All Hail All Hallow's Eve: Getting Back into the Swing of Halloween

It's been a while since I've been into Halloween. As an adult you either go with the flow of the masses, try the tiniest bit, or don't even bother. Being in New York City and working in Manhattan (particularly downtown Manhattan) you're at risk of running into the crowd of overzealous costumed men, women, and children for the Halloween Parade if it lands on a weekday. My husband and I happened upon the Halloweeen Parade when we first started dating and I had a celebrity sighting (Patrick Renna from The Sandlot). That year we saw a man dressed as then President Bush carrying a cage with someone (a living someone) dressed as Osama Bin Laden inside. Now that was a costume that got a lot of attention, not just because of the timing being after 9/11 but because it was really cool and inventive. Also, one man carrying another during a parade would be killer on one’s back. Just this past weekend New York Comic Con happened and many were decked out as their favorite superheros/heroines, supervillains, comic book and manga characters. If you see some of the photos people went all out to properly present a realistic image of a character they put a lot of thought into.

So, after a pretty tumultuous year with my husband being unemployed, becoming the sole breadwinner for our home and helping him with school costs as well as taking on our entire standard of living, after moving twice in 33 days (once unnecessarily thanks to a certain mother-in-law), and dealing with finding a new apartment and shelling out boku bucks in two weeks time, working full-time and freelance to make extra cash, and trying to get my own writing and writing residency applications in I decided I deserved a bit of an escape. This escape came in the form of a Facebook invite from a co-worker for a Halloween party where costumes are a must. I considered dressing up as a character from True Blood or doing an angel costume or just reusing the Spartan cheerleader costume I purchased the year before for a murder mystery game at a friend’s home, but then realized I was still reeling from an awesome YA series I just completed and wanted to be the heroine for this series. This character had been through the gamut and still survived and if after a hellish year for me I could portray the strength of her than my bad year couldn’t be so bad in retrospect. And what better time than Halloween to put myself full force into being this character and leaving my troubles behind while I contemplated the transformation. So, I decided I would be Katniss Everdeen for my friend's Halloween party and thus also prompted another friend to have her own Halloween party where I could wear my costume more than once. Sweet!

Side note: If you don't know who Katniss Everdeen is (and I have a feeling I'll be doing a lot of explaining at these parties) she is the narrator and protagonist of the wonderful YA dystopian series The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. All I can say is Ms. Collins is a talented and kind and lovely woman and the books are awesome so read them...ASAP!

In planning this costume and going on eBay, Overstock.com, the Scholastic store, and searching clothing site after clothing site I realized I was going all in for this. Something I hadn’t done in years. I’ve been an onlooker come Halloween, admiring the costumes of others, ohing and awing at the adorable children’s costumes (and yes even some animals, who doesn’t like to see a Dachshund dressed as Superman?). I haven’t invested time or money in Halloween since I was a kid and even then it was mainly my family doing the work to make me what I wanted. It always seemed so fruitless, you’d be something one year and something else the next. What’s the fun in that? What if someone doesn’t get the costume or I just don't do the best job of getting all the elements together?

My earliest memory of Halloween was being Snoopy. I was probably five or six years old and went out with my cousins around the block in Uniondale, NY on a family friendly block. I remember being quite hot in the damn mask and a lot of condensation happening when I breathed into the plastic. I also remember people constantly saying how cute my costume was and inviting me into their homes to display to others. This was the 1980s in Long Island in a relatively safe community so my chaperon gladly let me parade around some strangers homes so they could see my "oh so cute" costume. When looking back on that night I remember seeing the world through two small eyeholes, much like the beginning of Halloween (the original one that is).

