The tale of one woman's shattered American dream -- to be free as who she wanted to be: a lesbian mother divorced -- appears on the bottom of the Saint Petersburg Times today. It's well constructed, with a nice chronology that isn't straight forward but I think it's the most readable format for this case. It serves to foreshadow with an ominous tone throughout.

I like that the Times isn't afraid to revisit a crime broken earlier just to add detail and dramatic framing. Here are all the other stories on this, with different angles and different details as they were discovered: Dec. 16, Dec. 18, Dec. 22, April 1, April 2.

The only things I'm wondering about is what will happen to the daughter of Andrea, 4-year-old Annie Rose, and why this ampersand appears here in this otherwise lovely kicker: "She did everything she could to live the American dream," Lloyd Davis said. "But ultimately, she had to be who she was. & It cost her her life."

Typo police

Just throwing a few quirky stories at you: Erratum intolerant people are taking towns to task for their misspellings, bad punctuation and errors of logic on signage and elsewhere. I've seen a few stories like this over the years.

These two self-righteous English admonishers on the front page of the Boston Globe today trek across the country to make a point -- or take one out. "Their weapons: Wite-Out, markers, ink pens, tape, and nerves of steel."

Today the Oregonian says, What's up with this stupid hyphen to denote a bike box, a sign to help make cyclists more visible to motorists? It says "WAIT-HERE." What?

My favorite appeared year from a colleague, Danielle Dreilinger, at the City Weekly section for the Boston Globe. It's a little more my style -- story like.

Also, check out the extraneous quotation mark blog. Let the corrections continue!

Belated Blog Hit

A glimpse into the life of a teenage mom trying to make it through high school appeared in the Boston Globe on Sunday. It was actually a centerpiece, part of an ongoing series, "Last Chance for English High." It is about how the historic icon, "once one of Boston's premier learning institutions," is now struggling with its current status as one of the city's worst schools, and must improve or face closure.

The complication presented in this nice narrative: Jennifer Smith's responsibilities to a 2-year-old son inhibit her attention to responsibilities at school -- specifically, a science project. The resolution, however, is not quite clear: Jennifer Smith accepts responsibility for not completing her school work as she cares for her child but she returns with greater attention to her schoolwork and remains steadfast in maintaining her effort to succeed.

This little bit of dialogue and observation pretty much explains it:

Smith stepped into the classroom.

"Do you have your project?" asked her teacher, Timothy Gay.

"No," Smith said softly and cast her eyes downward. She shifted her feet, ashamed, but offered no explanation. She didn't want to use her son as an excuse.

Flashback! Just a little recap: A new rendition of the Megan Mier story appears in the New Yorker magazine. She lays the story out in a way that's compassionate and fair and circumspect, unlike many of those bloodthirsty hounds that want to pillory adolescent suspects in this cyber tragedy without looking at the underling cause. New Yorker Staff Writer Lauren Collins pins the sins -- or contradictions -- to those who've committed them, and probes at the actual causes behind the suicide, but does not revert to castigation.

This would make for a good read if you've never heard the agonizing story; offers some incite into the MySpace Zeitgeist; and and makes a good lesson for a magazine re-write (structuring, points of view, etc.). Overall, there is not much new information here, except when we get to the last graf:

"One girl who had been involved in the fight on the night of Megan’s suicide wrote to Tina:

" 'Hi . . . you might not know me . . . but [my friend] used to live in missouri and be friends with your wonderful daughter . . . [we] get made fun of too. being called whores etc . . . etc. but we’re doing everything we can to stop bullying . . . because we dont want something this terrible to have to happen to anyone again . . . we’re going to counciling . . . and i think we’re really gunna start to make a difference.' "

At the bottom of the New York Times front page today we have a bit about bullying. A high school student, Billy Wolfe, is beaten on a regular basis.

Dan Barry, a masterful story teller, spins out an more-than-sufficient description in the introduction to the first beat down scene:

"All lank and bone, the boy stands at the corner with his younger sister, waiting for the yellow bus that takes them to their respective schools. He is Billy Wolfe, high school sophomore, struggling.

"Moments earlier he left the sanctuary that is his home, passing those framed photographs of himself as a carefree child, back when he was 5. And now he is at the bus stop, wearing a baseball cap, vulnerable at 15.

