LITR 3731: Creative Writing
Student Journal / Portfolio Sample Submission 2005

 

Jennifer Jones

May 2, 2005

My Creative Side

Introduction:

            I began this course knowing the minimal basics when it came to fiction writing.  I have story ideas marching in place in my mind like little soldiers waiting for their orders.  Sometimes I feel that if I do not write them down, I will either burst or worse still I will forget them.  At the same time, I worry that if I simply write the idea on paper, I will lose my hold on the story and it will be forever gone in the endless list of “to do’s” I have planned out for myself.  This class, however, has forced me to let go of one of them to develop and let it blossom.  I am speaking, naturally, of Morgen, the delicate 15-year-old plaguing my mind.  She was in there, my mind, marching in place with the others, until I finally let her do her thing.  Boy, did she ever flourish.  I could not possibly get Morgen to return to her post ever again.  It is too late for that.  Because of this class, she has been released and is doing her best to get her story out there. 

            The Three Genres textbook has given me a great deal of insight on the best way to show her off.  Of poetry, fiction and drama, my copy’s fiction section has the most highlighted passages.  This is a book I will never sell or throw out.  There are so many technicalities a person does not consciously think about like pacing, character development and creating tension.  Some of these things come naturally to writers, and I know some of them come naturally to me because there are times I do not realize I am employing them until after I have written several pages.  During my revision process I see it, and then try to further develop that aspect.  At least, this is the case when I write fiction and drama.  Poetry, on the other hand, is different altogether.

Poetry writers have to be able to think and express themselves and their ideas with symbols.  Fiction writers use symbols as well, but for some reason it has never seemed as daunting as it does when it is poetry.  Many times, the symbols are personal to the author.  Deciphering the symbols is where I fall short.  Poetry is not my strong suit, but I feel that I have improved in this area a little.  Prior to this class, I had written maybe two poems in my entire life.  I am a firm believer that the more a person reads the better she will write, and if I do not read poetry, then, well, the answer is obvious.  For that reason, I have begun to receive “The Writer’s Almanac” via email, per Christina Hergenrader’s suggestion; consequently, I am reading at least one poem every day.  I really think this will help me become a better English teacher when the time comes because in order to get better at understanding and writing poetry, one must read poetry often.  I have made some improvements to “My Treasures” since the previous submission.  Rather than haikus, it is a free verse poem, and I have incorporated more of a treasure, or gemstone, theme into the poem.  While I do enjoy reading my daily poem, and I am improving my comprehension and poetry writing, the bottom line is I simply take much more pleasure in writing fiction. 

Writing my fiction piece has been immensely enjoyable for me.  I have made a few changes to Water Fairy.  Due to Dr. White’s response, I have incorporated into all of the chapters more support for some of the driving themes.  I have also completed Chapter 4 (Appendix C).  I really feel that if it had not have been for this class, I would not have come so far with this story.  Morgen and her tale need to be told.      

I enjoyed the drama submission immensely.  At first, I was petrified because I had no ideas.  More to the point, I had ideas.  I cannot forget all my soldiers marching in place, but because we had to keep our story in a classroom setting, my mind locked up.  I originally thought I might do more of a “day in the life of Jennifer” scene.  It involved my husband and children, though, and I could not figure out how to incorporate this into the classroom setting.  While reading the Three Genres book, though, Minot suggests listening in on conversations others have to find out how to incorporate “real” dialogue, or dialogue that does not sound contrived.  That is where my story came from.  I was eavesdropping on people everywhere I went.  I kept notes.  A storyline developed from there.  From the suggestions I received in class came a few changes that I feel have sparked up the scene nicely.  It was lacking in some areas.  One thing about drama is sometimes what is missing is not realized until the performance.  Hopefully, I gave it what it needed. 

 

Draft Exchange Report:

            This poem is actually a collection of poems written in haiku format.  I am aware that haikus usually describe nature, but I wanted to describe my family.  Each stanza is about one person (or cat) in my family.  I felt troubled over the order of each stanza, but decided to put my cat, my daughter, my son, me and then my husband in that order because I did not want pronoun confusions.  For example, I thought if there were two stanzas in a row that described a male it might become confusing to the reader.  So I placed the stanzas in boy/girl order.  I am not sure if that is even an issue to the reader, but it seemed like it could be an issue for me if I was reading this poem from the outside. 

            In recruiting readers, I simply emailed my poem with a note requesting assistance in critiquing my poem.  I emailed Alissa Tupa and Audra Caldwell on February 1, 2005.  Both students were helpful and responded within a reasonable amount of time. 

Alissa suggested that I should end the poem with myself.  She felt it was a better way to cap things off.  I was not sure how I felt about this at first.  Alissa’s suggestion, however, does make sense.  I finally decided not to concern myself with the possible pronoun confusion and put the poem in the order to which my “treasures” where found.  That would be my husband, my cat, my son, my daughter, and, finally, myself.  In my mind, the poem makes more sense this way.  Alissa also suggested I change “nurturing mother” to “I, nurturing mother.”  I compromised and went with “I, the nurturer.”  I needed five syllables.  It was important that I stay consistent with the rest of the poem.  Here is Alissa’s entire response to my poem:

I really liked your poem.  I thought it was really sweet.  I knew who/what you were talking about in each stanza.  I am not really that good with poetry, but I really do not think that there is anything wrong with it.  However, I feel that as part of the draft exchange I am supposed to make suggestions even though I think it is fine the way it is. 

             I think your poem is really good and when I first printed it out last night I was like, "Um, I have no idea what suggestions to give because it sounds really good to me!"  I sat and thought about it today and this is what I finally came up with.  Maybe you should put the stanza about yourself last and maybe say:  "I, nurturing mother" instead of just "Nurturing mother" ---just so that everyone is clear that you--the mother is the author of the poem. I think that the poem should end with you. 

             Also, I noticed that you used a lot of alliteration.  Okay, that is my suggestion!  I want to say again how sweet I thought your poem really was.  I was really impressed with it. (Alissa Tupa, February 4, 2005)

            Audra Caldwell suggested that “oozes” was perhaps not the best word to use in the stanza about my son.  I decided to keep the word because, to me, this perfectly describes my son’s way of showing his love.  He really does ooze affection.  I thought of using “exudes,” but changed my mind because “oozes” is a much more playful and mischievous word.  My son is both playful and mischievous.  Here is Audra’s response:

Thanks for asking me to read your poem. I’m sorry it is taking me so long to get back to you. I really like the idea of combining the haikus together to reflect a large idea. It has put some idea’s into my own head. I really like the use of alliteration in the second chunk, However the word “oozes” seems a bit out of place. I couldn’t come up with another suggestion off the top of my head, but I might work on that. Great job. (Audra Caldwell, February 5, 2005)

            The overall manuscript changed very little from the original.  As stated above, the order of stanzas and the first line of the last stanza is all that changed.  I was fairly happy with the exchange process.  If I were to attempt this process again, however, I think I would have asked more people, probably five or six, to give feedback. 

The most frustrating part for me was waiting for the readers to respond.  I was impatient and nervous about what they might say.  It turned out that I had nothing to worry about.  They both made excellent suggestions. 

Interaction with Online Student:

            I was responsible for filling Audra in on the class meeting that took place February 21, 2005.  It happened that was the same day we had guest speaker, Christian Hergenrader.  I gave Audra a very detailed description of the class because I felt that because she is unable to attend class, it was important that she benefit as much as she could.  She seemed to appreciate getting the specifics and I am happy that I was able to give her a glimpse into our classroom.  The email exchanges between Audra and I can be found in the Appendix.

            Audra also sent me a copy of her drama for feedback.  I really enjoyed reading her drama and I gave her my reaction (Appendix A). 

                       

Other Draft Exchanges:

            I participated in several draft exchanges, other than my own, this semester.  I worked with Alissa Tupa concerning her poem and her fiction.  Karen Daniel, Andrea Cox, and Mary Kay Clements asked me to look at their fiction submissions. 

            Alissa gave me her poem in class and I took it home to look it over.  I responded via email.  As I said before, poetry is not where my talents lie, but I gave it my best shot (Appendix).  I remember her poem was full of imagery and seemed to sparkle as I read it.  She did not have a fiction draft exchange to do because she was doing a presentation, but she did ask me to read her fiction and let her know what I thought (Appendix B). 

            Karen Daniel asked me to look at her fiction.  What a lovely piece!  Her voice is very well developed.  I did make suggestions about placing something at the beginning of the piece about the graduation to help complete the story. 

            Andrea Cox requested my help with her fiction draft exchange and I was glad to offer any suggestions I could (Appendix B).  Her story is an intriguing mystery.  Andrea has a good eye for detail.

            Mary Kay Clements requested feedback from me for her fiction piece and draft exchange.  I enjoyed her story because it gave me some insight into Mary, herself.  She has the ability to put the reader into the situation, which is a really great quality.  My feedback was mostly on the fiction itself that I returned to her via email (Appendix B). 

 

Review of Previous Journal-Portfolios:

            I reviewed three of the previous journal-portfolios, and all I can say is: wow!  These are some really intelligent people that have impressed me beyond words.  I had no idea that was possible.  I was impressed with Brandie Minchew’s voice.  I first saw Brandie’s work when we were working on our fiction submissions.  I went to look at some of the previous works because I wanted to see what others had done.  I started at the bottom of the list and worked my way up.  At first, I was rather bored to be honest.  While the first few fiction examples I looked at were okay, they really did not stand out in any way.  When I reached Brandie’s, I was stunned.  From the first word of “She Who Dances” I was awestruck.  I could not put it down.  So it seemed only natural that when it came time for reviewing the 2003 journal-portfolios that I start with her.  I looked at her introduction and conclusion because those are the two areas in which I felt I needed support.  I would have loved to see a section on previous journal-portfolios, but for obvious reasons that is not possible.  The next class will enjoy that benefit.  I found out that Brandie is strongest in fiction, like myself.  It is always comforting to find out others are like us.  I could not agree more with Brandie’s comment: “The most valuable tool for a writer is his or her awareness of the literary world.  A writer must read to become familiar and comfortable with the written word of their chosen genre” (Brandie Minchew, Conclusion, 2003).  This is the most important thing every writer needs to know. 

            Next, I looked at Robert Andresakis because I noted that Brandie did a draft exchange with him.  His journal-portfolio is extremely organized.  The introduction was very informative and again I can see many points in which I am in agreement.  For instance, “The biggest problem was finishing something” (Robert Andresakis, Introduction, 2003).  That is very true.  I started a romance novel in 2003, but put it down after chapter 3 and have not touched it since.  Sometimes I think about trying my hand at it again, but then quickly discourage myself.  I worry that will happen with Water Fairy, but, at the same time, I know it will not.  I have come too far with Morgen to let her slip away. 

I noticed that Laurie Eckhart edited Robert’s fiction piece so I looked at her portfolio next.  In her fiction section, she says,

“I began this story with a little bit of trepidation, because it’s based loosely on my own experience. When I told my father about the story idea he asked me why anyone would want to read about my life, even fictionalized, and I was crushed. But, then I remember that all the really interesting stuff I hid from him, and I uncrumpled.” (Laurie Eckhart, Fiction, 2003)

This is something I can relate to.  I had always enjoyed writing from about the third grade and when I got into junior high I received an electric typewriter and my very first diary.  Because of the typewriter, I was typing up stories left and right, and because of the diary, I was writing my thoughts down on a daily basis.  Although, I never wrote any of my most inner thoughts down in the diary because I was worried someone might see it.  I remember how I felt when I was about 12 years old and I told my step-mom that I wanted to be a writer.  Her response was that writing is a great hobby.  I did not write anything for about 10 years after that.   I felt totally deflated.  The typewriter began to collect dust and my diary began to be filled with silly doodles.  Luckily for Laurie, she was able to pick herself back up again.  I did not have that ability until recently.  I feel like, as a writer, teacher and parent, my most important job will be that of encouragement.  Encouragement can come in the form of supporting children’s interests and teaching children to get back up and dust themselves off after they have been trampled. 

Link to Poetry Page:

Due to some of Dr. White’s suggestions, I have made additional changes to “My Treasures.”  It is no longer a group of haikus, but instead I have morphed it into one free verse poem.  I added gemstones and jewel imagery to help tie in the treasures symbolism.  I feel this is much more mature and developed than my previous version. 

