Jo Doe (or, in response to the PARCC)

THE YEAR WAS 2135, and everybody finally received equal opportunity. They didn't only have equal opportunity in the workforce. They had equal opportunity in every which way. Nobody was taught differently from anyone else. Nobody's parents could bring them up differently from anyone else. Nobody had access to more learning material than anyone else. Nobody was behind or ahead of anyone else in their grade. All this equal opportunity was due to the 48th, 49th, and 50th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the endless testing of agents of the United States Private Educating Company.

Some things about the school year still weren't quite right, though. The temperature in winter, for instance, still drove students mad by being just above freezing. And it was on one rainy day that the P-E agents came into the windowless computer room and took a 9th grade student, Jo Doe, away.

It was tragic, all right, but at least it wasn't his parents fault. They had raised their child up like any other parent would - without much attention, so that no child would have more care than any other. The P-E agents had come because Jo Doe had been taking unfair advantage of learning material until he was so far ahead of everyone else nobody would ever catch up.

The students were taking a standardized test. They were shocked about what had happened, of course, but they weren't thinking about it right then.

On the computer screen was an essay prompt.

"Discuss how the author uses stylistic techniques to develop her message," it said.

It had said the same thing every year past, except sometimes the author was male, and sometimes instead of "message" it said "characters".

Alice Doe thought about the prompt. She wasn't related to Jo Doe, but to ensure equality, all people were given the same last name. She thought about the prompt, and about how the computer algorithm scored tests (to make sure no student knew more than others, the details of the algorithm were always released), and began typing until the tester told them to submit and announced that they would take a five minute stretch break.

None of the students moved. They were used to sitting in chairs for long hours by now.

"That was a real nice test," one of the students, Bob, declared. "Harder than last year's, but not too hard." Alice, who hadn't thought it was any different from last year's, restrained a snort. Bob was almost always the slowest to learn something, so the teacher kept pace by him and made especial sure that nobody said anything mean to him. "I'm glad the teacher prepared us so well for it."

In front, the tester gave him an indulgent smile. The tester wasn't the teacher, because teachers had a degree in teaching, not in making and giving standardized tests. Instead, teachers would spend the time in a meeting about how to make sure all students were equally prepared, even if they had different learning curves, so that no child was ever left behind, and how to use the results to determine if any student was falling behind, because with over a hundred-fifty students each, teachers were clearly unable to do that and needed the help of standardized tests.

"Isn't it supposed to be a new test?" another student asked. "So that it can better assess our writing and critical thinking abilities, in response to long-standing concerns of parents and teachers?" she quoted.

"Oh. Was it?" Bob asked vaguely. He blushed. "I never notice anymore. I just take them."

"They updated the multiple choice," the tester jumped in before anyone could point out anything untoward. "Now, you not only have to select the correct answer, the quote that supports the correct answer, and the explanation for why that quote supports the correct answer, but you also have to select the explanation that explains how your explanation makes sense. We realized that many students just use the quote and explanation choices to choose the correct answer for the first question. Now, to get full points, you have to understand what the explanation is saying. We also put each question on a separate page so students won't be able to view them before they answer."

The tester didn't seem to realize that that also meant that students needed to flip four pages to get back to their original answer to the first question, or that students were allowed to skip questions, so they just looked through all the questions before answering the first, or that students did it in the first place because all of the answer choices were always supportable by some quote.

"They had a new test last last year too, didn't they?" a different student commented. "They added a test for our math abilities. The school got all new MathPads so we could show our work more easily."

"No, it was a test to replace the one colleges use to see if they want us, and we just took a practice test for the practice test for that test," Alice said. "The new test was because some parents complained they didn't understand what the scores meant for the other tests, so they added a parent-friendly one that all parents could follow."

"That's correct," the tester said, sounding surprised. "Tests are very important so that the government, colleges, the state governments, your teachers, and your parents can see how you've been progressing and help you if you aren't real-world-ready, and being able to correctly use new technology is part of that, so we're constantly updating technology. They're also very important for making sure that nobody in the country is behind and that the quality of education remains high. You wouldn't understand how it works, of course, so I won't bother explaining, but that's why standardized tests are important. Now, this is a very good conversation, but your break's past, so go back to your seats."

The command was highly unnecessary, as they were all still in their seats. There was a video clip in this next section. Alice wondered, even as the microphone in her ear began playing sound, why they hadn't found a way to let them take notes on these things yet. But the next moment she stopped thinking so that she could concentrate on the video. The leader of the United States Private Educating Company was making a speech for the twentieth anniversary of the company's creation, and they were to analyze the rhetorical techniques used.

