Thursday, January 17, 2013
Who Would Win? Wolverine vs Tasmanian Devil
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Fun Fair Raffle Winner Has Arrived!
The Longfellow fun fair raffle winner was Will from 3C. His poem entitled Chess is below. Great writing Will!!
Chess
By: Will from 3C
A piece is moved
The trap is sprung
The quest for check mate has begun.
Pieces are traded
Pieces attacked
A bad move is made
A piece goes away.
A player says "Why did I go there anyway?"
Pawns, Two Knights, a King, a Queen, Two Rooks and Two Bishops
All go forward
To attack and make check mate.
They watch carefully what they are doing
Then suddenly
Out of reach
Makes one player mutter in defeat.
A check mates been made
All the games been played
Surrender.
Chess
By: Will from 3C
A piece is moved
The trap is sprung
The quest for check mate has begun.
Pieces are traded
Pieces attacked
A bad move is made
A piece goes away.
A player says "Why did I go there anyway?"
Pawns, Two Knights, a King, a Queen, Two Rooks and Two Bishops
All go forward
To attack and make check mate.
They watch carefully what they are doing
Then suddenly
Out of reach
Makes one player mutter in defeat.
A check mates been made
All the games been played
Surrender.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Author Visit at Longfellow
On Monday, March 22nd, Author and Illustrator Tom Lichtenheld (Lick - ten - held) visited the school. He spent an hour of his time with each grade level and even provided a book-making session with one student from every grade level during lunch! What a great guy and funny too! Hope you enjoy the pics.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Here is a sensory poem that I think shows excellent VOICE. What's VOICE you might ask? Well, VOICE is when a writer's personality comes out in what they write. There is some humor in this poem even though it's about something in nature. There's also great description. Nice job Ben.
Sensory Poem
Ben (2S)
I smell the seaweed as fresh as a farm
I hear the water as loud as a speedboat
I taste the crabs as tender as a McRib
I touch the rocks as rough as sandpaper
I see the mountains as pretty as diamonds
Friday, February 12, 2010
Chapter 2!
Here is the second chapter of the middle grade novel I've been working on. Sorry, it doesn't give you the answer to What's on Kai's shirt. I'd say that Ch. 1 is a flashforward really. You don't really discover what's on his shirt until more like Ch. 7. Sorry. This has been a rough chapter for me always. Some wise people told me I should do more showing (dialogue) and less telling, so it's been reworked. I'm still not sure what I think about it though. Let me know.
It was clear from the beginning that something was different about Kai. Even from toddler hood he seemed to have an awful time telling one color apart from another. To give you a better idea, here’s the conversation he had with his parents on the day he received his first set of 64 count crayons.
“It’s a picshure Mommy! Look, it’s a picshure Daddy!”
It’s a picture alright, but what is it Bud?”
“Twees, twees,”
“I don’t see trees. Where’s the trees?”
“What your father is trying to say Malachi is with all the wonderful shapes and colors in your picture, we can’t quite figure out where the trees are Son? Show me!”
“Right here Mommy. See?”
“Looks like a purple blob to me!”
“Oh honey, don’t listen to Daddy, it’s a beautiful picture, and I can see the trees I really can! I only have one question though?”
“Yes Mommy?”
“Why are the trees purple son?”
“Trees aren’t purple Mommy. Trees are brown!”
“That’s what I thought!”
“Ignore your father Son. I know trees are brown, but your trees are purple!”
“Mommy, my trees aren’t purple, they’re brown.”
“Could’ve fooled me son!”
“What Daddy’s trying to say is your trees aren’t brown at all honey. You’ve colored them purple.”
“I have?”
“Yes Malachi. And, is this supposed to be our house here? This square with a little triangle on top?”
“Yes, that’s our house! Do you like it?”
“Sure Kiddo, but I certainly don’t live in a green house!”
“Oh for crying out loud, what your father is trying to say is, our house is yellow honey, not green.”
Now I know what you’re thinking. Give the kid a break already. Most little kids are pretty lazy when it comes to coloring altogether right? I mean they don’t really care if the sun should be a fiery ball of yellow and orange lighting up the sky for instance and often reach for what color is closest to them.