As I stated in my draft exchange, this poem came from my family.  I was having trouble writing a poem and wanted to write something that held meaning for me.  However, there was a problem because if a reader picked up my poem and wanted to relate to it, they would probably have been confused.  The way it is now, the reader can take whatever meaning from it they deem and I can still have my personal significance.  

My Treasures (final version)

 

Sapphire,

Rescuer, cobalt knight,

Supporting silly notions,

A sparkling shield.

 

Garnet,

Dark burgundy shards,

Piercing through midnight,

Like deep glaring jewels.

 

Topaz,

Tight clinging golden glow,

Affectionate rays

Of sunshine kisses.

 

Pearl,

Silvery sheen

Shines full upon the universe,

A dewdrop from the sea.

 

Ruby,

 Bright scarlet flicker,

Fulfilling all wishes,

Cultivating passion.

Link to Fiction page:

Account:

This work, Water Fairy, began to evolve over the Christmas holidays.  I had been reading the Harry Potter series and a thought quite suddenly entered my head.  For the most part, males read fantasy and it makes sense that writers would gear these types of stories toward males by offering a male hero that young men can relate to.  I wanted something that young girls could relate to.  Something that was a fantasy, but did not include princesses (card carrying damsels in distress), knights in shining armor, and castles.  I thought there should be a young adult fantasy series about a girl.  Although, while a series sounds good in theory, when it comes down to it, it is a little daunting.  Therefore, I am just shooting for a novel.  As I have a love for fairies, it seemed natural that I start there.  I searched the Internet and I delved into my numerous fairy books and came up with an idea based on the myth of the Gwragedd Annwn (pronounced Gwrageth Anoon). 

            The Gwragedd Annwn are Welsh water fairies that sometimes take human males as husbands.  These fairies live under the surface of a lake that is only accessed on New Year’s morning through a door that appears on a rock next to the lake.  There is a story about a mortal man who falls in love with a water fairy and they marry.  According to the legend, if he hits her three times, then she would be forced to return home.  Another story is about mortals that are allowed to enter the underwater village as long as they do not take anything with them when they leave.  In this story, someone pockets a flower and the second he steps foot outside the door he falls unconscious.  I took pieces of these Welsh legends and transplanted them to Ireland, one of those places I have always dreamed of going.  How would being in Ireland change the stories?  I also wondered what would happen if, rather than live on the husband’s land, the married couple lived in the underwater fairy village and had a baby. What would happen if he decided the fairy world is not what he really wanted and left, taking the baby with him?  A baby would be considerably more valuable than a flower, so he should have a much harsher punishment – death maybe?  I wanted this to be the baby’s story though, so I had to get him out of there and kept alive long enough to get her, Morgen, mostly grown.  Therefore, his mother, Finola, is a witch.  She can put a protection spell over him that will last long enough to get him and Morgen out of Ireland and into the U. S.  Eventually, the spell has to falter, though, or he will not die and Morgen will not have a reason to return to Ireland and unlock the mystery of her life.  Basically, my story involves unraveling this mystery.  Why is she so different?  Why does she know flowers inside and out, an unusual trait for a normal 15-year-old?  There are many other questions I could list here, but the basic idea is there.  In addition to the fairy element, there is also Morgen’s human side.  She is a teenager with typical teenage misconceptions about life.  These will be dealt with in the novel as well. 

            So I sat down and started making notes about what I wanted my characters to be like.  What are their names?  What do they look like?  Then I went on and wrote down, briefly, some of the action scenes I would like to see happen.  When I actually started typing, my first words were exactly what they currently are at the beginning of the story.  “Morgen Shanley didn’t think she was ever going to fit in.”  I wanted something that would suck the reader in.  Being an avid reader, I know it is always nice when starting to read a new book, that you become enthralled immediately.  That is the reaction I wanted for my story. 

After presenting my fiction in class, I felt very encouraged to continue on with writing the rest of the story.  The class was very honest and forthright in their opinions concerning my work.  Sherry questioned the issue of the names that are discussed at the beginning of the novel.  Now that I have given away that Morgen’s mother is a Welsh water fairy, that narrative bit may make a little more sense.  I am trying to create a world in which, due to the presence of the Welsh fairies, the names would be an issue for some of the characters.  In addition, Dr. White was concerned over the suddenness of Morgen’s grandmother, Finola, calling her to breakfast after all the flashbacks at the beginning.  He was not sure where Morgen was or what she was doing.  If he was not sure, then other readers may have the same trouble.  I hope I have fixed that problem.  I inserted some narrative material at the beginning and throughout to, hopefully, string it together a bit better.  Rather than just drop the reader into the world immediately, I have set up Morgen’s whereabouts in the room from the beginning and I keep tying back to it throughout the scene as Morgen has daydreams and flashbacks.  Basically, she’s getting dressed for school, but the reader is getting a lot of background information at the same time.  Another change I made came from my realization that the story is taking place after Halloween, but before New Year’s Day.  This being late fall/early winter, flowers are usually not blooming during this time.  I felt I should mention the contrast in the season and blooming flowers in the scene where Morgen discovers the lake.

I am definitely going to finish this piece.  I have already completed the first four chapters and have started brainstorming on chapter five.  Since this piece is part of a much larger work, there is still a multitude of ideas, which need to be incorporated before it will be completed. 

My goal for this piece is eventual publication.  I am very determined to finish it.  As far as wanting to know what to do for this manuscript that I cannot quite do yet, I do not know.  There is so much to learn, and I have already learned so much about character development, setting, plot, etc.  I just hope that whoever looks at my work will be honest and tell me truly what they think, whether their opinion is good or bad.  If there is something I am missing, I want to know.  If there is something I should be doing, but I am weak at, I want to know what it is so I can address the issue and create the best work of fiction possible.

The following is Chapter 1 of Water Fairy.  Chapters 2, 3, and 4 can be found in the Appendix.

Water Fairy (final version)

Chapter 1

            Morgen Shanley didn’t think she was ever going to fit in.  She had been in Ireland for three weeks, and she still couldn’t figure out how to plug her hair dryer into the crazy outlet.  Hoping her hair dried before she got to school, Morgen looked through her microscopic closet to search for the perfect outfit that didn’t exist.  Finally deciding on a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, she turned to the full-length mirror on the closet door while she dressed. 

She studied her reflection.  She could ignore that she wasn’t exactly gorgeous with her freckles and waif-like figure, and that she had absolutely no friends, but when she found out her name is actually a boy’s name, it was all too much for her. 

Not only isn’t Morgen a girl’s name, but it also isn’t Irish.  Apparently, it’s a big deal if you’re Irish and you don’t have an Irish name. 

She thought back to her first day at her new Irish high school.  As soon as she was introduced to the class, the kids all snickered.  Morgen had no idea what was so funny until later that day as she attempted to enter the girls’ restroom.  A girl, later revealed to be Selia Banning, shoved her way in front of Morgen, blocking the path into the restroom.

“Just where do you think you’re going? This is the girl’s lavatory, and it’s only for Irish girls,” Selia said.

Morgen was surprised.  She didn’t know how to respond.  Surely Selia knew Morgen was a girl.  What was her deal? 

“Did you hear what I said?” Selia boomed as she took a small step toward Morgen.

“Yes,” Morgen answered timidly.  She could smell Selia’s rancid breath and was dimly aware of a crowd of girls collecting behind her.

            Selia put her hands on her hips to appear larger than Morgen, and to fill more of the doorway. 

            “You can use that lavatory.” Selia motioned with her head to the door on her left. 

            Morgen responded, “But that’s the boy’s bathroom.  There’s boys in there.”

            “Well, with a name like yours, you should feel right at home then shouldn’t you?”

            Morgen couldn’t believe her ears. 

            “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my name?”

            “It’s a boy’s name.” Selia sneered.

            “So?”

            “So, you must be a boy if your name’s Morgen, and if you’re a boy, then you can’t enter the girl’s lavatory.  We don’t want any Peeping Toms in here.  Now, get away from here or I’ll report you for peeping!” Selia advanced even closer to Morgen.  Morgen slinked away nervously.  Selia was big and scary and Morgen wanted no part of her.

It was never like this in Miami, Morgen thought as she crossed the room to gather her books.  No one cared if your name was actually a boy’s name, and they definitely didn’t care if your name wasn’t Irish.  In fact, there were several girls in Miami with the same name.  Their names were spelled M-O-R-G-A-N, so everyone was always misspelling her name, but she was thankful she had the presence of mind to tell her new teachers that she went by Morgen, her middle name, rather than her first name.  It was best that the Irish teenagers didn’t find out her first name was Gwenhwyfar.  If they ever did, she could put any plans of friendship out of her mind forever.  Gwenhwyfar was also a Welsh name, not Irish, and it was too weird for her to ever mention it to anyone. 

            Morgen hated Ireland.  She loved Florida.  It was sunny and warm in Miami, and the beach was always so inviting and full of life.  She had always felt a strong pull toward the water.  The only water around here was a small lake about a mile down the dirt road.  She thought about trekking down there just to pretend she was in Miami, but imagining a warm, sunlit beach with white sands was going to be difficult when the sky was overcast and the shore was filled with tall green weeds.   

            “Gwenhwyfar! Ya’ll be late!”

            Morgen snapped back to reality.  In no hurry to get to school, she was sitting at her desk in front of her small mirror, brushing her hair. 

It was Finola, her grandmother, calling.  She insisted on addressing her by that name!  Morgen told her not to call her that, but Finola refused to listen.  She said that her son, Morgen’s father, had given her that name and that she should be proud of it.  It didn’t matter that no one, including her father, ever called her that. 

She got up from her desk and crossed back to her closet to get her shoes.  Finola was so strange, Morgen thought, as she laced up her tennis shoes.  She was never going to understand this peculiar woman.  It was difficult to picture them being related at all.  Morgen was small with delicate features, while Finola was tall and statuesque. 

However, this wasn’t what was so odd.  What was strange about Finola was that she was so superstitious and acted extremely bizarre most of the time.  Morgen sat against her closet door and thought about the first day she arrived.  She had wanted to go for a walk and look around her new home, and Finola said she could as long as she didn’t eat any berries that she found.  Morgen asked why and Finola answered matter-of-factly, “Well, because it’s after Halloween, of course!”  Morgen must have looked confused because Finola huffed and said, “For cryin’ out loud girl!  Don’t tell me yer father didn’t explain about the fairies!”  She went on to add, “Gwenhwyfar, yer never to eat any berries after Halloween.  It doesn’t matter if they’re blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, boysenberries or any other kind of berries ya might stumble across around here.  Do ya understand that?”

            “Why not?” Morgen had inquired; thinking a couple of berries just might hit the spot right about then.  Her last real meal had been a cheeseburger and fries at the Miami airport purchased by the social worker.  She was not counting those airplane sunflower seeds.  It was a good thing she had commandeered some extra packs of those when the plane landed in Shannon, though, because Irish food was not holding promise for her.

            “Because of the fairies, of course!! Are ya daft girl, or don’t ya listen?”

            She had stared at Finola, baffled.  This was the first occasion when Morgen thought maybe she had stumbled into an alternate reality.  What was Finola talking about?  What fairies?

            “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand.  Fairies?”

            “Yes! Fairies!  Ya can’t eat the berries because the fairies piss on them after Halloween!!  I can’t believe ya don’t know this child!  I’ll tell ya right now that I have made it a firm rule never to even so much as step on a berry after Halloween.  Ya’d be well advised to follow the same rule.  I’ll not have the contaminated juices in me house!”

            At this, Morgen had forgone the hike and went back to her room to unpack more stuff.

            In addition to this weirdness, Finola kept bells on every entrance to the small cottage, including the windows.  In Miami, Morgen had only seen bells hung on convenience store entrances.  The bells are used to alert the clerk that a customer was entering the store.  Morgen had always found those bells to be annoying, and Finola’s bells were worse.  Not only did the bells ring when the door opened and closed, they rang with the wind.  From all the racket those bells made, Morgen felt like she was in a bell factory. 

On Morgen’s third day with Finola, the ringing bells were driving her insane.  She was sporting the headache from Hell and decided to take care of those bells, once and for all.  She found out very quickly, however, the real reason for the bells when she decided to remove their ringers.  Huge mistake.  The second Finola realized the bells were not ringing, she completely freaked out.  It turned out that fairies fear the ringing bells.  If one is trying to enter the house, the bell will scare it away.  Morgen had simply rolled her eyes, went to her room, and spent the rest of the day with her head buried under her pillow. 