"As one of our presidents once said, 'standardized tests are what we pay for unbiased treatment'. He was almost correct. When he spoke, we had tests for colleges to compare students, but not all students could access the same resources to prepare for those tests. We had tests for teachers to measure progress, but they put too much focus on memorizing facts. We had tests for aptitude or disability, but many students parroted what their parents had told them to do. We had tests for governments to compare schools and districts, but teachers felt pressured."

A white box flitted over the screen. "Announcement," it said. "Jo Doe, age fourteen, has just escaped from jail, where he was held for subverting the system and on suspicion of further subverting the system. He has taken years of unfair advantage over others, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous." The text was accompanied by a picture of Jo Doe. Alice briefly took her mind off the test to read it, and felt a twinge of concern, but then her concentration was swallowed again. The test, an endless stream of teachers and testers had drilled into her, was more important. The box flitted across the screen, finally stopping in front of the leader of the United States Private Educating Company's face, where it stayed.

"In the last twenty years, the United States Private Educating Company has become the overwhelming leader in providing measurement tools for students, and in the last twenty years, our company has, with your aid, pressed the government to solve these problems. Access to resources that give students differing advantages on tests is now regulated. Parents leave their children to learn and develop naturally. The response to not meeting standards has been adjusted so that teachers are not unfairly punished. And, as a token of our commitment to our goals, the United States Private Educating Company has developed tests to measure its own success."

Then the screen flashed white and static filled Alice's ears. Her eyelids slammed shut.

When she dared open her eyes again, the leader of the United States Private Educating Company was gone, replaced by the familiar sight of her former classmate.

"I am the God!" cried Jo. "Do you hear? I am the God! I have taken over your test with my hacking prowess, and thus I am your God!"

In the classroom, the tester screamed, and then fell over in a dead faint.

"I have replaced your video, and I will replace your government!" The screen flickered, and then steadied again. "From now on," Jo declared, "you will never take more than one standardized test a year! You will not suffer any restraints to learn any less than your desire takes you for the sake of others! No more five-year-olds will be tested to determine either 'aptitude' or 'real-life readiness'! No more restless children will be subdued by years of education by two-hour-long tests, in preparation for four-hour-long ones! NO LONGER WILL YOU SPEND MORE TIME TESTING THAN LEARNING!"

As if in anticipation for their reaction, Jo paused, and the classroom exploded in wild cheers.

"These tests," Jo continued, "these tests made by a deity-company and not educators, are a farce. They cover skills that ARE NOT what we should be focusing on learning. They do not test EITHER our knowledge OR our abilities. They do NOT reflect real life skills. They CRUSH the MAGIC in learning. These tests have not led our teachers to teach ANY MORE than they would have. We haven't learned how to analyze. We've learned how to click and drag! We've learned how to fool an algorithm! And yet we spent millions, billions EACH YEAR on these tests? Once upon a time, I believed that these tests would help me. I tried to suffer through. And then I realized what they were doing to me. What had been done to me. I realized how much more I could be, how much more I was, and I say down with the endless testing! Down with the stress and the cost and the waste of time! Down with putting all children on the same level! Down with looking at the WRONG THINGS! Down with the objective, useless, lazy methods of testing higher order thinking! Down with questions with MULTIPLE plausible answers but only ONE correct one! DOWN WITH THE SOUNDBITE EDUCATION!"

Jo's face was wild, and lit with a mad light. "I am more! And I will make you more! I will return learning to what it should be! I will release you from your constraints!" People were cheering, shouting, some had leapt to their feet. Jo raised his arms, pumped his fists, and they raised their arms with him. "The solution to over-testing isn't more testing! The solution is me! You will learn, learn things for fun, and for your future. I WILL LEAD YOU TO YOUR FUTURE! I AM YOUR FUTURE!"

"YOU ARE MY FUTURE!" the students screamed, and the roof rattled.

A shot rang out, and then Jo slumped, dead. They saw him, for a moment, the light gone from his eyes, and then the screen went black.

When it came on again, the leader of the United States Private Education Company was continuing. Before Alice could think about what she was doing, her mind snapped into testing state, pushing back all extraneous emotions as she had been trained. She felt vaguely sad, and angry, but the timer was ticking and some precious time had been wasted.

