That Voice . . .
You know that little voice inside your head?
The voice behind the wagging finger?
The one that tells you want you should be doing…or should have done? Well, my little voice was talking all kinds of trash.
It may or may not have been why I was doing the OJ through JFK Thursday morning. (By OJ, I don’t mean perhaps stabbing "my" woman or high-speed racing cops down the freeway with the world watching. I mean sprinting through the airport jumping over suitcases ala Samsonite commercials from back when OJ was a rock-starish football hero.)
I was flying from JFK to Burlington, Vermont. My flight was scheduled for 9:10 am. My friend and fellow #VCFA UN (Unreliable Narrator), Cindy Faughnan was picking me up in Burlington.
Looking into the mirror can a dive into the Black Hole…
Excited about the trip, seeing friends, being back with writing friends, I was packed up, alarms—3 of them—set and ready to go with plenty of time, I thought . . .
But. . .
I may have pushed snooze
May have started daydreaming in the shower
May have used the high-magnification side of the make-up mirror—even though I hadn’t allowed time to apply make up at all—which showed a few errant eyebrow bristles that had to be plucked before I could leave. . .
(Where, I ask, was that darn little voice during all of that? It should have been warning me, telling me, hurrying me, but NO. . . )
So, I left home a little later—only 18 minutes—than planned. Big deal, I thought . . .
But. . . a highway lane was closed
Traffic was horrid
There was no gas station after the JFK exit . . .
So, I'm turning off the highway, onto the rental car return street, with about an hour to go before my flight was scheduled to leave. That’s when the little voice pipes up:
“You’re going to miss the flight.”
I’m trying not to listen but . . .
. . . That voice is loud, incessant:
“Why bother?” It’s telling me. “Turn around, find another gas station, fill up your tank, maybe get some breakfast cause there is no way in hell you’re making that flight, lady.”
That niggling little voice was persuasive. I could feel my foot lifting off the accelerator, could feel my arm muscles flex, ready to crank a U-Turn and go back to a gas station.
“La-la-la I don’t hear you,” I said, resigned to not refill the tank. “So, I’ll have to pay the rental car company premium for those few gallons,” I reasoned. “It’s less expensive than missing the flight.” I gunned the engine, roared into the rental car lot, pulled into the car return line. But. . . Where was the attendant? The shuttle bus was pulling away and there was no attendant!!!
“Told you!” said that little voice. “You’re too late. No way can you make the flight, now.”
Oh, yeah? Leaving the keys in, the car idling, I grabbed my suitcases, ran for the shuttle, tossed them inside and was about to ask the driver to call someone, when the attendant ambled out. “I’m going to be late,” I told him. “Please, check me in. Do I have to wait here?” I must have had that look on my face, because he kicked it into high, checked in the car and handed me the receipt before the shuttle door closed. (No questions about the lower fuel—I’m sure I’ll get an email about that soon.)
“Terminal 5,” I said.
The driver said: “You know we don’t go to the terminal. We stop at the Air Train.”
The little voice said:
“Give up already. No way you’re going to make this flight.”
“Yeah, but I can try.”
As that shuttle pulled up to that long, white tunnel leading to the escalator rising up to another escalator, to the Air Train station, with the huge Flight Board where all the flights, terminal numbers, gates, times and flight status posted overhead. And that little voice kept niggling, louder, as I searched the board for my flight where the status column was blinking, flashing in green: BOARDING.
So? So maybe I will miss my flight. But. . . maybe I won’t.
On the Airtrain, I tried using my phone to check-in for my flight, again. (I’d tried checking in 23 hours earlier, but hadn’t been able to.) But this time it did. Which bought me some time—and gave me hope—All I needed to do was get to the gate before boarding closed…
But . . . The Airtrain stop at terminal 5 is a long corridor, 3 escalators, and another long corridor and an escalator down to Check-in and Bag-Drop and there were all sorts of slow-walking, weaving, lagging people not in a hurry between me and checking-in.
And the clock was ticking inside, and my guts were twisting and that little voice was saying:
“You screwed up bad. You are not going to make this flight. Why did you put on make-up? You hadn’t planned for it. Why did you even bother showering? Why did you go to sleep at all? No way are you going to make this flight. . . ”
But . . . Maybe I can.
And maybe out of spite, when I tried to check in for my flight, the check-in kiosks couldn’t read my passport. “Told you,” taunted that little voice.
Shut up, I told it, and tried again, using my name. It worked! But a notice flashed saying it was too late to check bags and asked if I wanted to proceed without checking bags.
“You can’t do that,” said that little voice. “You have 2 bags and a purse. Besides, you probably have liquids in that bag you were going to check, too. You’re gonna get beeped…”
Maybe. Maybe not.
