My big show is a week away which means I'm sleep-deprived and scattered and brain dead. That means that I'm fairly slap happy. So, I found the following amusing. Good night!

If I was to be lost for years on a desert island and could pick an author to get me through those times, I would pick Charles Dickens. If I were to spend three miserable years in NYC, much of that time on hot (or cold) trains and crowded buses late at night and early in the morning, and if were to chose an author to help ward off anxiety and depression--that author would be Dickens. If I were to chose an author who's adapted works I loved to watch while eating Mexican food--yes, it's still Dickens. To this day, there is no author with whom I'd rather lose myself for hours on end. 

The man was a genius. The complexity of his plots, the living reality of his characters are truly amazing, and his output was astonishing. In some ways, his novels are old fashioned now--very wordy, with lots of drawn out passages that don't advance the plot. But his characters are still masterpieces, and some of his plots are stunning. 

This is the artist who gave us Miss Havisham and Madame DeFarge, Ebenezer Scrooge, and  David Copperfield and Pickwick--on and on. 

I have read every one of Dickens's novels (except Oliver Twist. I tried, but I can't. The musical is stuck in my mind and I keep thinking Dickens got it wrong because he left out the lyrics to the songs) and I keep going back to them. 

I don't think anyone outside of my family has given me more hours of joy and edification, and no writer, next to Shakespeare, has had quite a large impact on the language and the field of literature.

Happy 200th birthday, Dickens! And thank you.  

First of all, a friend asked me recently where they could find former posts for Middle School Mondays. I was happy that someone wanted to read them. In case that applies to anyone else, there's a now link on the sidebar. If you look at the top of the sidebar to your right, you should find it. 

 I've mentioned before that in middle school no one feels popular, no one feels like they have arrived socially. As an interesting appendix to that discussion, I saw this little scoop about Taylor Swift. She told Vogue magazine, "I don't ever feel like the cool kid." Think how many people would love, love, love to be Taylor Swift. But she doesn't have a sense of being "there." If Taylor Swift doesn't, then I think it's safe to say the average 7th grader is the same, no matter what your perception is. 

This is a much more important insight than most people realize. Because social perceptions inform middle school-age interactions more than any single factor I can think of. 

Some time ago, I was contacted by the parent of a student. This student was not fully enjoying participation in an extra-curricular activity because some of the student's peers were not being as nice and supportive of the student as would have been hoped. I don't think anyone was being actively mean--but they weren't working to make it a good experience for this particular student.

I tried to teach this principle and pointed out that the other students felt just as insecure. I suggested that this student take charge and act in the way that she/he hoped someone else would act. 

Every time I share this with parents and students, they are surprised and incredulous, but I'm telling you, it's true. The vast majority of kids all feel like they are not cool. Even the kids everyone else thinks are cool. 

Because they don't feel cool, they are likely not going to reach out and include your child in the cool group--they don't seem themselves as having any ability to do that since they want to be in the cool group themselves. 

The only productive choice you have here is to try to coach your child into doing what makes him or her happy. Coach them to reach out to other people and to be as considerate and nice to others as they hope others will be to them. If they will do this, they may not attain a sense of popularity or coolness, but they will be happy! And they'll start to free themselves from the tyranny of what other people think. 

I watched one year as one student did a lot of reaching out to others. The student in question was definitely one of the "cool" kids. However I don't believe that she acted in this way because she was cool. I watched her closely and it seemed to me that she made a choice at the beginning of the year that she was going to be nice to people, that she was going to reach out and be inclusive. She did this by choosing to ignore her own insecurities and focusing on others--not because she was inherently comfortable.

Watching her do this was like watching someone trying to master a new physical skill. At first it was awkward and a bit stilted. She wasn't comfortable or smooth at it. But as she continued, she's became very deft and adept and mad, I think, a real difference for some other kids.

