Ava and Taco Cat (11 page)

Did Taco sense that I'd gotten bad news and read a bad fable? Last night he jumped onto my bed and instead of staying by my feet or knees, he nestled right up in the crook of my arm. He didn't
face
my
face
, but he waved his tail once so that the soft white tip brushed the bottom of my chin. It tickled and was so sweet. I didn't think cats could do that.

Then he did something even sweeter: he purred! In the dark with me!

It was the first time he'd ever purred in my bed, and it made me happy—especially since that bummer letter had bummed me out and that creepy fable had given me the creeps! Everything was silent in my room except for Taco's
rumble
bumble
rumble
bumble
. It sounded louder than ever, but also warm and comforting and peaceful and…hypnotizing.

For the first time, he also pressed his paws against my side, first one then the other, one then the other. It was like he was giving me a
massage
and a
message
. Was he saying, “I love you”?

Mom once told me that what some people call “kneading,” others call “making biscuits.”

Then, all of a sudden, for absolutely no reason, Taco stopped and ran off.

That's how he rolls.

Still, it was nice while it lasted!

Pip likes to go to sleep with a book, but me, I'd rather go to sleep with a cat.

Ava, About to Be Late to School

I don't know how much I can write tonight because we wrote a ton in school today, and there's only so much writing a
hand
can…
han
d
le!

Besides, I'm not Ava the Ambidextrous—I'm Ava the Rightie. If I were ambidextrous, maybe I could switch hands whenever my writing hand got tired. (Then again, brains get tired too.)

So here's what happened:

Jerry Valentino came to our classroom. He's as tall and skinny as ever, but his straggly hair is longer than it was in October, and this time he wore it in a ponytail. I bet Principal Gupta was shocked that our school's special guest had a ponytail, but I guess there's no dress code for grown-ups.

Anyway, Mrs. Lemons introduced Jerry Valentino and lifted up our class copy of
Campfire
Nights.
It had been read, reread, and
re
reread so many times that someone should have ordered a new one by now. The book is missing a corner of its cover!

Well, I was worried that Jerry Valentino might say out loud what he'd said in his letter (that my rhymes were lame and who cares about fish?). But he didn't. He just looked out at us all, including Maybelle, Zara, Chuck, Riley, and the three Emilys, and said he wanted to help us become better writers. He talked about his six best writing tips and we copied them down. Here they are:

Creative Writing Tips

1. Write from the heart: write about what you care about.

2. Use your head: think about beginning, middle, and end.

3. Show, don't just tell: it's better to reveal than to explain.

4. Use your senses: sight, smell, sound, taste, touch.

5. Provide details: paint pictures with words.

6. Read your work aloud: listen to the rhythm and music of the words.

Next he said he was going to give us a “prompt.”

“What's a prompt?” Riley asked.

Jerry Valentino said it was a word or phrase that he hoped would “spark ideas” and inspire us. He said we would write for five minutes, and afterward, we'd go around the room and share our work aloud, and everyone would say something positive.

“Only positive?” Zara asked.

“Only positive,” Jerry Valentino said.

“You mean we can't hold our noses and say, ‘P.U. That stinks!'?” Chuck joked.

“Chuck, please.” Mrs. Lemons scowled at him. Chuck gave me a tiny smile, so I gave him a tiny smile back.

Jerry Valentino said, “Is everyone ready?”

Amir said, “Should we use lined paper?”

Mrs. Lemons said yes.

Zara said, “Can I sharpen my pencil?”

Mrs. Lemons said, “Make it quick.”

Emily Jenkins said, “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Mrs. Lemons looked exasperated. “Can't you wait five minutes?”

Finally, Jerry Valentino gave us the first prompt. It was: “my grandfather's hands.”

At first, everyone looked confused, but then everyone (except me) wrote and wrote and wrote until he said to stop.

Soon everyone shared their writing out loud, and he didn't let anyone apologize ahead of time even though Emily Sherman started to say she didn't get to finish.

He said she could finish at home if she wanted and not to worry because what we were doing was more like “sketching with words” than “creating polished prose.”

Well, Chuck was the first to read out loud. He wrote about how his grandfather taught him to box with big brown soft gloves. I said, “That was really good” because it was.

Zara wrote that her grandfather's hands are rough and calloused and “have dirt under the fingernails.” Riley said, “Dirt is a good detail.”

Emily LaCasse wrote about how her grandfather used to play the piano, but now his hands have spots on them and one pinkie bends the wrong way. Jerry Valentino said, “Nice!” which was weird because it was
not
nice that his pinkie bends the wrong way and is funny-looking, but I guess Jerry Valentino meant that he liked the detail.