"A car the color of a school bus pulls up with a boy who tells his brother beside him that he's going to beat up Billy Wolfe. While one records the assault with a cellphone camera, the other walks up to the oblivious Billy ..."

We will stop there. See how Barry builds up the tension in first person. This is not an article in need of a nut graf to start off with. Barry's column, "This Land," seems to be more about compassion, not boilerplate leads. Of course he does nut it up to allow to realize how widespread the problem is and how these school officials "are so reluctant to punish bullies and report assaults to the police."

It goes on to tell the story from the beginning, chronologically, the history of his bully problems. Take notice of a device Barry uses "Heh-heh." That's part of the writer's voice.

The narrative storytelling becomes kind of static near the end. But the vivid descriptions, attention to nuances oft ignored, discerning eye for metaphor/meaning and sense of structure are Dan Barry lessons we can all learn from.

Los Angeles Times Staff Writer Anna Gorman delivers the vivid day-to-day foraging habits of Juana Rivas, a 48-year-old illegal immigrant and mother of four, detailing her struggle to make ends meat.

It's filed under Life in the Shadows, one in a series of occasional articles from The Times. And rightly so: She starts her routine near 3 a.m. to ravage trash cans and recycling bins to reap redemptions to feed her family.

Rivas is identified as illegal and a drainer of municipal resource, which is true. She snuck over the Mexican border in 1982 with her husband and two oldest children. Plus, she costs the city between $20,000 and $25,000 in recycling revenues each year (she's been doing it for 13 years).

That's the newspeg. But the angle is that she's a hard worker and embodies that celebrated American spirit of grittiness.

With her shopping cart, pink hat and gloves that she bought from the 99-cent store she searches and seizes aluminum cans, glass bottles, plastic containers, and anything she can exchange for money. "She reaches inside and shakes the contents, listening for the telltale clink of a beer bottle or the hollow tap of a milk carton. Nothing."

The article really humanizes this immigrant family. We get a view as to what home is like, where Rivas recuperates and fixes pico de gallo for her family. What really made me sympathize with their situation is when one of her sons, Jose, recalled an instance in which he was embarrassed by her when driving by with friends.

I like that Gorman repeats words, but repeats words naturally. Look out for that.

Since last summer, I've been trying to do a similar article with these hovering Chinese folks that hoard beer cans from Northeastern University's neighboring communities. They subsist off of our excess.

Does anyone know Cantonese?

The Ma Siss's Place series in the Boston Globe came to an end yesterday. It leaves us wondering and hoping -- and, maybe, praying if we were really affected. In this blogger's opinion, vivid narrative, requiring first-hand reporting (watching and writing all the little details) touches the human condition and can reveal supreme truth.

Before we move on, one last highlight showing that in newspapers, in features and definitely more literary narrative-style stories, there is a need dialogue:

As Nadia, joined by two little girls, danced and clapped and stomped her shoes, the small gathering rose to its feet. Ralph rose with them, and led the turn to prayer.

"Lord, we're looking forward to the day when this church will be too small," he said. "We know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that's what you want to happen."

"Yes, Lord," Arlene shouted.

And then, for the last time, Aaron got up to preach.

"My vision for this church is Ma's vision for this church, which is that you come as you are," he said, as a chorus of "Amens" began to rise. "And that you would feel welcome to walk in here right off the streets. You wouldn't have to worry about what you're wearing, or if you've cleaned up your life first before you walk through those doors."

As he worked his way through his list of exhortations, he began to cry. As someone shouted, "let it out baby," he mentioned Dora, who hadn't been seen in the church for months.

"As Dora always taught me to say, it's never good-bye, it's see you later."

The congregation began to cheer.

And if you these long features take too much time for you, as always, try to check out the video and photo gallery.

The third installment of the Boston Globe's Ma Siss's Place series hits our hearts on Christmas. It tells the tale of a charming drug addict, Dora, the only daughter of Ma Siss, leaving us with hope; although, judging by her hitherto behavior, she might end up on the streets again. Nonetheless, she admits her relapses to the tightly knit congregation of Ma Siss's Place, an evangelical church based out of a garage on Quincy Street in Dorchester. She admits that she let her family down: "How can I tell people about the church, and that I love the church, I don't set a good example."

Meet Dora Vaughn, but make sure to take notice of this stellar, vivid description of her: "A sullen face under a straw hat, cheeks moistened from the hot stove, poked around the partition."

