Giving the Family Business

e-portfolio

Submitted by

Linda Elizabeth Neville

For

LLED 597G

Writing for Children

Professor Susan Campbell Bartoletti

Penn State University

November 28, 2011

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GIVING THE FAMILY BUSINESS

Copyright © 2011 by Linda E. Neville

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing from the Author.

All persons, places and organizations in this book---except those clearly in the public domain---are fictitious; and any resemblance to actual persons, places or organizations living, dead or defunct, is purely coincidental. These are works of fiction.

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“Whoso neglects learning in his youth,Loses the past and is dead for the future.”

~Euripedes

“It’s what you learn after you know it allthat counts.”~Attributed to Harry S. Truman

To my real teachersThe students of the

North Adams Public School District2005-2012

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Table of Contents

Beginning Novel The Baker’s Son 5 Personal Reflection 21 Summary 21

Part One 23 Poetry Joshua Rain 23 Curse Poem 24 Culture Poem 24 Gramma ‘Cini 25 Poetry is like a brook 27 Caveat to a Trout 28 No More Rhymes 29 Still a child 30 What I used to believe 31 I Remember Dad 32 Three American Sentences 33 Three Haiku 33 My Credo 34

Part Two 35 Critiques 35-41 My Personal Philosophy 41

Part Three 42 Appendix Five Blurbs 43

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The Baker’s SonBy Linda E. NevilleNovember 19, 2011

Hi! My name is Anthony Anderson. Yeh, I know AA; I get it all the

time. But,

it’s like this. My mother is Italian and my father’s family is from Scotland.

I was supposed to be James Anderson III but my mother, so the story goes,

said I’m having this baby, I want to name him Anthony after my bother. So

I’m Anthony James Anderson.

It’s not like I had anything to say about it. Most of my friends call

me Tony.

The reason I’m where I am now, started that day in Mrs. Natick’s

office.

When the door opened, I knew it was my mother coming into the

room. I looked up and then just as quickly looked down at the floor.

“ Hello, Mrs. Anderson.” The principal said. “Thank you for

coming in.”

“What is this all about?” Mom asked.

“Anthony, what do they mean you’re not graduating?”

“I’m short credits.” I mumbled but I still couldn’t look at her. I

noticed the floor had this green pattern running in and out of a sort of

bluish background. I wondered how they had installed the carpet to match

so perfectly that the lines joined together so well.

“What is he talking about, missing credits?” Mom said to Mrs.

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Natick.

Mrs. Natick handed my mother my schedule as she explained the

courses I had taken and the ones I was supposed to be in.

“Yes, I see. 4 credits of English, 4 credits of Math, 3 Social Studies,

3 Science…” Mom continued looking down the list reading silently, then

“6 credits electives. This year he has Typing and Woodworking. What is

the problem?” she asked.

Oh boy, at that point I remember thinking this is it, I’m dead!

“Woodworking is the problem, Mrs. Anderson,” explained Mrs.

Natick, “Tony hasn’t been going to woodworking. He’s short two credits.”

“Why haven’t you been going to woodworking? “ Mom asked.

“Anthony, look at me, why have you been skipping class?”

“Mom, Mr. Bromley is a pothead. Really he is! I can’t stand that

class!” I thought that would explain it clearly. Mom hates potheads. But

she screamed at me and said she couldn’t believe that I would just stop

going to class and now look, I couldn’t graduate.

All I could say was I was sorry. I hadn’t thought about it. Mom

looked like she was going to loose it. Mrs. Natick asked her if she wanted a

drink of water but mom said she needed to go to the rest room.

Boy, this could only get worse. I just sat there in the principal’s

office thinking about what it would be like when Dad found out if this was

how mom was taking it. The principal was saying something about how I

had to have enough credits. Maybe I could take a class in the summer but I

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wouldn’t be able to walk with my class. That kind of made me think about

how dumb I would look to my friends. What about hockey? Could I still

play hockey?

Suddenly the door opened. I turned to see Mrs. Woodland step into

the office followed by my mother.

“Well, Tony, your mom and I just met in the hallway. You’ve got

yourself in a real pickle barrel this time.” She said.

“Hi Mrs. Woodland,” I replied.

“Guess you’ve decided not to be a carpenter. Is that right?” she

asked.

I should tell you a little about Mrs. Woodland. She’s this tall, no

nonsense woman who teaches Home Economics classes. She teaches

cooking, sewing, child-care, interior decorating, stuff like that. A couple of

my friends’ sisters have her for a teacher. How I know her is I play hockey

with her two sons. She’s given me a ride home a couple of times. She loves

the Bruins and watches all the games. She’s always telling me stuff she

found out about Ray Bourque since he left the Bruins. Well, any way, there

she is standing in Mrs. Natick office and you’ll never believe it. This is

what she says.

“Mrs. Natick, Elana, here, tells me her boy doesn’t have enough

credits to graduate. Is this true?”

“I’m afraid so Mrs. Woodland.” confirmed Mrs. Natick.

“Well, I know he helps at the donut shop. Don’t you Tony? Why

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just the other day your typing teacher told me she thought it was so nice

that you help deliver donuts for your mom and dad every morning.”

“You do what?” mom said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been going

to typing either!”

Yeh. You guessed it. Now, I’m totally busted. But, Mrs. Woodland

puts her hand on mom’s shoulder and keeps talking.

“It seems Tony hasn’t been taking school work too seriously but I’d

like to offer a solution. I have room in my fourth period cooking class.

He’d have to really work hard to catch up. But if he’s planning on working

in the Bakery, cooking class might be just the thing.”

I looked at Mrs. Woodland, then to the principal. Could this be

happening? Sure, I screwed up, but maybe I could graduate after all.

