to save, so that I can move on to Part II, which is still NOT the uploading of all my materials, but is my contact information.  Can’t go to part II until part I gets loaded.  ARGH!!!  Oh my god, the anxiety I am experiencing canNOT be good for my health!

11:31 p.m.  I’m starting to get really paranoid.  What if in those 16 minutes I was busy lesson planning, 5,000 other people were uploading their manuscripts?  WHAT IF I’VE MISSED MY CHANCE??????  AAAAAHHHHH!

11:33 p.m. Ummm…. really?  This many minutes to save 212 words?  Something’s wrong.  My carefully worded description has hacked the entire Amazon Breakthrough Novel system and I’ve ruined this process for myself AND 4,999 other crazed hopefuls.  Oh save me!

11:35 p.m.  What on EARTH am I going to do when it’s trying to upload my MANUSCRIPT?  I think I might die of the anxiety before I even reach the pitch stage.  This is ABSURD.  I’ve lost all sense of reality.  I’m stuck in some alternate universe where the entirety of my life, liberty and pursuit of happiness hinges on the acceptance of the DESCRIPTION of my novel!

11:36 p.m.  Seriously.  How do I know if it’s not working?  I mean the silly blue arrow keeps on a-swirlin’, but nothin’s happening!

11:39 p.m.  Hey, great news!  I found the spot where all the other 4,999 crazed hopefuls are hanging out and some of them have been staring at a blue swirlin’ arrow for 30 minutes!  So, hey, 13 minutes, not so bad… of course, that means I have at least another 17 to go and this is only part I of IV.  ARGH!!!!

11:43 p.m. Bored now… just think of all the lesson planning I could be doing… if only I weren’t riveted to this little blue arrow.

11:48 p.m. Still in blue arrow manic depressive mode… I bet you’re bored now too, aren’t you?  Pretty soon I’m going to have to put in the Buffy musical episode, just so that I can sing my way through this farce.

11:57 p.m. I’m officially panicked.  Half the crazed people are all “I’m in — goodnight and good luck” and the other half of the crazed people are all “blue arrow - blue arrow - blue arrow - blue arrow - blue arrow - blue arrow”.  Wanna guess which category I’m in???  And all those people who are “in” — ARGH!  They’re part of that 5,000!!!  What if 4,999 other people say they’re “in” and just when I’m about to say “I’m in!” some other crazed blue arrow person hijacks my in-slide and steals my slot???

12:07 a.m.  OMG. One of the crazies suggested hitting refresh, which I did… with great fear I might add, as I was certain it was going to do EXACTLY what it did… all my info, gone, in a flash.  I sighed and began again.

12:08 a.m.  Accidentally hit backspace key, backspaced away from page.  ARGH!!!  Loaded page again, entered part I’s info again, hit save and…

12:09 a.m. Blue swirly arrow appears for two seconds, then WHAM!  On to part II.  Thank you, thank you, thank you to the refresh god.

12:10 a.m. Entered contact info, saved, hallelujah, on to Part III!

12:11 a.m.  Uploaded pitch successfully… everything hinges on the pitch.

12:12 a.m.  Pasted excerpt successfully… re-read, looks good… everything hinges on the excerpt.

12:13 a.m.  Attached manuscript successfully… everything TRULY hinges on the manuscript.

12:14 a.m.  Uploading excerpt…. SUCCESS!

12:15 a.m.  Uploading manuscript…

12:16 a.m.  SUCCESS!

12:17 a.m.  Accepted contest rules and regulations.  Hit submit entry and… SUCCESS!

12:17 a.m.  Received official email from createspace.com welcoming me as one of the 5,000 manic writers.

12:29 a.m. In case you’re wondering what happened between 12:17 and 12:29 a.m., it went something like this:

Gasp!  “I’m in.”  Shocked staring ensues.  Twelve minutes later…

12:29 a.m. cont. Cats wake me from a self-induced state of shock.  Time for bed where I will undoubtedly agonize over my submission and wish that I had changed this word or that…. I live in fear of February 25th.

Buffy vs. Teaching

I’m afraid I’m an obsessive workaholic. I’m addicted to my job. It comes from doing a job I love and having no kids or a husband (thank god) at home to berate me for working late. Instead, the animals only stare silently as I wander through the door at half past eight on a school night. And where have you been, they ask me with their silent stares. I simply shake my head and dangle parsley before their twitching noses and all is forgiven. Or in the cats’ case, I simply scratch behind their ears and allow them to perch upon my head at night, purring into my ear. How simple and profound is the love of our pets…

