I don’t know what it is about November and the Muse, but I wish I had the magic potion to hold on to it long after Thanksgiving. I’m not sure if November’s creativity is triggered by my love affair with NanoWrimo (National Novel Writing Month), or if it has anything to do with most of my deadlines and launches with school publications wrapping up in late October. If I look back to my daybooks from the 80’s and 90’s, though, I think I’ll find that, historically, my words have flowed more easily in these 30 days than in any other stretch during the year.

I came across three incidents yesterday that, for each, lasted no more than 15 seconds. In that brief time, my overactive muse created scenarios of each of those incidents. What follows are the three things I saw and the stories that my muse spun almost instantly. Which do you think has the most potential for a longer story? If I get more than 10 votes for any one of them, I’ll develop it fully and post it here before the end of the month….

1. 6:57 a.m. After I drop off Holland at the gym for her morning practice, I head home along the back roads through Lutherville to Towson, when I see three girls walking along the road, toward me in the oncoming lane.

The sleepover had not gone as they had planned, not by a long shot. When Kristin and the others decided yesterday afternoon to invite Ryanne and her friend from Roland Park, Elyse, they knew the night would not be a typical movies-till-3 a.m. event. Ryanne and Elyse always pushed the party beyond the typical teen boundaries. Sometimes they brought a flask of Southern Comfort to share, and other nights they brought along a few other “guests” who would wait in the woods until after Kristin’s parents were asleep. But now, as they walked in silence along Ridgely Avenue, the rising sun stealing what little edge there was to the early chill, each wondered if Ryanne and Elyse would ever be seen again–dead or alive.

2. 5:23 p.m. On our way to Cafe Hon (but still in our own neighborhood), we see a tall, 20-something gentleman running at a fast pace through the gates of Goucher College’s campus, across our street, and along the sidewalks until he reaches Goucher Boulevard. He stops, looks behind him, and rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath. It seems like he has been running for some time.

Seth glanced over his shoulder as he took a moment to breathe. Had the traffic not been so busy along Goucher Boulevard, he undoubtedly would have kept running, straight across the street and up along the quiet street on the other side until he passed out. Were they still close behind? Had they given up? Or had they not seen him at all? He couldn’t get her eyes out of his mind–eyes struck with terror as she pleaded for her life on the very trail he walked nearly every day. Two older girls had stood over the other, their backs to Seth. His natural instinct was to help, of course. To break up whatever little ritual was going on and save the girl. But the sun seeped through the thinning trees and found the knife’s blade. The taller of the two played with it behind her back, balancing it loosely between two fingers as if it were nothing more than a twig picked up along the way. Seth had gasped, and when the pleading girl’s eyes dropped to his, he ran. Now, as he looked back along Squires Road to the gates at Goucher’s back entrance, he wondered if it was too late to save her. He turned back to the busy boulevard. The traffic had ceased between lights, and he had a clean shot of making it to the other side. His life or hers? He took a deep breath, stood tall, and acted on his decision–one that ultimately would change his life forever.

3. 7:31 p.m. We have just left Cafe Hon and are on our way to Fell’s Point. We exit 83 South and sit at the traffic light, waiting to turn left on to Eastern Avenue. On the far left corner is an office building, dark with just two rooms on the third floor that remain dimly lit. A silhouette of a thin woman moves about, heading toward the second, adjoining room. The light turns green, and we head to our final destination, Mr. Yogato’s.

Rose lay on the couch. The cool cloth she had placed on her forehead an hour ago was now barely damp and fixed at room temperature. Her head still pounded, the anxiety never abating since she read his status update on Facebook: “Back in B-more to get what’s mine.” She did not know where to go, what to do. He would first go back to the house to find her. She was sure of that, especially with it getting dark so early. And he would most likely wait there until she came home. Probably inside. She never thought it necessary to change the locks. Now, inside the office where she was a corporate hero for Bergen and Brown Associates, the fear of her past finally caught up with her, and she could feel the safety of her last haven on earth slipping away, out of her control, and into the hands of a man she swore she would never see again. She slides her legs off the couch and sits up, the blood rushing from her head, and she feels dizzy. She stands and heads to the sink to cool her cloth one more time, when she hears the doorknob to the adjoining office rattle. She freezes, listens intently to the sounds through the thin walls, and hears the faint whisper. “Ro-ose. . . .” It is her ex-husband, and he has found her. Trapped in the corner office on the third floor of Bergen and Brown, she is no longer a hero to anybody. She moves toward the door, stops at the supply drawer and removes a letter opener. In many ways she feels sorry for him. His last status update on Facebook will need to be updated soon that he got what he deserved, and she can’t, to save her own life, think of what it might be. . . .