Skip to a few years later when my arts and crafty aunt made me a Crayola crayon box complete with crayons sticking out of either side of me and a hat (made from one of our cereal bowls and construction paper) that made my head a red (if memory serves) crayon. This costume was ingenious and looked amazing! I only wish someone had pictures. My aunt made the box incredibly vibrant yellow and it was an exact replica of the Crayola box. Of course, this box did not fare well when being taken to an elementary school where everyone wanted to know what the heck I was carrying. I needed a teacher to help me put it on and by the end of the day the crayons sticking out of my box became casualties of child curiosity. I was a big hit in our school's parade though. Years later I was a baker (makes sense huh?) swathed in white with an apron, professional looking baker's hat, and a decorated cake my aunt lent me. This is the same aunt who did the Crayola box and was prone to decorating cakes in her spare time, so she lent me one of her lovely creations a white cake with pastel coloring trim and roses. (She was really good at making roses.)

From then on costumes became a rarity. Since my mom and I no longer lived in Long Island, and my aunt lived elsewhere, Mom being a single working parent meant costumes were purchased, not made. I remember getting a ballerina costume later than I expected for Halloween and by the time the holiday rolled around the following year I had ballooned and was unable to fit the outfit, plus it's sequins around the edges chaffed. And those dear readers are the few times I participated in said “holiday.” As one gets older it becomes more like a day for kids, much like Christmas (and Chanukah as I've been told). You lose the energy to invest time and money into a costume and frankly after a full work day you just don't feel like being creative! Hence many costumes where someone is in street clothes with simply plastic fangs and some blood in their mouth claiming to be a vampire or someone decked out in solely cat ears portraying any array of animals in the cat family. Or women purchasing all this thin and barely there “sexy” clothes from Ricky’s chains around the world (just this past week I saw a sexy skeleton costume which was just a black tube dress with some white bones painted across the front). Since when were skeletons sexy? Since when did we lose our creativity? I’ll tell you when, once we hit the threshold of adulthood that’s when. Once we started being all responsible and whatnot. Once we forgot how fun it could be to dress up and play pretend because we had to focus so much on what was in front of us that’s when. Well, I decided that this year I would put that stuff aside for a bit. I decided that since I was inspired and highly entertained by Ms. Collins’ books that I’d go all the way, or at least as far as my wallet would allow, and get decked out as an adolescent lady made a symbol of rebellion and thrust into a war!

I have to say that finding elements to make my costume whole was pretty fun and daunting at the same time. After Googling images I see that I may not have been as precise as I wanted to be and as some fans did (one lady bought a jacket from Korea to match the one from the first book), but all in all I think I got the majority of it. I mean, I bought a wig for crying out loud! It was fun searching for bow & arrows, a top, the mockingjay pin, and such for a decent price. It was cool trying to pin down the right hue and style of pants that would convey a young woman in an arena to fight for her life. And the wig was the coolest thing to buy. I was quite picky on St. Marks when I spoke with a guy in a wig/tattoo/piercing store trying to find the exact color and style that would fit and make a nice braid in the back. "No, not the golden brown, the dark brown," I insisted. Once I had that everything else came into play pretty easily. And I'm excited to see how it'll come out and am even more amped when I tell people who I plan to be and then quickly direct them to the book's website and character's Wikipedia page for more information. The thrill I see some of my friends have as they plan their costumes or that I used to have when preparing for Halloween has re-emerged to give me a break from the craziness of life and just enjoy not being me and personifying someone else for a day (or days) when people can just enjoy being wacky and let loose and not be judged for how they look or what they represent but can just be.

Halloween is a pretty cool "holiday" after all and I think everyone should remember that child-like feeling of playing make believe. So, let the Games begin....

"Coming to America": A Classic Piece of African-American Cinema

Yesterday, my talented writer friend Kim invited me along as her guest to another talented writer's birthday party. Tiphanie Yanique's birthday was a nice celebration in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn at a lovely African restaurant that provided the entire back room for her celebration.After dining on some lovely Senegalese food and massive pieces of equally delicious red velvet cake with Tiphanie's face on it, we got to enjoy a movie projected on a white screen hosted by QUE Films. While a QUE Films original was set to air the men behind the project decided on lighter fare. So, we saw Coming to America, one of Eddie Murphy's more successful films and, to me, one of the best African-American films of the past twenty years.