I completed the check-in, took my boarding pass and sped to the TSA pre-check line. The TSA guard was very nice and smiley as he told me my bag was too big, and I had too many, and he didn’t want to lose his job. And that little voice laughed and laughed.
Go on, laugh… I thought, and I didn't budge. I waited, with my eyes, urging the TSA guard to have pity. “Ask one of them to give permission for you to proceed," he said, directing me to the airline counter.
It was minutes until the Gate closed. The security line was long. The little voice was probably right: I was going to miss that flight.
Still, I did as directed. I walked—did not run—over to the Check-in desk. When the attendant asked what I wanted and I started tattling:
“That TSA guard wouldn’t let me go through,” I tattled. . . . “And now I’m going to miss my flight—” If I wasn’t actually, physically pouting, I was mentally, and that Jet Blue agent, may have been somebody’s mother, because she took my boarding pass. “Follow me,” she said, and started toward the long security line. And the now smiling “I’m on your side” TSA guard, waved me through.
“You’re still not going to make it,” that little voice was saying as I hoisted my 3 bags—which included the one I had planned to check that may or may not have liquids inside—onto the security belt.
“This is taking way too long,” that little voice taunted as my purse and boots went through the machine, then my first bag, but stalled with my 2nd bag, my may-have-liquids-or-a-corkscrew-inside-should-have-been-checked bag inside.
“GIVE IT UP!” that little voice hollered, as the security guard hauled my bag over to the machine for manual inspection and to be swabbed for explosives.
That little taunting, niggling, needling voice was making me crazy. But . . .
Even when I looked up at the Flight Status sign and saw a bold, all caps CLOSED sign next to my flight, even though the gate my flight was leaving from was—through the tangled Starbucks line—farthest away, I kept going.
“It’s gone!” that little voice said, “You screwed up. You are a mess. You blew it, sister!” as I passed Starbucks and the Gate sign came into view, and beneath and around it I saw a huge crowd gathered, and my spirits began to lift, my hopes soar: Maybe I hadn’t missed it! They’re still boarding.
“Yeah right…”said the little voice.
And it was right. It wasn’t my gate. The crowd wasn’t for my flight. My gate was the empty gate next to it.
I slowed. Excused my way through the crowd and walked toward the attendant at the empty check-in desk at my gate. She was talking with another woman who might or might not be a passenger—please be a passenger. The gateway door was still open. As I approached with my 2 bags and purse, red-faced and out of breath, cursing that little voice, the attendant motioned that other woman aside. She looked at me and said, “Mrs. Bennett? We’ve been waiting for you.”
That’s the thing about that little voice: It’s gonna talk.
There is not one single thing we can do about that. There’s no way to silence it, either. (At least I can’t. And I’ve tried.)
But, there is something we can do . . .
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION #1: Decide not to listen.
Little Voice Playlist:
Something to Talk About by Bonnie Raitt
Leaving on a Jet Plane by Peter, Paul & Mary
Click on SUBSCRIBE if you'd like to receive email notification when entries are posted on Kelly's Fishbowl.
Poetry Challenge #325-Heard it in a Song
Happy Birthday, Jason Reynolds! The way coolest poet I wish I knew . . .
Why? He helps reluctant readers—at-risk kids—find their superpower!
Jason Reynolds, born December 6, 1983, is an award-winning, NY Times Bestselling YA author and poet.
He won both a Newbery and a Printz Honor in 2018 for his book Long Way Down.
And from 2020-2022 served as
National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature.
Here’s one of Jason Reynold’s poems I Haven’t Gone Through it all:
Jason Reynolds began writing poetry because of a favorite album by Queen Latifah, Black Reign. He says poetry was a way for him to begin telling his stories.
In his novels, he writes about real issues for young readers, often using events he observed growing up
The premise for Ghost
happened to one of Jason’s friends when he was about 7.
Poetry Challenge #325
Heard it in a Song
Think about a song you really like. Look at the words to the song.
Let the song inspire you to write your own poem.
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Fin Pal asks Norman "Are You Famous?"
Have you read the Norman the Goldfish books, NOT NORMAN and NORMAN ONE AMAZING GOLDFISH? Have your friends read them? (They are available in your library and bookstores.)
So then, what do you think Norman will say? Is he famous?
Ready to read Norman’s answer? Scroll down . . .
Glug
Glug
Glug . . .
But first a finny!
Q: Why did the burglar try to steal Norman?
Q: Why did the burglar try to steal Norman the goldfish?
A: Because Norman is 100% pure gold! Get it?
Do you have a question for Norman the Goldfish- about friends, school, pets, family, life in and outside the fishbowl? Send him a letter!
Don’t forget to order your copy of NOT NORMAN: A GOLDFISH STORY and NORMAN: ONE AMAZING GOLDFISH!!
Poetry Challenge #324-But for a Wrinkle . . .
