Author

“Spurring Ideas with Creative Teamwork”

I recently co-authored a YA novel with another writer, Briar Lee Mitchell. This process proved to be a positive and surprisingly creative experience for both of us. Briar got the ball rolling with a few sentences that described a rather ordinary scene, which had a slightly ominous suggestion of things to come.

It had only been a circle of stones by the river. Nothing so special about it really, but it hadn’t been there the day before. He was sure of it. 

With that, we were off, bouncing pages and ideas back and forth. Over time, characters changed, names changed, and the story galloped off in unexpected directions. The end result was The Whistlebrass Horror published by Permuted Press. Our teamwork was a success.

While recently teaching a graphic design class, I thought it would be interesting for the students to design and illustrate something that they had written themselves. With so many dazzling distractions instantly available on their TVs, computers, and magic phones, many young people are discouragingly hesitant to open a book. If you suggest that they attempt some creative writing, you may find yourself confronted with a roomful of kids staring at you in bewilderment.

For instructors who love to read and are entranced with the magic of wordplay, there are few things as rewarding as winning over a reluctant reader or igniting the creative spark in a budding writer. The initial challenge is simply breaking the ice. I wondered if setting up my students in teams might be a good way to break through any stage fright they might have, and allow them to rely on each other to propel a story forward. I mentioned this idea to another instructor. His response was emphatic.

“Don’t do it,” he said. “They’ll hate you.”

He had learned from experience that setting up classroom teams could result in disaster. Students were often paired with partners that they didn’t like. Some teams were saddled with a student who did no work, or an alpha kid who attempted to dominate the rest. The result was unproductive lopsided partnerships. After pondering the pitfalls, I came up with an alternative method of getting students to collaborate.

We started by discussing Chris Van Allsburg’s brilliant book, The Mysteries of Harris Burdick in which evocative pictures depicting mysterious events are accompanied by a title and a single sentence that encourage readers to invent their own stories.

I asked my students to each come up with at least two imaginative sentences that could be part of a novel or short story. The sentences did not have to relate to each other in any way. Most came up with ten or more that varied from wry observations to fragments of conversations. Students wrote about strange machines, modern day dinosaurs, telepathic dogs, and intimidating strangers. The surprising results were along the lines of the following:

• He suspected that the creature was hiding in the old grocery store.
• As the sun came out from behind a cloud, the pigs began to dance.
• Had his mad uncle concealed the skeleton key in the birthday cake?
• “But why are you wearing a penguin costume?” whispered Agnes.

The second part of the exercise was where the teamwork came sneaking in. Students were given lists of every sentence that the class had come up with. They were asked to select one or more of their own and one or more written by others. Then they were asked to write a very short story (a paragraph or two long) that included their selections. There was no limit on the number of sentences used, and most chose to use several. If necessary, changes in gender, names, and so on could be made.

The results were ingenious. The students read the stories aloud and enjoyed the laughter and applause they received. Some stories were very funny and some were quite serious. There were elements of fantasy, science fiction and magic realism. It was very interesting to see how different individuals used the same sentences to achieve different results.

Finally, the students created layouts and illustrations for their fiction. For many, it was a new experience to see their own writing and byline presented in a professional looking way. The entire exercise proved to be pleasant, provocative, and painless. My goal was to involve the students in authorship and collaboration, and to let them see how working with words can be fun and rewarding.

As they were leaving, one young man paused and said, “That was a fun class.”

Mission accomplished!

About the Author

Some claim that Jack Keely is the son of a celebrated spiritualist. Others insist that he grew up in the wagons of a traveling carnival. In any case, he has always been an aficionado of the arcane, the peculiar, and the eccentric.

He spent four years exploring the haunts of H. P. Lovecraft in the historic city of Providence, while obtaining his degree in illustration from Rhode Island School of Design. After an additional two years of study at Cranbrook Academy of Art, Keely began a long and checkered career illustrating dozens of books, including the best-selling Grossology series by Sylvia Branzei.

He recently completed the cover art and interior illustrations forThe Whistlebrass Horror, and co-authored the tale with Briar Lee Mitchell. The duo is currently at work on a sequel, The Whistlebrass Storm Watcher.

Jack Keely is said to spend most of his time behind the chained gates of the Keely family manse. Although the moldering old house appears to be abandoned, a light can often be seen at night in the library windows. On quiet evenings, if their hearing was sufficiently acute, passersby would likely hear the rhythmic thwack of a typewriter, or the scratch of a pen across a sheet of drawing paper.

About The Whistlebrass Horror

Founded on cursed land, Whistlebrass, Vermont is a place of dark deeds and darker dreams. Shortly after teenage newcomer Casey Wilde arrives in the haunted town his little sister disappears. Determined to get her back, Casey’s only clues are a murdered man’s rambling journal and a mysterious stone spiral on an isolated stretch of riverbank.

