Every Child Could Be a Genius

Go to any baby ward. Look at all the babies. You are looking at a room full of potential geniuses. Given the opportunity almost every one of those newborns can be an 'A' student. Almost everyone can be successful in life, but most likely only a few of them will be "A' students and most of them will not be anywhere close to as successful as they can be.

You did catch my key phrase there: 'Given the opportunity.'

Most children are saddled with two problems the first day of school. First, they are not ready for school. Generally children are expected to begin school the same day all the other children their age in their school district begin school. Their maturity is not the same age, though.  Some were ready months before, some will be ready very soon, and others will not be ready for as much as a year of more. I wasn't really ready for school until I started third grade. That's when I learned how to read. Until then I had no idea what was going on.

Second they will not all be at the same grade level. Some of them will know how to read already. Many will know how to count. Some will know their ABCs and how to tell time. Some will have travelled extensively; others will have never been very far out of their own neighborhood. Some will have a number of friends and be socially receptive. Others won't know how to relate to their classmates.

Most of those children who were ready for school the first day as well as most of those who were already educationally and socially adept will finish the school year ahead of their classmates and ready for second grade. Some will stumble into second grade but will be able to stay with the material being offered, but many will be falling behind and will continue falling behind unless something fortunate happens to them. I was fortunate to have concerned parents and an especially good third grade teacher. By the end of third grade I had joined the children who were stumbling into fourth grade, but I was in a position where I could catch up and I did.

When I was student teaching, one of my students could barely read. Whenever anyone talked with him, it was obvious he was very bright. In fact he had once tested as highly intelligent. His real problem was that everyone in his family worked in one of the local factories. That's all he really knew. When he got to third grade and couldn't read, even if there was a teacher who wanted to take the time to teach him how to read, she was getting little or no support from the boy's family. It's likely none of them knew how to read very well either.

Children are born learning. Perhaps if that boy had been able to start school when he was ready, even if it wasn't until he was nine or ten, he might have had enough success to be able to buck that innate resistance provided by his family.

Perhaps if our educational system did not demand that every child be at the same place educationally as every other child in the same grade, that boy and the many, many children like him would have a chance to succeed. Our school systems need to be adapted to the needs of the child, not the needs of the educational system.

Our educational system was designed to create factory workers. It was designed to meet the needs of the industrial age and its factories. It is still that way, even though the needs are different. We need people oriented toward success, not an assembly line. We need students who can create and solve problems, not students who can be cogs in the wheel. In short our educational system needs to be adapted so every student can succeed according to his or her current ability, not according to the perceived ability of the grade level as a whole.

Sometimes Is Always

I think every writer has moments of inspiration, moments of exciting creativity when the story or the characters take over. The writer might feel as if the words are being dictated. Of course that will be only the first stop for those words, that creativity. Every great writer wants whatever is put on paper the first time to be the final version, but that only happens sometimes. Very often much of what 'fell' onto the paper is going to be rewritten and reshaped. In the end those 'sometimes' when the words come so fast end up in the same place as the words that have to be extracted from the writer's mind.

'Sometimes' is really all the time and speed is merely a momentary perception

 

Review: Black Dog

Sometimes our imaginations make our fears bigger than they actually are. That's what happens in Levi Pinfold's, 'Black Dog.'

A black dog shows up on a snowy morning in front of the Hope family house. One by one each family member - father, mother, and the older children - look out the windows and see the dog which seems to grow with each sighting. Mr. Hope calls the police and tells them it's as big as a tiger. For Mrs. Hope it's as big as an elephant. As the dog continues growing and is as large as the two-story house when the whole family, with one exception, go into hiding, cringing beneath the covers.

The exception is “the youngest member of the Hope family, called Small (for short).” Small Hope (I love that name and image) goes outside to confront the black dog who appears to be huge. Showing no fear the child leads taunts the dog to chase her saying, “You can’t follow where I go, unless you shrink, or don’t you know?” As the two run the dog shrinks until it is the size of a small terrier.

Black dog is a remarkable story about being courageous and facing fear. You don't have to be big to be brave. Size doesn't matter.

The illustrations are special, not just because they almost tell the story by themselves, but because just like day-to-day life, they have secrets that no one notices.

