nurses room on valentine's day of 1939. she did not allow a gust to drive her to the louve. she did not pause to look at me when i went to the gallery wearing a new shirt. nor did she take meals to my families. sometimes this was the best. at the dinner table my parents argued. father had been unsuccessful in keeping the newspapers from others. she practiced less and less. germany is not poland said my father. there are no contacts in berlin. >> he's a crazy man when i hear him on the radio. i can barely understand the german he's speaking he's an austrian, no, but his accent is fake.

the geshel speaks perfectly. he must be the envy of singers every where. my father reached across his dinner plate and laid a hand on hers. she snatched it away. you know nothing. now you have butter on your sleeve. we neither mentioned our absent guest nor the chair awaiting her except on one occasion. father reported [inaudible] called a certain gog an a good deal. princess never spoke of money and bought paintings without inquiring about the price she left those details to her lawyer. snobby old cow is hamy father called her. i felt sorry for rose with father it was easy to make a

mistake and not know it. you could sense it but not identify the crime much the second week of rose's apprenticeship the empty fourth chair disappeared. thank god you stop wearing that wretch ed clone. all my food tasted like must have beening. pity the polls they lost you. my mother said no they are trying to jerk germany off with one hand and the soviet unions with the other. weate in silence. the madam took hot long showers because i heard water rushing in the pipes and whether i turned mine on found it cold. a yellow square in the courtiard into the night. i watched for a shadow or shape. rigging a motorcycle mirror on a

string and dangled it on a fishing lure and failed. i skulted in the hall way in the gallery and street hoping to catch her there. it only upset my father. we spoke german to each other as a nervous joke. i tinkered with the motorcycle mirror a started lifting bar bells. for a month mother talked of the germany refugee question and asked if it was better for jews to go to the philippines or the dominican republic. pius 11th was buried. the discover of king tut's tomb also died. the italians called a call to

arms to war babies the first time around. when i visited the draft board i noticed my card was filed with a crease at it's corner. farther's laughter was louder than ever. clients who decided to buy had their paintings shipped to houses in the country. i noticed lucie hiding bags of sugar in the closet where i kept my tennis racket. to mother he repeated. don't worry, she replied, i do. i wonder if they rrmed they had a son at all. yet that month seemed to pass more slowly than others. rose's presence was fleeting. i passed by father's office as she sat by the type writer in a green sweater with a hole in the elbow. i found her in the bathroom once with a black tongue as a pen had

burst when she licked it's anybody. i handed her a towel and said, just ruin the cloth. to the light in the courtyard i sang along with my new american record. there is a hungry yearning burning inside of me and i felt every word in the marrow of my bones. august said, i hate this cold porter so a played the album at a low volume and closed the window. when my curiousity about rose overwhelmed my common sense i investigated her living quarters i found her diaries and learned the secrets of her heart. searching in the spice cabinet lucie kept full of whisky i found a key. i planned my invasion for that afternoon.

thank you very much. [applause] >> i wrote a new book i'm working on. i'm from mexico city and i write about mexican stuff. i fear i would write a book to deal with that and get it out of the way. this is part of this project. 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