Someday

When you weigh it out
it all makes sense
no need to pout
someday it won't seem so dense
today's drama will go away
then you'll tell your mama, "I wish he'd stay"
the present seems so permanent
but someday you'll learn from it
someday may seem far
but someday, you'll shine brighter than a star

A quick poem or two

This is untitled so if you think of something, comment.

As you get older you come to find
that it's more than just the grind
when you look back you see
you learn more by living than seeing it on TV
who know where you'd be today
if everything had gone your way
even the best laid plans go astray
live for the future
learn from the past
where you are doesn't have to last.

A Universal Ideal (Chapter 4)

The Unpublished Life: Post 6 (Ch 4 A universal ideal)

The conversion begins

            “Good morning class! I’m going to just get started right away because we have a lot t to go over today. As you may have guessed the creative assignment that I gave you was a start to a new unit. We will now be studying some of the great writers and then we will write short pieces based on a prompt that I will be giving you. Sometimes the prompt will have to do with the writer that we are studying and sometimes it will be just something that I pull out of the ‘Prompt Jar,’” I said showing the students the jar of prompts I had made the night before, “any questions?” I looked around and saw the lone hand of Sally McDonald. “Yes, Sally?”

            “Umm, Ms. Harding, who will we be studying?” Sally moved nervously whenever she spoke. I felt badly for her, she seemed so shy.

            “I’m glad you asked. We will be looking at Shakespeare, Thoreau, Emerson and Dickens. I might bring in a few others for some short lessons, but I think that these four will give us more than enough to study. Anyone else?” The classroom remained silent. “Well I’ll start by handing back your papers, most of which impressed me.” I said while walking around the horseshoe of desks. I looked at the students’ faces as they got back their papers to try and see if anyone was crushed by a grade. “I understand that this was the first creative assignment I have given you and I understand that it can be hard so if you need any help or inspiration, let me know and I’d be happy to help you.” I saw Zach Manitol raising his hand. “Yes, Zach?”

            “So we’re just gonna be writing creative stuff. We aren’t reading or anything?”

            “You aren’t just writing stuff no, no, no. Just writing stuff is easy anyone can put words down on a paper. It’s about making what you write mean something to someone else. Writing is about sharing in the human experience, pointing out tragic flaws and making your world more accessible to someone else. You will be writing pieces that mean something. They aren’t just words, they are much more than that. In short, Zach, you will be writing and there will be a little bit of reading. Anyone else? Nope, okay then. Let’s start with this great writer.” I then passed around the lyrics to the song If Today was your Last Day by Nickelback. “Now I’m sure that some of you know these great writers. Now I want us to go around the room and read the entire song one line at a time. Okay Zach, you start.”

“My best friend gave me the best advice,” Zach said.

“He said each day's a gift and not a given right,” George said.

“Leave no stone unturned, leave your fears behind,” Eric said

“And try to take the path less traveled by,” Seth said.

“That first step you take is the longest stride,” Kelly said.

“If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late,” Joey said.

“Could you say goodbye to yesterday,” Nikki said

“Would you live each moment like your last,” said Jamie.

“Leave old pictures in the past,” said Penny.

“Donate every dime you had, if today was your last day,” said Tracy.

“What if, what if, if today was your last day,” said Vanessa.

“Against the grain should be a way of life,” said Eli.

“What's worth the price is always worth the fight,” said Waltie.

“Every second counts 'cause there's no second try,” said Mike.

“So live like you're never living twice,” said Drake.

“Don't take the free ride in your own life,” said Marc.

“If today was your last day and tomorrow was too late,” said Maureen.

“Could you say goodbye to yesterday,” said Rose.

“Would you live each moment like your last,” said Lauren.

“Leave old pictures in the past,” said Henry.

The rest of the class continued the song in the same monotone pattern of the student before them until we had reached the last line of the song. I then looked up from my copy of the lyrics and asked, “Who can tell me what this song is trying to say?” I searched the room for a hand and found one lone hand in the back right corner of my class. The hand belonged to Seth. I was surprised. Seth was not one to do a lot of talking as he was a shy boy. “Yes, Seth?”