"But," said the leader, "though we have achieved many notable goals, we must continue striving..."

Please comment! Thanks :) Suggestions have a high chance of becoming revisions, especially if there are complaints against standardized tests that weren't addressed.

Why Writing a Novel Isn't That Different From Going to Space

When I was a child, the dream of becoming a published - to say nothing of famous - author was like going to the moon. Sure, I'd seen the moon, and I knew about rockets, and I'd seen pictures of people on the moon, but when I really thought about going there there were a gazillion miles of space in between me and the moon that I couldn't get across. Even now, having lived to the once impossibly old age of fifteen, the fantasy of going to space is just that - a fantasy.

And in the same way, writing a book can seem like an impossible possible task, whether or not you want to do it. You've read books, you've heard of, maybe even met authors, even thought of cool premises, but read as you might, you can't see yourself crossing the journey that is a gazillion words, all about the same story.

I know I definitely couldn't.

Before I start talking about novel writing, I should establish something: Everyone does it differently. Some sit and churn out 4000 words a day (I can do 1000 words an hour if I know what I'm going to write, but I've never written for more than 3 hours), others write 5 words and edit 7. Similarly, some have notebooks or word documents stuffed with planning (the plotters), while others just sit and let it fly (the pantsers). What's important is getting to the end. I don't think speed matters much, but the plotter vs. pantser thing is actually pretty interesting. I generally think of there being a spectrum that most writers fall on that looks something like this:

These are things people actually do or claim to do. There are people who will tell you that they aren't in charge; their characters tell them what to write and they write it. There are people who prefer to just do it. There are people who know exactly how the story's going to end before they begin. There are people who love outlines.

Before I put a finger to keyboard, I made a list of chapters and wrote a short description of every scene that happened in that chapter and made up the fictional civilization's language. On my spectrum, I fall about here:

You might look at this and conclude, "She's a control freak." And maybe I am, especially plot-wise, though my characters will never do anything it doesn't suit them to do, even if I'd like them to. But I plot so heavily because I would not be able to write otherwise. I see the beginning, I see the end, and I see a whole bunch of nothing in the middle, and my reaction to that is the fill every little step in between so that I have something.

Believe me, there's plenty of room for writer's block while writing the scenes.

Once I begin writing, there's a lot that's set. My plot lines are nice and developed, so to change one point would be to change the entire line. My characters know who they are and even where they're going. Most importantly, the thing I'm trying to express is set. I don't really know what it is until I write, but it's there and I find it as I write.

That's not to say that things don't change, of course. I literally flipped the ending of my book midway through it. I added characters and tweaked characterizations during my editing process. But my final destination - the thing I was trying to say - didn't change. And so, for me, going to the moon isn't a bad metaphor for writing a book. I make my rocket - my characters, the world. I chart out my course, plotting each point. When I actually write, the planning ends, and I shoot out at 1000 words an hour, but if I encounter trouble, I'll simply change my course. My engines even detach, because once not finishing my book becomes a physical impossibility, I don't need as much motivation anymore.

Many writers are not at all like that, and some of them probably would very heavily disagree with my nice analogy (it still makes a decent hook). But no matter what end of the spectrum writers are on, there's something that (in my experience, at least) they all have in common: They're thinking about their story even when they aren't writing it.

And this is key, especially for people with busy lives, because let's face it: You're not going to be able to write every day, no matter how dedicated. You're definitely not always going to be sailing smoothly. You most adamantly don't have free time sitting there, just waiting to be used. If you're anything like me, you have school, and on top of that you have three clubs, at least one instrument, a sport, and some more. You might even have friends. Your day is jammed full, scheduled to the minute, and you have more stuff you could be doing (like actually practicing that instrument). Why are you even trying to write? Why not wait?

If you think like that, you won't finish. If you think you can do it in summer...there are probably a few people who would, but I've never met any of them.

So what can you do? First of all, take advantage of the fact that writing is portable. Get a notebook (whether paper or electronic) and write in class, on the bus, while waiting in that impossibly slow lunch line or for a teacher to come or for your lotion to sink in or whatever it is you do, whenever you can find scraps of time. Then, when you really just can't be writing, like before bed or when the teacher wants you to actually pay attention (but it really doesn't matter), think about what you're writing so that you're more productive when you actually are writing, or just so that you get into the habit.

