By Kimberly Johnson
The Rock (Dwayne Johnson) For President…it got me thinking.
Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez sing karaoke…it got me humming.
Hugh Jackman has a ripped body and he’s revealing the secret…it got me staring.
I’ll admit it—I like to read about fluff and stuff; especially online. That’s why I save the links to TMZ, Entertainment Weekly and ETonline (Entertainment Tonight).
A true gossip girl can tell you the name of Kate Hudson’s baby (Bingham).
A true gossip girl can give you the 411 on Kim Kardashian’s wedding plans (Vera Wang is not talking.).
A really, true gossip girl can tell you about Kesha’s escapades at The Box in London.
I like scouring the Internet freeway, searching for the 411. Yeah, I know…it may not be Pulitzer Prize writing, but it does draw you in. I’ve even gone overseas to scour the British newspapers. The UK’s Daily Mirror’s 3AM Celebrity online page has everything you want and don’t want to know. This week’s headlines blurt out about Megan Fox, Kelly Osbourne and Leona Lewis.
Here are five reasons why I read the online gossip pages:
· A smokin’ hot headline that draws my attention.
· A juicy lead sentence that makes me want to read more.
· Scintillating details that make say “Oooh.” or “No, he didn’t.”
· A simple conclusion.
· A hint of humor with a dash of skepticism.
What are your reasons for reading the gossip pages?
Showing posts with label Reading to Write. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reading to Write. Show all posts
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Sunday, December 5, 2010
What I Learned in College
By Amanda Simays
I knew going in that college would be a growing experience, and sure enough, by the time I left, I’d picked up a whole slew of new life skills. I learned how to whip up an impromptu batch of chocolate chip cookies without a mixer, mixing spoon, measuring cup, or a cookie tray. I’d mastered the art of shaving my legs while wearing flip-flops and standing in dorm shower the size of a welcome mat. But if I could pick the one thing I learned that changed my life the most, it would be the skills I picked up as an English major…a deeper understanding of how to read and write.
Of course I didn’t enter my freshman year illiterate, but college transformed how I thought about reading and writing. I became fascinated with the way I could pick up a seventeenth-century poem, seemingly composed of stale words frozen for centuries on the page, and then by taking notes and writing about it, the text would magically come to life before my eyes, pulsing with energy and possibility. I used to think you did the learning first and then writing second, but in my undergraduate years, I learned how you can learn while you write.
I’ve always kept journals, but in college I developed a fuller realization of why I’m so addicted to the activity. It’s not just desire to have a written record of my life as it happens, but a desire for clarity. When I’m confused about anything, when I have a big decision to make, I always write about it, and somehow the translation into black and white letters on the page makes even the stickiest problems seem more manageable.
I learned that I—and humans in general—see life through stories and make up narratives all the time. This awareness added a whole new dimension to my journal-writing habit…I realized I was turning my life into a story, not just in my head, but in a much more literal sense, translating these random thoughts and real-life occurrences into concrete stories on the page. Likewise, when I set out to deliberately make up my own stories in the form of fiction-writing, I began to notice how, on some level, I was still using writing as a vehicle to puzzle out topics I wanted to better understand. My fiction is never strictly autobiographical—it’s too much fun to explore situations I’ve never been in with characters doing things I would never do—but the stories I write often become fun house-style distortions of the issues that are on my mind at the time of writing.
I still have so much to learn about the writing process and what it means to put words on the page, but I’ve come a long way in the last four years. The act of writing brings me joy for lots of reasons, not least of which being the magical power it has to bring sense and order (or at least a more understandable chaos) to the world around me.
I knew going in that college would be a growing experience, and sure enough, by the time I left, I’d picked up a whole slew of new life skills. I learned how to whip up an impromptu batch of chocolate chip cookies without a mixer, mixing spoon, measuring cup, or a cookie tray. I’d mastered the art of shaving my legs while wearing flip-flops and standing in dorm shower the size of a welcome mat. But if I could pick the one thing I learned that changed my life the most, it would be the skills I picked up as an English major…a deeper understanding of how to read and write.
