So today I had my friend help me ask for extra work. Yes, you read that right. A senior in high school with thirteen days left of school total, who is getting more and more lazy about school rules and is very tempted to not do work (though I haven't mustered enough guts to do it... yet) just asked if she could please do another final project. A final project for an Advanced Placement class that she isn't even in. It's due June 6th, and I won't have as much time to complete the project as the kids in the class will.
Now, before you call the authorities on me, this is for AP English Composition. And the final project is to submit four original works to be assessed and graded. One of the works may be a revision of a previous piece, and three must be written from now until the due date. Sad thing is, I haven't got any brilliant essay to revise because my slacker English classes never assigned any in the first place, so all of my pieces will have to be new. Unless I take one of my WIPs, shorten it to five pages, and call it a short story. Hm. It'll be a challenge, that's for sure.
I don't remember if I've ever asked for extra work before. Let alone for a class I'm not even in. At least I know that that hasn't happened before. I've read stories about how these adorable Chinese children are so dedicated to their schooling and pleasing their families, that they constantly ask for more work so they can master the material. Like, the entire class would line up after school and ask Teacher one by one for more packets. And I am NOT saying that all Chinese children do this, that they're the only studious children in the world, or that it's a bad thing by any means (just to make that clear). But that's what I though as I met up with my friend early to ask her English teacher, because she's actually in the class. A studious little kid. Don't get me wrong- I get amazing grades- straight A's- but I rarely have to work hard at it. I pay attention in class, take my notes, do my homework (the night before it's due, usually, but I put effort into it). Study, though? Ask for more work to feel more accomplished? I might have, if I hadn't had the Mom I do. She's so easy going, wants me to take it easy and not burn out, giving me confidence that it won't make me any more 'stupid' if I don't cram my schedule with three APs and two UHS courses a year. So I'm pretty well balanced, in my opinion, with my mother to soften me.
Yet I just had to ask for this. It's not work, this writing portfolio. It's feedback, and even more so because the grade won't affect me. If I work hard at producing four works up to my standards (hopefully beyond them) and get constructive criticism, I'll be really happy and better off because of it.
And yes, I am procrastinating doing the writing because I haven't exactly found my muse as of yet, and needed to write something to jump start me. Onward, overachiever me, onward!
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
"A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others."
This is a shout out to all the teachers that have helped me grow, inspired me to learn, think, and read. You hold a special place not only in my heart, but in my imaginative brain as well- because you helped to shape it. To all teachers who inspire and sacrifice for your students. I'm not ignorant enough to think that all students will be grateful, but there are a select few of us who recognize your worth. Thank you.
To my preschool teacher, who painted rocks and pine cones gold and hid your smile rather well when I exclaimed that you had no idea how much this gold stuff was worth and how could you just give this to me? For singing the Barney clean u song with us every afternoon, for sharing your basement with us every other day while my Dad got to run a few errands. I want you to know that I almost cried when I realized I wouldn't be going back to you when kindergarten came, that I still laugh at the paper photo albums and Thanksgiving "Recipe" book you gave us, and that I remember the parties, and when my neighbor's purple ball got stuck in the creek. Thanks. (P.S. I'm very happy that you're doing well after your bought with cancer, I wanted very much to visit).
To my fifth grade teacher, who gave out Jolly Ranchers and homework-free days whenever her sports teams won. For putting up with my climbing of the pine trees in the courtyard, and for seating me next to that strange boy who became my friend years later- I taught him how to make paper furniture. For all those DLR (Daily Language Review) worksheets every morning, because I learned how to string the sentences together to make a story. You might have started my love of writing.
To my middle school Spanish teacher with the curly crazy hair who had a fiesta every holiday. Thanks for taking us outside to play 'pato, pato, ganso' (duck, duck, goose) and for giving us that funny cardboard car and gave us direction in Spanish as we shuffled around the classroom trying to get to the post office (correro). I was actually interested in Spanish then, and I'm sorry to say I lost it in high school when the teachers got more distant and taught strictly from workbooks. I missed you these four years, and I hope that my affinity for the language hasn't been totally destroyed by them, because I'd still like to learn it. Gracias. Yo recordaré tú clase por siempre.
