my main character is alexander. [inaudible] don't take it personal. my aim, i guess is to at the end of my novel that [inaudible] good mexican novelists. alexander looked at the mirror and saw a mexican stairing back at him. the bad mexican had paid alexander a visit much the conversation from last night's party brought him back in full force. why did he always have to open his big mouth. why tell people that don't care that he hated and despised? he actually might like the [inaudible] hated me english and spanish he could not understand how someone could say he was

mexican having been born in the usa. he doesn't like going to mexican places. he does not like to discuss beer and shots of tequilla. he never listened to spanish radio stations. no more mexicans. who did not have a problem being objective with a mexican. [inaudible]. i should try to do something about this he thought this is not good. may be i should try, may be i should make an effort. may be i should drive to the mission and spend quality time with my own people. i'm sure it would be simple. he doesn't have to be so hard. i am sure anyone who looks at me and talks to me will believe i'm another south of the border

specimen and never figure out i happen to be a self hating mexican. the self hating something made him think of the self hating jew. he thought of george constanza and woody allen. he thought of philip and alexander's father yelling and screaming telling his son he was the son of the family shames. you don't be deserved to be called a view. you, alexander are being embarrassed by the surface of the mirror. you don't deserve to be a mexican. nor the fact that mexicans are the hardest working people and came here to work and give their children a better future. there is no mexican who tried to

justify with arguments like a fantasy to celebrate cinco de mayo. you, my friend are the self hating [inaudible] of all mexicans. you are nothing but a big master baeter. foolish man who hides from the rest of the world and sees his shame in order to dream a man can exist without a pas port or green card and labels him as what he is. remember the ones who tried to pass as something else? remember the [inaudible] of life. the [inaudible] of the nation of the [inaudible]. remember the guy from tijuana you met years ago and is proclaimed he was italian because he would and people believed him.

as if being italian was a step up. you alexander have changed your entire people. you who dream of an american time will be relevant you can think in order to be an american writer you have to quit your brownness because the adjective will get in the way of the important noun. english language will impose the adjective before the noun and your face will be imposed before the actual meaning of your life. the other one is not the [inaudible] but the black parent. that one there is the yellow which he willo player. language makes sense [inaudible] language is never innocent. it is a familiar domaine of the ones who came out with it's loss

and structure. this, alexander, is not your tongue. your tongue is muteulated, it's gone, rotten in your mouth along with the silence of the days where you became invisible you bad copy cat. despite the rage and the disappointment of your own kin. thank you. [applause] >> this is a scene from my novel [inaudible]. it seemed like a great opportunity to get to do this here. okay. what time is the first reader anyway? i didn't like bars this crowded. someone elbode me in the back. when i turned around i didn't know who the elbow belong said. relax. i didn't expect there to be this many people i thought they would be at the bar with the travel

writers. i thought they the be with the hip sters i guess we are not hip sters we can't guess who they are into. we lessened the hipster intimidation factor and picked out the smart guy. this year we selected postmen pausal writers on the meaning of life. here i was, the city never fails to surprise me much the crowd was quieting. people were pointing toward the stage. i woman of 60 clamored on to it. she had silver hair and had a long velvet skirt. i'm senora watson. there was applause. she lowered her head slightly to indicate her humility. i must confess i was surprised to be invited tonight.

i'm embarrassed to say i didn't know young people were drunkenly stumbling through the streets in the name of literature. there is a mag natizism we were tealing. we were in a bar. here is my flawed worthwhile attempt to approach the meaning of life. she read a first person account of a 23 year marriage. every word of every paragraph was tuned there was not a wrong note. it was so powerful imented to believe it was her marriage. that last paragraph contained the wedding vow when he swore he would not be afraid to let her chafrnl him much the crowd froze after she finished. then we exploded into applause.