“It’s trying to say that time is short and that we should live while we still can,” said Seth in a shaky voice.

“That’s right. Exactly. Okay class there are only a few minutes left so the prompt for today is the apocalypse. What would you do if you found out you had 24 hours to live? Please think about this before you write. Now I’ll let you go a few minutes early. Seth, can you stay here for a few minutes?” The class then joyfully busted out of the room. Seth then approached my desk, a look of fear on his face. “Seth, I was moved by your paper. I wanted to know how long you had been writing.”

“What do you mean how long I’ve been writing?”

“I mean this can’t be your first story.”

“It is. Honest. I’ve never written before.”

“Well I’m impressed. I’m excited to see your next story.  That’s all, go have fun at lunch.”

“Okay, thanks Ms. H.”

I watched him walk off and I wondered what he was thinking. What was he going to write tonight? I couldn’t wait to get inside his head. Just then Clark Mason walked in dressed in black dress slacks, a blue button down and a red tie. He had his unruly dirty blonde hair just sitting on his head and I noticed that he had recently shaved. His green eyes seemed to have an unusual sparkle in them. He was cute, to say the least. He was also my best teacher friend. He was the only one on staff who didn’t call me Charlotte. He and I were the youngest teachers on staff so we bonded together over new teaching techniques. I hadn’t yet told him about Seth or my new creative writing ideas, but I was eager to make him privy to my recent discoveries.

“Morning Charlie,” he said while walking towards the chair next to the desk I was on. I was happy to have him with me, he had a way of cheering me up even when I was perfectly content.

“For your information it’s lunchtime so good afternoon,” I said in a surly tone that I would only use when joking around with Clark. He was always a good sport about that stuff and the only teacher on staff who knew what sarcasm was.

“Oh well aren’t we grumpy this morning. Bad date last night?” He loved to poke fun at my recent misfortune with blind dates.

“No in fact, I didn’t have a date last night. I do have some exciting news for you though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes well, I’ve started this new creative writing thin-”

“Hold on. You started a new unit altogether and you didn’t tell me? This must be huge!”

“Oh it is. I’ve discovered a natural writer among the cookie cutters.”

“Oh is that what we’re calling them now? Cookie cutters? Really Charlie they aren’t that sweet.”

“Oh haha. But, seriously I found a real talent here. I really want to encourage him.”

“Well then do it. I know you can.” He said with a pearly smile. He then kissed me on the cheek and said, “Gotta go. Are we still on for coffee after school?”

“Of course! See you.” My heart fluttered as he left the room. I couldn’t wait for coffee.

A Universal Ideal (Chapter 2 continued and ch 3)

The Unpublished Life: Post 5 (Ch2/3 A Universal Ideal)

It was one of the most beautiful papers ever written. Reading that paper gave me hope, I no longer felt like an overpaid babysitter. I saw an chance to nurture the talent of a young writer and I was going to take it. I had the sudden urge to call Mr. & Mrs. Anderson, but I decided that it would be unprofessional for me to call them at dinnertime. So I went to my computer and emailed them about how their son had written a truly fantastic story and that I would like to see more of his creative writing. I then went to my curriculum folder and created a whole new unit on creative writing. I could not wait to get more pieces like this out of my students.

My creative writing unit would include a plethora of styles of writing all of which would be practiced by my students. I would start with poetry, then creative essays and then creative stories. I figured that once we covered multiple styles of writing we could move on to different writers such as Shakespeare, Thoreau, Emerson and Dickens. I thought carefully about this and then decided to scrap it. If I wanted more creatively written pieces from my students I should have the stories flow naturally from small prompts. I would make a list of prompts and each day I would pull one out and have the children write a poem, song or story based on the prompt. The prompts could be a word or a phrase. I was so excited to start this new unit that I couldn’t sleep.

