All day writer’s conference at UVU in Orem, UT.

Folks, this looks like it’s going to be an excellent seminar. Larry Gun-Crazy Correia will be there as well as Brandon Mull, Jeff Savage, Traci Hunter Abrahamson, Rob Wells, and a whole bunch of other great authors. You can see who will be doing what and where right here: Book Academy Agenda 2010 PDF. More details on the Calendar.

“Because there’s poop,” her younger sister says.

I groan inside. Cats. There’s the whole wide world and a litter box to boot. They have to do it on the garage floor?

I go out to clean it up before I go on my walk, and there is indeed a thick line of tiny ants. But they aren’t carrying away bits of poop for their fugus farm. It’s some hairball the cat has yakked up. Disgusting. So I get out the square-nosed shovel and scoop it up. But as I do its contents tumble and reveal themselves. There’s a spinal column of something significant with the last bit of ribs clinging to it. There’s hair, and I don’t think it’s the cat’s.

I fling the stuff into the brush and sweep the garage clean.

And then I start thinking.

What if a kid came out and found this long trail of ants. She follows it. To this lump up in the brush. There are two magpies about. One perched on a piece of scrub. The other pecking at the lump. And in the lump is not some animal bones. No, it’s a long segment of human spine. And there’s half-digested Levis or some nylon windbreaker. And the whole mess is dark, compacted, and damp.

There’s something out there that regurgitated this. Not a bear. Not a tiger. Those are too small. This thing has to be large. A dragon. No. Some ogre or troll. Something else. Something from the depths of the darkening woods. Something the villagers had forgotten. Maybe something that’s come through from some other place. But it’s here now. It’s close. And somebody died.

I take the left fork, south along the hill and enjoy the sight of the mown fields, a scattering of green ton bales standing on the short meadow grass, and the storm clouds gathering over the hills to the west.

A few rabbits spook and run across the road. I reach the mile mark and turn back. I’d already done 30 minutes worth of shred before the walk and needed to get back to practice basketball with my oldest. The whole time I’m listening to Lois McMaster Bujold’s HALLOWED HUNT read by Marguerite Gavin. It’s warm, sunny, lovely. The story is good.

I come back by the fork and hear this sound over the audio. It’s like a single prop airplane in the distance. I continue on another hundred yards. That distant, thin drone grows, but I can’t figure out what it is, so I put the audio book on hold and take off the ear phones.

The air is perfectly still. That muggy stillness that precedes a storm. But all around me is this sound. This thin drone, filling up road. It’s coming from all sides.

Insects?

I look down off the side of the road at the sloughs and cattails and willows and see nothing. I look back up. Look around. And then I notice a small black body speed past. And another. And another.

Flies? It can’t be flies. When have you ever seen a fly pursue a straight line?

Three more. Half a dozen. Another, another, and they’re everywhere. But they’re not flying thickly. Not mobbing. Not massed in some cartoon clump. They’re all spread out. I strain to see them in this odd light.

Bees. They’re dark. Almost black in their flight, but it has to be bees!

And they’re all around, thirty feet to either side of me. Zooming past. There, there, and there. It’s like dozens and dozens of refugees in flight with single purpose. There’s no looping around. No dalliance. No crazy panic. They’re serious, focused. All of them going the same way. Straight ahead on some urgent goal.

There’s a big fat blue dragonfly in the willows that keeps zipping after individual bees as they fly past, trying to get a meal, but each time, just at the moment when it would attack, it spooks and darts back for cover. Dragonflies are voracious buggers. But these aren’t single bees. It must be thinking the other bees are coming for it. Still it can’t resist and darts out again.

And all around is the humming. It grows. The bees directly in front of me see me as they approach and make course corrections. I keep walking. A half a mile and the thin droning still surrounds me. The bees keep coming, but they’re thinning.

Thunder cracks behind me. The wind begins to pick up. The sky behind me is darkening.

The sound of the drone grows thinner, is almost gone. But there are bees still out there, following. I can hear them. See them. Individuals trailing the others, flying past me toward the storm that’s still about a mile off. And I think they’re too far behind.

Maybe their hive was wrecked. Maybe it’s just time to swarm and there’s a queen up front leading them. And somehow her scent is on the wind. Somehow they know to follow.

