tv [untitled] June 2, 2012 2:00am-2:30am PDT
makinsik heart of literacy. >> i am from st. louis, missouri. a lot of you think i have said it in correctly when i said missouri. you think i got it slid into my southern dialect, right? no. i was not born in st. louis. i was born in nashville, tennessee, a little town side of nashville. that is where i grew up, went to high school, met and married my husband. moved back to st. louis where i lived part of my life. i heard people saying missouri and missouri. what is the correct pronunciation of our new home? the best place to go when you want information is where?
>> [inaudible]. >> of course, we all know that. i went to the library and the librarian gave me a wonderful book and began a life long friendship with the librarian. missouri is the native american pronunciation. in their language it is the people of the big boats. one word means all of that. missouri. frenchman who came up the mississippi river. they said that would be a great place to have a trading post. they set up a trading post and called it st. louis. missouri became missouri. now i ask you which is correct?
missouri or missouri? >> missouri. okay. neither one. [laughter]. you can't say the native americans were wrong for saying missouri. you can't say the french were wrong for pronouncing it in their language, just different ways of pronouncing the same word. that is where we have the problem with the word different. different isn't a synonym of the word wrong. we have to be careful how we use it and our children. it answers the question, why do you write that? i write to tell the story. one that has fallen through the cracks, one marginalized by
main stream history. either misrepresented or represented to the way in which it is a stereo typical, write to take those stereotypes, reshape them and give them back to you dressed in a new dress. i mean when i say different is not a synonym for wrong, it means that we should celebrate those things. everyone in this room is different in some way. but you should not feel bad about that. your uniqueness, as my grandson who loves to make up words, that is your wonderment. [laughter].
it answers that question that we get asked most often is why do you write? you can say pat is write to tell that different story and different is not a synonym for wrong. before i was a writer, however, i was a listener. i grew up listening to stories. listening to language. come with me to nashville, tennessee to an old farmhouse set back off the road, a little house, window here, window here and doorway that looked like a face. the windows, door, and front porch kind of sag so it looked like a smiling face. [laughter]. then there was a long sidewalk
that led up to the house. when you turn and started toward it, you felt like you were going to a warm and happy place. my grandparents loved to in the evening sit on the front porch. there was a radio that set in the window, my grandfather would listen to the ball game. i remember when marion anderson would sing, my grandmother made us be quiet and respectful before greatness. every once in a while a neighbor would come by and would excuse herself and come out with a pitcher of lemonade or ice tea. she had those tea cakes that i loved.
most of the time children would say go on and play. you wouldn't listen to grown up's conversation. at that point we were all welcome. the stories were layered. seniors got something that the young parents and fathers learned, then teenagers and little ones. we all got something out of the story. they were layered. i try to do that in my writing. i try to layer so that the reader who is sharing the story with the young person will get something out of it or see something they can learn from as well. my mother loved to do poetry. i would sit in the hallow of
her arm and begin resiting dunbar poetry. [inaudible] you as dirty as me. look at that mouth. him being so sweet and sticky, goodness. i would say momma, do it again, please. i would beg her to do it again, she would say, no, go to bed, now. i grew up listening to dunbar who wrote in dialect, little brown baby. he wrote beautiful things in standard english. an angel robed in spotless white. the spirit was gone, men saw the blush and called it [inaudible].