she stood in the spotlight with tears in her eyes. she's a retired psychotherapist. >> go to her. this was a scene of a romantic comedy. i had to catch her at the airport before she left me forever. she was stopped by audience member after audience member. iment to talk to her but what would i say? well, what are you trying to get from her. her question was koejent for someone who had polished off her third drink. i want to come out of retirement and i want her to help me. i don't think it's realistic. you keep thinking i need to find

the restroom. i wasn't listening to the reader on stage. she was talking to 3-20 something women. she back and grabbing at my arm. we need to leave now. why? >> dustin is here and he is with someone and she's cute. >> did he see you? >> no. i can't talk to him i'm a mess. are you sure he's really with her and they are not friends. >> she's hanging all over him and i didn't get to pee. >> let's go, then. we fought our way out the door. i cast the last look with senora it was just as well i hasn't found anything to say. i tried to calm aguilarissa, she

schemed in terror. i can't go in there what if kevin is in there with his wife. what if i keep seeing them. >> she leaned on the door of the laundry mat. the asian woman looked at us and resumed folding. your ex's will not be there they are ill literate. >> i bet justin is engaged to that girl. she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket except for the cancer part. >> i'm never getting married. she sank to the ground her back pressed against the glass. who says that's the meaning of life. it was a beautiful story but if you think about it it's hoeky.

there is nothing hoeky about loving someone with your heart and having them love you the same way. that's how everyone doesn't love me. i didn't know what to say. there was nothing hoeky about a great love. yeary 3, 712 and 23 had been painful. some had been bory put it together and it was a life of great love. that was the only way it could be done. empty sidewalk was jammed with people. i held her as they streamed by. thank you. >> from the last 2 pages i wrote in my novel. after the events in entertainment room number 17. with the man who had been

pretending to be her husband. the imposter didn't have his own name. he used ga as he wore ga's clothes and slept as her husband had on the couch. he drove with the high beams on and reunification boulevard. they were in a mustang and there were no other cars on the road. passing through the park they saw families in the dark steeling chest nuts from the trees. at dinner everyone called him commander ga even though he didn't look like commander ga. see knew that this man was not going to leave that her husband was not coming back be and from now on this man wouldn't be wished away. he would have to be dealt with as her husband had to be dealt

with. they crossed the river the bridge lights showing the color of his bruises. they drove through the cemetery and the amusement park. she asked about the vehicle they were driving. he turned side ways in the road. the headlights was a man running from the zoo with an oan egg in his hand. do you feel the man hungry enough to steel or for the man who must hunt him down. >> is that the bird who suffers? >> thwhere did you get this ca? he didn't answer. you know it's a fake; right . this car, he said is revered in america. they are quite rare much i

recognize this car it was a prop in one of my movies. this was the car he was escaping i saw kissed a trader in the back seat. how did you get this thing off the property lot? one switch in the road above the gardens and they were at her house. inside the children were asleep and he pulled a bottle of [inaudible] from the cool place under the sink he held it with a hand who's combukelled fanned yellow. you have chosen to become a man born to violence. he answered it was the commander who chose me. okay sun moon said i will turn down the sheets for us much the bed faced a balcony over looking the mountain.

across the river was a glow much the 2 disrobed and entered where they lay awake waiting until 10 o'clock. it's a common misconception that listening devices turn off in the power. with a can of peaches the kalt rad had given them. when the house and city below went dark moon spoke, here are the rules she said. children will reveal their names to you when they decide to do so. you will never use ta eshe k wo on them. you will never touch me. she said. from below they heard dogs bang in the zoo. wait, i take that back. you are allowed to touch me only if i touch you first.

are there more rules? i'm thinking she said. a quick blue flash filled the room and all was dark again. in prison he said, so many people through themselves at the electric fence they had to build another fence to keep them off of it. of it. thanks.

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>> patricia leanne caldwell born in tennessee. daughter of robert and irma. at age of 3 moved to missouri and returned when she was 12 years old. patricia grew up with

segregation and injustices which she writes about. she spent many countless hours in the nashville public library. it was her family life that was bountiful and flowing with tales told by her story telling grandfather. raised with love of reading and oral tradition. graduated from tennessee state and degree in english in 1964. she married her childhood friend on december 12. they are the parents of fredrick and twins robert and john. her education continued with a master's degree in early childhood literature, and programming in 1975 from webster university. patricia has a successful career as a teacher and children's book editor.

she changed careers to become a full time writer of children and young adult books. her goal is to create books for and about african-americans. i write because there is a need to have books for, by and about the african-american experience and how we helped to develop this country. i present to you patricia 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