6/22/10
Memories of Camp
Several weeks ago I discovered a letter from 1966 that my eleven-year-old sister had written to me, her five-year-old brother, while she was at Bay Lake Camp in Deerwood, Minnesota. In bright red pen she wrote:
David,
I miss you very much. I can't wait to be home. I am not going to camp ever again in my whole life. I don't like the camp very much. I wish it was Friday at 5:00. Love Debbie. P.S. I hate camp.
True to her words, my sister never again attended camp. And whether or not it was because of her letter, I never had the slightest desire to go to camp either... at least, until I became an adult.
For the past four years I've worked as an instructor at Jonathan Rand's Author Quest: "The Definitive Writing Camp for Serious Young Writers." Perhaps "dedicated" would be a better word to describe these 10-14 year-olds than "serious," especially since the writing workshop I led this year was all about humor and was anything but serious.
What will I remember most about this year's camp? It might be the young man who had been in special education classes the year before, but received one of the camp's top writing awards for the crowd-pleasing story he had written while at Author Quest. It might be the quiet little girl who had the whole camp roaring with laughter as she read her story about the attack of the Alien Apples from Outer Space. Or it might be the young lady I've watched grow from a shy writer several years ago to the poised young woman confident to share her words with the rest of us around the campfire at night.
I'm pretty sure none of these campers wrote a letter home like my sister's. Just the opposite, when camp ended this past Sunday, there were many campers who seemed reluctant to leave.
So, how about you? What are your memories of summer camp?
6/3/10
Poetry Friday Interview
Check out Part 1 where I am interviewed for the blog Author Amok http://authoramok.blogspot.com/. Part 2 at noon on Friday.
6/2/10
Lazy Days of Summer
Even potatoes need a break. For the summer we will be posting randomly when we have something to share, then will start up in the fall again. And if you need some new reading material, I'm happy to announce my new YA novel The Gardener released on May 25th and is available everywhere.
Happy Summer!
6/1/10
The End
A giant black mamba emerged from the grass. Even though the creature was thicker than the boy’s skinny thighs, he raised the rusty shovel over his head and struck, pounding at the beast as the other villagers watched. But the snake would not be felled. The alien rose up, standing taller than any of the humans, and poised to strike.
Realizing he would not win, the boy backed off, waving the shovel in a slow half-arc to get the snake’s attention. And then the boy began to run, glancing back just enough to see if the creature would follow. And it did, so fast the boy tossed aside the shovel as his legs churned toward his one hope.
The boy reached the cliff and stopped, breathless as he turned to face his pursuer.
The mamba closed in, but the boy stood firm, remembering all the heinous things the snake had done to his loved ones. The boy backed closer and closer to the edge, so close that the falls below nearly deafened him.
Just as the mamba struck, the boy wrapped both arms around the snake and pushed off, smiling as he soared over the side with the enemy, who would never hurt his family again.
Realizing he would not win, the boy backed off, waving the shovel in a slow half-arc to get the snake’s attention. And then the boy began to run, glancing back just enough to see if the creature would follow. And it did, so fast the boy tossed aside the shovel as his legs churned toward his one hope.
The boy reached the cliff and stopped, breathless as he turned to face his pursuer.
The mamba closed in, but the boy stood firm, remembering all the heinous things the snake had done to his loved ones. The boy backed closer and closer to the edge, so close that the falls below nearly deafened him.
Just as the mamba struck, the boy wrapped both arms around the snake and pushed off, smiling as he soared over the side with the enemy, who would never hurt his family again.
Part Nine
Alicia Flea, a scardey cat, was ferociously afraid of water.
But water wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.
She was afraid of knives, penguins, razor blades, the Michelin Man, tapioca pudding, and most frightening of all: tropical snakes.
She heard a slithering behind her and imagined she was inventing the noise to terrify herself.
It couldn’t be.
No.
It was.
A gigantic black mamba emerged from the grass.