Which do YOU think I should finish?

A fellow writer and I have been responding, in words, to particular works of art. She chose “Rain Princess,” by Leonid Afremov, and I thought I’d share my response with all of you. The point of the exercise was to compose a 500-word “flash” draft, capturing your immediate impression of the piece. I must confess, I found this work of art so breathtaking that the words did not come immediately. When they did, however, I wrote rather madly. Here is the first, and only, draft. Enjoy…

Colour my world, I think, of watercolors red, blue, green, and yellow. Colour my world of half-intended images that hold up more brightly in their reflections than in their reality. Colour my world with the hues you bring on this rainy day, this moment of retrospection as we all see the beauty in life, even without the sun.

I find myself in the puddles of colors that mix in ripples all around your feet. I am happiest here, where I do not stand out as one red, one blue, one green yellow or black. In these shallow waters I am happy, a dewy canvas that captures the essence of each color, each life above and around me.

These moments, though, do not last. When the rain princess leaves and the crowd disperses, dark clouds above shift my hues to  greys and dirty whites, where I find my dwindled strength in nothing more than monochromes of memories of what once was.

I do not wish to live such a monochromatic, monastic life devoid of experiences with you and the world. Rather I bathe in the hues of you, and you, and you until I am once again a canvas-burning-brightly in the light of your love.

She dips gracefully to me and waves her delicate hand through the colors, ripples of green red and blue find their way to others, bringing colours and life and love to those dressed in grey.

They, they cup the colours of love in small fragile hands and drink the rainbow elixir we have made as one. The swirling of you and me and we in the nectar that sustains us all. They drink, they sip, they bathe in colours as they fill their souls, their hearts with blended love, so radiant that others begin to notice, to gather, until they, too…

They, too comprise a world of yellows and blues, prismatic in their welcome as they surround, reflect, and create a new you and me as we ripple on to new venues, some distant and longing for a release of their monochromatic menu.

It is all we can do in these days of rain: seek out the colours of the world and wrap ourselves boldly, warmly in all that we have to give one another.

Stand in the rain and let the greens, reds, and blues flow in and around us, twirl our umbrellas while hue-filled raindrops spin like fairies, iridescent and wondrous, and shower us with prisms of love.

It is not enough for us to wait in the rain for the princesses to come; we must stand, live our lives, trip the light fantastic as we dance our way along the storied canvases of our lives.

To bathe and dance and sing in the hues of life, of love, is all we can ever do in lifetimes eclips’d  by tragedy and sorrow. We cannot turn our black-white backs to the Rain Princess now, or ever again: with her, we marry our colours and paint these days, these wonderful, wondrous ways, with the simple strokes of lives lived with love.

Uh-oh. I found my old digital camcorder. It’s plugged in. Charging. Getting ready for. . . .

A few days ago, one of my students, Jenna, posted a video on facebook that she made in my class while I was meeting with underclassmen. It’s not that it’s a great video–it is. But more than that, it’s that she had so much fun shooting the film and then editing it to music.

Jenna’s so good at this. She shoots/posts video all the time, and she is so comfortable with being in front of the camera and editing the footage, the videos she produces are as much about her happiness and comfort in creating them as they are about the final 3-minute product she posts on Facebook or elsewhere.

Before Jenna, there were others just as inspiring. Mike and Kendall, former students who graduated years ago, are really putting together some polished, professional works about biking, snowboarding, and other things, I am sure. You can see Mike and Kendall’s latest video here.