i fell in love with that beautiful black angel. i could visualize it the way my mother would resite it. i know why the cage bird sings, it would be free. it is not a carol of joy or pray upward to heaven he fling. i know why the cage bird sings. mia angelou knew of it. i like dunbar, my grandfather used words the way he described
him. good morning mr. james, how are you feeling this morning. he would say i am stepping, but not high. isn't that wonderful? okay. okay. i go play down by the creek. he would say yes, tkarlg, but be particular. that meant be careful because i love you and don't want anything to happen to you. it was coded in the be protected. he often said be careful now. that meant one thing, be particular, there was stuff down by the creek and he wanted me to be careful and watch because he didn't want anything
to happen to me. be particular did it all. when he would say when you go over there, i want you to walk and hold your head up like you belong to somebody. that meant you were representing your family. i want you to carry yourself in a way that you represent your family well with. he didn't have to go through all of that. hold your head up and act like you belong to somebody. if you didn't, you were growing up like a weed. i love dunbar for that reason. fast forward many years later, i am a teacher of 8th grade english. i want to give my students dunbar. there is nothing for young
readers. so i complained. it is a shame they don't have a book about dunbar in the library. somebody ought to write a book about it. then it hit me, instead of whining and complaining why i haven't gotten something i need, write it yourself. but i had never written a book before, how do you start? well, i went to the library again, found a book, how to write a children's book, not a very imaginative title, but it told me what i needed. wrote a book from cover to cover, researched it. i knew ever detail. even went to his home in dayton, ohio and visited his house, shared it with my
students and they said who wrote this? it is awful. [laughter]. it is so boring. i said mercifully, i did not put my name on it. it was dreadful because i had simply paid attention to detail. i had not bothered to give the young reader a story to hang on. they didn't know dunbar, they new the skeleton, but didn't know him. they didn't know the world he lived in. they didn't know his friends. they didn't know anything about him that he was born in 1872 in
dayton, ohio, graduated. so the learned the first lesson every write er must learn, you'll learn it the hard way or start from the beginning. don't be with afraid, tear it up, start over again. or go in and say i have got to move this, i have got to change this. the formal word gets revision. you'll revise and revise until you figure, i can't revise anymore and send it to the editor, we have lots of revision with this. revising is 90 percent of writing. i wrote that very first book in 1971. it didn't get published until 1982. no i don't have to work on
books that long anymore. but that first one, learn how to rewrite, restructure, move things. i have written many more biographies. i have learned the most important thing, you must tell a good story, character, setting, action, and idea. you have it in fiction as well as non fiction. some where along the line we were taught that non fiction is simply facts. it is not truth. facts wrapped around a story. facts put in a story. let's go back to that porch
again, this time my mother in that soft tone of hers. she would tell hair raising ghost stories. she would start at the hour of the dark:30. that is 30 minutes before it gets all the way dark and the monsters come out. and i can hear her say, you used to be a woman who appeared under that street light over there and our heads would all go as one with the street light. it was though we were looking for the lady who walked in front of our house and didn't have a head. when she got to this street light she vanished. then in the same breath she would say, now would you go into the house and get me a drink of water? i would have to go into that
creeky old house all by myself. it wasn't so bad in the living room because the lights from the front porch, but she had a table that had claw feet and i knew it was going to snatch me by the ankles and never be heard from again. i scaled along the wall carefully. when i got to the kitchen, it was pitch dark, couldn't see your hand before you. why didn't you just switch on the light? we didn't have a wall switch in that old country house. there was a light in the center of the room with a cord that hung down and had to go all the way into that dark, dark kitchen, like going into a mouth. you go in and feeling around for the pull switch.
meanwhile my brother would slip around the side of the house. he was really my uncle, but grew up like siblings. my uncle brother. but leon would come in the back door and stand by the refrigerator. when i would switch on the light he would jump out snarling like she was changing into wolfman. i would know it was him. he would -- i would start running and hop passed the table and out through the living room and my grandmother would say don't slam, bam, the screen door. i loved being deliciously frightened by my grandmother's stories.