“Gwenhwyfar! Don’t ya come when yer called?”

Morgen shook out of her daydream, stood up, grabbed her books, then walked into the tiny kitchen to see her grandmother leaning her face into a pot of oatmeal, or porridge to the Irish.  It didn’t matter what the stuff was called; Morgen wasn’t going to eat it. She was already starting to feel queasy just from the smell.  This was strange because she had eaten oatmeal before.  Her dad made it every morning and she ate it every morning.  Maybe the oatmeal reminded her of him, yes, that’s what it had to be.

            “You’re going to burn your face,” Morgen said.

            “Damned Pot Pixies are determined to ruin me stovetop.  Can’t take any chances.”  Finola never removed her eyes from the pot. 

            Morgen rolled her eyes and walked to the door.

            “Where do ya think yer going?  Ya haven’t eaten.” Finola turned toward Morgen, forgetting about the oatmeal. 

            “To school,” Morgen responded.  She chose to ignore the subject of eating.

            “Gwenhwyfar, I haven’t see ya eat a thing in three weeks.  Sit down at the table and eat, lass,” Finola ordered, pointing her crooked finger at the small wooden table that looked at least a hundred years old.  She’d eaten; Finola just hadn’t seen her.  She had been nibbling on the airplane sunflower seeds here and there.

            Morgen looked around Finola to the stove, “Your pot’s boiling over.”

            Finola turned abruptly and found that her shiny white stovetop was covered in bubbling oatmeal that was beginning to crust and burn around the edges.  She began shrieking in Gaelic frantically trying to keep the mushy brown cereal from overflowing even more. 

Morgen took this chance to try running out the door, but the jingling bells gave her away.

            “WAIT!” Finola bellowed.  “SIT!”

            Morgen turned, sighed and slumped down into a chair.   

            “Yer going to eat, lass.  Yer father may have let ya go for weeks without eating, but that’s not going to happen here.  Yer thin as a rail.”  Finola placed a hot, steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Morgen.  “Now then, go on and eat your porridge.”

            Morgen did her best to keep from gagging at the site of the brown mush.  “Don’t you have any granola?” Morgen asked. 

            Finola gave her a look of confusion. “What do ya mean?”

            “You know, granola.  It’s rectangular and comes in a package. It’s held together with honey,” Morgen hoped.  She dared not ask about strawberries.

            “What are ya talking about?” Finola stood with her hands on her hips.  It was clear to Morgen that Finola did not have granola.  In fact, Finola had no clue what Morgen was talking about at all.

            “Never mind.  I’m not really hungry,” Morgen answered, looking down at the bowl of hot pulpy mush.  It looked like something a cat would hack up.  It smelled even worse. 

“Gwenhwyfar, eat.”

She picked up her spoon, took a deep breath and dug in.  Finola stood and watched to make sure she took a bite. Morgen held the overflowing spoon in front of her face.  Her hand began to shake.  The oatmeal started to ooze over one side of the spoon.  As it did, she felt a lump rising in her throat and tried to suppress it, but as the spoon got closer to her mouth, the lump seemed to climb higher until finally there was no way Morgen could even place the spoon in her mouth without getting sick right then and there.  She quickly put the loaded spoon back into the bowl.

            “What’s the matter?  Why won’t ya eat?” Finola questioned with concern in her voice. 

            “Like I said, I’m just not hungry,” Morgan said, pushing the bowl away from her.  “Can I please go?” 

            “Wait, I have a gift for ya,” Finola turned to a little wooden box on a shelf above the stove.  She opened it and brought out what looked like a brown, beaded necklace.  She turned smiling and offered the necklace to her.

            “I made this for ya last night.  I thought ya might like it.” Finola said.  She held a look of anticipation in her eyes.

            Morgen rose from the chair and approached Finola to accept the gift.  The necklace was not exactly Morgen’s style, in fact it was hideous, but she felt she had no other choice but to accept the gift. 

            “Oh,” Morgen smiled forcefully, “thank you so much Finola.”

            “I’ve told ya to call me Grandmother. Yer too young to call me Finola, and I’m too old to be anything but Grandmother.” Finola helped Morgen put the necklace on. 

            Once it was on, Morgen noticed an unpleasant aroma floating up from the necklace.  Her nose tingled, and she sneezed.  Morgen tried desperately not to breathe. 

            “What’s the matter?” Finola inquired, no longer smiling.

            “Ub, dothing,” Morgen answered. 

            “Why aren’t ya breathing?” Finola’s eyebrows came together.

            “I yab.” Morgen breathed through her mouth, closing her nose off.  “See?”

            Finola crossed her arms.  “What is it?” She pressed.

            “What is dis decklace bade frob?” Morgen asked; her eyes began to water.

            “Peony seeds on a linen string that I made meself from flax,” Finola answered, she was beginning to appear irritated. 

            “Why does it sbell?” Morgen had noticed the flax all over the floor of the kitchen, and had no clue about its purpose; she had not gotten a whiff of any kind of stench rising up from the floor so it couldn’t possibly be the string. 

            “It doesn’t!” Finola straightened.  She was clearly offended by Morgen’s lack of appreciation for the necklace.  “I made that for ya out of love! I wanted to give ya something to welcome ya to me home, and yer going to wear it!  Peony seeds will protect ya from the fairies.  I’ll never get Liam back, but I got ya and I’ll not have ya walking around this countryside unprotected!”

This got Morgen’s attention.  Her jaw dropped, and she forgot about holding her nose. “Liam? Who’s Liam?”

“Me son! Yer father!  Who do ya think I’m talkin’ about?” 

“My dad’s name was Alan.  Alan Shanley.  Not Liam.”

“His name was Liam Alan Shanley.  Why do ya think he changed his name?  I’ll not have ya kidnapped too!  The necklace will protect you.”

“Kidnapped? What are you talking about?  My dad never said anything about being kidnapped!  And besides that you’ve obviously never been to Miami!”

            “No, I haven’t.  Ya never should have been either!  As long as yer wearing that when ya leave the house, ya won’t be disappearing again.” 

            “What do you mean again?  I was born in Miami.  I have never been to Ireland before, in fact, I never even knew you existed before Dad died.”  Morgen was completely puzzled over Finola’s announcement.

            “I don’t know what yer dad told ya, but ya ought to know ya have been to Ireland.  In fact, ya were born here.  And ya don’t have to throw in me face that me own son didn’t tell his daughter I existed.  Believe me, if I knew then, what I know now, ya never would have even been born.”  Finola turned around and began feverishly working on her mucky stovetop.

            Morgen felt as though she had been hit.  There was a tightening in her chest as she turned toward the door.  Grabbing the handle, she ripped the jingling door open and darted from the cottage. 

            She heard Finola calling her name from the doorway, but she was not going to stop running.  Before she could prevent them, the hot tears began to cloud her vision.  She ran and ran as frenzied thoughts burst through her mind.  What did she mean when she said he had been kidnapped?  Who kidnapped him?  When was it?  Why does Finola think someone is going to kidnap her?  She wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. 

            If only her father was here.  Why did he leave the house that day?  He had gone to the store after her dance recital to get her some peaches – her favorite fruit.

Morgen missed her dancing.  When she danced, she felt free.  She was able to shut the world out, immersing herself in the movements.  It was hypnotizing.  She could close her eyes and imagine herself in a meadow at midnight surrounded by tall grass and flowers.  Firefly flashes competing with the stars while Morgen spun around and around.  She always felt as though she were flying.  It was the most glorious feeling. 

Morgen stopped running and bent over with her hands on her knees while she caught her breath.  Subsisting on sunflower seeds for three weeks has drained her energy.  After calming down some, she took a look at her surroundings, and almost lost her breath again.  Without realizing where she was running, she discovered she’d run to the lake and it was stunning.  Not at all like she thought it would be.  There were flowers all around.  Bluebells, clover, elderberry (steer clear of those), foxglove, lilac, poppies, and primroses surrounded the lake.  Being that it was late November, these flowers should not be in bloom right now.  Morgen pondered this mystery until she noticed a huge boulder the size of a small car a little ways down the shore on her left.  She approached the rock and noticed it was surrounded by heather and silverweed.

Most girls her age couldn’t tell a snapdragon from a chrysanthemum, but Morgen could.  She had always taken a special interest in nature, especially plants.  Her garden at home was filled with some of the flowers she saw here.  The garden was one area where Morgen and her father always disagreed because he felt she spent way too much time babying her flowers.  She would sit for hours and talk to the flowers, just like they were little people.  If her father had had his way, their yard would have been gravel.  

Lazily, she grabbed a few sprigs of silverweed.

“No peonies here.” Morgen muttered.  She climbed onto the boulder and sat looking at the lake.  She sniffed her small bouquet.

Her stomach growled as she thought about her situation.  Fifteen years old and stuck in Ireland with a crazy woman.  Suddenly she remembered the stinky necklace.  It had gotten lost under her shirt while she was running.  Morgen grabbed the necklace and yanked, spilling peony seeds all over the boulder and tossing the linen string into the lake.  Some of the seeds, however, managed to fall into her bra.

“Great.” Morgen sighed.  She tugged at her shirt and bra trying, fruitlessly, to get the seeds to fall out. 

Morgen began to feel furious, and pounded a fist into the boulder. 

“Ow!” Morgen yelped as she shook the pain from her hand.  First emotional pain, then physical, this is just too much, Morgen thought.

She wondered how Finola could ever say that to her?  At first, Morgen just thought she was strange, but it was becoming apparent that she was also cruel.  As soon as she found out she had a living relative, Morgen was so excited she couldn’t contain herself.  She didn’t even know her mother before she died, and her father was not really very good at girl stuff, so, as a result Morgen craved female companionship and guidance.  Morgen wanted someone who could help her understand what it was to become a woman.  Finola seemed like the perfect person.  Well, so much for that fantasy. 

Morgen may have to live with Finola, but she did not have to like her.  Only three years, then she could be on her own.  Actually, Morgen thought, she was already on her own, it just wasn’t legal yet. 

Sitting on this boulder considering her screwed up life, she absently picked at the silverweed, putting the petals and roots into her mouth, chewing and swallowing them. 

After this episode with Finola, Morgen didn’t want to go to school now.  She was not in the mood to deal with Selia.  It would be lovely to stay here forever and never have to leave this rock.  The lake was peaceful, almost hypnotizing.  The water mirrored the clouds in the sky with only soft ripples from the wind disturbing the surface.  Morgen breathed in the fresh fragrant air, and noticed her stomach no longer rumbled.  She looked down to see what was left of the silverweed in bits and pieces on the rock.  Morgen licked her lips. 

“Huh, I ate silverweed,” Morgen said to herself, half-smiling.  “It wasn’t so bad either. I’ll have to remember this next time Finola serves oatmeal.”  She still didn’t want to think about why she was unable to eat the oatmeal.  Maybe Finola is a bad cook.  She shivered.

As much as she hated the idea, she’d decided that she’d better go to school.  There’s no reason to let Finola, or Selia for that matter, ruin her education.  That is, if she ever wanted to leave this island.  She hopped off the rock. 

 

Drama:

The Question (original version) 

Cast:

Dr. White (female college instructor)

Jennifer (engine’s running but there’s nobody behind the wheel)

Alissa (question girl, always asks that one question that causes class to last another 45 minutes)

Daniel (chatty, enthusiastic, love struck newlywed that never comes to class without his laptop)

Devon (ready to take care of business and go)

Mary (Devon’s project partner, overachiever)

Concept: The plan to get out of class early goes awry when students come up with one way after another to waste time until class ends up letting out at the usual time.

Scene: Students are chatting with one another quietly, waiting for class to start.  Daniel is happily setting up his laptop and has turned on easy-listening music (Sunny 99.1 type stuff).  The music is playing softly, but not too softly.  Devon is sitting with her pen ready for note taking.  Dr. White walks in and goes straight to the podium. 

Dr. White (smiling brightly) - Good evening class!  How is everyone doing?

Jennifer (wide eyes) - My Katy is doing wonderfully! She can recognize the letter K now.  Everywhere we go, when she sees anything that starts with a K, she says, ‘Look, Mommy! That’s a K!’ It’s so sweet. (smile modestly)

Dr. White (still smiling) - Aw, that’s really great.  Tell me again how old she is?

