Back from the Dead (Halloween Hater)

Like a zombie from the crypt, this blog--dead or undead--has new life breathed back into it. It's part of my efforts to get back to writing more frequently. So how should I start it off? With a little personal narrative ramble, of course.

For the record, Halloween has never been my favorite holiday…even as a kid. I didn’t really get into jump scares or monsters. Truthfully, on the whole, the horror/slasher genre of lit and film bores me. Suspense, I like, but for me, horror involves no real fright—just frustration and consternation at how demented people invent such stories. The gross-out factor didn’t even make me gag (much). And yes, I tried haunted houses and corn mazes as a teen and as an adult, but they didn’t do anything for me either. Maybe I’m concerned that people actually enjoy these “scary” things. To me they aren’t scary, just lame.

Dressing up in a costume never did anything for me either. I simply don’t enjoy it much. Sure, I dressed up as the obligatory superhero or clown or vampire (I believe those were the only personas I donned for trick-or-treating or class parties.), but I didn’t really get into it. Too much work for so little return.

                The only payoff for me was the candy. And I only ransacked the neighborhood until I was ten. My parents had a rule that trick-or-treating was done after you turned twelve. I ended early, opting at age eleven to drag my younger siblings around, and by the time I hit twelve, I opted to stay home to answer the door and sugar-load the roaming hordes of diaper-sagging Supermen, pillowcase-toting Princess Leias, and demons nearing diabetic comas.

                My last year of candy retrieval we lived in military housing in Japan. I was a vampire (again): white Sunday shirt, dark Sunday slacks and shoes, a plastic bargain bin cape and false teeth that Mom had grabbed at the base exchange. No makeup. I have no clue what my brothers wore.

Dad escorted us around some familiar blocks, and I grew impatient. My younger brothers lagging behind—Marc stopping to examine his haul after each house and David was just tired. We were coming near the end of the night (Trick-or-treating was only allowed on base from 1800-2000 hours.), and I still wanted more candy. As long as we were out, it needed to be worth my time, right?

The homes were all your standard, military four-plexes, and the blocks consisted of sets of two buildings facing each other with a parking spaces between them. Each set meant eight doors to knock. Eight treats. However, the two four-plexes we approached all looked dark. Dad wanted to move past them and head for home. I wanted candy. I was out here going through the motions, wasn’t I? Maybe David’s fussing wore on his patience, or maybe I was an impertinent little ten-year-old, but somehow I convinced Dad to let me try the darkened complex anyway. The three of them moved on, and I was allowed to continue by myself.

So I ventured to the first door alone.

Nothing.

I went to the next. Again, nothing.

The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh doors all remained shut.

At the eighth and final stop, frustration started creeping in, and I felt like an idiot for wasting my time with the darkened doors. Despite the blackened windows, my stubbornness knocked anyway. As I stood with my foot tapping, tapping at the concrete floor, I heard but silence, nothing more. Yet once again I started rapping, rapping at the darkened door, wanting candy, nothing more.

When I was about to admit defeat, the porch light flicked on burning my vampire eyes, and the door opened.

“Hey, kid.” A man in a ratty Chicago Bears T-shirt and sweats stood before me, beer in hand.

“Hey,” I responded.

“We haven’t had anyone come by tonight. Probably because the light was off, huh?”

I didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, he saved my caught-in-the-porchlight dumbfoundedness by turning, setting down his bottle, and picking up a large Tupperware bowl, hundreds of Tootsie Rolls heaped above the rim.

“So, uh, why don’t you just take the whole thing?” he proffered. “Then I can turn my light off and go to bed.”

Before I could speak, sweet, chewy goodness spilled out of the bowl, into my plastic pumpkin, and onto the ground.

Caught in a trance, I mumbled a thank you, and the door closed. The light went out. I scurried about, collecting as many more Tootsies that I could stuff into my pockets. Persistence paid off that night. But that was the end of the story—no more trick-or-treating for this kid.

I figured that my siblings would always bring home candy. And if I really wanted some cavities that badly, I could buy my own sugar. It always went on sale on November 1^st anyway (as long as it wasn’t candy canes or Chocolate Santas). In high school I even sold Halloween surplus out of my locker for a while, which for me, was much more beneficial than sweating through makeup or a freezing in a cracking plastic suit while hiking from house to house.