To my eighth grade English teacher, who hosted Vietnam Idol so we could perform poems, songs, and raps that we wrote about the war and the home front. You knew how to make things fun, and I especially remember how the principle came and told us to be quiet as we screamed "8B-5!!!!!!", our class division and number, at the competing class. For singing with the female teacher a rendition of Summer Nights from Grease, but with Vietnam lyrics. For giving my class cake twice- once to celebrate your wedding, and another time just because. I was quiet, but I want you to know I listened, and I loved it. I won't forget you, or the fact that 8B-5 totally won the rap- off.
To my tenth grade global history teacher, who always made me feel smart and complimented me one day in the computer lab, suggesting that I try for AP United States History class next year, because you thought I was more than ready. For letting the class divide into two and throw paper at each other from behind the desks to simulate the trenches of WWI. I also really enjoyed the French Revolution exercise- the one where we all got jobs such as serfs, Lords, King, Queen, and my role- the tax collector. I started to relate to my Dad when he spoke about history then, and I thank you for sparking that.
To my tenth grade math teacher, who tried to sing along to 50 Cent and talked to himself quite a lot. I forgive you for forgetting to put my name in the prize hat for half of the year. For helping me the next year as I struggled with a teacher that didn't agree with me and my grades suffered, even though you had to study ahead of your own class to teach me. I'm just sorry that I didn't enjoy math with the same intensity or calmness that you had. I admit it- I'm a math-a-phobe. But you tried very hard to break through, and I appreciate the effort where other had given up.
To my APUSH teacher, who tried very hard to bring technology into the picture. It worked for me. I nailed the AP thanks to you, and your class gave me such a confidence boost that I could handle so much work. I think I'll be okay in college after that course. You're very in love with what you do, and I think that's great not only for you, but for your students, too. Also, I'm very sorry that you feel the need to shave your head because of your lack of hair. Thanks for the nerdy t-shirt that say APUSH and your Latin saying.
To my AP English Literature teacher, who read my essays aloud in class twice! You have no idea how proud it made me that you approved of them. That first grade on my Huck Finn essay nearly killed me- a failing 60% (!)- but I'm glad that I got it, because I learned from it. For letting the crazy drama club-football-energetic boy read aloud every class as Willy from Death of a Salesman. I know that you really liked him, no matter what you said. For teaching me that the craft of essay-writing wasn't so different from the fiction writing I loved- make it interesting, make it structured, and throw in some fancy words- and you'll be all set. But I still don't like Poe.
To my English teacher currently (12th grade), for asking why I hadn't taken AP English this year. For off handedly saying, in reply to me saying I was good at Biology and took my AP there instead, that "well, you're good at English, too." I want you to know that even though you're driving me crazy for not giving me a 100 on a project (beautiful, long projects that take me seven hours to do), and I don't always agree with the books you give us to read or how much free time we have- I'll remember that you think I'm good at English. And it means a lot to me. Thank you.
To my AP biology teacher this year, who expanded my horizons. I felt a strange pull to take your class- I didn't even really like bio, but I felt I had to take it. I actually considered becoming a doctor because of your class, though I don't think you know it. I might still, but the number of years it would take makes me sick. For letting us play that review pictionary game, because I got my team eight points in a row. For being interested in what you do, and for threatening the talkative-texting boy in a number of creative ways when he was being distracting. For thinking that things like blood, mutant kittens, the evolution of motherhood, psychological disorder documentaries, and the habits of frogs who birth their young through their backs are interesting things (so do I)!
That's it for now on you guys. You'll all probably never read this, never find out that I'm referring to you, but I know its here. You affected my life, and it doesn't matter if you forget about me or already have. I know you have a lot of lives to teach and shape in your own ways. Never underestimate the power of fun activities and a day off once in a while, because we appreciate a break, and I'm sure you deserve one, too. May your candle never burn out, because you'll be sorely missed.