Jennifer – She’s 3 and she has a play at school coming up.  We’re so excited.  Hopefully, she’ll stay on the stage this time.  Last time she went running off the stage and —

Dr. White – Aw, that’s really charming.  (looks at class) Well, today we’re going to get out early so let’s get busy with our discussion on different types of learners.

Alissa (turns to Daniel) - Didn’t you get married over Spring Break?

Daniel (excitedly) - YES! I’ve got pictures! I’ll put them up there! (points to screen, then types swiftly on laptop)

Dr. White – Ooo! I want to see them! (rushes to sit with students)

Devon (to herself) - So much for getting out early…what else is new…(sigh)

Mary (to Devon) - And Dude, I was thinkin’ about our project presentation thing that’s coming up in six weeks, and I thought we could use feature analysis as one of the strategies and —

Daniel (walks quickly over to computer and brings up photos on the screen) - OK, I’ll have them on here soon.

Alissa – Where did you go on your honeymoon?

Daniel – It was a bed-n-breakfast in the mountains.  It was just really awesome.  There was snow and we had the best room in the place.  There was this other couple there that wanted our room.  The best thing about this place was the food.  Steak for breakfast.  After they brought in the eggs and toast, like, 20 minutes later, they would bring in steaks and then fruit.

Devon (to herself) - The best part of your honeymoon was the food? Idiot.. (shakes head)

Alissa (to Daniel) - Are you serious?

Daniel – Oh yea! It was awesome! We never knew what we were going to have at every meal.  They just brought us food.  It was like a full course meal every time.  It was just so cool.

Devon (to herself) – “Full course meal?” What the…

Jennifer (squinty eyes, like she’s concentrating really hard) - So, OK, you never knew what was going to be served?  What if you weren’t able to finish the first course because you got full and then they brought in something really yummy for the second course?  How did you save room? Oh, that must be why it’s called a FULL course meal. (nods head knowingly)

Daniel (shrugs) - I didn’t have a problem.

Devon sighs and tosses her pen down.

Mary (to Devon) - I hope my friend that has a bulletin board will let me borrow it.  It’s got a hole in it, but that’s ok because we can cover it for the presentation.

Devon (to Mary) - Seriously, are you listening to this? (points to screen) I can’t believe this is being allowed to happen.  This class is long enough without Mr. Yakky taking up 45 minutes of class time talking about his stupid honeymoon.  Like I really care about this.  (sigh again)

Mary (looks at screen) (to Devon) - What’s going on? What are we looking at?

Devon (to Mary) - His honeymoon pictures.  He got married over Spring Break.  This is ridiculous.  I didn’t pay for this.  (crosses arms)

Mary - (to Devon) You’re joking. Why is he showing his honeymoon pictures?

Daniel – And this is when we were on the mountain.  It was cold.  See all the snow?

Dr. White – Wow, that’s really impressive.

Alissa – Is that a deer?

Daniel – Oh yea!! They were everywhere!! There’s one here. (clicks) And here’s one. (clicks) And, oh! Let me go back to that other picture of the trees. (clicks) No… (clicks) No… (clicks) Not this one either. (clicks) Here it is! See? There are three deer in this one!

Jennifer (wide eyes) - There were deer?

Devon groans.

Mary (to Devon) - Well, anyways, about our project, I was thinking we could use “Dinosaurs” as our category for the feature analysis and then demonstrate how students can use —

Daniel (jumping up and down in his seat and pointing at computer screen) - LOOK! Here’s a picture of my fia.. I mean, wife!!

Dr. White – Aw, she’s really pretty.

Daniel (clicks) – Here’s one of us together.  I hate my hair now. I used to have really long hair. Down to here. (points to shoulder) I miss my hair.  My wife hated it.  My hair looked better than hers.  I think that’s why she didn’t like it.  Girls used to always ask me how I got my hair to look so good.  They asked what shampoo I used.  I always told them that stuff you buy at the store, Suave.  But I had to cut it for the wedding.  (sighs dreamily) I’m a different person since the wedding.  Just ask my wife.

Devon (to herself) That’s funny, you still look like the same loser to me.

(2 hours and 10 minutes later – Daniel has finally finished showing his 5000 honeymoon photos and has returned to his desk.  He sits with his head buried in his laptop.  The music is still playing.  The class has had a 20-minute discussion on different types of learners.)

Dr. White – OK, so, before we go, I’d like us to take 2 minutes to go over our post-assessments that are due next week, just to make sure everyone is on the right track.  Who has a question for me?

(silence)

Dr. White – No one?

(Devon begins packing up her books)

Alissa – I have a question. 

(Devon pauses)

Dr. White – OK.

Alissa – How long is it supposed to be?

Dr. White (holds up index finger) - Just one page and make sure you include your qualitative observations.  You should also be starting to think about your project presentations that are due next month.  If no one has anything else, then that’s all we have for today. 

(Devon stands and begins packing up her books again)

Jennifer (looking blankly into space) – No…

Dr. White (looks at Jennifer) – I’m sorry?

Jennifer (still blank) - No… No… Oh! I’m sorry.

Dr. White – OK

Jennifer – I have a question…

(Devon drops her books on the table and plops into her chair)

Dr. White – What’s that?

Jennifer – I don’t know…

Devon (frustrated, to herself) – You have got to be kidding me.

Dr. White – You don’t know?

Jennifer – Sometimes I hear music.

(Class turns to Daniel.  He looks up from his laptop, and then quickly turns down the music.)

Jennifer – But sometimes I hear water running through pipes in the attic and no one else does.  My husband said we don’t even have water pipes up there.

Dr. White – (bewildered) Umm, OK… Do you still have a question?

(Devon’s knees shake, anxious to leave)            

Jennifer – No... I mean, yes... No... Wait… What’s a qualitative observation?

Dr. White – It’s kind of like a one-paragraph summary of your results from the post-assessment.

Jennifer – Post assessment?  (realization lights up her eyes) OH! POST assessment!!  You want us to post our assessment on a web page!  I was thinking you wanted a post-it note. 

Dr. White – No, I don’t want either.  I want your post-assessment.

Jennifer – (confused) Oh… post-assessment?

Dr. White – Yes.

Jennifer – (dawn slowly rises) As in the opposite of our pre-assessment that we did 2 weeks ago?

Dr. White – You got it!

Jennifer – (excited) OK! I got it!  If anyone has questions, call me cuz I got it!

Alissa (to Jennifer) – I have a question!      

(Devon walks out in a huff)

 

Theme: Sometimes people can monopolize gatherings with unnecessary stories or questions.

---

            My drama piece plagued me until I finally had my ideas straight.  I listened to conversations and paid attention to everything I could in order to pick up personality types and authentic dialogue.  My inspiration finally came one Thursday night as I sat in class anxiously waiting to be released from a very stressful night.  This is a class where I have to tutor a high school student and that particular evening I had been ripped to shreds by my student’s mother so I was feeling spiteful.  This class is full of interesting personalities that often spew even more interesting verbal tidbits.  Usually I am a very pleasant and eager student that would stay until the wee hours of the morning if the instructor suggested, but by 9:30 that evening, I was so drained and exhausted from the earlier altercation that I just wanted to go home.  It seemed that no matter how close we came to leaving, someone else would come up with some reason why we should continue to rehash the lecture.  At any rate, I began to write down everything that the two most note-worthy individuals had to say.  My drama developed from there. 

            My drama’s theme holds true for any situation.  What I mean is it does not just happen in the classroom as the concept suggests.  During any type of social situation, there is always someone who would tell stories or ask questions until the person next to them died of boredom.  My drama is about those people. 

            The reaction from the class was positive.  I received some wonderful suggestions and have incorporated most of them.  Due to the wonderful suggestions, I feel The Question is well developed and polished.

The Question (final version)

Cast:

Dr. White (female college instructor)

Jennifer (engine’s running but there’s nobody behind the wheel)

Alissa (question girl, always asks that one question that causes class to last another 45 minutes)

Daniel (chatty, enthusiastic, love struck newlywed that never comes to class without his laptop)

Devon (ready to take care of business and go)

Mary (Devon’s project partner, overachiever)

 

Concept: The plan to get out of class early goes awry when students come up with one way after another to waste time until class ends up letting out at the usual time.

 

Scene: Students are chatting with one another quietly, waiting for class to start.  Daniel is happily setting up his laptop and has turned on easy-listening music (Sunny 99.1 type stuff).  The music is playing softly, but not too softly.  Devon is sitting with her pen ready for note taking.  Dr. White walks in and goes straight to the podium.

 

Dr. White (smiling brightly) - Good evening class!  How is everyone doing?

 

Jennifer (wide eyes) - My Katy is doing wonderfully! She can recognize the letter K now.  Everywhere we go, when she sees anything that starts with a K, she says, ‘Look, Mommy! That’s a K!’ It’s so sweet. (smile modestly)

 

Dr. White (still smiling) - Aw, that’s really great.  Tell me again how old she is?

 

Jennifer – She’s 3 and she has a play at school coming up.  We’re so excited.  Hopefully, she’ll stay on the stage this time.  Last time she went running off the stage and —

 

Dr. White – Aw, that’s really charming.  (looks at class) Well, today we’re going to get out early so let’s get busy with our discussion on different types of learners.

 

Devon (to Mary) – Awesome.  I have had a really horrible day so far, and I am ready for Calgon to take me away.

 

Mary (to Devon) – Yea, as long as no one asks any questions, we ought to be outta here pretty quick. 

 

Alissa (turns to Daniel) - Didn’t you get married over Spring Break?

 

Devon (to herself) – Ah crap!

 

Daniel (excitedly) - YES! I’ve got pictures! I’ll put them up there! (points to screen, then types swiftly on laptop)

 

Dr. White – Ooo! I want to see them! (rushes to sit with students)

 

Devon (to herself) - So much for getting out early…what else is new…(sigh)

 

Mary (to Devon) - Dude, I was thinkin’ about our project presentation thing that’s coming up in six weeks, and I thought we could use feature analysis as one of the strategies and —

 

Daniel (walks quickly over to computer and brings up photos on the screen) - OK, I’ll have them on here soon.

 

Alissa – Where did you go on your honeymoon?

 

Daniel – It was a bed-n-breakfast in the mountains.  It was just really awesome.  There was snow and we had the best room in the place.  There was this other couple there that wanted our room.  The best thing about this place was the food.  Steak for breakfast.  Filet cuts… medium rare… mmm… uh, anyway, after they brought in the eggs and toast, like, 20 minutes later, they would bring in steaks, mmm… and then fruit. 

 

Devon (to herself) - The best part of your honeymoon was the food? Idiot.. (shakes head)

Alissa (to Daniel) - Are you serious?

 

Daniel – Oh yea! It was awesome! We never knew what we were going to have at every meal.  They just brought us food.  Lots and lots of food… It was like a full course meal every time.  It was just so cool.

 

Devon (to herself) – “Full course meal?” What the…

 

Jennifer (squinty eyes, like she’s concentrating really hard) - So, OK, you never knew what was going to be served?  What if you weren’t able to finish the first course because you got full and then they brought in something really yummy for the second course?  How did you save room? Oh, that must be why it’s called a FULL course meal. (nods head knowingly)

 

Daniel (shrugs) - I didn’t have a problem.

                

Devon sighs and tosses her pen down.

 

Mary (to Devon) - I hope my friend that has a bulletin board will let me borrow it.  It’s got a hole in it, but that’s ok because we can cover it for the presentation.

 

Devon (to Mary) - Seriously, are you listening to this? (points to screen) I can’t believe this is being allowed to happen.  This class is long enough without Mr. Yakky taking up 45 minutes of class time talking about his stupid honeymoon.  Like I really care about this.  (sigh again)

 

Mary (looks at screen) (to Devon) - What’s going on? What are we looking at?

 

Devon (to Mary) - His honeymoon pictures.  He got married over Spring Break.  This is ridiculous.  I didn’t pay for this.  (crosses arms)

 

Mary - (to Devon) You’re joking. Why is he showing his honeymoon pictures?

 

Daniel – And this is when we were on the mountain.  It was cold.  See all the snow?

 

Dr. White – Wow, that’s really impressive. 

 

Alissa – Is that a deer?