i loved being frightened as most young people love to be frightened. fast forward again, i decided i know, i am going to tell my grandmother's stories, so i wrote the dark:30, southern tales of the supernatural. i had never written anything longer. these are short stories, a collection of 10. based on southern stories, my stories but based on stories that i heard. they were like stories i heard. one in particular comes from my growing up. we managed our monsters. i was the founder and first
president of monster watches of america. i ate 6 boxes of crinkle cereal and in the mail i received 6 glow in the dark id badges, oh yes. and i invited 5 friends to join me. the most prized possession was the monster book, you know the monster rules, you know them. module no. 10, monsters cannot come within the circle of light. if you have light, they can't come in that circle of lot. monster rule no. 7, you don't
play near where monsters live. isn't that common sense? why do they have people stay in houses and it says get out? i say who wrote that? [laughter]. so in my book when the house says get out, well get out. monster no. 5 says never lie about seeing a monster. we all know they are there, those of us that are believers. you can see them just out of your sight. hear them scratching around in the dark, they are there all right. you can't say you have seen one if you haven't. monster rule no. 2, never let a monster see you cry. no matter how frightened you are, fluff up. fluff up, because when they see you are frightened they make all of those noises and scare
you to death. never let them see you crying. the last one, the prime directive, monster rule no. 1, if you love and know you are loved, love protects against all monsters. i did those monster rules in the dark:30, the last stories. there is typical monsters, i was sure there was a monster that lived in my grandmother's chicken coup. the last thing is, i tell the monster i am not afraid of you anymore because i am the granddaughter, no i am the oldest granddaughter of james leon oldhand. he loves me and i know it and
the monster vanished. you know, even to this day, monsters still do come. no they are not the childhood monsters, but just as wicked. you might know them, the irs. [laughter]. i hope there are no irs workers here today. bad reviews, i think you know those. [inaudible] sexism, regionalism, we can go on and on with the isms. i am the oldest granddaughter of james leon, he is a monster fighting and so am i.
that comes from southern tales of supernatural. a porch lie is not a mean or vicious lie, it is a story of exaggeration and humor. the one that loretta told you about, cake lawrence. all the people that knew him called him cake, he used to steal the warm cake that his mother put out. he would cut a slice and run off to the crawl space. they call him cake. i use that in my story. those 2 come from my grandmother, she was the germ, the seed of those 2 books and
many others. let's go back to that front porch again. this time daddy james is the story teller. we sit at his feet and listen about stories about sara and pat and nollen. that is my brother, my sister, and me. we thought we were just as clever and smart and just as brave as the children in his story. he told stories vaguely familiar, but different some how because he told them his way. you see, i had no idea my grandfather was a functional illiterate and encouraged all 3 of us, his grandchildren to read. the way he encouraged me, he'd
say y'all read to me what they taught you up at the schoolhouse today. i would whip out my dick and jane. see jane run. run, he endured that. he allowed me to read to him. i had no idea in other families the adults read to children. in my house, children read to the adults. imagine the confidence they gave me in my readings. i loved to read out loud. enjoyed it immensely. so i would read dick and jane all the way up to julius caesar. when i came to a word difficult, he would say work with it little sister. he wouldn't jump in and tell me.
he would let me work it out so i did. i learned to jump into words. that built my confidence, grandmother and ggrandfather were from the old school. i can remember borrowing $25 from my grandmother. i was taking out my checkbook to pay her. she said no, darling, don't give me a little piece of paper. what did i give you. i said a 20 and a 5. so bring me that. they went to the light company and paid their light bills. they went to the department
store and paid whatever. they went there once or twice a week to take care of business. the process of going through things, my grandmother would take me to the library. all along the way there were places where we couldn't go to the andrew jackson hotel, we couldn't go to morten's cafeteria. there was a paramount theatre, we had to go in the back door, separate water fountains. it was a very negative experience. when i got to the library, right above the door, all are welcome. i could go in the front door.
i could remember the librarian, she had a bonnet on the back of her head. very sensible shoes. i look at librarians today, that is how they look. she always spoke in a whisper. didn't talk out loud in the library. whispered. she was so kind to me that i loved librarians. when they ask me to do something, it is hard for me to say no. and that is why i flew in the dark at night from atlanta to come out here. [laughter]. but it is because of that generosity of the national public library. so i went there to get my books and i would bring them home and read all 3. then the next week i would take them back to the library.
i would read often. when you read better, you read success. i credit the national public library with my successes as a young reader and a young writer. my grandfather had 2 books on his shelf. one was king james version of the bible, the other was bull finch's mythology. it was that thick and on the mantle. i can see it as clearly as i am looking at them now. keu remember looking at the pictures and beginning to pick through some of the stories. and i learned to love those stories and if you read my books as a collection, and some people have, you will see that those 2 books