The Joy of Reading a Picture Book

Every time I pick up a picture book I relive the joy of being a child.

Reading a picture book is very different from reading an adult book. With almost any book other than a Picture book (any book where there are many pictures and they are as important to the book as the words are). When I pick up an adult book I am most interested in the story (or stories) inside. It is the text that is most important.

When I pick up a picture book, it is the book I am most interested in. The entire book is the experience, not just the story. That is not to say that the story is unimportant, of course it is. A poor story usually means only one reading and loneliness on a shelf. But picking up a picture book means pondering the title, examining the jacket - both sides, then the cover, the inside flaps, and every single page thoroughly and if it's a good book that will be done over and over again.

Every good picture book has at least three stories. There is the book itself and the child's reaction to it, the feel of the book, its weight, its size, its paper, its colors and how the child feels about having the book in hand. Parents often despair when their child damages a book, colors in it, chews on it, tears or crumples pages in it. For a child, though, that's part of the fun. A book is to be enjoyed, completely  in every way that it can be enjoyed. I think that's the goal of life for a child and their books help them fulfill that goal.

Then there's the story told by the pictures, all the pictures - cover to cover. Sometimes each picture tells another story. Sometimes a picture might have more than one story to tell. Each picture deserves careful examination. That's why a child will often stop the person who is reading a book from turning a page - the pictures are still being read. Sometimes the pictures are so compelling that words are not needed. A picture is worth a thousand words can be especially true in a picture book.

Then, of course, there is the text. The text is often the most important part of the book for an adult, because it's the story that attracts an adult. I like to think the text is the most important part of a picture book for children, too. I like to think it's the part of the book that causes the child to return to it, but it's not. It's the part of the book that can cause a child not to return, but it could be any of the three elements of a picture book - the book, the pictures, the text - that causes a child to want that particular book to be read again and again.

If you can step back into your childhood. If you can bring out that inner child and pick up a good picture book, you'll have so much fun, fun that you might not have had for years.

Playing Dodge the Raindrops

This is an exercise where I thake the first line of a book and start writing. The goal is to write a complete scene.

The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day.**

We really, really wanted to play 'Dodge the Raindrops.' It's one of our favorite games. The rain has to be just trickling, usually that's when it starts or when it ends. We had the boards all ready. We had our rain coats and hats. It was raining too hard, though. It rained all day and didn't stop until the next day when we were in school. I was taking a geography test when I looked out the window and saw the sun shining.

I didn't make up the raindrop game. My brother's friend, Eddie, taught us how to play. It's easy. When the first drop falls we run outside, holding our boards over our heads. The boards are pieces of cardboard wrapped in paper to show the raindrops. We have to run to the corner, touch the light post and run back home, twice; round one and round two.

The game is hardest when it's windy because it's tricky keeping the cardboard flat. Dropping the board or running more than two steps without it being flat right over your head means you have to go back to the beginning and start over. Also, if the cardboard gets blown sideways you’re in even more trouble, because there will probably be raindrops on both sides of the board when you start round two. Round two is just flipping the board over and running to the stop light and back to the garage again.

When we’re finished we count all the raindrops on each board. If it’s not raining heavy yet, we put new paper on and do it again. Every now and then we get to play three or four times.

When it really starts raining we go inside and mom fixes us a treat, cookies or ice cream or something. The winner is the one with the fewest raindrops. I think the winner should be the person with the most dry space on the board, but nobody has figured out how to measure the dry space yet.

Sometimes when we play the rain turns into a real gusher before we even finish the second round. That's when it's the most fun we usually all end up in the garage soaking wet and laughing. If anyone still has a dry spot on their cardboard, they automatically get to be the winner. The winner always gets an extra cookie or scoop of ice cream. That's why we wanted to play so much. Mom made pecan chocolate chip cookies, which she hardly ever makes. If we're lucky it will rain again Saturday before the cookies are all gone.

** The first line of The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss

 

There Are Dreams and Nightmares and...

Most people have dreams, some have two or three a night. I hardly ever dream. Maybe I sleep too soundly, maybe I just don't c are.

