Another Writing Lesson from the Undead

Teaching at the Young Authors Academy this week provided interesting (a purposefully vague word open to interpretation) experiences. Along with a supervisory role for parts of the camp, I taught two classes: “Building Better Stories” and “Tales and Villains.” Yes, teenagers do sign up to go to summer writing camp, and no, I did not come up with the titles of the classes. Each morning we started in true Writing Project format with a scribble where I was able to begin flexing my writing muscles again. It’s been a refreshing change from writing a dissertation. (Still recovering.) Several authors came to present and talk to the students about writing. We had a great lineup: J. Scott Savage, Chris Crowe, Tess Hilmo, Ann Dee Ellis, and Hannah L. Clark. Matthew Kirby also came for an evening chat with the campers. Each brought their expertise and among other things, validated my own writing practices as well as writing strategies I promote in my regular classroom. 

One of my many takeaways is a revision tool—one that Chris Crowe shared during his presentation about micro-revision, a topic I spend quite a bit of time on with my own students. I had seen most of his presentation before at various workshops, but this one was new.

He had the students first write a word-ku, a deviation of a haiku. It is still a three line poem, but instead of counting syllables, you write five words on the first line, seven on the second, and five on the third. Words instead of syllables. He instructed them about the traditional content of haiku: nature. However, when I wrote my example, I couldn’t shake my previous experience writing haiku with Chris and the rest of my Writing Project fellows, and I composed a word-ku of a decomposing nature: zombies. What else when working with Dr. Crowe?

(taken from https://authorselectric.blogspot.com/2016/03/
the-book-that-wasnt-written-by-zombies.html)

none escape this rotting curse,

this infestation that enslaves my mind when

I write haiku—the undead

The next step, a revision strategy, was to take the word-ku, and without changing the content, turning it into a traditional haiku. Syllables instead of words.

the infestation

enslaves my mind, zombifies

my thoughts, my haiku

By forcing one format into another, you really have to think about what it is you want to say. Rules are there to help. It helped me look to tighten up this scrap of writing as well as a few other pieces I worked on during the week. I could go on about different ways to implement this small exercise, its benefits, the buy-in from the students, but I fear the brain activity might attract the undead hordes roaming the campus. I’ll leave it to you to figure it out how to make word-ku work for you.

Do You Know Who You Look Like?

As I worked in the kitchen, cleaning up after a Christmas dinner at the church last year, I noticed a fourteen-year-old girl whom I did not know staring at me. Weird. Every time I glanced over at her, though, she ducked her head and scurried away. I wrote it off as unimportant, but she began cycling back into the kitchen every four or five minutes with the same routine: stare at me for a moment, run away, repeat. Weirder. I prayed I didn’t have a teenage stalker. That would be creepy on many levels.

Toward the end of the night, and to my relief, my friend John tapped me on the shoulder. Hiding behind him was the serial starer. He proceeded to introduce me to his granddaughter Hallie, and we exchanged brief pleasantries. As I turned back to the mountain of plates and gravy boats, she hissed and pulled on her grandpa's arm like a preschooler.

“You promised you would tell him.”

John exhaled and shook his head. “Hallie wants to me tell you that she thinks you look like someone on a show she’s been watching on Netflix. I have no idea who she’s talking about, though. Never seen it myself.”

“Ah. Bob.” A smirk crept across my face. This wasn’t the first time the comparison had been made since Season 2 of Stranger Things was released.

Hallie jumped out from behind him. “But you do. You do. You look just like him.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said and went back to the dishes. The staring ended. She was merely the latest in a slew of doppelgänger connections between me and Bob.

Earlier that week, my fifth period class debated the similarities between me and Sean Astin when I stepped into the hallway to chat with an administrator for a minute. The next day, they told me that they continued the debate over social media late into the night, debating which of Astin’s characters I most resembled in looks and personality. The top vote getters were Bob Newby (from Stranger Things), Samwise Gamgee (The Lord of the Rings), Marcus Tate (Forever Strong), Dave (Encino Man), Daniel E. “Rudy” Ruettiger (Rudy), and Mikey Walsh (The Goonies). A consensus was never reached.

Since I really don’t fixate on celebrities or much of anything in pop culture, this slipped away from my thoughts until yesterday as I started teaching my part of a seminar for young authors. As I introduced myself, the kids whispered up and down the rows of the auditorium.

During the break, three brave souls, who I assume to have been nominated by their peers, approached me.

“So, uh, have you ever seen Stranger Things?”

“Yeah, that was me…Bob,” I replied.

The kid with blue hair exclaimed, “I knew you weren’t dead! I knew it.”

“Not yet,” I said. “Not yet.”

This connection to Bob, or Sean, is not a new phenomenon. It happened with just about every movie or TV show Astin ever released. Growing up, I was frequently asked if I was still digging the pool in my back yard, applying to Notre Dame, or if I knew when the Fratellis were getting out of prison. My wife’s uncle sometimes chants “Rudy! Rudy!” when I walk into a room. It even started with The Goonies, which didn’t make too much sense because Sean is almost six years older than I am. I turned nine in 1985; he was 14 or 15. Despite the obnoxiousness, in most cases, I feel the connections are still pretty funny. I usually reply with a quip about needing to find Mr. Frodo and head into Mordor.

But as this debate has arisen again, I want some feedback. Which Sean Astin character most closely mirrors me? One mentioned above, or a lesser-known entity? Those who know me fairly well might have a different perspective than those who have only seen me. I am curious.

P.S. Don’t worry. You won’t hurt my feelings no matter your answer. Remember, I work in junior high.

P.P.S. It would also be cool for you to share your celebrity doppelgänger.

P.P.P.S. Only one of these pictures belongs to me. The others were found in various places on the Internet.