It was funny that a conversation Kim, me, and another poet we met at PALF had was that when seeing things later in life you interpret them differently. I have maintained that I enjoyed and understood  Huckleberry Finn in graduate school more so than I did in High School and the opposite can be said for my take on Catcher in the Rye. But in watching Coming to America again, years after I'd viewed it before and many years after I originally saw it cut/dubbed on television I saw a lot of what Murphy was attempting to portray in Black America and what he made riffs on (the story was originated by Murphy while the screenplay was written by David Sheffield and Barry Blaustein).

Coming to America was released when I was seven years old, in the summer of 1988. Eddie Murphy was riding the wave of being the most influential and powerful African-American actor of his time and was coming off a string of hits such as Trading Places and Beverly Hills Cop after having been a central and popular player on Saturday Night Live. In Coming to America one of Murphy's key talents (impersonation) is shown throughout the film in energetic and hilarious characters. Murphy has always had a talent for getting into different characters and adopting mannerisms and voices and we've seen this in several movies of his (including The Nutty Professor and Norbit).

When looking at the kinds of African-American films that are currently released you can pretty much put them into a few of categories: Caricature Comedies (see: Soul Plane, Lottery Ticket, The Cookout, many Tyler Perry movies, etc.) where Black people are played as the over-the-top stereotypes they're supposed to be showing their varied enough not to be, Crime/Action (see: Dead Presidents, Belly, Cradle to the Grave) where a Black celebrity (many times a rapper seeking to cross over) will do a quick action flick with someone who is a staple in this genre (see: Steven Seagal, Jet Li) and make a few bucks at the box office. But then you also have Inspirational movies (see: The Gospel, Tyler Perry movies), Independent Dramas that don't always get the recognition they should for being so versatile and intriguing (see: Eve's Bayou, Precious), some Family Friendly films (see: Roll Bounce, Johnson Family Vacation, College Road Trip, etc.), a few Musicals (see: Dreamgirls), and of course we can't forget the wonderful, and not so wonderful, Biopics (see: What's Love Got to Do With it, Malcom X, Ali, Get Rich or Die Trying, etc.). Something like Hard-hitting films mainly refer to films of the past that were ahead of their time like Boyz n' the Hood, Straight Outta Brooklyn, or Spike Lee's earlier work (Do the Right Thing, Crooklyn, Mo Better Blues),

In the midst of all these genres and in looking back at how original African-American film was only ten or twenty years ago, it's amazing to find that so few films are original, daring, and intune with society or smart enough to know how to mock it.

The popularity of Tyler Perry films have a formula: Woman is scorned by evil man and is destitute for part or much of the film, finds a wonderful man in the least of all places, and boom finds strength in herself as well as the ability to trust/love again. It's a formula that works and it's one in which Black women do not see themselves often portrayed on the big screen. So, Perry has found his niche. He's the man writing for women and women love him and men think he's pretty darn funny when he wants to be, especially as Madea. Perry isn't necessarily taking cultural norms and turning them on its head, he's taking cultural norms and consistently providing the audience with a happy outcome, no matter what (though I heard there was some tragedy in the sequel to Why Did I Get Married? daring him to go against type for just a bit on-screen).

When looking at other recent films with Black actors at the center they are either part of a mixed cast or the token person of color (see: Denzel Washington who can pretty much play and do whatever he wants in Hollywood as well as Halle Berry who is attractive enough to do whatever she wants in films) or if the cast is largely Black then they are an all-stars (Lottery Ticket, Death at a Funeral) to ensure high traffic at theaters, yet not necessarily guaranteeing a solid story and/or script or is an Independent film you may not hear about unless Oprah backs it or funded it herself (see: Beloved, Precious) and then there are many other films by Black female directors you may never hear of again or ever, one of my favorites is Kasi Lemmons).