I don’t know if they’ll find a new place. They’re going to have to cross a mile of mown meadow before they get to anything that might serve as any type of shelter. I don’t know if the wind will ground them, or the main group will find safety but the stragglers will be blown to their deaths. All I know is that I’m sitting here in awe, electric with life.

I know a lot of aspiring authors ask friends and family to read their work. And I know that many people can easily become wise readers with a little direction. So I thought I’d share with you what I ask of my wise readers. Maybe you’ll find it useful with yours. Here’s a revised version of a letter I just sent to one who has agreed to read draft 3 of CURSE. Every author’s a bit different in how they approach readers. Some just say, read it and tell me what you like and what you don’t. But I like to provide a bit more guidance. And I wanted to make sure this reader understood exactly what I was looking for. It might be a bit much for some, but I wanted to make sure it was clear since this was his first time reading a full book for me.

Thanks so much for agreeing to read this draft! What I want at this point is to see how I’m managing the reader experience in 3 areas: (a) the characters, (b) each chapter and scene, and (c) with the book as a whole. So  I’m hoping you just read, and as you go along make quick marks or comments when you’re delighted or bumped. I’ve listed the types of delights and bumps I’m talking about below. Please know I’m not providing them for you to use as a checklist, i.e. it’s not my intent to have you actively search for these things like a Where’s Waldo. You may feel some of these things. You may not. I just want you to be aware of them in the back of your mind as you read and to note when you experience them. In the end, I simply want an accurate report of YOUR experience. Accuracy is key to me.

I find with my own reading that it’s often hard to respond to the story as a regular reader if I’m always stopping to write lots of detailed comments. It seems to knock me out of the reader’s trance. So don’t feel like you must stop at the end of each chapter to assess your experience or be exhaustive in detailing your every reaction. Just make your quick marks and comments as you go, then review and write up your report when you’re done. If you feel the book’s too big to do it all at the end and actually remember what your marks and comments meant, then break it up into chunks of 100 pages or every few chapters. Whatever works for you. 

Sometimes, despite our best wishes, we are just not in the audience for a specific book. If the book just isn’t working for you, do not read past the point where you would normally put it down. Pushing yourself beyond that point will only drive you nuts, and it won’t provide me with anything useful. So just stop there, be happy, and write your report. Remember: the most useful thing to me is accuracy. 

As for the report, give me a summary of your general and specific reactions. For comments on specific parts or lines, it’s critical for me to know page numbers so I can go back and see exactly which part you’re talking about. Write your explanations on the specific page of the manuscript. They don’t need to be long. For example, if a page introduces too many names and you couldn’t keep track of the people and started to get confused, you might underline all their names and write “huh? too many names, can’t keep track.” If a character does something that makes you cheer, you could circle the paragraph and write “yes! yes! yes! Go Talen.” Just so that it’s clear to me what your reaction is and what your reacting to.  

Please know whatever your reactions are, they are just as valid as anyone else’s. It’s my job to review all the reports and decide what they mean and whether they indicate I need to make any changes. Whatever I decide, know that it means a lot to me that you took the time to read and report with accuracy. 

So, any of the following types of things count as bumps and delights. You might have others you experience as you read. Feel free to mark and comment for them as well.

DELIGHTS
I want to know what IS working with the characters, scenes, chapters, and plot as a whole. So any parts–story, people, or things–that elicit a strong reaction of the type you see below.

Characters

• You really like or enjoy them
• Intrigued or fascinated by them, want to know more
• Great lines
• Envy them or think, oh man, that would be so cool to be able to do that or be there or have that skill/ability
• Sympathize with, root for
• Dislike, hate, root against

Story

• Suspense, anxiety, stress, dilemma
• Curiosity
• Mystery
• Surprise
• Cool!
• Wonder or awe
• Insight, poignancy
• Sadness
• Triumph, stand up and cheer moments
• Laffs or grins
• Dread, horror
• Great action, stunts, adventure
• Romance
• Compelling “Dude!” chapter or scene beginnings, ends, and story turns

Text

• Vivid descriptions
• Poetic beauty in the prose

Overall

• Did the story build well for you, bang bang in the climax, and then leave you wanting to linger and enjoy the rolling credits? Did it leave you feeling “wow” or “that was great?” If it didn’t quite make it, then give me an indication of how much on a scale of 1 – 10
• What were the most interesting parts of the story for you?
• Did you feel resolution and a strong tug to read more, come back to the world?

BUMPS

“Huh?”

