In the Company of Writers

Meadow Brooks Writing Project

Description

A poignant anthology of autobiographies and essays written by Language Arts teachers who have become authors!
In the summer of 2001, teachers came from the urban and suburban areas of the greater Detroit area to share their vast knowledge and experience in the Language Arts. As part of the Meadow Brook Writing Project, elementary, middle school, high school and college level educators became authors. In the Company of Writers is the wonderful result of their efforts to hone and challenge their personal writing skills. With an enhanced understanding of the writing process and a wealth of knowledge gained from MBWP, these dedicated teachers returned to their classroom to inspire their students to become writers.

Sujets

• Language Arts
• Anthologies
• Teaching
• Pedagogy
• Teacher
• Writing
• Rhetoric
• Education
• Teachers
• Composition
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 08 octobre 2002
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781475900118
• Langue: English

Extrait

IN THE COMPANY OF WRITERS

Meadow Brook Writing Project Fellows Summer 2001
Oakland University
Teacher’s Choice Press
New York Lincoln Shanghai
 
In the Company of Writers
All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Meadow Brook Writing Project, Oakland University
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
Teacher’s Choice Press an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.
For information address: iUniverse, Inc. 2021 Pine Lake Road, Suite 100 Lincoln, NE 68512 www.iuniverse.com
Graphics used in In the Company of Writers are from MasterClips, Dover Pictorial
Archives Series
ISBN: 0-595-25398-9 ISBN: 978-1-4759-0011-8 (eBook)
Contents
Foreword  
CHAPTER 1  
CHAPTER 2  
CHAPTER 3  
CHAPTER 4  
CHAPTER 5  
CHAPTER 6  
CHAPTER 7  
CHAPTER 8  
CHAPTER 9  
CHAPTER 10  
CHAPTER 11  
CHAPTER 12  
CHAPTER 13  
CHAPTER 14  
 
Foreword 
The first year of the Meadow Brook Writing Project brought about the publication of this book. On the surface the writing represents varied genre, interesting styles, wonderful stories, thoughtful poems and memoirs. Underneath, the writing represents something much more. It is the result of fifteen strangers coming together, getting to know each other and sharing stories. It represents a group of individuals becoming a community of writers. It is further proof that when we share our stories, laughter and a few tears, we see more deeply into others and ourselves.
The Summer Institute was a season of growth for us all. We leave with new ideas and plans for the school year. We leave knowing we have made connections and friends through our writing. We leave knowing this is not the end.
We would like to thank Dianne Bogdan, a Meadow Brook Writing Project participant, for her efforts in getting In the Company of Writers published.
This book is the physical representation of a creative, inspirational, growing summer. From the Meadow Brook Summer Institute 2001, enjoy our efforts.
Ron and Mary
 

