. Ms. Fantetti was a student in my freshman writing courses for one academic year. I have been teaching mainly freshman composition courses for more than 15 years, mainly in the College of Arts and Sciences at UC (’94-2005) and at Chatfield Colllege (2001 to the present) and I would place Ms. Fantetti in the top five percent of my students. Her portfolio for a one semester, 3 credit hour writing course was over one half inch thick, and her journal entries were regularly 50 to 100 percent longer than the minimum length requirement generally observed by her classmates. Her writing was sometimes wise… Eventually, unless we find a way to re-energize ourselves, to love ourselves, and to rise above the bad messages that walk beside us as we travel this road we call life, we lose yet another piece of ourselves and we die from the inside out. …sometimes witty… I too have been wakened or [rendered] unable to fall asleep by magnificent and powerful words that demanded pen be put to paper. I too have tried to ignore the prodding to get up at 3, 4, 5 or 6 a.m. to jot the words down. It’s a worthless battle, one that can’t be won. For all the effort I put in to trying to put off getting up it makes not a lick of sense because I know I will eventually get up…Poetic words have a way of calling your name, even in your dreams, and you hear them through your deepest sleep. … often vulnerable… My dad sat patiently listening to the dreams I wrote about, usually puppy love crushes, that I poured my deepest feelings and deepest secrets written in the form of poetry. It’s odd but I did trust my dad to keep my confidences; I shared a lot with him. I thought he would understand. Somehow I knew he experienced the same thing when he was young. …and usually engaged and thoughtful… Reading a book requires no action; we lay back, perhaps in our PJs with a blanket and a fire blazing (at least that’s a nice way of delving in), or in the heat of a summer day, soaking up warm sunny rays; generally, we are comfortable and in familiar territory. We read about the characters as each emerges forth: we are told how they dress; we are told where the story takes place. If the author does a good job, s/he will have been very descriptive about where each element of the story is taking place. We will understand. If there is anything we don’t understand or if our minds were wandering during our reading of the story, we are able to go back and re-read the part we missed. Not so with a play. Linda is scrappy, talented and caring, often wise and always conscientious and a good communicator. She is a wonderful student to have, and a wonderful friend to have in the classroom. I like knowing that she is developing more of herself in this sprawling, rambunctious democracy that depends for its existence on thoughtful, engaged passionate citizens.

. Ms. Fantetti was a student in my freshman writing courses for one academic year. I have been teaching mainly freshman composition courses for more than 15 years, mainly in the College of Arts and Sciences at UC (’94-2005) and at Chatfield Colllege (2001 to the present) and I would place Ms. Fantetti in the top five percent of my students. Her portfolio for a one semester, 3 credit hour writing course was over one half inch thick, and her journal entries were regularly 50 to 100 percent longer than the minimum length requirement generally observed by her classmates. Her writing was sometimes wise… Eventually, unless we find a way to re-energize ourselves, to love ourselves, and to rise above the bad messages that walk beside us as we travel this road we call life, we lose yet another piece of ourselves and we die from the inside out. …sometimes witty… I too have been wakened or [rendered] unable to fall asleep by magnificent and powerful words that demanded pen be put to paper. I too have tried to ignore the prodding to get up at 3, 4, 5 or 6 a.m. to jot the words down. It’s a worthless battle, one that can’t be won. For all the effort I put in to trying to put off getting up it makes not a lick of sense because I know I will eventually get up…Poetic words have a way of calling your name, even in your dreams, and you hear them through your deepest sleep. … often vulnerable… My dad sat patiently listening to the dreams I wrote about, usually puppy love crushes, that I poured my deepest feelings and deepest secrets written in the form of poetry. It’s odd but I did trust my dad to keep my confidences; I shared a lot with him. I thought he would understand. Somehow I knew he experienced the same thing when he was young. …and usually engaged and thoughtful… Reading a book requires no action; we lay back, perhaps in our PJs with a blanket and a fire blazing (at least that’s a nice way of delving in), or in the heat of a summer day, soaking up warm sunny rays; generally, we are comfortable and in familiar territory. We read about the characters as each emerges forth: we are told how they dress; we are told where the story takes place. If the author does a good job, s/he will have been very descriptive about where each element of the story is taking place. We will understand. If there is anything we don’t understand or if our minds were wandering during our reading of the story, we are able to go back and re-read the part we missed. Not so with a play. Linda is scrappy, talented and caring, often wise and always conscientious and a good communicator. She is a wonderful student to have, and a wonderful friend to have in the classroom. I like knowing that she is developing more of herself in this sprawling, rambunctious democracy that depends for its existence on thoughtful, engaged passionate citizens.

. Ms. Fantetti was a student in my freshman writing courses for one academic year. I have been teaching mainly freshman composition courses for more than 15 years, mainly in the College of Arts and Sciences at UC (’94-2005) and at Chatfield Colllege (2001 to the present) and I would place Ms. Fantetti in the top five percent of my students. Her portfolio for a one semester, 3 credit hour writing course was over one half inch thick, and her journal entries were regularly 50 to 100 percent longer than the minimum length requirement generally observed by her classmates. Her writing was sometimes wise… Eventually, unless we find a way to re-energize ourselves, to love ourselves, and to rise above the bad messages that walk beside us as we travel this road we call life, we lose yet another piece of ourselves and we die from the inside out. …sometimes witty… I too have been wakened or [rendered] unable to fall asleep by magnificent and powerful words that demanded pen be put to paper. I too have tried to ignore the prodding to get up at 3, 4, 5 or 6 a.m. to jot the words down. It’s a worthless battle, one that can’t be won. For all the effort I put in to trying to put off getting up it makes not a lick of sense because I know I will eventually get up…Poetic words have a way of calling your name, even in your dreams, and you hear them through your deepest sleep. … often vulnerable… My dad sat patiently listening to the dreams I wrote about, usually puppy love crushes, that I poured my deepest feelings and deepest secrets written in the form of poetry. It’s odd but I did trust my dad to keep my confidences; I shared a lot with him. I thought he would understand. Somehow I knew he experienced the same thing when he was young. …and usually engaged and thoughtful… Reading a book requires no action; we lay back, perhaps in our PJs with a blanket and a fire blazing (at least that’s a nice way of delving in), or in the heat of a summer day, soaking up warm sunny rays; generally, we are comfortable and in familiar territory. We read about the characters as each emerges forth: we are told how they dress; we are told where the story takes place. If the author does a good job, s/he will have been very descriptive about where each element of the story is taking place. We will understand. If there is anything we don’t understand or if our minds were wandering during our reading of the story, we are able to go back and re-read the part we missed. Not so with a play. Linda is scrappy, talented and caring, often wise and always conscientious and a good communicator. She is a wonderful student to have, and a wonderful friend to have in the classroom. I like knowing that she is developing more of herself in this sprawling, rambunctious democracy that depends for its existence on thoughtful, engaged passionate citizens.