• It’s not clear what’s going on, who’s doing it, or why.
• You really don’t understand something and you think you’re supposed to.
• Too many terms, names, etc. and you’re getting lost or feel like you need a diagram.
• The text itself doesn’t make sense, or it clunks badly.
• The book contradicts itself.

“Come on!”

• Something just doesn’t ring true.
• It’s just not how things work, e.g. John, there was no FBI in 1638 in China.
• The character’s actions don’t feel logical given the situation, e.g. um, why would she do that? I’d just X and, boom, it would be over. She was stupid.
• You just don’t buy some plot turn. It doesn’t make sense. Was too easy. Seems to ignore all sorts of things in the story.
• A character is irritating or annoying you.

“Yawn” or “What, that’s it?!”

• Things are starting to get boring.
• You start to skim the blah blah blah to get to the good stuff.
• You were built up to expect something and instead got a fizzle. This could be some mystery, a character, an insight, conflict, the ending, etc.

Please note that this list might change depending on the type of story I write. And the reader. For example, if I wanted a content or technical expert to report, then I’d be asking him or her:

• Anything not ring true
• Anything too cool or intriguing that I’ve left out.

If the book was focused more on a romance, then I’d probably provide a slightly different list of delights. Horror would require yet a different version. Not too different. But the emphasis would probably be elsewhere. The key is in me knowing the type of experience (entertainment & drama) I’m trying to provide, what I’m trying to test, and giving the wise reader enough examples that they know what I mean by “delights” and “bumps.”

Bush started a non-profit as soon as he finished his time as governor. It’s called Foundation for Excellence in Education. On its website you can watch The Florida Formula Student Achievement which gives you the overview. Yeah, it’s 80 minutes long. So what? The education of our children is one of the most important things we can spend our time on. It’s worth two episodes of Seinfeld reruns or The Office. When you’re finished, you then might want to watch any number of the other videos out there or explore their material on excellence in teaching.

There is one key thing that has to be gotten right, however, for the whole thing to work. And that’s the test. All of this is based on performance on Florida’s FCAT. Right now I’m not too confident of Utah’s core tests. First, no teacher knows what’s on them. If you don’t know what you’re being measured on, it’s kind of hard to live up to the measurement. A lot of people go all Chicken Little about teaching to the test–”don’t teach toward the test! oh, no we’re teaching to the test!” But if the test is structured correctly, then that’s EXACTLY what we should be teaching to. The second issue is the very objectives we’re testing. I have not been impressed with Utah’s state objectives. Bad objectives and a bad test sink the whole operation. I’ve written more on these two issues here.

Still, I think Florida is on to something. Watch the video and then tell me what you think. I would be thrilled to have what I’ve seen so far implemented in Utah.

Draft 3 of Curse of a Dark God is finished.

Finished!

Finished!

FIIIIINIIIIIIISHED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

245,000 words. 873 manuscript pages.

That’s a big book. SERVANT was only 170,000. A “normal” novel is somewhere around 90,000 – 120,000 words. I just emailed it to my agent with a huge sigh of relief. And a hope that the editoral sword of Damocles has been lifted a bit. I’m sure my editor will want some changes–most certainly fewer words–but hopefully this is a draft we can agree on and, therefore, set a release date.

I want to thank the following folks for reading the opening and giving me their feedback. I’ll be incorporating their comments, along with those of my beta readers, agent, and editors, in my review for the edits I’ll make to draft 4. Some of the comments, actually, made it into draft 3.

• Adam Teachout
• Alexis Cooper
• Alex Lamborn
• Amy Lamborn
• Cameron Wilson
• Darren Eggett
• David C. Walton
• David West
• Eric Allen
• Garrett Winn
• Hyrum Grissom
• Justin Fisher
• Krista Hoeppner Leahy
• Laurel Amberdine
• Lindsey Tolis
• Lynette Wood
• Martin Cahill
• Melanie Goldmund
• Merrill Nielson
• Mette Ivie Harrison
• Nick Dianatkhah
• Rachel Gao 
• Robert Thompson
• Steve Diamond
• Wesley Amodt

Again, all of you listed above–THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH FOR READING AND RESPONDING!! We luvs you, Precious. And if I missed anyone, please send me an email smack. Your name needs to be there. I’ll move it over into the fiction section later.

For those who missed out, I’m planning on posting the beginning of Dark God’s Glory for review as well. Although I don’t know how it’s going to work out with pub dates. We’ll have to see.  

