June 20-26, 2009:

We have had computer problems again. Apologies to all my readers, as we all play catch-up.

Some book news:
The revision for the adult novel EXCEPT THE QUEEN –or at least my part—went off to my coauthor. I’d managed to cut 5100 words, nowhere near the 10,000 or so the editor wanted. But within a day, Midori had, in the first 50 pages, already cut out another 1500 words. From her description it sounds as if she’s refocused the beginning and got us galloping into the heart of the plot. Great work!

Then I rewrote the latest B.U.G. (the golem novel) chapter and sent it and ideas for the next chapter off to Adam.

Wrote a couple of drafts of two poems.

And began work on a picture book about lighthouses, doing something I’ve never actually done before by sending the opening verses to the editor who had suggested it. She likes it so far. So unable to sleep thinking about it, I stayed up far too late and got up far too early and did four drafts, the final of which is pretty good. (Though if the editor wants it, I am sure there will be many more rounds.)

Scholastic called and wants to make a good run at branding the dinosaur books, ie special stuff to go with it besides what is already being done. The publisher will be contacting me to set up a time for a phone meeting.

Oh yes, and two more rejections. AND one of my all- time favorite editors—Patti Gauch who did OWL MOON among of my books --is resigning as of September, and she is in the middle of three of my picture books. And possibly a short novel. Arrrrrgh! But it is really the best thing for her, and she will be able to finally write all those wonderful books in her head.

Enjoyable stuff in Scotland:
Met American fantasy author Elizabeth Wein (who lives in Perth) for lunch and antiquing at the big antique mall and two hours of chat.

Went to an intimate graduation luncheon party for one of the Bartoli daughters (they are from Northampton, MA and had stayed in Wayside two years ago for Thanksgiving with their daughter). The luncheon took place in the Robert the Bruce part of Kilconquhar (pronounced Kin-nocker, go figure) Castle. Great company, witty conversation.

Saw the real-time theatricalcinema of the London production of Racine’s “Phaedra” starring Helen Mirren in Dundee with friends. It was beamed all over the world. I always want to rush up on stage during Greek tragedies and shout at the characters “Be quiet, don’t give away your secrets, stop railing at the gods, don’t kiss that girl, stop falling in love with your brother/Mother/stepson. . .” which is what what I do in horror movies. And yet I love Greek tragedies. Ju
st wish the people wouldn’t be so headstrong about throwing themselves into stupid traps.

Also, I lost another 2 pounds, which is 20 pounds in all. About 8 pounds now from my target weight. Feeling good. This is helping my back. Or rather, I think, the stretching exercises given to me by the physical therapist at home and the physio here in Scotland have helped my back.

 

June 5-June 18, 2009:

I have been in Scotland for almost two weeks, though much of that time Heidi was not home to post my journal. So here is a quick round up.

June 5: Easy trip over, though with a seven hour stopover at JFK. (The cheapest flights available by $500!)_ So I did the sensible thing--put my luggage through, bought a one-day pass to the Delta Flight Club, and was able to sit in comfy seats with hot and cold running food and nice bathrooms. Worked on my computer with their free wifi.

June 6: Arrived in Edinburgh, picked up by friend Debby Harris. Took a four hour nap, then dinner with Deb and husband Bob (with whom I have written eight novels and a number of short stories. Then back to sleep by 9:30 and slept till morning.

June 8: With Debby looking at second hand cars. Ended up with a Nissan, about six years old. She's a royal maroon, so is named Queen Caledonia, the Royal Runabout, though Callie for short.

June 10: tea at friend Christine's Sitooterie by the sea in Anstruther.

June 11: A children's book luncheon meeting in Edinburgh. Bob Harris and I trained in together. Interesting people. An American children's book nonfiction writer/poet with a few books out was the speaker. I had never heard of her and she had never heard of me. Which one was more surprising? However, Bob and I sat at a table with a woman who was goggled when she heard who I was since she collected my fantasy novels! And one woman we were talking to had just read one of Bob's novels on the train. So we wereboth mightily chuffed.
She still had it in her purse.

June 12: First trip to the physiotherapist. Flt great after, than awful for three days, but slowly got better. He added some exercises to my routine.

June 14: A Hepburn Gardens block party in a neighbor's garden Lucky the rains gave up about an hour before.

