I often operate under the idea that social media has nothing good to offer, when that is just the opposite. While it can negatively impact young girls, I firmly believe that it is due to excess use. It is a beneficial tool for connecting and communicating, but anything in excess is never positive. As Jimmy Buffett once said, “Moderation seems to be the key”, and I believe that goes hand in hand with my outlook on social media use.

The National Library of Medicine shares that although social media poses “privacy concerns, cyberbullying, and bad effects on schooling and mental health”, it also creates an environment in which it “boost[s] self esteem, promote[s] health, and [allows for people to] gain critical medical information” (NLM). Society often views social media as a space of toxicity, but when used correctly, it can improve people’s lives. Additional research has shown that it can lead to sleep loss when used in excessive amounts as well as increased mental distress. Some experts work with people to reduce hazards, such as those previously stated regarding social media presence, by guiding people towards healthy use (NLM).

The help of an outside professional is great, but being able to catch the problem before it escalates through self-regulation can save both time, money, and mental state. Different strategies, such as setting app limits, keeping your phone on silent, and more, can be the first steps in the right direction. In all, there are many pros and cons within the realm of social media. But my parting advice aligns with Jimmy Buffett’s: moderation is the best way to tackle this issue.

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I often operate under the idea that social media has nothing good to offer, when that is just the opposite. While it can negatively impact young girls, I firmly believe that it is due to excessive use. Social media is a beneficial tool for connecting and communicating, but anything in excess is never positive. As Jimmy Buffett once said, “Moderation seems to be the key”, and I believe that goes hand in hand with my outlook on social media use.

The National Library of Medicine shares that although social media poses “privacy concerns, cyberbullying, and bad effects on schooling and mental health”, it also creates an environment in which it “boost[s] self esteem, promote[s] health, and [allows people to] gain critical medical information” (NLM). Society seems to view social media as a space of toxicity, but when used correctly, it can improve people’s lives.

Additional research has shown that it can lead to sleep loss when used in excessive amounts as well as increased mental distress. Some experts work with people to reduce hazards, such as those previously stated regarding social media presence, by guiding people towards healthy use (NLM). The help of an outside professional is fantastic, but being able to catch the problem before it escalates through self-regulation can save both time, money, and mental state. Different strategies, such as setting app limits, leaving your phone on silent, or turning off notifications, can be the first steps in the right direction.

In all, there are many pros and cons within the realm of social media. But my parting advice aligns with Jimmy Buffett’s: moderation is the best way to tackle this issue.

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By Charlie Lawley

Inspired by The House On Mango Street

We’ve lived in the same house all my life. It’s old. Before we moved in, it was Mimi and Pop’s house, but then Pop passed, so we moved in. It’s big, and I have a room all to myself, but it’s my house, not my home. My house always seems to feel colder than it should, like it’s slowly dying. Sometimes it’s as cold as January in Alabama, like no one really lives there. Because we don’t really live there, or at least I don’t. I live where my friends are, because they are my home. At my house, I don’t laugh like I do when I’m at home. It’s different. When I’m at my house, it’s just me, alone. I’m always kind of awkward there, like the whole house is telling me to take my shoes off or fix the pillow. But at home, I’m myself. Even though we’ve lived in the same house my whole life, it’s not my home.

My Name

My name is gentle. Light and gentle as cotton candy. It is calm and quiet—Charlotte Anne, sweet and soft, like a marshmallow. My great-grandmother was Anne. I loved her, but the name was more hers than it will ever be mine. She was gentle, like the wind the morning after a storm. She was warm, like the fresh cookies she made. But that is not me. I am not Charlotte Anne. I am not gentle, or light, or warm, or quiet, or anything that my name is. That’s why it’s not my name. My name is loud and funny; it is messy and not perfect. My name means a whole lot more than a soft, quiet, gentle daughter. It means I make mistakes, and I am mean sometimes. Even though my name is Charlotte Anne, I am Charlie.

Rich

People look at our house and think we are rich. People who come inside believe we are even richer. “Your house is huge,” they say, like it’s a mansion, with rooms big enough to get lost in. They say it so much, like a broken record, over and over and over. But that’s because they don’t see what goes on inside that huge house.