Well, that’s exactly the sort of position Kai’s parents took on the obvious purple tree screw up. His Mom got used to the notion that he wasn’t going to have the skills of say Picasso at age three, and assumed he was like any other kid and needed some time to adjust to things. And his Dad? Well, his Dad figured his Son’s little color blunders would eventually correct themselves.
By the time Kai entered school though, nothing had changed and his teachers began taking notice. In Kindergarten, for instance, Ms. Evick told his parents he had difficulty following directions.
“His projects always look different than everyone else’s,” she said to his Mom one day in the pick-up line after school.
“What do you mean different?” Kai’s mom said defensively.
“Well, Mrs. Smith. He never paints, colors, or chalks anything like he’s supposed to. I mean look at this,” she said producing a large, white canvas from inside a tan bag sponge painted with apples.
Oh please, she’s brought his artwork along as evidence Mrs. Smith thought.
“What is it?” she finally said baffled at the less than concentric circles that filled the page. “I mean it looks like rocks to me.”
“Exactly,” Ms. Evick said as wrinkles of concern flashed across her face. Glancing from left to right, she leaned in until the tips of her glasses touched the edge of the driver side window. “It’s actually supposed to be apples,” she whispered placing a hand on her throat. “I think your little guy got confused. He colored them brown. Ooops! I think we should discuss this further. Don’t you think?”
Oh for crying out loud, this is Kindergarten not college, Kai’s mom thought dismissing the idea that an error in apple coloring was grounds for a special meeting.
“I’ll talk to my husband,” she finally said with a sigh before pressing the automatic window button and speeding off.
In first-grade, Kai’s class took a trip to the local pumpkin farm in early October. Back at school his teacher, Mrs. Hemstreet, asked the students to draw what they’d seen, which Kai did willingly.
“Kai dear,” Mrs. Hemstreet said shrilly after he’d casually placed his picture on her desk.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hemstreet. You wanted to see me?” he said.
“I’m perplexed child,” she began. “What exactly did you see at the A-1 Farmstand?”
Kai stared at his teacher with a blank look.
“I mean what are these?” she said waving a hand dramatically over the small and medium circles he’d drawn near the bottom of the page.
“Pumpkins.”
“Pumkins,” Mrs. Hemstreet said stiffening in her chair.
“Yeah, they’re pumpkins,” he said again wondering why his teacher was having such a problem figuring out the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well, why on earth are the pumpkins yellow?” Mrs. Hemstreet asked clutching a hand to her chest.
“They’re not yellow. I colored them orange. Don’t you see?”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hemstreet sighed shifting in her seat. “Kai honey, these pumpkins are definitely not orange. I mean look,” and she conveniently withdrew a yellow circle that had been placed in her desk and put it near the pumpkins in his drawing.
“Don’t they look different?”
“I guess,” Kai said. “Now they do. But I swear Mrs. H. They looked orange at my desk!”
And so the story went year after year. In second grade, his model of the solar system took a turn for the worse when he mixed up the paint colors and earth turned out looking more like the red planet’s twin. In third, he received a D for a social studies project because he colored the five major oceans granny smith apple instead of blue.
Eventually Kai landed in fourth-grade with Mrs. Ballard. She was hopeful that the strange color issues she’d heard about from fellow teachers would magically disappear prior to him starting school in August. When that never happened, she became certain it was just a phase that her student needed to outgrow. That is until something happened on St. Patrick’s Day that made her pick up the phone to request a conference with his parents, Scott and Jenny Smith.
It was clear from the beginning that something was different about Kai. Even from toddler hood he seemed to have an awful time telling one color apart from another. To give you a better idea, here’s the conversation he had with his parents on the day he received his first set of 64 count crayons.
“It’s a picshure Mommy! Look, it’s a picshure Daddy!”
It’s a picture alright, but what is it Bud?”
“Twees, twees,”
“I don’t see trees. Where’s the trees?”
“What your father is trying to say Malachi is with all the wonderful shapes and colors in your picture, we can’t quite figure out where the trees are Son? Show me!”
“Right here Mommy. See?”
“Looks like a purple blob to me!”
“Oh honey, don’t listen to Daddy, it’s a beautiful picture, and I can see the trees I really can! I only have one question though?”
