February 17-March 9, 2012:

A frustrating journal three weeks as I couldn’t add anything because of the hacker. Adam and his friend Corwin Brust worked long hours cleaning up the website. It was a mess. Way to go hacker, you messed up a site for kids and teachers! Hope you are proud of yourselves.

So what have I been doing since February 16?Here’s a fast look. Will try to in-depth reporting another time.

Went to Boskone, the science fiction convention, where I was on five panels, one signing, one reading, and one koffeeklatch. I may be exaggerating by one panel, but it was a lot. I bought a painting in the art show, the cover for my Sister Bear, and had meals with friends Bruce Coville, and Patrick and Theresa Nielsen Hayden.

I had several late birthday dinners, one with the DiTerlizzis, one with a children’s book group of friends up in Plainfield, went folk dancing with a new friend, went to the Suzanne Farrell Dance Concert, a Celtic Music concert, lunches and dinners with friends, a farewell dinner to friends Wayne and Leslie who are off for four months to Burma (Myamar), spoke at Ellen Wittlinger’s class at the Eric Carle Museum, watched a college classmate win the Smith Medal, had lunch with cousin Malerie at the Lord Jeff, etc.

Equally (or more) important, I did a lot of writing on both novels–The Hostage Prince and Centaur Field. Heidi and I are working on a proposal called Monster K about kindergarten for monsters for Dan Yaccarino. I have written lyrics to three songs for Donna Hébert of the Celtic music group I heard earlier in the month. (See one below.) Been doing a poem a day since Jan 1 2011! Some work on an essay for the Folio Society.

Also sold 3-5 poems to Horn Book (depends on how much room they have) for the May issue, got first copies of Bug Off, and the ARC for Curse of the Thirteenth Fey, got my presentation for Michigan put together.

Done.

 

Here’s the lyrics to one of the three songs:

 

Come to Me, My Darling

The North Sea moans, the seal folk rise,

Moon in their hearts, night in their eyes.

And every single selchie cries,

“Come to me, my darling.”

 

The waves fall down, the selchies ride,

And hunger for men deep inside.

They call for me to choose a bride:

“Come to me, my darling.”

 

 

They’ve tiny seashells in their hair,

Their skins are grey, as sea, as air,

But well I know I must beware,

Or I will be their darling.

 

The water’s wide and dark and deep,

Far down below the sailors sleep.

But I have wife and weans to keep

So do not task me, do not heap,

For I’ll not be your darling.

 

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