June 15: Al fresco lunch at the Pillars in Falkland with friend Marianna.

June: 16: Afternoon Tea with friends Janie Douglas and Pam Robertson at Rufflets. Yum.

June 18: Cooked lunch for Christine.

In between I did lots of writing. Working on a big revision of EXCEPT THE QUEEN because we finally got the revision letter. Slow going, though. Did a couple of chapters with Adam on BUG. Finally building the golem! Worked on a new chapter with Barbara Goldin for GIRL'S BIBLE.
Started two new picture books, one with a Lighthouse theme, one with a Border Collie theme. Had three or four rejections. Signed two contracts. Wrote a new poem from a poetry prompt which is posted in the comments at Miss Rumphius Effect. Last (but one) revisions on the Chagall poems. Saw the board book first pass on GODNIGHT LITTLE BUNNY. New revision (possibly the last) on THE DAY TIGER ROSE SAID GOODBYE.
Saw the entire illustrations by Jim Burke via email for the Honus Wagner book, now called ALL STAR. (I had called it HONUS and SHORTSTOP.)
Stunning.

And that's it! Except for family traumas, including a horrible crash in which my Uncle Jerry and Aunt Mimi were involved. Neither one is doing particularly well. And we are all on tenterhooks awaiting medical bulletins from the famly. I send my love to their children and grandchildren.

May 28-June 4, 2009:

These nine days have been full of STUFF. Writing stuff (a couple of chapters of BUG with Adam), some poetic musings and some actual poems, some backing-and-forthing with last minute queries on FOILED. Lots of errands. (After all on June 5 I am off to Scotland for four months and a
bit.) I have had four academic requests to use my LEATHER APRON CLUB essay in writing courses. I had a couple more rejections. Am easing into a possible two picture books under contract. More on that last if it happens.

Also I went to BEA in New York. That's BOOK EXPO for the uninitiated. Scored a bunch of free books and ARCS (for such books as the second book in the HUNGER GAMES. Now I have over a year's wait for the conclusion. Sigh.) Mark Teague and I signed hundreds of copies of HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY I LOVE YOU. We were told that for a Toys R Us special sale, we are going to have to sign 6,000 books. They will send bookplates to Scotland. I will sit in the garden or in front of the telly and try to do several hundred a day. Arrrrgh. Be careful what you wish for! The book is also a Book of the Month Club book. MY UNCLE EMILY received a second star. (PW and SLJ.) Great news. Kirkus liked it a lot but no star. Ditto Booklist. Just saying, not complaining.

Had lunches and dinners with friends anxious about my leaving for so long. Had several signings and readings locally, one reading in memorial for dear Norman Kotker, dead some 15 or so years now, but still missed. A group of us will be reading from his books just as we did at his memorial service all those years ago.

I am not looking forward to the flight over, especially given that an Air France flight just went down in the ocean three hours out fro Rio on the way to France. I am a lousy flier at the best of times. Though David always said in that wonderful way of his that the most dangerous part of the trip was in the car to the airport.

It will be a while till I can get my stuff in order in Scotland. Even longer till Heidi--who has to put up the journal messages I send her because the only computer with that ability is in the office here in Massachusetts, not on my laptop in Scotland. And she is on vacation till a week from Sunday. So don't expect much till then.

 

Interstitial Moment: THE LEATHER APRON CLUB

Here is—in a single Interstitial Moment for any who missed the bits and pieces--the tale of how I wrote the historical picture book THE LEATHER APRON CLUB. I think it gives a full picture of the ups and downs in this kind of writing. Some instruction, some humor, some pathos, bathos (and d'Artagnan, too!

The story is not yet over of course. I am sure that as the pictures are produced by the illustrator, there will be more text revision. More backing and forthing, to-ing and fro-ing. It is a subtle dance we authors do as we work our magic. And of course, there is always the possibility (alas) that this time the magic will fail.

Completists and constant readers (or as Dorothy Parker said in a review of Winnie the Pooh, “Tonstant Weader”) will notice that I have tidied things up a bit thus proving my assertion that I will keep on revising until they take the piece out of my cold, dead hand.

 

Interstitial Moment: 1 of 3 on Writing A Picture Book

I thought it might be instructive to do a kind of diary of the writing of a picture book. So this is how and why and perhaps even occasionally a what-not-to-do in the making of THE LEATHER APRON CLUB.

