Uh! Me So Nervous!
Dear Sillies,
What follows is a series of excerpts from one of the books that I'm currently writing.
You heard me ... the plural of book is books. I'm writing three. I have such advanced ADD that I can't even write just one book ... just like I can't just read one book. I have to be reading several at one time or my manic panic brain gets bored.
So, anyway ... I'll be posting excerpts from my other books later. It took me long enough to grow the balls to post this. The excerpts are totally just rough drafts. Names and situations are subject to change. These excerpts are not necessarily in order. They may disappear completely from the final draft. There are grammatical and stylistic errors. Feel free to comment on grammar, spelling, style, tone, content, and anything else you see fit.
Do this in the comments or privately through email. (morgetron@gmail.com) I'm begging for honesty. If you hate it, I'd rather know now. If you have suggestions for names or situations or anything, speak!
Iloveyoulikeahermitcrablovesitsshell.
Love,
ME
----
The first letter arrived on a Friday.
No one saw anyone enter the office, and no one saw anyone leave. When Principal XXXX went to sit at his desk, he assumed it was a thank you note from a parent. His mouth curled into a gleeful smile because, while he had never in his 20 years in education received a thank you note from a parent, he figured it was a long time coming and he was beaming by the time he tore into it.
He took a moment to admire the old-fashioned wax stamp on the envelope. What was it? It barely registered: A three-headed dog.
It wasn't a thank you note contained therein, rather a letter with an accusation. A very serious accusation about one of Principal XXXX’s favorite teachers.
The letter was signed by someone who he had never heard of, and the mere reading of the name gave him the willies.
“Everything okay sir?“ Magnolia Ray, his secretary, said as she entered the room. “SIR!”
“Maggie ... we’ve got a problem.”
--------------
Magnolia Ray was the brains of the entire Magnet City Public High School Operation. Most people knew this. No one discussed it. People just accepted that Maggie Ray was the one who knew everything and would keep a secret if she had a gun to her head, and so consequently everyone used her as a sounding board for every known malady, truthful or fictional, physical or mental, and knew that she would take their secrets to the grave without judgment or prejudice.
Not only that she dispensed such sound advice that many of the teachers, custodians, and even Principal XXXX often commented that she should be earning 10 times her salary, but no one, of course, ever did anything about it. It was a shame that the school system couldn’t even offer her health benefits, but, Maggie Ray, was such a delight that she never complained and she continued living, what she called, a “karma driven life.”
In addition, as mentioned previously there were many times when Maggie almost seemed to have psychic abilities. For example, there was a day when, exasperated, a young science teacher came bursting into the office with a wild look in her eye, skin pale, and said, “Maggie! I can’t escape the smell of oranges.”
Maggie looked at the young teacher calmly and said, “The native Americans believed that the smell of citrus indicated pregnancy. I have been waiting for you to announce your pregnancy for sometime Katie.”
Katie looked at her and the panic was removed. She and her husband Rex had been trying to get pregnancy for months. Sure enough Katie went to her OBGYN that very afternoon and returned to the school around 6 PM since she knew Maggie would be working late as usual.
“Maggie! You were right! I’m preggers!” and she hugged her so hard, she made Maggie spill the contents of her paper clip cup all over the floor.
"How’d you know?"
"Well ... I noticed the smell of oranges about six weeks ago."
"I’m six weeks pregnant Maggie!"
"I know kiddo, I know."
Maggie was half Japanese and had the hair of Yoko One and the face of a cherub. She did get tired of working for piddly squat, and no health insurance. And, carrying the weight of everyone’s problems took its toll on her five foot physique, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The fact of the matter is that even though Magnolia Ray knew pretty much everything there is to know about everyone, sometimes even before they knew themselves, she had no idea who left the letter on Principal XXXX’s desk. She knew everything about the teacher to whom this so-called Cerberus was referring, however, the identify of Cerberus was unknown.
She started by typing Cerberus into Wikipedia.org, which she had bookmarked in her internet browser, as all good seekers and keepers of information do.
Ah ha! She thought as she read the article. And she began her list of suspects. A mental list of course ... she couldn’t have anyone finding the information and using it against someone else. Even Hellish guard dogs who sneak around digging up incriminating evidence against others deserved some measure of privacy.
----
So much for allowing my students any freedom.
"Jarvis eats penises" is the thought-provoking entry Charlie Edwards had entered into his journal the day before yesterday. I tried to make my philosophy of journaling work by offering students the liberty of writing about anything they wanted to write about, and this how they thanked me. As I flipped through more of Charlie's masterful writings I remembered who started all of this: David McMurtery.
