No journalists from Kansas

Last week, as I sat nearly comatose in a waiting (and waiting) room, I rifled through a stack of weeks-old magazines. Brides--no thanks. Golf Digest--bleh. I finally found a tattered Newsweek and flipped it open. Inside was short article about the Kansas Department of Education cutting all funding for high school journalism classes.

"Earlier this month, the state’s Department of Education decided to stop funding high-school instruction in the subject. Schools are free to raise their own money, but that’s not a path officials would recommend."

Um, what? How is this not all over the news? It seems the Sunflower State has deemed journalism a "dying industry unfit for public funds." Maybe they are partly right: headlines about the profitability of newspapers and magazines aren't exactly full of good cheer. But won't we always need professional journalists to report accurate information? Or are we okay with relying on bloggers to tell us what's going on? (For heaven's sake, don't rely on ME.)

Disclosure: I was a journalism dork in high school, and although I went into advertising instead of reporting the news, my experience on the yearbook and newspaper staff helped me define myself. I was a writer. My words made it into print. Peers read my articles, and commented. Journalism was the one class that made the biggest impact on me; I'm a news junkie to this day. Two of my fellow editors *did* go onto J-school at MU and make their living as journalists even now.

I get that money is tight and institutions are pressured to cut where they can. Believe me, I sit on the board of a non-profit and witness good programs getting axed. It stinks. However, I'm guessing they still have plenty of bucks lying around for their football team and other sports programs. And wow, I can see how *that* is a booming industry for most graduates. I mean, really, if I had a dime for every professional football player who came from my high school, why, I'd have...zero dimes.

Priorities, though, right?

I'm weird when I'm writing

My goal this year is to try not to be so odd.

Let me explain. When I'm deep in a writing project, working out the details of a story can be all-consuming. So much so that tasks in the life outside my head get sacrificed. Like errands. And housework. Feeding the dog. And, once, I'm ashamed to admit, picking up the kids. I've stepped into traffic because I was writing dialogue in my thoughts. I've looked directly at people I recognize on the street and never have it register because a plot point was taking up all the space in my brain. Compartmentalizing is not my strong point.

And when I'm forced to interact with anyone after hours of writing? Forget about it. I'm sure there's a sizable contingency of moms in my daughter's class who think I'm brain addled. Conversations frequently go like this:

Normal person: "Hi, Wendy. What's going on?"

Me: (Blank stare.) I really either need to kill that character off or give him more of a purpose. I like him, though. Okay. I'll go with purpose. Wait, someone's giving me a funny look. Wake up. "Oh. What? Hi."

NP: "Um. I said, 'What's going on?' You know. 'How are you?'"

Me: "Yes. Sorry. Er, I'm okay." But what can he do? That's like a whole other subplot, and I'm probably long on subplots anyway. Hello? Why is she still looking at me? I guess I need to say something. "Oh. And how've you been?"

NP: "Fine." (Looks around for polite escape.)

This is not good.

So. I'm focusing on interpersonal skills this fall. You know, that talent that used to come so easily? I was the girl in school who had to be moved all around the classroom for chatting. A teacher once even remarked, "I'd move you next to the wall, but you'd probably talk to that, too."

I joined a writing group (in person!) I'm becoming more involved in community service (with people!) I signed up as a tour guide at my kids' school (45 whole minutes of talking per tour!)

Hopefully I can become a people-person again. At least, when I need to be.

How about you? Do you often live inside your head?

My dog needs a shrink

My poor dog. Ever since we returned to Manhattan, Truman has spent every day slumped on the floor, looking very much like a old pot roast someone dropped and left behind. You see, he lived in a yard all summer, hanging out with my parent's yapping terror. I always thought he found their dog annoying, biting his ears and running in circles and all that, but it seems he misses Miss ADHD.

He gazes at the wall, lost in despair. I've been throwing the tennis ball. Nothing. Dangling his favorite smelly sock in front of his face. Not even an eye flick. How about a treat? Meh. When I take him out of a walk (drag), he's not even interested in sniffing a single butt.

Help! I don't know what else to do! He used to love being a city dog, what with all the smells and activity. I guess he secretly longs for the suburbs.

We'll be visiting my parents soon, but it's not like I can reason with Truman in the interim.

Any advice?

Warning: blog hijacked by middle schooler

Hi! My name is Naomi and I'm hijacking my mom's blog to talk about NIGHTSHADE CITY by Hilary Wagner. My mom is friends with the author and got me an advance copy. So cool! But now anyone can buy it. Here's my review:

NIGHTSHADE CITY is a fast-paced and intriguing story about a once-peaceful, underground city of rats that are very intelligent. High Minister Killdeer and is loyal helper Billycan are murderers who command respect from all the other rats. But there are some rats that are starting to fight back.