“It was a dark and stormy night…”
Which author penned it first? Hint: the answer isn’t Snoopy.
It’s sort of a trick question actually for, according to dictionary.com writers have been beginning stories with that line as long as night has fallen, rain has stormed, and people have been making up stories.
(For the record, the earliest published record noted was “The English novelist, playwright, and politician Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton used the line to open his 1830 book Paul Clifford.)
But most famously, Snoopy aside, “It was a dark and stormy night,” is line one of chapter one of A Wrinkle in Time written by our poet/writer of the week, Madeline L’Engle.
Madeleine was born on November 29th, 1918 in New York City to a pianist mother and mystery writer father. Of her childhood she once told a journalist she
“…Saw little of the stars and not enough of her parents,”
which left her endless time to read, make up stories and write.
“Little” became almost nothing when at 12, her parents moved to the French Alps and Madeline was sent to English Boarding School. (Maybe English Boarding School is the secret ingredient for writing success???) or not.
Madeline crossed the pond to do high school at Ashley Hall in South Carolina-wrote
Went to Smith-wrote
Moved to Greenwich Village-wrote-
Worked in theater-wrote
and published 2 novels-
Married Hugh Franklin-wrote
Hugh who?????
Who knew Madeline L’Engle was married to a soap opera star???
Madeline and Hugh had 3 kids-Madeline wrote- they bought a defunct general store in Connecticut. She wrote-became a librarian-wrote. . .
A Wrinkle in Time didn’t fit publishers’ mold or lists.
Editors didn’t think it would sell.
It took more than 2 years—25-40 rejections by Madeline’s own count—before Farrar, Straus & Giroux published A Wrinkle in Time in 1962.
“If I’ve ever written a book that says what I believe about God and the universe, this is it,”—L ’Engle’s journal June 2nd 1960
A Wrinkle in Time went on to win the prestigious 1963 Newbery medal and has sold over 16 million copies in more than 30 languages, and counting. In 1980, L’Engle won the National Book Award for A Swiftly Tilting Planet, paperback edition, (#4 in her Time Quintet). What a wrinkle . . .
Poetry Challenge #324
But for a Wrinkle . . .
Let’s use L ‘Engle’s basic list of ingredients to conjure up a poem titled “It Was a Dark and Stormy Night.”
Storm
Stranger
Wind
Time
Wrinkle
Use any/all of the ingredients above, stir in some fantasy and Presto!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Homer for Jackson!...Giveaway Report
The best part of the Winner-Winner Chicken Dinner Giveaway is—the PRIZE Giving Part!
And the Summer 2023 prize was one hum-dinger!
As you might recall, a second-grader named Jackson won this past quarter.
How did Jackson enter the Winner-Winner Chicken Dinner Give-Away?
I’m glad you asked. An adult in his family posted this picture of Jackson holding The House That Ruth Built on my Facebook page.
In September, in a completely random drawing, Jackson’s name was pulled from a bucket. (To watch a replay of the drawing click to Kelly Bennett Books YouTube Channel)
Get this! Out of all the prizes he could have chosen, Jackson picked a virtual author visit for his 2nd Grade Class at Sue Park Broadway Elementary School in Spring, Texas.
Talk About Surprised!
Thanks to Jackson’s teacher, Ms. Kara Carpenter, who rearranged their busy schedule, I didn’t simply zoom with her class—I actually zoomed into the school. In person!
Noooooooooo I did just stand up there reading to myself. . .
Ms. Carpenter’s 2nd graders were seated on the floor—up front and center—asking questions and helping to remind Vampire Baby:
“Tootie! No Bite!”
And the class asked great questions!
We talked about where story ideas come from.
We talked about hobbies, and poetry and BASEBALL
…And how my families love of baseball and one of the 7-MINUTE CHALLENGE poetry prompts—posted each week on my blog “The Fishbowl” became a book—and more are in the works.
I talked about how stories become books…
“7 Times! Have you ever had to redo your homework 7 times?
You can’t see it—because Ms. Carpenter’s 2nd Graders are hidden by the desks—they are all shaking their heads—really hard—Homework 7 times!!!
And at the end of the visit Jackson passed bookmarks out to everyone and as a thank you Ms. Carpenter’s classroom has their very own copy of my new non-fiction picture book: The House That Ruth Built
Jackson really did hit a homer—an author visit for his homeroom that is!
And so did I! I had a delightful time doing what I love best—chatting writing, reading, books with kiddos!
Big thanks to Jackson and his 2nd grade teacher Ms. Carpenter for making it happen!
Before I left Jackson asked:
“Can I enter the Giveaway again!"
My answer: “YES!!!!”
And you can too!
The Winner’s Choice Giveaway happens—you guessed it: Four Times a Year!
That means 4-count them-1-2-3-4 drawings each year.