The next morning I woke up early and got through my routine (that usually took me over an hour) in 20 minutes. I then rushed to Costco and picked up a massive amount of checkered notebooks, each one to be filled to its maximum capacity by my students. I had decided that my first assignment would be for them to decorate the notebook based on their interests. I felt that it would be a fun way to distinguish all the books. When I got to school I placed a notebook on each desk and wrote the lesson on the board. I then went to the front of the room and sat on top of an empty desk. As I studied the desktop I noticed many etchings and doodles. The desks were covered in everything from stick figures to initials in hearts. I wondered how long they had been there and who hard written them down and why. Was it out of boredom or inspiration? Was it during one of my classes? Had I known the artist, the writer who had done this? I saw one symbol in particular that had interested me. It had three circles connected in a strange pattern. Two of the circles were joined across by a line and then from that line sprouted a second line that led to the their circle.  It reminded me of the universes that I had read about in Seth’s paper, but I didn’t really give it a second thought. Just then the door swung open and in walked Kelly followed by George, Seth and the rest of the class. The day had begun.

The conversion begins

            “Good morning class! I’m going to just get started right away because we have a lot t to go over today. As you may have guessed the creative assignment that I gave you was a start to a new unit. We will now be studying some of the great writers and then we will write short pieces based on a prompt that I will be giving you. Sometimes the prompt will have to do with the writer that we are studying and sometimes it will be just something that I pull out of the ‘Prompt Jar,’” I said showing the students the jar of prompts I had made the night before, “any questions?” I looked around and saw the lone hand of Sally McDonald. “Yes, Sally?”

            “Umm, Ms. Harding, who will we be studying?” Sally moved nervously whenever she spoke. I felt badly for her, she seemed so shy.

            “I’m glad you asked. We will be looking at Shakespeare, Thoreau, Emerson and Dickens. I might bring in a few others for some short lessons, but I think that these four will give us more than enough to study. Anyone else?” The classroom remained silent. “Well I’ll start by handing back your papers, most of which impressed me.” I said while walking around the horseshoe of desks. I looked at the students’ faces as they got back their papers to try and see if anyone was crushed by a grade. “I understand that this was the first creative assignment I have given you and I understand that it can be hard so if you need any help or inspiration, let me know and I’d be happy to help you.” I saw Zach Manitol raising his hand. “Yes, Zach?”

            “So we’re just gonna be writing creative stuff. We aren’t reading or anything?”

            “You aren’t just writing stuff no, no, no. Just writing stuff is easy anyone can put words down on a paper. It’s about making what you write mean something to someone else. Writing is about sharing in the human experience, pointing out tragic flaws and making your world more accessible to someone else. You will be writing pieces that mean something. They aren’t just words, they are much more than that. In short, Zach, you will be writing and there will be a little bit of reading. Anyone else? Nope, okay then. Let’s start with this great writer.” I then passed around the lyrics to the song Rock ‘n Roll  by Eric Hutchinson. “Now I’m sure that some of you know this great writer. Now I want us to go around the room and read the entire song one line at a time.”

A Universal Ideal (Chapter 2)

The Unpublished Life: Post 4 (Ch2 of A Universal Ideal)

The birth of an idea

           

            I decided to give my students a day off from their mundane, ordinary and quite frankly boring essays and give them something that not only would they enjoy writing but I’d actually enjoy reading. I decided to give them a creative piece. I walked into the classroom that day and decided that this change would be a good thing for all of us. The bell rang and I decided that it was time for me to start my first period class.

            “Morning Class!” I yelled as to wake up my sleeping students in the back row. My students replied with sporadic outbursts of  “Good morning Ms. Harding!”

            “Class, today we’ll be talking about something that I’m sure no other English teacher has...well maybe not no other English teacher but not a lot of English teachers have encouraged. It’s a little thing I like to call creative writing,” I wrote it in big letters on the board, “Let’s all try and say it together.” The students burst out in laughter over my pathetic attempt at humor.

            “Creative writing,” they all said.

            “Good job class!! Now let’s practice doing it. I’m going to give you ten minutes to write a paragraph on anything you want. Ready? Set? GO!”

I observed as their hands scribbled word after word as fast as they could. I watched the clock and I watched them, their minds so young, so full of ideas. “Time’s up. Finish up that last sentence. Who wants to read their paragraph first? How about you Kelly? Kelly, come up to the front of the room and read your paragraph.”

