GVoice even asked Barnes & Noble their idea of the future of the digital word: "Barnes & Noble continues to focus on offering the best reading and media experience in the market – we keep doing what we’re doing because it’s working.  Our business model suggests if we continue to scale our user base and content, we’ll have an amazing business [in the electronic book market.]  The growth of our digital and physical sales have been complementary. NOOK has been a big traffic driver into our stores and our booksellers have been a huge factor in our success in digital. Our always free in-store support is a big differentiator for us.  We were thrilled for NOOK to beat all of our wildest expectations.  While we don’t release sales numbers, we can say that we have sold millions of NOOK products and look forward to selling millions more."

Lisa Schroeder, author of The Day Before, answered our question as part of a continuation of the Vegas Valley Book Festival.

Q: What is the future of the written word? [With the advent of e-books, will we still be able to open up a hardcover book? Are Facebook/Twitter/Blog Posts considered published works?]

A: "The landscape is definitely changing as far as reading goes. But I don't believe that the actual book will go away any time soon. There are still too many people who love the look, the feel, the smell of real books. Furthermore, there is nothing like holding a small child on your lap, reading a book together, looking at the illustrations, and sharing in that experience. I'm of the opinion, and so are a lot of parents, that nothing takes the place of that. Both of my boys loved Richard Scarry's Busy Town books, for example. The illustrations were such a big part of that reading experience, and we would scour the pages trying to find Goldbug. Yes, e-readers are becoming more and more popular but I have heard a lot of people say they buy both e-books and regular books. This is what I hope continues - that e-readers will get more people reading, and we will see both kinds of books selling well.I'm optimistic about the future of the written word. Especially when there are so many teens like you who care about it and support it."

Don't forget to check out LIsa Schroeder's latest YA novel, called THE DAY BEFORE, about a girl whose world is about to turn upside down, so she goes to the beach to spend the perfect day, when she meets a boy, and things get even more complicated. You can find it at Barnes and Noble, and can read more about all of her books here: www.lisaschroederbooks.com.

Read contributions from GVoice Contributors and Guests below.

By Ashley Martinez, GVoice Contributor

I stare up at you as you stare down at me.
Your eyes follow the motions of a typewriter.
Even when alone, in the comfort of your serenity, I see your unconscious reactions.
I feel the pain as your tears fall upon my face.
I hear the joy as your laughter vibrates off my pages.
I experience your anger as you thrust me around the room in frustration.
I am found on your hand, in a notebook, on a screen, within the pages of a book.
I am your source of knowledge, entertainment, and documentation.
But now you abandon me.
But now you torture me.
But now you ruin me.
My elegant nature has gone and been replaced by elementary slander.
My blood is now written in ink expended by machine rather than the tip of your pen.
Must I progress and adjust to your future?
Do I not have the right to remain in the past, in the years of my emergence, in the memories of my existence?
I feel as though all are like you; they tear me to pieces and cease to remember my part in their lives.
I have helped to make you who you are and yet you leave me here, in a grave of despair, waiting to disintegrate, to blow away in the wind, and forever be lost.
But you are different, aren’t you?
You have picked up a pen.
You have written words.
You have continued my legacy.

By Zeina Amhaz, GVoice Guest Contributor, Class of 2013

            Martin Heidegger once asked, "What does it mean 'to save'? Usually we think that it means only to seize hold of a thing threatened by ruin, in order to secure it… But the verb 'to save' says more. 'To save' is to fetch something home into its essence, in order to bring essence for the first time into its genuine appearing." To take Heidegger’s words in the most literal sense, many would argue that in contemporary times the printed word must be “saved” and brought back to its physical essence. Since the era of the cavemen, the way words have been presented has been constantly changing and has now evolved into mere pixels on digital screens. When evaluating the transformations the physical appearance of words has undergone, one cannot help but to predict the further increased use of technology to read to what was once printed text.

