Diane Dean-Epps | What If?
"My
newest book,
KILL-TV, is one of my "what if,"
stream-of-consciousness moments parlayed into a plot. As a
mere lass in my twenties I spent several years working in the
radio and television industry where lessons abounded daily,
minute-by-minute deadlines were de rigueur, and my
video-to-script writing cost me all use and feeling in my
verbs.
Back in the day," when I discovered
the magic wrought by shoulder pads and their seemingly
mysterious ability to make my waist appear smaller than it
actually was, I came up with another mysterious point to
ponder: What if I wrote a comical and suspenseful story that
was based upon a combination of irritating characters I’d
worked with in broadcasting and, lest there be any residual
hostility on my part necessitating expensive counseling, I
just plain killed ‘em off?” You know…cheap therapy. This began
my year-long journey into the development of my most ambitious
novel to date,
KILL-TV, just by virtue of
continuity, scene changes, and plotting gyrations.
While some kind folks, to whom I am not related, have
commented that I am mildly amusing, humor does tend to always
find its way into anything I write. Having said that,
maintaining a humorous tone, snappy dialogue, and a fast pace
can be a daunting task, but it lent itself well to the setting
of the broadcast journalism world, a world that looks pretty
danged different from the inside out. I’m often asked why I
left the “glamorous” world of broadcasting for my full-time
gig as a teacher of Generation Y-ME?! to which I reply
cleverly, "Because." Truth be told, as I neared thirty, I was
subjected to the tandem aural experience of hearing my
biological and sociological clocks ticking; I wanted to
contribute to society and use what little experience I had
gained to serve people other than myself. Go figure how that
kind of thinking can be achieved and channeled through a girl
who refused to shop anywhere, but at a store rhyming with, "Lacy’s,"
until she was…well…thirty.
It may be said that humor is in the mind of the humorist –
okay, you got me – I said it and I’m not so sure it makes
sense, but just keep in mind, this is my wrap-up and I’m
trying to sound all smart, profound, and what-not. With a book
that is touted as "humorous," the trickiest part is creating a
connection with the reader by accessing the commonality of the
absurd and the things that make us all laugh. Being funny is
extremely subjective and when I’m fortunate enough to be in
front of someone, whether I’m doing stand-up, or just
performing one of my "bits" gratis, I at least have the dual
advantages of vocal and facial inflection. Writing does not
offer this and no amount of exclamation points, italicized
words, or clever dialogue can make someone laugh if the tone
hasn’t been set first.
In writing, one way I establish tone is to rely upon
situations that have happened, but then exaggerate the heck
out of them. This is how I created the scene between Leslie
and the recently deceased, Lincoln, where she gets her cute
little knit top stuck on his tie clasp. As she attempts to set
herself free by rocking back and forth in his lap, she creates
the illusion that she is in an unseemly coupling with the
boss, and this is in full view of anyone walking by in the
outer hallway area, which is just on the other side of the
control room glass partition. Combining the horror that a
character would feel over discovering her dead boss with a
slapstick type of physical interaction that is misinterpreted
by a key character is no mean feat, but I hope I’ve succeeded.
It is my fervent hope, desire, and wish that I have created a
tale in
KILL-TV that amuses the masses who
will graciously welcome these characters into their lives,
even briefly, and perhaps beyond if the alliterative
protagonist, Leslie Lloyd, agrees to a future foray into my
next book.
_______________________________
Sacramento
magazine October 2005
FRUSTRATION
ABOUT THE STATE OF PUBLIC EDUCATION DRIVES A HIGH SCHOOL
TEACHER TO
CONTEMPLATE A NEW CAREER IN THE POLITICAL ARENA.