When I was ten years old I was waking up just about every night in the middle of a nightmare. The night after I had a particularly scary nightmare I decided to try stopping the nightmares. I fell asleep saying over and over, "I will not dream anymore." That worked. Not only did I stop having nightmares, I had almost no dreams at all. Now, I know that's not true, at least that's what the dream scientists tell us. According to them, everybody dreams. Some people, like me, just don't remember them. However, about ten years ago I started occasionally remembering my dreams, about once or twice a month.

Some people have fairly exciting, often quite scary dreams. Mine, however, are always rather mundane. Once in a while I dream about one or more of the dogs I've had over the years. Usually, though, they're not quite as much fun.

This is the kind of thing I usually dream about: last night I dreamed about the bathroom, the shower specifically. Someone, a woman, I no longer remember who, maybe my mom, was trying to get the soap scum off my shower walls. She got most of it, but there were a couple pretty obvious bands of it that marred the otherwise shiny walls.

I went and rummaged through my cleaning supplies and found one 'guaranteed' to remove soap scum. It might have worked on TV, but it didn't work in my dream bathroom. The dream ended when I left to find a paint scraper.

See, exciting. Now, I think for most people who have interesting dreams that dream would have continued. They would have encountered a monster of some kind - a dinosaur, the thing from 'Alien,' King-Kong - who would have been guarding the paint scraper. A battle and chase would have ensued. Maybe the paint scraper would have been liberated, maybe the chase would have led to a hardware store, maybe to a factory where they make paint scrapers, maybe to a supply closet at the White House. The dream would have become more and more exciting or frightening.

Tomorrow, maybe I'll tell you about the dream I had about the time I made a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. Oh, and then there's the one about the coffee. I'm sure you'll want to hear about that one.

It's Not Much

This is about the way I feel when I finish most of my first drafts.

On the one hand I think I've got a good story, on the other I know it's not much of a tale... yet.

I know I'm attached to it, otherwise I wouldn't have finished the first draft. I've got a drawer-full of ideas and not-yet-finished stories. So far I haven't been attached to them enough to finish them. Once that first draft is finished, though, there's something real to go on. It might not be much, but it can be. The entire story is there. It just needs to be groomed, be washed, combed, dried, and have that bow attached to it.

 

Prompt: There Was an Old Woman

Picture this: An older woman is washing the dishes, or reading, or gardening, or just sitting on her front porch, or...whatever you like.

She sees a child doing something which triggers a memory of her own childhood. Perhaps it is what the child is doing that triggers the memory, perhaps it is where the child happens to be, perhaps it is simply the child.

Write a story about this.

Dr. Seuss

Today marks the 22 anniversary of the death of Theodore Geisel, Dr Seuss.

Here are a couple things I found interesting about him. Although he was stepfather to his second wife, Audrey's, two daughters, he fathered no children of his own. He didn't really want any children. In fact, he didn't even like to spend any time with them.

In an interview a few years ago his widow, Audrey, pointed out that he was a little afraid of them. She said he was always thinking: "What might they do next? What might they ask next?" She added: "He couldn't just sit down on the floor and play with them."

When Dr. Seuss was asked how he could connect with children in spite of not having his own, his stock answer was, “You have ‘em, and I’ll entertain ‘em.”

Dr. Seuss had permanent stage fright because of Teddy Roosevelt.
During World War I, 14-year-old Ted Geisel was one of Springfield’s top sellers of war bonds. Because of that he was to be given an award by former president, Theodore Roosevelt. Standing on stage in front of an audience of thousands, Ted was the last of 10 Boy Scouts waiting for the reward. A mistake was made and the president was only given nine medals. When he reached Geisel, Roosevelt gruffly bellowed, “What’s this little boy doing here?” Ted's smile turned to shock as he was quickly ushered off the stage. From that day on Dr. Seuss dreaded any public appearance.

Related articlesHow Dr. Seuss Smashed Creative Block

Writing Is Sooooo Hard

Writing is difficult. Writing is hard. Sometimes I don't feel like writing. I know I have to do it. A writer is not a writer if he or she does not write. Sometimes, though, actually almost all the time, everything about me rebels at the thought of sitting down, putting a pen or pencil in my hand or pulling up a keyboard and making my fingers push my thoughts on paper or a computer screen. There is always something else that needs to be done: dishes need washing, housework needs to be done, attention needs to be given to the dog, a letter (email) has to be read, a letter (email) has to be written, a bill needs to be paid, etc., etc., and etc.