By the way, here’s the opening chapter as it now stands. It may very well change.

1.   The Harvester

Berosus saw the girl the first day he arrived on the shores of the New Lands. She was a beautiful Koramite mix. Dark hair. Clear skin the color of caramel. A full set of teeth. But it was her stunning jade eyes that decided him. That and the playful but firm way she handled the sailors wanting more than just a few pints of her grog. He found lodging in a barn that night then ordered three of his men to kidnap her.

When the time was right, they brought her to him up on the hill. It was in the afternoon of the sixth day. The sun shone brightly in the blue autumn sky. The breeze rustled through the grass and trees. He untied the bonds around her wrists and told her to sit down. He said, “Some of the spark’s gone out of your eyes.”

She said, “Six days in a hole will do that to you.”

He gave her credit. She was scared and hiding it very well. He said, “You’re destined for great things.”

She looked at the tattoos on his wrists, which would tell her nothing, and said, “I’ve a father to tend to, and three brothers.”

He said, “What’s your name?”

“Jade.”

“Of course. Well, Jade. You’re good stock.” He motioned at her. “Wide hips, good bone structure. You would have born many fine children and increased the Mother’s herd. But there’s a higher purpose.”

She said, “You’re one of those Shimites, aren’t you. One of his sleth.”

“Ho,” he laughed. “No, lovely. Shim is a nothing. A gnat. A beetle. No, I am a Seeker. A servant of the Sublime. And you will serve me. Does that please you?”

“You’re not marked.”

“No, Seekers never are. We can’t announce our coming, now, can we?”

She swallowed. “They say Shim’s brought on a curse.”

“That he has,” Berosus replied. “And you’re going to help remove it.” He pulled the rough, black gloryhorn from its pouch. “Do you know what this is?”

“Not a simple horn,” she said, “or you wouldn’t have asked.”

She was smart. Brave. Oh, but he liked this one. He had indeed chosen well. “No, not a mere horn. It’s a weave. And like all weaves it needs soul to bring it to life. This one needs a lot of soul.”

He saw she understood what that meant, for the last of her feisty spirit drained away. She glanced down the hill. She was going to run; he could see it in her eyes. He gave her credit again. She was real quality. By this point many females would have been in a panic, in tears or begging him for mercy. But this one still had her wits.

He snatched her by the wrist. “Don’t spoil it. You’ll be remembered. I will remember you, this hill, the smell of the autumn leaves, and your eyes under the blue sky.”

She tried to wrench her arm free, but Berosus had an iron grip. Her tattoo marked her as property of the Mother and gave him access. He pushed through the barriers of her flesh to the soul within and felt her scream.

#

When Berosus finished, the husk of Jade’s body stared past him at the trees. Her body and the remnant soul which lingered there might live on for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but there was no point in allowing that to occur. It would seek the familiar; it would walk back to her home, go about its old habits. Maybe it would sit in a favorite chair, maybe eat a piece of bread or go through the motions of drawing water. But it wouldn’t respond to the conversations of her loved ones or their later pleadings. All this would only raise questions, and questions at this point would not be useful. So Berosus killed the body with a sharp twist to the neck and laid it down upon the dried autumn grass at his feet.

The captain of Berosus’ dreadmen had brought a small meal. Berosus picked up a salted herring that lay in the cloth the captain had spread upon the grass and took a bite. “Life is meant to be lived consciously,” Berosus said, “deliberately.”

“Yes, Bright One,” the dreadmen said.

With his free hand, Berosus ran a handful of the female’s luxurious dark hair through his fingers. He traced her brow and the ridge of her cheek bone, traced the delicate curve of her lips. She was so beautiful in her repose. As graceful and sensuous as the rich petals of an iris.

“Every day a banquet is spread, Captain. And if you’re not careful, you’ll miss it.” Berosus disdained the Divines who sent others to do their work. Life was full of gifts, full of scenes such as these. And every day they missed it.

He took another bite of herring.

The captain said, “We have a report, Bright One.”

Berosus ignored him. The scene was perfect. The breeze blew gentle waves through the dry meadow grass about Jade. The heads of the grass nodded to and fro, as if reaching out to touch her.

He contemplated her a moment more then picked up the leather pouch that held the rough, black gloryhorn where the essential parts of the girl’s soul still lived on and put the strap over his neck.