We’ve never struggled much, but my family is not wealthy. We have never needed help, but fights are inevitable. Fights in our house are like the seasons changing. It’s always going to happen, no matter what. And sometimes, that big house, which is not rich, is holding its breath. Even though we’re not rich, I am. Not because of my house, which is still holding its breath, but because of what else I have. What’s my own? I have my friends and my family. My nieces and my best friend. They are worth more than we have ever had. We are not rich with money, though some people think we are, but I am still rich in life.

Loud

Everyone in my family is loud. My sister is loud, like fireworks on the Fourth of July. She’s always been like my dad, funny and extroverted. She holds the conversation at family dinners, telling my parents about her day. My mom is quieter than that, but she is still loud. Sometimes she is as calm and placid as a mouse, and other times she is loud like the fireworks that are my sister. My dad is as loud as my sister, so when they’re together, it’s hard not to be quiet. They are like fire, and gasoline, and I have to be the water.

People say a lot about me because my sister and I are yin and yang. They say I’m both my mom and dad. People say I’m quiet when I want to be, but I can also be loud. They say that I am my own person, and my face talks before my mouth does. People say that I’m not loud, but expressive. They have a lot to say, like a parrot with opinions, but I think that I’m loud when I’m around the people that make me loud. It’s hard to be loud when you’re always the one who makes it too loud.

Notice

I pretend that I don’t notice anyone, but I do. Hiding behind a face that’s not mine. A mask. Pretending keeps me safe. It whispers in my ear that it’s better this way. I have to pretend so that no one knows, but I’m lying to myself, too. I pretend I don’t notice, I don’t wish, I don’t look. But I do. Every day, I notice him, like noticing a lamp clicking on in the corner. But he doesn’t notice me. He sees right through me; I’m invisible. He wouldn’t even realize if I were on fire. So I don’t notice him, because if I notice him and he doesn’t notice me, it would be like the bride saying no at a wedding. I would lose face. So I never notice. Not noticing keeps me safe from everyone. But also from myself. Because if I tell myself that I don’t notice, then I don’t have to wonder why I can’t notice. Because I don’t.

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The Factors of Grit

“It was this combination of passion and perseverance that made high achievers special. In a word, they had grit.” – Angela Duckworth.

The book Grit follows Angela Duckworth’s study of grit, described as the mix of determination and passion, and was published in 2016. In the beginning of the book, she talks about her dad and their relationship. Her father told her that she was “no genius” and would not be successful because of it. However, Duckworth proved that talent is only a minor factor in grit. Other traits heavily outweigh pure talent. In the book, she discusses the many and varied ingredients of grit, as well as how it can be developed, not only in yourself but also in the people you care about. Duckworth writes about perseverance, discipline, passion, loyalty to your interests, and deliberate practice, and how these qualities create grit.

“The highly accomplished were paragons of perseverance.” 

On page eight of her book, Angela Duckworth discusses various psychological projects and the people involved in her studies, but most importantly, she emphasizes perseverance. Perseverance is a very important factor of grit. You must get back up when knocked down and not be discouraged by failure. Motivation and encouragement from failure are perseverance, using those experiences as stepping stones towards greatness and improvement. Perseverance, determination, and grit go hand in hand. In terms of grit, perseverance signifies overcoming complex tasks or emotional hardships because you are loyal to a single long-term goal.

On page 64, Duckworth states, “What I mean by passion is not just that you have something you care about. What I mean is that you care about that same ultimate goal in an abiding, loyal, steady way.” In the book Grit, passion, and holding on to your interests are key aspects of Angela’s research. Being gritty is not only about persevering and getting yourself back up when you’re down, but also about longevity and consistency. Having grit doesn’t mean doing something effortfully for only a year or two. It means working hard over many years to make meaningful improvements. Overall, passion is a very key element of grit, and it comes after discovering your interest.

On page 126 of Grit, Duckworth writes that, “Deliberate practice predicted advancing to further rounds in competition far better than any other kind of preparation.” In terms of grit, ‘deliberate practice’ essentially means actively paying attention to what you’re doing and looking for ways to improve. Deliberate practice requires complete focus and entrapment by the task at hand. Doing intentional practice pushes you to success and greatness. Doing deliberate practice takes perseverance to endure the hard activities that help you get better. People who practice deliberately do it for the rewards afterwards. For most grit paragons, this is a state of calmness and serenity, called ‘flow’. In summary, deliberate practice is an essential part of grit and building a path to success.