Of course I didn’t enter my freshman year illiterate, but college transformed how I thought about reading and writing. I became fascinated with the way I could pick up a seventeenth-century poem, seemingly composed of stale words frozen for centuries on the page, and then by taking notes and writing about it, the text would magically come to life before my eyes, pulsing with energy and possibility. I used to think you did the learning first and then writing second, but in my undergraduate years, I learned how you can learn while you write.
I’ve always kept journals, but in college I developed a fuller realization of why I’m so addicted to the activity. It’s not just desire to have a written record of my life as it happens, but a desire for clarity. When I’m confused about anything, when I have a big decision to make, I always write about it, and somehow the translation into black and white letters on the page makes even the stickiest problems seem more manageable.
I learned that I—and humans in general—see life through stories and make up narratives all the time. This awareness added a whole new dimension to my journal-writing habit…I realized I was turning my life into a story, not just in my head, but in a much more literal sense, translating these random thoughts and real-life occurrences into concrete stories on the page. Likewise, when I set out to deliberately make up my own stories in the form of fiction-writing, I began to notice how, on some level, I was still using writing as a vehicle to puzzle out topics I wanted to better understand. My fiction is never strictly autobiographical—it’s too much fun to explore situations I’ve never been in with characters doing things I would never do—but the stories I write often become fun house-style distortions of the issues that are on my mind at the time of writing.
I still have so much to learn about the writing process and what it means to put words on the page, but I’ve come a long way in the last four years. The act of writing brings me joy for lots of reasons, not least of which being the magical power it has to bring sense and order (or at least a more understandable chaos) to the world around me.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Thinking Ahead in Another Language
By Ilmars Birznieks
Repeatedly educators and parents in our country question the
relevancy of foreign languages in schools. Their argument is that
practically in every foreign country we can get by with English.
Consequently, they propagate the idea that the learning of a foreign
language is a waste of time.
The idea that foreign languages are irrelevant and their learning
a waste of time ignores the facts. English is not spoken in every
country. It only appears that way to American tourists. People in
other countries naturally prefer to talk or negotiate in their own
language, a matter of national pride. However, in many instances U.S.
media, businessmen, and government officials working in other
countries are at a disadvantage because they cannot speak the language
of the country in which they work and live. They have to employ
translators, who do not always serve the best interest of their
employers, for faulty translations occur frequently.
Our educators and parents should seriously reconsider their
attitude towards requiring students to learn foreign languages at an
early age. Because of the global economy, which will become even more
global in the future, we will have more foreign involvement not less.
In preparing our students for that kind of future, we must not
handicap them. We must recognize that many of them, like it or not,
will have to work for a foreign company here or overseas. For them
the ability to speak a foreign language will be a distinct advantage.
Repeatedly educators and parents in our country question the
relevancy of foreign languages in schools. Their argument is that
practically in every foreign country we can get by with English.
Consequently, they propagate the idea that the learning of a foreign
language is a waste of time.
The idea that foreign languages are irrelevant and their learning
a waste of time ignores the facts. English is not spoken in every
country. It only appears that way to American tourists. People in
other countries naturally prefer to talk or negotiate in their own
language, a matter of national pride. However, in many instances U.S.
media, businessmen, and government officials working in other
countries are at a disadvantage because they cannot speak the language
of the country in which they work and live. They have to employ
translators, who do not always serve the best interest of their
employers, for faulty translations occur frequently.
Our educators and parents should seriously reconsider their
attitude towards requiring students to learn foreign languages at an
early age. Because of the global economy, which will become even more
global in the future, we will have more foreign involvement not less.
In preparing our students for that kind of future, we must not
handicap them. We must recognize that many of them, like it or not,
will have to work for a foreign company here or overseas. For them
the ability to speak a foreign language will be a distinct advantage.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Curse of Concrete/Sequential
By Alex Raley
My twelve-year-old grandson just finished a workshop in creative writing as a part of the University of South Carolina's Carolina Master Scholar program. After the first day, I asked him whether the workshop was what he expected. His response was negative. A bit surprised, I asked him what he expected. He said, "Boooring!" I said, "It isn't boring?" "No, it is so fun. We wrote about twenty short poems and prose pieces." I ignored the "so fun" nonsense and pondered writing "so much" in a group setting. His group kept that pace for five days. Of course, they met from 8:30 to 3:30 with a lunch break.