The gloryhorn was the weave he would use to harvest the fruit of this land. He’d needed a soul to quicken it. He could have used anyone’s soul, but it pleased him to think of Jade in there, for every time he saw the horn, he would also think of her, this hill, and the grass rippling in the breeze. He would think of how poignant it was for something of such beauty to bring forth such destruction.

He finished the herring and sucked his two fingers clean. In the distance, the towers of Shim’s fortress rose above the trees. “What is the report?”

“The Mungonite priest has been spotted.”

Berosus nodded. “Good. We need to find him before he talks.”

“I’ve already dispatched men.”

Berosus looked out at Shim’s fortress. He’d been watching Shim’s army for the past six days, and his orders were to harvest every last one of them.

It was clear to him this army was sleth. They were using weaves of might, but none were in the pattern of any of the houses of Kains he knew. There were no Guardian Divines, no tethered skir, no Fire sacrifices. There simply were no signs that would indicate an enemy Mother was here, claiming this human herd. But there was the sleth Argoth and his Grove.

When Berosus had received his orders, he’d been informed by the glorious Mother of Mokad herself that this nest of sleth had killed two Divines and perhaps even one of her sisters. He saw now they were starting to build an army of dreadmen. It was all very impressive for sleth. But their time was at an end.

He looked down upon the body of Jade. She would have been harvested anyway. This outbreak of slethery had to be stopped before it grew too large. A small sleth nest could be useful at times in managing the herd or in attacking another Mother’s holdings. But an army of them would only cause problems. And you couldn’t just kill the leaders. Ideas and knowledge spread like disease. In this situation, it was best to simply destroy them all. 

Berosus smoothed one side of his long blond moustache and then the other. About him in the woods, his dreadmen kept watch. He’d received message via the weave that bound his chief general to him that the ships with the troops and the other Divines were making good progress. They expected to arrive in just a few days, which gave him just enought time to put himself in place.

In the distance, banners and wreaths were being hung at the fortress. He thought it fitting: on the morrow, the inhabitants of this land would celebrate the good gifts of the harvest with their annual apple dance feast. In truth, they were only fattening themselves for the real harvest.

Harvesting humans was essentially the same as harvesting any animal. You gathered them together. Then you killed them. Like many social animals, humans banded together when under threat. Provide the right motivation, and the herd would gather itself.

“Captain,” he said. “Tomorrow evening at the feast, we set things in motion. You will send in someone with poison. Let him clearly demonstrate our intent.”

“It will be done, Bright One.”

Berosus took in a great breath of the sweet air. The day was brisk, the sky sunny and clear. He hoped the sunshine held. It was such fine weather for slaughter.

Edit. See, it’s already changed. I had two versions when I posted this blog. I let Nellie read both. And she reports that this one created much more interest (curiosity, in this case) much faster. Sigh. It’s a good thing I’m taking a break.

1.   The Harvester

The young girl was beautiful. Dark hair. Stunning jade eyes. Clear skin the color of caramel. But her body was merely a husk now because Berosus had removed the vast majority of her soul.

The husk of her body and the remnant soul which lingered there might live on for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but there was no point in allowing that to occur. The body would seek the familiar; it would walk back to its home, go about its old habits. Maybe it would sit in a favorite chair, maybe eat a piece of bread or go through the motions of drawing water. But it wouldn’t respond to the conversations of her loved ones or their later pleadings. All this would only raise questions, and questions at this point would be inconvenient. So Berosus killed the girl’s body with a sharp twist to the neck and laid it down upon the dried autumn grass at his feet.

The captain of Berosus’ dreadmen had brought a small meal. Berosus picked up a salted herring that lay in the cloth the captain had spread upon the grass and took a bite. “Life is meant to be lived consciously,” Berosus said, “deliberately.”

“Yes, Bright One,” the dreadmen said.

With his free hand, Berosus ran a handful of the female’s luxurious dark hair through his fingers. He traced her brow and the ridge of her cheek bone, traced the delicate curve of her lips. She was so beautiful in her repose. As graceful and sensuous as the rich petals of an iris.

“Every day a banquet is spread, Captain. And if you’re not careful, you’ll miss it.” Berosus disdained the Divines who sent others to do their work. Life was full of gifts, full of scenes such as these. And every day they missed it.

He took another bite of herring.

The captain said, “We have a report, Bright One.”