After her latest series of undulations with sobriety, Vaughn came back home to her mother -- and to Jesus. Her fellow Quincy Street parishioners accept her with open arms:

"Ann approached Dora, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Cathi, cradling her son Levi in her arms, went over to lay her hands on, too. And Aaron joined in, placing his hands on Dora's shoulders. Tears were streaming down his face.

"'Father, God, we thank you for our sister, Dora,' he began. 'We thank you for bringing her back home today.'

"And then he launched, singsong, into an impromptu litany of praise.

"'You're a God of second chances,' he said. 'You're a God of third and fourth and fifth chances, God. And Lord, we just pray, God, that you would be with her, Lord, so that you would just protect her, God, protect her from the evil one, Lord, help us, Lord, to encourage her, God, and to play our part, God.'"

Wow! That's some great, real action and dialogue. That type of stuff can only come from immersion, which is key to literary non-fiction.

Vaughn could not escape her past. A police officer pulled her over for an expired registration and then arrested her on four warrants.

Around Christmas time last year, as hope for Vaughn's human revolution seemed to be in peril, crises were prevalent for the low-key, neighborhood place of prayer. Vaughn makes a New Year's resolution to avoid doing "things at the spur of the moment," to just "think it out carefully," to avoid getting "into a lot of trouble." But money was running out (some of the community members, according writer Michael Paulson, speculated the cash was stolen by Vaughn). The Saturday masses began to dwindle in attendance. Aaron and Amy, the two enthusiastic missionaries from the South, became absent much of the time because of graduate school. Violence, crime and poverty continued to wreak havoc on members of the family and neighborhood. Even a natural disaster had its way with garage-based church. All of this sure makes for a good story, adding tension and suspense.

Let's see what the future looks like for Ma Siss's place tomorrow in the final segment in this four-part series. As always, we make sure to check out the lovely video and photo gallery.

In the video, Dora sings, "Victory is mine. Victory is mine. Victory, today, is mine."

Aaron Graham, a Southern Baptist Missionary, set aside an easy life to endeavor to Boston with $300 and relinquished himself of all amenities. He found Ma Siss, the lovable lady whose burgeoning, modest Quincy Street Missional Church in Dorchester needed a preacher. Today we are told his story. This is the second part of a four part special report in the Boston Globe called “Ma Siss’s Place.”

“He imagined himself, like one of Jesus' disciples relying on the good will of others to get by,” Paulson writes. “He coveted a hard test of faith.”

This is really a priveledge in feature/narrative writing. You have the authority to say the subject thought, felt or imagined.

Throughout the article, we are given “Aaron,” not Graham. In most newspaper reports, and even features, we are only given the last name, unless we are focusing on a family or married couple. This is just another aspect of narrative/feature writing in newspapers.

“Tall and angular,” writes Paulson, “with an outlander's soft accent and manner, he was a virtual unknown, a spiritual tourist in an old town. She was a bedrock figure in her troubled Dorchester neighborhood, a large, laconic presence known by her nickname (her given name is Idene Wilkerson) and by her dream of a new church born in a chop shop.”

This is the visual contrast that puts meaning into this story. Graham is some white kid who comes to Dorchester, a community consisting of mostly African-Americans. What beautiful pluralism this church displays.

During one scene, Graham brings his newly acquired Cherokee girlfriend to the first prayer service he is asked to lead: “Amy pulled out her guitar and began to play Christmas songs. Ma Siss made soup. Aaron left to run an errand, and Amy spent the morning stringing green beans with Arlene. Aaron and Amy came back the next Saturday, then each weekend after that. Ma Siss or her daughter, Dora, would make a grits and sausage breakfast, and Aaron and Amy would discuss a Bible passage or answer questions about Christianity.”

(Shout out: Northeastern University is one of the first key scenes in this story, where Graham becomes more acquainted with Ma Siss and realizes she’s earnest about her ambitions with the church.)

I’m really impressed by this character, Aaron. One of my favorite parts: “Aaron preaches in a conversational style, weaving his sermons into the service without a clear beginning or end, open to interruption by himself or others. He walks back and forth, as if pacing in some imaginary cage, and uses his long arms to punch the air to accentuate a point. Often, when saying something particularly prayerful, he closes his eyes.”

“[A]s if” is the finest two words in this paragraph. They enable the writer to imagine and the reader to understand. A cage is appropriate, in this instance, because Graham is preaching about powerlessness. It’s interesting that the neighborhood conferred the title of pastor on him, but Graham believes everyone needs to take responsibility as a minister of God.