            Using technology to read and access information has become so exceedingly efficient that the worth, perceived or real, of printed words is steadily diminishing. Some may say that it is important to preserve the scent and feel of books; however, are the scent and feel of books really worth preserving when one can effortlessly store thousands of books in a rectangular device that weighs less than six ounces? Books are becoming easier to access, and readers are undeniably taking advantage. Amazon has been a thriving force, making millions in Kindles and e-books. Yet, with so many consumers supporting e-books, there remain major opponents of this technological revolution. JK Rowling, most notably, refuses to sell her books virtually, claiming that she wants her readers to have the experience of physical books. Nonetheless, as the number of books and independent bookstores decreases and the number of e-books sold increases, the only thing left seen collecting dust in the corner is hope for the printed word.

            With virtual advancements constantly developing, the electronic delivery of words has a significant impact on our generation. While some are attempting to preserve and save the rawness of print, others are embracing the modern changes. Certainly, this digital uprising in text marks the beginning of a new chapter in history as the chapter of the printed word slowly yet surely closes.

By Co-Founder and Co-Editor-in-Chief, Jordan Orris, Class of 2012

I have always been a reader
the smell of a new book
the woody scent
invites me along on a new adventure.

The subtle crack of the spine
as the book opens for the first time
excites me even more, as I await
to pore over the author's words.

The digitized glow of an e-book
on my iPhone does not excite me
in the same way, for it does not even feel
as though I am engaging in my favorite activity.

Reading

Borders—a place where I would sit down
on the floor, craning my neck to see
the titles of the books, and copy
them into a notebook: my
Book-it list—closed down.

I hope never to see bookstores and libraries
disappear off the face of the Earth,
nor told that I can only get a certain book
on my Kindle, or Nook, or Kobo, or iBook,
or epub, or pdf, or...

A book is a magnificent thing.
The ink, the page, and rarely
an extra inkblot or two
are charming, endearing, and comfortable.

I don't want to see it end,
a book, the written word,
my favorite friend.

By Co-Founder and Co-Editor-in-Chief, Sean Elezra, Class of 2012

The Future of the Written Word
Sean Elezra

 Journalism is dying. Newspapers are becoming obsolete. Magazines are disintegrating and online media is taking control. Welcome to the future. My future. I want to be a journalist.
At least, this is what I am told incessantly by my parents, friends, and teachers after the word “journalist” leaves my mouth. Amidst all of these misconceptions, I still cannot imagine a day where the written article would become obsolete; where reading the New York Times and drinking a tall iced coffee at Starbucks loses its thrill.
My future career choice is one that is based in writing. Although I would like to say that the written word will never become outdated, I believe as time progresses the written word won’t exist, based upon new literary, news, and technological outlets that are constantly being produced. Society is constantly being bombarded with new technologies to view their books, whether it be the Barnes and Noble Nook, Amazon Kindle, or Apple’s iPad. Just this summer we saw the bankruptcy of one of the biggest book distributors in the nation—Borders. What is to say that in the next couple years newspapers and magazines will also disappear? The answer: on one unfortunate day we will see the demise of beloved, tangible writing.
The media will be one of the most important social sectors that will be affected by the written word’s destruction. It will change the face of how the public receives their breaking news, and how constituents can access information and become more knowledgeable. In my opinion, writing leads to social understanding and wellbeing. If the written word disappears, I believe that the public as a whole will become increasingly despondent and lack knowledge in all areas of study, whether it be the world around them or the local communities. Will all information be placed online, or will the Internet fade along with new, more effective technologies?
These new technologies that display the written word have not only affected the media, but it has also affected the classroom. This year, many teachers at Green Valley have updated their curricula to include discussions and quizzes on Turnitin.com. Although this necessarily does not pertain to the destruction of the written word, it displays a change in the landscape of education in modern times. If you look back to twenty, even a hundred years ago, the main form of communication in the classroom was through essay composition and reading literature. I would not be surprised to see that in twenty years, students just listen too books on audio CD and use speech (without writing) as a main form of communication. Forget AP Literature and Composition, it would more like AP Audio CD Literature and Listening.
Whenever the word “journalist” leaves my mouth, I am always given the same response. My parents and friends constantly say that news and magazine print will vanish, along with the written word.  In the end, I am hoping to rid society of the idea that “journalism is dying, newspapers are becoming obsolete, and online media is taking control”. If anything, that means that I will only have to work harder to pursue this goal; it is not only my future, but the future of communication as we know it.  That is why I am a journalist.

