Secret Writing Group

Hello there,

This is a custom note. You can only see it if I’ve chosen you. I’ve chosen you because you’re a writer and a friend and I trust you to be pretty non-judgemental as for content.

I have an idea. This is in the nebulous idea stage and I welcome feedback and thoughts.

I’m thinking about writing more creative non-fiction shorts, but I can’t do it in such a public arena. I was hoping to create a more private arena, a smaller writing group where we can share work that’s in progress without having to deal with EVERYBODY ELSE.

You can see who I’ve tagged. It’s a pretty small group. Does that work for you?

I’ll be adding work of a personal nature–true stories, I think, of adolescence: graphic, sexual, violent, “massively stupid things I did”–”Yes Girl” sorts of stories. I’m at a place in my life where these stories need to come out, and I’ve thought a lot about the arena–whether they should be public or private or if they should be written at all. (Have you ever read Mary Karr’s Liar’s Club or Cherry? or Bleachy Haired Honky Bitch by Hollis Gillespie? These are my models).

Well, I need to write them down. What I do with them later is another question. As for this arena, I hope you’ll give me feedback on the writing.

Soooo, is this therapy? Writing always is for me. And yeah, it’ll probably be pretty emotional for me. But I’m good at separating the content from the page. I want the page to be right.

If you don’t want to read things of this nature, I know exactly how you feel and will not be offended. Please just let me know and I’ll remove you from the list (this list is different from the public writing assignments). Or if you think I’ve omitted someone important, I’ll try to make it right.

So? What do you think? How can this small group work for you? And what ideas does this spark in you? Is there something you need to write and want feedback on in a private(r) arena? I’m willing to read yours.

Let me know.
-Christine

ps-As a ground rule, I’d like to say anything you post in the group is open for praise, criticism and entertainment (just within the group–no sharing other’s stories outside of this group–obviously).

if you for instance DO NOT want criticism on a piece, it’s good to stipulate that ahead of time, maybe at the top of a post. Sometimes something is new and we just want praise. That’s fair.

Or just assume that you’re asking for all three….

pps–the rest here are entries I used to keep when I worked in a high school library. It was kind of secret then. It isn’t so much now. Most of those kids are graduated and I don’t give anyone’s name away. I enjoyed reading them. Memories!

i’ve started a secret bookclub at sqwerk. only invited 4 women. i’ve cast them:

julianne moore, julia roberts, reese witherspoon, and nicole kidman. (i’m cate blanchette btw).

we’re reading nicole’s book first.

my favorite thing about the secret bookclub? each of the four women has said to me independently:

“my favorite part about this bookclub is that it’s secret.”

amen, sister.

she’s a new one, and she’s strange in her own sweet way–as are they all.

she’s crazy for the stephenie meyer twilight books about a girl in love with a teenage vampire. all the girls are crazy about these books. they’re the only books with a waiting list.

anyway. i was sitting at my computer. my boss (an aging, tall alec baldwin with a touch of dementia) stood beside me and our student assistant (john) was sorting cards. he was the only one actually working.

strange girl jessica walked up to the library counter and started talking to me about books. etc. jessica is tall, overweight, long stringy red hair. indecently poor social skills, but i appreciate the way she says what’s on her mind–even though it only has one track.

without much preamble, jessica says: “i need a boyfriend, will you help me find a boyfriend? i’ve never had one.”

boss says, “you don’t need a boyfriend / girls your age / blah blah blah”

jessica tunes out and focuses on john. “what about you, john?”

john sputters: “uh, i’m not dating right now.”

a silence ensues. i think we’re all digesting the scene and/or trying not to laugh.

john says: “uncomfortable much.”

1. i’ve burst into active classrooms to deliver books to students, books about a girl who falls in love with a vampire, students who ask: “will you help me find a boyfriend?”

2. in certain circles, i’m known as the grinch.

3. i’m fine-tuning my shushing skills.

4. more people stop by to say hello.

5. the library has nearly doubled its circulation of fiction. that’s because of me.

6. year two in the library is better than year one. so far.

7. shhhhh!

student: excuse me, but do you know the name of the horse in jingle bells?

me: there’s a horse in jingle bells?

student: yeah, my teacher said if we know the horse from jingle bells, we get extra credit.

me, smiling: no, sorry.

later i heard this girl complaining to her friends: stupid library people don’t know nuthin’.

i can’t figure out if “i’m baaaaaack” is spoken like creepy little girl ghost with a lilt in the middle or screamed like ac/dc’s “back in the saddle”: “i’m baaaaaack!” can i pick both?

it’s almost october, so i’ve been back a while, over a month, yada.

summer school has given me the gift of perspective. it’s like memento mori—except memento summer school…. remember disrespect, fear, nastiness and general boredom—the better to appreciate whatchu got.

back at the good old high school, it was a little disconcerting that i was happy to see people. i even hugged a few. people give me thank you notes, chocolate, sandwiches, and other good things. i got an obsolete overhead projector and a few bulbs to go with.

renewed resolution this year: never talk about teachers to other teachers. it sews discord (no, sewing discord is not my purpose in life–or schwork). another resolution: just don’t gossip. it’s ugly.

yesterday there was a girl student: black eyeliner, ripped jeans. she wanted her password for at least the 3rd or 4th time. it was late in the afternoon. i complained and she said, “what, i’m only allowed to look up my password once?”