But water wasn’t the only thing she was afraid of.
She was afraid of knives, penguins, razor blades, the Michelin Man, tapioca pudding, and most frightening of all: tropical snakes.
She heard a slithering behind her and imagined she was inventing the noise to terrify herself.
It couldn’t be.
No.
It was.
A gigantic black mamba emerged from the grass.
Part 8 of Our Story
“It’s always Ralph doing foolish things. Why should I give up even one of my lives to save him from his silly adventures?” Alicia Flea thought for a tiny selfish moment. She wandered toward the mouse hole and slipped her paw inside giving it a swift swoosh. Instead of catching a mouse tail or a flurry of fur, Alicia Flea pulled out a small, square envelope, the color of a green pea. The mice had nibbled the edges, trying to get a peek inside. Her name was written on the front in bold blue letters, “FOR ALICIA FLEA’S EYES ONLY.” Briskly she swiped her paw once, then twice, and pulled out the message with her teeth.
“My dear Alicia,” it read. “Ralph is in dire danger; you are the only feline who can help him. Make your way carefully to Apollo’s dinner bowl, make an X with your paw in his grub, take five steps forward, pounce ten paces to the right, and run to the count of twenty. There in the hollow of a rotted gum tree, you will find a way to save his life. “Nice try Ralph,” Alicia Flea said out loud. “I’m not falling for this.” Then, there at the bottom of the secret message, something caught Alicia Flea’s eye. She sniffed around it. A sentence lingering at the tip end of the page read, “Postscript: Go only in the deepest dark of night.” “Meeooowww,” Alicia Flea hummed, “Only a cat would write that for all cats know their eyes glow in the dark.”
Being a cat herself, she found her natural curiosity purring inside of her and in the deepest dark; she made her way to Apollo’s dinner bowl. She marked an X with her paw in his leftovers, took five steps forward, pounced ten steps to the right, and scooted to the count of twenty. She popped up to find the rotted gum tree staring down at her. She carefully placed her spotted paw inside. Another envelope, small, square, and this time the color of a plum was nestled inside. She sliced it open with her paw nail. The sheet of parchment held a splatter of ink shaped like a fish.
Her feline heart thumped, thumped, thumped inside her chest like a tiny drum. Alicia Flea brushed up against the rotten gum tree; a mosquito hawk flitted close and whispered in her ear, “Go to the river.” She shivered with suspicion. Alicia Flea, a scardey cat, was ferociously afraid of water.
“My dear Alicia,” it read. “Ralph is in dire danger; you are the only feline who can help him. Make your way carefully to Apollo’s dinner bowl, make an X with your paw in his grub, take five steps forward, pounce ten paces to the right, and run to the count of twenty. There in the hollow of a rotted gum tree, you will find a way to save his life. “Nice try Ralph,” Alicia Flea said out loud. “I’m not falling for this.” Then, there at the bottom of the secret message, something caught Alicia Flea’s eye. She sniffed around it. A sentence lingering at the tip end of the page read, “Postscript: Go only in the deepest dark of night.” “Meeooowww,” Alicia Flea hummed, “Only a cat would write that for all cats know their eyes glow in the dark.”
Being a cat herself, she found her natural curiosity purring inside of her and in the deepest dark; she made her way to Apollo’s dinner bowl. She marked an X with her paw in his leftovers, took five steps forward, pounced ten steps to the right, and scooted to the count of twenty. She popped up to find the rotted gum tree staring down at her. She carefully placed her spotted paw inside. Another envelope, small, square, and this time the color of a plum was nestled inside. She sliced it open with her paw nail. The sheet of parchment held a splatter of ink shaped like a fish.
Her feline heart thumped, thumped, thumped inside her chest like a tiny drum. Alicia Flea brushed up against the rotten gum tree; a mosquito hawk flitted close and whispered in her ear, “Go to the river.” She shivered with suspicion. Alicia Flea, a scardey cat, was ferociously afraid of water.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)