Jenna, Mike, Kendall and others are so inspiring to me in the world of video–a world that, for some reason, I have not spent much time exploring. For those of you who know me and my passion for all things artistic, especially related to photography, you would think that I would have started doing this a little earlier.

It’s a mystery to me as well. My generation was raised on MTV, but not me. How crazy is it that I cannot think of a single music video that I’ve ever seen in its entirety.

I know. Weird.

Maybe still-life was more my speed back in the 80s. I remember buying my first SLR, a Minolta X-570 that I loved like my own child. When it was stolen a few years later, I used the insurance money to go with Nikon. I bought a 6006 that is now in the hands of another Jenna, a brilliant photographer whom I admire greatly.

I took my photography pretty seriously back in the late 80s and early 90s, winning a few competitions and landing some pretty inspiring shoots around the state. I miss Tracey and Chris, my photog partners in crime. I hope they are both well….

I joined the digital dark side a few years ago, using the school’s Nikon D70s, a great digital SLR camera that goes beyond the glorified point-and-shoot settings and lets you take control of your photography. Shooting with the digital SLRs rekindled my passion for photography. . . .

So: This June, when I get my stipend check, I’m jumping off the digital cliffs and purchasing my own Nikon D300, along with a few high-end lenses. Look for some of those photo shoots to be featured here this summer.

But all that brings me back to shooting video. I don’t know why I’ve never taken that leap…No matter. I am now.

I thank Jenna J, Mike, Kendall, and others for providing the inspiration that I find today to shoot my first short video (am I still allowed to call them short films? Or is that now, um, lame?). After I get the raw footage back home, I’ll learn how to import it into iMovie and see what I can come up with. Whatever I do, I’ll post it both here and on Facebook.

No promises, except for one: I’m sure to have as much fun shooting today as I’ve had with Tracey and Chris so many years ago on our photo shoots.

Enjoy the day everyone, wherever you are!

I’ve been a Sirius Satellite subscriber for about 15 months now. It was free for the first year when I bought my Jeep, and I’ve become addicted to the 80s on 8 channel. It’s not that I’m especially in love with all of the music they play (although I’m keeping a list of the songs I’ve forgotten about that, when a few free bucks become available, I’ll stop on over at the iTunes store and do a happy download). In fact, much of the music they play is from the Hair Bands (Poison and the like), which I was never spending much time calling in for free concert tickets.

It’s not about what they’re playing; it’s about the fact that there’s a station that dips back into my high school and college days, happy days that I spent with so many good people and had so many good times.

It’s also about the nice engagement that’s going on with Facebook, where I’m reuniting with many of these good people and catching up on our lives, where somehow most of us made it through, relatively unscathed, and managed to settle down and build little family empires.

To be honest, it’s a blessing to be this age and this alive at this time in our history. Never before has it been possible to blend the past and the present so seamlessly, both technologically and in person, to create a clearer picture of who we are and how, although we have evolved into moms, dads, and specialists, so much of our true personality has not changed in that evolution.

All of this puts life in a more appreciative perspective for me. And by “life,” I mean that world that is bigger than my communities that include Facebook, text messages, email, chatrooms, IM, and even phone conversations.

I’ve somehow managed to appreciate the unplugged parts of my life even more.

I had to teach last night at Towson U, a very small class of students fulfilling their University requirement for an English course. Before I had to rush to find a parking space near Stephens Hall, I spent an hour with my family at our elementary school, trying to stay warm as the kids took turns flying down the snow-covered hills.

Seeing them–hearing their screams of fear and delight as they soared down the snowy hills, I felt like I was 10 again, playing in the snow with my sister and all of our neighborhood friends and their families. The Johnsons, Moudrys, Shanahans, Queens, and Birkmaeiers were all out there with us, turning a hilly street into an Olympic-like sledding track that looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

Back at Cromwell. As my own kids communed with their friends (we met a few families–rather serendipitously–from our pool), I enjoyed slipping into an appreciative state, observing the beauty of the snow on the trees along the horizon, the distant echos of children making their own memories as they high-fived at the bottom of the hill, the taste of an air filled with fresh-fallen snow, and the clean feel of the breeze brushing over my cheeks.