BY DIANE DEAN-EPPS
PHOTOGRAPHY BY
BETH BAUGHER
MAKEUP BY SHERRI
MORRIS OF BRUSHWORX
Why would I leave the glamorous world of public education where,
oftentimes, it's a fight just to get a class set of books, let alone
four pairs of scissors that work at the same time? And don't get me
started on the paper scarcity, which practically qualifies clean
white paper as the Edsel of teaching instruments. The Garfield
poster hanging in my classroom used to say it all, admonishing, "You
don't scare me. I teach school for a living." But you know what? I
am scared. I'm scared that we're not coming up with real solutions
because we haven't identified the real problems. Teachers are not
the problem, but they make for an easy target.
These days I feel
a little like I'm a first-time speaker at an AA meeting when I meet
new people. "Hello. My name is Diane and I'm a high school English
teacher." Folks tend to nod their heads sympathetically as they
exclaim, "Good for you! I couldn't do it." Perhaps my contemplation
of "educator flight" is because my profession has taken on the
patina of "endangered species," in which case, as a teacher I may be
the proverbial dodo. Rounds of well-meaning but off-kilter
legislation like "No Child Left Behind," which I lovingly call
"Every Teacher Left Behind," has many of us working on resumes that
haven't been updated since We listed our employment objective as
"wanting to make a difference." No Child Left Behind, in particular,
forces teachers to prove they are "highly qualified" even though the
state of California has already certified them as such, creating
more work for everyone, particularly the teachers. This does not
benefit children.
It all has me thinking. And we know what happens when someone with
just enough knowledge to be dangerous begins thinking. An
intellectual Molatov cocktail: a new trilevel hairstyle, conversion
to a vegan lifestyle or, as in my case, entering a career change
turnstile. Maybe I'll run for Director of Sanity in the Department
of Education, or write speeches of some sort for a liberal-leaning,
bipartisan-thinking dude or dudette.
Maybe spunk is
responsible for this new journey. I've always had spunk, and spunk
has helped me almost as often as it's gotten me in so far over my
head I need a fireman's ladder to read the directions for what I'm
doing. Yes, I've got the spunk gene, and it was a spunky little me
who entered the field of education after leaving the world of
broadcasting 15 years ago. No one could understand then why I would
leave the glitz (translation: nonstop stress) of television for
teaching, and maybe no one will understand why I now contemplate
departure from teaching into politics. But I want all of you to know
why.
It's not so much
that I am "over" my chosen profession as a public school educator as
I am "over" the rhetoric and poor behavior that has me wanting to
put educated adults who are more interested in sound bites than
sound solutions into a corner on a collective time-out until they
can "use their words," "talk nicely" and "be respectful." You know.
Like teachers tell grade school kids to do when they're acting
naughty. I want to lend my voice to the plebe legislative chorus
that has come out of the trenches and really knows what we've been
fighting for, instead of listening to those who were last in a
classroom when chalkboards abounded. (For the record, mostly we use
whiteboards now with cool, colored pens. I won't kid you: I'll miss
writing on those whiteboards.)
Many things lead
me to the Capitol besides my failed sense of direction that
consistently has me exiting, unplanned, on freeway off ramps that
always seem to lead downtown, presenting a true metaphor for life.
There is a natural progression at work here that cannot be simply
charged off to rampant idealism. Not only am I a teacher, but I am a
writer who has been telling other people's stories yea these many
years. Now I want to tell all of you the stories of my "special
interest" group: our kids. That's right. Your kids. My kids.
No Child Left Behind, in
particular, forces teachers to prove they are "highly qualified"
even though the state of California has already certified them as
such, creating more work for everyone, particularly the teachers.
Recently, in one week, I dealt with a student's emotional outburst
as a result of a pregnancy scare, and her classmate needed to talk
to me-during class-because he was having a whole lot of feelings
bubble to the surface because it was the anniversary of his father's
death. Along about that same time, I had to call Child Protective
Services because one of my students told me that she had nowhere to
live and nothing else to wear because her mother had kicked her out.
Granted, every week isn't like this one. Some weeks I even teach a
little grammar, conduct a little state-testing soft shoe and require
an essay to be written that doesn't use nonexistent verb
combinations like "could of."