Idea: So there I was at the White House in 2003. Yes, THAT White House. Near the end of the National Book Festival. I was wearing my peace pin and had already done a ritual obeisance to the JFK portrait.

Lucky me--I was sitting next to Wendell Minor on one side, Walter Dean Myers on the other. We had just been treated to a wonderful buffet breakfast and were now in a room with dozens of other authors listening to the Superstars talking. We not-so-superstars mingling with the literary hoi polloi, doncha know. Walter Isaacson was speaking about Benjamin Franklin because his latest book--Benjamin Franklin: An American Life—was just garnering all sorts of praise and awards. He said something about the Leather Apron Club which Franklin had begun with his friends, and it led directly to the first Circulating Library in America. I turned to Wendell, an illustrator I greatly admired and wanted to work with some day, and said, “There’s a picture book there.” And he smiled. “You write it, I’ll illustrate it.”

Wow. Sometimes the magic happens.

The Pitch: A few months later I was talking to one of my editors, Patricia Gauch, thinking about possible new work together, and I remembered that White House conversation.

Passionately, I told her about it.

“Give me something to talk to the committee,” she said. So I did a proposal about one page long which took about three days to do. Normally I can sneeze a one page proposal, but I found myself revising and revising it again and again. I should have realized that this presaged troubles ahead. Sometimes my crystal ball goes on the fritz. . .time to call Comcast. Again!

The Acceptance: And after a bit of arm-twisting and fast-dancing (Minor already worked with a different editor at the same publishing company) we got a contract. Signed it. Got paid half the advance.

Since Wendell was already booked up for several years, I didn’t even consider starting on the actual manuscript right away. And that was ’04.

Time Passes: And then Life intervened. Well, Death actually. My beloved husband’s cancer returned in ‘05, and he died in ’06 and my world turned upside down.

Oh, I was still writing. Publishing. But I pushed difficult research projects to the bottom of the pile over and over again. I didn't want to think difficult or troubling or anxiety-producing thoughts.

Difficult? A picture book? O, ye of little knowledge. To remind you: a picture book is usually 32 and occasionally 40 pages long. Half or more of it is pictorial. The trick of writing one--so far as there is a trick--is to be a prose writer with a poet's sensibility. Or a poet who is comfortable with story. Furthermore, an historical picture book needs to be able to boil down a biography or a part of a biography into a follow-able line with illustrate-able pages.

During the next few years I wrote a picture book about Honus Wagner, but his life had a fairly predictable trajectory. Ditto a book on Johnny Appleseed. Yes, those lives was pretty straight-forward though the finished books were not exactly that easy.

Along the way, I lost my excitement for BF. This is always a problem with signing a contract before a book is written. The exigencies of a writer’s life often means one has to sell unwritten stuff ahead of time. I don’t like to do that, but think of it the other way around: spending months, years working on a book and then it never sells! What a waste of time, energy, emotion—and you are not even making a living. Yes, I love to write, but I love eating and keeping a roof over my head even more. Well, maybe not even more. It's sort of a tie.

Getting Down to Writing: Now we come to ’08 and the whole of America is buzzing about politics. Hell, the whole world is. And politics was what BF was all about. Even when he was a printer, he was thinking about the way people integrate their daily lives with family, community, government; how they teach themselves about the world; how they bootstrap themselves up the ladder of success. So of course I began to think again about THE LEATHER APRON CLUB. How could I not?

I have been a published writer for well over 40 years and one thing I have learned: I know when I am ready to write something. I may get it wrong the first dozen times around, but I know when I am ready. A light bulb goes off in my head. A gong sounds in my ear. An invisible hand taps me on the shoulder. It really is as much a metaphor as that.

So I knew. It was the right time. Even the write time. Trust me--would I lie?

More anon.

Interstitial Moment: 2 of 3

Research: I pulled out the five or six books I already had on Franklin, bought some more, read Poor Richard’s Almanac, looked at timelines, checked online sites.

For me—other writers’ may differ—there comes a moment in my research when I know enough to start though not enough to finish. Friends of mine research till they know absolutely everything and then start. I continue researching as I go along. Yes, this may mean some missteps and I have to go back and redo something that turns out to be anachronistic or otherwise just dead wrong. (For example: I used the word “frock coat” in an early version of one double page, but after researching the actual 1730s clothing, I quickly changed it.)