So what's my point? Well, in looking back at Coming to America I realized how different it was in a time when African-Americans didn't have a lot of control over the images they played. In this film Eddie Murphy made Africa look superior to America! A rich prince with wealth beyond his dreams, flower bearers, people looking after him in every-which-way and attending to his every needs was unhappy, even though he had jungle animals roaming through his front yard and fresh fruit galore! When he comes to Queens, NY to find a bride he is surrounded by filth, destitution, and a lot of expletives, yet he has never been more content in his life. His cohort is played by Arsenio Hall, a man so pampered he finds everything appalling as his comrade finds things to be so wonderful and new. The audience may be relating more with Hall initially, but eventually finds that they sympathize with Murphy's character. Murphy's Prince Akeem is the flipside of Cinderella, the prince seeking the fair maiden and having nothing to go one but his wits and instincts, having to trump jeri curled boyfriends and nitpicky fathers and a lustful sister. This film could've been done with an all White cast. I could see Matthew Broderick or Matt Dillon fighting over the part of Prince Akeem, though he'd be named Prince Albert back in the late 1980s. Instead of going to the slums of Queens, they may have resided in Manhattan and attempted to understand the subway system and other "quaint" American customs. But that's another film all together and wouldn't have been as relatable, at least to me as an African-American female, as Murphy's film was.

Coming to America mocks Black culture, but also embraces it. The four men in the barbershop (two played by Murphy and one by Arsenio Hall) are the best in cinema! They argue about who's a better boxer and the state of the world today. They know the world as they've watched it go by them steadily and mock it day in and day out. Murphy shows that the father of his love interest is an entrepreneur wanting to make his fast food restaurant, McDowell's, as big as McDonald's! He has an African-American female who wants to do good for her community, while being good and finding good in other people. Coming to America shows characters that are a bit saucy like your local, sweaty preacher ogling girls in bikinis at the Black Awareness rally while preaching the Lord's name at the same time.  Murphy's main character brings wealth and kindness to those that didn't receive it in the ghettos of Queens and is continually a better person for it.

Now, I'm not saying Coming to America is the end all/be all when it comes to African-America cinema. Yes, there are better films out there, but I think this is one of the best films by African-Americans for African-Americans and that there's been a steady decline in ones that make you realize how much is packed in and what the writers, actors, crew, and director are trying to convey. Coming to America is a coming of age story as well as a love story...with African-Americans in it! This movie shows that African-Americans are hard-working, sexual, intelligent, neurotic, egotistical, and kind. The characters played off characteristics we're familiar with as viewers, but made fleshed out characters for many of the people playing them. Yes, the preacher was a bit one note, but he was familiar. Sure, the jerky (jocky) boyfriend of the sweet girl reminded me of many of the jerk/jocks in John Hughes films, but he ended up getting his in the end and realizing that looks aren't everything. Yes, the prince was more spectacular than any woman could imagine, but he had his flaws and insecurities too when it came to finding love.

I think that when viewing a film where the majority of the cast/crew is African-American that we should really look and listen to what's going on on-screen and see how characters interact with each other and convey themselves. Eddie Murphy is a master of physical inflections and such as mentioned and he does a great job of showing how his characters feel. When was the last time you saw a film with African-Americans that made you really consider how much thought was put in behind the meaning of every nod, tear, embrace, kiss, etc? When was the last time you saw someone's face run the gamut in two minutes flat? When was the last time you saw a film that trumped your expectations with a Black cast? It's been a while, you say? Perhaps we should look back in the archives a bit and see what filmmakers were doing twenty plus years ago and urge the up-and-comers to follow the footsteps of finding the unpredictable in the predictable rather than recycling tired parodies solely for entertainment. There's nothing wrong with entertainment of course, but I think in the canon of Black film there should be more thought-provoking ones than ones that simply make you giggle.