 

Daniel – Oh yea!! They were everywhere!! There’s one here. (clicks) And here’s one. (clicks) And, oh! Let me go back to that other picture of the trees. (clicks) No… (clicks) No… (clicks) Not this one either. (clicks) Here it is! See? There are three deer in this one!

 

Jennifer (wide eyes) - There were deer?

 

Devon groans.

 

Mary (to Devon) - Well, anyways, about our project, I was thinking we could use “Dinosaurs” as our category for the feature analysis and then demonstrate how students can use —

 

Daniel (jumping up and down in his seat and pointing at computer screen) - LOOK! Here’s a picture of my fia.. I mean, wife!!

 

Dr. White – Aw, she’s really pretty.

 

Daniel (clicks) – Here’s one of us together.  I hate my hair now. I used to have really long hair. Down to here. (points to shoulder) I miss my hair.  My wife hated it.  My hair looked better than hers.  I think that’s why she didn’t like it.  Girls used to always ask me how I got my hair to look so good.  They asked what shampoo I used.  I always told them that stuff you buy at the store, Suave.  But I had to cut it for the wedding.  (sighs dreamily) I’m a different person since the wedding.  Just ask my wife.

 

Devon (to herself) That’s funny, you still look like the same loser to me.

 

(Devon puts her head down.)

 

(2 hours and 10 minutes later – Daniel has finally finished showing his 5000 honeymoon photos and has returned to his desk.  He sits with his head buried in his laptop.  The music is still playing.)

 

Dr. White – Well, I thought we’d discuss different types of learners, but we’re out of time. Before we go, I’d like us to take 2 minutes to go over our post-assessments that are due next week, just to make sure everyone is on the right track.  Who has a question for me?

 

(silence, except for Billy Ocean’s “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” streaming from Daniel’s laptop)

 

Dr. White – No one?

 

(Devon begins packing up her books)

 

Alissa – I have a question. 

 

(Devon pauses)

 

Dr. White – OK.

 

Alissa – How long is it supposed to be?

 

Dr. White (holds up index finger) - Just one page and make sure you include your qualitative observations.  You should also be starting to think about your project presentations that are due next month.  If no one has anything else, then that’s all we have for today. 

 

(Devon stands and begins packing up her books again)

 

Jennifer (looking blankly into space) – No…

 

Dr. White (looks at Jennifer) – I’m sorry?

 

Jennifer (still blank) – What if… No… Oh! I’m sorry.

 

Dr. White – OK

 

Jennifer – I have a question…

 

Devon (drops her books on the table and plops into her chair; to herself) – Of course you do!

 

Dr. White – What’s that?

 

Jennifer – I don’t know…

 

Devon (frustrated, to herself) – You have got to be kidding me.

 

Dr. White – You don’t know?

 

Jennifer – Sometimes I hear music.

 

(Class turns to Daniel.  He looks up from his laptop, and then quickly turns down the music.)

 

Jennifer – But sometimes I hear water running through pipes in the attic and no one else does.  My husband said we don’t even have water pipes up there.

 

Dr. White – (bewildered) Umm, OK… Do you still have a question?

 

(Devon’s knees shake, anxious to leave)            

 

Jennifer – No... I mean, yes... Wait… What’s a qualitative observation?

 

Dr. White – It’s kind of like a one-paragraph summary of your results from the post-assessment.

 

Jennifer – Post assessment?  (realization lights up her eyes) OH! POST assessment!!  You want us to post our assessment on a web page!  I was thinking you wanted a post-it note. 

 

Dr. White – No, I don’t want either.  I want your post-assessment.

 

Jennifer – (confused) Oh… post-assessment?

 

Dr. White – Yes.

 

Jennifer – (dawn slowly rises) As in the opposite of our pre-assessment that we did 2 weeks ago?

 

Dr. White – You got it!

 

Jennifer – (excited) OK! I got it!  If anyone has questions, call me cuz I got it!

 

Alissa (to Jennifer) – I have a question!

 

Devon – Argh!! No more questions!! I’m out of here!             

 

(Devon walks out in a huff)

 

Theme: Sometimes people can monopolize gatherings with unnecessary stories or questions.

 

Summary:

            In conclusion, I feel I have improved in numerous ways this semester.  One look at my poetry, the weakest of all three genres for me, proves that I have shown progress.  This has been my favorite class this semester.  Even if I did not have something to share, I still looked forward to hearing everyone else’s work during each class.  I was eager to help and be helped. 

            The workshop setting is definitely beneficial to students and writers.  Although I was extremely worried at first, by the time it was my turn to read fiction, my worries had dissolved because I had seen that there were others struggling with the same issues I was.  My mind was put at ease. 

            This class has allowed me to spread my writing wings and test them out.  I have wanted to write and have a fiction piece published, and now I feel much more confidant that I can accomplish this. 

            I will be taking what I learn and doing just that.  I will finish Water Fairy and attempt to publish it.  In addition, I will be incorporating all that I have learned into a writer’s workshop segment of the English class I plan to teach after graduation.  I feel high school students could benefit from this type of setting just as well as university students, if not more so.  The workshop setting gets the students communicating and learning from one another.  A creative writing class would never work in a lecture format.  I just cannot imagine trying to learn and develop as a writer without having genuine, on-the-spot feedback from my peers. 

            I feel I responded well to all three segments of the course, although more so with fiction and drama.  This may be because poetry is at the beginning and I was still nervous at that point, or it may be that poetry is not my strongest area.  I have found when writing that if I walk away from a piece and give myself and the piece some distance, I can then return to it with a fresh mind to revise for the better.  It never fails.  Some genres need more space than others.  My fiction usually only needs a day, but my drama needs at least a week, while my poetry needs about a month.  It may have a lot to do with taking the pressure off of myself enough to clearly visualize what I’m trying to say in my piece. 

            Finally, I love writing and I love reading and I want to encourage others to find out what they are missing.  Those that are not reading will definitely not enjoy writing.  The two go hand in hand.  Before this semester, I was reading about three times as much as I was writing.  Now, however, I can say that I am writing about three times as much as I am reading.  I am anxious to create my own stories.  When I read, now, I recognize what the author is doing as they write.  It is like taking apart a clock and seeing what makes it tick.  Only I do not have to dismantle the book, I just have to read to be able to see beyond the words into the author’s mind.  I feel like it is a gift I have received.  I feel giddy every time I read something and this new ability shows itself.  It is almost like becoming Superman.  Able to leap tall stories in a single bound. 

            Whether I get to publish Water Fairy or not, I will finish it and move on to the next faithful little soldier.  They are all still marching in time in my mind.  Each one waiting for their turn to step forth and claim the limelight. 

 

Appendix A

Online Student Exchange

Audra,

 

Hello, I'm your contact for this week.  I don't know if you remember, but we had Shakespeare together last semester.  When we did our group demonstrations, you and I both played Benedick.  My group was the one Leonato had white curly ribbon on her chin, and Don Pedro was wearing a princess crown.  Anyway, there were alot of people in that class, and I sat on the other side of the room from you, so I can't blame you if you don't.  :)  The only reason I remember you is because you were pregnant. :) 

 

Well, Here's what we did in Monday's class (btw, I apologize for the length of this email, but we had a really interesting class and I wanted to make sure you got everything):

 

First we went over some business.  Poetry submissions dues by Wednesday (yesterday, but you've already turned yours in :), Dr. White will respond via email and you can reply to him w/questions, follow-up comments, etc., you can also request more feedback.  Next week, we have reading assignments (Ch. 14, 15, 16) and we will be starting our fiction presentations which we will be doing for the next 4 weeks.  I a bit anxious and excited about the fiction because it's my favorite of the 3 genres.  I know my piece needs work, and I'm wondering what everyone's going to say about it. :) 

 

Then, we had a guest speaker.  Christina Hergenrader, M.A. She has a master's degree in Literature from UHCL. Her website is www.christinasbooks.com.  We started out by introducing ourselves and then she told us how she started writing.  She wrote devotions for her high school students while she was teaching at a private school.  She also wrote a creative thesis which she wanted to get published.  She now writes a Young Adult series and some other inspirational works.  She's a full-time writer and part-time teacher at UHCL.  She also writes a column for teachers.  She talked about what it takes to be a writer.  You have to love it, have some talent, and WORK HARD!  (the more you do it, the better you'll become)  You have to tell a story that the audience can react to.  The goal (whether it be getting published or whatever) is worth the perserverance you put into it.  Don't abandon your work, you have to finish it.  Writing is not fun all the time, it's hard work, if you're not enjoying it, that's part of the hard work.  Write everyday.  You won't always feel inspired, but just keep doing it and the inspiration will come.  Writing/reading can lead to self-discovery and reflection.  If you don't have time to write, make the time.  There are no rules to writing.  She gave us a handout about 3 ways to improve your writing lifestyle.  First, collaborate (continue meeting w/your critique group from this class, start a new critique group - sharing enables you to grow, find an interested audience & write a book or poem for them, enter contests - great for exposure & feedback, attend conferences, join professional author's group - she's a member of Romance Writers of America, if a contest director/agent/editor suggests a change, strongly consider their suggestions - they usually know what they're talking about, discuss good writing w/others, join local Great Books Discussion Group at www.greatbooks.org).  Second, observe (read/watch what others are reading, attend poetry and fiction readings, pay attention to authors who write and houses that publish the books you enjoy, eavesdrop on other's conversations - good for dialogue, take note of what news stories seem to grip your intended audience and then ask yourself why that is, subscribe to Publisher's Lunch at www.caderbooks.com to learn about who is being published, what agents represent them, what houses are buying, and how much authors are getting paid). Third, believe (always trust that writing is important - encourage this in future students, start behaving as a professional author, even if you're not published yet - see www.teralynnchilds.com for an example, set a daily writing goal and meet it, find the most creative time of day for you and make a standing appointment w/yourself to write, submit what you write to agents and publishers, subscribe to NPR's The Writer's Almanac at www.writersalmanac.org for daily inspiration.

 

She says you can contact her through her website (see above).

 

After Christina was gone, we discussed more business.  We discussed last week's online student report between you and Bonnie.  Then we talked about the Final Exam. You can take the final in class or online during the time period.  You are supposed to describe our learning experience from the class, mostly concerning the 3 Genres book.  This is on pg. 14 of the syllabus.  We need to make references to the assigned readings, keep up w/our quizzes and they will help us remember what we thought about during certain aspects of the text.

 

We went on to review the readings from last week.  We looked at #3 from the 2/14/05 quiz.  It was from Ch. 12.  "Tell something you learned from the textbook regarding the relationship between fact and fiction in creative prose writing."  Pg. 160 - middle paragraph, "Using personal...." helps to elaborate the point that writing fiction is a balancing act.  You have to keep one foot in the circle of the familiar and 1 foot reaching out.  Sometimes authors go to the extreme with exotic locations, terrorists, bombs, etc. The audience has no schema for these things.  Or they will do the exact opposite and write too familiarly.  It becomes boring. For instance, "when I first sat up in bed, I put on my glasses, then my slippers.  I stood up."  You get the idea. The 2 extremes are uninteresting.  You have to balance the 2. Edit out the boring stuff.  Authors should start with the familiar and change it a little.  For instance, if you know someone that had an experience as a 10 year old girl, write about what the experience would be like to a 14 year old boy.  This is transformation (pg. 163) - changing facts to fiction.  I found this very interesting because I always have this thought in the back of my head that I'll run out of storylines or ideas, but now I know I could create endless storylines with this information.  I can take any little incident that could happen any day and change it a bit, then BOOM story.  Pg 164 - psychic transformation - not getting hung up on factual world.  Pg. 155 - creating fresh material using your own life which is original and unique. Take what you know and add invention.  I really liked in the book when it talked about taking people you know and changing them just enough so if they read your story they won't recognize themselves. :) 

 

Anyway, that's pretty much it.  I'm sorry if it took you 3 hours to read this email. :)  Please email back with questions or if you just want to comment on something.  I would like a response to share with the class on Monday. :)  Well, thanks and I'll talk to you soon,

 

Jennifer Jones (email 2-24-05)

 

---

Wow, I will say this is the most informative email I have received yet. I sure wish I could have been  their to hear Christina speak. I know it was informative and helpful to those who were there. I don’t know if I am at the point to want to write as an author to be published. I enjoy writing sometimes, but I do agree it is hard work. I hope to never give up writing, but I don’t believe I want to be a published writer.  I am nervous about my fiction as well. I’m trying to get it to a point that I can email it out and get some feed back. I think that I need to add a little more excitement to my work, it is a little too….. normal or regular. And like the book says this leads to a boring reader. Anyways, I’m not sure what else to respond with. I don’t really know what to ask about Christina other than; what classes does she teach at UHCL? 