The reason? I want to be fresh on the page, not a spewing of dates and facts from over-learned notes. I need to get a start on writing when the characters and their situation is sparking, not dead from too much reading. YMMV= Your mileage may vary.

Point of View: When the editor and I had been speaking about the book many years earlier, I thought I might use one of Franklin’s two sons as the pov character. Then well into my research, I found some problems. One of the sons--Frances--died at 4. Ooops. Can’t use him. One of them—William, who was older--grew up and became a Tory and broke with his father till almost the end of Franklin’s life. Oops. Can he be re-made as a good guy? Franklin’s apprentices were too old to be the pov for the book. There was a nephew, but he was the same age as the Tory son.  I held on to him as a possibility for far too long. But for the little bit I could find out about him, he wasn’t particularly bright or attractive. And there were two slaves. Franklin had slaves? Yes, I was as astonished when I read that as I am telling you. But they were grown men at the time of this story and so not suitable for the pov character.

What to do? What to do? I was flummoxed, pole-axed, and ready to sell the book back.

Delay, delay, delay: I pushed the book back down the pile. Wrote some DINO books. Became enmeshed in two novels—one for kids, one for adults. Did a bunch of signings. Had dinners and lunches with friends. Spent time in meetings. Visited children and grandchildren.

Yes, I still wanted to write the Franklin book, but the pov problem had to be solved first. That’s where I needed to start and couldn’t start until it worked itself out. Worked itself out. As much as I am a believer in knowing when the right time to work has come, I also believe that the hind brain, the lizard brain, the subconscious, the unconscious mind works best when ignored. I let it work.

Then I sat down one day after the election was over, after I’d sent off everything on my desk to either my co-authors or agent or various editors. There was nothing else pending for the moment. So I said to myself, sez I: “This has been hanging over my head for far too long.” Well, I wasn’t actually that polite with myself. But metaphorically I took myself up by the nape of the neck and gave myself a good shaking. Sometimes it’s the only way to get my attention.

And I began.

Back to that pesky POV problem: First I had to find that viewpoint character, a child, who could have been around during the time of the Leather Apron Club.

And I got nothing.

So I stepped back and tried a different door. Or an old door. I re-examined the one son who had lived a long and productive life, even though later he became a Tory and broke with his father.

Three things hit me at once: 1. He was evidently bright and hard-working and adventurous. Good characteristics for a boy lead in a picture book. 2. He was Franklin’s illegitimate son brought up by Franklin’s not-so-pleased wife so was a bone of contention between the husband and wife. Interesting problem, though not the main point to stress. 3. He was actually (at age 21) the young man who did the kite-electricity thing with Franklin. I could use that! After all, I am the daughter of the man who was International Kite-flying Champion. (It’s a long story and not one to get into here.)

And suddenly, I had my main character. William Franklin, known to the family as Billy, whose stepmother never warmed to him , whose father over-indulged him, and who loved to learn and to write and who eventually got into politics himself—though on the wrong side of the American Revolution. Wrong--that is--if this is a book about Benjamin Franklin.

That was a huge step, deciding on Billy. And all the rest followed. Though not easily and not all at once.

 

In fact, I am still struggling with it. Picture books may be short but they are not quick. Every word counts. Every. . .single. . .word. Like a poem, the text has to be compressed, lyrical; and if it is an historical biographical picture book, it has to be a life fined down to its essence.

And of course there was something else, a new problem. Now I had to research Billy, too.

Researching Billy: It turns out that very little is known about Wiliam Franklin's early life (before he is 8) though lots about him once he gets educated in England, marries, becomes Governor of New Jersey, stands with the Tories, is jailed for two years after the American Revolution, goes to England where he remains the rest of his life. But during the period I want to use him? Not much at all.

Besides, he was 1-2 years old when the first Leather Apron Club meeting happened.

I began to worry all over again. (Of course this is not new. There are three places I always worry about in a book: the beginning, the middle, and at the end!) Had I made a mistake choosing Billy? I considered this from all sides. I still liked Billy. I knew I could work with him. He would have been a good listener to his father's stories. Crossing all the appropriate appendages, I plunged in.