But this was not a modern social equivalent of the lady of the manor comfortably bestowing kindness on the peasants. It was one of many students who decided she wanted to help her class grow closer and instead of waiting for others to act (and complaining when they didn't) was going to make a difference on her own--even if she, like Taylor Swift, didn't feel like she was one of the cool kids. 

I just heard from the publisher and my book was assigned an editor and a press date! I'm excited because it's the same editor who did The Road Show and I really liked her. The press date is May 7th (press date is the day the galley proofs are sent off to actually be printed). So exciting to see it getting closer to reality! What? You haven't read about The Kindling yet? Clic

Kind of a long post. I almost broke it up, but felt that would mess up the flow. Sorry for the length, but I hope you havAlmost every author I know had a common experience with their first book. They wrote it in a white-hot blaze of brilliance. This book was going to blow everyone away. They felt inspired while they wrote it and they knew it was amazing. Then they sent it off to a publisher or agent. Often, they knew that there might be some grammatical errors, or a maybe some punctuation glitches they had overlooked. But the brilliance of their book, they were sure, would more than compensate. That's what editors are for anyway, right? So, they sent something in that was a bit rough, or at least not polished, sure that the underlying awesomeness would trump a few technical errors.

You know where this is going, don't you?

Editors and agents, of course, want you to send in a book that is as polished as you can make it. Except for a very, very few exceptions who are notable exactly because they are so rare, those who do this kind of thing get their work rejected. Some agents may see hundreds of queries a day from authors who are all sure they've written the next Harry Potter/Twlight/Jurassic Park/Whatever. 

Experienced authors chuckle at this now and smile ruefully as they remember doing the same thing. Serious writers revise and polish until they can make their work as good as it can be. Then they send it out to a critique group--other writers who give them honest and blunt feedback on what doesn't work and how to fix it. 

Incidentally, this instinct doesn't end. I'm always surprised when I send a chapter out to my critique group. I know how amazing it is. I can feel the intrinsic worth and merit flowing. And they usually give me some nice compliments. But they also focus my attention on what is flawed and what needs to be fixed. Quite frankly, I'm often surprised by how much there is in this category. I was so sure this was awesome. 

So, I have a choice. I can be defensive and insist that they are blind or malicious and cling tightly to a flawed manuscript that will never be all it can be. Or I can humble myself  enough to hear what they are saying. 

You know where this is going, don't you?

Whenever I take their advice, I always realize they were right.

Writing a book is something you pour your whole soul into. It consumes you and becomes a part of you. Consequently, you lose your objectivity very quickly and have very little ability to view your book calmly, dispassionately, or accurately. 

I submit that parenting is much the same. You have this wonderful child who is literally part of you, your flesh and blood. You have poured your heart and soul and time and money and effort into raising this child and you love them. You are sure, quite sure, that your child is the smartest, kindest, funniest, most talented child ever. 

You, like the first-time author, are so sure of the value of your child, the inherent awesomeness that you assume everyone else will, too. Yes, he might be a bit spirited, but surely everyone will see what a heart of gold he has. Yes, she might be a bit silly sometimes, but she has a heart of gold. 
Usually, those lower school or elementary school years are fairly smooth. Kids that age are sweet and often do what the teacher wants, so you might even have your view of your child reinforced. 

But then in middle school things start to change. You might hear that your child is disruptive or mean or lazy or disorganized or needs to be in a lower math class. You might hear that your child is all kinds of things that you don't like and don't believe. Like a critique group, they start sending back comments that imply your child is not perfect. That he or she might even be deficient in some areas and may even need some serious work. This might come from coaches or teachers or some other outside expert. 

Now, you have a choice. You can assume that everyone is either blind or malicious or both. You can assume they just don't get your it. They just have it out for your child. And in doing that you can cling ever tighter to a flawed human soul that will never meet it's true potential, protecting it from that which will make him or her stronger and better.

I am not going to tell you that teachers are always right. Nor are coaches are the other outside experts who interact with and evaluate your children. But after 25 years of working in schools, I'm going to tell you that I've not many malicious fools. 