Audra (email 2-25-05)

 

---

Ok guys, I am in great need of critiques here. I got a little confused on everything thing and am not sure what I’m doing. I am trying to go off of examples from the webpage. So please let me know if I have left out any requirements while you are reading for critique.  Thanks, Audra (email 4-22-05)

 

---

Audra,

 

Your play is really good! As a mother of two, I can totally relate to the entire scenario.  I was wondering why your husband rang the doorbell though.. Rather than just entering the house. 

 

In class, we are required to name our characters the same names as people in the class and use a classroom setting.  I guess your classroom setting would be your house, so what you did looks like it would work. :)  Your theme sentence looks really good.  I had a hard time with mine and I'm still not sure if it's right. 

 

I really loved how your character, even after she had the entire afternoon to work on her paper, rearranged the bedroom.  That is totally something I would do.  It was a good way of adding depth to the character.  It's hard to add depth to characters in drama because the audience only gets to know the characters through stage direction and dialogue.  You really did a great job of doing that with Audra character. 

 

Good Luck!

Jennifer (email 4-22-05)

 

 

Appendix B:

Additional Draft Exchanges

Alissa/Jennifer:

Alissa

 Ok, here goes - you're poem is really visual, which I liked alot! :)  I love the "glittering oil gently glides over my golden skin" line... it's got alliteration and imagery.  The entire poem is full of pictures.  I think that's really effective. 

 

I have a few ideas that you may or may not like. 

 

1. The line about the guys.  To me, the word "march" has this soldier image to it.  On a beach, I imagine guys strutting.  ya know? Strutting down the shore, like peacocks or roosters.  So, there's the option of using "Guys strut, gazing for girls" or even "Guys stride, gazing for girls"  (I don't know if you want punctuation in that line, but I just added it to emphasize where I am having a natural pause.  You may not want the pause there.)  I like strut because of its connotation, but I like stride because it's internal rhyme. guys and stride sound similar.  Stride has more of a glide meaning to me.  It depends on what you're trying to say about the guys.

 

2. "Whirling their heads when wanting" - What about "Whirling their heads with wanting" ?? Depending on if you want to say the guys only turn their heads when they want to (like when they see a hot chick) or if the guys turn their heads because they see a hot chick and they want her.  For some reason when I read that line, I automatically wanted to say "with" instead of "when." 

 

3. "Other beach bunnies bop by" - great alliteration! :)  Would it be too much to say "Beautiful beach bunnies bop by" ??

 

4. "Washing waste on the shore" - I like the alliteration, but the part about waste kind of messes with the happy, golden, sparkling visual.  What about "Washing seashells on the shore" ?? you keep the alliteration because of the "sh" sounds. 

 

Anyway, that's all I can think of.  I hope this is helpful.  I really think your poem is great because it's something everyone can relate to and imagine in their minds. 

 

Ok, well, I'll see you Monday.  I hope you have a good Sunday! :) 

 

Jennifer (email 2-15-05)

 

---

Here is my fiction piece.

 

Alissa (email 3-19-05)

 

---

Alissa,

 

I'm addicted.. I want to see him woo her back... It's going to take some work!! :) It's really good.  I made some suggestions about putting a little more action during their conversation.  Just little stuff.  I was imagining them doing things during the conversation.. body language and I just wanted to let you know what it was.  email or call if you have any questions or if you want to tell me that I ruined your story.  Ok.. see ya Monday! 

 

Jennifer (email 3-19-05)

 

---

Thanks for looking at it.  I will definitely make the changes you suggested.  I appreciate it.

 

Alissa (email 3-19-05)

 

---

 

Karen/Jennifer

I know I am sending this out a little late but if some of you would read it and tell me what you think, make suggestions, etc...I would appreciate it.  Audra, I know I need yours for the exchange.  This is sort of a personal story so if it is boring or stupid, sorry up front. Thanks!

 

 

Karen Daniel (email 3-29-05)

 

---

 

Karen,

 

Very nice work!!!!!  I love it!!! I'm sending it back with a couple things highlighted in green.  I do have one suggestion though.  I like the jump forward to graduation at the end, but I was wondering if you could put something at the beginning about the graduation too.  Like maybe the mom is sitting there, waiting for the event to start or watching her daughter and thinking back to that day at the carnival.  Then go into the carnival thing, and end with the same ending at the graduation.  Does that make sense?  That is such a sweet story.  You captured the moment perfectly.  I felt like I was there and experiencing it, which is exactly what you want a reader to do. :)  Well done!!

 

Jennifer (email 3-30-05)

 

---

Thanks Jennifer!  I am just thrilled that people seem to like it.  I have never written any sort of story before.  It was sort of fun.

I thought some about opening at the graduation but I really can't think of how to do it.  Any suggestions?  Maybe just sitting and describing the atmosphere or the physical surroundings like I do at the opening of this one? 

 

Karen Daniel (3-30-05)

 

---

Yea, like, describe the surroundings, the uncomfortable chairs, etc., looking over at the daughter, how she looks (physically and emotionally - is she nervous? does she look excited?), what it took for her to get here, thinking back on her childhood in reverse.  how fast it went by, high school was a blur, ... blah blah.. or she's always been a winner, like when she played sports or a musical instrument in high school and won the spelling bee in junior high and excelled in something else (dance or little league) in elementary school... "As I sit here and reminisce about my daughter, I especially remember when she set the precedent for the rest of her childhood."   You could write that line better than me, but I'm just trying to give you an idea. :) Well, I hope this helps.  Your story is really great and I can't imagine you not getting an A on it just the way it is.  I think you could get it published in a literary magazine.  Seriously.  :)  I hope you don't give up on it because there are plenty of people that would get enjoyment from it. 

 

See ya Monday,

Jennifer (4-30-05)

---

Hey, I know you are both as busy as me but if you get a minute could you check out the changes, especially at the beginning, and see if it still flows okay?  Thanks so much for the suggestions you both gave me! 

 

Karen Daniel (email 4-5-05)

 

---

AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Karen, you did a wonderful job.  :)  I had tears at the end!!  Thank you for sharing that with me.  :) 

Jennifer (email 4-5-05)

 

Andrea/Jennifer:

I choose four people to review this manuscruipt just in case the other two are to busy to get to it. I sure hopw someone else has doen this before-becuz I am not sure what is required. THe title is In too Deep. The attachment consist of the prologue and the first two chapters.  There are a total of seven chapters completed but I didn't want to give the story away. 

 

Any advise is appreciated! BUT PLEASE CHECK MY TENSES-Everyone sees how bad a am at languages. THank you girls

 

Andrea Cox (email 3-15-05)

 

---

Andrea,

 

What a great mystery!! Reminds me of CSI... I'm a fanatic for that show. 

 

I'm sending you my critique of things *I* would change.  You can definitely take them or leave them.  It's up to you. :)  Everything I changed is pink and highlighted green. 

 

I had a little confusion at the beginning, though, because you talk about one girl getting killed and then talk about Megan's "body" and I was thrown at first, but I figured it out... I think my problem was that when someone says "body" I think dead.  You weren't using it that way though.. :) 

 

About the "stood six foot six" part and the "stood 5'10" part... I'm not sure but I didn't know if "stood" was the right word... You'll see when you look. 

 

This is your fiction you're submitting for class right?  You definitely have to finish it.  I want to know what happens. 

 

I hope this is all useful information.  I was really totally honest, I know I appreciate it when people are with me.  I appreciated you telling me what you did before my fiction reading, so I wanted to help as much as I could.  Please let me know if you have questions.  Thanks for letting me read it!  :)  It's really captivating!

 

See ya Monday,

Jennifer (email 3-17-05)

 

---

I have to do the manuscript for this piece but read the drama out loud. Thanks for your input I am definitely making some changes.  See you Monday

 

Andrea (email 3-19-05)

 

Mary/Jennifer:

 

Ok please be very honest, and I know the grammar is going to be bad, but I tired.  I need all of the help I can get.  I am not sure if I should have cut the story where I did.  Ok enjoy and please send me any ideas thoughts or just you didn't care.

 

Enjoy

 

Mary Kay (email 3-28-05)

 

---

Mary,

 

Ok, I really like your story! I could feel the anxiety and there were some really hilarious moments.  Thanks for sharing it with me.  :)  I think you should say more about the mom thing.  Maybe develop that as a thread throughout the story.  I made some suggestions... There were lots of punctuation issues which I'm sure you knew.  Everything I suggested in pink with green highlights.  I hope you don't get freaked out by all the green, but remember that alot of it is my own personal comments that I wanted to insert.  Anyway, I hope you get something from my help.

 

Jennifer (email 3-29-05)

 

Appendix C:

Water Fairy (updated chapters 2 & 3, chapter 4 draft)

Chapter 2

            It was lunchtime and since the thought of smelling warm meat held absolutely no appeal, Morgen decided to sit in the library and read for half an hour.  The library also seemed like a safe place to avoid Selia Banning.  For some reason, Selia did not seem like the reading type.

She had chosen a book on gardening in the hopes that she could create a little flowerbed at Finola’s house.  Her favorite flower of all was heather, but her father had never permitted her to have it.  Heather blooms look like miniature cups.  When she was little, she used to imagine a tiny tea party with her dolls using the next-door neighbor’s heather blooms as the teacups.  Morgen was thinking of getting some heather for her garden when she heard a girl’s voice say, “You may have trouble getting anything to grow here.”

Morgen looked up to see a pleasant looking girl with strawberry blonde curls and a round face standing over her. 

“Why?” Morgen pondered.

“Because it rains too much.  In fact, you’ll be lucky to get anything to grow.  Except maybe mold.” The girl sat down next to Morgen and extended her hand, “Hi, I’m Glenda.”

She shook her hand, “I’m Morgen.”

“Yea, I know,” Glenda smiled. “So, are you into flowers then?”

“Yes, they’re beautiful.  I thought Ireland was covered in grass. You know, Emerald Isle.”  Morgen began to feel uncomfortable.  She wondered why this girl was talking to her.  Was she going to make fun of her too?  Call her a bookworm or a freak?  She closed the gardening book, and began to fidget in her seat.  She looked around the library as her knee began to bob up and down.  She looked back at Glenda.  Why was Glenda being nice to her?

“Yes, this is the Emerald Isle, but good luck seeing any flowers around here,” Glenda sighed.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this village is covered in mud.”

“Not completely,” Morgen slipped.  Darn.  She had promised herself she’d keep the lake a secret.  It was going to be her private place.  Oh well, so much for that.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s this lake.  It’s surrounded by flowers.  Beautiful flowers in all directions.  Some of them aren’t supposed to be there,” Morgen explained. 

“Oh, right. I know where that is,” Glenda said, nodding.  “No one ever goes there unless they’re invited by Selia.  It’s her mother’s land.  It’s been in their family for ages.” 

“Oh,” Morgen felt crushed.  She had hopes of going there again.  Selia was a horrible girl; she’d never let Morgen visit the lake.  “So, are you friends with Selia?”

Glenda shuddered. “Of course not!  She’s a disgusting cow! That was horrible what she did to you the other day.  I mean, what difference does it make that you have a boy’s name?  Honestly, no one cares about that stuff except her and that lack wit Alyson Vaughn.”

“Which one is she?” Morgen felt a little deflated that Glenda also thought she had a boy’s name, but at the same time didn’t want to show how relieved she was that everyone didn’t hate her. 

“She’s the pillowcase that follows Selia around.  Blonde.” 

“Oh yeah.  I saw her.  She sounds like a baboon when she laughs,” Morgen smiled.

“No doubt!” Glenda laughed. “Hey, you want to come ‘round my house this afternoon? My mum’s making rhubarb fool today.  She always makes too much and lets my brother and me stuff ourselves.”

“Ok. Sure. Wait… what is rhubarb fool?” Morgen cringed inside.  She hoped “fool” wasn’t Irish for disgusting.

“It’s like American pudding.  Sort of like a custard.  You dip biscuits, I mean cookies, into it.  It’s delicious!  Really! And you’ll get to meet my brother,” Glenda added.