Now, I've found that it's actually pretty hard to stop writing after you reach the point when you live, think, and breathe your book, but before you get to that point there's a gravitational field of self-doubt and homework and things you want to be doing and the fact that you aren't that obsessed pulling you down. So how do you get out of that? How do you get obsessed?

Well, you need some pretty big engines. Fortunately, you probably have some idea of what motivates you. But, if you'd like ideas, here are some things that seem are have been helpful:

• Starting out small, with the part of writing that holds your interest the best - develop a character, main or not, figure out how to make dragons scientifically feasible, explore your world's power dynamics, etc. I started out with two names and a scene, and everything else grew around that.
• Telling people you're writing a book, so they can hold you accountable
• Committing in some other public way
• Doing lots of world-building or character-building until you are one with the story
• Keeping track of your word count (if it's November, you can do National Novel Writing Month - NaNoWriMo, which is a challenge to write 50,000 words in a month that got me onto writing)
• Writing almost every day, so it becomes a habit
• Writing whenever you're bored and can't do anything else, for various reasons (yes, I'm encouraging you to write when you should be listening to the teacher. Just don't blame me if your grades drop.)
• Having a parent tell you you can't

Now stop reading this and go write.

Unless, that is, you have short story ideas for me, things you'd like me to post about, or general comments, because if so, please leave them in the comment box or email me at emmajin08@gmial.com.

A Thinker's Sandbox

“You still have that old simulation?”

Kenan tore his gaze off the computer-generated model of a “universe”, the black expanse sparse except for a few lights and a solar system, planets shooting around the fake sun. Currently, it was zoomed in on one particular planet – a blue sphere with white clouds whipping across its surface.

“I got attached,” he shrugged. “It’s a bit silly, I know, since I can do so much better now – all I did was model it off how our world developed – but I suppose you never forget your first.”

Inon laughed, walking over to crouch with him by the simulation. “I know what you mean. Some things just can’t be thrown away. Well, we’re sentimental beings. How long has it been?”

“Since I first made this? Let’s see…this was my fourth science fair project, so it’s been a good twenty hundred years, I think.”

“How’s the time scaled now?” Inon asked curiously. “You were doing ten thousand years there to a second in the real world for a time, I remember.”

“It took that long for life to start getting interesting,” Kenan replied defensively. “Besides, I was a kid. Did you expect me to care about unicellular organisms? I was dreaming of civilizations!”

They both laughed reminiscently. “I change it a bit now and then, but I’ve slowed it down considerably since then – a year takes a minute to pass, now.”

“A year to a minute?” Inon said. “What, don’t want to miss anything? I’m sure it’s simply riveting.”

“Well, my eyes aren’t exactly glued to it, and – would you believe it? – if I didn’t I’d miss something important. It’s rather incredible how much faster everything started progressing after they civilized.”

“The whole thing’s rather incredible, I think,” Inon said. “All you did was make some laws and patterns of development, throw some elements in, and it just self-perpetuated to – well, what it is now.”

“It’s still a far cry from us,” he pointed out.

“But you did it for your fourth science fair project.”

He nodded. “True. You know, they’re starting to be advanced enough scientifically that they’re discovering some of what makes the world tick. I wonder when they’ll realize the truth – if ever. The current civilized species tends to be a bit short-sighted about things.”

“Like you, you mean.”

He narrowed her eyes at her, receiving an unrepentant smile. “Makes sense, I suppose,” she continued blithely. “After all, they are in your simulation. So it really can’t be helped.”

“Inon! I’m nothing as bad as them!”

Her calm dissolved into laughter, laughter he did not echo. “Didn’t you have an error – well, not an error, just a limitation – where you only had so fast a processing speed? Have they discovered that?”

“Oh, that,” Kenan accepted the subject change. “Funny thing – I made light the fastest thing that can move, so now they say that nothing can move faster than the speed of light. They have a whole formula for it, too. I’m actually really glad that happened, though. You know how I only bothered to make a single solar system and then just sort of faked stars and planets? Well, they want to travel to those stars. Fortunately, with the speed limitation, that won’t be a problem. Oh, and I love the explanation they’ve come up for stuff – they talk about the ‘space-time fabric of the universe’, when everyone knows that time is independent. But I suppose it’s hard for them, since they only have three dimensions, to imagine that the universe is simply four-dimensional, full stop.”

“What would you do if they ever realized they were a simulation?” Inon asked seriously.

Kenan shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. It might be amusing, because I bet they’d try to get out.” A sudden idea lit his face. “Maybe I could talk to them. They’d probably hate me, but it’s not like they could do anything.”