To help find his sister Casey teams up with Pike, a teen psychic with a rebellious streak. But Casey and Pike are up against a suave sociopath, a legion of living shadows, and a reptilian humanoid capable of stealing their life force and crushing them into dust. Who can Casey ask for help when no sane adult will believe his story?

Thank you, Jack, for this great teaching post, and thank you to Permuted Press for connecting us with Jack!

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“My Son’s Teacher’s Approach to Reading”

My son’s passion is soccer, but math comes a quick second. Those drills everyone groans about? The ones where students have five minutes to solve a hundred problems? He eats them up.

I think I get why: each week there is an obvious growth potential. He can—and does—create specific goals. This week, he scored a 98 percent in division facts. If he can do the same or better next week, he can move up to double-digit division. The progress can—and is—charted, allowing him to see the steady increase in his knowledge base.

Growth in reading and writing isn’t obvious. Just because a book is thicker than another doesn’t mean it’s more challenging. Just because he read it doesn’t mean he understood it. Just because he can tell you what happened doesn’t mean the story blossomed—or better yet, exploded—in his mind.

I have yet to see a writing or reading exam that goes beyond measuring grammar and vocabulary ability to measuring depth of engagement with a story. Sure, there are degrees of reading power tests, but do they really showcase whether a student “gets it”? I can time how long he spends reading, but how does that reflect what he absorbed?

Really, there is only one way to tell. Conversation.

My son’s second-grade teacher was brilliant at this. “Have you read this book?” she asked him one day, putting Call of the Wild on his desk. “I know you like dogs. Maybe you’d like this book. It’s one of my favorites.”

And then, a few days later, “What do you think about John Thornton?”

My boy was hooked. Maybe not on the story—at first—but in having book discussions with his teacher. He fell hard for the story later, but those few moments each afternoon where his teacher asked him where he was in the story filled him up. That she could hint to what was coming and loved the book as much as he did made a huge difference.

Soon he was asking her for other recommendations. Even better, he was looking for books he could recommend to her. “Mom, do you think my teacher has read this book?” he asked a few weeks later, pulling Where the Red Fern Grows from our shelves. “Do you think you could read it to me?”

Soon we, too, were talking through a book, drawing connections. He imagined what it would be like to live barefoot and wild like Billy. We moved on to Tuck Everlasting and debated what would make us drink from the spring. Would we want to live forever? He held my hand when my voice shook as I read the last chapter of Flora and Ulysses.

Now there were twenty kids in my son’s second-grade class. His teacher shouldn’t and couldn’t be expected to have separate lengthy book discussions with each child. But she didn’t have to; just a quick question here or there was more than enough to ignite his enthusiasm for reading.

My son’s daily reading log lists chapter titles and page numbers, but it doesn’t reflect the times he doodles Little Ann and Old Dan on his worksheets. It doesn’t measure his imaginary games of Quidditch on our front lawn, or take into account the Gryffindor hat he wears to bed each night. It doesn’t show that he named his guinea pig “Winn-Dixie.”

I ran into my son’s teacher at Barnes & Noble one Saturday. Her hands were full of books. One was specifically for my boy to read. “I can’t keep up with all of my readers,” she said. Is there any better indicator of amazing teaching than that?

About the Author

Beth Vrabel grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. She won a short-story contest in fourth grade and promptly decided writing was what she was going to do with her life. Although her other plans–becoming a wolf biologist, a Yellowstone National Park ranger, and a professional roller skater–didn’t come to fruition, she stuck with the writing. After graduating from Pennsylvania State University with a degree in journalism, she moved through the ranks of a local newspaper to become editor of two regional magazines and a lifestyle columnist. Beth now lives in Connecticut with her wonderful husband, two charming children, a spoiled rotten puppy, and two guinea pigs, Winn-Dixie and Pippin.

About A Blind Guide to Stinkville

Before Stinkville, Alice didn’t think albinism—or the blindness that goes with it—was a big deal. Sure, she uses a magnifier to read books. And a cane keeps her from bruising her hips on tables. Putting on sunscreen and always wearing a hat are just part of life. But life has always been like this for Alice. Until Stinkville.

For the first time in her life, Alice feels different—like she’s at a disadvantage. Back in her old neighborhood in Seattle, everyone knew Alice, and Alice knew her way around. In Stinkville, Alice finds herself floundering—she can’t even get to the library on her own. But when her parents start looking into schools for the blind, Alice takes a stand. She’s going to show them—and herself—that blindness is just a part of who she is, not all that she can be. To prove it, Alice enters the Stinkville Success Stories essay contest. No one, not even her new friend Kerica, believes she can scout out her new town’s stories and write the essay by herself. The funny thing is, as Alice confronts her own blindness, everyone else seems to see her for the first time.

This is a stirring small-town story that explores many different issues—albinism, blindness, depression, dyslexia, growing old, and more—with a light touch and lots of heart. Beth Vrabel’s characters are complicated and messy, but they come together in a story about the strength of community and friendship.

Thank you, Beth, for this post. We hope our sons are fortunate to have teachers like this one.

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