This is one of those days. In fact, every day is one of those days. It's never easy dragging my heart and soul out and showing them to the world. I know there's a good chance when I'm finished I will be thinking, that was stupid or they're not going to like that or I'm sure that's the last thing of mine they're over going to read or etc., etc., and etc.

Still, I know if I don't do it, I might never do it. Those bills can wait, the dog can wait, the housework isn't going anywhere; but the words I am going to put on paper, the ideas I am going to dredge up out of my heart and soul might never be there again if I don't sit down and force myself to uncover them.

I thought if I made a schedule that would make it easier. In a sense it does. I have a direction of sorts when I start. I know that after I finish this blog post I will be rolling, I will be in the mood and it will be easier to work on one of the many, many stories waiting to be finished. This blog starts my day, but even with a schedule there is still the pain, agony, and potential for heartbreak that faces me every time I say, 'Time to write something.'

The thing is I rarely feel inspired when it's time to start. While inspiration often hits me at unusual moments: when I'm making a left turn, when I'm trying to decide which yogurt flavor to buy, when I'm sitting in the doctor's office, when I'm eating dinner, and so on - real inspiration occurs when I'm writing. That little boy I've got rolling down a hill after Jill threw a bucket of water at him, what if he rolls into a hole and disappears, what if he keeps rolling and rolling and rolling up and over another hill, what if it's winter and that water freezes solid, what if... what if... and how about that? That's crazy, that might just work, that is a great idea. I'm glad I thought of it.

None of that will happen if I don't ignore the feeling that I'm not inspired, that I have nothing worth writing about, that I'm wasting my time and get started. It's always the first word that's the hardest, but once that's done it's sometimes amazing how many line up and follow it. That's when writing becomes fun, after that first word. So, that's what I did today. I started with that one word: Writing...

 

 

There is Rejection and Then There is Re-jection

Have you ever felt like this?

After what has seemed like months, even years, you've finally gotten a response.

You're excited, but you also have a feeling of impending doom.

You open the envelope and...

Review: 'Geronimo Stilton, Secret Agent'

As an adult reading this, it was rather trite, silly, and illogical.

When I stepped back and read this as a ten-year old, I loved it. It was fantastic and funny. In this book, 'Geronimo Stilton, Secret Agent' (#34 in the Geronimo Stilton series) written by Geronimo Stilton (aka ), the Geronimo again gets himself into trouble. Geronimo Stilton is the editor and publisher of the Rodents Gazette in New Mouse city, the capital of Mouse Island. He is always hungry, always thinking about food and snacks. However imminent disaster always seems to get in the way.

In this story Geronimo loses the deed to the building that houses the newspaper. Trying to find the lost document he searches through trash-cans, the garbage dump, the sewer and a rival's office. In the end his friend, Kornelius Von Kickpaw who happens to be a secret agent, helps Geronimo recover the deed. It helps to have a friend.

The book is filled with funny pictures, constantly changing typefaces in different colors to help tell the story and emphasize particular words and ideas. You'll laugh at the funny and sometimes ridiculous comments, asides, and cheese/mouse word plays that flow through the story.

Finally, as an adult again: your child will love these books. You may not understand why, but if you can imagine being very young again, you might.

Looking Like Paul Newman

<blockquote><em>This is an exercise where I thake the first line of a book and start writing. The goal is to write a complete scene.</em></blockquote>

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.**

I didn't get a ride home. It was my fault I spent too much time looking at myself in the drugstore window. When I was finished, everybody was gone and on their way home, but I didn't care. It was a three-mile walk home, but all the way I thought about what I needed to do to look like Paul Newman. Of course, I had to grow up. He was about 25 and I was 11, but I could change my hair and I could change my smile. It was that little, "I know what I'm doing, but you don't" look to it that was the secret. Thee was also the look with his eyes as if whatever he was looking at was the most important thing in the world. I could do that. All I had to do was, no matter what I was looking at, pretend it was a big slice of chocolate cake with thick chocolate frosting and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. That would be easy. First I had to find some of my dad's hair stuff. It was sticky and it smelled funny, but I had to get the part just right and that back wave right out front. I wished I had a picture so I could be sure, but I thought it was about right. Then I worked on the smile. I might have gotten better at it if my sister hadn't started pounding on the door, "C'mon get outta there. I gotta pee. You been in there half an hour now."