Angela Duckworth’s Grit is revolutionary research on success and its cultivation, discussing factors of grit such as perseverance, passion, and practice. Getting up when you are down and staying determined in the face of failure are qualities of gritty people. They have a passion — one that is independent, long-term, and overall — a goal they strive to achieve throughout their career. However, their mindset when it comes to failure and mistakes is not the only things that make a gritty person. They do focused, intentional, deliberate practice, with only improvement in mind. Grit is the common denominator among successful people, and each of its factors serves a different purpose.

For more book reviews, click here!

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I heard my daughters scream from the living room. This was a fairly regular occurrence with the two of them. I stroll leisurely from my bedroom. When I entered the room, I saw my older daughter, Julia, on the right, holding her hair. I asked what was wrong, and she screamed at me, “Mom! Lucy tried to cut my hair!” They were on two different sides of the room. Facing off in a standstill. I couldn’t see Julia’s face, but I could imagine her expression.

I looked over at my giggling toddler. Holding a pair of craft scissors from the office. Her clothes had little cuts in them, presumably from the scissors. Her smile was big and bright. Like this was better than the ice cream we get from the corner store. She looked over at me. A bubbly laugh burst from her throat. She proudly held up the scissors, as if they were a trophy. “Look, Mommy, I’m giving sissy a haircut,” she told me. There were so many questions on the tip of my tongue.

The glint in her eyes was familiar. A childlike curiosity and non-understanding of the world around her. Just wanting to get into everything she can. Her grip on the scissors was pretty tight, like she’d brandish them as a weapon if needed. Her hair, black as the night, that once had two full braids, was down to one. I could see the missing braid lying on the ground, next to our gray couch. Her smile couldn’t be any brighter if she tried. I ask Julia what happened, turning away from Lucy.

“I was taking a nap on the couch and I felt something.” She explained, “I felt something move, and when I opened my eyes, she was walking towards me with the scissors. I immediately got up and moved away. Now she’s just holding them.” I looked back at Lucy. She was pouting a bit. I started walking towards her. She took a few steps back.

“Lucy, darling, can you hand me the scissors?” I ask her calmly—the years after my Julia have mellowed me a bit. Not trying to be as hard on Lucy as I was on Julia.

“No! These are mine!” She says back. I feel my eyes twitch. I stand next to Julia, looking at her. Her expression is mad like mine. “Lucy! Give me the scissors!” Julia yells. Lucy doesn’t move an inch from her side of the room.

“Lucy, please come over here,” I ask again. I put a soft smile on my face as I try to placate her to come over. “You won’t be in trouble, sweet girl,” I told her. However, Julia speaks up before I can stop her.

“Yeah! You’ll just have to eat some veggies and be on time out!” she says. I turn towards her fast, a shocked expression on my face. These were words I used before, but didn’t think Julia would be the one to say the quiet part out loud.

I look towards Lucy again. I begin again. “No, no, no! Lucy, honey, you won’t be in trouble. Mommy’s not mad, and you won’t be in trouble.” I wave my hands in front of me, trying to backtrack and get her to listen. I grit my teeth as she shakes her head again. Lucy’s little face starts to seep into a frown. She looks between us, an angry pout bleeding onto her lips. Then, a smile comes back, but it’s more sinister than before.

“I’ll give you the scissors if you can catch me!” She shouts before taking off. Julia and I stand still for a second, then we give chase. That’s when it started to go downhill.

We ran after her through the house. We run through the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom, yet she’s too slippery. I have to take those scissors before she cuts herself or worse. All the while, Lucy’s giggling and screeching as she narrowly escapes us. My mind goes a mile a minute as I think of all the ways she could get hurt.

She could cut herself, trip and fall with them, and so much more. All we need to do is get the scissors. Julia chases her back to where it all started. I enter the living room a few seconds later. Lucy is sitting on the couch, waving the scissors in Julia’s face. Like she’s taunting her. I walk up to them.

“Lucy Jones! If you don’t hand me the scissors right now, you will be in big trouble, young lady!” Julia tells her. My mouth twists down. I love both my daughters, but Julia is acting a bit too much like a parent for me. My smile is strained as I help her.

We continue with this song-and-dance. I try to grab Lucy’s arms, while Julia tries to grab the scissors. Any time we get that close, we need to back off because the scissors are too close to the skin for my liking.
Lucy gets off the couch and tries to run away again. My patience has been stretched thin at this point.

