Part One

Joshua Rain

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,Totebag, 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.

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

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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 who 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."

8.2 Apostophe 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.

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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

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.

9.2 Caveat to a Trout

By Linda Elizabeth Neville 11/08/2011

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

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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.

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, fate!Stop, pop, drop, mop,clop, chop, I mean it!It doesn't have to rhyme, chime, mime, 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

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

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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.

Assignment 2.4. a

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

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.

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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

Linda E. Neville11/08/2011

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.

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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 learnedI can show others.

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

Giving the family business

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.

Part Two

Two critiques of mine

Posting #1Class 09: 9,4Sutton's "Like-Minded Souls" MOE, LISA11/8/2011

 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

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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 picturebooks 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…

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

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 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, LINDA9/21/2011#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

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 barefeet

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, mor public adult "day"/ "life"

I like this I Remember Poem

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 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.

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 ride the injustices that will come their way.

 

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#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 withe 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.

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

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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 money to pay the sticking 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. Sooo, 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 sor--

#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 decison 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 yoursummary 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 depracating 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 . . . )

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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 excactly 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.).

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).

Part 3 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.

Having gathered stories from family, friends, and students over these many years, Linda has decided to start writing again as she did as a child in high school.

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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