All of this blended into a gracious appreciation for the timeless joy of playing in the snow, the reconnections with old friends, and the awareness of love flowing through these decades. I remember when AOL was first on the radar, and we all jumped on it like it was that great, undiscovered world we never believed possible. It consumed our lives, just as the World Wide Web did when it was emerging in the early-to-mid nineties. It was a period of great imbalance; many of us became lost in that seemingly endless web of information and entertainment. We were addicted to sitting in our chairs, in front of our 14-inch monitors, believing that it just could not get any better than this.

But we know better now. We use our time online more efficiently now, thanks to social online groups like Facebook and Ning. We reconnect, reflect, and share our most immediate, and sometimes inane, updates of what we are doing. We even use our phones to stay connected to these communities. But we are getting out more again, re-emerging from our techno-cocoons, and returning to the unplugged worlds that we remember just before the birth of MTV. It’s not necessarily a return to innocence as much as it is a return to how all of this started for us 30, 40, and even 50 years ago.

We get the chance to do what no other generation before us has been able to do: embrace the relatively new technology as a means of blending the Then with the Now, yet with the appreciation and the giddiness that comes with having something that wasn’t available to us when we were younger.

Times are tough for all of us with the changes this world is going through. But at least I feel like we’ve got the chance to get through it with a younger heart, a brighter mind, and an appreciation for the things that matter most in this world.

For those of you who have been following along, you know I’m back a little early. The time spent away has been worthwhile in all ways, but perhaps what I’ve realized the most is that I should have never left in the first place.

I don’t mean to get all wizard-of-ozzy on you, but I guess I had to leave home a little to realize just how good–and important–it is for me to be here.

If you got to my blog by first visiting my home page (which used to be my old URL for my blog–rusvw.net), you read (I hope) my opening statement about the importance of writing for an audience. This is the primary reason why I have returned.

I hope to open my blog up to reveal a more candid me. So much of my life is defined by me being a role model, whether that is to my own kids or the students I teach. But I think we get too hung up on that term “model” to be polished, perfect, without blemish. We can be role models and still express fear, anger, and sadness. We can still cry at funerals for our former students, as I did just a few weeks ago, and we can question the politics of McCain, Obama, Palin, and Biden. We can share our weaknesses and shout out our frustrations. We can do all of that as role models because we are human.

As Dumbledore says to Harry, though, it’s what we do with our abilities that makes all the difference. In this case, it’s how we choose to respond to those expressions of fear, anger, and sadness. It’s how we handle the outrage at the death of a student. It’s how we present our political arguments that makes all the difference in the world.

So I’m not here to rant without good cause or cry without sound sorrow. But I am here to be more genuine, and I hope that’s what I’ll be able to bring you in the posts to come.

Thanks to all for hanging in there with me. It’s good to be back. I hope this time it’s for good.

I hope you like the extreme makeover to my blog. Goofygirl is pure MAGIC. I recommend her unconditionally if you’re looking for somebody to take your ideas and make them come alive on your blog.

I suddenly have the urge to post HOURLY!!!! I finally feel like I have a place on the net that’s truly me.

Thanks, Heather! You are the absolute best!

Indeed. . . .What a great weekend.

Friday night, we kicked things off at the Paper Moon Diner, which is like no other restaurant in Baltimore (or anywhere else I’ve been, for that matter).

Things got a little pricey when we started adding on fries and drinks, as is the case anywhere else, but the food was five-star all the way. Even my 2-year-old ate his homemade mac and cheese (and I mean homemade. No pasta-in-a-box here).

Then, on Saturday, we spend the day day-tripping in Fells Point, something I have never done (and, as a Balti-moron, I feel pretty bad about that).

Beautiful day to do it, too. We could have walked all day (especially with The Boy in the stroller).  It’s like a small-town Annapolis–lots of eclectic shops with the sporadic chain store or restaurant for the tourists who are afraid to try the world’s best croissants at Bon-Aparte, or the best pizza at Brick Oven Pizza. Kids loved it. We loved it. We’ll be back.