“Yes Mommy?”
“Why are the trees purple son?”
“Trees aren’t purple Mommy. Trees are brown!”
“That’s what I thought!”
“Ignore your father Son. I know trees are brown, but your trees are purple!”
“Mommy, my trees aren’t purple, they’re brown.”
“Could’ve fooled me son!”
“What Daddy’s trying to say is your trees aren’t brown at all honey. You’ve colored them purple.”
“I have?”
“Yes Malachi. And, is this supposed to be our house here? This square with a little triangle on top?”
“Yes, that’s our house! Do you like it?”
“Sure Kiddo, but I certainly don’t live in a green house!”
“Oh for crying out loud, what your father is trying to say is, our house is yellow honey, not green.”
Now I know what you’re thinking. Give the kid a break already. Most little kids are pretty lazy when it comes to coloring altogether right? I mean they don’t really care if the sun should be a fiery ball of yellow and orange lighting up the sky for instance and often reach for what color is closest to them.
Well, that’s exactly the sort of position Kai’s parents took on the obvious purple tree screw up. His Mom got used to the notion that he wasn’t going to have the skills of say Picasso at age three, and assumed he was like any other kid and needed some time to adjust to things. And his Dad? Well, his Dad figured his Son’s little color blunders would eventually correct themselves.
By the time Kai entered school though, nothing had changed and his teachers began taking notice. In Kindergarten, for instance, Ms. Evick told his parents he had difficulty following directions.
“His projects always look different than everyone else’s,” she said to his Mom one day in the pick-up line after school.
“What do you mean different?” Kai’s mom said defensively.
“Well, Mrs. Smith. He never paints, colors, or chalks anything like he’s supposed to. I mean look at this,” she said producing a large, white canvas from inside a tan bag sponge painted with apples.
Oh please, she’s brought his artwork along as evidence Mrs. Smith thought.
“What is it?” she finally said baffled at the less than concentric circles that filled the page. “I mean it looks like rocks to me.”
“Exactly,” Ms. Evick said as wrinkles of concern flashed across her face. Glancing from left to right, she leaned in until the tips of her glasses touched the edge of the driver side window. “It’s actually supposed to be apples,” she whispered placing a hand on her throat. “I think your little guy got confused. He colored them brown. Ooops! I think we should discuss this further. Don’t you think?”
Oh for crying out loud, this is Kindergarten not college, Kai’s mom thought dismissing the idea that an error in apple coloring was grounds for a special meeting.
“I’ll talk to my husband,” she finally said with a sigh before pressing the automatic window button and speeding off.
In first-grade, Kai’s class took a trip to the local pumpkin farm in early October. Back at school his teacher, Mrs. Hemstreet, asked the students to draw what they’d seen, which Kai did willingly.
“Kai dear,” Mrs. Hemstreet said shrilly after he’d casually placed his picture on her desk.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hemstreet. You wanted to see me?” he said.
“I’m perplexed child,” she began. “What exactly did you see at the A-1 Farmstand?”
Kai stared at his teacher with a blank look.
“I mean what are these?” she said waving a hand dramatically over the small and medium circles he’d drawn near the bottom of the page.
“Pumpkins.”
“Pumkins,” Mrs. Hemstreet said stiffening in her chair.
“Yeah, they’re pumpkins,” he said again wondering why his teacher was having such a problem figuring out the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well, why on earth are the pumpkins yellow?” Mrs. Hemstreet asked clutching a hand to her chest.
“They’re not yellow. I colored them orange. Don’t you see?”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hemstreet sighed shifting in her seat. “Kai honey, these pumpkins are definitely not orange. I mean look,” and she conveniently withdrew a yellow circle that had been placed in her desk and put it near the pumpkins in his drawing.
“Don’t they look different?”
“I guess,” Kai said. “Now they do. But I swear Mrs. H. They looked orange at my desk!”
And so the story went year after year. In second grade, his model of the solar system took a turn for the worse when he mixed up the paint colors and earth turned out looking more like the red planet’s twin. In third, he received a D for a social studies project because he colored the five major oceans granny smith apple instead of blue.