Love this scene setting: “By the spring of 2003, people had begun to think seriously that this earnest little group in this broken down building, with floors sloped so the auto oil would run down to a drain, with a green carpet covering the cement and paper curtains to cover the walls, might invite the presence of God….A broken piano had a makeshift crèche of religious statuary arranged atop it. Slightly deflated balloons - the remnants of some recent celebration - hung from metal pipes along the ceiling. White paper fans had been attached to the green walls as a form of decoration. On shelves above the chairs were dozens of cans of tomatoes and boxes of canned stuffing. A cat named Church wandered across the floor, the congregation's attempt to deal with a mice problem.”

Let’s keep going: “Dora decided it was time for prayer. She hit a pot with a spoon.

“Ma Fann, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf, leapt out of her seat, the first to testify.

“‘I could just fly in here this morning,’ she blurted out. She had good news: Her granddaughter's deployment to Iraq had been postponed.

“‘God is a mighty God,’ she said, working her voice up to a shout. ‘I know the Lord is good. Glory. Hallelujah. Yes, Lord. I thank Him.’

“Then Ma Siss jumped in. She doesn't have the strength to stand during worship and was sunk into a deep soft chair. Her voice rose slowly as she talked about the birth of the church.

“ ‘What we have been praying and asking for is coming to show in our lifetime,’ she said, ‘and it just such an uplift. Make us so high that we don't know what to think. Just look what God is doing.’

“She slammed her hand down on a nearby table.

“‘He ain't let us down yet. He ain't failed us. He done brought us this far - he ain't gonna let us go now.’

Graham has much experience facing disparity.

The Virginian later mused about American megachurches: "As I got older, I was like, OK, half the world is living on less than $2 a day, and we don't talk about this?" he said. "We were raising $400,000 for a new church organ, so I calculated how many chapels we could build. . . . Some people were like, yeah, that's so true, but the music minister did not like me for it."

This consciousness was developed when Graham, as a child, accompanied his father on missions to Liberia and Kuwait. In Liberia, the youngling fed a starving baby a hard boiled egg and tried to attend his funeral when he died of starvation. There, at age 6, he wanted to be baptized in snake-infested water, which seems like a powerful non-fiction metaphor.

This blog post is already epic – tantamount to reading the actual article – but I must highlight this anecdote:

“[A]t just about 5 a.m. on Aug. 2, 1990, Aaron heard the noise.

“He was 10 years old, and sound asleep, and there was a rumble outside that sounded like the garbage man.

“Saddam Hussein had invaded Kuwait City.

“That morning, the Graham house was entered four times by Iraqi troops, and on one occasion, a soldier began assaulting his mother. To this day, Aaron believes his mother was spared the worst because he burst into tears, and the soldier backed off.

“‘That was a spiritual mark on my life, because I thought, either I could be killed, or my parents could be killed,’ Aaron said. ‘It was the first time in my life that I was confronted with the fact that I might lose my life, and where would I spend eternity? And then I saw a soldier a couple hours later, dead on the side of the road…

“Ultimately, under intense international pressure, the women and children were allowed to leave; to this day, Aaron believes his father and the other adult men were later freed because the prayers of Baptist ministers back home caused Saddam to have a troubled dream.”

Graham takes his experience to Ma Siss’s place where he preaches about addiction, utilizing references to 12 step programs (admitting powerlessness) and the Boston Red Sox season (“All things are possible.”)

Make sure to watch the video and check out the slide show.

Let’s look forward to tomorrow, a special Christmas article, in which we will learn more about Nora, Ma Siss’s drug addicted daughter.

I forgot this lengthy, telling quote from yesterday:

"You know one thing, I'm so glad that I was born poor," she said. "because I know how to live poor. . . . I don't buy nothing that isn't on sale, and when it's on sale I buy enough to last until another sale comes. A lot of things I just won't do. I won't go and pay $50 for a pair of shoes, I won't do it. . . . Before I goes and spend like $50 or $100 on a pair of shoes, I just gonna buy a lot of food to give to peoples. Ma Fann told me today, 'You got to stop doing that,' but I just rather help another person, because I'm just happy with what I got."

Many times editors will argue that a quote is too long. But for features like these, a nice long quote can reveal a lot about someone's character.