Teaching is rather like many jobs that are high stress, high
pressure, high maintenance, but have some great day-off patterns
(think firefighters and nurses). From the outside looking in, the
career looks attractive and easy and, dare I say, heroic. The
reality is that an individual would last about the time it took to
write this article if the only motivation was a run of long
vacations. After approximately 180 days a year of enduring our
students' collective pain, it's possible that the eight-week
vacation teachers enjoy every summer really is a mental necessity.
These sweet, needy, verbal children are our special-interest group
and we drop everything when they open up, but it costs us. Even so,
it's not enough for me to limit my efforts to the classroom. Maybe
the fact that I connect with them is exactly why I'm compelled to
seek an audience on their behalf. I wish to work with those
who still believe, as I do, that the legislative system is mainly
populated with a majority. A majority of good folks who work for
their constituents on a daily, and sometimes hourly, basis. Who
honestly try to be, well, honest. These are the folks who feel it's
important to visit a cross section of schools, not just the cute
little classrooms where people wear funny hats as they hold books
from which they read in a sing-songy voice, but also schools that
sometimes seem as though they are prisons, minus the sound of
barbells clunking together after each set of reps.
Sure, I may be leaving my "cushy" job where I get up at 5 every
morning, stop and get a latte that costs half of my hourly wage and
toddle on in to run my small business of 180 workers, some of whom
want to be there. It's downright luxurious using those Dollar Tree
pens I purchase that occasionally write the first time, perching on
my thrift-store chair that's missing a crucial bolt so I list to the
right-or is it to the left? (perhaps a subliminal political message
there.) And the workload. Now that is sweet. I continuously show up
ready to do my job-teaching material per state-mandated English
content standards to high school students-while I listen to my
students, trying to meet their emotional needs, as I read in the
papers about the dismantling of my STRS retirement program. All of
this as I fight for things like dictionaries, tables that can stand
longer than I can and mileage reimbursement for a job-related
conference I attended six months ago.
Why would I contemplate leaving the field of education and try my
hand at framing events in a highly charged political environment?
OK, I'll answer a question with a question. How does that basic
criteria differ from the job I am currently working? Because with
this big mouth, active pen and idealistic viewpoint, I unknowingly
have been politically active my whole life. Whether I'm spiritedly
debating the issues surrounding the exit exam, sticking up for
teenagers and their need for vocational options (no, they don't all
go to college and yes, it's true that some do begin college, but
unfortunately the majority do not finish), or simply showing up to
teach a group of underaged voters, I am in the fray. In the
political arena. Because that is where you are when you care. When
you devote your life to causes, you learn to harness the passion and
effect positive change. It's not OK to sit back and let others do
it.
Oh, sure, I've fantasized about the sound of my high heels on those
beautiful marble floors at the Capitol as I clop around fighting for
justice like some sort of middle-aged superhero, maybe Estrogen
Woman. I've even thought about a dream press conference where the
Democrats and Republicans sit side by side and rediscover the power
of compromise. Oh, how I want what I want, but I know things just
don't work that way. And then there's that visual where I'm dressed
to the nines-heck, maybe to the 15s-talking to legislators and being
heard by them. But that's always a teacher's fantasy. Saying words
that will motivate. Inspire. Get through to those who aren't big on
listening. It would be a thrill to have people, even adults,
actually listen intently to me without commenting, "Dude. Did you,
like, totally dye your hair this weekend?" Heady stuff, this
contemplation of political recourse through verbal discourse.
And
yet I am fearful-fearful of not being with my teenaged "peeps" and
hearing their funny cadence of speaking, their queries about how my
weekend was, their endless complaints about homework, the early
hours of our school and the icky smell that makes my oId portable
classroom reek like warm, day-old raccoon. I am fearful that I will
lose my way without them to guide me daily, because any teacher who
is worth the money it takes to pay union dues knows that a teacher
learns much more from the students than the students learn from the
teacher. I'm not sure if I'll ever run for elected office, but I
know that running away isn't an option. What was that freeway exit
for the Capitol again?
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