Finding Her Voice

My 14 year-old daughter, Sophie, wrote this piece about a month ago. I wanted to print it right away, "Do you want to publish it? You can put it up on my blog if you'd like."

She looked pensive. "I don't know. What if it sucks?"

Now she sounded like a writer! "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. But..."

"If you want to wait or whatever, that's perfectly okay. Really. No pressure."

"Wait. If you publish it on your blog, I want attribution." Now she sounded like an author!

I Finally Found my Overalls

My mom told me about a week ago that if I cleaned out my closet she would take me to get new clothes. Seeing as I desperately wanted new shirts this didn’t seam to be a bad idea. Today was a half day at school so I picked today to go through my closet.

It’s always interesting what you find in a closet. There is always a lot of “Hey I didn’t know I had that.” or “So THAT’S where my English paper was!” And, every once in a while you might find something you didn’t bargin for. Like these overalls.

I wore these almost everyday in second grade. During the summer it was just me, my best friend Ry, and the overalls. Climbing trees, pretending to be super genius wizards who could make a poison out of everyday items; we saw the world in a different way. That thing in the backyard it wasn’t a tree to us, it was a look out post over our entire kingdom. *Pauses*

But people grow up, and apart. And one day, one summer, there were no more kingdoms, no more crazy concoctions, no more happy endings. The overalls started to see less and less day light and I saw less and less of my best friend.

Years passed, schools passed, summers passed. New friends were made, I discovered what cell phones, make-up, and boyfriends were. But I never let go of that little second grade me who loved castles, adventures, and tree climbing. The little second grade me who loved her best friend. I did, however, start to lose my overalls. I would do whatever people said was the “right thing” the “cool thing” I was just looking to find a new best friend.

Back to today. I was cleaning out my closet, and I made two piles on my bed: keep and give-a-way. As I got to the back of my closet I figured I could just throw all of what was left into the give-a-way pile. But then I found my overalls, and this time, I didn’t let them go.

-Sophie Biddle

I Learned So Much By Not Writing

Sara has a tattoo. I don’t know what the words are or the image is yet. I learned that her favorite color is orange and fall is her favorite season. Or was. Barney is not a dog; he’s a rabbit. I don’t know who gave him to her yet. I might not ever know the answer to that open query. I’m okay with that.

I learned that she’s ditching the lab for tech class to take the bus to this appointment. I know it doesn’t matter what time the bus comes, or if the place is closed, because she already knows the answer.

Her oldest friend has red hair, blue eyes, and doesn’t wear glasses. And he smokes. But, he’s the annoying kind of smoker who can smoke when he’s with smokers and then not smoke for months. He's a wanderer at heart and can’t wait to leave this country.

And finally I learned that she’s getting tired of telling this story. She feels like she’s almost done and wants to wrap up this very long day and go to bed. She also wants to skip school tomorrow, but she can’t.

I learned all of that collaging for three and a half hours this morning. So cool. :)

Photo courtesy of wwarby

When You Tear the Cellophane Away

Last night I caught the bug. The “I must read now” bug. I am of the one-day-click-order-from-Amazon school of lit-tra-ture. Imagine my surprise when I drove to the library. My memories of the library of my younger summer days were not wonderful. Mom had MS, and part of her maintenance therapy was to rest her legs every day for two hours. Lying down. I was eight; my brothers, five and three. We did not want to lie down for two hours every afternoon.

Mom dragged us (me) to the Yucca Branch of the Phoenix Public Library every single week. She made a haul of six or seven books, my brother John found three or four science fiction books, and Dave, the toddler, drooled on his picture books. I wandered. And sighed. And protested. “There’s nothing to R-E-A-D.” Moments later mom had pulled a random volume of Nancy Drew (in which the 15 year-old heroine wore gloves - gloves) from the shelf.

Last night I read Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”. The last time I made contact with this material was as a freshman in high school. Funny how different a work feels and sounds after 30 years. (I wish I’d kept Miss Schner’s reading list from my senior year.) I fully intended to write about my lovely experience with this piece of miraculous prose, but a funny thing happened on the way to the typewriter.

I went to the library again.

Today, though, I noticed people were culling and perusing and flipping through books, and they were happy about it. I turned my attention to the books and really took them in. Mostly cool plastic wrapped hardcover books. Have you ever noticed that when you crack the spine of a library book it crackles like fire? Or do you think the pages of an old book smell like your grandma’s couch from when you were ten? Of if the book is newer, do you think the pages smell just like a fresh pack of three-ringed notebook paper at the exact minute you tear the cellophane away?

I slid my index finger across titles looking for just the right words. Those words that stop a strolling finger in its tracks: “Ash Wednesday” by Ethan Hawke. Ahh…. See, in my writing, I just made reference to an Ethan Hawke string of dialogue from “Reality Bites” and this was surely providence.

After my daughter’s rehearsal, after a late dinner, after my son hugs me three times, I will take my book and kiss my husband heading down the hall to our room. I will lie down and read my new book. For two hours. While I rest.