Maybelle wrote about how her grandfather was “a card shark” whose hands always “held an ace.” Jerry Valentino said her writing was “very clever.”

I wrote just one sentence saying that I'd never gotten to meet either of my grandfathers and that this was a shame. Chuck said that was sad. But Jerry Valentino said I should have asked for a different prompt.

That made me mad because how was I supposed to know? Everyone had been scribbling away, and the classroom was so pin-drop quiet that I thought I was doing the right thing by not interrupting.

Fortunately, he gave us a brand-new prompt. He said to write about something “warm and comforting.”

Everyone started writing a mile a minute, including me.

Later, we went around the room again. Emily Sherman wrote about hot chicken soup after a snowball fight. Emily LaCasse wrote about how her baby blanket had been washed so many times it was “the size of a dish rag.” Emily Jenkins wrote about the “gentle sound of summer rain” on the roof of her camp cabin. Riley wrote about her pony's sweaty neck. Maybelle wrote about the gingerbread her great aunt used to make, back when Maybelle used to help push her around in a wheelchair. And Chuck wrote about his stuffed animal, Buffalo Billy, and how he used to sleep with it when he was little, but it always ended up on the floor, and then he'd feel bad, so now Buffalo Billy sits on a shelf. Chuck seemed embarrassed after reading that aloud, but I said it was sweet.

Mostly everyone said good things about everyone else's words, and I think the exercise helped us all get to know each other better—even though most of us (besides Zara) had already known each other for years.

Guess what I wrote about?

Correct! Taco Cat and his warm and comforting rumbly bumbly purring!

Jerry Valentino said we'd all done “fine work” and if anyone wanted to take the prompt home and develop it into a longer story, he'd be happy to take a look on Friday. I think most people (like Chuck and Jamal) thought, “No way,” because this was extra credit, not homework. But I was thinking, “Way!”

I also felt a little shift happening inside me. Or maybe a big one?

It was like, deep inside my body, for three or four seconds, everything went totally still because I was making a decision. No, I was making a
plan
. No, I was making a…
commitment
! (That's a bonus word that's like a promise.)

In his letter, Jerry Valentino had asked if there might be another subject closer to my heart. Obviously, my cat is closer to my heart than angelfish, bumblebee fish, or
cat
fish—combined. (For a while, maybe Taco really
was
my “primary topic of conversation.”)

My hand shot up into the air. “Can I try to turn what I wrote into a children's book?”

“
May
I, not
can
I,” he corrected. “And sure, you may.”

I wanted to say, “I'm glad I
may
and I hope I
can
!” But I didn't. Besides, my brain was already busy thinking about the story I wanted to write. It kept coming up with ideas and I kept taking notes.

Now I'm yawning and yawning, so I am calling it a night.

Ambitious Ava, Inspired but Tired

P.S. Should I ask Pip to draw a cover for the new book? I don't think so. She might be better at fish and flowers than cats and people anyway.

I didn't write in you yesterday because I'd already spent a zillion hours writing and rewriting a picture book I'm calling “The Cat Who Wouldn't Purr.” I tried to use my heart and my head, to show not just tell, to use senses and details, and to think about the rhythm and music of words.

I also employed alliteration and onomatopoeia and poetic license. And I made Pip a character (sort of). I even read my work aloud before pressing print, which Dad says real writers do.

It was not easy. It was work. But it was fun work (which seems like an oxymoron but might not be).

What I mean is: I liked feeling so focused. Instead of my mind being in lots of places, it was in just one place. And I was in charge. In real life, I don't have that much control over my cat or my friends or my family, but I guess I do have control over my work, or at least what words I put on what page.

Like, you can't 100 percent count on other people, but if you do your best, maybe you can count on yourself.

Last year, Mrs. (Bright) White said that if you have talent, you “owe it to yourself and others to put it to good use.”

Well, I tried anyway.

I am now stapling one copy here, and tomorrow I will give a copy to Jerry Valentino. I hope he likes it more than
Alphabet
Fish
. I revised this story so many times, I don't know if this is the fifteenth draft—or
fiftieth
. I kept thinking, “Ta-da! I'm done!” but then I kept making changes.

And now, without further ado, ta-da! Here's:

Ava Wren, Author for Real

Today was ridiculously exciting!

Not only was the author Jerry Valentino in our class, but so were both librarians—Mr. Ramirez and Mrs. (Bright) White—as well as a reporter (Rebecca) and a photographer (Rafael) from the
Misty
Oaks
Monitor
! We were supposed to act like everything was normal, but that was impossible with so many grown-ups around.

