I wish I had written that: Week one

Excerpt One

Mirta Ojito, according to the feature story writing book "The Authentic Voice," is "an author and freelance journalist" who "teaches immigration reporting at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism."

She wrote an insightful article titled "Best of Friends, Worlds Apart" that discusses the racial divide in Miami from the perspective of two Cuban immigrants, one black and one white. It's interesting to note that she's a Cuban immigrant herself. Here's an excerpt from the article:

Mr. Ruiz insists he does not dislike whites. He cites his friendship with Mr. Valdes as an example of his open-mindedness, just as Mr. Valdes uses their relationship to establish that he is not racist. And talking to the two men, watching them in one of their rare times together, it is impossible not to feel their fierce loyalty and genuine affection.

Yet both also know that theirs is now mostly a friendship of nostalgia. They are adults with ambitions and jobs and bills to pay, they point out, with little time to talk on the phone. When they do they seldom discuss anything beyond their families in Cuba or how busy they are with work.

When it comes to race, Mr. Ruiz will give his friend the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Ruiz is proud that when he turned 30 in February, Mr. Valdes ventured to black Miami for the party at Annie Mae's. ''I understand that it is more difficult for him to cross the line than it is for me,'' Mr. Ruiz says. ''It's not his thing and I respect that.''

Mr. Valdes seems uncharacteristically thoughtful when discussing his friend's life. His friend, he says, has chosen to live as a black man rather than as a Miami Cuban.

''If I were him, I would get out of there and forget about everybody else's problems and begin my own life,'' he says. ''If he stays it is because he wants to.''

Mr. Ruiz thinks his friend cannot possibly understand. Even after he moved in April to an apartment south of Miami to escape the pressures of his needy relatives, Mr. Ruiz could not cast his family or his blackness aside. He spends most of his time back in Allapatah, near the bar and the neighbors who have embraced him.

''I know he would do anything for me if I ask him to, but the one thing he can never do is to walk in my shoes,'' Mr. Ruiz says of his old friend. ''Achmed does not know what it means to be black.''

Mr. Valdes and Mr. Ruiz have never talked about race. When told of his friend's opinion of blacks, Mr. Ruiz shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

''He said that?'' Mr. Ruiz asks, lifting his eyebrows. ''I don't know why he would think that blacks are delinquents. I know he doesn't think that of me, and I'm black. I've always been black.'' A pause. He thinks some more. ''He grew up with blacks,'' he says. ''I don't understand it. Maybe something bad happened to him. I am sure he is talking about American blacks.''

Mr. Valdes has never told him about his experiences in Miami's black neighborhoods, just as Mr. Ruiz has never told him about the police outside the Versailles.

Joel Ruiz and Achmed Valdéz were, according to the article, the best of friends in Cuba. But when they came to Miami, the racial divide drove them apart. "The Authentic Voice" calls the article "a broader portrait of how Miami treats its white and black citizens."

It's sad because that portrait shows a United States in which the racial divide is still wide enough to prevent people of different ethnicities from being best friends and keeping in close contact, as shown in the excerpt -- they are described as having a "friendship of nostalgia."

Excerpt Two

Another author featured in "The Authentic Voice," Allie Shah, wrote an article titled "Somali girls coming of age are caught in cultural tug of war." The article follows two Somali girls and how they cope with meshing their families' culture with the U.S. culture. Here's an excerpt:

For Fartun, the tug comes from another direction, from Africa. In Kenya, where she grew up, she made a conscious decision to hide her dark brown locks from public gaze. She was 14, the age when many Somali girls start wearing the hijaab.

It was Eid, an important Muslim holiday, and her mother spread out an assortment of pretty scarves from which Fartun chose one. Admiring her new look in the mirror, she decided to make the hijaab a part of her permanent identity. Only at home among relatives or among women does she take it off.

According to "The Authentic Voice," because she is Muslim, "Shah shows journalists how to write from a community rather than just about it." This is evident from the excerpt in how easily Shah writes about it, perhaps having had just such an experience herself. There is no elaborate explanation of Eid, just a portrait of the scene in which a Muslim girl makes her faith a part of her daily identity. It's simple and it works.

Excerpt Three

Thomas French became a reporter for the St. Petersburg Times in 1981. He started as a night cops reporter, but now writes feature stories. His article "A gown for Lindsay Rose" is one that connects with the reader on a deep emotional level. Here's an excerpt:

As Lois washed the blood from the child, she studied her round head, her wisps of light blond hair, the soft expanse of her eyelids, her perfectly formed fingernails, the tributaries of veins stretching under her porcelain skin.

She was gorgeous.

Lois held her, thinking of the first time she held her own two children. She thought about this baby's mother, now down the hall in the intensive care unit, and thought about all the things the child and her parents would never get to experience. Visits from the Tooth Fairy, skinned knees on the playground, a first dance with a boy.

Trying to hold back her tears, Lois silently prayed, asking God to give the girl's family the strength and comfort to get through this loss. She often said this prayer and had it down to three simple words.

Strength and comfort, she said. Strength and comfort.

If it's not clear from the excerpt, Lois, a nurse, is holding a stillborn baby.

This is an emotionally powerful thing in and of itself, but it's strengthened by the reflection on all the things the child will never experience: "Visits from the Tooth Fairy, skinned knees on the playground, a first dance with a boy," things to which an everyday person can relate.

You can also almost hear the prayer ringing in Lois' head and imagine the emotions coursing through her being by the way French writes it.

It's a tragic piece, but, as can be seen, it works on multiple levels. Debra Bradley Ruder, a journalist with 25 years of experience who currently works out of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, calls it "heartbreakingly powerful" and "a wrenching piece."

Thomas French knows what he's doing.