To my preschool teacher, who painted rocks and pine cones gold and hid your smile rather well when I exclaimed that you had no idea how much this gold stuff was worth and how could you just give this to me? For singing the Barney clean u song with us every afternoon, for sharing your basement with us every other day while my Dad got to run a few errands. I want you to know that I almost cried when I realized I wouldn't be going back to you when kindergarten came, that I still laugh at the paper photo albums and Thanksgiving "Recipe" book you gave us, and that I remember the parties, and when my neighbor's purple ball got stuck in the creek. Thanks. (P.S. I'm very happy that you're doing well after your bought with cancer, I wanted very much to visit).
To my fifth grade teacher, who gave out Jolly Ranchers and homework-free days whenever her sports teams won. For putting up with my climbing of the pine trees in the courtyard, and for seating me next to that strange boy who became my friend years later- I taught him how to make paper furniture. For all those DLR (Daily Language Review) worksheets every morning, because I learned how to string the sentences together to make a story. You might have started my love of writing.
To my middle school Spanish teacher with the curly crazy hair who had a fiesta every holiday. Thanks for taking us outside to play 'pato, pato, ganso' (duck, duck, goose) and for giving us that funny cardboard car and gave us direction in Spanish as we shuffled around the classroom trying to get to the post office (correro). I was actually interested in Spanish then, and I'm sorry to say I lost it in high school when the teachers got more distant and taught strictly from workbooks. I missed you these four years, and I hope that my affinity for the language hasn't been totally destroyed by them, because I'd still like to learn it. Gracias. Yo recordaré tú clase por siempre.
To my eighth grade English teacher, who hosted Vietnam Idol so we could perform poems, songs, and raps that we wrote about the war and the home front. You knew how to make things fun, and I especially remember how the principle came and told us to be quiet as we screamed "8B-5!!!!!!", our class division and number, at the competing class. For singing with the female teacher a rendition of Summer Nights from Grease, but with Vietnam lyrics. For giving my class cake twice- once to celebrate your wedding, and another time just because. I was quiet, but I want you to know I listened, and I loved it. I won't forget you, or the fact that 8B-5 totally won the rap- off.
To my tenth grade global history teacher, who always made me feel smart and complimented me one day in the computer lab, suggesting that I try for AP United States History class next year, because you thought I was more than ready. For letting the class divide into two and throw paper at each other from behind the desks to simulate the trenches of WWI. I also really enjoyed the French Revolution exercise- the one where we all got jobs such as serfs, Lords, King, Queen, and my role- the tax collector. I started to relate to my Dad when he spoke about history then, and I thank you for sparking that.
To my tenth grade math teacher, who tried to sing along to 50 Cent and talked to himself quite a lot. I forgive you for forgetting to put my name in the prize hat for half of the year. For helping me the next year as I struggled with a teacher that didn't agree with me and my grades suffered, even though you had to study ahead of your own class to teach me. I'm just sorry that I didn't enjoy math with the same intensity or calmness that you had. I admit it- I'm a math-a-phobe. But you tried very hard to break through, and I appreciate the effort where other had given up.
To my APUSH teacher, who tried very hard to bring technology into the picture. It worked for me. I nailed the AP thanks to you, and your class gave me such a confidence boost that I could handle so much work. I think I'll be okay in college after that course. You're very in love with what you do, and I think that's great not only for you, but for your students, too. Also, I'm very sorry that you feel the need to shave your head because of your lack of hair. Thanks for the nerdy t-shirt that say APUSH and your Latin saying.