Eventually Kai landed in fourth-grade with Mrs. Ballard. She was hopeful that the strange color issues she’d heard about from fellow teachers would magically disappear prior to him starting school in August. When that never happened, she became certain it was just a phase that her student needed to outgrow. That is until something happened on St. Patrick’s Day that made her pick up the phone to request a conference with his parents, Scott and Jenny Smith.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Poetry Contest and Second Chapter
Check out the poetry contest information on the side of the page. Also, look for Chapter two of the middle-grade novel that was introduced back in January to be up by the end of the month. Happy reading!Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The hook needs viewers
The writers hook had it's first comment! Those of you that have visited spread the word. Look forward to a poetry contest in February. AND if you like the word picture above, go to wordle.net It's a great site for creating word clouds:)Sunday, December 27, 2009
Chapter 1
This is Chapter 1 from a middle grade novel I've been working on for about three years. It's actually a flash forward to an event that occurs later in the novel. Keep in mind, formatting changes when things are copied into blogger; I know dialogue is supposed to be on separate lines, but it won't let me copy text from Word exactly. Let me know what you think! See if you can spot a "Show not Tell" towards the end.
The applause from the crowd was ringing in Kai’s ears as he stood to his feet. Clumsily, he knocked his trumpet against the music stand in front of his chair and the mouthpiece clanged to the floor rolling to the edge of the stage. Red faced, he pushed his way past a never-ending sea of legs and instruments in a desperate attempt to rescue it before it tumbled over the side. Avoiding the glares from everyone around him, Kai reached out his hand, smiled weakly at the audience, and grabbed the mouthpiece before rushing back to his seat. He wanted to enjoy this moment. Granted, the band hadn’t exactly torn up the stage with their performance. What he and the 58 other sixth-graders had produced during the 25 minute concert sounded more like a sick train than the winter fantasy it had been advertised as in the program. None of that really mattered to Kai though. It was their first concert after all and they’d made it through every song without stopping, which is a feat they hadn’t accomplished before tonight.
As the noise began to die, Kai’s ears picked up a different sound. Softer maybe, but it was gaining in strength. Looking across the stage, he noticed that everyone including his best friend Simeon was staring in his direction. Instinctively, he whipped around, assuming another piccolo player had fainted, which they were known to do if required to play more than two songs in a row. No such luck. All the girls looked ok. Winded maybe, but ok. Turning back around, he mouthed, “What’s up?” to Simeon who was sitting parallel to him but on the other side of the stage.
His friend mouthed back, “Your shirt!”
“What about my shirt?” he said out loud to no one in particular. Simeon pointed to his back and Kai shrugged, tilting his head to one side confused.
“I think he’s telling you to look at the back of your shirt idiot!” a trombone player shouted jolting Kai out of a fog.
“The back of my shirt, why?” he said glancing from left to right and realizing the applause he’d heard seconds ago was quickly being replaced by laughter.
“Just get out of here and take that shirt off before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have,” hissed Carrie Fisher, a fellow trumpeter sitting next to him. Dazed, Kai looked up again and scanned the audience, trying to locate his parents, but all he could find was the head of his stupid brother Jimmy, who was cracking up along with what seemed like the rest of the audience.
Man, someone must have said something hilarious, Kai thought, before it dawned on him that everyone in the auditorium was staring at him. They were all laughing at him! Quickly, he threw down his instrument and yanked the front of his t-shirt around in order to inspect the back. Thousands of images of what could possibly be wrong raced through his head. Was he wearing an enormous kick me sign? Was the shirt riding up in the back revealing his new heart-covered boxers? A gift from his Grandma of course. Kai concentrated on twisting the back of the shirt around towards the front without completely undressing in front of everyone, but it was useless. No matter what he did, it was too hard to actually see what was there.
Frantic, he pushed his way to the end of the row and ran toward the back of the stage to a set of floor to ceiling mirrors. Turning to face the audience, he spotted the director Mr. Patrick, who was now waving his wand madly in the air in order to silence the band and the crowd. Kai knew he’d broken Mr. P.’s number one concert rule: Never leave your seat until the curtain closes. If you do, you better be sick or dying, but he didn’t care. He had to figure out what was going on. So he cranked his head around and let his shoulders drop in order to finally see what everyone was so worked up about. At that moment, his heart stopped cold and his mouth turn to sandpaper.