Cooking? How bad could that be? Even if it was an all-girl class, I could

take a little ribbing from the guys. Come to think of it, it might be a great

class. Me and eight girls---great odds!

“Anthony!” Mrs. Natick yelled and brought him from his thoughts.

“What do you think about the generous offer Mrs. Woodland has

made you? Can you be counted on to attend every class? On time? No

excuses?”

Sure, I thought, but nothing came out of my mouth.

“ I’m sorry,” she said, “could you speak up, I didn’t hear you.”

“Yeh, I mean Yes, Mrs. Natick. I’ll go to every class. Thank you

Mrs. Woodland!” I replied.

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Mom gave me a stern look. I figured I’d hear more about skipping

typing class every once and awhile, on the ride home.

“Okay, then it’s settled. You’ll start 4th period tomorrow.” Mrs.

Woodland looked to mom and said, “He’ll need an apron and a binder.

Maybe he can share your donut recipe.”

“No way, family secret!” I replied.

Dad wasn’t happy when he learned what had happened. Mom told

him at supper that night. I do feel sorry for Mom. But, we’d all rather have

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her tell Dad bad news.

Supper is kind of a big deal. We all have to be home at 5:00 o’clock sharp

and eat together. No TV. , no phone calls, uninterrupted family time. Dad

works nights and sleeps days so Mom insists we have Supper together so

we can talk. I’ve given up trying to bring up something to talk about. With

two sisters, I can’t find a time to jump in as a rule.

“Dad, Can I borrow the car Friday night.” Patty said. “June and I

need to go to Greenfield to the new arts and crafts store. I have a project

due for Art class.”

“I guess so, your mother can bring me to work.” Dad replied.

Then the talking machine started.

“Daddy, Daddy, I’m reading a new story. It’s about this kid. This

girl. She doesn’t have parents but she’s got this horse and a monkey and

she tells everyone her father is searching for buried treasure. She lives in

this big house and does whatever she wants to. It’s the best story ever!”

This is Liz, the talking machine. She’ cute and all but Boy! Can she

talk and talk and talk. I don’t think she even knows what she is talking

about sometimes but it’s like she is running this race and once she starts

she has to get to the finish line, no matter what happens. If she gets

interrupted, she starts right up where she left off. Once we were camping

out in the tent and I fell asleep on her telling me something. I remember

waking up because it had started to thunder and she was still talking away.

She hadn’t even noticed I hadn’t been listening.

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Well that night at supper, Mom got up to get the tea and she said to

Dad,

“Anthony’s school called here today and I had to go meet with Mrs.

Natick.”

I started cutting my pork chop. As I told you, bad news usually goes

down easier if Mom tells Dad. He’s not too happy with me as it is. The

other night, he made a crack about my hair. Said he didn’t realize he had

three daughters.

Really, I’m not lying, my hair isn’t that long! It’s a mullet---short

on the sides, longer at the back. How would he like it if I got a Mohawk

like the college hockey team?

“Why did the school want to see you?” asked Dad.

“Anthony’s going to be taking cooking classes starting tomorrow.”

Mom said casually as she poured his cup of tea.

“Home Economics class isn’t it? I thought those classes were only

for girls.” Said Dad.

I could feel him staring at me for some explanation. I was still

dissecting my pork chop into minute pieces.

“Anthony needs more credits to graduate. He’s short two credits.

Mrs. Woodland knew how we have the Bakery and offered to let him come

into her cooking class.” Said Mom.

“Well, you want to graduate don’t you Tony? Cooking class.

Probably not a lot of homework. What the heck! It won’t hurt you any to

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learn how to cook.” Dad seemed to think nothing of the situation.

I thought Gee, he’s not yelling at me. I don’t know why but I

offered that Mrs. Woodland said my first assignment was to find out about

unit prices for ten items on my list. We were actually having a

conversation. He was actually talking and listening to me.

“Well your Mom can do that for you. Can’t you Honey?” Dad

asked.

“No, Mom can’t do Anthony’s homework! But, I’ll bring you down

to the supermarket after supper. You girls can clear the table and do the

dishes tonight.

Who wants a piece of my delicious Torta di ricotta?”

“ I love your cheesecake,” said Dad, “and make sure I get some

raspberries.”

I don’t know why I have to get a job. Dad says it will help pay for

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the car, gas money, insurance, all that stuff. Patty uses the car all the time

but she goes to college.

Maybe I’ll get my own car. I’m almost finished with Driver’s Ed class.

What a big surprise! Seems like everything you do, they expect you to

write about it. Can’t wait to get behind the wheel and just drive. The first

place I’ll go when I get my license is to a Bruin’s game. Can’t wait to see a

real hockey game. Live Action! I’ve seen pucks end up in the bleachers.

Imagine what the fights are like right in front of you!

Gram got me a job where she works. It’s millwork, a lot of lifting

and picking up boxes from one place and bringing them to another place,

and it’s part-time. I still work on the weekends at the Bakery, if I don’t

have an away game. I have hockey practice at 4:00 a.m. so the days I work

after school are long days. I don’t mind working though, I have a little

more cash in my pocket every week and that’s a good thing---girlfriends

cost money.

Oh yeh, I have a girlfriend. We met in driver’s ed. She’s beautiful.

Nice smile, She’s great! I never get to see enough of her. She doesn’t like

that I have a job, work at the Bakery or that I play hockey. “Too bad” I told

her. “I couldn’t afford you if I didn’t work.” I even let her have my letter

sweater. But, it’s never enough. She’s a real pouter if she doesn’t get her

own way. Believe it! What a pouter! Just last week she started on me. That

new movie “Grease” came out.

“Can’t we go to the movies tonight?” she begged.

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“No, I told you, I have to help Dad tonight at the Bakery. This is a

busy weekend.” I explained.