Groups are inspiring to me. I get excited on hearing the work of members of our writing group. Even reading books on writing is helpful and goads me to get to writing more. Attending workshops on writing provides me with lots of fodder for thought, but rarely do I produce something in the workshop that excites me. I suppose my mind just doesn't work that way.
For most of my life I have thought through scenarios in my mind before beginning to write. That may have come from the many essays I had to write throughout my school career--essays that had to have well-defined theses and a sequenced development of those theses that would bring you to logical conclusions. Do you suppose we are wired before birth to be concrete/sequential or random access? If so, lucky is the writer of fiction who is wired as random access. Fiction is about life and life is not concrete/sequential.
Recognizing my bent to think concrete/sequentially and paying homage to that bent for its contributions to me throughout my school years, especially graduate school, I set about remaking myself. One of the things I did was to use every opportunity to jot down bits and pieces of scenes and experiences without tying them to other thoughts that might try to drive them to a logical end. I also approached reading differently. I chose books that did not feed my bent to the logical. Even mysteries, which must be built with a good measure of logic, lead you down many unexpected paths before finally confronting you with what you logically should have expected.
Writing poetry also has helped me. Poetry is built on unexpected interesting images drawn into the vortex your writing. The idea of poetry enhancing fiction is for a later blog.
Can you still expect to see me in writing workshops? Count on it. I love the camaraderie of and conversation with other writers. Now that's where random access resides.
My twelve-year-old grandson just finished a workshop in creative writing as a part of the University of South Carolina's Carolina Master Scholar program. After the first day, I asked him whether the workshop was what he expected. His response was negative. A bit surprised, I asked him what he expected. He said, "Boooring!" I said, "It isn't boring?" "No, it is so fun. We wrote about twenty short poems and prose pieces." I ignored the "so fun" nonsense and pondered writing "so much" in a group setting. His group kept that pace for five days. Of course, they met from 8:30 to 3:30 with a lunch break.
Groups are inspiring to me. I get excited on hearing the work of members of our writing group. Even reading books on writing is helpful and goads me to get to writing more. Attending workshops on writing provides me with lots of fodder for thought, but rarely do I produce something in the workshop that excites me. I suppose my mind just doesn't work that way.
For most of my life I have thought through scenarios in my mind before beginning to write. That may have come from the many essays I had to write throughout my school career--essays that had to have well-defined theses and a sequenced development of those theses that would bring you to logical conclusions. Do you suppose we are wired before birth to be concrete/sequential or random access? If so, lucky is the writer of fiction who is wired as random access. Fiction is about life and life is not concrete/sequential.
Recognizing my bent to think concrete/sequentially and paying homage to that bent for its contributions to me throughout my school years, especially graduate school, I set about remaking myself. One of the things I did was to use every opportunity to jot down bits and pieces of scenes and experiences without tying them to other thoughts that might try to drive them to a logical end. I also approached reading differently. I chose books that did not feed my bent to the logical. Even mysteries, which must be built with a good measure of logic, lead you down many unexpected paths before finally confronting you with what you logically should have expected.
Writing poetry also has helped me. Poetry is built on unexpected interesting images drawn into the vortex your writing. The idea of poetry enhancing fiction is for a later blog.
Can you still expect to see me in writing workshops? Count on it. I love the camaraderie of and conversation with other writers. Now that's where random access resides.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
What Does Your Bookcase Say About You?
By Michelle Gwynn Jones
Yesterday I went online to Amazon.com and did a search on one of my favorite topics, “books - writing - fiction,” to see what if anything was new and interesting. As usual I put several books in my shopping cart so that later I could review them and decide if I want to make the purchase.
With about fourteen books placed in my cart I settled into the task of further evaluation by clicking on “Look Inside” and reading any and all available reviews. When I came to the third book something about it seemed familiar. I thought to myself, “Have I read this before?” or worse, “Do I already own it?”