Three young rats named Clover, Vincent (my dad’s name!), and Victor must team up with the rebels to bring every rat to the new Nightshade City and away from Killdeer forever.

I think the best thing about NIGHTSHADE CITY are the characters. You start out thinking of them only as rats but eventually they become like humans. NIGHTSHADE CITY has some adventurous themes like rebellion and redemption, plus some quieter, more unexpected themes like love.

If anyone says this is a book for only boys, they are wrong! Without the heroines in the book, nothing would be as fascinating or as exciting. NIGHTSHADE CITY truly is a good book!

Blog owner's note: tomorrow, stop by Dorothy's blog to visit the next stop on the tour.

Hurricane Earl excitement

We went out to the beach before high tide today to check out the waves. These were taken at 2:00 pm in Water Mill, NY.

Lost a couple of steps already.

Splashing up to the dunes. The beach has been wide this year. Until today.

Watch out, photographers.

We left when the waves hit the top step. Time to go!

Climbing Mont-Metaphor

We took a trip last week to visit friends in Mont-Tremblant, Quebec, who were nice enough to host all four Cebulas for a few days. I, being not at all outdoorsy nor terribly athletic, decided it would be such the great idea to climb the mountain while were there. I even went out an bought new (cute!) hiking shoes.

"You sure?" said my very outdoorsy and athletic friend. "It's a pretty good climb."

Of course! Can't let a good shoe go to waste. 4 miles straight to the top? That's like walking from the Upper East Side to, what, Soho? Totally doable. Except, like, up.

But what the hell, I'd set the treadmill elevation to 10 before, and I didn't die. Surely I could do this. Plus, you know, the shoes! They were cute and sporty and made me feel official.

Standing at the base of the mountain, my friend pointed to a teeny tiny observation deck at the summit. It was like an ant house. "That's where we're going," she said. And...wow. That was a loooooong way up a steep incline.

"Don't worry," she said, heading up the trail, "there's only one part that's scary*, right at the top."

Well, blog friends, I did pretty well most of the way up. My husband and youngest daughter came, too, and we took it in small steps. I tried not to think about how far I had to go. Just up to that ridge, just across that little stream, we'll take a break at the rock. Much like when tackling a new novel. I'm a slow writer, and if I think too much about how many pages I have to go, forget about it. I freeze. Surely I don't have the chops to write 300 effing pages of story? I'm a short form person, not a novelist--that's too much work. Turns out I can if I just chug along.

And that's what I did.

We made it!

So, how about you? Have you accomplished anything great or small lately?

*OMG. Scary. I almost cried!

Controversy

My daughters and I are reading the book SHABANU by Suzanne Fisher Staples. It's been around a while--about 10 years now. It's about an 11-year-old girl growing up in the Cholistan desert in Pakistan. I'm not sure why my daughter picked it out at the bookstore, but it couldn't have come at a better time.

I'm sure you've heard about a little neighborhood issue we are having here in Manhattan? Certainly lots of people have chimed in. I was pregnant with my second daughter on 9/11, and I'm not going to go into the whole experience of living through that day. I'll only say that it took many New Yorkers into a dark, dark place for a long time.

We read the newspaper every morning, and my 8-year-old always has strong opinions. I generally have to issue a mass apology to the other mothers in her class for some of the death-and-destruction stories she brings in. She seems to think it's her job to corrupt young minds. Yesterday, I was discussing the mosque issue with my dad and things got heated (with most of the heat coming from me, to be honest.) Later, in the car, my daughter and I had this conversation:

Daughter: But, why are people mad about the mosque?

Me: They think it's disrespectful to build it so close to where all those people died.

D: Like (redacted)'s dad?

M: Yes. Where he died.

D: Is (redacted) mad about the mosque?

M: I don't know. I'd rather you not ask her. It might get her upset. Okay?

D: Okay. (pause) But what does that have to do with a mosque?

M: Well, the men who hijacked the plane were Muslims, and Muslims worship at a mosque, and some people think it's wrong to worship there.

D: But they were bad guys.

M: Yes. And not all Muslims are bad guys. Most are living their lives, just like anyone else.

D: Like Mrs (redacted).

M: Uh huh. And grandpa's doctor you met last month. And daddy's friend from L.A. And Shabanu, from the book.

D: She's not real.

M: I know.

D: I still don't get why people are mad that they want to pray there. They didn't do anything wrong.

M: I don't know, honey. I don't agree with those people.

D: You don't agree with Grandpa.

M: I don't. But he still loves me.

I think I'll close this one for comments. No offense, regular blog readers.

ETA: Since posting, my dad has come around to my way of thinking, sort of. He still sees it as insensitive, but he does NOT agree with the other side's bullying, ugly, bigoted tactics to get them to move.