“Please, I have to go tonight. You know how I love John Travolta.

Please.” she pleaded.

“Jennifer, don’t start! I told you, I have to work.”

“Pretty Please!” she said as she gave me a bear hug.

She always says that and then when I say No, she makes her mouth all

pouty-like and acts really sad. Then she won’t talk to me and acts like I’m

invisible or something.

“No, I said No!”

“Fine, I’ll find someone else to take me. Don’t think I can’t,” she

threatened.

You guessed it. I took her to the movies. I admit it; I’m a coward.

Can’t win either way. Jennifer gets mad and pouts or I disappoint the

family and look like an asshole. The next weekend I was determined to

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please everybody. I told Jennifer I had to work but she could take my car

and go out with her girlfriends. Sounds like a good idea. Right?

It was until that night.

There I was frying the donuts, Dad’s talking to me, and we’re

listening to his police scanner. Mom called with an order for the weekend

that someone placed at our home number.

“Okay, Honey have a goodnight; see you in the morning.” Dad was

saying.

Then I heard my name over the scanner.

[scanner] “Base to Officer Lesniak , come in.”

“This is Officer Lesniak.”

“Plate number 9946 NT is registered to Anthony Andrews,

55 State Street, Pittsfield MA.”

“Officer Lesniak to Base. Heading to that address. The car

has been involved in a hit-and-run.”

I tell Dad. He calls the police. The investigation went on for hours.

Seems Jennifer and her girlfriends and some guys slammed into someone’s

porch. She took off, driving my car, the car Pa gave me when he got to old

to drive. The whole front end was wrecked.

That did it! I broke up with her! A guy can only take so much!

Cooking class has turned out to be very interesting! There are

twelve of us. Another guy added into the class. He’s all right! Not sure

what to make of him yet! He tells these goofy jokes. It’s not the jokes; it’s

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the way he tells them. You just can’t help but laugh. Like the other day he

said: “There were two peanuts walking down the street; one of them was a

salted.” It cracked me up! And, another thing, he’s always saying: “Will

you look at that!” Every time he says it we all laugh till it hurts.

His name is Brian. He says he wants to be a real chef. He’s got it

all figured out. He’s going to go to Florida, California, or maybe New

Orleans, someplace like that; someplace warm, near the ocean. He wants to

open a restaurant in a Hotel where there are a lot of tourists. He says he

wants to wear one of those goofy white chef hats like you see in the

movies. I mean he is really into the whole idea.

Brian’s menu in his restaurant will feature fish, all kinds of fish.

Fried, baked, grilled, poached, name it his restaurant will cook it. He will

have chowders and soups and salads and really delicious salads. I told him

he should add Italian desserts like my mother makes.

The more I think of Brian’s idea, the more I think he could actually

pull it off. See that’s my problem. Brian has a plan. Dad is always saying

you have to make. I don’t have a plan. I’ve always thought that I will just

stay working at the Bakery when I get out of high school. I’ve really never

thought of doing anything else. I told Brian, he should take me on as a

partner and we could call his restaurant “Fish ‘n Trips”. I could get a

fishing boat and take people out on deep-sea fishing trips and then they

could come back and eat at the restaurant. He said he liked the idea!

Today we have to make Christmas cookies; you know stars, trees,

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angels, reindeer… We make Scotch shortbread cookies at the Bakery. It

sort of looks like a pie with a thistle in the middle but it’s a family cookie.

We have it on Christmas Eve; everybody breaks off a piece. The one whose

piece is the biggest gets their wish. We sell a lot of shortbread, fruitcakes,

cannollies and cheesecakes around the holidays.

Megan and I were partners today. She’s cute. She has red hair and is

fun. She’s not a girlie girl. She figure skates, but we sometimes fool around

and play a pick-up game of hockey at the rink. She’s not afraid of the puck

and can give as well as take a check that will send you flying.

“Tony, did you take the star cutter?” Megan asked, “ I’m not done

with it.”

“I don’t have the star cutter”, I said as I put it under my pastry cloth.

“You do too. Give it back!” she grabbed my arm.

“What will you give me for it?” I said.

She was closer now and I could look into her hazel-green eyes.

Those eyes! I felt I was being drawn into a deep lagoon. There was nothing

else but those eyes.

“Anthony Anderson!” shouted Mrs. Woodland. “Get back to work.

Those cookies are not going to bake themselves, you know!”

“Yes, Mrs. Woodland,” I said.

Then I pointed to Megan’s left and said, “Will you look at that!”

When she looked away, I put the cookie cutter right in front of her.

She looked at the star and then looked up at me and we both stifled a laugh.

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Just as we finished filling our cookie sheet, the fire alarm went off.

“Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding!” I said.

“Tony, shut the window. Last one out shut the door. Let’s go. Come

on Anne, Mary just put everything down. I’ve shut off the ovens,” said

Mrs. Woodland, “let’s keep moving out the door and out of the building.”

Once outside, we all started talking about the “Snowball Dance”.

Brian asked me if I was taking Megan. I told him she had a boyfriend; he

played basketball.

“What about you Brian, do you have a date?” I asked.

“No, not me. I-I don’t dance.” He explained.

I shouldn’t have asked. Brian doesn’t seem the type to have a girlfriend.

He’s kind of into video games and believe it or not Legos. He still plays

with Legos. It’s like I said, he’s all right but, he’s different. He’s kind of a

sidelines kid. You know, he watches things from the sidelines. He doesn’t

get into any team sports. I never see him downtown. I don’t think I’ve ever

seen him talk to a girl. The strange thing is I like him. He’s his own person.

He doesn’t seem to care that he is different. Somehow, I really can see us

running the “Fish n’ Trips” Restaurant.

Megan came over to stand next to us in front of the Hawthorne

High School sign.