Berosus ignored him. The scene was perfect. The breeze blew gentle waves through the dry meadow grass about Jade. The heads of the grass nodded to and fro, as if reaching out to touch her.

He contemplated her a moment more then picked up the leather pouch that held the rough, black gloryhorn where the essential parts of the girl’s soul still lived on and put the strap over his neck.

The gloryhorn was the weave he would use to harvest the fruit of this land. He’d needed a soul to quicken it. He could have used anyone’s soul, but it pleased him to think of Jade in there, for every time he saw the horn, he would also think of her, this hill, and the grass rippling in the breeze. He would think of how poignant it was for something of such beauty to bring forth such destruction.

He finished the herring and sucked his two fingers clean. In the distance, the towers of Shim’s fortress rose above the trees. “What is the report?”

“The Mungonite priest has been spotted.”

Berosus nodded. “Good. We need to find him before he talks.”

“I’ve already dispatched men.”

Berosus looked out at Shim’s fortress. He’d been watching Shim’s army for the past six days, and his orders were to harvest every last one of them.

It was clear to him this army was sleth. They were using weaves of might, but none were in the pattern of any of the houses of Kains he knew. There were no Guardian Divines, no tethered skir, no Fire sacrifices. There simply were no signs that would indicate an enemy Mother was here, claiming this human herd. But there was the sleth Argoth and his Grove.

When Berosus had received his orders, he’d been informed by the glorious Mother of Mokad herself that this nest of sleth had killed two Divines and perhaps even one of her sisters. He saw now they were starting to build an army of dreadmen. It was all very impressive for sleth. But their time was at an end.

He looked down upon the body of Jade. She had solid bone structure, wide hips for bearing children, even teeth. She was good stock. In regular circumstances, she would have grown up to bear many fine children and increase the herd. She would have provided many souls as meat for the Mothers. But she would have been harvested anyway. This outbreak of slethery had to be stopped before it grew too large. A small sleth nest could be useful at times in managing the herd or in attacking another Mother’s holdings. But an army of them would only cause problems. And you couldn’t just kill the leaders. Ideas and knowledge spread like disease. In this situation, it was best to simply destroy them all. 

Berosus smoothed one side of his long blond moustache and then the other. About him in the woods, his dreadmen kept watch. He’d received message via the weave that bound his chief general to him that the ships with the troops and the other Divines were making good progress. They expected to arrive in just a few days, which gave him just enought time to put himself in place.

In the distance, banners and wreaths were being hung at the fortress. He thought it fitting: on the morrow, the inhabitants of this land would celebrate the good gifts of the harvest with their annual apple dance feast. In truth, they were only fattening themselves for the real harvest.

Harvesting humans was essentially the same as harvesting any animal. You gathered them together. Then you killed them. Like many social animals, humans banded together when under threat. Provide the right motivation, and the herd would gather itself.

“Captain,” he said. “Tomorrow evening at the feast, we set things in motion. You will send in someone with poison. Let him clearly demonstrate our intent.”

“It will be done, Bright One.”

Berosus took in a great breath of the sweet air. The day was brisk, the sky sunny and clear. He hoped the sunshine held. It was such fine weather for slaughter.

***

In other news, I was invited to present at The Book Academy conference that will be held at UVU in Orem, UT on Thursday, September 30th. It looks like it’s going to be a great time.

When we find great teachers, we prize them not only because what we learn improves our lives but also because good learning can be one of the most exhilarating things we experience. Unfortunately, a lot of teaching stinks. It’s boring, misguided, useless.

I’ve made a study of teaching. I’ve had to. For almost 20 years I’ve taught and designed courses in the private sector. And for many of those years, my work has been in a revenue-generating department. That means that my classes had better be effective and interesting, otherwise nobody signs up, revenue falls, and a lot of folks will stand around and wonder if it might not be better to just replace me with a potted plant.

I kind of like having a job. And so I’ve tried my best to find the most effective methods for instruction. In the last few decades, education researchers have put many teaching techniques and principles to the test. We know better now than ever before how to structure learning that is effective and interesting. And I have yet to find a better explanation of the proven techniques and principles than Ruth Colvin Clark’s Building Expertise: Cognitive Methods for Training and Performance Improvement, 3rd Edition. 

Don’t let the “training” part fool you. We often associate “training” with learning procedures and simple tasks, e.g. the State pays for “sex education” in our schools, not “sex training.” But Clark isn’t using the term that way. Clark’s “training” includes all types of learning.