            “Okay Ms. Harding.” I watched her walk up in jeans, a white shirt and a blue sweatshirt. The sweatshirt said “soft as” on one arm and “butter” on the other, and the back was decorated with a giant peace sign that said “rock and roll”. These sweatshirts were very popular and very expensive (expensive for a ten-year-old girl’s sweatshirt). She stood there nervously for a few moments and finally managed to say, “May I begin Ms. Harding?”

            “Yes you may,” I replied. She read her paragraph with only a few hesitations. It had something to do with a fantasy world where everyone wore pink and sang everything that they thought. I have no idea how some people get these ideas into their heads.

“Thanks Kelly, that was great. Good use of detail. Who wants to go next? We have time for one or two more. How about you George?”

            “All right Ms. H” He walked up to the front of the class with attitude. He had on Adidas pants with a shirt that said, “I cause break ups” and a red sox hat that was slightly tilted to the side with his overly gelled hair sticking out the top. I had never understood why teachers hated it when students wore hats so I never asked any of mine to take theirs off. He read his paragraph and it was of course a typical response. Something about a world where you didn’t have to go to school and you could play sports all day. Then the bell rang.

            “Alright class hand in your paragraphs,” I said, “Don’t forget, for homework you must find a poem by any author of your choice and write a response to the author’s message. Don’t be afraid to be creative!” After all of my students left I erased the board and got ready for the next class. I started the rest of my classes the same way I started the other one with the same stupid joke and I got the same exact burst of laughs over my pathetic comedy.

            When I got in my car to drive home I plugged in my ipod once again. I put on some Rascall Flatts song and then set it to shuffle mode. While I was driving I sang every word to every song that came on. Moments like this always made me happy. Music had a way of setting me free. Even on my toughest days, I could get into a good mood just by putting on my ipod or fooling around on the piano with my Beatles book.

When I got home that night I knew that I had to grade every one of those paragraphs. I started by making a pile for class one, then a pile for class two, then another for class three and one more for class four. Most of the papers contained the same sort of idea, child fantasylands with no school and lots of games. Then I came across a paper, a paper that interested me. One of my students named, Seth Anderson, wrote an unbelievable paper. I kept reading it again and again as though by doing that I would be able to absorb the information simply by reading it. It was an unbelievably brilliant paper.

“I walk on the road everyday. Which road, you may ask? The only road that’s referred to as “THE ROAD,” similar to the way that people in New York refer to NYC as “the city.” It’s not the only one, it’s just the most prominent one. All I can see is white, whatever small length of road is in front of me, a crumbled intersection and two destroyed bubbles that we used to call home. What happened to our homes? Well, a few years ago. I lived in what is now called Universe A and they lived in Universe B. We didn’t know that the other existed. Until one day when a famous scientist by the name of Molly Haverstraw, of Universe A, discovered Universe B while on a space mission to each the end of the universe. She was met by Universe B’s top scientist Leon Motte who had coincidentally been on the same mission. Once they met in the center of the road connecting the two bubbles, a third road opened and a new bubble formed. Before them lay a tablet, which read: Here lie two homes and one fate. Take this new route. Pack up your homes. Time is running out. They then departed to their respective universes and rounded up every last creature, piled them into rockets and sent them all off in a month. Traveling through the space superhighway was a nightmare. It took a full two weeks to get everyone into the new Universe. The second that the last person stepped inside we saw a flash and in an instance both of the old universes had been destroyed. Now we have been here for five years. Every year we go back to the spot where each one of us entered and we celebrate the day we became one.”

A Universal Ideal (Chapter 1)

The Unpublished Life: Post 3 (Ch1 of The Universal Ideal)

 My story begins

My days began at 6am. 6am I woke up, jumped in the shower, walked my dog, Ajax, fed my fish, Finn, made my breakfast and by 8am I was out the door and into my blue Prius. While driving to the school, I would often plug my ipod in and sing very loudly and not to mention very off key. I of course only did this after I was positive that all the windows in my car were shut tightly. Although, once I accidentally left a backseat window wide opened and a line of parents and students heard me singing “I’m too sexy” at the top of my lungs. Once my personal sing-a-thon was over I would park in my spot and walk into the building.