We were all just standing there talking and who shows up but Jennifer.

“What are you looking at?” Jennifer said to Megan.

“You!” said Megan.

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“Well, don’t!” said Jennifer with her hands on her hips.

“Saw all I care to see.” said Megan as she walked back into school.

“What was that all about?” said Brian.

“Ex-girlfriend.” I said.

Ever since we broke up, Jennifer’s been stalking me. I came out of

McDonald’s the other day and she rode by in her father’s car. I went out to

get the mail and she was driving down the street. When I’m home, the

phone rings, I pick it up. Hang up. Five minutes later the phone rings again.

One night, the phone rang five times like that around 11:30. My mother

came out of her bedroom and started yelling at me.

“I know that’s Jennifer. I have to get some sleep. You tell her to

stop calling like that or I’ll be calling her mother! This is getting ridiculous!

Well, we all went back to class. It was a false alarm. But that was it

for the cookies.

“What’s wrong with your girlfriend?” asked Megan.

“She’s not my girlfriend. We broke up.” I said.

“That’s not what I hear.” said Megan.

“Why what did you hear?” I asked.

“In Chemistry she warned me to stay away from you or I’d be

sorry.”

“Glad you aren’t a wimp! “ I said.

“I could take her if I had to. But, you’d better watch your back.”

Megan’s the best-------! I almost said best friend I ever had. If she were a

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guy she would be my best friend. We can almost read each other’s minds.

It’s funny when we talk how we can sometimes finish each other’s

sentences. And we have a lot of things in common. She likes to ice skate,

can’t stand Mr. Bromley and says she could listen to Metalica all day.

But Megan is a girl. I know girls, Hell; I’ve got two sisters. Can you

trust a girl? Can you be friends with a girl?

Life is sure funny. If I hadn’t taken this cooking class, I would

have never met Brian or Megan. He’s a nerd and she’s in College Prep

Classes. I would have never spent any time with them, but now I look

forward to seeing them every day.

And one more thing, I’m a pretty good cook! You should taste my

macaroni and cheese! I fry up breakfast sausages and stick them all around

the dish. The secret ingredient is sour cream. I put all my recipes in my

notebook. Mrs. Woodland says you never know when you might need a

good recipe.

Personal Reflection on the book I want to write some day.

#1 Giving the Family Business (Realistic Fiction)

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By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 16, 2011 7:40 AM |

I have had this title for a long time. It is what happens when you marry into

a family business and work in it for 40+ years--- Then the decision is made

to retire and the resulting chaos intensifies. Do you sell the business; do

you hand it down to one of the children. Which one? What if you just close

it? Never thought of this as children's literature, but the dynamics between

parent, child and grandparents is typical (though extreme because someone

in the family is the boss of the business) for many families.

This story is one that intrigues me because it could be told from the point of

view of the son who expected to take over the business. The future he

thought was secure turns out not to be the case. How does he succeed in

becoming a man?

#2 Summary of The Baker’s Son (Dystopian novel written

for children)

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on November 28, 2011

Seventeen year old Anthony Anderson has been a fairly

normal teenager. He plays hockey, plans to take over his

family’s bakery, and continue living with his two sisters and his

mother and father. Because he hasn’t really thought much about

his future, he finds he may not graduate because he has been

skipping classes and falls short of the required classes. As a

result, he has to take a cooking class as an elective and meets a

group of teenagers he would have never been friends with.

These new friends prove to be life-saving comrades when

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his small community is changed forever. Terrorists infiltrate

the United States, coming down from Canada. Adults are

captured or killed. Some have escaped into the woods to hide. It

will be up to Anthony Anderson and his entourage of unlikely

heroes to use the skills they never knew they had to stay alive

and create a new set of rules to live by and help their families.

In a tale reminiscent of actions taken by the survivors of

Osama bin Laden’s attack on 9/11, The Baker’s Son story asks

the questions about what could have happened if the attack on

9/11 had succeeded in overthrowing the United States

government. What if our way of life had been taken away? What

if another country was in control of America? Could a group of

teenagers save their country?

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Part One

Poetry

Joshua Rain

(Metaphor assignment playing with naturification)

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 27, 2011 4:23 PM | Parched, dry, crack-imbedded clay.Lifeless.Waiting for wind to whip and whorl me in all directions,Never to be whole again.

But, the rain will come.It will come on Wednesday.It is a Joshua Rain.

Be still.Listen.You will hear its sound.

The door flies open, hitting the wall.A book falls down,Tote bag, Tonka trucks, and Tinkertoys,Laughter, and a voice calling my name.

"Guess what I have?"And I never guess right,He is the gift.The surprise in his eyes, in his hands,On his lips.

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I am resurrected.I am restored.Life-giving nourishment,Joshua Rain.

3.2.b Praise Poem

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 25, 2011 10:03 AM Praise God, deliverer of Daniel from the lion's den.Lions surround my children and make them weep.Praise Jesus' sacrifice.Let it be mine not my children.Praise our freedom to choose the path we walk.Praise the messages that come from prayer.Praise our strength that comes not from this world.Praise the faith and trust found in young children; let them not falter.Praise the Word that endures above the lies.Praise companionship that is steadfast.Praise the Promise of better days.

3.2.a Curse Poem

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 25, 2011 9:56 AM Curse Satan and his minions.Goethe's black dog who zigzags through the corn field of our lives to confuse.Who lusts for the chance to inhabit our hearts and minds.Curse the whispers that proclaim: "You are tired and weak, rest!" "Don't get involved, just walk away; it's not your problem!"Curse the words that harm and hurt and mamea person's spirit.Curse that which triggers our anger so we do not know whom to trust.Curse lies, and deceit and flattery.Curse any who would separate the child from the Father.Your End is near!

