Well hello there Journal,
I suppose you're wondering how the young writer's conference went, huh? Well allow me to spill all the juicy details for you right here so I can remember them later when I'm old and gray.
So our group of five got onto the school bus that was like, the 12th stop on the ride to the city where the conference was being held. Which of course wasn't the LAST stop on our way there. We had like a million left to go and by the time we reached the hall where the young writer's conference was being held, our bus was filled to the brim with students of all ages chattering about all excited to get to our destination.
Everyone except me of course. Nah, I was seated with my binder, my body pressed up against the window as I stared out at the scenery as we passed it by until the giant hall came into view; buses lined up against the curb letting hoards of students out of their doors to laugh and talk among themselves as they entered the building that held the conference.
"Woah," I muttered to myself as the passenger sitting next to me smiled my way and began talking to me.
"Isn't it grand?" She said. "I can't believe we were all chosen to come here! It's such an honor after all!"
I nodded my head at her while continuing to look out the window and watch as the groups of children made their way inside the conference hall with their teachers trying to lead the way and count them all up as they walked with lunch bags in hand.
"Think it will be fun?" My seat-mate asked me and I shrugged my shoulders.
"I sure hope so. I'm not really sure what to expect. I've never gone before." I answered and the girl beside me stood up as our bus stopped and began to unload us.
"Me neither, but I've heard from others that it's a blast. You get to meet and talk to real authors of books and learn about publishing your works and there's even an all conference winner, though it usually goes to a sixth grader," she said gesturing for me to stand up as well and I did so. "What grade are you in?" She asked and I smiled.
"Sixth," I replied and the girls eyes widened.
"Then you stand a pretty good chance," she said before joining the line of passengers and disappearing out the door of the bus leaving me to my thoughts as I waited to join the line myself.
If only she knew what she was up against, I thought to myself. Although with all these OTHER kids... if only I knew what I was up against...
The hall was packed with kids and our chaperon tried to keep us all in line with one another so she could hand out the schedules. "Now first off you'll all get to choose which classes you want to attend, but be wary, we have to meet back up here during lunch which is at 12 o'clock. The 2nd graders through 4th graders will be accompanied by myself, but the 5h and 6th graders will be free to roam the hall, though there will be teachers all around to help you if you get lost. Take a look at your schedules everyone," She addressed us and we all glanced down to our papers in hand and peeked at the words typed down on them. "These are the classes that are being held in various rooms all throughout the conference hall. Grammar classes, fictional writing classes, nonfiction classes, poetry classes, publishing classes, pretty much anything you can think of writing-wise, there are classes for them. So choose wisely as each of these classes last an hour and we will only be here for a full school day which is 8 hours, minus your lunch hour and wrap up class which lasts 2 hours at the end giving you 5 classes you can attend."
I nodded my head along with the fellow students who had come with me and the chaperon clapped her hands with a smile on her face. "Alrighty then. The first classes start in about fifteen minutes so let's figure out which ones you'll be attending and let's head over there! 2Nd, 3rd, and 4th graders, let's pick our class and 5th and 6th graders, go find your first class! I'll see you at noon!"
I glanced down at my schedule again, searching for the poetry class the teacher had named off and quickly found the room name it was in. "Latoka Room" it said and with a shrug, I stalked my way off, following the signs above in the direction of the room and with ease, found it only to take a seat in the back of the room and set my binder on the desk in front of me.
The class was educational. Kinda boring at first as we talked about the history of poems and why they were so important to literature in general. But then came the sharing portion and, taking Arnold's advice, I decided to share my poem just to get some feedback before I gave it over to the judges for all conference at the end of the day. After all, all opinions count, right?
"Did anybody bring any poems they'd like to share with the group today?" The head of the room asked and a bunch of hands shot up in the air along with mine and I frowned as I knew there were only ten minutes left in the class. My chances were shot. But I was surprised when she called on me. "You, in the back. The blonde with the pigtails. Would you like to share your poem?"
I looked around to see if anyone else around me also shared blonde pigtails, but then realized she was pointing to me and stood up, clearing my throat and opening my binder to my top poem which was ready to read to the class.
Reciting it with ease and with severe nerves, the end finally came and an eruption of applause followed; the teacher of the class' jaw dropping as she looked at me in astonishment. "Wow, wow, wow!" She exclaimed. "What's your name, young lady?"
"Uh... Helga. Helga G. Pataki."
"And where are you from?" She asked. "What grade are you in?"
"I'm from Hillwood? And I'm in the sixth grade. I actually wrote this poem about a year ago."
The teacher shook her head in shock as she smiled at me. "Well Miss Pataki, I'd say we have a pretty big contender for all conference in our midst. That poem was absolutely splendid. I hope you'll be entering at lunch this afternoon. I'll certainly be putting in a good word for you," She said while jotting my name down on a slip of paper that sat at her desk.