As I opened the door and stepped past her trying to smile like I knew everything about her and that she looked like chocolate cake with ice cream she said, "What've you been doing in there. You smell funny. Oh gosh. I'm telling mom." Then she closed the door.

I didn't know what she was going to tell mom, but somehow I thought it wasn't that I looked like Paul Newman.

** First line from The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton

Are Some People Born Creative?

Are creative people born that way? For a long time I've believed creativity could be nurtured, that the creativity within and individual could grow if placed within an environment conducive to creativity. It's always bothered me that the emphasis in our educational system tends to lean away from the artistic toward the scientific. My problem with that is that scientists, mathematicians and so on also need to be creative. They need to be problem solvers and I believe the greatest problem solvers are extremely creative people.

A study conducted by a team led by Kenneth Heilman at the Department of Neurology and Neuroscience at Cornell University indicates that there might be a genetic basis for creativity. In other words, being creative might come easily to you if you're born that way.

In grade school there were a couple people who had an innate ability to draw. While I struggled to draw a simple house, they were drawing pictures of the school, complete with the bushes in front and the buses in back. While I struggled to draw a dog, they were not just drawing dogs, they were drawing different breeds of dogs.

On the other hand I was always able to write a decent story, put together a suitable book report, write a better than average term-paper.

For the past few years I've been trying to teach myself how to draw and paint. It's not easy. Yet, I think I think the difference between my artist friends and me is not genetic, rather it is environmental. They were placed within an environment that nurtured their artistic skills while I was in on that nurtured my verbal skills.

I still think we are all born creative, perhaps some are born with greater tendencies toward creativity, but whatever creativity we have can be nurtured depending on the environment we are in. If our parents give us crayons and paper when we are two and encourage us to draw, we are more likely to be able to draw pictures than the child who is read to and given a piece of paper and a pencil and told to write a story.

While genetics may have something to do with it, the direction a person's creativity takes is often aided by his or her surroundings.

Are some people born creative? | David Cox | Science | theguardian.com.

Sort of Counting on Your Fingers Multiplication

I found this little post about How Japanese School Children Solve Multiplication Problems.

This is mind-boggling. It took me a little while (maybe two minutes, probably a little less) to figure out what was being done. Once I did I realized it's a little easier to solve the problem than the way I was taught, which always involved some memory work and/or counting on my fingers to figure it out.

This is still slower than using a calculator or looking over the shoulder of the smart kid in front of you, but it's kind of fun. I like drawing the squiggly circles.

 

How Japanese school children learn to multiply?....

 

Stephen King and Finding Diamonds

Stephen King celebrates his 65th birthday in a couple days. This is one of my favorite quotes of his.

Writers usually find the stories they write. However, it's rare that they can be just picked up and put on a shelf or between the covers of a book. Usually, it takes many days, often many years to shape that found thing into something beautiful, much like what I diamond cutter does to a diamond or what a sculptor does to a piece of marble.

It is the constant and careful chipping and shaping to draw the beauty, the glory, the desire out of that pile of words, that lump of an idea that was found one day, very often when looking for something else or looking for nothing in particular or nothing at all.

The Empty Room

Your character is a 5 - 11-year-old child. The child walks into a completely empty room with windows but no curtains or blinds, just clear glass.

The floor doesn't even have a light or a carpet in it. The child is told this room is his/hers and can have three pieces of furniture delivered as well as three things such as a toy, a stuffed animal, a book, a ball (not a gun or a knife), or a pet or even another child.

Now, start writing.

Kids with Better Verbal Abilities More Likely to Drink

This is interesting, v e r y interesting. This study says

that smarter kids are more likely to be hitting the bottle than older kids. Although the smarter kids will also be more likely to be able to control their drinking.