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3.3 Culture Poem

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 24, 2011 8:23 AM What I am is this:I am French from Avignon. Linda D'Avignon---Linda of Avignonhidden in Linda Neville,The wife, the mother, the grandmother.I am Italian from Bresia, Italy,The Pedercini's Diner, and Dairy Bar and kitchen on Hall Street.I am Scotish and Welch from the Chalifoux/MortonsFull of obstinate stubbornness and perseverance to withstanddeaths of siblings and a planner of funerals.I am a teacherI travel the world in stories that I tell, listen to, help write, (and correct).I teach with recipes and cooking and parties,I sympathize, empathize and homogenize the real lives of the students I spend most of my time with.Now, I also am a listener of hip-hop, Eminen, Lil Wayne, am a dancer at monthly dances, am the dispenser of band-aids, pencils, and paper, and the leader of "Got an issue? Here's a tissue! Group."

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8.2 Apostrophe Poem 11/01/2011

Gramma ‘Cini by Melinda Elizabeth Neville

Hi gram, your birthday is nearI think of you every day but there are times I find myself smilingIt's your fault you know.I think of how you laughed with your whole bodyand got Frankie and me in trouble when we were supposed to be taking a nap.I remember your some of your sayings,"love will fly up a pig's ass" and my big girl question:"Why would it do that, Gram?"You said love doesn't come from the brain.How could I not smile when I think of you?Sunday dinners for all those years, Tapioca, Bread and Rice pudding. Yummmm!Monday going to get groceries,The take-out window when you moved into the ground floor at the elderly housing---cookies on Tuesdays.Wednesdays church services in the dining hall with Pastor Sue. You loved to sing The Old Rugged Cross.Thursday pick-up of the Brown bag orders with Aunt Lil.Friday nights were sleep-overs at your house.Saturdays we would go for a ride. When we got lost because of your directions, I might add. You would say, "We're not lost, you know where I am and I know where you are. Home is where the heart is!"If you can see me, I'm smiling. See you later, Gram, got to go.

Linda

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3.1 Poetry is like a brook

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 24, 2011 7:51 AM | Like a brook that winds its way through a tiny passage of eroded earthOver rocks and boulders and moss covered tree trunks,It tumbles and trips and dips and rumblesThrough my mind with a message that has no beginning or end.

It has always been, though some say it starts high up in the mountains.Some say the sound is only a murmur or if understood, of little meaning.Some say it is only a push that sends things out of control to some unknown final destination.Some say it brings renewal and life as it passes.

I may have never found it.What if it didn't become part of my existence?What if it dried up and disappeared?What if I did the same?

Never the same, taking life and giving it back.Emotions flowing with motion of wave and trickle and splash with flood and overrunning banks and houses.

It is life and death.It is puzzling, perpetual and pleasingsomehow.Poetry is like a brook.

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9.2 Caveat to a Trout

By Linda Elizabeth Neville 11/08/2011

There you wereJust swimming around.UpstreamDownstreamIn and out among the rocks.

We all warned you,We told you what's what.But you like deep waterWouldn't follow us.

Now you're hooked,Trying to get away.Glittery things can tempt a troutWho won't look about.

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lesson 3 Poem #1 No More Rhymes

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 23, 2011 8:33 PM |What is a poem, bome, tome, home, foam, dome, chrome, loam?Wait, date, late, plate, Kate, mate, sate, and fate!Stop, pop, drop, mop, clop, chop, I mean it!It doesn't have to rhyme, chime, mime, and sublime...But, it is so much fun.A game on the run.Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh Noooooooo. More rhymes!The rhymes are words that give us such an image,that I just can't help but think of what? Oh, yes a scrimmage!Now really, please stop. Enough is enough, puff, stuff, rough, muff.I can't stand this anymore.No more, no more!Linda

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2.4. b Still a child

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 19, 2011 8:49 PM | Write about a moment when you realized you were no longer a child.

Sorry. I guess I still am a child. I still believe that if I treat people nice they will do the same. I still look for toadstools with fairies and elves when I walk in the woods. I so want to see a UFO when I look up into the night sky.I still like to jump into a pile of leaves.

Okay. I'll tell you the day I realized I was no longer a child.It was the day my daughter was born.

She was my secret friend for nine months. I carried her under my heart. I could talk to her; I was never alone. The day came when she was born. My doctor said to be brave. I was. I was also exhausted. When they brought her to me, she cried and I cried. I was never so afraid of anyone in my life! When they told me we could go home, I thought,"You've got to be kidding! I don't know what to do with this little baby! I'm sure she won't last a day with me taking care of her." But, we went home. She became the child; I became the grown-up that day. I became Mom.The years have past. She grew up and moved away. She doesn't speak to me, she doesn't call. She doesn't know I still carry her in my heart.

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Assignment 2.4. a What I used to believe

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 19, 2011 8:24 PM | My favorite genres would have been Sci-Fi, adventure and Encyclopedias. Add in Popular Mechanic Magazine and MAD Magazine. I have always been interested in gadgets and distrustful of authority. I have always felt there is a plot by someone to take away our freedom to choose our own future. As a child, I felt I knew what was best for me, better than anyone else. I learned how to do what adults wanted and to satisfy myself by going underground. I would write entries in my journals and write poems when I got upset about things I could do nothing about. As a kid, I was afraid of going blind and would walk around the house with my eyes shut practicing in case it happened.I think dystopian novels written for children would be a good genre for me because of the sci-fi against authority/teenager on their own (no fairy godmother of superpower) main character or the Steampunk genre because of the technology that drives these novels. I would write for Young Adults (6th grade through 12th).I used to believe:That adults had all the answers.That librarians liked books.That teachers liked kids.That role models had no faults.That my brother and I would grow old together.That my children and I would always be close.That animals went to Heaven, too.That America was respected by all countries.That John Lennon would go on writing songs.