 (from http://www.disneyfilmproject.com/2009/06/skeleton-dance.html)

What? This from a guy who enjoys writing zombie haiku? I know. It’s weird. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not an absolute hater. Garfield, the Great Pumpkin, and the Headless Horseman all make regular appearances. And I’ve been known to set up a spook alley or design the occasional Viking shield, false bloody knife, or other costume accouterments. One of my favorite cartoons of all time remains Disney’s Silly Symphony “The Skeleton Dance.” When I was younger, I enjoyed helping my younger siblings create homemade decorations. One of our favorites included constructing haunted houses with working windows and doors out of construction paper. Sounds like I might (hypocritically) enjoy Halloween. Nope. I love when others enjoy Halloween. All the effort is for the kids. It does nothing for me. 

 

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.

This Year's Batch

I guess I suppose I should post the latest zombie haiku to ooze forth from my pen, although it wasn't the best year for these. Even worse than last year.  Oh, well. I actually finished these up at a CUWP retreat at Daniel's Summit. Despite the poor haiku, I love CUWP activities like this retreat, the Walk and Writes (like the one earlier this month at beautiful Bridal Veil Falls). They actually "fill my cup," to borrow from Dewitt Jones, and they drive me to finish my dissertation so I can spend more time writing about things I enjoy. Yes, I know that my dissertation is about the writing project, but that's another story. It's what I'll be doing instead of NaNoWriMo this year. Boo! Hiss! So, with that, here are three times seventeen syllables of undead poetry:

seventh period
need not fear the zombie attack
due to brain shortage

(It really was sad to try helping them write zombie haiku.)

unhealthy zombies
don't watch their cholesterol;
they feed with eyes closed

off-key zombies help
eliminate that crazy
song stuck in your head

(See, I told you it was a poor crop.)

...and one more from this weekend:

even zombies have
blood-sucking competition:
el chupacabras!

Shuffling through the National Day on Writing

The National Day on Writing has come and gone, and here at the end, I feel like a failure. Well, at least when it comes to trying something new, which is what I usually do this time of year. I though about doing something with this year's theme: writing you community, but it just didn't work for me today. Instead, I just introduced zombie poetry to this year's group. It was a different experience, though, as all my classes are ninth graders, and they've been around the annual SFJH Zombie Haiku Contest for three years. Usually I have an easy sell with 7th graders, but this time 'round it was more like reselling an idea to them that they had discarded two years ago. Most of them bought back in though.

Just a warning, I wasn't really feeling the undead flow today. However, I did eke out a few between all the empty brainwaves.

Here they are for your (dis)pleasure:

counting syllables

has left the zombie poet

without any brains

zombies volunteer

as tribute to get a spot

in the hunger games

cancer, like zombies,

eats your insides without

mercy or remorse

(for the girl who wanted to write kitty haiku instead of zombie haiku:)

munching on kittens

causes zombie snacker to
hack up excess hair

Hopefully I'll come up with something a tad more profound the next time I attempt to write.

Post-Valentine Poetry Contest

Recently, I entered a local poetry contest: Valentine Zombie Haiku. Some of you might also have entered Dr. Crowe's event. I haven't heard about the results, so I assume that I didn't win. However, I still want to share my entry.

one dozen long-stemmed
brains only cost zombie guy
an arm and a leg

Today I share this to start SFJH's second annual Valentine Poetry contest. This year the three categories include "serious" love poetry, vomitous valentines (so overly-sappy that it makes me want to puke), and (last year's most popular category) anti-valentine poetry.

So I issue my own challenge/contest to all who want to participate.

Submit your post-valentine poem  via the comment section on this blog or email (joeaveragewriter@gmail.com) and we'll have some sort of a prize. For those who might be concerned about dual submissions with the school contest, my students judge the school contest, and I'll judge this one. You can use the same poem if you wish. And before you ask, it does not have to include zombies either!

Let's set the deadline for Friday, February 28th (2014). Good luck. Go ahead. Try to make me barf!

I gotta go. My inbox is currently being inundated with bad valentine poetry. Better grab a bucket before I dive in.

It's That Time of Year Again!

Time for zombie haiku.  To kick off SFJH's 4th annual zombie haiku contest, I have penned ten new zombie haiku for your reading pleasure/disgust.  Please feel free to try your hand at this undead tradition by dropping a limb, I mean a line or three in the comments.