By Sean Elezra, Co-Editor-in-Chief

In 1621, the Pilgrims began a holiday tradition that would be passed down for centuries to come. Set in the month of November, Thanksgiving in Plymouth colony was a celebration of the year’s harvest and another successful year of North American colonization. Elementary school students learn this every year as Thanksgiving approaches; yet many adults seem to forget the importance of this favorite American tradition. One thing I always seem to forget as I gobble down the turkey, stuffing, and pecan pie: Thanksgiving is about recognizing those moments and people that have made a difference in my life.

I am thankful for many things this Thanksgiving, but primarily I am thankful for the things that I take for granted every day. Most people around the world are not given half of the privileges that American children are given: shelter, food, and all of the other necessities of life. I am grateful to not have to worry about what I will eat for dinner every night, how I will pay for the next bill, or how I will survive the upcoming winter.

I am thankful to be given the right to study and learn more about topics that I usually complain about on a daily basis. Although I yawn at the idea of Calculus homework, I am grateful that I am given the chance to study upper level mathematics. In the days that I grunt when assigned a novel in English, I am always happy after reading the novel because of the lessons it taught me. When I take this notion into account, I am grateful for my future collegiate opportunities that my ancestors were never given. My parents and grandparents were drafted into the Israeli military when they turned eighteen years old and were not given a choice to continue to college after high school. Although the army taught them many life lessons, it is because of their hard work and move to America that I am able to continue to learn and explore the world around me.

And last but not least, I am thankful for GVoice, which has given me a forum to discover and share my opinions with other students. It is through GVoice that I have renewed my love of the written word and creative writing. It has filled the gap that has gone missing with the many tiresome essays that have filled my high school career.

Though most students would pick one person or moment in time to complete this prompt, I chose to assimilate many moments in time that have shaped me into the person I am today. I feel that through this compilation of moments, I am able to accurately reflect the moments I am most grateful for.

By Abby Anderson, Guest Contributor

The last time I saw him, he was sitting in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV right after his fall had taken a turn for the worse. He evidentially was in a lot of pain but he kept his screams of anguish inside. He buried them deep beneath smiles and laughter, which he used as his main medication. His smile was one of complete congeniality and when it was flashed in your direction, you felt like you were the center of his world. People never took a conversation with him for granted because they always left you feeling better about yourself. When we went to visit my great grandpa Harold, you could hear his belly laugh echoing down the hall and you knew you were bound to find a crowd of nurses, anxious to hear his latest joke.  I feel incredibly blessed to have had such an amazing character in my family. I would love to be recognized as an optimist with a sincere smile by the time I reach 97 like he did. He is my role model, and although I know I will never be just like him, I have tried in life to make people feel special, just as Harold did. He showed me that the simplest touch or spark of optimism makes your life better by making the lives of those around you better.

            I have sensed a lack of positive attitudes in my family ever since Harold's death, and  have willingly assumed the optimistic role that he left to be filled. And even as I become involved in new families, that urgent need for a kind smile still exists. The theatre has become my home away from home and I have often found it in need of an optimist. This was made clear as our Advanced Acting class sat in a close knit circle on the dimmed stage. A serious tone had a thick presence as one by one, we made ourselves completely vulnerable, opening the sealed doors of our pasts. My heart ached and my brow drooped as I heard troubling secrets be shared. More dramatic narratives filled the space and I remembered the power of my grandpa's smile. I extended a hand and a smile to a close friend whose painful spilling of struggles went far beyond anything I could fathom.  She returned my hand squeeze and stopped crying as she whispered "Thank you." Moments like these reiterate the simple lessons that Harold taught me and make me want to shine my constant happiness onto those living in hushed shadows, as did my grandpa.