Two things separate Clark from so many others who would offer advice on teaching. First, she bases everything on tested principles and techniques. I’m not talking about tested as in some teacher somewhere tried it and was impressed. I’m talking about scientifically valid testing that controls for variables and shows causation. The methods she describes are practical and proven. Second, she writes clearly enough and uses enough examples so that I can read about the principle and immediately see how I can apply it in my own class.

Among other things, you’ll learn:

• Why working memory is key to instruction and how to overcome its limits
• How to motivate learners
• How to structure learning
• When to use lecture and when to put learners into action
• When taking notes can actually be counterproductive

You’ll even learn why assigning lots of practice is NOT always the best way to learn. In fact, sometimes your child will learn more if you do half of their homework questions for them. Sound ridiculous? It’s not. It’s science.

You’ll find that there is no yellow brick road in teaching. Instead, you’ll see that the effectiveness of any method depends on whether it’s suited to the specific situation. And Clark will explain what the key factors in any situation are so you know which methods to apply and the trade-offs you’ll make when you do.

If you’re a teacher in any setting–family, job, church, school, or recreation–or if you’re trying to teach yourself, this book (specifically the 3rd edition) will be a goldmine. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Crawdads & the Bear River Greenway in Evanston

Here’s a recipe for a whole lot of family or date fun. And it costs almost nothing. Drive to Evanston, Wyoming. Make sure you bring a bucket. Pick up a few pieces of fried chicken at Wal-Mart then picnic at the Bear River Pavilion park. It’s the one with the small lake west of Wal-Mart and east of the overpass on 89. Keep your chicken bones.

When you finish eating, attach a length of about four feet of string or yarn to each chicken bone. Weight the bone down with some rocks or washers. You want it to sink deep. Tie a loop for your finger in the end of the string. Then go out to the pier or the cement box on the northwest side of the small lake and drop your bone in.

Wait.

Slowing bring your chicken bone up. You’ll find a crawdad clinging to it, thinking he’s gone to free lunch heaven. Use a net to snag the crawdad. A simple fish aquarium net will do. You can get them at Wal-Mart for a few bucks. Plop crawdad into the bucket. Ooh and aah appropriately. Make sure he’s got some water to swim around in.

Drop your line in again and repeat until you and the kids or dates are bored. We had a bucketful in about twenty minutes. You might want to pick a few of the crustaceans up. Just grab them on the sides just behind the spot where the arms of their big pincers join the body. Wave the crawdad at a selected victim—wife, daughter, girlfriend–for special effects.

When you’re done, dump the critters back into the water. But don’t go home yet. Take a stroll along the greenway that follows the river and enjoy the beautiful sights. If you walk east from the park, you might be able to be at the right spot at the right time to see a train up close as it thunders by.

We just did this with family from Colorado and California and had a great time. Who would have thought Evanston had this gem?

Crocker’s Luscious Lemon Bars

I luv lemon in desserts. I especially love lemon pies, but they take too long to make. Plus you’ve got the meringue to whip up, and half the people hate that stuff anyway. I’ve found lemon bars taste just as good, probably better, and are far easier. Here’s a recipe I just tried and loved. It’s from our Betty Crocker cookbook. Please remember to include the sugar. My sister, bless her heart, attempted it without, and she can verify that, surprise surprise, it just doesn’t taste quite as good.

STEP 1: Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

STEP 2: Make pastry crust.

1.   Combine: 2 C flour, ½ C powdered sugar, 2 T cornstarch, and ¼ t salt

2.   Use pastry blender and cut in ¾ C butter until it mixture resembles coarse crumbs

3.   Press mixture into bottom of greased 13x9x2 inch pan

4.   Bake for 18-20 minutes or until edges are golden

STEP 3: While crust is cooking, make filling by stirring together: 4 slightly beaten eggs, 1.5 C granulated sugar, 3 T flour, 1 t lemon peel (optional),  ¾ C lemon juice, ¼ C half-and-half (you can substitute with light cream or milk if needed)

STEP 4: When crust finishes, pour filling over hot crust.

STEP 5: Put it all back into oven and bake for 15-20 minutes or until center is set, i.e. it doesn’t jiggle and slosh.

STEP 6: Cool on a wire rack for 20 minutes.

STEP 7: Cut into bars, but DO NOT EAT IT YET! The lemon bars will taste 500% better if you totally chill them in fridge (the chill is the secret, folks). So put that pan in the fridge and wait! It will take a few hours.