I got up from my snuggled-into position on the couch, walked into my home office and looked on the shelves of my bookcase. Sure enough, there it was. So I printed out my shopping list and did a cross check with what I already owned and to my surprise, or dismay, four of the books already adorned my shelf. I decided then that before I did any more shopping I should take a full inventory of what I already own.
Now I have most of the basics by my desk for easy access: the largest dictionary that I can pick up, a thesaurus for when I desperately need another word, a few books on proper grammar and style. Of course, there are the other standards for a fiction writer such as books on developing a scene, the importance of the first five pages, writing effective dialogue and how to prepare a manuscript for submission.
All of those books are normal for a fiction writer, but it is the genre of my writing that makes my top shelf so peculiar. There is a variety of reference books with titles such as: Making Crime Pay; A Complete Guide to Poisons which rates toxicity level from 1 to 5, describes the symptoms of the poison and how to mask it if possible; Guns, Knives and Other Weapons of Death which dedicates a bit too many pages to antique weapons for my stories; Cause of Death : A Writer's Guide to Death, Murder and Forensic Medicine, which is self explanatory.
It made me wonder, if someone came into my office and only looked at my top shelf what would they think? Would they assume I was in law enforcement, or would they fear I was a hired assassin, slowly back out of the room and make a nonchalant exit from my home?
Take a few moments, look over your collection and ask yourself, “What does my bookcase say about me?”
Yesterday I went online to Amazon.com and did a search on one of my favorite topics, “books - writing - fiction,” to see what if anything was new and interesting. As usual I put several books in my shopping cart so that later I could review them and decide if I want to make the purchase.
With about fourteen books placed in my cart I settled into the task of further evaluation by clicking on “Look Inside” and reading any and all available reviews. When I came to the third book something about it seemed familiar. I thought to myself, “Have I read this before?” or worse, “Do I already own it?”
I got up from my snuggled-into position on the couch, walked into my home office and looked on the shelves of my bookcase. Sure enough, there it was. So I printed out my shopping list and did a cross check with what I already owned and to my surprise, or dismay, four of the books already adorned my shelf. I decided then that before I did any more shopping I should take a full inventory of what I already own.
Now I have most of the basics by my desk for easy access: the largest dictionary that I can pick up, a thesaurus for when I desperately need another word, a few books on proper grammar and style. Of course, there are the other standards for a fiction writer such as books on developing a scene, the importance of the first five pages, writing effective dialogue and how to prepare a manuscript for submission.
All of those books are normal for a fiction writer, but it is the genre of my writing that makes my top shelf so peculiar. There is a variety of reference books with titles such as: Making Crime Pay; A Complete Guide to Poisons which rates toxicity level from 1 to 5, describes the symptoms of the poison and how to mask it if possible; Guns, Knives and Other Weapons of Death which dedicates a bit too many pages to antique weapons for my stories; Cause of Death : A Writer's Guide to Death, Murder and Forensic Medicine, which is self explanatory.
It made me wonder, if someone came into my office and only looked at my top shelf what would they think? Would they assume I was in law enforcement, or would they fear I was a hired assassin, slowly back out of the room and make a nonchalant exit from my home?
Take a few moments, look over your collection and ask yourself, “What does my bookcase say about me?”
Sunday, March 28, 2010
An Outsider Asks: What Is Southern Lit?
By Janie Kronk
“You learn a lot about where you’re from by learning about someplace new.”
These words were spoken to me by my boss in Ohio, shortly before I transplanted myself south for graduate school. Taking this statement to heart, I’ve done my best to be a good pupil while living here, learning about “The South” and trying to piece together what it teaches me about the north.
There are many aspects of Southern living to hold up in comparison to what I knew back home: Southern Architecture, Southern Cuisine, Southern Literature. This last item on the list is of particular interest to me. While it is easy to see the influence of climate and history in the buildings along the coast, and hard to argue with the zeal for barbeque that permeates the region, I have a little more trouble recognizing what makes writing “Southern.” Is it literature that takes place in the South? Written by Southerners? Or is writing made Southern by the presence of certain thematic elements? If so, what are those elements?