When I was growing up it seemed to me it was the less intelligent kids who spent their weekends stumbling from party to party. I remember a number of times when classmates talked about their drinking, how they managed to buy or steal alcohol, usually beer. I also remember one time when a classmate skipped gym class because he was still 'loaded' from the weekend.

I always thought I was one of the smarter guys in my class. Maybe I wasn't. I've been drunk less than a dozen times in my entire life and got drunk only a couple times before I graduated high school. I thought one of the reasons I had little interest in drinking was because I was too smart to get drunk. Maybe I just wasn't smart enough to have any idea what was going on.

I was only 11 the first time I got drunk. I didn't know I was drunk, nor did anyone else. It wasn't until years later that I realized I had been drunk. It was a rainy day. I was watching TV with the new kid in the neighborhood, at his house. We went downstairs and he showed me his dad's new bar. We opened the refrigerator. There must have been a couple dozen different bottles in it.

My friend handed me a glass and, acting like a suave and debonaire playboy said, "Help yourself." I mixed five or six different liquids (like I'd seen adults doing on TV) and downed the entire glass. It didn't taste like anything I'd ever had before, but it didn't taste bad either. A few minutes later his mother called down to us, saying it was time for me to go home.

I went home, fell asleep immediately, slept right through dinner and didn't wake up until it my mom woke me up to start getting ready for school the next morning. We all thought I'd just been really tired.

So maybe the study was right after all where I'm concerned.

Kids with better verbal abilities more likely to drink, study finds | GlobalPost.

Children suffer from growing economic inequality : Stltoday

Centuries ago in a History class

 

Children suffer from growing economic inequality : Stltoday.

Review: "The Talented Clementine"

Clementine is such a lovable child. She is cute, funny, refreshingly honest, sometimes naive, but always adorable. The Talented Clementine by Sara Pennypacker with Marla Frazee's illustrations is quite an amusing book.

Clementine thinks she has no talent that will give her the opportunity to perform with her classmates in the third and fourth grader’s Talent-Palooza, Night of the Stars show. While her classmates are rehearsing their acts - doing cartwheels, hula hooping, playing piano, talking about fashion, and performing a duet with a dog, - Clementine is trying to gracefully avoid taking part. When she finally discovers a talent - being able to make her little brother laugh, her father nixes the idea of performing with the infant on stage. Clementine is heartbroken, the show will have to go on without her, but in the end the show will not be able to go on without her.

I loved that Clementine would volunteer to go to the Principal's office; whenever Clementine thought it was likely her teacher would soon be sending her there anyway.

There is an immense amount of wisdom in this book. Here are a couple quotes I loved: "I'm lucky that way: astoundishing ideas are always popping into my head, and I don't even have to use my brains to get them there."

"I saw something else with my amazing corner-eyes."

"But he ignored me, which is called Getting on with the Day when a teacher does it, and Being Inconsiderate when a kid does it."

Marla Frazee's illustrations are cute and realistic, so much so that I Clementine looked like a third grader I know, complete with reddish curly hair.

 

At the Head of a Chapter

<blockquote><em>This is an exercise where I thake the first line of a book and start writing. The goal is to write a complete scene.</em></blockquote>

[caption id="attachment_483" align="alignleft" width="300"] The Workhouse of Dickens', "Oliver Twist"[/caption]

Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events: the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.*

Now the head of the chapter was a rather benign sort of fellow not too big too be considered big, nor too small to be considered small. He was, to say the least, which for some would be to say the most rather young. In fact, he was barely eight years old, although when he was b

orn he was much less than that. He was and is and perhaps always will be a little dickens, both in his sense of senselessness and in his desire to be sensible. He would say to you or in this case to me, "You are not making any sense. My head is not on a chapter. My head is right here where it belongs. Nor are my lips chapped and I have never worn chaps of any form." It would be, of course, explained to him that his head has nothing to do with it, although his head does have something to do with him, it is the chapter of which we speak, which happens to have a beginning and will eventually have an ending and that chapter is begun or if you will, named, before the first sentence or the head of the chapter begins.