“Julia! Grab her!” I yell to my oldest. She does just that. Scooping her up by her midsection and sitting down on the floor. Lucy squirms and kicks in her lap, but does get out. I reach for the scissors, but in a show of toddler strength, she lunges at me, but she doesn’t get too far. I fall down.

When Julia grabbed her, she hit the ground hard. She screams a bit from the pain, like toddlers do. Her scream sets me off. How dare she act like such a spoiled little brat! I get up fast and do something I never thought I’d do to my little Lucy. I strike her across the face.

“Lucy Jones! I am tired of your constant disrespect! You will hand me those scissors right now, go to your room, and think about what you did!” I yell at her. Lucy stops her struggle, and Julia looks with disbelief. In one last fit of childish anger, Lucy screams again and throws the scissors at me. Tears of fury began pouring from her eyes.

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By: Victoria Spear

Sugar milk and flour are key components to any line of literature, from the pre-baked oven steeped in culture to the many vanilla extracts of trauma and tears. Food forms a connection between culture and emotions in day-to-day life; whether it’s soup, rice, or simply a secret recipe of cake.  The poetry in “Magic City Gospel” by Ashley Jones and “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Saltine” by Nickole Brown displays emotions and memory through food expanding on social class as well as culture as a whole.  Food is important in many cultures and is expressed in many ways through shows, books, and even poetry with how it leaves an impact. Jones and Brown both emphasize this in both a positive and negative manner with social class and race. They emphasize this by; exploring social class through taste, using culture and how food leaves an impact, and using the sense of smell to allude to memory.

Using culture and how food leaves an impact

While reading through `Magic City Gospel’ by Ashley Jones, she makes a lot of references to food when recalling a specific memory. Food as well as taste is a key component in memory and is used frequently through poetry and literature. Using one of the four senses it leaves a bigger impact for the audience and readers overall.  Culture also plays a deep part in food and memory from a young age to when one grows up. Thus many can relate when reading through these poems, for they have had these experiences and even feel a sense of comfort knowing they are not alone. 

 In ‘Sonnet for Sopping’ Jones draws attention to how her mother eats her food with her hands, she describes the texture and smell of colonization and culture being interrupted to fit into social dynamics. This transpires on page 12: “What special flavors hide inside thumb, index, middle, ring, what slides through that is lost on the cold teeth of a fork?”(5-7). The detail she goes into emphasizes the fingers and how they hold the foods and flavors of eating with their hands rather than with utensils. The following lines add to this tension: “When did we embrace the colonial cuffs of silverware so that even our food assimilates?” (12-14). Here she is drawing attention to how their culture is being interrupted by needing to fit in with society’s standards and abandoning their simple way of eating. This conditioning is seen very often and carries on to the next generation as seen here with Jones as she was watching her mother eat with her hands differently from how she was raised on utensils.

This displays how culturally significant it is for people of color to have to appropriate themselves to keep appearances. The fact that it was colonized for coloreds to use utensils rather than to use their hands to eat, unfortunately, is only one example of what happens in day-to-day life with socialization. Using food from her culture as well as providing a specific memory to her message leaves an impact for the reader. With Jones drawing attention to her culture, using this experience is inspiring, to slowly draw oneself from society’s expectations that affect everyone; including the way they eat and present themselves. 

Exploring Social Class Through Taste

Taste is explored through many forms of literature, due to it being one of the five senses humans possess. The sense of being able to taste certain things in a meal or even fluid is enough to recall a memory, even one of social standing. In “Thirteen Ways of Looking at A Salatine’ by Nicole Brown provides examples as well as memories of how the taste of a saltine left a huge impact on her memory about her social standing. Much like black culture Jones explores through food, Brown draws attention to the taste of a cracker that held her title in social class. 

Brown explored the topic of recalling social class through taste in her work. Much like Jones, Brown recalls her experience with saltines and remembers how it relates to her family. She does this in section eight lines (7:5-9): “Like the family I love best, the bite is rough at first but quickly goes soft nearly falls apart without even the need to chew,” (7:5-9). This allusion to taste talking about how ‘rough’ her family is and how they ‘fall apart without the need to chew’ really goes into how her family dynamic operates. The fact that the taste of the saltine instilled memories in her about her family dynamic spoke volumes. She follows up in a section about how her first experience of being called a ‘cracker’ to being innocent at first; she didn’t realize it was meant as an insult. “The first time I was called a cracker no one could have told me it was anything but a jive at what we ate,” (9:2-3). The ‘jive’ she’s speaking about is the lack of food they were able to eat because they were poor and saltines were very cheap and affordable to purchase for food. This gives the audience an insight as to how bitter she truly sees the food and how it resolves back around to her life each time she tastes the saltine. 