To my AP English Literature teacher, who read my essays aloud in class twice! You have no idea how proud it made me that you approved of them. That first grade on my Huck Finn essay nearly killed me- a failing 60% (!)- but I'm glad that I got it, because I learned from it. For letting the crazy drama club-football-energetic boy read aloud every class as Willy from Death of a Salesman. I know that you really liked him, no matter what you said. For teaching me that the craft of essay-writing wasn't so different from the fiction writing I loved- make it interesting, make it structured, and throw in some fancy words- and you'll be all set. But I still don't like Poe.
To my English teacher currently (12th grade), for asking why I hadn't taken AP English this year. For off handedly saying, in reply to me saying I was good at Biology and took my AP there instead, that "well, you're good at English, too." I want you to know that even though you're driving me crazy for not giving me a 100 on a project (beautiful, long projects that take me seven hours to do), and I don't always agree with the books you give us to read or how much free time we have- I'll remember that you think I'm good at English. And it means a lot to me. Thank you.
To my AP biology teacher this year, who expanded my horizons. I felt a strange pull to take your class- I didn't even really like bio, but I felt I had to take it. I actually considered becoming a doctor because of your class, though I don't think you know it. I might still, but the number of years it would take makes me sick. For letting us play that review pictionary game, because I got my team eight points in a row. For being interested in what you do, and for threatening the talkative-texting boy in a number of creative ways when he was being distracting. For thinking that things like blood, mutant kittens, the evolution of motherhood, psychological disorder documentaries, and the habits of frogs who birth their young through their backs are interesting things (so do I)!
That's it for now on you guys. You'll all probably never read this, never find out that I'm referring to you, but I know its here. You affected my life, and it doesn't matter if you forget about me or already have. I know you have a lot of lives to teach and shape in your own ways. Never underestimate the power of fun activities and a day off once in a while, because we appreciate a break, and I'm sure you deserve one, too. May your candle never burn out, because you'll be sorely missed.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Tamora Pierce
Tamora Pierce is pretty much at the top tier of authors that I admire. It's just in the way that she constructs her world, and keeps her different series in it. She must have spent a very long time creating the world, the cultures, the people, the land, maps... It makes perfect sense for her to write within that one place, making all the series companions. Even the characters interact from separate series once in a while- Alanna from the Song of the Lioness series and Kel from the Protector of the Small series know each other. And *spoiler alert* Alanna's daughter has her own two books- the Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen. I love it.
The way she writes is simple. Nothing fancy, no huge words, and easy going characters that practically everyone can relate to in one way or another. But with her stories (which are classic fantasy ones), no fancy writing is required. Tales of knights, kick-ass girl characters, meddling Gods and Goddesses, wars, spies, and fantastic creatures are more than enough to occupy the mind and creativity of a reader. Tamora Pierce also had a knack for writing down accents phonetically, something that I know from experience needs either a heck of a lot of work or a natural talent for it to work properly.
So props to you, Tamora Pierce- I am enjoying re-reading all your series and plan to do so many more times over the course of my life.
The way she writes is simple. Nothing fancy, no huge words, and easy going characters that practically everyone can relate to in one way or another. But with her stories (which are classic fantasy ones), no fancy writing is required. Tales of knights, kick-ass girl characters, meddling Gods and Goddesses, wars, spies, and fantastic creatures are more than enough to occupy the mind and creativity of a reader. Tamora Pierce also had a knack for writing down accents phonetically, something that I know from experience needs either a heck of a lot of work or a natural talent for it to work properly.
So props to you, Tamora Pierce- I am enjoying re-reading all your series and plan to do so many more times over the course of my life.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The List
Things I must do before I die:
1) Explore Venice alone. Visit the store from Summertime with Katharine Hepburn. Float along in a gondola, and ask the gondolier where the best food can be found. Eat said food. Buy a red dress and heels, proceed to act Italian, only betrayed by my obvious American accent. Admire the Italian men, try to find out if they really can make a girl feel like a woman.
2) Run through the Irish moors barefoot in the evening after it just finished raining. Trace patterns in the dew with my hands. Wait until the sun sets and dance around in the moonlight, unafraid, catching glimpses of fey and leprechauns in the wood. Grin and dance on, accept the lapse of reality.