* The first sentence of 'Oliver Twist' by Charles Dickens

Children and Tantrums and Toys

A couple days ago I watched a five or six-year-old boy sitting on the floor of a grocery store crying and kicking his feet. It was all just a power play. He didn't want to be in the grocery story. Through is fake sounding crying he was saying, "I'm bored. Mommy, I'm bored. I want to go home." She ignored him, just left him sitting there and moved on to the next aisle. When he saw she was no longer around he stopped crying, sniffled, caught up with his mom and started all over again.

This morning I was reading about Walmart's list of top 20 toys for girls and boys. In preparation for the Christmas season, Walmart turned about 50 kids loose at its Dallas headquarters in a room filled with toys. The idea was to let the kids choose their favorites. That led to the list which you will see more of at Walmart and in its advertising.

As I read the list I thought of that boy and wondered if he would have been acting that way if he was sitting in one of the toy aisles at Walmart. One of my least favorite places on a weekend in any story:the toy section. Of course if I was ten or younger, it would be the only place I'd want to be (unless they were giving away free ice-cream or candy).

As I read the list I thought of that boy and wondered if he would have been acting that way if he was sitting in one of the toy aisles at Walmart. One of my least favorite places on a weekend in any store: the toy section. Of course if I was ten or younger, it would be the only place I'd want to be (unless they were giving away free ice-cream).

I think I liked the way the kid's mother ignored him, rather than playing into his attention demanding tantrum. Of course you might argue that it wasn't very responsible of her to just leave him there, but what other options did she have. She could have tried to discipline him there. That usually doesn't work because the kid often creates an even bigger scene, draws a crowd and gets even more attention. She could have taken him out and left him in the car. Would work fine if it wasn't 92 degrees out there. She could have left her shopping and gone home, which in my mind, would have been very irresponsible since her cart had more than twenty items in it. About the only other thing she could have done was wait for him to finish, continue ignoring him otherwise, then take him by the hand and move on.

Where does Walmart come into this? Looking at the list of toys I understand why he wanted to go home. If I had something like an Air Hogs Hover Assault Radio-Controlled Helicopter waiting for me at home, there's no way I'd want to be getting dragged around a grocery store... unless they were giving away ice-cream.

 

Prompt: The Princess and The...

Choose any Fairy Tale, Tall tale, or Fable and change one important detail, preferable the most important detail and rewrite the story.

For instance one of the most important details in the Fable, "The Princess and the Pea" is the pea. How about if instead of a pea there was a pumpkin or even a watermelon under all those mattresses? What would the princess do? Would it change the story. Or, how about if instead of the mattresses, the princess had to sleep on a stack of hay bales. I'm sure that would change the story.

Have a go at it. Let me know what you come up with.

 

You Can Like Me, But Don't Ever Kick My Dog

Children, especially those between around ten or eleven often struggle to figure out how to relate to the opposite sex.

When children are little, up through age six or seven, the opposite sex is just something that is. A boy is a boy and a girl is a girl and there isn't too much more to it than that. They know there is something different, but that's something for adults and maybe older kids to worry about.

About age seven or eight, they start learning there is a difference. There are things girls play with and things girls do that boys don't do and vice versa. About that time getting caught doing something meant to be done by the opposite sex (playing house, playing with Barbies, playing with cars, wrestling) starts being taboo and often results in ridicule and ostracization by members of your sex.

As children reached the age of ten or eleven those taboos become very strict. For boys it's  especially difficult. The attraction to the opposite sex begins, but boys don't really know how to deal with it. Boys usually interact with each other by rough-housing, wrestling, teasing, daring and so on. That's what they know how to do, but when (after years of being told not to like girls) a girl shows up and things start changing. The boy is curious and for some reason wants to like the girl, but they don't really know how to do that.

Awhile ago a friend and I were talking about our pets. The conversation led to a story about an eleven year old boy who apparently wanted to like her. Eventually, though, I think he must have wondered if liking a girl was such a good idea.

This is Geri's story.

"When I was a little girl," she said, "there was a boy who had a crush on me, but he didn't know how to tell me. So he showed it by kicking me every time he rode by on his bicycle.

"I'd always get mad at him and he'd ride off kind of giggling.