usually i make a joke, but this flippant and entitled girl (yes, i too know what it’s like to get almost everything i want) rubbed me the wrong way. i said: “sure you can look up your password more than once. it’s just annoying.”

she took my sticky note without another word…. to my face…. coward.

anyway, you should have seen the heads turning of my boss and nemesis (brad). they were like swivels, eyes wide. i could see them thinking: “whoa.”

i wanted to tell them: yes, be afraid. it’s a healthy fear……

one good thing came from summer school:

i have a new appreciation for my school and the people i work with.

i work with two guys who would protect me from harm. one’s a fireman, and the other’s just that idealistic.

the doom and gloom and maliciousness is not a staple of my school. the people are sunny, optimistic, practical, set on a task that is not odious to them. i don’t hear the word “pathetic” yelled at students.

i wish labor day was another month away, but all in all the dread isn’t so bad…..

it’s almost over. i feel like i can write about it now… and probably in the future depending on how these next two days go.

if i’m still alive, etc.

i tend to exaggerate, drama queen that i am, but no one told me i should have asked for hazard pay when i took this job.

there were times in the hallways that a glimmer of fear lurked in my heart. and these are middle schoolers.

today, there were two classes in the library. one of them, the teacher is very strict. i’ve never heard such expressive shushing in my life. he scares me a little.

the other class had a chatty teacher. she’s the only teacher (other than the beautiful and nice esl teachers) whom the kids like; and so the kids usually do what she asks. even in the library, they all constantly talk at conversational volume.

one girl said, “mrs. aubry, what would happen if someone brought a nife to school?”

sudden silence.

i looked hard at the kids, each of them staring into space or pretending to work, each a studied mask of innocence and boredom, and then i figured it out.

each of them was guilty. they all knew who had a nife at school. and they were afraid to tell on him. or her. especially with so many witnesses. i wonder if the teacher told the principal. i wonder if i should . . .

in the five weeks of summer school, i’ve witnessed the worst of the kids who go to middle school. there’s a sixth grader who can’t read. a handful of the kids are pretty sneaky and funny, but some are mean and mouthy and belliegerent.

one teacher told me: “a lot of these kids have all three strikes against them.” she ticks them off on her fingers: “parents. they don’t have the smarts. and they’re naughty.”

three strikes usually means they don’t have a chance.

the security guard (yes, in middle school…we could have used two) has to ride the bus home with the kids because they’d been so bad. one kid got expelled for lighting a fire on a bus. kids were writing on seats and giving the bus driver too hard a time.

this same security guard told me he took three young black kids aside who were in trouble. he told them:

here’s a statistic: one in three black kids will grow up to spend some time in prison. which one of you will that be?

they poke each other, laugh, say “not me, man.” “no way, not me.”

“well then, you need to start making good choices. right now you’re making a choice to repeat seventh grade. and after that you have another bad year until you’re expelled. or you drop out, then what do you do?” (wouldn’t it be cool if he made a dent in these kids’ heads? if he made a difference?)

here’s something typical:

in the five weeks of summer school, some jackass made it a habit to steal things from other places in the building and toss them into the library (which was easy because the janitors were cleaning the rooms and the floors, so the hallways were full of “free” stuff). the library door has a slow swing to it, so a kid can open the library door and throw something in and run out of sight before the door closes.

the items thrown so far: two wooden door stops, one paint scraper, and the rolly foot off the bottom of a teacher’s chair.

the rolly foot had been thrown into the middle of the library while i was in it. it took me a few seconds to figure out what happened…

when i looked, there were kids in the hallway, but i couldn’t prove if they were guilty. they probably knew who did it, but i wasn’t going to ask them.

a funny thing, these kids. i’ve gotten a few kids in trouble this summer school. like, “call your parents” trouble.

maybe that’s why the “pathetic” group of last week rebels in the library: they unplug mice, keyboards, flip switches in power cords. there’s one kid who types a pithy little message on the log on screen— to be read by the next kid who sits down.

one said, “mr. s is gay.”

another said, “you are a pussy.”

. . . . so i have two days left of this—and who knows what will happen? everything is at a slow boil right now. anything could happen. or nothing.

i stood among the kids today, surrounded as i stood between two rows of facing computers.

one kid wasn’t working and i leaned over to say: “i know it’s terrible and you hate it. i’m sorry. but you gotta do it. and then it’ll be done and you can pass. it’ll be worth it.”

he didn’t look at me, but he said, “i hate summer school.”

i said, “i know. everybody does.”

…

. . , which was surely caused by a naughty student destined for expulsion, the “pathetic” students of yesterday yanked random books off the library shelves and scattered them onto the floor. when i told the teacher, she predictably went ballistic.

and when we got back from our little fire-alarm break, it turned out three computers had been unplugged with all work lost.

then a kid got sent to the office for “mouthing off.” the kid’s name is “wiley”—as in “coyote, suuuper genius.” what kind of parent would name a kid “wiley”? and expect what sort of behavior from? huh?

the moment of beauty gleaned from this typical summer school experience?

one randomly strewn book sat perfectly framed in the hallway leading out to the summer sunshine and the brief respite from make-work, low-self-esteem-theater and the meap-olympics.

set to the music of the fire alarm, i stepped over a book called “a joyful noise.”

you guys are pathetic.

some of you have only done one or two assignments out of thirty. there’s no way you can pass—unless you finish three of them today and every day this week.

if not, we’re going to have to ask the principal if you can just not come to summer school for the last week, because there’s no way you can pass.

you’ll just have to do the sixth grade over again.