Take a deep breath. This is not a rejection. This is simply your manuscript coming back with lots of red marks from people who care enough to tell you the truth, people who want to help you.

You can fight it and ignore it. Or you can listen and work on it. 

Consider that it is statistically improbable that your child is as perfect as you might think they are. Yes, you love him or her. But that doesn't mean he or she always acts well and does the right thing. And that's fine. They're not mature adults. Accepting criticism of your child is not rejecting the inherent worth or value of your child. It's simply acknowledging that there is some work to be done.

Teachers are often the parent's critique group. Don't seem them as adversaries. See them as giving you feedback that will help. And for heaven sakes, if you hear the same thing from multiple people, listen! It's highly unlikely that they all have it out for your child. 

I hear often from parents that "Mrs. X just doesn't like my son," or "Mr. Y just doesn't appreciate my daughter."

Maybe that's true. But I think students and parents vastly overstate the amount of personal animus behind corrective feedback that comes from teachers. It truly is not usually personal.

However, even if it is, so what? Does that automatically negate the value of the feedback? My daughter once had a teacher that she swore didn't like her. And as I watched, I came to agree. I really don't think he liked her. But that didn't negate the comments he said about her. I think some of what he said was true . More to the point, the things he told her could help her become a better person. Sometimes the feedback of our harshest critics might be truer than that of our friends. 

Consider that you are going to be just as biased about your child as a teacher who doesn't like him or her--it's just bias the other way. And honestly, your bias is probably going to do more long-term harm than the other kind of bias. If a teacher is seriously biased worst-case scenario is that your child gets a lower grade in one class and some negative comments. If your bias succeeds, your child might go out into a competitive world with major blind spots and deficiencies that could impede his or her ability to get and keep a job, succeed in relationships and so on. 

Hence the value of the critique group we call teachers. Coaches. Church leaders, etc. If you get comments listen and thank heaven that these people care enough about your child to use their valuable time to correct them and help you. If you hear similar themes from several people, listen! 

Your job is not to protect your child from criticism. It is not to convert the world to believe in the goodness and greatness of your child. Your job is to help your child become all that he or she can become--and that includes learning to except feedback and overcome flaws. Realize that you are going into this extremely biased. 

Okay everyone, I'm going to give you a life lesson for free. Let's say you are an aspiring performer. Your school has an active theatre program and you have spent a few years in it. You hope and dream that one day, you'll get the lead (this could be changed, incidentally to be about something else, like starting on the varsity team in a sport, etc.)

Let me give you some advice on this.

If you are flaky and unreliable when you have a small role in the chorus, your director will pr0bably not trust you with a lead. If you goof off and miss rehearsal frequently (unless you are excused) then the director will probably not seriously consider you for a larger role.

Parents: if you grumble about casting choices (don't kid yourself--this stuff always gets back to the director) and if you are half-hearted in filling your obligation to sell tickets or help with props or paint the set or whatever, then you are shooting your child's future chances in the foot. 
If you are glib about your child missing rehearsals because of your lack of organization or planning, if you don't live up to the commitment that came with your child being part of the play, then you are sending the director a powerful message that you cannot be trusted.
Sadly, that means your child can't be trusted since your child is dependent on you for rides and logistical support.

If I can't trust you with little things, I will not trust you with big things. Far too many people work too hard on a play to take a chance on someone I can't fully trust. 

You don't get the lead and then develop responsibility. You act responsibly with small things, earn trust, and then (assuming you also have talent) you get the lead. So many people want to do this in reverse. But life doesn't work like that. 

I would add that while I'm talking about the context of theatre, this applies to many other things in life--sports teams, jobs, and so on. If you can't be trusted with little things no one will give you greater responsibilities. 

This seems so obvious, and yet I am always astonished at the number of people who don't understand--and act--on this principle. I get that adolescents might not realize how this works, but I am surprised more parents don't get it. 