            I have learned the advantages of being an optimist through the behavior of one man. He showed me that through the betterment of myself I can help others on their path to discover happiness and self worth. That in the end, inspires my goal to go through life touching others and leaving behind a legacy of purely smiles...a legacy that would give my grandpa one more thing to smile about.

By Jordan Orris, Co-Editor-in-Chief

A few years ago on Thanksgiving, my family gave my grandmother, MeMe, a digital photo frame filled with pictures of her life. I helped by scanning in photos of my grandmother as a baby, as a second-grader with braided hair, and as a young mother holding baby Uncle Jim. From these pictures of her life, I learned much about my grandmother. I gained a deeper understanding of my grandmother as a woman. The woman who has been an inspiration to me growing up.  She’s touched my life so deeply.

    My grandmother had unusually humble beginnings. Born in Hot Springs, Arkansas in the middle of the Great Depression, “MeMe”, as I call her, did not have much to call her own. Her mother, my Nannie, remarried when MeMe was young. She describes her childhood as, “difficult”. Her parents had little education, so MeMe had to continually push herself to finish school.  Now a vivacious seventy-eight year old, my grandmother leads a wholesome life. One of her principal qualities is an extreme sense of generosity. Her willingness to give to others is remarkable. She has instilled in me the core value of giving and has inspired me in so many other ways.

     MeMe has shown me how to be honest. She tells me to confront my problems and to own up for my mistakes. Friendly - She encourages me to be happy, positive, and to let my light shine for the world. Consdiderate - She reminds me to think of how my words and actions make other people feel.

     From MeMe, I’ve learned stewardship of money. She taught me the value of a dollar, and an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Service to others is another life’s lesson she has taught me.  To serve others is one of the truest forms of fulfillment and allows us to touch the world - one life at a time.

     MeMe is committed to education.  Since my grandmother had to strive so hard to work her way through school; she values education deeply.  She reminds me not to give up, and to never lose sight of my goals. MeMe has taught me how to be a good citizen.  She is exceedingly well-informed and seriously involved in politics, always stressing the importance of voting and having an informed opinion. MeMe has reminded me to break a sweat every day, emphasizing the value of exercise and healthy living. I believe one of the most important values I’ve gained from her mentoring is humility.  I’ve learned from MeMe that I do not have to be the loudest person in the room to make the most impact.

     I’ve gained immensely from her example and strive to emulate the beautiful characteristics and qualities my grandmother possesses. These “Little Pearls of Wisdom”, as she calls them, guide me daily.  Whenever I see MeMe, she tells me, “Keep polishing my pearls”. I am so thankful to have MeMe in my life.  She is my biggest fan, my inspiration, a remarkably gracious woman. My MeMe, I love you and I thank God he placed you in my life.

By Stephanie Salazar, Guest Contributor

He’s been a close friend of mine since my freshman year, but unfortunately he had to graduate two years ago. Now it’s my turn to graduate and we’re already getting ready to dive head first into a closer world together.

Back in high school we were never in sync with one another’s wave lengths. When he liked me, I didn’t like him and when I liked him he didn’t like me. It was like a never ending see saw ride with him. Despite our feelings for one another we would drop them immediately after rejection to keep our friendship stable. We had the type of friendship that was unconditional. If I had somehow hurt his feelings he would still stand next to me supportively. There was always those nights when we would just spill out all our problems to one another and it wouldn’t be burdensome to either of us to give advice or help. Those problems we’re the reason why we could bond together so much night after night.

My phone rang and I picked it up to see that He was calling. He was having problems again and I noticed a heavy breathing. It’s almost like he was uncontrollably sobbing. It kind of scared me because I wasn’t really used to hearing him cry, he’s not the type of guy to start balling out with tears. Even though I tried to calm him down by softly telling him “I’m here, it’s okay.” But it only got worse every time I said it. I had no clue what was wrong, I just knew I needed to calm him down. I tried saying everything I could to help him, but it seemed as if he wasn’t even listening. Then my final solution was to wait for him. Maybe he needed to just cry out whatever was bothering him.