Postgraduate Writers Conference (2010 Edition)

After such a splendid time last year I decided to return to the Vermont College of Fine Arts for the 15th Postgraduate Writers Conference (PWC) in Montpelier, Vermont. The Postgraduate Writers Conference targets graduate students as participants, thought it is not a requirement for entry. Something that I do enjoy about this conference is that entrance is not based on writing samples, but on interest. Montpelier is a great location, quiet, serene, and away from major urban areas, so you can utilize the atmosphere for being creative and focusing. Just as I did last year I ended up holing myself in my dorm room with my laptop and flash drive and just worked away.

Of course, I wasn't the only one. The population for this conference is an older crowd, retirees, parents, full-time workers, and so on who utilize this time away from home and responsibilities to really focus on writing and revision. Revision of course being one of the most daunting parts of writing.

After speaking with several people on their graduate school and writing conference experience it stood out even more that PWC is one of the tops from the participant perspective.

Many conferences pack your day with events so that you may have to pick and choose what you want to attend and what you want to forgo. And when you're a first time participant you may not want to forgo anything unless you feel yourself nodding off or the strong, strong need to write compels you to type away on the keyboard or scribble on a notepad. This year the conference director, Ellen Lesser, did some finagling of the schedule to make sure no events overlapped. So you could go to a lecture at 1:30 on writing in the real word and then one of film editing as it may relate to editing a poetry compilation at 2:45. You want to do some freewriting before workshop on Wednesday? Sure! We'll have a "yard sale"! Want to do a quick hike before going to workshop to work off all those pancakes with Vermont's own maple syrup? Done! Oh, did you want to visit the Montpelier Farmer's Market this morning, then workshop, then go swimming this afternoon? Bam, at your leisure!

I found it very pleasant to have the option of not having to pick and choose, though like I said, I was writing most of the time and missed many events but those on the final days.

While there are always hiccups when organizing something where people come in from places all over the country and need to organize room & board, daily activities, food, and so on and so forth. But the fact that it's easy to get in touch with either Ellen or conference coordinator, Anne, who are the most pleasant women you'll ever meet and no matter how frazzled they are never shut your needs down is something I highly appreciate.

Sometimes good experiences can make you ignorant to the bad ones out there as well. One of my workshop mates and another woman working on her novel had both just come from horrific experiences at the Wesleyan Writer's Conference weeks prior. They both had the same instructor who barely acknowledged or viewed their work, felt that faculty and students were segregated at all turns (in particularly during meals), and that the conference coordinator who seemed so kind and informative via e-mail was cold and dismissive in person. Since the Wesleyan conference has no workshops, mainly lectures and a one-on-one conference with a published instructor/writer on your submission it was devastating to learn that not only did they feel unwanted, but their work itself was not even read--more than likely skimmed--is a great blow to someone who may not have shown their work to anyone before then and is trying to grasp at any positive reinforcement you can get because you have no one else to help you can cause one increasing self-doubt if not all together dash their dreams.

I was glad that the two women I spoke with came to PWC after such a bad experience and got to experience how a conference should be. That your workshop leader is more than happy to sit with you during breakfast, lunch, or dinner and discuss their obsession with Facebook. That they are willing and wanting to extend class discussions during lunch while interrupting discussion to get a piece of peach cobbler real quick. That they hold extraneous lectures or writing sessions to get the mind, blood, and hands flowing before a 2+ hour workshop. That these published writers we may look on in awe (or perhaps skepticism) are truly invested in your work, sitting proudly and listening to your piece at the participant readings and giving you a standing ovation when you're done.

So, that's my second plug for the Postgraduate Writers Conference. While I don't know if I'll attend again next year due to finances or pursuing other opportunities to write and critique during the summer, I do know it will be at the top of my list to return to for it's affordability and comfort. And I always get so much writing done when I'm there, major bonus!

Baked Good Spotlight: The Maple Bun

I usually hold my baked good reviews for end of year, but since this one is too good to hold and is in another state I figure I should spread the word to my loyal followers (all five of ya!) now. For the past 9 days or so I was in the lovely Green Mountain State (Vermont to the rest of the world). I was there for the Postgraduate Writers' Conference (PWC) and then for some extra time just to hang near Burlington.

