Newspapers and magazines typically have websites that are equally as robust as their print publications -- not to mention the options available among niche websites or blogs.
The columns presetned here are those the Globe put on line, making them freely available to the public without cost, at the time they nominated Smith for the Pulitzer Prize. It is a painfully sharp reminder that she could be any child at all. The child remains blind, voiceless.
Her 10th birthday was Sunday. What kind of man would just grab that baby and hurt her that way? He just about killed that chile. I came up on these same streets two decades ago, back in the days when a village raised a child and every city block was a village.
Girls with floppingsweatsocks and a bottomless repertoire of rhyming songs skipped double-dutchon blacktop or city sidewalk, right outin the open. Boys with scraped kneesand dust in their hair screeched the ever-changing rules for stickball.
Neighborhoodresidents looked out for one another, Motown blared from wide-wide opens and the soothing smell ofsteaming collards wafted throughthe air. You can go home again. But now home is dotted with shuttered, graffiti-splashed storefronts and thriving taverns, along with piles of bricks and rubble where my apartment building once stood.
And trudging along that scarred landscape are people with compromised souls, people who are forever teetering on the verge of surrender. No music streams from windows long ago nailed shut.
Men clog the street corners in front of abandoned factories. Once-vibrant matriarchs, in sad imitation of their lives long ago, shuck peas and corn behind the steel-grated balconies of project high-rises while they watch their children and listen for bullets.
That man has a gun. So we teach our children the boundaries, invisible and resolute, that divide incomes, social backgrounds, skin color.
During this visit home, I saw pictures of Lenard for the first time. His face is bloated and blue, burst blood vessels like fireworks beneath his skin. And there was his mother arced over his hospital bed, whispering, whispering, searching frantically for a connection to a child who no longer resembles her son.
I come home from going home and remember 9-month-old Matthew Eappen, his skull cracked, the life seeping through. A year-old, living on the rough periphery of hearth and home, meets a fiery death in an abandoned trailer.
We hurl our children forth without armor, and we are running out of other ways to protect them. In all of our cities, in all our fondly-recalled home towns, they are the casualties of war. Meanwhile, two children are relearning speech, sight, movement.
In some ways, they are being reborn. Lenard, climbing back to the surface of the real world, found a word last week.
Computers wink suggestively, play music and make suggestions. Reporters e-mail each other even when their desks are two feet apart. Ominously, there may be a tiny television studio snuggled away in a corner.
When I was an enamored kid learning all I could from television portrayals of the news biz, its grit was also its romance. I imagined that every paper from Manhattan to Montana was populated by grizzled white guys with tobacco stained teeth and a bottle of proof inspiration tucked in their desk drawers.
Their flat, cavernous butts wallowed in threadbare corduroys. They were insufferable, petulant, egotistical, brooding -- but when they sat down at the typewriter there were those who simply refused to give up those Jurassic Underwoods and began punching away with two stubby forefingers, their prose could make you weep.
Or it could make you mad enough to plunge a letter opener into their hunched little backs. Goodbye, scowling growler who cleared the aisles with a glare, goodbye, spinning barstool, goodbye, ever-ready invective.
Inthe year I got my first newspaper job, newsrooms were an unsettling and potentially volatile mix of innovation and tradition, old farts and young turks.
And the Chicago Daily News was a newspaper in the grand tradition. Even today, 19 years after its untimely death, mention that you worked there and people nod respectfully, wistfully. And Mike Royko prowled the halls. Egos clashed and fistfights were common.
The next day, eyes bleary, they would arc tired bodies over the keyboard and they would write -- sweet, infuriating, righteous words somehow beyond mere mortals.Take This Dare - Write a Novel.
8 Atypical Summer Read Suggestions. Tagged with kids advice column 18 28 0 Dear Dish-It, I'm Scared to Go t Dear Dish-it. News Feed. Please write back to us and let us know how you’re doing. Ask Dr. M. for Advice on Your Problem I also recommend asking a parent to put you in a social skills group for teens, a safe environment for practicing these skills and meeting other kids going through similar struggles.
You can find examples of these exercises on the Internet. Use our sample 'Sample Advice Column.' Read it or download it for free. Free help from wikiHow. Before you pitch an idea to an editor, try having advice articles published elsewhere, suggests Suzette Martinez Standring, author of The Art of Column Writing on the National Society of Newspaper Columnists website.
The first thing to do is write down a couple of specific examples of how you were bullied so you can describe it clearly to an adult.
and they even describe different video games used to educate kids about there's no "calling dibs" on her (or anyone else)—she can make her own decision. So the best advice I can give is to just go for. Jan 10, · Don’t read other advice columns Pretend you are a turtle.
Stick your metaphorical head in your shell and assume that the world only exists as far as you do.