What had he done? Where had things gone so wrong? The first months of middle school had gone by so smoothly; he was actually enjoying himself and definitely getting the feeling that he was fitting in. He had started the day as such an ordinary kid. But now, under the blinding stage lights, in front of a packed auditorium, he’d done something so completely moronic that he knew he couldn’t possibly live it down. Kai looked up slowly and took one last peek at the scene now being reflected back at him in the mirrors before bolting to the hallway. Without a doubt, his social life had just hit a monstrous road block.
The applause from the crowd was ringing in Kai’s ears as he stood to his feet. Clumsily, he knocked his trumpet against the music stand in front of his chair and the mouthpiece clanged to the floor rolling to the edge of the stage. Red faced, he pushed his way past a never-ending sea of legs and instruments in a desperate attempt to rescue it before it tumbled over the side. Avoiding the glares from everyone around him, Kai reached out his hand, smiled weakly at the audience, and grabbed the mouthpiece before rushing back to his seat. He wanted to enjoy this moment. Granted, the band hadn’t exactly torn up the stage with their performance. What he and the 58 other sixth-graders had produced during the 25 minute concert sounded more like a sick train than the winter fantasy it had been advertised as in the program. None of that really mattered to Kai though. It was their first concert after all and they’d made it through every song without stopping, which is a feat they hadn’t accomplished before tonight.
As the noise began to die, Kai’s ears picked up a different sound. Softer maybe, but it was gaining in strength. Looking across the stage, he noticed that everyone including his best friend Simeon was staring in his direction. Instinctively, he whipped around, assuming another piccolo player had fainted, which they were known to do if required to play more than two songs in a row. No such luck. All the girls looked ok. Winded maybe, but ok. Turning back around, he mouthed, “What’s up?” to Simeon who was sitting parallel to him but on the other side of the stage.
His friend mouthed back, “Your shirt!”
“What about my shirt?” he said out loud to no one in particular. Simeon pointed to his back and Kai shrugged, tilting his head to one side confused.
“I think he’s telling you to look at the back of your shirt idiot!” a trombone player shouted jolting Kai out of a fog.
“The back of my shirt, why?” he said glancing from left to right and realizing the applause he’d heard seconds ago was quickly being replaced by laughter.
“Just get out of here and take that shirt off before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have,” hissed Carrie Fisher, a fellow trumpeter sitting next to him. Dazed, Kai looked up again and scanned the audience, trying to locate his parents, but all he could find was the head of his stupid brother Jimmy, who was cracking up along with what seemed like the rest of the audience.
Man, someone must have said something hilarious, Kai thought, before it dawned on him that everyone in the auditorium was staring at him. They were all laughing at him! Quickly, he threw down his instrument and yanked the front of his t-shirt around in order to inspect the back. Thousands of images of what could possibly be wrong raced through his head. Was he wearing an enormous kick me sign? Was the shirt riding up in the back revealing his new heart-covered boxers? A gift from his Grandma of course. Kai concentrated on twisting the back of the shirt around towards the front without completely undressing in front of everyone, but it was useless. No matter what he did, it was too hard to actually see what was there.
Frantic, he pushed his way to the end of the row and ran toward the back of the stage to a set of floor to ceiling mirrors. Turning to face the audience, he spotted the director Mr. Patrick, who was now waving his wand madly in the air in order to silence the band and the crowd. Kai knew he’d broken Mr. P.’s number one concert rule: Never leave your seat until the curtain closes. If you do, you better be sick or dying, but he didn’t care. He had to figure out what was going on. So he cranked his head around and let his shoulders drop in order to finally see what everyone was so worked up about. At that moment, his heart stopped cold and his mouth turn to sandpaper.
What had he done? Where had things gone so wrong? The first months of middle school had gone by so smoothly; he was actually enjoying himself and definitely getting the feeling that he was fitting in. He had started the day as such an ordinary kid. But now, under the blinding stage lights, in front of a packed auditorium, he’d done something so completely moronic that he knew he couldn’t possibly live it down. Kai looked up slowly and took one last peek at the scene now being reflected back at him in the mirrors before bolting to the hallway. Without a doubt, his social life had just hit a monstrous road block.
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