And what on earth could you possibly find at the school to keep you busy until 8:30 at night, you might wonder. Well… you must first keep in mind that I, unlike legions of my fellow colleagues, refuse to carry work back and forth between the school and my home. I discovered early on that bringing work home would only ensure that most of it would not be completed by the following school day, which would result in many frantic, stress-filled hours that might have been avoided had I only stayed to complete my work the day before. Better instead to get it all done at school and then enjoy what free time I have left. I am quite simply much more productive in the school environment where I do not have access to my laptop writings, my fully stocked fridge, my favorite detective books through the ages (from Trixie Belden to Stephanie Plum to Eve Dallas), my Harry Potter collections in French, Spanish, Portuguese and Latin (in case I want to learn another language) or my extensive Buffy the Vampire Slayer seasons 1-7 DVD collection. You can see how distracting my house might be under these circumstances. Who wouldn’t want to watch the musical episode of Buffy for the 765th time rather than plan a lesson about polar bears for 2nd graders? Obviously, staying at the school is the best option for all concerned. Certainly, I’ve missed out on many wonderful opportunities to enrich my mind by singing along to Walk Through the Fire (”I touch the fire and it freezes me…”) but these are the sacrifices we make as teachers…

We turn our backs on the fire and we gather our courage and we continue to plan or grade or organize or whatever it is we do to make our days run smoothly in the classroom. And in our hearts, in those tiny moments when we realize this was a job well-done, we whisper our apologies to Joss Whedon and we promise to catch up on our Buffy watching during our summer hiatus when we will be experiencing the full onset of Buffy withdrawal… and of course, we will start and end with the greatest episode of all time… Once More With Feeling.

“Bunnies aren’t just cute like everybody supposes
They got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses
And what’s with all the carrots?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies, bunnies
It must be bunnies”

(reprinted completely without permission, which is really shocking because teachers never break copyright laws, these quoted words are attributed here to Joss Whedon’s genius, may he bring us another amazing show to worship… soon!)

The Madhouse

Here's the thing about teaching. If you don't succumb to the madness, you might actually discover that teaching is one of those jobs that never gets old, never becomes the same day in and day out, never fails to challenge you and never fails to exhaust you to the very depths of your being.

Of course, if you do succumb to the madness, you will probably also discover that teaching is one of those jobs that never gets old blah-blah-blah.

But there's no difference between the two, you exclaim. Oh, but there is, I say, it's a miniscule, tiny, nuance that is easy to overlook, but it's there all the same. Ultimately, if you do not succumb to the madness, I daresay, one day in the not so distant future, you will find yourself racing around the building like a madman, tearing your hair out by its roots and shrieking in acronyms, "The MAP, no the DIBELS, no the DRA, on the PR form, the PR form, why don’t you understand what I’m saying???" On the other hand, if you do succumb to the madness, while you will undoubtedly still be shrieking and bald, you will probably also enjoy the journey into insanity a whole lot more.
So, my friends, welcome to the madhouse. Here's hoping you succumb and embrace the madness within!

Just Call Me a Boy

There seems to be a racial war that begins in elementary schools long before people even recognize that racial tension exists among children.  Often this tension begins with children simply repeating what they have heard adults say and then, over the years, as that tension grows, may end with an internalization of attitudes and belief structures we like to believe were eradicated decades ago.

There is in our country and thus in our schools a dichotomy of what it means to be an American.  We are divided into the privileged and the not:  into those who speak English and those who don’t, those who have parents and those who don’t, those who have money (and thus access to technology) and those who don't, those who have access to a quality education and those who don't, those who have a home and those who don’t.

Some of these issues are the planting of the seed that ultimately develops into a deeply-felt sense of racism and prejudice and injustice. 

There was a fight on the playground amongst the 4th graders the other day.  One child spoke a racial slur and another child retaliated with a punch.  The child who threw the punch was suspended for fighting and the child who spoke a racial slur was lectured.

Their teacher felt the situation had been poorly addressed by the building's administration.  How did suspending the child who had defended his entire race help resolve the situation?  As a result, she had a sit-down session with her entire class and discussed with them the unacceptability of using racial slurs in any circumstance. 

One student raised his hand and said, “yeah, but I don’t like it when they call me African-American either.”

His teacher asked, “Well, what do you want people to call you?”

“I just want them to call me a boy,” the ten-year-old replied.

How utterly and singularly profound.  Just call me a boy.

Skate City

Went skating this evening for the second time in my adulthood.  I think that brings me to perhaps a total of 5 times in my lifetime.  Needless to say, I am not very good at this whole skating thing.  I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that my sense of balance is never very good, even when not attempting to travel with wheels attached to my shoes.  Who came up with this bizarre pasttime anyway?

The truth is I had a great time.  Of course, I went skating with my nieces, which pretty much assured me of having a good time.  I adore them both and take great delight in spending time with them.  I should be grateful that neither of my nieces are experts in the skating rink either, and therefore do not leave me in their dust like many of the other munchkins on the rink’s floor.

T.S. in particular likes for me to skate with her.  So, over and over, we maneuvered our way around the rink, with the wall as our prop and savior.  A.J. had a bear in her arms for half the night, after receiving it from an older child who won it in a raffle and wished to pass it on.  Therefore she skated with one arm waving for balance and the other arm clutching that bear, as if the bear was her prop.  If I had had a stuffed bear at the skating rink, I think I would have wanted it strapped to my ass for additional padding (not that there’s not plenty of padding already there), but that’s just me.

