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| There's an excellent essay on the misreading of Faulkner's famous quote (above) at Wendy Palmer's blog. |
| What does my fictional fifth grade class see from their classroom windows? Bulldozers, waiting like a pack of hungry predators to pounce on Emerson E.S. |
Last Friday, I dug word nerd Shelly up from the paper grave. His spelling bee sonnet, while fun, didn't reveal much about Shelly's character. He was one of the first voices to get the ax.
It was much, MUCH harder to cut Madison Singleton from the book. She'd been with me from the beginning, when THE LAST FIFTH GRADE was Spoon River Elementary, a collection of 30 poems in 30 fifth grade voices. Five years and many drafts later, I had a soft spot for horse-obsessed Maddie.
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| Spoon River Anthology was adapted into a play. The book is a series of over 200 poems, each in the voice of a unique character. Together, they tell the story of their small town, circa 1900. |
Much as I cared about Maddie, much as she had her own story arc, she didn't do anything to move the larger story forward. She wasn't deeply embedded in the group dynamics of my imaginary fifth grade class. Maddie was less than a minor character. She was an extra.
So, readers, I'd like to introduce you to Maddie before she disappears forever.
These four poems represent her four entries -- one for each quarter of the school year -- cut from THE LAST FIFTH GRADE. I hope Maddie's poems give a sense of how I develop each character with a unique arc.
What you won't see here are the poems in which other children in Miss Hill's fifth grade class mention or comment on Maddie. (E.g. some of the girls assume that the new pony Maddie is bragging about means her family is rich.)
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| http://www.assateagueisland.com/ponyswim/ponyswim.htm |
Girl Island
(First Quarter poem)
By Maddie Singleton
We are the only table
with no boys.
Miss Hill calls us
Girl Island.
I imagine woods
deep and green,
salty air
from the ocean.
Like my favorite place
Chincoteague Island,
where the wild
ponies live.
I gave the girls
at my table
Chincoteague
Pony names.
Melodie is Pied Piper,
wild and free,
angry when someone
tries to tame her.
Gracie is Shadow,
quiet as
a ghost
at Mel’s side.
Ana’s name is Twilight.
She’s in between,
speaking English in class
and Spanish at recess.
Rennie Rawlins is Phantom,
tossing her mane,
letting everyone know
she thinks she’s boss.
Stormy Sloane
laughs on happy days,
rumbles inside when
she’s in a bad mood.
Misty, that’s me,
my favorite foal,
shy at first
but caring for my herd.
Rearranged!
(Second Quarter poem,
after Miss Hill assigns new seats)
By Maddie Singleton
A lightning storm hits.
Girl Island broken apart,
each pony alone,
stabled in a different place.
I whinny – missing my friends. |
| Last week I shared this seating chart for Miss Hill's classroom. Many of you noticed "Girl Island" on the lower right. Only two of these six characters have survived! |
Fluffy White Poodles
(Third Quarter poem)
By Maddie Singleton
Shoshanna told me
the whole fifth grade thinks
horses have taken over my brain.
Like an entire herd
is stampeding around in my head,
squashing my brain cells.
I told her that’s because
I am working really hard
on my application to earn a pony
from the Feather Fund
and it’s the one and only way
I can afford to get my own pony, so duh,
of course I’m kind of obsessed.
“Still,” Rennie said.
And she dared me
not to talk or write
or even think about horses
for one whole day.
If I could do it, Rennie said,
she would help me with my essay.
The next day, every time I wanted to say
“Horse,” I said, “Poodles” instead.
As in, I can’t come over after school,
I have to feed the Poodles.
Every time I wanted to write about ponies
I described poodles jumping over fences
and doing tricks with hula hoops.
Every time a horse pranced into my mind,
I turned it into a fluffy white poodle
in a pink tutu, dancing on its hind legs
at the circus.
I have to admit, it was kind of fun.
My brain got a break, and the dare?
I won.
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| Circus Poodle from Juicy Dog Couture. |
My Pony
(Fourth Quarter poem)
By Madison Singleton
Ponies of the sea,
ponies of the Bay,
horses of the ocean
trotting in the spray.
Chincoteague ponies,
Chincoteague mares
wild ponies running
in all of my prayers.
Our yard was a farm once.
Our yard has a stable.
Mom rents out the stalls
to put food on our table.
Cold mornings in winter,
cold ice on the roads,
I feed all the horses
and brush down their coats.
I wish they were mine.
I wish they were mine,
their manes and their fetlocks,
their saddles and lines.
I wrote about horses.
I wrote about home.
I asked the Feather Fund
for a horse of my own.
They chose my essay.
They picked me to win
a Chincoteague pony
with a whiskery chin.
A pony for a friend,
a pony I can ride,
to brush and feed and walk with,
a Poodle by my side :-).
The fourth quarter poem (a tribute to Joy Harjo's poem "She Had Some Horses") was Maddie's original poem. The last one I wrote, and the roughest of the bunch, is "Fluffy White Poodles."
Even though she's been cut from the book, Maddie hangs around -- she's a book phantom, an almost-was character. Why did I kill this darling? As much as I want THE LAST FIFTH GRADE to represent a real fifth grade class (and around here, 30 students in a class is not unrealistic), Maddie didn't make enough of an impact to earn a place in the novel's cast.
I'm down to a class of 21 voices. Will there be more cuts in their future?
Some of you may notice Maddie's reference to the Feather Fund. My friend, Maryland children's author Lois Szymanski, is involved in this amazing program. You can read more about it here.
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| The Feather Fund matches deserving young people with Chincoteague ponies. I imagined that Maddie would earn her own horse through this program. |
Today, I'm packing for the Indie Lit Festival at Frostburg State University. A bunch of intrepid staffers from Little Patuxent Review are hopping in my mommy van at 7 am tomorrow morning for the 2+ hour drive to western Maryland. If you happen to be there, stop by the LPR table to say hello!
(P.S. I am going to write a "book phantoms" novel, in which characters an author cut from a novel come back to haunt him/her.)
(P.S. I am going to write a "book phantoms" novel, in which characters an author cut from a novel come back to haunt him/her.)