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2.2 I Remember Dad

By LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE on September 19, 2011 6:24 AM | I remember seeing the "George / Christine Jorgensen" photo and story on the cover of The Enquirer sitting on top of the picnic table.I remember my mother parking the old Willy's Jeep near the table.I remember her telling Frankie and me to stay in the Jeep. She was just going in to check on Dad.I remember getting out of the Jeep to read "The Enquirer" about a man who made himself into a woman, surgically.Crying, uncontrollable crying and running. I remember thinking my mother was mad at catching me looking at The Enquirer"; thinking I'm in trouble, now.I remember her screaming: "He's going to kill himself!"I remember running to the old half-painted, plywood shed-like, one room, camp with her now yelling: "No, don't go in there; Come Back!"I remember seeing him sitting on the mattress that smelled like old rotten leaves and worms.I remember seeing his police gun in his hand.I remember swearing at him: "Goddamn you, now what are you going to do?"I remember him saying: "I've hurt your mother so bad; she's lost all that weight. I don't deserve to live!"Amazement, shock, anger. I remember Frankie and me keying HER car."Where do you get off, you coward! You made a mistake! So, What? You're going to kill yourself and let us clean up the mess! I remember grabbing the gun and running out the door.I remember MOM going back in the camp.I remember MOM and Dad getting into the Jeep.I remember driving home.Linda

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9.5 Three American Sentences

by Linda Elizabeth Neville 11/08/2011

1. Miniscule sprout pushes up from soil, a birth without wailing, new Life.

2.Clocks time-out the moment clutched by whispers pleading for one second more.

3. Cracked paint on boards ravaged by time stretching to be free of the bondage.

9.3 Three Haiku

by Linda E. Neville 11/08/2011

Ker-uck! Kuck, Kuck, KuckRaven calls out to childI listen and learn

The broken heart pleadsNow, I will treat you betterWisdom speaks "Stay safe."

Slipping, falling, SleepBut, I catch myself AwakeAlmost made it there

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1.5 Credo Chart

What I Love

What I Hate

What I Fear

What I want or dream about

What I value

What I believe

What I know

People who have made a difference in my life

Discoveries that have made a difference in my life

Decisions that have made a difference in my life

My familyTeaching

Disrespect What I might say if I get angry Enough.

I want to make a difference

Justice Kindness

I believe in prayer and hard work.

I know I have more questions than answers.

My grandmother, my husband, teachers who have helped me teach.

Good writers that inspire me. Messages from children about life.

Dropping out of college and getting married.

Poem:

I want to make visible what isn’t seen I know it exists but is hidden to many.I want to make a difference,Restore justice and kindness to the world.

I believe that I am too small a creature to solve things using my own will. I believe in prayer and hard work.With help I can accomplish much.

I know that I don’t know.I know that others teach me.Much can be learned from the words of others,So I read and listen daily.

The decisions I have made in lifeHave not always been wise.But what I have learned

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I can show others.

Part TwoTwo critiques of mine

Posting #1Class 09: 9,4Sutton's "Like-Minded Souls" MOE, LISA 11/8/2011 In “Books for Teens: The Discovery of Like-Minded Souls,” Roger Sutton admits that the texts he presents as examples of “junior novels” of the late 1960s were texts published after his teen years. He incorrectly judges the audiences of these novels as “bookish,” adventure-seeking teens who crave a walk on the “wild side.” Born in 1969, I read many of these titles as a teen and I was neither bookish nor looking for adventure on the “wild side.” I was curious. I was also beginning to notice that chapter books made sense when I had had a difficult time as a child understanding a lot of the picture books in my school’s library. I’d noticed that the illustrations and texts didn’t always “jive” and that confused me. Yes, I must have been a weird child in that respect. Anyway, it didn’t take me long to plough through the novels written for somewhat close to people of my age and then I was off to find other reading material. Since I liked scary books, I was drawn to the covers of V.C. Andrews books, which, after reading, I understood was probably for adults. The point that I’m trying to make is that I didn’t seek such books out because I was looking for some kind of wild adventure. In my late teen years, I still wasn’t “bookish.” I just liked to read good stories now and then and worked with what was available. I’m probably droning on and on here, but it really bothered me that Sutton, a male from an entirely different generation, was making assumptions about me, a female, and my reading habits like I was some bookish nerd. Who cares if I was, but I wasn’t. What I did like – after I got over the offense that Sutton committed on the first page, was his discussion of how it wasn’t just my imagination that there weren’t many YA books available to me as a teen and I understood why I found it so difficult to find something that I enjoyed to read after I’d run through the books mentioned on that first page. As a teen, I’d thought that something was wrong with me – that I just didn’t know where to look. It wouldn’t have been that unreasonable since I didn’t understand card catalogues or the Dewey Decimal System. Go figure…

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RE: Sutton's "Like-Minded Souls" reply to Lisa Moe NEVILLE, LINDA Critique11/8/2011

I like you never felt bookish. I really found a lot of books written for teenagers, ridiculously bland if not downright sexist. I think this is why I turned to Science fiction or books written for adults during the 70's. Your mention of the V.C. Andrews books brings up the topics that Flowers in the Attic series deals with. I still do have issues with children reading this series because of the incest and what seems to be a problem for me as to why the kids don't just leave or the neighbors don't notice.#2 I Remember a Day

By Christine Herbert 9/21/2011

I remember the sunspot glittering on the floor,

Making me wonder why it danced.

I remember a hummingbird dipping into the morning glories,

Sipping the syrupy nectar.

I remember the drooping thorn tree branches,

Hiding an enclosed play area around its trunk.

I remember my foot bleeding as it throbbed,

Thorns sticking from the sole.