At some point during the evening, I had to go to the restroom, so I left the two girls skating together (A.J. made a face at my command, but then appeared to have fun with her sister despite her reluctance — isn’t that the way of siblings everywhere?) and headed for the facilities.  I now believe that Skate City’s bathrooms were designed by some kind of torture enthusiast.  Upon entering the women’s restroom, I was appalled to realize there were no pads on the floor.  Of course, this realization came a little too late as I flew in the doorway, leaving the carpeted hallway behind and hurtling at breakneck speed across the tile floor toward a stall door.  All I could think is “god I hope no one’s in that stall, because I’m going to land in her lap!”

Luckily the stall was empty.  I slammed into the door and managed to catch myself on the top of the door, which was so short that I gave myself whiplash as my head bounced forward over the top of the stall door and back.  I think those stall doors were designed for midgets.  Did they not consider the fact that adults might also be idiot enough to don roller skates and come flying through their restroom doors?

After entering the stall, I was appalled to realize that the toilet was only about a foot off the ground. On roller skates, I somehow managed to lower myself four feet where I took care of business with my knees in my face (when my feet weren’t flying out from under me of course).  The worst part was trying to extricate myself and stand back up.  It required a sense of balance (see above), inhuman strength (not one of my assets) and wheelchair bars (which were not in evidence at all).  With my feet scrambling for purchase, I used the bottom of the stall to haul myself forward and up.  Thank god the restroom was empty and no one heard my growls and curses as I attempted to lift my carcass from that damn toilet.

Note to self:  NEVER ATTEMPT TO USE THE RESTROOM WHILE ON ROLLER SKATES AGAIN.

Truthfully, despite the crazy bathrooms, we had a great time, A.J., T.S. and I.  I'm looking forward to when my nephew C.S. is in kindergarten and can join us on these school-sponsored events. Yep, lots of fun flying into the walls with less-adventurous parents looking on.

When I asked T.S. whether her parents skated with her when they brought her to these things, she said no.  I asked why I had to skate then and she said, “because you’re a nice aunt.”  I guess I cannot ask for a better reason than that.  The things we do for love.

Playtime's over, folks

Today, for the first time this school year, I had the opportunity to play with my students.  Yes, that’s right.  I actually stopped teaching and we just had fun.  It was even sanctioned fun, so I couldn’t get in trouble for it!

The thing is, we’re an inner-city school, and more than that, we’re a Reading First inner-city school, which means that we got a big grant that requires a lot of hoop-jumping in an attempt to meet the combined requirements of the grant, the government and our school district.  The result this year has been an overscheduled nightmare of a day.

I can honestly say that the only time I see every single one of the 23 students who were assigned to my classroom is during the first 15 minutes of every school day.  From that moment on, small numbers of my students are being pulled from my classroom for reading interventions.
Despite their absence, I am expected to somehow manage to teach every child in my classroom the skills they need to arrive at grade-level outcomes by the end of the school year.  In order to accomplish this, every single moment spent in my classroom is accounted for.  There are no spare moments anywhere for frivolous activities that are not in some fashion attached to the achievement of a specific benchmark skill.

Remember those long-ago school days when a student came to school with cupcakes because it was their birthday?  Remember the building excitement as long-anticipated holiday celebrations approached?  Remember wearing costumes on Halloween?

Maybe celebrations still happen in more affluent neighborhoods.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that any children planning to bring a special birthday treat to my classroom had better plan on passing it out exactly one minute before the bells rings signaling the end of the day, because that’s the only minute I can give them.

We have standards to meet, people, benchmarks to teach, and children who must not be left behind. 
YOUR CHILD’S CUPCAKE COULD RESULT IN AN ENTIRE GENERATION’S FAILURE TO LEARN TO READ!!!!

Oh yeah, and remember those days when we had a morning recess and an afternoon recess?  My god, we had no idea how lucky we were.  TWO recesses in ONE day?  UNHEARD OF!
In my world, students get 15 minutes to eat, during which time, they are encouraged NOT to talk.  They then get their one recess of the day.  It’s an awesome opportunity for them to relax and talk and run and play (unless it’s bad weather of course, then they have to sit still and watch a cartoon in a tiny resource room, but let’s not talk about that).

Anyway, they get this recess every single day (aren’t they lucky) and it’s lasts an ENTIRE fifteen minutes.  (In case you’re wondering, they really are lucky because last year they only got ten minutes.)

During these fifteen minutes, my students get their only real opportunity to play, to relax, to take a desperately needed brain break.  I should add they do get “special” time each day — 50 minutes of art, library, music, P.E. or technology.  I suppose these times might be considered a break, but I have serious doubts, given there are benchmarks to meet in each of these areas as well.

In any case, I was asked to cover recess duty today, and as a result, had the opportunity to play and interact with my students in a completely stress-free and relaxing fashion for the first time since school began back in August.

As I watched the children running and playing and laughing, I had to wonder:  by the time these first and second graders reach middle school, will they even remember how to do any of this, how to play, how to kick balls, how to chase and play tag and jump rope and laugh with abandon?
Or instead, by that time, will we have smothered the laughter right out of them in our crazed obsession with benchmarks and indicators?  Will we have leeched their joy away in our reckless zeal to achieve the desired outcomes within an acceptable time frame, no matter the child’s background, learning style or life circumstances that brought him or her to our classroom’s doorstep?