When I was in college, I did a practicum under David's care. He had his students write in their journals every single day. Clearly, he was a madman. I know this now, but I failed to realize it at the time.
In fact, when I first met him, I thought he was a genius. I would have done anything to become his protégé. Okay, maybe not anything, but you would be surprised to know exactly what I would have done.
He introduced me to two students and allowed me to interview them for my super genius paper Why Journaling is Important and Why David McMurtery is a God, or something admittedly lame like that.
One boy, since the beginning of the school year, had journaled 2,386 pages in his journal. Ben was a scraggly fellow with long, curly and very greasy hair, accented by his severe acne. He smelled of fried food and cigarettes and when he journaled, which is what he did the entire time we weren’t talking, he snaked his tongue up into his right nostril in a look of intense determination.
“Before I started journaling, I was only moments away from eating a mixture of pills from my mother’s vast collection. I used to hurt cats and bunny rabbits. I used to eat my own hair. Now I journal. Journaling, is my girlfriend, my best friend, my life. David McMurtrey saved my fucking life.”
“He’s a genius Ben, I know.” We stared at eachother in mutual awe of David for a moment. Then Ben began scratching in his notebook again.
"If you don't mind," he said after it was clear that I wanted to know more, "I'd like to take this time outside of the classroom to write in my journal."
"That just fine. Keeping you alive is a big priority buddy! Go to town!"
Meredith was a cheerleader.
“I hate journaling,” she said as she squirted Binaca into her mouth.
Her hair was in perfect blonde ringlets, that she had handcrafted that very morning. Her eyes, almost circular and blue. Make-up a perfect mask, covering a mathematically perfect face.
“Journaling is retarded. I hate it. Mr. McMurtrey expects us to share his thoughts with him. I’m not telling him anything. I just write stupid shit down that doesn’t matter. I tell him what I ate for breakfast. I don’t want some teacher reading about my private stuff."
“Have you considered that maybe Mr. McMurtery is genuinely interested in your thoughts?”
“Have you considered that Mr. McMurtrey is a perv?”
“Well I think you’re missing out on a wonderful opportunity with a wonderful man.”
“Well, I think you’re a retard then”
Later than day, after the 3:15 bell sounded, I saw in David’s classroom awaiting his attention. How could he give me any attention? I didn’t deserve it. He had a stack of 115 journals to respond to. But he emerged from hallway duty, soaking with sweat.
“Ahhh! Gracey! How did your interviews with Ben and Meredith go?”
“Why did you introduce me to Meredith David? I’m trying to build a case for journaling.”
"I wanted to provide you with a comparison. I wanted you to see someone who loves journaling and compare that person to someone who doesn’t. That way you’ll be forced to ask yourself -- Would you rather be like Ben, or like Meredith?
I opened my mouth to choose “NEITHER” and just as quickly mentally revised my answer to “Meredith, but only for her perfect skin,” but before I could answer at all, David raised a sweaty finger to my lips. “Shhhhhh,” he said, “I think we both know the answer to that one.” Then he walked to his stack of journals, opened the top one and began reading.
------
Magnet City High School abuts a goat farm. The fencing is flush with the high school property and the goats are always eating everything in sight. Kids throw them trash on purpose. The farmer, Barnaby Snacks installed cameras and if he sees a kids throwing trash to his goats, that kids receives a visitor later -- Barnaby himself would come to that kids house and demand an apology. He held a pitchfork the entire time and a portable DVD player in which he played back footage of the kids feeding the goat. Most kids do not get caught more than once.
A group of kids tried to do it with masks, and Barnaby was still able to track every last one of them down. He told them he has x-ray vision and that he could see inside their masks. They believed him.
The goats used to hiss at me. I know that it’s abnormal for goats to hiss, but these goats actually hiss at people. They stopped hissing at me on March 30, 1995. I’m not really sure why.
There is goat shit all over the school property, but no one ever sees the goats on the school side of the fence. No one has ever caught a goat in the act of shitting on school property. The goats make eye contact with certain staff members and students as if they are acknowledging them as kin.
I am happy to say, never has a goat locked eyes with me.
What follows is a series of excerpts from one of the books that I'm currently writing.
You heard me ... the plural of book is books. I'm writing three. I have such advanced ADD that I can't even write just one book ... just like I can't just read one book. I have to be reading several at one time or my manic panic brain gets bored.
So, anyway ... I'll be posting excerpts from my other books later. It took me long enough to grow the balls to post this. The excerpts are totally just rough drafts. Names and situations are subject to change. These excerpts are not necessarily in order. They may disappear completely from the final draft. There are grammatical and stylistic errors. Feel free to comment on grammar, spelling, style, tone, content, and anything else you see fit.