“Oh! How old is he?” Morgen asked.  She imagined a cute little curly headed preschooler.

“He’s 17.  He’s going to UCD next year and he thinks he’s totally mature, but he’s totally wrong.” Glenda rolled her eyes.

“What’s UCD?” Morgen asked.

“University College Dublin.  He’s getting top points so he’ll probably get a scholarship or something,” Glenda shrugged.  “So will you come?”

She thought it would be wonderful to go to Glenda’s house.  Although she was a bit worried about the rhubarb fool, she had never received many invitations before and coupled with the thought of not going back to Finola’s immediately after school seemed like more than Morgen could hope for.  She accepted.

“Great!” Glenda shouted.  A glare and a shush from the librarian had both girls in silent giggles as they got up and left the library to head back to class. 

 

Later, during French, Morgen’s last class of the day, Mrs. Armande assigned a translation of Dr. Seuss’ Hop on Pop.  She knew as soon as she met Mrs. Armande that she was the type of teacher that accepted no excuses.  Although she was as dark headed and bronzed as her ancestors who came directly from the Mediterranean, her attire did not speak of sand and salt sea air.  She dressed as uptight as a Wall Street executive.  She was all business with no pleasure and cracked the whip when it came to her classroom and her native language. 

Morgen was tackling the assignment one word at a time when someone tapped her hard on the shoulder.  She looked up into the fierce brown eyes of Selia. 

“Give me your pen,” Selia murmured.

Morgen looked at her pen and back at Selia.

“My pen?” she asked.

“Yea, your pen,” Selia demandingly thrust out her hand. 

Feeling empowered by her newly found friendship with Glenda, Morgen responded defiantly, “No. Get your own pen.”  She turned back to her assignment. 

Just then, Mrs. Armande looked up and asked in a thick Parisian accent, “Miss Banning, what is going on here?  Why are you not translating?”

Selia turned toward the teacher and innocently replied, “I’m sorry, Miss.  I was just about finished with my translation when the new student took my pen.  I kindly asked her to please return it, Miss, but she said no and that if I wanted my pen back, I was going to have to announce to the class…  No, I’m sorry, Miss, but I can’t say it. I’ll go back to my desk and finish my translation for homework.”  Selia sighed deeply and turned sullenly toward her chair, which was two seats behind Morgen’s.

“Selia Banning, stop right there and tell me what was said,” Mrs. Armande said as she stood up from her desk.

Selia turned slowly and with a melodramatic look said, “All right Miss, if you insist, but I’ve warned you that it is really nasty.” Selia glanced quickly in Morgen’s direction then back at Mrs. Armande before continuing.  “She said that I would have to say that French is a dull language and that all citizens of France are thick oafs.”  Selia looked at Morgen and said, “How can you make me say such a thing.  I love the French language, and Mrs. Armande is French herself! You’re a mean, spiteful girl Morgen!”  Selia turned around again to go to her desk, but as she did she caught Morgen’s eyes and winked. 

Morgen was mortified.  With wide eyes, she looked at Mrs. Armande, awaiting her assessment of the situation.  Mrs. Armande looked at her as though daggers shot from her eyes.  And then, without even asking for Morgen’s side of the story, Mrs. Armande pointed to the door and roared, “Sortez d'ici!” 

“But…” Morgen stammered.  She couldn’t believe Mrs. Armande just ordered her out of the room.  This is not happening, she thought.

“Tout de suite! I do not want to see you in my classroom! You will spend the remainder of your last class in the hallway until further notice. Allez!”

“Mrs. Armande, I didn’t tell Selia that,” Morgen faltered.

“The only thing I want to hear from you is your footsteps as you leave my class!”

Morgen, with tears welling in her eyes, packed up her things and walked toward the door.  Before she could reach the door, Mrs. Armande grabbed Morgen’s pen from her and said, “You won’t be needing this.” 

Morgen went outside the classroom and sat on the floor in the hallway.  No longer able to hold back the tears, they poured forth for the second time that day.  I want to go home, she thought, I want my dad.  Morgen’s dad could always fix everything.  It never failed.  He had always been there for her, but not anymore.  He wouldn’t ever be there again. 

Morgen tried to console herself in the way her dad would have done.  She wiped her face with her sleeve, stood up and told herself, “This is nothing.  I will not let her get to me.  Selia Banning is not going to ruin things for me.  I’m going to Glenda’s today, and I’m going to have a good time.”  She took a deep breath.

Just then, Mrs. Armande walked out of the classroom.  A trickle of fear ran down Morgen’s back.  What was the teacher going to say? 

“Miss Shanley,” Mrs. Armande began, “I want you to know that I will not tolerate misconduct in my classroom.  We are here to learn, not cause a disturbance.  I am sure this change has been difficult for you, but that is no excuse for such a display.  You will have to finish your translation for homework. You will not be receiving full points for today’s assignment, but perhaps you should have thought of that before your little episode. Now, you may come back into the classroom and spend the remainder of the day with your head on your desk.”

This is exactly how Morgen spent the rest of class.  With her head on her desk, she had time to think and ponder how she would exact revenge on Selia.  Morgen wasn’t usually one to seek vengeance, but there was a first time for everything, and Morgen was suddenly feeling very vengeful.

She thought of starting a rumor about Selia.  A really evil rumor that would totally disgust people, like that she chewed her toenails or that she had facial hair.  Those could be easily proven wrong, though.  No, she needed something better.  It had to be something really vicious. 

Cringing with the sound of the ringing bell, Morgen sat up and realized it was time to go.  She would have to make plans for Selia later because right now she was going to look for Glenda.  A brief thought of letting Finola know where she was going to be passed in then out of her head without much consideration.  She knew she should tell Finola, but she didn’t want to. 

Morgen walked out of the school building, and saw Glenda standing next to a tree, waving.  Morgen smiled and waved back, then half jogged toward her.

“You ready?” Glenda asked.

“Yep.”

They walked to Glenda’s house, chattering the entire way.  Morgen found out that she and Glenda liked the same music and movies.  Glenda was totally in love with the guy that starred in Agent Cody Banks, Frankie Muniz.

“Wait until you see my room,” she said. “He’s everywhere!”  Glenda smiled. “Well, here we are. Come on in and meet Mum.”

They turned into a small yard that was in front of a two-story house. It’s lovely, Morgen thought. 

The girls walked through the door into a bright hallway.  Morgen began to feel nervous.  She wondered if Glenda’s mom would like her. 

“Mum’s probably back here. Come on.” Glenda led the way down the hall into a large open kitchen where a woman stood chopping carrots.

“Hey Mum. This is Morgen Shanley.  She’s new here and she’s American,” Glenda leaned forward a bit as she said that last word.  Her mother looked up sharply and Morgen could instantly see the resemblance between her and Glenda.  They had the same round face and shoulder-length strawberry blonde curls.  Glenda’s mom, however, was older and slightly plumper. She put down the knife, wiped her hands on her apron and walked around the counter to the girls, smiling.

“Well, hello Morgen,” she said as she held out her hand. “Goodness, that’s an odd name for a girl, don’t you think?  I’m Eilene Lawler.  How are you liking Ireland then? Are you adjusting ok? What part of the states are you from?  How is it you came to be in Ireland?  Are you Irish? What is your mother’s name? Do I know her?”  Morgen shook hands with her in a state of awe.  So many questions in so little time. 

“Mum! Slow down, you’ll scare her off.” Glenda gave Morgen an apologetic look.

Just then, Morgen heard the front door open and close.

“That’s probably your brother,” Mrs. Lawler said. “He’ll be wanting something to eat, and I’ve made too much rhubarb fool again.” She turned toward the refrigerator.  She pulled a colossal-size bowl from the refrigerator and placed it on the table.

“Griffin! I’ve made too much rhubarb fool! Come have some!” Mrs. Lawler bellowed as she spooned the concoction into small bowls.  “Sit down girls, you’re going to have some too.”  She motioned toward the table, and Morgen and Glenda sat down next to each other.  Mrs. Lawler placed what looked like sugar cookies on the table. 

Morgen inspected the bowl of what looked like pink pudding.  It didn’t look gross, she thought.  She really hoped she was not going to have another fit of nausea like she did with the oatmeal that morning.  A tiny seed of worry was beginning to sprout in her mind about her lack of eating lately. She was definitely hungry, and the cookies looked and smelled delicious.  Light brown and flaky and sparkling with sugar granules.

“You’re going to love this stuff Morgen.  It’s prime!” Glenda said and eagerly grabbed a cookie then dipped it into her bowl of fool. 

Morgen watched curiously and felt a slight wave of nausea rising in her throat.  Oh no, she thought, please not now.  She decided to try ignoring the nausea and picked up a cookie, dipped it into her own bowl, and lifted it to her mouth.  Just as she closed her teeth around the fool-covered cookie and bit off a piece, Griffin walked into the kitchen.  Upon seeing him, a radiant shimmer ran through Morgen’s stomach competing with the nausea.

“Oh, Griff, this is Morgen, my new friend from school,” Glenda said. “Morgen, this is Griffin, my totally immature big brother.”

“Hey,” Griffin said with a nod of his head as he sat down at the table.  Morgen stopped chewing and blinked.  Griffin looked nothing like Glenda and Mrs. Lawler.  He was tall with short dark hair.  He had dyed the tips of his hair blue.  It was the same shade of blue that matched his brilliant eyes sparkling like two perfect sapphires.  He was gorgeous and Morgen could not take her eyes off of him as she sat there with a mouth full of cookie and fool. 

Glenda nudged Morgen’s arm, then Morgen tossed her cookies all over the table. Literally. 

“Ughh!” Glenda and Griffin both jumped out of their chairs and away from the table in a flash.  Morgen continued to retch bits and pieces all over the place.  She recognized cookie and silverweed among other unidentified materials.

“Oh dear me!” Mrs. Lawler could be heard in between heaves as she ran to and fro with a dishtowel. 

After what felt like an eternity of spewing, Morgen’s stomach finally stopped expelling liquids.  She took several deep breaths and looked up to see three sets of wide eyes staring at her.

“Are you done then?” Griffin asked.

Morgen nodded.  She didn’t trust her voice.

“Oh my goodness, lass.  What have you been eating?” Mrs. Lawler asked.

Morgen didn’t answer.  She couldn’t believe what had just happened.  In front of a potentially new friend and a magnificently attractive guy she had just barfed up an elephant load of vomit.  It was unbelievable.  Continuing to take deep breaths, Morgen stood up and attempted to clean up the mess. 

Mrs. Lawler immediately popped over to her and said, “Don’t you dare Morgen Shanley.  Put that rag down.  Glenda, take her up to the bath and help her get cleaned up.  Let her borrow something of yours to wear.” Mrs. Lawler put her arm around Morgen’s shoulders and walked her to the kitchen door.  “I’ll clean up this mess, don’t worry about a thing, lass.”

Morgen walked up the stairs with Glenda, still unable to speak.  When they got to the bathroom, Glenda said, “Just go on in there and I’ll bring you something to wear.” 

Morgen looked at Glenda and said shakily, “I’m sorry.”

Glenda said, “What are you sorry for?  You can’t help it if you get sick.”

Morgen turned into the bathroom and closed the door.

 

Chapter 3

After cleaning up, Morgen decided she should leave.  She promised Glenda that she would return her clothes to her the next day at school and she thanked Mrs. Lawler amid the putrid fumes that filled the kitchen.  Fortunately, Griffin was nowhere to be found. 

Miserable, she walked back to Finola’s.  She still felt relatively sick to her stomach and did not understand why.  She didn’t think she was coming down with the flu because she didn’t have any other symptoms.  Not to mention the fact that she had gone for three weeks without much sustenance.  At first she thought it was just because her dad was gone, but the nausea and lack of hunger didn’t start until she got to Ireland.  Before that she was eating fine.  Maybe it was cancer.  She knew about people with cancer that threw up a lot.  No, that was chemotherapy that made them nauseated, not cancer.  Morgen didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell Finola.  She thought maybe she should visit a doctor, but how could she do that?  She had no money to pay a doctor. 

She continued to ponder her circumstances until she reached the cottage. When she entered, she noticed Finola was not in her usual spot standing in front of the stove or sitting at the table mixing some concoction.  She decided not to disturb her good fortune by announcing her presence, after all, the bell on the door had rung, and that should be good enough.  Even though it was only around 5 in the evening, she was tired.  She went straight to her room and changed into her nightgown, carefully folding Glenda’s clothes and setting them on her chair.  She closed the curtains on her window to shut out the early evening sun.  As she lay down on her bed, she felt aches in every muscle of her body.  Exhausted, Morgen closed her eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep. 