"One day I was out walking my dog and as he rode by he kicked my dog. He probably didn't want to kick the dog, but missed me and kicked the dog instead. But I got really mad at him and pushed him off his bike. That also knocked his glasses off and they broke.

"He told his mom they broke when I pushed him down. When she found out what really happened, she taped his glasses back together with duct tape and made him wear them like that the rest of the school year.

"He never kicked me again and I don't think he ever had any kind of crush on me again, either."

It's not easy being an adolescent boy. So much is expected of you. It's especially difficult when such things as your motor skills are still developing, too.

 

 

Writer's Insomnia

Sometimes you toss and turn and turn and toss trying to find the answers to your daily life and then... and then... just as you're finally slipping off to sleep, you get an idea...

Review: Septimus Heap, Magyk

   Okay, I'm hooked on this series. Septimus Heap, Magyk by Angie Sage was a fun read. It's not Harry Potter, although it's similar in that there is a boy learning to be a wizard and there is an evil wizard trying to take over the boy's world. Although it drags at times, the story is well written and supplies enough action, emotion, and magyk to keep the pages turning.

Big things are expected of Septimus Heap, the seventh son of a seventh son, because he is just that a 7 of 7. Unfortunately Sepitmus is carried away and his parents are told that he died. At the same time a baby girl comes into their lives. It does not take Sarah and Silas Heap long to realize this child is the Princess, the future queen who was whisked out of the castle by the Extraordinary Wizard (the second most important person in the kingdom) during a coup that left her mother dead. On Jenna, the child's, 10th birthday the new ruler also discover's that the princess is alive and the Heaps flee along with the Extraordinary Wizard. From there it is a trip down a laundry chute, down a river, and across a swamp with imminent disaster following them at every turn. They are chased by an assassin, a hunter, and the evil wizard who needs the Princess dead. Tossed here and there into the story are a some unusual creatures, and a handful of ghosts.

If you like middle grade adventure stories, Septimus Heap, Magyk (the first book in a seven book series) should be added to your collection. If you liked Harry Potter, you'll probably enjoy this, too.

 

Are You an Introvert?

I was just reading a Huffington Lifestyle Post "23 Signs You Are secretly an Introvert."

[caption id="attachment_391" align="alignright" width="286"] I Am Not In This Picture[/caption]

 

As I ticked off 20 of 23, It thought about the SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators) convention in L.A. I attended more than a month ago.

I took 250 business cards because I was told it's a great place to network. I returned home with 250 business cards.

I was told it's a great place to make new friends. Although I stepped out of my comfort zone and chatted with and introduced myself to at least a dozen people I made - 0 - new friends.

I often stood around in the middle of a crowd with hundreds of people around me chatting, laughing, sharing thoughts... but I only had two thoughts: won't someone please ask me who I am (I thought for sure my eye-patch would be enough - after all, out of the 400+ men there, I believe I was the only one wearing an eye-patch). My second thought: what am I doing here?

Aside from the various speeches and lectures, my favorite moment was when I found an empty room and sat there all by myself for an hour.

Something I find terrifying at almost any gathering where I don't know anyone is when the moderator/teacher/leader says, 'let's go around the room and introduce ourselves." There were numerous times I was always afraid that would happen. Fortunately it didn't.

A few asides here: I have three brothers. One of them told me his wife says one of my brothers is the crazy one, another is the smart one, and that I'm the intense one. When I go to family gatherings I'm the center of attention for a few minutes. I make the rounds saying hi to everyone, then I find a nice comfortable place to sit and stay out of the way.

If the parking lot at the mall, at the department store, or at the grocery store looks full. I turn around and go home. If the store is crowded, I leave. If someone else stops to look at something I'm looking at I move on (sometimes I return later).

I belonged to Toastmasters. I was a radio announcer for 20 years. I often had to give speeches. I became fairly good at it. I love to entertain. I love standing in front of a group of people and giving a talk. I really do. Even though there may be hundreds of people looking at me (once there were about 3,000), I'm sort of anonymous - as long as I can bask in the applause, then get off the stage, go away from the podium and not have to mingle.  It's the time afterward, the chatting, that I find uncomfortable.

I'm a writer.