The tradition of southern literature includes greats such as William Faulkner, Truman Capote, Harper Lee, Mark Twain and many others. There are anthologies published to highlight the work of contemporary Southern writers. I must admit, I have not witnessed quite the hype over a tradition of Midwestern literature, even though Ohio alone claims authors such as James Thurber, Sherwood Anderson, and Paul Laurence Dunbar.
For a time, I thought this may have something to do with my home region being part of “Middle America” – thus having no distinctive character of its own around which to form a literary culture. Still – and this may just be because it is “home” – I do find something unique about the blend of farm and factory, rivers, cities, and cornfields. But the sense of identity with the place is more subdued than what I have witnessed in The South.
So far, the thing that strikes me as being most unique about The South is not its food, its cities, or its literature. It’s not the manners, and it’s not the hot summers. It’s the sense of being Southern that Southerners seem to have.
This sense of uniqueness is there even though modern life has erased many of the boundaries that define one place from another – throughout the country we see the same strip malls and the same sprawl; we have the same food shipped to us in our grocery stores; we have access to the same information over the internet and in our libraries and bookstores. Despite everywhere becoming more and more the same, there still seems to be a consensus: something is different about The South.
This different-ness holds up as writers continue to fabricate stories. But what makes these stories different? Maybe Southern Literature in the 21st century is itself a fabrication – not in the sense of being false, but in the sense of being a built thing – an identity constructed again and again with each telling of a new tale while other distinctions vanish with the shift to a global culture.
“You learn a lot about where you’re from by learning about someplace new.”
These words were spoken to me by my boss in Ohio, shortly before I transplanted myself south for graduate school. Taking this statement to heart, I’ve done my best to be a good pupil while living here, learning about “The South” and trying to piece together what it teaches me about the north.
There are many aspects of Southern living to hold up in comparison to what I knew back home: Southern Architecture, Southern Cuisine, Southern Literature. This last item on the list is of particular interest to me. While it is easy to see the influence of climate and history in the buildings along the coast, and hard to argue with the zeal for barbeque that permeates the region, I have a little more trouble recognizing what makes writing “Southern.” Is it literature that takes place in the South? Written by Southerners? Or is writing made Southern by the presence of certain thematic elements? If so, what are those elements?
The tradition of southern literature includes greats such as William Faulkner, Truman Capote, Harper Lee, Mark Twain and many others. There are anthologies published to highlight the work of contemporary Southern writers. I must admit, I have not witnessed quite the hype over a tradition of Midwestern literature, even though Ohio alone claims authors such as James Thurber, Sherwood Anderson, and Paul Laurence Dunbar.
For a time, I thought this may have something to do with my home region being part of “Middle America” – thus having no distinctive character of its own around which to form a literary culture. Still – and this may just be because it is “home” – I do find something unique about the blend of farm and factory, rivers, cities, and cornfields. But the sense of identity with the place is more subdued than what I have witnessed in The South.
So far, the thing that strikes me as being most unique about The South is not its food, its cities, or its literature. It’s not the manners, and it’s not the hot summers. It’s the sense of being Southern that Southerners seem to have.
This sense of uniqueness is there even though modern life has erased many of the boundaries that define one place from another – throughout the country we see the same strip malls and the same sprawl; we have the same food shipped to us in our grocery stores; we have access to the same information over the internet and in our libraries and bookstores. Despite everywhere becoming more and more the same, there still seems to be a consensus: something is different about The South.
This different-ness holds up as writers continue to fabricate stories. But what makes these stories different? Maybe Southern Literature in the 21st century is itself a fabrication – not in the sense of being false, but in the sense of being a built thing – an identity constructed again and again with each telling of a new tale while other distinctions vanish with the shift to a global culture.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
A View Point on Point of View
By Alex Raley
Just when I think my brain has finally gotten a grip on writing, something jars the hold. Early in my writing attempts I heard repeatedly that writing in the first person, especially long pieces like a novel, was so difficult as to be avoided at all costs. You know the problems – how do we avoid portraying only one dimension of a situation? whose head are we in? how do we give the reader a glimpse into the feelings of the various characters?