Every year I'm shocked by the people who are shocked that they (or their children) didn't get big roles. Sometimes they haven't prepared adequately or worked to refine and stretch and develop their talents to the point that they could be seriously considered. Other times, perhaps most often, someone is talented but has goofed off a lot. Or a parent has been scattered, unsupportive, and not very good at making sure their child was where they needed to be. 

Believe me, future stars, this makes a big, big difference. Trust me on this. I begin looking at potential lead material years and years in advance, watching carefully to see who has talent, but who has a good work ethic, who can focus. Who cares enough to try. And which parents will support them. I know other directors are the same in this regard, and I that that coaches are, too.

So, there it is! Free advice that will change your life. You are welcome.


 

Last night at 1:00 am, our family left the cozy precincts of Mockingbird Cottage and dashed through the rain and wind to enjoy the hospitality of our neighbors, who have a basement. 
We love Mockingbird Cottage and find it a wonderful home. But with no basement, it is less than ideal for tornado warnings. 

The immediate danger of tornadoes passed and we returned home, but the storm raged the rest of the night.

This morning, we walked out of the house and the sun was shining. Birds were singing. It was warm and spring-like. All was bright and happy and cheerful. The contrast to last night, when it seemed the world would be blown apart by the storm, couldn't have been greater.

It occurred to me that this is a very apt metaphor of the adolescent years. Tremendous storms are followed by the most beautiful, loveliest days. But the sunshine can be deceptive. We could easily get another storm tonight and it might be bigger or worse.

Those of us who live in places where tornadoes are apt to occur have a plan. We don't tent to get too worried about them, they're not part of what most people think and deal with on a normal, daily basis.

I would suggest that this provides a useful approach in dealing with the adolescent storms that will come to your child. Don't let them rattle you. Go about your daily business, keep calm and carry on. Storms will come often and they usually blow themselves out. Most storms can be weathered with not special shelter. 

To the extent you can, be there for your child. Support and love, but always be the voice of reason. Help them see (gently) that what they think is devastating at the moment is probably not going to hurt them in the long run. Teens need people to talk them down in calm, warm tones not someone who make the storm seem bigger and worse than it is. 

But there are sometimes when a storm is big enough and the atmosphere unstable enough, that a shelter is necessary. You are the shelter! Your strength and stability will help shelter them from the tempests of adolescence.  

Don't try to make the storms go away. You can't. Just provide the quiet, safe place for them to work through the storm. 

Don't let the storms interrupt your life or ruin your equilibrium. Your child needs you to be the stabilizer, not to stir the pot even more.

To be a shelter, you need to be grounded and solid. You don't need to be perfect, but you need to be mature. You are the adult, not the oldest kid. You must be grounded in something. It might be your relationship with God or your spouse. It might be your responsibility to your family--whatever it taks. 

 But if you are to help your teen deal with these storms you must be the shelter--a quiet, place of security and calm that the storm can't beat down. You need to be the adult. If your psyche is sheltered and secure you can coach your child through. If it's not, if you are insecure and dependent on others, then you are running around in a tornado trying to shelter your child with a Hello Kitty umbrella. It's a nice thought--but it's not going to do much. 

Kids need adults in their lives--adults, not just older people. The maturity and security that you radiate will provide you with the ability to help your child. 

One of the trends that worries me most is how many parents are skewing down to their children in terms of the way they act and talk. They are as caught up in teenage dramas as their children. This kind of a parent can offer very little during these storms.

Note:  If your kids think you are cool, you might need to do some careful examination. There are some parents who pull this off, but most parents, if they are really parenting, are not going to seem cool. Extra warning: if you care that your children think you are cool, if you have ever tried to be cool to them or their friends, then you really need to re-think things. Don't be cool. Be a parent. Don't be fun. Be an adult. If you are real, they will love and respect you far more than if you manage to snatch some fe

In the last few years I've ended up doing a fair amount of critiquing and content editing for a number of writer friends and I've found that I really enjoy it--and I'm pretty good at it. My theatre background helps me analyze plot and character problems and years of academic writing have helped me focus on clarity and flow. This is content editing: word choice, plot arcs, character motivation, prose style and so on. This does not include line editing: proofreading for punctuation errors, etc. 

