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Meta
Pen in Hand
Because I Have Something to Say!
He dared us to write well!
By Catherine Hedge
Anyone who uses the phrase, “indomitable” must have met my writing mentor, the late Leonard Bishop. He grew up in conditions of poverty and violence that would destroy most of us. He believed, despite all the contrary evidence the world kept shoving at him, that he was someone special. He knew that deep inside him, there was talent. He just needed to find the way to let it breathe. For a while, he thought he might be a sculptor and needed to protect his hands. This kept him out of brutal street fights. Good thing, too. He was massive, strong, a likely target for boys who needed to prove themselves by besting the big kid. He trained as a draftsman and worked a thousand odd jobs before he found his writing voice. He knew he had something to say and the world had to listen.
If you spend five minutes watching students in a middle school hallway, you will be bombarded by personalities. There are kids who sparkle with life and energy. They are often loud, with long steps, large smiles, and a gaggle of followers who wish they could trade places. Catch that person’s attention, say, “Good Morning,” and smile. You’ll get a big, “Howdy” or “What’s up?” Others are shy, but smile back and wave a few fingers under their binders. I’m sure Leonard would have been one of the loud ones. I imagine him outside shouting into the wind, “Listen to Me!” If kids like him are lucky, someone will and may be touched by what they say.
But others are the ones I worry about. The ones whose spirits are already weary. They are the stragglers who believe they are invisible. Losers. They walk head down and shuffle by the lockers, so close they bump their shoulders on the padlocks. The locks clang loudly and the children jerk, as if the sounds are wolves in mid-pounce. When the Invisible do speak, their words often mask all passion. They are quiet. Monosyllabic. Forgettable. What a waste. And it’s too likely they will live out their whole lives that way. Apathy is a great camouflage for pain.
Leonard Bishop used to come to my classroom and talk about writing. A big, energetic, dynamo, he made the children laugh at first. They liked him and crowded around, seeking his autograph. Then, like a magician pulling scarves out of a hat, he made them talk about themselves, their dreams, their imaginations…or their fears. Then, he made them write. After a few hours, he’d know the names of my Invisibles. He’d call them up to sit beside him and relentlessly encouraged them until they had said something profound. I’ll never forget one eighth grade boy, over twenty years ago, who was so afraid of misspelling words that he’d write only what he was sure he could do perfectly. I remember he wrote, “The brown cow ran.” After two days in my classroom, Leonard coaxed out of him, “I laied (sic) under my cardboard box on the wet New York sidewalk.” Leonard pounded him on the shoulder, “That is Real Drama!” I remember the rest of my students and myself staring at the boy we had never seen before. He was transformed into someone who had something to say and could now make the world listen.
Leonard was an artist after all. A sculptor of human beings. Thank you, Leonard.
Posted in Leonard Bishop, Nostalgia, Slice of life, Teaching, Writing
Tagged Biography Leonard Bishop, building confidence in children, childhood, Dare To Be A Great Writer, fear of writing, Leonard Bishop, middle school students, Middle school writers, student writing, teaching children to write, teaching writing, why should I write?, writing inspiration
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Thank You for A Grand First Year!
Happy New Year!
A year ago, persistent writer friends convinced us that we should start a blog. We wanted to showcase our writer’s group in preparation for launching our indie novels and reintroducing previously published works. What a grand adventure! We now have four novels shimmering hopefully on the e-book shelves:
Donna Gillespie’s soaring novel of ancient Rome, The Light Bearer (revised edition)
Marie Loughin’s creepy urban horror novel, Valknut: The Binding
Raji Singh’s inventive take on American folk tales, Tales of the Fiction House
And Charlene Newcomb’s touching family saga, Keeping the Family Peace
I hope that you have had a chance to enjoy one or all of these fine pieces of writing, all vastly different except for the three things we have in common; persistence, a passion to write well, and a common dream. We want each of you to be curled up comfortably, a warm drink at hand, and smiling…or tearing up…because a character has touched your heart. As Leonard Bishop used to say, “Is there anything to be but a writer?”
Thank you for your support, Readers, and thank you, Leonard!
Your fans at Pen in Hand.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,700 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 8 years to get that many views.
Christmas Cookies
Posted in Slice of life
Tagged Christmas cookies, family, love of family, simple gifts
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Christmas Cookies
Cookies 2012!!
Back in 1971, I was a broke college student. We were having a BIG Christmas with my family of seven plus our boyfriends, grandmothers, and a whole bunch of favorite cousins coming from Canada. I was frantic, knowing that there was no way I could afford to buy even cheap gifts for so many. So what was the solution? Make Christmas cookies.
I stayed up until six in the morning as it was the only way I could have the kitchen to myself. I made rolled anise cookies from six to eight inches long. For each person, I created a design that I thought was perfect. I remember I gave my brother Chris a guitar, brother Bill a tin soldier, sister Francie a golden trumpet, and my Grandma Borel, a big red heart. I think sister Celeste had a ballerina. Each was glazed with egg white mixed with food coloring which made vibrant enamel-like colors. I wrote names on little tags, made hangers of curled wrapping ribbon, and hung the cookies on the tree. All 18 of them. I sat alone in the front room admiring them for a quarter hour before I collapsed into bed.
There was only one thing I forgot.
Everyone would awaken Christmas morning and head straight to the celebration around the tree. They’d gleefully rip open presents, run to hug the givers, laugh, weep…all the while, their stomachs growling from hunger. Mom would make sourdough pancakes and bacon, but not right away.
Now I know what it must have been like in the 1930’s when locusts devastated the fields of Kansas. A roar erupted as siblings and cousins received the, “Okay, come on down!” from my parents. They thundered down the stairs and I ran to join them.