While on vacation recently, I read five novels which were published within the last five years. All of them used the first person singular. In each case, there was a hint of memoir, but you knew that this was not the recounting of facts from someone’s life. There was a compelling story to be told and enjoyed. The story was filled with interesting descriptions of places and events. Most remarkably, “I” appeared just often enough to remind you of who was telling the story and, in at least one case, a principal character was not the narrating “I”.
At our state conference last year a reviewer told me that my short story was about the male character and not the female character. I had tried to make the female the main character. While the reviewer did not specifically tell me to let the male tell the story in first person, I said, “Umm.” The rewriting is going smoothly with the fearsome “I” occasionally presenting problems. Now if I can just write with a minimum of “I’s”, I may be able to make the story what I want it to be.
Another dictum for us as writers is to make sure that the reader knows who is your main character. That does not seem too complicated, but I have found myself trying to write a novel in which several characters are “main.” It was important to me that the reader know the feelings and thoughts of several people who were affected by the story. Letting the principals each have a section of the book in which they were portrayed seemed like a reasonable solution. I was well into the process of redirecting the novel, when I read Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital. In that wonderful book, Hospital even helps the reader by giving chapters the names of characters so that we know the seminal person or event.
We are always told that writers learn by reading. This summer I have reaffirmed that notion. Looking for help? Read, read, read.
Just when I think my brain has finally gotten a grip on writing, something jars the hold. Early in my writing attempts I heard repeatedly that writing in the first person, especially long pieces like a novel, was so difficult as to be avoided at all costs. You know the problems – how do we avoid portraying only one dimension of a situation? whose head are we in? how do we give the reader a glimpse into the feelings of the various characters?
While on vacation recently, I read five novels which were published within the last five years. All of them used the first person singular. In each case, there was a hint of memoir, but you knew that this was not the recounting of facts from someone’s life. There was a compelling story to be told and enjoyed. The story was filled with interesting descriptions of places and events. Most remarkably, “I” appeared just often enough to remind you of who was telling the story and, in at least one case, a principal character was not the narrating “I”.
At our state conference last year a reviewer told me that my short story was about the male character and not the female character. I had tried to make the female the main character. While the reviewer did not specifically tell me to let the male tell the story in first person, I said, “Umm.” The rewriting is going smoothly with the fearsome “I” occasionally presenting problems. Now if I can just write with a minimum of “I’s”, I may be able to make the story what I want it to be.
Another dictum for us as writers is to make sure that the reader knows who is your main character. That does not seem too complicated, but I have found myself trying to write a novel in which several characters are “main.” It was important to me that the reader know the feelings and thoughts of several people who were affected by the story. Letting the principals each have a section of the book in which they were portrayed seemed like a reasonable solution. I was well into the process of redirecting the novel, when I read Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital. In that wonderful book, Hospital even helps the reader by giving chapters the names of characters so that we know the seminal person or event.
We are always told that writers learn by reading. This summer I have reaffirmed that notion. Looking for help? Read, read, read.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
What I've Learned So Far
By Deborah Wright Yoho
What goes through your mind, Gentle Reader, when I tell you that I teach adults to read? How can an adult not know how to read in this day and age, in this country? Oh, maybe she works with retards, or welfare mothers, or rednecks?
I became the director of a non-profit adult literacy program in 1994, after I left my job as the principal of a rural South Carolina high school - straight from three years of dealing with kids who lived on dirt roads and showed up in August barefoot or with lice. One student asked permission for dismissal at noon so he could pick cotton to earn a few dollars for his family. Another forgot to leave his loaded shotgun at home. He parked his truck, unlocked, on school grounds with the evil thing still mounted on a gun rack behind the front seat.
So when I accepted the job as an adult educator, I thought the guy at the “fillin’ station” on The Andy Griffith Show, Goober, probably represented the typical adult who struggles with reading. That is, until I met James Lazarus.