I remember someone chopping down the tree,

Destroying the dark coolness of imagination.

NEVILLE, LINDA

9/21/2011#2 Critique of Christine Herbert Plot---a child? has a special relationship with a tree

Characters---a child and a tree

Diction---The child notices things, asks questions, feels pain

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Theme--- a child's imagination can be harmed or taken away

Spectacle---sunspots dancing on the floor, hummingbirds feeding from flowers, tree branches forming an enclosed magical play area, thorns being stepped on by a child's bare feet

Music or Rhythm---There is a beginning, middle and end. This rhythm transforms a "day" to perhaps a transitional time when the wonder, vision and imagination of a child is replaced by a more hectic, more public adult "day"/ "life"

I like this I Remember Poem.

Three critiques of my postings

#1My Son by Susan Cataldo Class 04: 4.2 --NEVILLE, LINDA10/2/2011 The boy in this poem likes plants, daisies, people, especially helpless people. He is idealistic and "wants to know why there aren't really super heroes". He has an interest in leaders, presidents; he has questions about the world he lives in that no one has answered for him. He is a victim at times and takes himself seriously.

"You are constantly dodging bullets & dreaming up new ways to defend yourself." This line puzzles me. I'm not sure if he gets into trouble and then gets caught or if he is being picked on.

The boy is stubborn. He wants to be different. "You don't want to feel how much you love this life." I do see images of Max in The Wild Thing (Sendak) here. Has he been sent to his room for something or has he slammed the door after storming out of the house! Not sure.

The sentimentality is throughout this poem and as the reader, you feel for both the mother and the son. The room presents the son's personality and his expectations in life. The mother connects with what he is like and sees his conflict. The son is a listener of music (tapes), might express himself as an artist (paint), enjoys comic books, and biographies. However, he doesn't understand jokes, and is stubborn.

All of the specific details listed in the son's bedroom tell a lot about his outlook on life and mother's often sit in a child's messy bedroom and contemplate how to help them. Yes the sentimentality is earned and effective because of the setting.

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Linda

critique by WHITE, PAULA10/2/2011

Nice job interpreting this poem. I agree that the son takes himself seriously as depicted by the presidents. Hopefully that is balanced by his Leonard Nemoy posters. The mom is like any of us. We see the complexities of our children, and we hope they can make right the injustices that will come their way.

This critique echoed my feelings for the main character in my novel Giving the Family Business and made me feel that this is a universal theme not just my feelings as one mother toward her son. A universal theme is key to a good novel.

#2 RE: Praise Poem and Curse PoemCritique by EVERSOLL DUGGAN, CHEYENNA10/4/2011

Both of your poems really portray your faith and beliefs in God, Jesus, and the work of Satan. Your praise poem is strong in its' heart and weaker in its' organization. I think there are two very different methods going on there. You start with the Biblical allusions then go into a list of things to praise. I like them all, but I think finding a better way to blend them would be great. I am also confused by the line,

"Praise the faith and trust found in a young child; let them not falter."

Does the "them" refer to "faith and trust" or the child?

Your curse poem is so powerful to me. I think beyond the content, the organization is really good and impactful. I like how you played with line structure. I wasn't really confused about anything. I thought this poem was really good.

Cheyenna’s critique helped me see that I needed to change “a young child” to young children. I also think more about organization more when I write.

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Post 2.5 The Book by Linda Neville

The BookBy LINDA ELIZABETH NEVILLE The Book is a story about a teenager and his/her mother. It is set in the not to distant future. There are shortages of food and gasoline and people have disappeared. Children are not encouraged because no one knows if anyone can help the human race because they have become so incapable of cooperating with each other to solve the numerous problems that face the planet. When a child is born, they are taken to School and the female members of the community take shifts taking care of them. Education comes from computers. Young children are held and nurtured as the best way known to create a bond with another human. As children age, they are segregated if they show aggressive tendencies. Emotions must be kept in check. Anger is frowned upon as it breaks down communication.

Books are rare as there is no need of them because of computers and handheld devices. Only certain books are allowed. History books explaining military campaigns for various wars in various time periods are kept from the general public.

The teenager finds a book one day in a very unusual place. She keeps The Book and hides it from everyone. How she uses what she reads in The Book and how it affects her life and everyone she communicates with is the message of the story.

Chapter One I hadn't meant to say it. What is the matter with me? More and more I feel like I've just had enough. Why would I say that? I could see the hurt in her eyes but she's done this forever. "Will you just stop? Why do you always say that? Just shut up!" There I admit it. I told my mother to shut up. Then I slammed my hand on the table. I just wanted to make her stop. She really looked like a puppy getting scolded for wetting on the rug. But really she always starts that, "Thank God, I have you. What would I do without you?" And, then it goes on and on and on. Everyday there is another problem. Today mother started as soon as I walked through the door. What am I supposed to do? I don't care if the Director of Sanitation called to say we hadn't recycled the trash correctly. And great! There's a fine! So what, where are we supposed to get the

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money to pay the stinking fine? Oh and really important, Mrs. Anzo next door? She says she has already run out of the staples. No bread; no butter; no sugar or flour. So, Why didn't she come with me last week to work a few hours at the school? She would have gotten her credits just like everybody else. So what if she doesn't like kids. She's a female isn't she?But, when she started talking about Staid and how I have to find out where they took his ashes. That did it! That's when I yelled at her."Will you just stop? ""I'm sorry. Thank God I have you. What would I do without you.""Why do you always have to say that?""Your father and brother are gone."" Just shut up!" So that's why I'm sitting here in my room. I can't stand, never could, making her feel that she has done anything wrong, but she talks non-stop. When she doesn't have a real problem, she makes up problems. I guess I should go down and say I'm sorry.--

#3 Critique BARTOLETTI, SUSAN C9/29/2011Oh, Linda! Nice job! You've employed all the elements of a story and taken it one step further to create a very real scene! (We'll be covering the art of the scene in an upcoming lesson, but you've nailed most of it here.)