Approximately an hour later he begins to whimper softly and you can barely hear his strong panting. I asked if he was ready to talk about “it” yet. That moment was really awkward for me, usually we would be able to stay comfortable in silence, but that moment, I felt like I could see him on the other side of the phone. My mind was clouded with how blank his face was and how his lips quivered as he attempted to tell me his story. This issue was definitely one that was extremely agonizing for him. Finally a word broke through, “Steph...” I held my phone closer to my ear to listen, “I can’t breathe.” I tried to give reason for it “It’s probably just because you were crying too much,” but the more I tried he became more and more offended. All I could do was wonder what was wrong and tell him “breathe easy, inhale, exhale.” This definitely was one of the stranger problems he had come to me for. What came next was something I really wasn’t prepared for. It was the next thing that broke out through his lips. “I’m dieing..” He spoke in staggeringly because he could not stop panting “because…” word after word it got worse, but then he let it all out in one burst “I have something wrong with my heart.” The minute I heard this my eyes began to water. Tears started flowing from my eyes uncontrollably to the point where I absolutely hated the world. Here is a man with a heart disease who does not deserve it at all. A man who I always considered to have the biggest heart of all, is dieing slowly. What hurt me the most is how neither of us could do anything about it. No one had a car, no one was home, no one could help. I gradually started to yell “call the doctor or your mom, please!” He wouldn’t listen. In fact it seemed like he had gone silent himself and all his crying had been transferred over to me. I’d been so overwhelmed with feeling that I couldn’t even think straight myself. I didn’t know what to say. All I knew is that I still had hope to save him. I held my phone closer to my ear to listen for him, but all I heard was a dog barking in the background. My heart began to hurt itself. These bent up emotions were pouring out of my eyes. Why did such a great person have to be cursed with an early death? Anger built up in me more and more until I was at the point of insanity myself. I looked at the phone in my hand and threw it at a wall. My legs became weak and my body sore from the pain that I’m losing someone over a phone. I couldn’t help blame myself for being useless. Tears and tears flowing I screamed “I couldn’t help, I couldn’t help!” Then across the room I could hear something, it was a slight breathing where you could tell his phone was close to his lips just enough to hear that breath. It was almost as if he knew I was listening for him earlier so he tried to comfort me with his breathing. I didn’t think that just that sound would be something so valuable to me. There’s still hope to save him. I can save him. It was the first night in so many years of atheism that I prayed for something. Even though I felt prayers we’re absolutely useless and would not do anything, I tried everything to get him to stay that extra day with me. That night we stayed on the phone together until morning. How I wish I could have stayed everyday with him until he would leave me, I wanted to be the one to stay by his side when he needed it most. Until that day comes I’m going to make everyday for him the best it can be.

He gave me a purpose in life and a sense of gratitude towards the life I’m given. He didn’t know it back then, but although I would tell him I didn’t like him, in reality I loved him, so much. I was just scared of losing our friendship with one another if we did go out, but now it’s not the friendship I’m afraid of losing, it’s him.

By Taylor Rice, GVoice Contributor, Class of 2012

            She compliments my grades while she critiques my gymnastics. She laughs at my jokes while she reprimands me for my attitude. She is my toughest critic and my biggest supporter, and she is my mother.

            There are so many things in my life that I could choose to write about that I am grateful for, but nothing stands out quite like my mother does. Her guidance has had a greater positive effect on me than anything else in my life. It is necessary to note that she is my coach as well, so this has caused tension in our relationship over the years; yet it is only through gymnastics that I have gotten to know my mother the way that I do.

            It all started with an old, beaten-up building that my mother decided to transform into a gymnastics facility nearly 19 years ago, just before I was born. My parents were struggling to keep the business open for the first few years. Though I do not remember these years vividly, I do remember my mother’s account of these years. She would recollect the struggle that she had to go through to keep the business alive, the constant hours that she devoted to improving what she could, and the physical labor that was involved to renovate the building. I would listen in awe at these stories of her dedication to the once-meager business as I turned and saw the thriving business outside of her office window, and it was then that I learned that perseverance is the key to success.