Well, on Saturday PWC organizers scheduled in some time in the morning to go to the farmer's market in downtown Montpelier. So, I went, treading down a big hill (and then back up the hill later), to see what their market was like.

We got there as the market attendees were setting up and it was Vermont natural products galore. If you like food, this farmer's market was for you. I ended up replenishing my supply of maple sugar and syrup and passed by a booth for a nice bakery called Red Hen. I saw they had a lovely good called the maple bun and even though it had raisins in it I purchased it and then hoofed it up the hill in time for my workshop.

Well, an hour or so into workshop I dug into my paper bag, inhaled a lovely maple aroma, then took a bite out of this bun. My workshop leader (and conference director) asked as I chewed if I got the Red Hen maple bun. I nodded, enamored. "Isn't it the best thing in the world?" she asked. I agreed with another nod as I simultaneously took another bite.

Well folks, from there on out it was love. My husband came to pick me up and whisk me off to S. Burlington the next day and I told him about this lovely bun. On our way out of Montpelier we happened to pass Red Hen Baking Co. How crazy is that? And I said I wanted to go there the next day since we had time to kill and he likes to get his driving in.

Fast forward to the next day when I introduced my husband to the maple bun. We were lucky to get the last one of the day after 12pm. (Yes, those babies sell out fast!) And, I guess needless to say, he fell in love with it as much as I did. The maple goodness is slathered all over the bun and topped off with chopped walnuts. The raisins inside are sparse. The most I had in a bun was four and those were easy enough to pick off.

I called early the next morning to order a half dozen and we made our way back to Middlesex, VT to get ourselves some buns to take home. The idea was to share with others who'd appreciate it, but since supply is low (they make a set amount per day so you really should order ahead of time or just get there early) and I can just be plain greedy when it comes to baked goodies we hoarded the bunch for ourselves. On the drive back home I kept looking back at the box of buns, our precious cargo. We got home safe and sound, buns intact and I had one for breakfast this morning. They're even better warm!

So, I urge you to take a detour on your travels to or through Vermont to visit the town of Middlesex and more importantly get in on some maple bun action.

Red Hen Baking Co. makes their goods on-site everyday! So get a nice sandwich with avocado mayonnaise, or a gallon of maple syrup, or a pain du chocolat or any of their freshly baked artisan breads.

If looking at this bun doesn't tempt you, I don't know what will.

Inspiration: Who was yours?

Last month, my first year as a mentor with Girls Write Now ended. At the last reading for Girls Write Now I got to meet author Tayari Jones in person. And she's as wonderful in person as she is talented on the page. In reading her blog I noticed one of her latest entries about MCing the Girls Write Now reading and how she wished she had a program like GWN available to her when she was growing up. This is one of the things that I, and many others, have noted when referencing GWNs mission statement. While the organization was in its premature stages when I was in high school, I know I and many other teenage writers could only have benefited from having a mentor help to push, praise, critique, and educate when it came to writing.

Fortunately, I did have someone who was a constant source of inspiration and was sort of a mentor to me in high school as I wrote and considered writing to be part of my immediate future.

I went to John Bowne High School in Flushing, NY, and was part of their Center for Writing program.  Being a freshman in a school where you know no one is intimidating enough. You want to make an impression, friends, and settle yourself into a niche. Weeks into my start at Bowne one teacher proved to be more interesting (and interested in what us students had to say) than the rest. This woman would become my mentor and motivator. Her name is Janet Feldberg. Ms. Feldberg was one of the more senior teachers there and the advisor for the freshman/sophomore writing magazine Pendemonium. She had a Mother Earth quality about her that made everyone like her. She treated her students like equals, not like kids. She was our educator, but she respected us and so everyone respected her.

Ms. Feldberg encouraged us when it came to reading the classics. As she watched our eyes glaze over in trying to recall the metaphors of Moby Dick or the characterizations in The Great Gatsby, she never showed frustration just encouragement. And in doing so with analysis of text she also encouraged us when it came to the creation of prose.