I guess I expected to see everyone standing mesmerized by the artistic magnificence of my night’s labor. Instead, all I saw was the quivering tree as a dozen pairs of hands grappled for the treats. Someone exclaimed, probably my Auntie Ann, “Why, aren’t these pretty?” But mostly, I heard crunching and munching. Horrified, I watched my grandmother nibble away at her cookie. The whole time, she was exclaiming, “Oh, this is so pretty! (Chomp) I really shouldn’t be eating this! (Chomp)…”
I stood frozen, doing everything I could with my twenty-year-old face to keep from crying.
I can’t remember if it was Mom or Dad, but one shouted, “Wait! Let’s at least look at them first! I distinctly remember the silence as the hoard stopped mid-bite. Whether it is my imagination wishing things had turned out differently or if it was real, I remember my siblings and cousins showing off their fancy cookies. Legs and heads were missing and Grandma held up one-third of a heart. I think the only whole one was the couple with their arms wrapped around each other. The one I made for my parents.
Yes, it’s become one of Mom’s favorite Christmas stories, but at the time, it was awful!
You’d think I would have learned my lesson, but I’m still making cookies and sending them to my family. That’s because there is one thing that is still the same as that very first night. While I’m covering the table with clean papers, creaming butter and brown sugar, and dabbing a spot of vanilla behind my ear (a trick from my Grandma Hedge) I imagine my brothers and sisters and parents and children and sweetheart around the table. I see my son Joey asking for “Heavenly Hash.” My brother-in-law Clay waits for chocolate chip cookies with pecans while Celeste, his wife, wants them without. Bill and Scott reach for peanut butter, as does Francie. Hot out of the oven. Plain, criss-crossed with a fork. Chris and Sharon, my daughter Amy, and Mom chomp on little pfefferneuse. Dad isn’t with us anymore, but his spirit is the only one that can really be with me. Every time I burn some a bit, I feel him leaning over my shoulder saying, “Save that one for me.”
I imagine my family way out in California, opening the packages. I can almost hear them exclaim gleefully, “They’re here! It’s Christmas now!” Then I know that they know that I love them.
That hasn’t changed from that first morning, either.
Merry Christmas, Everyone! Love, Cathy
©Catherine Hedge 2012
Aching Hearts
by Catherine Hedge
All weekend I’ve been trying to come up with a bright story to lighten our national mood, but it just won’t come. As a life-long teacher and grandmother of a wonderful six-year-old boy, I cannot gloss over the tragedy of Sandy Hook Elementary School. We have lost so much…wasted those beautiful lives…and for what??
All the diligent efforts of the police and researchers will never be able to answer the “Why” beyond, “There really was no reason.” We know that now, before any reports, or committees, or NRA campaigns, or debates. Now, our job is to make sure no one in this world is ever again used as target practice…especially our children.
This madness has to stop.
Thank you, Mary Sanchez, for your column in the Kansas City Star:
http://www.kansascity.com/2012/12/14/3966723/mary-sanchez-remember-the-children.html
Alexandra Petri for your insightful post on Washington Post’s Compost page:
Opening Gifts
Posted in inspiration, Slice of life, Teaching
Tagged gifts, giving gifts to children, raising children
2 Comments
Opening Gifts
I think Bill was the turkey or dressing…and Celeste was the adorable pea!
By Catherine Hedge
One of the greatest elements of being a significant part of children’s lives is that you get to watch them open “gifts.” Not new plastic whiz-bangs from the latest video game, pop band paraphernalia, or pajamas from Grandma… I mean the gifts that are the very essence of an individual.
When you spend creative time with a child, you may witness that indelible moment when he or she uncovers a true talent or passion. You can see it happening. Perhaps you are playing together, dancing, doing schoolwork, running laps, plinking on the piano, spotting an owl, or digging in the dirt. There are a million possibilities. But at the crucial instant of discovery, the child stops, frozen, and silent. Sometimes he’ll hold his breath or she will gasp. All his or her concentration focuses on the realization, “Hey! I’m really good at this!”
After that they will return to their normal selves and giggle, run around crazily, or chase the dog. However, in the hours and days that follow, the repetition begins. A hundred times you’ll get asked to throw the Frisbee. Every night for weeks, you’ll have to clear the crayons off of the dinner table. You’ll hear them read Pat The Bunny until the fur is rubbed off. And you’ll grind your teeth and think, If I hear Fur Elise one…more…time!
But if the child in your life is lucky, you’ll be patient because he or she is taking the first step towards becoming unique.
Like gathering a bouquet of wildflowers, we collect pieces of evidence that we can think, sing, draw, dance, run, observe, invent, entertain, write, act, cook, remember, or imagine. Then, we are no longer just one of seven billion others crawling across this planet. We feel we are someone special because there is something we can do and do well.
When we were kids, my mom was always volunteering the five of us for some performance. She was usually the president of a club. When the Christmas show came around, she’d put us to work. Being naturally shy, I hated it, but Mom would always say, “You have to because you have a God-given talent.” She made us feel that having an ability also meant having responsibility.
Even though I hid behind my cardboard pea pod in the Thanksgiving pageant and my little sister balleted around as an adorable pea, I still remember my feeling of satisfaction…perhaps relief…when it was done. Yes, my mother forced me into it, but I made it happen. Me with my front teeth missing, rag-curled hair, and freckles…I was the one who walked up on stage and said my lines. Though it was not my passion or future, it was one building block of me. I could be in front of others without collapsing. So, I guess, after all, I have to thank Mom and the Moose Lodge for my happy career teaching middle schoolers. Thanks, Mom.
So…when you’re worried about shopping for that perfect gift, know that you already have it. It’s you. With your knowledge, curiosity, time, and patience, maybe you’ll be the one to see that first painting, hear the first song, or find that first fossil with the ones who create our future.
Pen In Hand 