            Growing up in the “gym”, I was apt to want the perks of being the “owner’s daughter”. If a coach was mean to me, I would want to go and run and complain to my mother. However, what I ended up finding every time I complained to her was that she was not sympathetic to me in the slightest. My complaint would often be retorted with, “What do you think you did to upset the coach?” This sort of question always came across to me as hurtful in the moment because I felt as if she did not trust my opinion, yet in retrospect I have come to find that it is another one of the great life-lessons that my mother has managed to teach me. I have learned to look to myself before I blame other people. I have found that the people who blame others for their problems in life are often the ones who never end up doing anything about those problems because they feel powerless and justified in blaming someone else. In other words, it is an easy way out, and that is not what my mother taught me.

            I could go on and on about the multitude of things that I have learned from my mother, yet the real thing that I am grateful for could never be justly quantified or properly spelled out because it is the combination of enjoyment and discipline, tolerance and demand, and love. It is this balance that she has managed to create as a parent that I will always be grateful for.

By Ashley Martinez, GVoice Contributor, Class of 2012

In the middle of an empty lot, standing behind those who mirror his disposition, a man walks closer to his salvation. He steps forward. He can smell it now, the sweet taste of life, a bowlful of necessity.  He steps forward. To his right, a dark creature lurks about scavenging for crumbs. He steps forward. The earth is bare like his stomach, the sky blank like the expression in his eyes, and the road ahead unknown but promising like the gift he is waiting to receive. He steps forward. And yet, a smile penetrates from his somber lips and grows as his face draws nearer to hers. He steps forward. They shake rapidly, his hands, but his mind does not rule them anymore. He steps forward. A crumpled rag is his shirt, what use to be blue jeans are now brown capris, and two shoes lay upon the tops of his feet, no doubt having been punctured in past times. He steps forward. But no tears stream from his saddened eyes like waterfalls. He steps forward. And no bursts of anger emerge from his body. He steps forward. Alas, they meet face to face; we met eye to eye. He stared at me with anticipation. His eyes wandered from mine to the silver spoon that clung between my fingers and the giant pot that sat below my waist. In sudden realization that I was withholding his prize, I hastened my actions. I drowned my ladle into an abyss of macaroni and beef, and carefully placed an enlarged ration into his white, paper bowl. He thanked me. He thanked me! HE THANKED ME! All I had done was deliver a meager meal, but to him, I was the key that opened the door to his salvation; I had saved him for a day. He walked away gaily, with a jump in his step. I watched in awe as he departed; his future unknown to all. And then it ran across my mind like the leading track star on a field, a thought that can never be erased from the whiteboard that is my mind: be grateful for the little things because they mean a great deal more than one might think.

The next person stepped forward.

By Michael Lester, Guest Contributor

           Picture this moment.  I’m at work on the night shift.  My stomach has been upset all day and I’ve only made one sale.  I begin to think to myself how unlucky I am that I got stuck with the most boring shift at a job that requires me to drive half an hour away from my house.  Having a job can certainly be a cruel mistress.  Then a customer walked in and I initially rolled my eyes at the thought of another person who would try on seven items of clothing and end up buying nothing.  Then I looked up.             

            She had a growth disorder so her bones were too fragile for her to walk without a walker.  She had a another woman with her to help her with whatever it is she needed, and not once did I see the woman’s companion have to do anything.  The woman hobbled around grabbing a few dresses here and there to try on.  I approached her and asked if she’d like me to start a change room for her.  She replied very politely that she would appreciate it.

            It took her almost an hour to try everything on and come to the counter and tell me that nothing quite fit right and she wasn’t going to buy anything; however, instead of my usual irritation I was overcome with a sense of sorrow.  I was complaining that my stomach was upset that day, but she can never walk correctly for the rest of her life.  I was complaining that I had a boring shift at my job, but it may be impossible for her to even have a job.  I was complaining that it took me half an hour to drive to work, but while I had a car she would never even be able to drive. 