The first thing I notice is that this piece has voice. Your decision to use first person makes it leap off the page from the very first sentence: "I hadn't meant to say it." This makes me want to read on. I am curious about the main character's gender. In your summary you say "girl," but did I miss that in the actual scene? Some of the details made me wonder if this was a boy (the mother issue, the use of the word "Female" which I could read in a deprecating way, if the character was male). If you're doing this intentionally, I find that interesting, given the binary way our society is made up: you're either male or female and nothing in-between. (Are some of you gasping at this statement? If so, think of the potential for such a book . . . )

For the most part, your dialogue is spot on. We're going to talk about dialogue in an upcoming class, too, but for now, I'd love to see you keep going. Just don't get married to your dialogue at this point. (Dialogue is often the most difficult things to revise, but writers don't truly know what a character is going to say exactly until at least Draft 2 and possibly Draft 3.)

Your scene also turns and in so doing, has tension. I'm not sure why your character has a change of heart and wants to apologize at this point -- and I'm not sure I believe the change of heart. Might there be more tension if he or she refuses to apologize? What would be more true to the age of this character (which is something else we're going to want to know asap.).

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I include this critique as it has inspired me to include a character in my novel whose gender is questionable. Thank you Dr. Bartoletti.

My personal philosophy of Children’s Literature

I chose to become a teacher of writing rather than a writer because I

did not feel I could give voice to those who were not me. After taking this

class and experiencing the many exercises and the chance to have my

writing critiqued, I believe that if I don’t write some voices will never be

heard. It is important to me as a writer and reader of children’s literature

that text should not preach. I want to learn life’s lessons through

experiences the characters have. I feel children’s literature can be a force

for change in a world that has become desperate for people who genuinely

care about others while accepting the reality of the temptation to do harm.

21st century Children’s literature can do all this if it centers on the

“incredible in the credible” (Zipes).

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Part Three Appendix

Linda Elizabeth Neville has been released from her self-imposed silence of

forty-four years. In that year, 1967, she dropped out of college to get

married and raise a family. She returned to school in 1981, to complete her

education and get her bachelor’s degrees in English and in History. While

attending college, she worked at her husband and her family bakery. In

2005, upon the retirement of her husband and the closing of the bakery,

Linda became a middle school English Language Arts teacher. She is still

teaching and is still pursuing her education at Pennsylvania State

University.

Having gathered stories from family, friends, and students over these many

years, Linda has decided to start writing again as she did as a teenager in

high school and may still do so using an alias.

Linda has a mother named Bertha, a husband of forty-four years, John A.

Nevlle Jr.; three children: a daughter, Rebecca, and her husband John; a

son, John III and his children Joshua, Jerad and Jocelynn; a daughter

Peggie and her husband Alan and their baby Delana.

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Five Blurbs

I have only shared my work with this class. I showed my husband one

poem about the little girl going to her grandmother’s house and a poem

written from the point of view of a waiter who actually fell asleep while

waiting on us. When forced by me to read them, he said: “You have written

how they really acted.”

I include what my classmates said about my Premise, Promise, Theme

assignment as it helped me decide what to write about for The Baker’s Son

story.

Post 10.3 11/15/2011 My Story ala Crafting Stories for Children

Linda E. Neville

My Premise: One person can make a difference. Unrealized at the

beginning of my story, the protagonist, because he has gone through some

difficulties in life, has the abilities and skills needed to succeed and to help

others. He makes a conscious choice to do so.

My Promise to my readers and to my characters is that the main character

has what he needs to succeed and will so even if he looses something in the

process.

Actions and feelings will take place and be shown that will cause conflict

and disappointments and feelings of anger, resentment, discouragement and

defeat, but the character will persevere in his goal.

The themes expressed in my story will be duty to family, protection of

children, struggles with addiction, redemption, good vs. evil, and humanity.

My character will give up what he wishes to do to help take care of family.

He will take care of children because of his philosophy toward the young.

He will struggle with multiple events that will lead him to drink and fall in

with a crowd of people that will seemingly change him but he will choose

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to do what he needs to do to make things right and help others. In my story

I want to show that a young teenager has learned things both in and out of

school that can help him in life. I want to tell a story about how those

things especially learned in circumstances that may seem horrible at the

time or insignificant can be just what you need in the future to

survive/succeed. Because this character is who he is; only he can resolve

the conflict. He can choose to walk away but he doesn't. As a result, others

are also helped.

• “This type of story can definitely be useful. Keep up the hard

work!” Kristie Sheridan 11/26/2011

• “..disappointments and feelings of anger, resentment, discouragement and defeat,

but the character will persevere in his goal.” “I think this statement is the basis for

your story. It's important to show teenagers, and younger, that circumstances can

get in the way of success, but you need to persevere and not blame anything or

anyone outside of you. I think your theme and premise are important for YAs.”

HEBERT, CHRISTINE 11/25/2011

• “This is a heroic tale to take on and I really enjoy stories of

redemption like this. It seems like you have a strong hold on what

you want your character to do morally and what values and purpose

you would like him to have. It would be nice to see some more

specifics on him physically and biographically. Great start!”

EVERSOLL DUGGAN, CHEYENNA11/21/2011

• “It sounds like you have a strong basis for beginning a story. If you

hold on to these concepts as you write your story it should help you

to stay true to your characters and main themes. I never really

thought about how important it is to map out your premise and

themes before your begin but now I can see how it could be a

through line for you to hold on to while writing. “WEINGARTNER,

KRISTINA11/20/2011

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