3) Visit the birthplace of religion- Jerusalem. Be a tourist at first, then relax into it, take one day at a time. Take a bus out to the desert with a backpack containing a canteen, crackers, sunscreen, canned goods, a sweatshirt, and a sleeping bag. Navigate through the empty, cleansing dunes with nothing to guide but the stars and a walking stick. Find God.
4) View Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower at night and watch the city glitter. Visit a French cafe and order something sophisticated. Don't stay too long, beware of locals.
5) Fall madly in love. Either so quick I won't know what hit me, or slowly, so I can never discern where we stopped being friends and when I started loving him. Marriage, a white dress, a dance with Dad, and seeing no one else in the room but him. Work hard at it.
6) Have a baby, adopted or not. Revel in selecting a name, the perfect name. Love the little fingers gripping my own. Be proud and happy (and a little sad) that my baby will grow.
7) Walk the Great Wall of China, and admire a secluded Buddhist temple in China. Eat real Chinese food and compare it to take out. Have the best cup of tea I'll ever have the pleasure to sip. Inhale the damp smell of the tea leaves, empty the mind, and taste.
8) Help a stranger, a friend, change their life for the better. Always be pure, keep trust, and faith that things turn out alright in the end. Be true.
9) Read. Read until I have a library and enough dreams to last me a lifetime. Live not only though the books but in action and by learning from them. Finish writing a novel. Edit it, print it out. Either keep it for myself or poke around to see if I can be published. Cherish the raw manuscript no matter what I choose to do with it.
10) Do something fun and out of character (but secretly more in character than ever before- that's the trick!) once a week. Predictable yet unpredictable. Keep the spark alive.
*smile*
1) Explore Venice alone. Visit the store from Summertime with Katharine Hepburn. Float along in a gondola, and ask the gondolier where the best food can be found. Eat said food. Buy a red dress and heels, proceed to act Italian, only betrayed by my obvious American accent. Admire the Italian men, try to find out if they really can make a girl feel like a woman.
2) Run through the Irish moors barefoot in the evening after it just finished raining. Trace patterns in the dew with my hands. Wait until the sun sets and dance around in the moonlight, unafraid, catching glimpses of fey and leprechauns in the wood. Grin and dance on, accept the lapse of reality.
3) Visit the birthplace of religion- Jerusalem. Be a tourist at first, then relax into it, take one day at a time. Take a bus out to the desert with a backpack containing a canteen, crackers, sunscreen, canned goods, a sweatshirt, and a sleeping bag. Navigate through the empty, cleansing dunes with nothing to guide but the stars and a walking stick. Find God.
4) View Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower at night and watch the city glitter. Visit a French cafe and order something sophisticated. Don't stay too long, beware of locals.
5) Fall madly in love. Either so quick I won't know what hit me, or slowly, so I can never discern where we stopped being friends and when I started loving him. Marriage, a white dress, a dance with Dad, and seeing no one else in the room but him. Work hard at it.
6) Have a baby, adopted or not. Revel in selecting a name, the perfect name. Love the little fingers gripping my own. Be proud and happy (and a little sad) that my baby will grow.
7) Walk the Great Wall of China, and admire a secluded Buddhist temple in China. Eat real Chinese food and compare it to take out. Have the best cup of tea I'll ever have the pleasure to sip. Inhale the damp smell of the tea leaves, empty the mind, and taste.
8) Help a stranger, a friend, change their life for the better. Always be pure, keep trust, and faith that things turn out alright in the end. Be true.
9) Read. Read until I have a library and enough dreams to last me a lifetime. Live not only though the books but in action and by learning from them. Finish writing a novel. Edit it, print it out. Either keep it for myself or poke around to see if I can be published. Cherish the raw manuscript no matter what I choose to do with it.
10) Do something fun and out of character (but secretly more in character than ever before- that's the trick!) once a week. Predictable yet unpredictable. Keep the spark alive.
*smile*
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