Jefferson Elementary School was a big brick thing that had been built around 1903. It was very old looking, despite all of the computers and additions that it had suffered over the years. When I got to room 218 I was able to feel how truly insignificant my life was. Here I was, someone who could have been a great professor or an athlete but no I was just a fifth grade English teacher. I wasn’t contributing to society. I was merely an overpaid babysitter. It’s not the teaching that I hated it was where I taught that I hated. You see, I taught at an elementary school outside of Boston where parents believed that ten-year-olds should go from class to class, their tiny bodies crushed under the weight of their backpacks.

            When I gave an essay to my kids I hated it as much as they did because it meant that I had to grade 86 papers. When I graded those papers, I’d think. I thought about my life, the economy, the president, and just about everything else. What I’d always go back to is how lonely I was. I thought about what it would be like to come home to only a dog and a fish for the rest of my life. I didn’t like it at all. Being alone scared me more than anything. Being a single woman and an elementary school teacher is harder than one might think. After parent/teacher conferences I come home and make cookies or cupcakes or something of that nature. Even if I didn't eat them the busy work was a nice change of pace.

A Universal Ideal (Prologue)

The Unpublished Life: Post 2 (The prologue of  one of the various stories I hope to post)

A Universal Ideal

Prologue:

            “Ms. Harding, Eric Roberts, New York Times, how did you come up with this fantastic idea?” Asked a reporter in a brown suit and brown fedora. I will never understand why those things came back in style.

“Coming up with the idea was easy, it was getting the information that was hard. Yes, it took quite a lot of time to get the information,” I replied, “I actually got an idea from one of my students by the name of Seth Anderson.” I said, while putting my arm around the Seth, who was standing to my right.  “I owe most of my success to a ten-year-old, it’s quite remarkable actually!”

“Hi, Charlotte Gilbertson, Wall Street Journal, how on Earth did you get the funding from NASA?” This woman had on a grey tweed skirt with a pink undershirt, her hair was in a bun and she had chopsticks in it.

“An old college friend of mine is actually pretty high up there so she helped me out. If I hadn’t known her none of this would have been possible,” I said as I looked over at Sarah and flashed her a little smile.

“Hi, Ms. Harding, Emma Mason, New York Post, how long did it take you to convince NASA to carry out this seemingly impossible task?” This Reporter was wearing a knit dress, the top was solid black and the bottom had purple stripes. It was very cute. I wondered if it was Armani or some cheap brand from Lord and Taylor or something like that.

“It took a lot of hard work to try and get them to accept my theory but I didn’t give up. I truly and whole-heartedly believe that that is the key to most things in life. Never giving up was the greatest this I could have done and one of the many things that made this possible,” I replied.

            “Hi, Michael Dowel, Boston Globe, how did this idea of a voyage into another universe come about?” Asked another one of them. This one had a navy suit on with a bright pink tie. He looked like his girlfriend had dressed him that morning and she probably did. Either his girlfriend or his mother, but there was no way a man that age would choose to wear something like that on his own.

            “It’s a very long story. I g-” then a reporter in the back interrupted me by shouting “We’d all love to hear it!” And just then the entire room was bursting with shouts of agreement and approval.

            “Well I guess I can tell you the whole thing,” I said.




If you want to hear more then comment, otherwise I will probably post it MUCH later.

The beginning of the Unpublished Life

I'm starting this thing as a way of getting my writing out without having to deal with publishers. I cannot wait to share my writing with people other than my mother!!! I was inspired to start this blog by the movie Julie & Julia (which is a fantastic flick). I am so proud that I have finally gotten this started. I will be posting poems, lyrics and novel chapters, so get busy reading. Remember, reading isn't always an escape from your world. Sometimes it's a reminder that your world exists in other people's worlds. A reminder that you're not alone. Enjoy!