“let’s give her a hand”—

zombie’s attempt to find a

snack for his daughter

hand and foot in mouth

is a meal for young zombies

not another plague

watching The Walking

Dead reminds zombies of old

fam’ly videos

rude teenage rebel

learned painful lesson; she told

zombie, “Just bite me.”

zombie kids always

fight over the human prize

hiding in the box

philosophers turned

zombie are often tempted

to split their own skulls

refrigerated

remains are never as good

as fresh flesh served raw

intestinal tug-

of-war ends when zombies hit

the end of the line

when sunbathing near

zombies, be careful or else

more than skin might peel

the hunger games are

undeniably zombie’s

favorite pastime

Nothing Special...Just Halloween

Since I need a break today, and I need to post before tomorrow so I can beat the record for number of posts on my blog in a month this year, you get this.  It's nothing special (as indicated by the title).  The other day my student teacher had the students write how-to paragraphs...looking for topic sentences, supporting details, transitions, etc.  Quite a few didn't know what to do, so I quickly penned this draft of roughness on the whiteboard.  Besides, it fits the season.

Zombie Attack Instructions (Bat Style)

                When attempting to slay a zombie, you must first possess the correct equipment.  Traditionally, shotguns, machetes, or axes have been used; however, any weapon with the power to sever the tie between brain and spine will suffice.  A Louisville Slugger is my personal preference. When you are ready, and the target is within striking distance, you must swing with the intent to dislodge the head from the soldiers.  Watch the bat rush through the target.  Follow through with both hands firmly attached to the bat so you do not lose your weapon and so you are ready to inflict either a counterblow or an initial strike the next zombie.  Be careful not to hitch or loop your swing as it will overexpose your flank to a side attack.  Short, compact swings work more effectively than wild tomahawk or golf swings.  Once your perimeter has been breached, though, and you are about to be overwhelmed, run.

I'd appreciate if somebody else continued the series, addressing the proper handling of other apocalypse-containment weapons.

Zombies Revisited (2012 Style)

It's official. The SFJHS annual zombie haiku contest is back and the hordes are picking up steam (and discarded organs).  Here are my contributions as I wrote examples for my classes this year:

first period class—

perfect imitation of

mindless zombie horde

counting on fingers

reminds zombie children not

to play with their food

splitting up with your

zombie girlfriend gives a new

meaning to heartbreak

don’t mistake zombies

for wand’ring teenage trick-or-

treaters at your door

fast food zombies love

finding the surprise inside

happy meals for lunch!

some uncouth zombies

pick their teeth with fingernails

still attached to hands

civilized zombies

remember when slurping to

extend their pinkies

defense weapons? ha!

think your guns will save you from

the apocalypse?

“you think you’re scared now?”

grunted zombie at the door

“wait till I get in”

Louisville Slugger

by the nightstand for robbers?

nope. zombie attack

zombies smell the fear

and can’t wait to taste the sweat

running down your neck

writing more zombie

haiku leaves my brains empty;

at least I’m safe now

kidney. liver. spleen.

anatomy lesson? nope

zombie lunch buffet

LMFAO—

(ev’ry day I’m shuf-fl-in’)

zombies in disguise

endless hours of

console preparation just

creates more zombies

vacant expressions

while mindlessly texting help

blend with zombies

These last two came after the zombies had already relieved me of my brains.  Moan.

Zombies Reborn!

For our wordplay activity today, I introduced zombie haiku. I also figured that I hadn't posted anything for a while. Happy October!

chewing with your mouth

open will reveal someone

else’s inner self

Zombie counts digits

for his haiku syllables

and ends up snacking

escaping zombies

requires keeping your head

quite literally

This Emily Chick is Sick!

This is a parody of "A Bird Came Down the Walk."

One dead slumped down the Walk—

He grunted so I saw—

He bit a mailman in halves

And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank from Lou

Who died within the Grass—

And shuffled sideways to the Street

To let this Slayer pass—

He peered with famished eyes

That wandered all around—

They looked like lifeless Orbs, I thought—

He stirred his Sagging Head

Like one dismembered, dying,

I forced in him a Blade

And he unleashed his entrails

And moaned him softer home—

Than Babes cry out when smothered,

Too gruesome for this scene—

Or Leftovers, left In the Pond

Float, lifeless after drowned.