Do this in the comments or privately through email. (morgetron@gmail.com) I'm begging for honesty. If you hate it, I'd rather know now. If you have suggestions for names or situations or anything, speak!
Iloveyoulikeahermitcrablovesitsshell.
Love,
ME
----
The first letter arrived on a Friday.
No one saw anyone enter the office, and no one saw anyone leave. When Principal XXXX went to sit at his desk, he assumed it was a thank you note from a parent. His mouth curled into a gleeful smile because, while he had never in his 20 years in education received a thank you note from a parent, he figured it was a long time coming and he was beaming by the time he tore into it.
He took a moment to admire the old-fashioned wax stamp on the envelope. What was it? It barely registered: A three-headed dog.
It wasn't a thank you note contained therein, rather a letter with an accusation. A very serious accusation about one of Principal XXXX’s favorite teachers.
The letter was signed by someone who he had never heard of, and the mere reading of the name gave him the willies.
Dearest Principal XXXX,Principal XXXX dropped his 44 oz diet soda and it hit the plush carpet he’d recently had installed in his corner office. There was sticky liquid everywhere, and all he could do was stare at his own hands, which were shaking. His entire body was stricken with palsy. He clutched his A+ teacher tie and his legs gave out.
I am a concerned citizen who has taken the safety of the students of Magnet City Public School into my own hands as obviously no one else is willing.
I have several investigations in progress, but I’ve confirmed my suspicions about Estelle Grandeaux. She’s an alcoholic and she drinks on the job. Not only that -- she hosts beer parties in her home, and drives drunk nearly every day. I have a credible source who has verified that she sells stumphole whiskey to minors and on two occasions has traded it for baseball cards and nailcare products.
If you think you can ignore this, you’re dead wrong.
Go public with Grandeaux’ indiscretions or I will do it for you, and it won’t be pretty. After that, who knows what all come to light. I’m taking a close look at every single school employee of Magnet City High School.
This includes you.
No one else is watching, so I will be.
Sincerely,
Cerberus of Magnet City
“Everything okay sir?“ Magnolia Ray, his secretary, said as she entered the room. “SIR!”
“Maggie ... we’ve got a problem.”
--------------
Magnolia Ray was the brains of the entire Magnet City Public High School Operation. Most people knew this. No one discussed it. People just accepted that Maggie Ray was the one who knew everything and would keep a secret if she had a gun to her head, and so consequently everyone used her as a sounding board for every known malady, truthful or fictional, physical or mental, and knew that she would take their secrets to the grave without judgment or prejudice.
Not only that she dispensed such sound advice that many of the teachers, custodians, and even Principal XXXX often commented that she should be earning 10 times her salary, but no one, of course, ever did anything about it. It was a shame that the school system couldn’t even offer her health benefits, but, Maggie Ray, was such a delight that she never complained and she continued living, what she called, a “karma driven life.”
In addition, as mentioned previously there were many times when Maggie almost seemed to have psychic abilities. For example, there was a day when, exasperated, a young science teacher came bursting into the office with a wild look in her eye, skin pale, and said, “Maggie! I can’t escape the smell of oranges.”
Maggie looked at the young teacher calmly and said, “The native Americans believed that the smell of citrus indicated pregnancy. I have been waiting for you to announce your pregnancy for sometime Katie.”
Katie looked at her and the panic was removed. She and her husband Rex had been trying to get pregnancy for months. Sure enough Katie went to her OBGYN that very afternoon and returned to the school around 6 PM since she knew Maggie would be working late as usual.
“Maggie! You were right! I’m preggers!” and she hugged her so hard, she made Maggie spill the contents of her paper clip cup all over the floor.
"How’d you know?"
"Well ... I noticed the smell of oranges about six weeks ago."
"I’m six weeks pregnant Maggie!"
"I know kiddo, I know."
Maggie was half Japanese and had the hair of Yoko One and the face of a cherub. She did get tired of working for piddly squat, and no health insurance. And, carrying the weight of everyone’s problems took its toll on her five foot physique, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
The fact of the matter is that even though Magnolia Ray knew pretty much everything there is to know about everyone, sometimes even before they knew themselves, she had no idea who left the letter on Principal XXXX’s desk. She knew everything about the teacher to whom this so-called Cerberus was referring, however, the identify of Cerberus was unknown.
She started by typing Cerberus into Wikipedia.org, which she had bookmarked in her internet browser, as all good seekers and keepers of information do.