As a teen I was really into R.L. Stine's Fear Street series and also tagged onto my mother's fascination with Stephen King. Yes, I read The Babysitter's Club and Sweet Valley High, but I saw myself writing things that went way deeper than that and by deeper I mean my stories were meant to make readers laugh and scare the crap out of them.

I submitted my first story, "Terror at Bowne," to Ms. Feldberg with few expectations. Yet, within a day she pulled me aside and thought it was a vibrant story. It starred my best friend, a couple other friends, and myself as we realized our freshman year at Bowne was not what it seemed. There were monsters afoot! Perhaps one could consider it an allegory for the way teenagers feel when they start at a new school alone that they picture the worst happening and find camraderie with others when bad things come to play. But at the time, it was just fun to write. The villain of the story was a disliked history teacher who refused to allow her name on the page. So Ms. Feldberg offered to become the "terror" and published it in Pendemonium that year. I remember when she read it aloud in one of our computer writing classes and the response it got from my classmates. They were engaged even rooting for the ending. It was then I realized I probably had a calling when it came to this whole writing thing.

Over the years Ms. Feldberg continued to praise and help me with my work. When I attempted poetry, inspired by Dickinson and auspiciously mimicking her voice Ms. Feldberg understood what I was really talking about after weeding through the imagery and metaphors and earthly comparisons. She praised another poem I wrote based off a prompt and encouraged me to be an advocate for the CFW program at Open Houses. She was happy to read a sequel to "Terror at Bowne" and again offered her name as the villain who rose from the grave. She was my biggest supporter in those years and as I moved on to run the student government and worry about budgets and advertising and keeping a student body inline, my writing began to lose its importance in my life.

As I worried about SATs and scholarships and placement exams I couldn't focus on writing a sequel to the sequel of "Terror at Bowne." But I had come to Bowne to be a writer hadn't I? What was keeping me from that? Not having Ms. Feldberg as my instructor in the last two years of school (she mainly taught the freshmen and sophomores) definitely had an impact on my creative side. I was focused on the tasks at hand: dances, decorations, meetings, representation, speeches, scholarships, senior prom, a part-time job. And as the last two years of school hit me with the responsibilities of post-adolescence I realized I missed my mentor. I missed the encouragement she gave me my first few years there to become confident enough to run for student council president, to write essays on Stephen King and consider his work as interesting as the tomes being thrust down our throats, to read deeper into books and consider what made them part of a literary canon and why there were so important for us to read in the first place. Nope, as juniors and seniors we lost our guiding hand in the resourceful, kind, and patient Ms. Feldberg and were greeted with people a bit gruffer, sterner who expected us to be prepared. We weren't kiddies anymore, the kiddies had Ms. Feldberg and in a way I envied them for that.

As I prepared to leave Bowne and pursue a degree in writing I remembered everything she did for me. I remembered all the inspiration she gave me and mostly I appreciated it. I remember her writing enthusiastic letters of recommendation for my college applications and running to her to let her know I'd succeeded in getting into my first two choices.

A couple of years after I graduated Ms. Feldberg retired and became a grandma full-time. I saw her a couple times and wrote to her, but this was before e-mail became an institution in most homes and we lost touch.

As the year for mentoring ended I couldn't help but be reminded of Ms. Feldberg and realize how much she not only influenced and inspired the writer I've become, but also the person. I notice the way I've gone about teaching and being a mentor for young girls is almost synonymous with how she approached us freshmen when we sat still and anxious in her class. I realize we both approach students/teens with encouragement and respect. That when we meet young people they need to know that they're capable of anything and it all comes down to desire.

Yes, I'm getting nostalgic in my old age, but did want to take a moment to thank Ms. Feldberg (albeit virtually) for all her guidance and inspiration then because I wouldn't be the person I am now. I can't help but wonder what life has in store for the mentees that leave Girls Write Now. But I hope, whether they realize it now or in retrospect, they appreciate the guidance their mentors have to offer because not everyone gets a Ms. Feldberg in their lives.