Hero

Name: Josephine K. Lawson (Goes only by Jo)

Age: 16

Religion/Gender: Christian (no particular denomination), Female

Physical Description: Five foot four; long and curly brunette; no acne but lots of freckles;

Parents: Devout Catholic Mother and Inactive Father; Jo is very close to her father but struggles with clashing views/opinions concerning her mom.

Siblings: Has an older sister attending Harvard Law (Juliet, 23) and a younger sister (Janae, 13) who plans to attend college with a computer science major.

Style of Dress: Conservative; revels in buying high heels and hiking boots.

Hometown: Galveston, Texas

Family/Marital Status: Wants to marry in the future, hopes for two or three kids.

Life's Ambition: To attend Julliard school of Music with her talent in voice.

Favorite Ice Cream Flavor: Strawberry

Fondest childhood memory: Earning an award for excellence in musical composition (elementary, age 9)

First Love: Joey Brooksen, who gave her his fruit snacks every day for a week in the fourth grade.

Greatest Fear: Being forced to join a convent

Strongest desire: To become a successful vocalist

Job: Local Ice Cream Parlor (Server Girl)

Identifying Marks: Slash of hairless skin through her left eyebrow (result of a childhood curling iron accident)

Mannerisms/Gestures: Widens her eyes whenever she is excited or incredulous; Snaps her fingers absentmindedly when she is making a trivial decision; ALWAYS taps her toe to the radio (even elevator music).

Favorite Quotes: "History will be kind to me; for I intend to write it." ~Winston Churchill

"Sharp rocks at the bottom? Bring it on." ~Emperor's New Groove

"Dancing. Even if one's partner is barely tolerable." ~Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice

Favorite Movie Lines: "Anybody want a peanut?" ~Princess Bride

Favorite Songs: Symphony No. 9--Beethoven

Fallin' For You--Colbie Calliat

Dies Irae--Mozart

Santa Fe--Newsies

Defying Gravity--Steven Schwartz, Wicked

Favorite Candy Bar: Whatchamacallit

Favorite NBA team: Boston Celtics

MVP (Most valuable possesion): Her i-pod

How he/she feels about love: Hopes for a long courtship (a year or more), beginning as simply friends. Wants nothing to do with infatuation or flighty marriage; wants absolute certainty in her decision. This also holds Jo back from starting any relationships, however.

Reading . . . Writing

Book . . . . . .
Pen . . . .
Paper.
I curl up with a paperback
And read quietly for hours
Laboriously I scratch Ideas
My brow spouts cold sweat showers
I yawn and set my book down
The story puts me fast asleep
I struggle over the sentence
I've been wording for a week
I crease my brow in thinking
The story grasps my full attention
My hand cramps as I speed write
My own adventure weaves suspension
I fly in freedom winging
As the story sweeps blue skies
My fingers drag enduring
Try to keep the writing alive
It's easy just to read away
And enjoy a sea of words
But when it's my pen scratching
I create my own bright world
I can't decide the ending
In a book or play I like
But I make my own adventures
When I find te time to write.

Short Story Adaptation

"I'm sorry, Joseph. You've developed arthritis in both patellas, and I'm afraid if you continue marathon training it will only cause greater bone deterioration."
The doctor's words felt like a stifling cloud in Joseph's mind. Joe quietly murmured a thank-you to the doctor, stuffed the prescription bill in his pocket, and trudged out of the office.
Before long, he found himself driving into the parking lot of the city cemetery.
Joseph pried his white-knuckled hands from the steering wheel and folded them across his chest. His graying auburn hair hit the headpiece on the fraying seat. His lips parted in a slow intake of air, releasing in gusts.
In, out.
In, out.
Joseph's broad shoulders sagged as he softly shut the Chevy door and trod through the clean-cut lawn. After passing several rows of headstones, he paused.
"Hey, dad." He murmured. "I've got it too. Guess it's just a family gene, idn't it."
Saltwater droplets began to dribble from his gray eyes.
"Dad!" he exclaimed mournfully, sinking in sorrow toward the gray stone. "Dad, what am I supposed to do?"
He tried to remember, remember what dad would've said to cheer him up, as he always did. . .

"Dad!" I asked with urgency.
"Dad, look at my fingers!"
The tall, dark figure of my Daddy whipped around backwards, his left hand holding a razor to his cheek. Creamy foam smothered the rest of his face, and I could barely make out the red lines of his lips through it.
"What is it, son?" Daddy asked, his big old blue eyes popping out at me in concern.
"Daddy, what's wrong with my skin?" I exclaimed. I stood up in the tub, where frothy pools of water seeped off my body and into the drain. Shivering, I hopped out toward him and outstretched my hands.
Those two, big ol' blue eyes inspected the ends of my raisin-looking fingers.
"Now those, son, are wrinkles." He said matter-of-factly.
"Wrinkles! I'm doomed!"
He grinned at me, grabbed a fluffy green towel, and draped it tightly around my shoulders before hoisting me up to the counter top.
"You know, son, they aren't anything to be afraid of," He said while tousling my wet hair. "I've got wrinkles," he said, tracing the lines next to his eyes, "But it just means I've been well loved."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked curiously.
"Well, my wrinkles come from caring about you, and from taking care of your mama, and from working hard at work."
"Really?"
"True as can be. They might not look pretty, but they mean I've got a lot of blessings. Growing old, it just means you've had a lot of life to live and time to love."
. . . .
Joseph's tears slowed to a stop; he wiped his eyes. Those images of his memory played in his mind again and again. He patted the top of the headstone while whispering a "Thanks, Dad." Joe's Chevy rumbled up the drive and away into the suburbs in the afternoon light.