I had been on the job a week when a newspaper reporter with The State called me asking to interview an “adult illiterate” for a feature story about the United Way campaign. “Sure!" I answered, eager to grab the media spotlight. "I have someone here right now. If you have a close deadline, you can come right over."
"I'll be right there," Bill McDonald said, delighted to get this chore out of the way. I gave him directions and waited impatiently for him to arrive.
It never occurred to me to ask the adult learner and his tutor if they wanted to be interviewed. When Bill arrived, I escorted him to the classroom and introduced him. I also had to introduce myself. I had never met either James Lazarus or the lovely elderly lady who volunteered to tutor him. Luckily, James didn't care about my presumption or my rudeness.
Bill posed his first question. "Tell me, Mr. Lazarus, what do you do for a living?"
"Huh?" asked James.
"Your profession."
With immense dignity, this quiet middle-aged man stated, "Oh, I'm a pastor."
"A pastor?!" Bill's jaw dropped only slightly lower than mine.
"Yes, I have a congregation of about 300 souls just outside of town. Preaching is my profession. But I also work for the county painting playground equipment."
"What does your church think about their pastor not being able to read?"
"Well," said James. "They don't know." There was a pregnant pause as James drew a breath and then grinned. "But I guess they are about to find out!"
James Lazarus understood his secret was about to be divulged to the whole world while Bill and I never considered that he may not have wanted his face plastered six inches high on page one of the Metro section. But that is how his congregation found out their pastor couldn't read.
As for me, I learned something about stereotypes, dignity, patience, consideration for others, and plain good manners from a gentleman. To this day, I am very proud to call James Lazarus my friend.
What goes through your mind, Gentle Reader, when I tell you that I teach adults to read? How can an adult not know how to read in this day and age, in this country? Oh, maybe she works with retards, or welfare mothers, or rednecks?
I became the director of a non-profit adult literacy program in 1994, after I left my job as the principal of a rural South Carolina high school - straight from three years of dealing with kids who lived on dirt roads and showed up in August barefoot or with lice. One student asked permission for dismissal at noon so he could pick cotton to earn a few dollars for his family. Another forgot to leave his loaded shotgun at home. He parked his truck, unlocked, on school grounds with the evil thing still mounted on a gun rack behind the front seat.
So when I accepted the job as an adult educator, I thought the guy at the “fillin’ station” on The Andy Griffith Show, Goober, probably represented the typical adult who struggles with reading. That is, until I met James Lazarus.
I had been on the job a week when a newspaper reporter with The State called me asking to interview an “adult illiterate” for a feature story about the United Way campaign. “Sure!" I answered, eager to grab the media spotlight. "I have someone here right now. If you have a close deadline, you can come right over."
"I'll be right there," Bill McDonald said, delighted to get this chore out of the way. I gave him directions and waited impatiently for him to arrive.
It never occurred to me to ask the adult learner and his tutor if they wanted to be interviewed. When Bill arrived, I escorted him to the classroom and introduced him. I also had to introduce myself. I had never met either James Lazarus or the lovely elderly lady who volunteered to tutor him. Luckily, James didn't care about my presumption or my rudeness.
Bill posed his first question. "Tell me, Mr. Lazarus, what do you do for a living?"
"Huh?" asked James.
"Your profession."
With immense dignity, this quiet middle-aged man stated, "Oh, I'm a pastor."
"A pastor?!" Bill's jaw dropped only slightly lower than mine.
"Yes, I have a congregation of about 300 souls just outside of town. Preaching is my profession. But I also work for the county painting playground equipment."
"What does your church think about their pastor not being able to read?"
"Well," said James. "They don't know." There was a pregnant pause as James drew a breath and then grinned. "But I guess they are about to find out!"
James Lazarus understood his secret was about to be divulged to the whole world while Bill and I never considered that he may not have wanted his face plastered six inches high on page one of the Metro section. But that is how his congregation found out their pastor couldn't read.
As for me, I learned something about stereotypes, dignity, patience, consideration for others, and plain good manners from a gentleman. To this day, I am very proud to call James Lazarus my friend.
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