Then, today, we enjoyed the unbelievably perfect weather outside, as we worked relentlessly on the yard, digging out the underbrush that’s been choking the boxwoods and the azaleas for at least five years. They leaned in, as best they could, to offer their hugs for the freedom we’ve given them. Makes me want to write a mushy book about the whole damned thing….

But now it’s time to get back to work and plot out my week ahead. Much to do, much to do…..

Hope your weekend was nice, too!

Hello, World. . . .

The rush of the school year’s end collided with getting ready to teach grad school, and when I looked up today and took a breath, I realized that I had not blogged in a good while.

Shame, shame, shame.

I think, though, that as I gear up for my book launch in November, the focus of the site might change ever so slightly. I don’t know yet. Maybe. What I really need to do is figure out how in the world I can change the URL for my blog to be something like rusvw.net/blog so that I can use my home URL as a true home page.

I would think that such a thing could be done by sheepdogs deep in puppy REM sleep, but I know better. The last time I tried to do this, I nearly destroyed my site completely. It was only through the great kindness of others who posted how-tos for blog-clogs like me that I was able to return my site to its near-natural form.

So, if my site disappears for awhile, please pray for me. Thanks.

Be back soon….(i hope!)

My goodness, I do believe there is hope yet.

Beyond my wildest imagination, I witnessed something today that I thought could never happen again–especially in my own back yard (figuratively speaking, of course). But there they were, all three of them, laughing their heads off as if they were in hour three of the mega-Disney Marathon indoctrination.

Was it KimPossible? maybe Hannah Montana? or even a little Suite Life of Zack and Cody?

Nope.

It was a little bit of Bugs and Daffy and Elmer Fudd, doing the same thing they’ve been doing for over 60 years now.

Was it politically correct? Hardly. Was it ridiculously simple and repetitive? You bet. But it was also funny as anything, and my kids–the junkies for all things hot pink and green, joined me in being vewy, vewy quiet (except when we laughed knee-slap happy) as Bugs and Daffy duked it out.

I have always feared that someday I would lose my ability to find such things humorous, yet here I am, a full-blown 42-year old, laughing right next to them as if I were still 10 years old myself, longing for more episodes….

So here we go. If you know of any bugs/daffy links on the web, please feel free to pass them along. I’ve got several favorites (“An aardvark? No….I’m not an aardvark! I’m a…a, um., well, let’s see just what the heck it is that I am. . . .), although I love all of them!
Thanks, all!

Monday greetings to you all:

I had a power weekend in many ways, where I was filled with energy from 20 other teachers on Saturday during a 7-hour writing workshop–our first of 21 that will conclude on July 20. There is no greater feeling than being surrounded by like-minded folks who have strong, healthy attitudes about teaching, writing, and the the teaching of writing. We meet again in two weeks, and I already know that it will refill my energy banks until our next gathering. They really kick off on June 25, when we’ll see each other daily, Monday through Friday, for four straight weeks.

Nothing like it. This will be my third time leading this experience, but every time I do this, I end up feeling like I am being led by 20 great, inpsiring writers/educators into a new school year with limitless potential.

Then the family went to see Shrek the Third late yesterday afternoon. The girls loved it, but it was The Boy’s first movie in a theater, so he was a little freaked out by how dark it got at the beginning of the movie. He settled down for a while, and he made it until about 20 minutes before the movie ended. I’ve offered free movie passes to my wife so she can watch the entire show with the girls and without interruption…I hope she takes me up on my offer.

I’ve got a lot to do today, but I’m afraid the motivation’s just not there. I have a meeting in 15 minutes, and I have to prepare a final evaluation for my end-of-year conference this afternoon. None of this is getting done, though.

I feel like I need me-time, just to sort through all that’s happened in the last month. We put ourselves on auto-pilot so easy, and when we take over the wheel, we sometimes think the goal is to keep driving in the same direction, at the same speed. What’s hard is to get us to cut the motor entirely, to drift, to spend some time off the road, to stop and get out, knowing that we’ll have the power and the control to get behind the wheel again when the time is right.

That’s what I need to do. I know that.

But if it is what I will do, I’m not as sure.