At any rate, I've decided that I'm going to hang a shingle out to provide content editing and manuscript review. Publishers are spending less time editing books, so this is something nearly any writer can benefit from--novice or experienced.

Because I'm new at this, and don't have a huge client list or track record, I'm offering a very low introductory rate: .50 a page! Yes, 50 cents per page. That is less than half of what other people charge!

I have some endorsements up from people I've worked with already. I'll be putting more up shortly. You can see them here.

I want to talk about a serendipitous discovery I made that has seriously changed my class. 

Let's be honest: most middle school kids (there are some exceptions) are really not all that worried about how the chorus they are in sounds. It just doesn't hit their radar screen at all. Saying something like, "Ya'll, you're flat!" or "That just doesn't sound good" is going to be met by anything from apathy to sarcasm--and this is true not only on chorus but in all kinds of other endeavors.  

They just don't care. There is too much going on in their lives. They are worried that someone just walked past them without saying anything to them. Does that mean they are now a social outcast? Has everyone noticed the zit on their nose? Is the rumor true that the girl/boy they like is now going out with someone else? They just got a C on the math quiz, but it wasn't their fault that they forgot to study because their math book was at their friend's house and so on....

Middle school students feel things in heightened emotional terms. Everything about their lives is sort of life or death, desperately urgent. So, some fat old guy standing in front of them saying, "At measure 23, you really need to remember to decrescendo"  is just not going to merit a whole lot of their attention. Again--this could be true about doing their homework, cleaning their room, you name it. 

For years, I struggled to get them to notice and care about how they sang, and for years I ended up frustrated. I would try to get them to take it seriously, explain why it was so important, and so on. They cared even less. And then I discovered a secret that is so simple and so effective that it is seriously like magic.

I'll tell you about it next week.

Just kidding. 

The secret is called the Lame-o-meter. It's very simple. The Lame-o-meter is a 10 point scale that I draw on my white board. I write a 10 at the top and a one at the bottom and then fill the numbers in descending order in between. A ten means that their song has been perfectly, completely, and totally lame. A one means that the song is flawlessly wonderful. 

During the song, as they sing, I moved my marker on the board, up and down, as they sing, making a sort of musical EKG graph. If they do a passage really well, the line goes down. If they do something poorly, it goes up. It takes some effort to conduct and do this at the same time, and I have ruined more than one white shirt with my dry erase marker, but it's worth it.

I don't know why, but for some reaosn this is magical in terms of getting them to do what I want them to do. 

As far as I can tell, there are two elements in this. First of all, the real-time feedback is very helpful. Middle school students live in the moment and a few minutes in the past can be forever ago. So, giving them feedback after the song is over doesn't always work well. 

Second, they understand the concept of lameness as their whole existence is an epic struggle to not be lame. The world, as they see it, is not cast in terms of good and evil or light and dark. No. It's cool and lame. Period. They don't want to be lame, nor do they want to be associated with anything even remotely lame. Even singing.

Incidentally, when I first tried the real-time graph as feedback, I used a traditional scale with 10 being the highest. That worked fairly well, but not nearly as well as the lame scale. I think that part of this is that they instinctively flee from anything too earnest or sincere or serious because it makes them vulnerable. 

I'm still trying to understand exactly why this works. I also think that the sarcastic humor inherent in this is also part of the magic. Sarcasm can be a wonderful, wonderful thing with this age (has to be deployed SUPER carefully, though. Use only small doses occasionally and work up). 

Here is one caution to parents, though: You are lame. Sorry. You are. It doesn't matter how beautiful, cool, funny, rich, or accomplished you may be in the outside world. To your adolescent you are irreparably, irretrievably, hopelessly lame. Don't try to fight it. You'll have an easier time teaching a fish to breathe out of water. Just realize that and adapt accordingly.