That was the most exciting part of the first half of the day. The next class I went to was all about publishing and I received a few good articles about how to go about getting your work published and where to start. Which was helpful because secretly, I'd always wanted to get my work out there and published, at least at some point or another. After that class, I chose to go to fictional story writing where the author of a book I'd never heard of but sounded promising taught the class and told us all about how to make storylines and go about finishing a story and fleshing out a full plotline to make an entire book which was really interesting and that class went by pretty fast.
Then came time for lunch which consisted of paper bagged lunches filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, milk and some chips which wasn't NEARLY as good as a Stella lunch, but satiated my hungry belly nonetheless. Our teacher stood up then, gathering us all around to ask the question I'd been waiting for- the question about all conference.
"Okay kids, now comes the time when I get to ask you if any of you would like to submit some of your work in for the prestigious all conference award. They'll be reading through them during this next section of classes and will announce a sole winner who will be published in the Life and Times magazine which is a national magazine, along with giving away a trophy, at the end of the day today. Any takers?" She asked and I looked around at our group as nobody raised their hands.
Semi-confidently, I raised my hand up in the air and took a deep breath. "I uh... I brought something I'd like to submit." I stated quickly and the chaperon raised her brow before smiling and clapping her hands once.
"Excellent! You can give it to me and I'll be sure it ends up in the hands of the judges."
Carefully, I reached in my binder and took out the copy I'd made of my poem and shakily handed it to her, then closed my binder and sat chewing on my sandwich as I watched the chaperon leave to hand off my poem to the powers that be.
God, I hope this poem is good enough, I thought to myself as I finished my sandwich and the chaperon returned with a smile on her face. "All submitted!" She announced while holding a stack of t-shirts in her hand. "I also come baring gifts!" She teased before handing a shirt to each one of us that bore the logo of the young writers conference on them. "These are courtesy of the conference itself as a thank you for coming today. Feel free to wear them for the rest of the day," she said handing me one and winking in my direction.
Needless to say, I just held it the rest of the day instead of wearing it. I'd use it for pajamas later.
After lunch, classes resumed and no matter which classes I went to, I couldn't keep my mind off of my poem's soon-to-be fate. I found myself doodling on the pages I'd brought to take notes on and my mind wandered off into space as the teachers lectured on about this and that of writing. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the classes, but my mind was just a titch per-occupied on the words of my poem and if they had been written well enough. There were just so many kids there and the odds of me winning weren't all that good. I mean sure, I was a good writer and all, but was I really THAT good? I was a small fish in a big pond here.
By the time wrap up came, I was anxious for the award ceremony and skipped the book signing entirely because not only did I not have any money to buy any books, not even the cool sounding one from that one teacher, but because I just wanted to hear who had won all conference, even if it wasn't me.
Finally, the time had come and we all gathered in the main room to sit down in our assigned seats by school and listened to the speaker on the stage talk.
"Welcome, boys and girls, to the 32nd annual young writer's conference!" He announced and the crowd roared with applause before he gestured for everyone to quiet down. "I hope you've had a marvelous time here today learning about the wonderful world of writing and the talents you all clearly share. Now, it is time to give out an award that some of you have entered for and before we give that out, I just want to say that it takes tremendous courage to put your work out there and if you don't win here today, do not take that as a failure. Know that just by putting yourself out there, you are already a winner and a step further to becoming a real author." I rolled my eyes in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest as the speaker gestured for a piece of paper to be handed to him from where he stood at the podium.
"And now, for the winning entry which I will read to you now." I uncrossed my arms and moved to sit on the edge of my chair, leaning in towards the stage as I hung on his every word. "This poet has shown not only great efforts in their writing, but a great struggle with their inner self which was displayed brilliantly and with great skill for a sixth grader."
Sixth grader, huh? I thought to myself. Well, I'm already one step closer, I told myself before waiting with my fingers crossed in hopes to hear my poem be read out loud.
"It is entitled," the speaker said before clearing his throat, "'Ode to Myself' written by one Helga G. Pataki from PS118 in Hillwood," he announced and my eyes widened as I heard my name be called through the speakers of the hall; the eyes of my fellow PS118ers hot on me as he began to read my poem.
"Under the hot lights of day
Staring into the mirror; prepared to see
I don the old mask I've worn all my life
for those who expect to see the best of me." He read and the world slowed around me as the ears of all the fellow students tuned in to hear my poem be read through the loud speakers for all to hear.
"But I shan't let them see
I shan't let myself break
this mask that I wear has taken
so many years just to make" He continued, looking out in the crowd as if trying to spot me and I found myself standing up without thought.
"Doth thou see right through?
Cans't thou see behind my bloodshot eyes?