Later, when it was dark, Morgen awoke and sat up.  She drifted over to her desk and peered into the mirror there.  It seemed larger somehow.  As she looked closer she noticed a slight rippling in the mirror.  Like water.  How funny, thought Morgen.  She had never noticed that before.  As she sat looking at herself, Morgen’s bedroom door opened, and a petite woman wearing a flowing blue gown entered the room.  She had long brown hair that curled on the ends and a perfect creamy complexion.  She was beautiful.  A feeling of comfort and happiness washed over Morgen and she smiled.  She knew right away that this woman was her mother.  She jumped up and hugged her.  Morgen’s mother embraced her warmly and then motioned for her to sit back down at the desk. 

When Morgen sat, she noticed her mirror was now huge and steadily rippling.  She could still clearly see her reflection, but it was as though she was looking into a pool of water rather than a mirror.  Looking down at her desk, she noticed thousands of tiny pearls, seashells, jewels and flowers.  Ribbons of blue, green and peach were strewn here and there.  Morgen’s smile widened.  She turned back to the mirror and beamed at her mother.  Morgen’s mother picked up a lock of Morgen’s hair and began braiding it.  She decorated the braid with pearls and secured the end with a wispy blue ribbon.  Her mother continued in this manner for a while, braiding and decorating sections of Morgen’s hair over and over again.  Occasionally, she would just tie a ribbon around a section, or attach a seashell or jewel to a lock. 

As her mother dressed her hair, Morgen noticed fireflies flashing around her room.  Sometimes, one would fly close to Morgen’s mother and appear to whisper in her ear.  At least, Morgen thought it was whispering because at the same time that the firefly would appear, her mother’s smile would widen and she would laugh lightly until the firefly left her.  Once, a firefly flew very close to Morgen and she thought she saw human legs attached to it. 

When her mother was satisfied with her efforts, she gestured Morgen toward the door.  Morgen arose from her chair and slowly walked toward the door.  The sound of rushing water flooded her ears as she opened the door.  Morgen was swept off her feet by the water pouring into her room.  Suddenly caught in the undertow of the current, Morgen began to panic.  She was alone now and wave after wave of water tossed her around like seaweed and, as her lungs began to ache, all she could think about was breathing.  She knew if she opened her mouth she would drown, and she knew if she didn’t, she would suffocate.  She couldn’t find the surface.  No longer able to fight her body’s will to take in air, her mouth opened against her will and sucked in.  Only it’s not water, but wonderful precious air. 

Suddenly, the water was gone and she was sitting up in bed out of breath and drenched in sweat.  Morgen flies out of bed to her mirror.  It’s flat and small sitting on her desk looking normal.  No ripples.  She gazed at her reflection.  A dream.  It was only a dream.

 

Chapter 4

 

She looked and saw sunlight outlining the curtains on her window.  Morning. 

“Oh God! My French translation!” Morgen exclaimed.  Looking at the clock, she noticed it was 7:45 a.m.  There was no time to do it now.  It’s a good thing French is my last class, she thought, I’ll have to finish it during lunch. 

She bolted to her closet and threw on a blue sweater and knee-length floral print skirt.  She sat down in front of her mirror and began brushing her hair.

“Gwenhwyfar! Breakfast!”

Morgen rolled her eyes and tossed down her hairbrush.  “If that woman thinks I’m eating oatmeal, she’s crazy.  What am I saying?  She is crazy!  When did I start talking to myself?  Oh no.  She’s rubbing off on me!”

Morgen stood, collected her books, slammed on a pair of mules and walked quickly toward the kitchen.

“Gwenhwyfar!  Don’t ya hear me callin’ ya lass?!”

“I’m not deaf,” she muttered as she entered the kitchen.  Finola was in her usual spot in front of the stove with her head covering the oatmeal pot. 

“Ah! There ya are. I was wondering how ya were feeling this morning. I saw that ya were in bed early yesterday.” Finola never once turned to face Morgen. 

“I’m not eating that,” Morgen said.

“Of course not, girl! Yer meal’s there.” Finola motioned toward the table.

Morgen looked down and could not believe what she saw.  Strawberries!  Fresh, cool, ruby-red, plump strawberries piled high in a bowl.  Next to the strawberries was a smaller bowl filled with the most perfect russet-brown almonds she had ever seen.  A nice glass of ice water sat on the other side of the berries.  Morgen was speechless and noticed her mouth watering. 

Finola’s oatmeal was finished cooking so she shut off the flame and moved the pot to a cool burner, then turned around to face Morgen.

“What are ya standin’ there lookin’ daft for, girl? Tuck in before yer late for school.”  Finola turned and made herself a bowl of oatmeal. 

“Strawberries?  Where did you get them?” Morgen inquired as she sat down. 

“I have me ways,” Finola sat down across from Morgen with her breakfast. “So, are ya feelin’ bad then?”

“I was,” Morgen said through a mouthful of sweet red pulp.  “I feel fine now, but you’re right, I’d better hurry, or I’ll be late.”  She began shoving the berries in quickly and tossing in almonds two at a time, hoping she didn’t heave all over the table again.

“Slow down or ya’ll be sick all over the table again!”

Morgen froze, swallowed, and said, “Who said I was sick all over the table?”

“Ya said it just now.”

“No, I said I felt bad yesterday.  I didn’t say I was sick all over the table.”  Morgen began ramming berries and almonds into her mouth again.  No, she didn’t feel the slightest bit sick.  In fact, she felt better than she had in the last month.

“Oh, well, maybe ya didn’t say ‘all over the table,’ but it’s apparent that ya were sick.  I can see it on yer face,” Finola looked down and began eating her own breakfast.  “I wanted to tell ya I’m sorry about yesterday morning.  I didn’t mean to upset ya.”

Morgen stuffed the last strawberry into her mouth and looked at Finola.  She definitely looked apologetic.  The way she was staring at her oatmeal and slowly swirling it around with her spoon. 

“OK,” Morgen said after she swallowed.

“I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean that ya shouldn’t have been born.”

“What did you mean?” Morgen took a sip of her water.

Finola, looking up from her oatmeal, said, “Just that I loved yer father so much and I’m upset with him for what he’s done.  Dyin’ at 33 is not normal.  I know it wasn’t his fault, but he should have known better.”

“Known better?” Morgen asked. 

“Ya’ll have to be satisfied with that for now.  I can’t go into it any further.  Ya’ll be late.” Finola stood up and started picking up the breakfast dishes. 

Morgen stood, picked up her books and headed for the door.  She opened the door, and after it finished jingling, she turned and said, “Thank you for breakfast Finola.  That’s the best meal I’ve had in years.” Then she left.  Morgen didn’t see Finola crumble into the nearest chair and pour her feelings into a stained dishrag. 

***

Later, during lunch, Morgen was in the library doing her translation, when Glenda walked up.

“Hi,” she said, clutching her notebook to her chest.

Morgen looked up at her, “Hello, I forgot your clothes.  They’re in my bedroom.  I overslept this morning and was in a rush.  Sorry.”

“That’s OK.  I’m not extremely attached to that particular outfit anyway.”  Glenda shuffled her feet.

“You wanna sit down?  I’m finishing this translation for Armande, but we can still talk.”  Morgen began rearranging her books to make a space for Glenda.

“No.  That’s all right.  I told some of the girls I’d have lunch with them. I just wanted to see if you had my clothes, but you don’t, so, I’ve gotta go.”  Glenda turned and walked out of the library. 

Morgen watched her leave feeling that she has probably just lost her only chance at friendship.  She was for sure that no one would be her friend once they found out what happened at Glenda’s.  She didn’t even want to think about Griffin.  The hopes of befriending him was gone before it even started.  God, she felt like such a freak.  It was no wonder Selia gave her such a hard time.  Morgen almost didn’t blame her, but then she looked down at her translation assignment and remembered that she wouldn’t even be doing this right now had it not been for Selia.  What a malicious bitch, Morgen thought, I am going to get her back.  Of course, Morgen couldn’t think about revenge right now because she only had 10 minutes left before her next class and she had to finish the assignment.

Later, with her completed translation tucked nicely into her notebook, she was on her way to French when she slammed head-on into a certain boy with blue-tipped black hair.  Morgen had been walking fast, because she wanted to be the first one to class to hand in her assignment without giving Selia any kind of satisfaction.  Griffin came from nowhere, otherwise known as, around the corner.  Neither one saw the other until they were both splayed on the ground surrounded by notebook paper and pens.  Obviously by that point, it was too late for Morgen to pretend that her skirt was not up around her waist.  It was also too late for Griffin to pretend that he didn’t notice.  Oh, the humiliation.  As if this wasn’t bad enough, who should come strolling around the same corner, but Selia and her dense lackey, Alyson Vaughn. 

Morgen quickly arranged her skirt amid the baboon guffaws emitting from Alyson’s direction.  “Sorry,” she said as she glanced at Griffin. 

“My fault,” Griffin responded. 

She jumped up and began making a pile of her books.  Griffin was collecting his books and papers also. 

“I think this is yours,” she said, handing him a pen.

“Yea, thanks.” 

“Hey, Morgen, buddy, aren’t you a bit on the masculine side to be wearing flowered underpants?” Selia said, putting her arm around Morgen’s shoulder and smiling.

“Get away from me,” Morgen said between clenched teeth.  She could not believe this was happening. 

“Sod off, Selia,” Griffin said.

Morgen ducked out from under Selia’s arm and bolted down the hall.  Griffin turned to watch her go.  Selia looked at Griffin and stopped smiling. 

“Come on Alyson, let’s follow our good buddy Morgen.  We don’t want to be late for class.”  Selia and Alyson walked around Griffin.  Loud bellows of laughter echoed down the hallway. 

Morgen reached class and went straight to her desk in order to straighten her notebook and find her assignment.  Hurry, she told herself, I hear them coming.  She opened her notebook and was blown away to see pages and pages of charcoal drawings.  This was not her notebook.  There was sketch after sketch of little fairies.  There were fairies with pearls in their hair, and fairies wearing seashells.  Some were sitting in tiny pools of water kicking their feet in the air.  Others frolicked through flowers as big as they were.  All of them were beautiful with delicate wings.  Morgen turned another page and was unable to believe her eyes when they landed on one fairy in particular that happened to have a very familiar dusting of freckles across her nose.  None of the other fairies had freckles.  This fairy was sitting on a rock, with her knees pulled up to her chest.  The fairy was resting her head on her knees and was wearing a disturbing look of abandonment.  The face was very clearly Morgen’s face.  She had no doubt that this was Griffin’s notebook.  Why was he sketching her?  And why was he sketching her to look like a fairy? 

Before Morgen could think further on the subject, Selia and Alyson blew into the room.  She hurriedly slammed the notebook shut and sat down in her chair.  She prayed that Mrs. Armande had forgotten about the homework.  Selia and Alyson took their seats behind Morgen and were whispering and giggling with each other when Mrs. Armande walked into the room.

“Bonjour, class!”

“Bonjour, Madame Armande,” the class mumbled in response. 

“Oh, boys and girls, that was very weak.  Again, s’il vous plait.”

“Bonjour, Madame Armande!!”

“Tres bien!  Let us get started.” 

Morgen was searching Griffin’s notebook for a clean sheet of paper when something landed in her lap.  She picked it up and saw it was a note.  Morgen looked around and when she saw no one gazing her direction, she opened it. 

Slut,

Flashing yourself to Griffin Lawler was a bad move.  If I catch you doing it again, you’ll be sorry you ever set foot on this island.  He’s mine.  If you don’t believe me, just ask around.  Everyone knows.

Selia

Morgen turned around and looked at Selia.  She felt her face flushing with redness.  Selia flipped her off.  Wonderful, Morgen thought, as she turned back around, this is just turning out to be a wonderful week.  First she was a boy and now she was a slut. 

            At the end of class, Mrs. Armande asked for Morgen’s translation.  She almost thought she was going to get away with not turning it in.  Morgen tried to explain that she had done it, but that it was mixed up in someone else’s notebook, but Mrs. Armande was not forgiving.  Morgen received her first Irish “F.”