Although many can relate to social class and descrimination due to background, the way Brown explores this through the taste of a simple saltine is brilliant. Taste does have a strong impact in literature and day to day life especially when thinking culturally or one’s social class. Whether ist cornbread cake or a simple saltine, the crumbs that role of our taste buds can leave an impact on how we look at oneself as well as the world as a whole.

Using sense of smell to allude to memory

Whether or not it’s a personal experience among people, the sense of smell is used to decipher whether something is good or bad; the smell can be so familiar enough to even recall a specific memory in poetry. Smell is essential in many forms of literature to explain one’s surrounding familiarity of understanding. It’s very popular within fiction and poetry as well; many of the works using smell mostly refer back to memory of a certain subject or past event. With this writers and creators can have more effect within their work and even lead their readers with a sense of relativity and connection. 

Works that stood out the most with smells would have to be Jones in “Gospel of Grits”. In this work what stood out the most is how the writer emphasizes how people in the south wake up to breakfast with smell. “Wake up, bacon. Wipe eyes, biscuit dough. Sting of coffee silenced by sugar, kiss of milk.” (page 49 lines 4-5). These lines allude to how the narrator can recall memories in the morning through smell when waking up each morning for breakfast. Jones even highlights each step of waking up before smelling the familiar scent of said breakfast food, this adds more detail and allusion to the poem and work overall making it memorable. She even follows up in the following lines, “When I think of you, I think of heat.”(page: 49 line:7).  Jones is indirectly saying that through food and smells she’s recalling fond memories of waking up each morning to a fulfilling meal. This seals the case with how impactful the sense of smell is even with creators when trying to express meaningful moments through their work. 

Many would-be often surprised with how much personal experience can be placed on the sense of smell alone. Whether or not it draws back in memory of good or bad is up to experience, but we as humans use this sense to decipher just that. The way smell is explored through others’ works may be small but it is relatable to others especially the audience in many ways. Jones was successful with capturing this, and giving her readers one of her best works that most can relate to. 

Food, smell, and taste leave a heavy impact on literature as we know it and inspire authors to formulate writings that peers and strangers can relate to whether it’s socially or culture-wise. Ashley Jones and Nichole Brown highlighted this beautifully in their works, from their experiences with race to the struggles of being poor. Their works exploring their memories through their work left a huge impact on others, leaving behind a feeling of relativity and understanding. Maybe just maybe, the baker steeped and cooked up in literature makes a wonderful pound cake. 

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here i sit

pen against paper

mind swarming

heart pounding

finding ways

to share my voice 

because writing it

seems to be

the only way

i will actually 

use it

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There was a girl

Standing at the edge of the river, 

looking at the ripples that cast shadows on the sun.

She wore a sweater that unraveled 

with every breath and her jeans were tightly stitched.

Her hair was pale and her mouth was thin, pressed shut with all the things 

she just wants to scream.

She went fishing often but never used any bait just

the needle and pierced through all the plastic just

bobbing along and kept them 

so they wouldn’t tie themselves to a passing fish.

She had ink on her fingers and smudges on her glasses 

she said they helped her see clearer.

She was graceful and her 

voice was dreamy—except for when it wasn’t

when she ran towards a group of boys—

Loose jeans and baggy shirts 

who were cornering a girl, or

when a small boy fell right

in front of her, face bruised and

dripping red, no then

then she puffed up, stalked like a tiger, voice like a knife

She is stretched thin, always running and 

at night, she is curled up in her window

the fractured reflection staring 

at her and she whispers

“I’d like to go to the moon, it’s

gravity, or lack, would send me 

high” and she falls asleep, cheek squished against

glass and the moon’s light threading through her hair.

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Whispers of the Seasons

Golden leaves, soft skies of gray,
Autumn winds steal warmth away.
Fires glow as chill drifts near,
Slowly cold fills every year.

Sweaters hug against the breeze,
Crackling fires through autumn trees.
Golden hours fade to night,
Stars shine clear, so cold and bright.

Then winter lays a silver sheet,
Snowfall pillows at our feet.
Quiet skies and branches bare,
Frosted breath in winter’s air.

Check out more original poems written by girls, for girls

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