Dost thine glisten with mine own tears
to hide the air of my surprise?" Slowly, I wandered through the line of chairs and made my way to the aisle where I began walking towards the stage, drawn to it almost as I walked while the speaker continued with my poem, the words haunting me with each step I took.
"Let me hide all my weakness
Let me hide all mine own shame
For behind this hardened mask
Bares the one of my true name
The lost soul of mine own self." Finally, I made it to the stage, standing awkwardly at its side as the speaker finally noticed me and he turned to face me.
"You must be the writer, no?" He asked and I slowly nodded my head, still in shock that after everyone who'd entered, I'd been the one who had been chosen. "Well come on up, Miss Pataki," he said before starting an applause that grew from him to the entire auditorium, hoops and hollers following as I looked out into the crowd, the lights blinding me slightly from seeing any faces in particular.
"Your poem astounded the judges," The speaker said into the microphone. "We were blown away by your in depth representation of yourself and how deeply you made us feel at the pain and struggle of trying to find oneself behind the masks we put on every day just to show ourselves to the world. Fantastic job." He congratulated me with a pat on the back and I smiled at him before leaning over to speak into the microphone.
"Th-thank you. Really." I said and he smiled as a woman brought over a trophy which he immediately handed over to me.
"As all conference winner at this years young writer's conference, our esteemed panel of judges would like to congratulate you with this trophy, along with publishing your fine poem in the Life and Times magazine that will run next month across the nation." The speaker turned to look at me, a smile beaming across his face and he reached out to place a hand on my shoulder. "You, my dear, have earned it."
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that I had WON! I actually WON!
I WON ALL CONFERENCE!
That's right, you read it here first, journal, I, Helga G. Pataki, won ALL CONFERENCE at the young writer's conference AND there was a big ole trophy to rub in Big Bob's old face. Man, I wish I had a picture of his reaction to post in here because it was GOLDEN, let me tell you.
I got home, prouder than a possum, trophy in hand with my binder and a certificate, t-shirt and binder in another, and swung open the beeper emporium door with a smile brightly plastered on my face.
"Guess who's not the ONLY winner in this family?!" I announced and Bob turned around from his display to look at me with wide eyes.
"What did you win?" He asked and I grinned while sticking the trophy in his face.
"Read it and weep, old man," I stated and he looked down and squinted at the small print labeled at the base of the trophy.
"All Conference Winner at the 32nd Annual Young Writer's Conference... what the heck is that?" He asked and I sighed while rolling my eyes.
"It's that thing I got invited to dad. At my parent teacher conference?" I explained.
"Oh yeah, right, right. That writing thingy. Well good job, Olga."
I frowned, knowing that this hadn't impressed him as much as I thought it would have. "It's Helga, dad," I said softly while trudging to the back of the emporium; or at least trying to get to my safe place in the empire before Mom intercepted me with a big hug.
"Oh honey!" She yelled as I yelped in her grip from the tight hug she entrapped me in. "You won your writer's thing! Oh... I'm just so proud!"
"Mom...too...tight..." I tried and she finally let me go to squish my face in her hands instead.
"You know, this reminds me of the time I won my first all conference in swimming, aw, I was about your age too and I was just so excited. You must be thrilled."
"Yeah it's uh... it's a pretty big honor i guess."
"You guess?" She said letting go of my face to stand straight up with her hands on her hips, "Well i wouldn't guess at all. I'd say this is as big an honor as any. B! Our daughter deserves her own trophy spot, don't you think?"
"Huh, Miriam?" He asked uninterested as Miriam took the trophy from my hands and wandered over to a spot left empty from boxes and other miscellaneous items and things. "How about we put it right here? For ALL of us to see?"
I smiled, appreciating Miriam's effort in trying to make up for Bob's lack of care. "That'd be real nice, mom. I-I'd like that."
She grinned back at me, giving me another affectionate squeeze before telling me to go on and run off to go write some more award winning poetry which instead of doing, i just ran straight to the back of the emporium to write in you instead.
And that's where I am now, journal. But don't worry, I won't let Bob get me down. I still get to rub it in everyone's faces tomorrow at school and show it off at Arnold's place tomorrow and I KNOW Stella and Miles will be proud of me for this accomplishment. At least SOMEBODY will be.
And somebody is better than nobody. Even if it is just your surrogate family.
But the best part about growing up is that you get to choose your family and I think I've done a pretty good job choosing so far. Arnold's family is the greatest and I couldn't be happier with my decision.
I just hope they'll be as ecstatic as I am. I know Arnold will be. If it wasn't for him, I never would have won this competition in the first place.
Reading my poems to him was the best bold choice I'd ever made in my young life.
And I can't WAIT to thank him.
Proud of myself for ONCE,
Helga G. Pataki.
Ready for a recap?