How often can you enter? As often as you like! And get this . . .
Enter now, enter often, even better—have your kids, students, second-cousin on your goldfish’s side enter.
There is no limit to how many times you enter—or WIN the Quarterly Winner-Choice Giveaway!
Find the Complete Quarterly Winner-Choice Giveaway details here!
#familius #baberuth #sueparkbroadwayelementary #giveaway #notnorman #picturebooks #readingisfun
Poetry Challenge #323-Zoom-Room
What the heck are you doing reading this?
Don’t you know it’s National Go For a Ride Day! (Nov 22.) A day set aside to throw responsibility to the wind, bundle up and go for a ride! (Although choose one of your more modest scarfs, we don’t want you to go all Isadora Duncan…
National Go For a Ride Day!
My Side of the Car by Kate Feiffer, illustrated by Jules Feiffer tells the story about a trip to the zoo. It seems this trip has been put off several times, and the young main character is determined to not have it put off again. When it begins to rain and her dad mentions it, she tells him the rain isn’t on her side of the car.
Go For a Ride Music Video by Rockabye Beats (warning: it is an earworm):
Poetry Challenge #323
Zoom-Zoom
Think of a car ride you went on. Where were you going? Who was with you? How long did it take? What did you see out your window? What could have stopped you from going? Was the trip worth it?
Write a poem describing the ride.
Beep-Beep Beep-Beep Yeah!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .
Fin Pal asks Norman "Want to Visit?"
Ready to read Norman’s answer? Scroll down . . .
Glug
Glug
Glug . . .
But first a finny!
Q: Why are goldfish so smart?
Q: Why are goldfish so smart?
A: They swim in schools!
Do you have a question for Norman the Goldfish- about friends, school, pets, family, life in and outside the fishbowl? Send him a letter!
Don’t forget to order your copy of NOT NORMAN: A GOLDFISH STORY and NORMAN: ONE AMAZING GOLDFISH!!
Poetry Challenge #322-Animal Within
If this image of our poet-of-the-week whirling down the street in a cape and tricorn hat calls to mind Yankee Doodle, and you’d be half right. Marianne Moore was no Yankee, but she did doodle.
Marianne Moore (Nov. 15, 1887-Feb. 5, 1972) was a “highly regarded as a poet during her lifetime and even became a minor celebrity, featured in magazines such as Life, the New York Times, and The New Yorker.”—poetryfoundation.com bio.
She was so highly regarded for her “modernist” way with words that Ford Motor Company asked her to come up with names for a new series of cars. Alas, they rejected her suggestions.
Moore “stands as the greatest American modernist – of those poets who remained in America,” ala poetry foundation. (Which prompts curious minds to wonder: Where did the other modernist poets go?) A question for another day. A timelier question for this prompt might be: What is modernist poetry?
Modernist Poetry “rose” from the ashes of “The Great War,” WW1. Poets reacting to the horrors of war wouldn’t put their pen to “romantic” topics favored by earlier poets—nature or love in tidily metered and rhyming stanzas—favored by earlier poets. Modernists wrote about real-world events such as war and death.
Moore was a Bryn Mawr gal, who studied history and biology—her interests that leaked into her poetry, hence the title and subject of her first published poem “A Jelly-Fish”:
“Despite lacking regular rhythm, or meter, it [Modernist Poetry] still reads like poetry because it has meaningful imagery, symbolism, and alliteration. Free verse allows poets to experiment with rhythm and sound in ways that traditional forms do not allow. By breaking the formal conventions of the past, authors could experiment with language and express themselves more freely.”
Moore’s Collected Poems (1951) won both the Pulitzer Prize in poetry and the National Book Award, and in 1953 she was awarded Yale’s Bollingen Prize.
Poetry Challenge #322
Animal Within
Channel Mariane Moore’s modernist leaning for today’s prompt, by casting off by going light on the rhyme and meter but heavier on the imagery, alliteration and other poetic devices. And because
“She [Marianne Moore] frequently used animals as a central image to emphasize themes of independence, honesty, and the integration of art and nature.”—Poetry Foundation
Give your poem an animal name title. ROAR!
Set Your Timer for 7 Minutes
Start Writing!
Don’t Think About it, Write It!
Want more Moore? Here’s a link to 10 of Marianne Moore’s Best Poems.
Cindy Faughnan and I began this 7-Minute Poetry Challenge 2700+ days ago. Now we take turns creating prompts to share with you. Our hope is that creatives—children & adults—will use our prompts as springboards to word play time. If you join us in the Challenge, let us know by posting the title, a note, or if you want, the whole poem in the comments.
Click on Fishbowl link and sign up to receive email notifications from Kelly's blog (aka The Fishbowl):
All who subscribe, comment or share a poem will be entered in . . .