STEP 8: When TOTALLY chilled, take out of fridge, sift some powdered sugar over the top, and serve.

Try to refrain from eating half of the pan.

There are five parts: “Volcano,” “Atmosphere,” “Ice,” “Oceans,” and “Rare Earth.” And while they were all good, the last two blew me away.

For example, I always thought the polar ice caps were a big waste of water. What do they do besides torment penguins and Eskimos?

But the program reveals that the ice caps are critical to all life everywhere on the planet because they power the great ocean conveyer. This conveyer is a slow current that carries surface water away from the equator up to the polar caps then down to the sea floor and back—transporting oxygen, nutrients, and warmth all around the globe.

We can see how critical the ocean conveyer is when it stops. There was a time when this happened. With no replenishment of oxygen, the water turned to poison. The poison was picked up in the clouds and rained down upon the land. And almost every living thing on the planet died a toxic death.

Sniff, sniff–we love you, Polar Ice Caps.

“Oceans” was fascinating, but “Rare Earth” was the kicker. How common is our cozy little situation here on earth?

Well, for life to exist as we know it, we needed to be a certain narrow distance from the center of the galaxy, orbit a certain, less common type of star, be within a certain range of that star, have a big old fat vacuum like Jupiter hanging out in the wings sucking up asteroids and comets so they don’t hit us instead, have an orbiting moon of a certain size, an earth core with just the right amount of iron, a tilt to the earth that would allow polar ice caps, water, an atmosphere to protect us from all sorts of celestial mayhem. Heck, we even had to have that nasty mass extinction caused by the broken ocean conveyer. And there’s more.

So many rare events had to line up just right, that it’s bound to make the atheists among us celebrate their good fortune with illegal-Wyoming-firework abandon and the believers to rise up from their chairs and shout, “Hallelujah and Amen!”

Nellie, the girls, and I all loved this show.

***

I’m a nut man. Love nuts. Hazelnuts, walnuts, Brazil nuts, pistachio nuts, cashews, pecans. But nuts are expensive. And while peanuts are lovely, I like some variety and grow weary of the mixes where you get about five thousand peanuts and one burnt almond. So when I saw the forty ounce jars of Planter’s Deluxe Nuts (sea salt, NO peanuts) at Sam’s Club in Logan, Utah selling for a mere $10.98, I just about fainted away and died.

Eleven bucks?!

For comparison, please note that a little ten ounce jar of the exact same nuts costs six dollars in the grocery store. Four times the nuts for less than double the price!

The nuts are good. More importantly, they’re a regular item at Sam’s. So with all the reports coming out about how good nuts are for you, reduce heart disease, reduce diabetes, blah, blah, blah, fight aliens, I can now afford to eat them and hopefully extend my stay as a carbon-based life form.

***

General David Petraeus has revolutionized the way America wages war. It was his strategy that turned the war in Iraq around. It’s his strategy that’s being used in Afghanistan. And it will be his methods that will inform how our soldiers face enemies in years to come.

The key to his thinking is realizing that there are two different terrains that must be won in the types of war we wage now—the geographic and the human. You know what geography is—take that hill, secure that town, remove the threats from that jungle. The human terrain, on the other hand, is made up of the hearts and minds of the people at the site of the struggle and has proven to be equally important.

It’s important because the wars we’re most likely to engage in now are not ones where two big armies square off and blast away. Anyone who tries to stand up to the United States using that method is going to very quickly learn what it means to get stomped, shredded, and served to the dogs. So most of the battles are likely to be engagements in unconventional war, where the enemy hides, and where the local populace will make or break the effort.

In May 2010, Vanity Fair magazine published a fascinating article called “The Professor of War” by Mark Bowden. It summarizes Petraeus’s history, the source of his thinking, and the kind of man he is. With so much at stake, I was grateful to get this well-written glimpse into the general and his approach to war.

While you’re at the site, you might want to also read another Vanity Fair article titled “General McChrystal’s Three Biggest Strategic Errors in Dealing With Rolling Stone” by Bill Bradley, published June, 2010. McChrystal was Petraeus’s right hand man. The contrast between the two men is enlightening.

According to Remembering Randolph County, North Carolina, Rufus appeared on the Johnny Carson show. If anyone has links to that video, please post. In the meantime, get zinged, Baby.