“And then get terribly bored and destroy the whole thing in a fit of temper?” Inon retorted drily.

“I would not. I’m past twenty five hundred years old; I don’t throw temper tantrums.”

“I don’t think age has anything to do with it. Inin’s older, and she – well, I shouldn’t speak ill of my elders.”

“You? Speak ill of your elders? Perish the thought,” Kenan snorted. “Besides, that’s your sister.”

“I’m just going to sit back and let that argument defeat itself.”

Kenan stared at her and Inon stared back, one corner of her mouth traveling up her face until Kenan blinked. “Damn. Why are you so good at that?”

Her response was a triumphant smile flashing across her face. “I wonder, do the things in your simulation ever do anything like that?”

He frowned. “I didn’t really notice, to be honest. Possibly? They have eyes, and they need to blink, so maybe. I don’t exactly follow one of the things through its life, watching for what it does. Not even the smart – relatively, of course – ones. I’m more interested in larger conflicts, such as the exchange of countries. Currently, the ‘world power’ is this new place that calls itself –” he frowned as he tried to remember the pronunciation “– Ah-mer-i-ca.”

Inon cracked up at his way of saying the strange word. “Are you quite sure that’s right?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Kenan grumbled. “They have strange methods of vocalization. I can’t be expected to recreate all their sounds perfectly. Though, when I say the country’s new, I mean its government is new. Of course, I think most of the countries are new because of that, but they haven’t changed names, even though pretty much everything else has except maybe location.”

“Well, we do that too, a bit,” Inon pointed out thoughtfully. At his frown, she said, “Oh, come on, don’t get all ruffled at the comparison just because they only have three dimensions. Look at rice, for example. We’ve modified it so much, both in ancient times when we domesticated it and through genetic modifications, that it doesn’t really resemble wild rice at all, but we still call it rice.”

“That’s not the same,” Kenan protested.

“In some ways,” Inon said, not bothering to press her point. “It’s interesting how many similarities there are, even in such a simple simulation. Did you go in and affect anything?”

“Mostly in the beginning, to make it more like our world,” Kenan admitted. “And also just whenever I felt like it. For example, there was this long period of time where there were a bunch of relatively big reptiles, and they were cool at first, but then there wasn’t really anything interesting, so I made an ‘asteroid’ hit. That stuff happened. And now and then I introduce a disease, just for fun.”

Inon tilted her head in confusion. “‘Disease’? What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s right, you never liked history. I still think that’s weird – you seem like the person who would. Anyways, there was this one guy, back when manipulating genes was a new idea. So he basically just took some nucleic acids, stuck them inside a membrane, and added a few proteins, and that was it. He made a bunch of those and then left them out. There wasn’t anything to copy the nucleic acids, so nobody thought anything of it. So what happened was – get this – the things went into cells and hijacked their reproducing mechanism. So they just went around reproducing themselves and killing cells. People’s cells. It was crazy. To this day, nobody knows if the guy meant it or not. The stuff was eventually quashed, but not before the population was decimated. Anyways, I thought it was pretty cool so I decided to put some in the simulation.”

“Things that hijack cells and use them to reproduce themselves and then kill cells,” Inon mused. “I could see how that would be appealing. I suppose they mutate?”

“Crazy mutate,” Kenan confirmed enthusiastically. “That’s the fun of it – every year’s a new strain. For the ones that mutate a lot. Some of them are more stable.”

Inon’s gaze was blank, and Kenan sighed. “Read about the First and Only Viral Panic and you’ll understand better. It’s a really weird concept, so I’m not even going to try to explain it. Just think of it like a variable population limiter.”

“Like famine?”

“Except even better,” Kenan replied. “Because manipulating weather and stuff isn’t, you know, the easiest thing to do. And it’s easy to mess stuff up. But if I just introduce a new disease, it takes the edge off population numbers, they can do work containing it for me, and if worse comes to worst, I can just stop it pretty easily.”

“You said it decimated our population,” Inon reminded him. “That’s not really ‘taking the edge off’.”

“They have defenses,” Kenan replied easily. “Since I introduced these early, they evolved defenses against them.”

“You took that risk?”

He grinned. “Yeah, it was pretty reckless, but to be fair, they’re really cool. And it was in the beginning, so I could have started over easily.”

“Ah, the days back before we could just reverse time on simulations…”

Their laughter rang.