Blog Archive - School

you won’t be the last person to say no to me

October 1, 2017

I know, it doesn’t really hold up to scrutiny, does it? I mean, as a battle cry, it’s got some flaws. It should be more like, “You’re the last person who will slam the door in my face”, right? Or, “I’ll show you!”  But I’m not that confrontational. Ask my students. They’ve become accustomed to my long sighs and shrugs. 

But it’s pretty much what I said to myself for a long time, every time, when an agent rejected another query for another novel.  I’d yank up my yoga pants and think, this guy ain’t gonna be the one who gets to shoot this horse. And I’d take my tea and a bag of licorice and head upstairs and stare...

I know, it doesn’t really hold up to scrutiny, does it? I mean, as a battle cry, it’s got some flaws. It should be more like, “You’re the last person who will slam the door in my face”, right? Or, “I’ll show you!”  But I’m not that confrontational. Ask my students. They’ve become accustomed to my long sighs and shrugs. 

But it’s pretty much what I said to myself for a long time, every time, when an agent rejected another query for another novel.  I’d yank up my yoga pants and think, this guy ain’t gonna be the one who gets to shoot this horse. And I’d take my tea and a bag of licorice and head upstairs and stare...

Julia’s White Wolf

September 4, 2017

Look what showed up in my inbox a few weeks ago. I wanted to wait and share this on the first week of school, as a reminder of the talent of the young people I write for and the ones I get to spend my day with in the classroom. I’m not sure of the age of the artist–the message that accompanied the drawing was written with the same poise and confidence.  I hope Julia is working on a book of her own. I will be happy to call myself her reader one day.  

Look what showed up in my inbox a few weeks ago. I wanted to wait and share this on the first week of school, as a reminder of the talent of the young people I write for and the ones I get to spend my day with in the classroom. I’m not sure of the age of the artist–the message that accompanied the drawing was written with the same poise and confidence.  I hope Julia is working on a book of her own. I will be happy to call myself her reader one day.  

Julia’s White Wolf

September 4, 2017

Look what showed up in my inbox a few weeks ago. I wanted to wait and share this on the first week of school, as a reminder of the talent of the young people I write for and the ones I get to spend my day with in the classroom. I’m not sure of the age of the artist–the message that accompanied the drawing was written with the same poise and confidence.  I hope Julia is working on a book of her own. I will be happy to call myself her reader one day.  

Look what showed up in my inbox a few weeks ago. I wanted to wait and share this on the first week of school, as a reminder of the talent of the young people I write for and the ones I get to spend my day with in the classroom. I’m not sure of the age of the artist–the message that accompanied the drawing was written with the same poise and confidence.  I hope Julia is working on a book of her own. I will be happy to call myself her reader one day.  

6th grade lunch is for cannibal rabbits

August 17, 2016

The summer before sixth grade my family moved. Again. This time to Hawaii.

Obviously we couldn’t take the rabbits, but that was okay since we were getting a little sick of them and the way one of them kept having babies and the other one kept eating them.  The hutch where they lived looked like a major crime scene most mornings. My dad said they’d gone feral. Nobody went into the backyard anymore.  They ran the place. I have a picture in my head of my sister standing up in a patch of chard, her index finger pointing straight out with a rabbit attached to it by his teeth.  It seems likely that there was a lot less blood than...

The summer before sixth grade my family moved. Again. This time to Hawaii.

Obviously we couldn’t take the rabbits, but that was okay since we were getting a little sick of them and the way one of them kept having babies and the other one kept eating them.  The hutch where they lived looked like a major crime scene most mornings. My dad said they’d gone feral. Nobody went into the backyard anymore.  They ran the place. I have a picture in my head of my sister standing up in a patch of chard, her index finger pointing straight out with a rabbit attached to it by his teeth.  It seems likely that there was a lot less blood than...