            Seeing that woman that day at that exact moment was exactly what I needed.  A reality check.  My life isn’t perfect by any means, but to think that I have it so badly that I feel sorry for myself is pitiful.  No matter what hardships any person has endured there is always someone who can have it worse.  From that moment on I saw my own life in a much different way.  I suddenly became thankful for my old beat up car, long distance job, and occasional stomach problems, because that woman showed me how truly privileged I am.

By Brenda Mendez, Guest Contributor

Over the past 8 years I have lost so many things. I have lost my Grandmother who was also my best friend, my uncle, who was always showing me his affection. My sister whom I used to talked to everyday. The majority of my family no longer has anything to do with me. I also lost myself in a world of darkness where nothing mattered not even myself.

Until today, for the past 4 years all I have been able to do is dwell on what I have lost. I have hated myself, locked myself inside myself. I have recently been diagnosed as being bi-polar. Due to the medication I am on I have realized a few things. I have a hard time concentrating on things, because thoughts race through my mind constantly. I have also realized these thoughts are often more positive than negative.

This brings me to today. Today, I have realized how many things I have to be thankful for. The night Granny died a part of me died with her. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. Today I realized it isn't that night and my loss that I should dwell on. I'm thankful for having all the wonderful memories I have. For the love and relationship we shared. I am thankful that on that night, she passed away; she was home where she wanted to be surrounded by her family. I am thankful I was holding her hand. I am thankful for the memories I have with the others I have lost and miss so much. I am thankful for my parents stepping in and not letting my life get out of control. I am thankful for the love that has found me.

For the past year and a half I have been thankful for having a new future to look forward to. One with the promise of love safety, and happiness. I am thankful for my parents love and support. I am thankful for their hugs, kisses, and I love them. I am thankful for the few true friends that I have made. The ones who have stood beside me, listened when I cried, rejoiced with me when I was happy. For the good morning and good night phone calls. For the ones to just say I love you. I know that not every day will be like today. There will still be bad moments, but I am thankful for the happy moments. I am thankful for today.

By Jeri Mallory, Guest Contributor

The wind blew our hair into our faces as we walked up to the street corner. It was a cool day, warm for that time of year. They were there all lined up on the road. The homeless, the sick, the hungry, waiting for us, for the comforts we were to bring them. I glanced around at the faces of the charity workers who walked beside me. There faces were an array of emotions. Some eyes were shining with the happiness of giving, some full of pity for the throng of people spread out before us. I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. We reached the group at the end of the block and every one started to hand out the supplies they had brought. Coats and blankets, things that would be needed during the harsh winter nights that were fast approaching. I surveyed the crowd. The sounds of conversations and laughter floated over to me. I watched as a homeless man talked to one of the charity workers, one human being to another. One woman clutched a rosary in her hand thanking a man who had handed her a cup of coffee. I watched as a look of happiness spread across a young girl's face when her mother handed her a teddy bear with one eye missing. I saw sadness in the mothers eyes, and wondered if this was the closest thing to Christmas that they would get this year. I began to softly sing Feliz Navidad. An elderly woman who had glanced over in my direction began to sing along with me. All around the street corner people began to sing. Hesitantly at first, and then with strong clear voices everyone was singing. It was a beautiful. the sound it surrounded the block with an aura of joy. The happiness in the air was almost tangible. All too soon the song ended. The last note seeming to hover in the air for a moment until the last voice faded away. Everybody went back to what they were doing. That day ended, the year went on, and Christmas passed. other memories have faded from my mind, but this one remains. I am thankful for that moment, thankful that I got to experience that moment. It was as if my eyes were altered that day, for I have never looked at any thing the same way ever again.

Evocative and freeing,
Poetry allows us to connect with our innermost being.
There's a melodic heartsong inside of each of us
which helps to understand
the depths of our souls.

Through poetry, we inscribe that heartsong
onto paper, or even to the pitter-patter of the keyboard.
GVoice is departing from its normal essay format with the first ever poetry prompt.