I kept watching them watching us and observing them observing us. They were looking at our classroom walls with the stapled-up drawings and handwritten compositions and posters about good habits and how to be a model middle school kid. I wondered what they thought of Mrs. Lemons's poster of a dog with glasses saying, “Bad spelling! Poor grammar! I cannot eat this homework!” And what they thought of our nutrition poster with its pea pods saying, “Peas try me,” and cheese saying, “Choose cheese.” Did they think it was cheesy?

I also observed the reporter reading the sign on Mrs. Lemons's desk that says, “Teachers touch tomorrow.”

Today's first prompt was “playground accident,” and we all wrote for five minutes. I wrote about the time I fell off the monkey bars, but I confess, I was distracted because I'd given Jerry Valentino my “manuscript,” and while we were writing, he was
reading
!

Soon, we were sharing our playground accident stories out loud. Chuck's was the funniest. His was about when he was in kindergarten and he
had
an
accident
during recess. He actually peed on the slide because he hadn't realized he'd needed to go to the boys' room!

The second prompt was “frostbite or sunburn.” Everyone wrote and wrote, and then we shared our stories. Today's stories were even better than Tuesday's because we've learned new techniques, and as Jerry Valentino put it, we were “digging deeper.”

At the end of class, Jerry Valentino asked if I'd mind if he read my picture book out loud. I said no, but to be honest, inside I felt a little shaky. I never imagined that he'd read my words aloud with his deep author voice and with grown-up strangers in the room. But he did. And you know what? I thought my words sounded good. I hoped others thought so too.

“Any comments?” he asked.

Zara was the first to say she liked it, and I saw the photographer, Rafael, take a few pictures.

I looked at Chuck and he gave me a thumbs-up.

Maybelle said she liked “the rhythm of the words.”

Riley said she liked the “specific details,” and that it reminded her of a cat in her barn who likes to groom himself and how afterward, the tip of his tongue sometimes sticks out. Emily Sherman said, “I liked your story too, and that's saying a lot because I'm a dog person. I have a bichon frisé and a maltipoo. Cats give me hives.”

Jerry Valentino jumped in and said he admired my “vivid verbs” and “colorful details” and “suspenseful buildup,” and his only suggestion was for me to cut the opening “Once upon a time,” because those words were cliché and not needed.

“You can cross them out,” I said. He smiled and said, “
May
I?” I said, “Yes. You
may
. Please do. Thank you.” He took his pencil and crossed out the four words.

At the end of the workshop, he told us all to be aware of how much “original and evocative” writing we could do in just five minutes. He said that whether we became authors or not,
everybody
writes messages and emails and reports and thank-you notes, so we should always strive to “have something to say and to say it well.” He also gave us bonus pointers like “Avoid repetition,” adding, “Unless you're repeating specific words or phrases on purpose, as Ava did so effectively.”

After class, I didn't want anyone to think I was a teacher's pet, so I started to zoom out the door. But Jerry Valentino asked me to stay for a moment. So I did. Then he asked what inspired me. That was funny because last time he'd asked was in October in the Misty Oaks Library. This time, instead of talking to a big audience, I told my answer just to him, Mrs. Lemons, the reporter, and the photographer.

“Taco Cat!” I said and explained that I'd convinced my parents to let me rescue a cat, but that, at first, he'd done nothing but hide.

The reporter took notes, and the photographer asked if it would be okay to take a photo of me and my cat.

I was surprised but said, “I guess.”

“Are you free today after school?”

“This could be a human interest story for the Sunday paper,” Rafael explained and handed me his cell phone. “Do you want to call your parents?”

I looked at Mrs. Lemons, and she was sort of beaming, so I said, “Okay.” I was hoping Dad was home and would say, “Sure.”

And he was. And he did.

Next thing you know, the reporter, the photographer, and I were in our living room. Taco was mostly keeping his distance while Dad was helping us get ready for the “photo shoot.” Dad was moving stacks of newspapers and plumping up cushions while I changed into a red blouse and brushed my hair. When Rafael said he was all set, I picked up Taco and sat on the sofa, and for way over a minute, Taco didn't even wriggle. It was like he was posing too. And even though nobody did my makeup or adjusted lights or said, “Action!” the whole experience made me feel kind of like a movie star. So it was easy to smile for the camera. (When Rafael said, “Say ‘Cheese!'” I thought of how, when Chuck takes pictures, he says, “Say ‘Boogies!'”)

Rebecca called her editor at the
Misty
Oaks
Monitor
, and said that if the paper had our permission and “enough space,” they might want to run not just the photo, but also my cat book and cat haiku.

I said, “Okay,” and Dad smiled. It was exciting that everything was happening so fast!

“This will be a feel-good story, if you will,” Rebecca added.

“I will,” I said, because it was all making
me
feel good.

Pip might never want her picture in the paper. But me, I love attention. The more, the merrier!

Ava Wren Does It Again!