To explain: I have two long-term friends from elementary school: Jess and Ethan. Jess I've known since Brownies (girl scouts) even though she went to a different elementary and middle school (but the same high school). Ethan I've known since elementary school. We've always been aware of each other, always nice to each other, but more acquaintances than friends. He's the kind of guy whom everyone liked. He always wears a smile. Always.
No, really. Always.
There's even a legend about him: One day around seventh or eighth grade, jock bullies were making fun of him for being so happy and smiling all the time, so they kept trying to find ways to get his smile to falter. Finally, they punched him in the gut. The smile faltered, but never left Ethan's face. His reaction, though one of pain, shocked the bullies and ever since then, they left him alone and showed him some respect.
I'm not sure how much of that is true. I should ask him.
Anyway...
Hard work. In my case, it was building a solid foundation through tiny actions that always, in some way, reinforced my potential and my future. Working for two campus lit mags, interning for a publishing house, interning for a city magazine, earning a BA and MFA in writing, always reading, writing reviews, becoming a legit columnist, becoming an editorial assistant, becoming an unofficial review editor's assistant (that title doesn't exist, but it's basically when I'm doing until Weave can get a full-time review editor). Basically striving to maintain a successful literary career.
Chance encounters. After graduating from high school, Ethan and I lost touch until a few months ago (nearly 9 years later). We accepted friend requests on Facebook, exchanged comments... the typical stuff. Then a couple weeks ago around midnight, he randomly messages me by saying: "I know this is random, but..."
He proceeds to ask me if I'd be willing to judge the middle school level literature entries for the PTA Reflections Contest. For the national round. That alone made me freak out.
The PTA Reflections Program is a national program centered on developing a passion for art--be it traditional art, performance art, literature, or music composition. It's a BIG DEAL, but apparently not all schools participate in it. You win in your school, go on to a regional round, then a state round, and then a national round (if I have that order correct...). Then someone at the Library of Congress (I think) picks the grand prize winner.
I had won first prize for poetry during fourth grade. Just for my school, though. The poem was one I'd worked on for a few weeks and incorporated schools lessons about monarch butterflies into. It apparently made people cry. It wasn't as if I'd intended any emotion. I just wrote about the images in my head, as if the universe told me what to write and I dutifully typed everything down. The only purposeful part of it was the butterflies. So, riding on that win, I entered again that following year and didn't place. It was disappointing, but okay. That first place win the year before was the first time I'd won anything. But, alas, at some point over the subsequent years, we lost the winning poem. We have the trophy, the certificate of achievement, even the folder and the losing poem... It's heartbreaking that I can't remember the poem, there were no copies made, and I'll never see it again. Because, of course, digital copies weren't being archived until a number of years after fourth grade. And, apparently, the PTA is only allowed to keep the poem for three years and then it's scrapped.
It should be known that when we requested a copy during fifth or sixth grade, the organization wouldn't give it to me.... siting something about copyright that even at the time seemed wrong.
Well, Ethan knew about this because we'd talked about it a few weeks before he messaged me, when he posted a picture of all the other category submission CDs. So going off that and what little he knew about my literature life (just that I was into it), he asked me to judge.
It's as if everything came full circle with this contest.
I have 48 entries to go through by April 15. It seems like it should be more (one entry per state per grade), but apparently not all the entries were submitted. Odd... Basically, my top picks will go to that final person for the grand prize, national winner.
When he asked me to help him (because a position opened up that needed to be filled immediately), Ethan had no idea what I do during what is technically my spare time. He was astounded when I told him why April is a busy month for me: reviews, review editing, full-time job, literary event evenings, concerts, Weave submissions, and now contest submissions. Oh, and dancing lessons--that's another new development.
The process itself is intriguing. I have to look for raw talent. There's a rubric, of course--an educational assessment must always have a rubric... Interpretation of the theme, artistic merit and creative merit (which, for literature, is about the same thing anyway), and technical merit. I must be aware that many winners were picked based off context, not technical writing rules. They won't have a firm grasp on grammar, nor will they have a solid understanding and execution of craft. But talent is talent, and if something is freakin' amazing, then it doesn't matter how old that kid is. But because of the technical merit, the delivery can't be completely atrocious.
It is very interesting to hop between Weave submissions (wherein I'm looking for the best of the best) to contest submissions (wherein "best of the best" is a lot more lenient but still applicable.)
While going through submissions, I've already found a poem that blew me away and thus received a perfect score. And I found a different entrant, a girl, who's basically a mini-me. Her poem is the exact kind that I used to write in high school, when I'd sit at a computer during free time in a physics lab and let the universe tell me what to write. Lots of inspirational, abstract, and broad ideas. Corny. Amateurish. Not much thought involved. I made dozens upon dozens of those poems. And this girl wrote something that fits into that collection.
She won't win, but I posted on FB about how I want to hug her and provide reassuring words:
- Keep writing.
- You'll be great one day.
- Don't give up.
- I was just like you once.
Well, Ethan saw that post and told me that he's planning to make a blog that enables judges to send messages to the students who submitted. And yes, it would be awesome to write that girl an official message of support and reassurance.
So that's my big update of the month. I'm still in shock that it's happening.