We are partnering with GVHS' brand new print literary publication, Mirrors, and have chosen selected works from their Creative Writing publication for this prompt, which highlights some of the top poems from the class.
The staff and contributors are extremely excited to welcome Mirrors to the outstanding legacy of Green Valley High School publications!
Remember to keep an eye out for new posts from guest GVoice contributors later this month as we promote the National Anti-Bullying Month, and the school-wide GatorHAVEN Anti-Bullying Campaign. Teachers, students, staff, and even parents have been extremely receptive to GatorHAVEN. We have asked our guest contributors to tell about a time when they were bullied, and how it felt; if they observed bullying, and did not do anything to stop it; or even about a time when they were the bully, and how they regret their actions.
In the Gator Spirit,

Jordan Orris and Sean Elezra
Co-Founders & Co-Editors-In-Chief
Class of 2012

By Rebellious Fate; a pseudonym for an actual gator. Rebellious Fate is a member of the Mirrors Literary Magazine.

Sitting in the midst of my space,

Consuming air in my room.

A storage place they told me,

They promised to get you out soon.

Yet months later on my carpet you,

You still stand your place.

You, preventing me from moving around,

Persistently consuming room in my space.

You stand so proud with one more leg than me.

Well, most of the time you stand,

Until your pride gets you put away.

I refuse to let your arrogance get out of hand. You hold my memory catchers,

Shining back along with them.

Our relationship is not strained

And secretly, I've grown to you.

When folded up you may be,

Another great sight to see.

Your legs are hidden and

You are packed aside.

Yet that only happens when

Your arrogance resides.

When you are hidden away,

I feel like we can relate.

Many don't see us until they look,

But when they look, we can shine.

Just ourselves in our uninterrupted lives,

Some days we can venture a little outside.

You're used but never thanked.

My mother's main sacrifice and falter.

Yet when you stand tall,

Your questionability rings just of my father.

The fear you instill in me,

As you disguise yourself at night in my shadows.

You've become a service for almost every use,

But the one you were intended to provide.

We have a bond together,

Which is questionable as to why.

With you being a Tripod and me, being I

By Magnolia Isles, a pseudonym for an actual Gator. Magnolia Isles is a member of the Mirrors Literary Magazine.

Walking through Caesar's Jungle.

Leafy greens left and right,

With stems like the trunk of a tree.

Tangy dressing covers everything,

Like fresh rain falling in winter.

Crotons are strewn about the land,

Like rocks on the forest floor.

Grated cheese, here and there,

Like vines from trees in a jungle.

To deforest this precious land,

I feel both agonly and love.

For though I get this delicious food,

 Before I know it, it's gone.

Croutons and lettuce stems,

 Crunch between my teeth.

I savor the sour dressing,

Accented with the cheese.

When it is gone,

I scrape the plate.

Not knowing when,

I can eat it again.

Maybe tomorrow,

Maybe next week.

All I know is,

It is too long for me.

by GVoice Guest Contributor, Ben Jones

*Not a designated member of Mirrors, but a specially recognized talent by Mr. Bennes, GVoice Advisor

The world has no room for us

their unfamiliarity, suspicion, and dislike

has chased us so far north, that we

have only the lands of no one—

where the hills slam into the mountains that

lead to the countries we are not allowed in.

They had no room for us

We were just too different—

how we lived and thought on our own

We bohemians,

      we writers

To tell you the truth, I don't know

whom they dislike more—

  You sat quiet at your desk,

  hands folded, writing your songs

how you stood trying to get

the social attention, and then you

broke down— and left

Maybe this is as far as the earth

  and nation will take us

Here where no one walks

and trees are myths from long ago

The rail tie woudl have been your fate

  if you didn't cut out before they

  took matters into their own hands

We tried,

     yes, we tried,

     but we couldnt' fit in anywhere

     we were just too odd fo rthem

                   perhaps too advanced

Their dreams were simple,

yours were would of this world—

    dislikers chased us away

    where we are alone

    on lands that can take us no farther

                       we bohemians,

                       we writers