CHAPTER 1  
By Robyn Murphy
“Help!!!”
Pending motherhood can be relaxing, confusing, peaceful, annoying, joyous, painful, and yes, pretty hectic.
I remember the month before my daughter was born. I had taken an early maternity leave with pay, so money was definitely not a problem. But the condition of complete bed rest was not so easy to swallow. What was the doctor thinking? Didn’t she know that I had a lot to do to prepare? Where was her compassion?
I needed to retrieve my son’s crib, bassinet, and other goodies out of storage to disinfect them. Wait, the wall had to be wiped down; the windows needed to be cleaned, and the linen closet needed to be reorganized. What a mess! Not to mention the floors, furniture, and
daily routine cleaning. “Honey, heeelp!” I cried again to my husband, but the plea was in vain.
“You have plenty of time,” he replied. Boy was he completely wrong!
My daughter was expected on May 28, 2000, and I did not get a burst of energy to get everything accomplished until around the beginning of May. That would not have been so bad if I had not already been home for three months.
On May 6th, I woke up around 2:00 a.m. and started cleaning. I pulled out old baby furniture and went into a disinfecting frenzy. I was on the ball! I wiped walls down and cleaned windows. I felt great! I knew that I could accomplish anything. I was super woman!
It wasn’t until around 4:00 a.m. that changes started to occur. A twinge in my side alarmed me. Did I need to take a visit to the bathroom, I wondered? I took a glance at my house. Although I had accomplished much, my home did not reflect my efforts. With clothes and linen everywhere, it looked like a tornado had recently struck. In focusing on the extra things that needed to be done, I had not even made it to the basics. But, I had to stop and pause because there it was again, that twinge. Oh no! What is that intense pain, I questioned?
Part of me said not yet, but the other part of me smiled in anticipation. Let me try the bathroom, I thought. Maybe it’s a false alarm. That did not work; the pain intensified and lingered longer. “Honey,” I bellowed. “Get your clothes on, now! I think I may have waited too long.” The pain came strong and fast. “Honey, hurry! I can’t have the baby in the car.” Help me Lord, my mind screamed. This is too much.
I arrived at the hospital in the longest five minutes I have ever experienced. I was completely ignored. I’m in pain; help me, I thought. Where are the wheelchairs? I glanced around in despair. Finally, a man approached me, looked at my bulging belly and dis-
torted face, and knew what I needed. He rushed me to the designated area.
Finally, I reached the check-in area. “How many questions are you going to ask me? Where is the epidural? I know that I must be at eight centimeters dilated already.”
In the midst of the pain, my mind drifted back to the house. It is in chaos. My baby can’t go home to that house! My stubborn streak refused to let me panic. That serves Jacob right for not helping me when I asked. He will have to do it alone. Naaah! Again, the treacherous pain kicked in.
“Where is my doctor? Where is a nurse? Stop asking me questions. Can’t you see I’m breathing? Where is the compassion?” I thought? My husband grabbed my hand.
“My, your contractions are coming long and hard,” the nurse walked in looking at the monitor.
“Whoo whoo whoo wheeee whoo whoo whoo wheee,” my husband and I breathed together. “Thanks,” I replied sarcastically as I was given a moment of relief. “Where is my epidural?”
An hour later, “Oooooh.” I sighed in relief. The epidural had finally arrived just moments before. The thought of complete relief dulled the temporary pain that the injected needle caused. As the technician gathered her materials, complete relaxation was in my reach. Sleep overcame me.
It seemed like five minutes later that I felt a gentle shake. A feminine voice followed, “Wake up, it’s time.” I fought helplessly against waking up from my relaxed state.
“It has been three hours; it’s time to push,” my husband yelled. That woke me up for sure. A glimpse of my chaotic house quickly flashed through my mind. And then, I was ready to push.
About 45 minutes later, a wonderful bundle of joy, a blessing from God was born. Peace enveloped me like a dove wrapping me in its wings. Our beautiful baby girl was here. She was immediately wrapped in a blanket and placed in my arms. My husband and I looked at each other and then at our baby with a smile.
I took a picture in my mind of the moment as I started to drift off. The thought of my house interrupted and terminated the moment quickly. “Honey, you can go home and clean up the house, now.” I uttered, as darkness closed in.
“The Light of Hope”
Darkness enclosed like in a never-ending cave; I could not find the willpower to seek the Light. As my body slumped over in utter defeat A small voice cried, “You can put up a faithful fight.”
The echo of the faint voice moved through my body, But my soul was completely encased with despair. The wrought-iron death-like grip yielded no release, Yet my spirit deeply sensed the still, small voice there.
My body inched backwards of its own volition; Hatred, greed, anger invaded my weakened mind. My body slithered down the dense path of darkness That voice again, “Trust in me and you will be fine.”
Who is that calming voice that yields such complete peace?
But turmoil and chaos soon gave over to fear. Hate-driven, mind-wrenching thoughts bubbled up inside Again that glimmer of hope—Is that God I hear?
I meditated on that energizing thought The deep, dense, unyielding darkness started to fade. Peace, hope, love, and joy revived my failing body That’s when an ever-changing decision was made.
The dark, evil-infested path deferred to Light Unconditional Love gently opened my eyes To familiar faces bowed in steadfast prayer. Joy filled my tortured soul; I knew I would survive.
 
“A Writing Experience”
“That poem was so beautiful.”
“She is such a wonderful writer.”
“I wish I was talented in the area of writing.”
Although these comments are very flattering, truthfully, I did not write this poem. I sincerely wanted to write a poem that inspired others, but admittedly, I was limited.
It was the day that my great aunt’s husband passed. I knew that she was grieving, but I felt clueless as to what to say to her. They had been married for over 30 years and she had come to rely heavily upon him for many of her needs. I knew that she was filled with despair. I tried to find the words in my heart to inspire her to be strong, but I simply could not. As I reflected on the situation, a voice within reminded me that sometimes feelings are better communicated through writing. Therefore, I immediately decided to write a letter.
I opened my journal to write something brilliant, but things did not go as smoothly as I anticipated. The voice within gently introduced the idea of a poem instead of a letter after I pondered over what to write for nearly an hour. As my mind tried to grasp the new idea, I suddenly went blank! I had not spent enough time with the deceased. To write about him would have been a disservice!
As I tried to brainstorm about things I knew about him, none of the memories seemed appropriate. I could not think of one single adjective that could be included in a brilliant inspirational poem.
Panic rushed in relentlessly. What could I do to help my a