Ah ha! She thought as she read the article. And she began her list of suspects. A mental list of course ... she couldn’t have anyone finding the information and using it against someone else. Even Hellish guard dogs who sneak around digging up incriminating evidence against others deserved some measure of privacy.
----
So much for allowing my students any freedom.
"Jarvis eats penises" is the thought-provoking entry Charlie Edwards had entered into his journal the day before yesterday. I tried to make my philosophy of journaling work by offering students the liberty of writing about anything they wanted to write about, and this how they thanked me. As I flipped through more of Charlie's masterful writings I remembered who started all of this: David McMurtery.
When I was in college, I did a practicum under David's care. He had his students write in their journals every single day. Clearly, he was a madman. I know this now, but I failed to realize it at the time.
In fact, when I first met him, I thought he was a genius. I would have done anything to become his protégé. Okay, maybe not anything, but you would be surprised to know exactly what I would have done.
He introduced me to two students and allowed me to interview them for my super genius paper Why Journaling is Important and Why David McMurtery is a God, or something admittedly lame like that.
One boy, since the beginning of the school year, had journaled 2,386 pages in his journal. Ben was a scraggly fellow with long, curly and very greasy hair, accented by his severe acne. He smelled of fried food and cigarettes and when he journaled, which is what he did the entire time we weren’t talking, he snaked his tongue up into his right nostril in a look of intense determination.
“Before I started journaling, I was only moments away from eating a mixture of pills from my mother’s vast collection. I used to hurt cats and bunny rabbits. I used to eat my own hair. Now I journal. Journaling, is my girlfriend, my best friend, my life. David McMurtrey saved my fucking life.”
“He’s a genius Ben, I know.” We stared at eachother in mutual awe of David for a moment. Then Ben began scratching in his notebook again.
"If you don't mind," he said after it was clear that I wanted to know more, "I'd like to take this time outside of the classroom to write in my journal."
"That just fine. Keeping you alive is a big priority buddy! Go to town!"
Meredith was a cheerleader.
“I hate journaling,” she said as she squirted Binaca into her mouth.
Her hair was in perfect blonde ringlets, that she had handcrafted that very morning. Her eyes, almost circular and blue. Make-up a perfect mask, covering a mathematically perfect face.
“Journaling is retarded. I hate it. Mr. McMurtrey expects us to share his thoughts with him. I’m not telling him anything. I just write stupid shit down that doesn’t matter. I tell him what I ate for breakfast. I don’t want some teacher reading about my private stuff."
“Have you considered that maybe Mr. McMurtery is genuinely interested in your thoughts?”
“Have you considered that Mr. McMurtrey is a perv?”
“Well I think you’re missing out on a wonderful opportunity with a wonderful man.”
“Well, I think you’re a retard then”
Later than day, after the 3:15 bell sounded, I saw in David’s classroom awaiting his attention. How could he give me any attention? I didn’t deserve it. He had a stack of 115 journals to respond to. But he emerged from hallway duty, soaking with sweat.
“Ahhh! Gracey! How did your interviews with Ben and Meredith go?”
“Why did you introduce me to Meredith David? I’m trying to build a case for journaling.”
"I wanted to provide you with a comparison. I wanted you to see someone who loves journaling and compare that person to someone who doesn’t. That way you’ll be forced to ask yourself -- Would you rather be like Ben, or like Meredith?
I opened my mouth to choose “NEITHER” and just as quickly mentally revised my answer to “Meredith, but only for her perfect skin,” but before I could answer at all, David raised a sweaty finger to my lips. “Shhhhhh,” he said, “I think we both know the answer to that one.” Then he walked to his stack of journals, opened the top one and began reading.
------
Magnet City High School abuts a goat farm. The fencing is flush with the high school property and the goats are always eating everything in sight. Kids throw them trash on purpose. The farmer, Barnaby Snacks installed cameras and if he sees a kids throwing trash to his goats, that kids receives a visitor later -- Barnaby himself would come to that kids house and demand an apology. He held a pitchfork the entire time and a portable DVD player in which he played back footage of the kids feeding the goat. Most kids do not get caught more than once.
A group of kids tried to do it with masks, and Barnaby was still able to track every last one of them down. He told them he has x-ray vision and that he could see inside their masks. They believed him.
The goats used to hiss at me. I know that it’s abnormal for goats to hiss, but these goats actually hiss at people. They stopped hissing at me on March 30, 1995. I’m not really sure why.
There is goat shit all over the school property, but no one ever sees the goats on the school side of the fence. No one has ever caught a goat in the act of shitting on school property. The goats make eye contact with certain staff members and students as if they are acknowledging them as kin.
I am happy to say, never has a goat locked eyes with me.
<$BlogFeedsVertical$>
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