Being as it's the weekend, I went to Arnold's house with my big fat trophy all shined to perfection with a smile on my face and knocked on his door. Arnold was quick to answer the door, a grin beaming on his face the moment he saw me.
"You won?" He exclaimed, his eyes wide at the sight of the trophy I was holding.
I nodded my head, words escaping me as he took grip of my arm and pulled me into the house, calling out to his parents and the boarders as he did so. "She won, everybody! Helga won all conference! And she brought the trophy!" He yelled as people rushed down the stairs and through the halls, from the kitchen and out of the bathroom to see the award I'd brought with me, my body forcing a laugh out as Arnold paraded me around the boarding house to show off my success.
"She won?" Stella asked as she exited the kitchen, Miles accompanying her.
"I knew she would!" Miles said with a fist pump in the air. "How does it feel? How DID it feel to win?"
I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders. "It felt pretty good," I said before shaking my head and laughing loudly, "Oh who am I kidding, it felt freakin' AWESOME!"
"What did you use?" Stella asked while wiping her hands on a towel, "One of your poems?"
"Yeah. I actually, erm, used a poem that Arnold suggested that I use." I admitted with a blush of my cheeks and Arnold smiled from beside me while placing a hand on the small of my back.
"It was an amazing poem. I knew she'd win with it," He said confidently and Miles raised his brow.
"Oh really? Which poem? What was it called?" He asked and I swallowed hard before answering.
"It was called 'Ode to Myself,'" I said, Stella and Miles sharing a look.
"Any chance you'd read your winning poem for us?" Miles asked then and I held the trophy tight to my chest while fighting the answer.
"I don't know if that's such a great idea... it's kinda deep..." I said and Stella shrugged her shoulders.
"We like deep. C'mon, what's sharing it one more time? I'm sure they'll share it in front of your class come Monday anyway, don't you think?"
Dang, she had a point, I thought and I turned to Arnold who nodded his head encouragingly and I cleared my throat before beginning to recite the poem that I'd had practically memorized since it was shared through the loud speakers just the day before. And since I've shared said poem with you on multiple occasions now, dear journal, I'll spare you the sap and skip to the part where they applauded and began showering me with compliments at my award-winning poem.
"That was extraordinary, Helga!" Stella said while clapping, Miles nodding his head in agreement.
"I concur, that was amazing! No wonder you won! Nobody stood a chance with that piece of work!"
"Thanks guys," I said sheepishly while looking down at my feet. "I couldn't have done it without Arnold's coaxing though. If it hadn't been for him, I would have chosen some other silly poem about...well...something else...and it wouldn't have shown off my strengths as well as this poem did."
"Well we couldn't be more proud of you," Stella said while walking up to me to put a hand on my shoulder. "What did your parents say? Were they proud of you as well?"
I sighed and set the trophy down beside me and shook my head. "My parents hardly even NOTICED. And Bob got my name wrong AGAIN. It was like his precious Olga had one the whole thing to him, and not me."
"Oh sweetie," she cooed, while reaching out to hug me as tightly as she could manage. "No matter what your parents say or think, you ARE a winner." She let go of me then and pulled back to look me in the eyes. "Be that winner for us. For Arnold. But most importantly for yourself. You're the one who matters most of all."
I nodded my head to her, taking in her words for everything they were and offering a small smile. "I am?" I asked and Miles walked towards me then, standing behind Stella and grinning down at me.
"You are. You're special, Helga. Not everyone can win something like you just won and if your parents don't see that, then shame on them, but we see that and I know our son does too, don't you Arnold?" He asked and Arnold nodded his head assuredly.
"I certainly do," he said before Miles continued.
"As I said before, you have a gift, a one of a kind sort of gift that needs to be shared with the world and now it will be. You said this will be published?" He asked and I nodded my head.
"In the Life and Times magazine next month."
"Then we should celebrate!" Miles expressed with his arms up in the air. "I say we all go out for some ice cream down at Slausen's. What do you say, Helga, Arnold? You up for a celebration?"
I turned to face Arnold who was beaming beside me. "I think that sounds like just what this calls for," Arnold said and I smiled to him.
"I couldn't agree more."
So the four of us went out for ice cream at Slausen's with my big ole trophy and enjoyed each other's company laughing and talking the way a real family does when something amazing happens to someone. It was refreshing to get the kind of congratulations for once and to feel acknowledged by people I truly cared about. It was a feeling I'd never felt before in my entire life and I'll never forget it as long as I live.
Especially since I've written it down to live in infamy here in this precious journal I've yet to really thank Miles for.
More to come,
Helga G. Pataki
So even though the all conference thing isn't real, the rest of it is as i went to a young writer's conference when i was in the sixth grade and it was a BLAST of an experience and i really thought helga would be a great candidate to go to one as well so that's the inspiration for this particular chapter.
how did you like it? what did you think? Please leave me a REVIEW and let me know!
-Polka