A note to my readers: #3 in this series will take a bit longer to get to you. Don't despair. I am in the middle of writing the book so there is, as yet, not a #3 to tell you.

 

Interstitial Moment: 3 of 4 for now

Okay, I lied. Well, maybe I just misspoke. There are going to be four parts to this because the book is becoming infinitely more complicated as it goes on.

(Or maybe five and six parts if things continue to work out that way.)

Audience: The basic fact of the Leather Apron Club is really quite sophisticated and not at all child-friendly. It was a Junto, a drinking and talking club of young artisans and tradesmen who wanted to better themselves and their community, which was Philadelphia in the 1730s. Ben Franklin began it. My pov character Billy was only a toddler then. Now, my pov character will be infinitely more interesting to my audience than the LAC members and their long-winded doings, but I have to be able to tell the story of the LAC in a way that Billy is fascinated by it AND the reader is, too.

And it is not going well.

Question: how much is audience important to a writer? In some ways it is everything, and in other ways nothing at all. I like to say I write for myself as I was as a child. But right now I--even I at age 8, who read cereal boxes, for goodness sakes—would not have been interested in this story. The first part which is all about Billy—yes, I would have followed it eagerly. But not the LAC part. So there has to be another way of getting there and I just haven’t found it yet. How long will it take to get there? No one, certainly not me—knows. I don’t even know IF I will get there in the end. But I am trying.

Linearity: I describe myself as a linear writer. I tend to be a linear reader, too. I like my books to go forward. Which is not to say I never like a non-linear book.

One of my favorite adult novels of the past 25 years is The Time Traveler’s Wife and it is anything but linear. I wrote The Wild Hunt which is hardly linear, having two main characters who lead parallel but separate lives for over half the book before finding out that they are living in the same (and yet different) house. And the interstitiality of my Holocaust novel Briar Rose has been much remarked upon. As has my Great Alta Trilogy trilogy: Sister Light, Sister Dark; White Jenna; The One-Armed Queen. And my most recently published picture books have interstitial underpinnings. Naming Liberty is two stories in one, matching one another on the tick of the high notes. Johnny Appleseed has three separate tellings on each double page spread—poem, story, and extra marginalia.

But this story is trying to be linear and failing. I must go back and think some more. Arrrrgh.

Interstitial Moment: 4 of 6

So there I was in San Antonio, having dinner with one of my favorite people, Judy O’Malley who is (among other things) an editor, teacher, mentor, mensch. And I brought up The Leather Apron Club talking her through the problems. She is not the editor, but a very smart friend and a great listener.

Her first thought was—that’s a novel! And you know, maybe there is a novel there, but I am writing a picture book. It’s under contract. And the last thing I want to do is add another novel idea to the 6 or 8 I already have. (Three under contract, one of which is written but it’s for adults, and a fourth  children’s book already written without a contract that came as a delicious surprise.)

So we talked some more, and I realized that I was probably not as far off as I thought I was on this book.

Rearrangement: Sometimes in book terms, rearranging means pushing the deck chairs around on the Titanic. And sometimes it means moving furniture in a small room to make it appear larger. Sometimes rearranging things brings a story into focus.

So, when I got back home, and after a day of NOT working on the book—there were too many things to do before I could actually sit down, and luckily my writer’s group was canceled—I sat myself down with the laptop and started the process of pushing and pulling and rearranging.

And voila! I got down a complete first draft. (To be honest, I was only two and a half spreads away from finishing anyway.)

Finishing: The hardest thing in any book is getting that first complete draft down. Good, bad, or somewhere in-between, you can’t really know it’s possible to finish the book until that first draft is done.

All the rest is revision.

Revision may take you hundreds of times longer to do than the first draft That’s not important. But getting it down does three things. 1. It removes doubt in your mind. 2. It gives you time to breathe. 3. It gives you malleable clay to work with.

Getting a complete draft down means you can now take a cautious but complete look at what you have. Measure it with mental tape. Re-read your research. Take notes. Take a bath. Hell, take out a sledgehammer.

Length: The first thing a picture book author always asks is: Is it too long? Probably. Picture books are always too long on the first draft. Though with an historical picture book, length is not so much an issue. This is a book for 3-6th grades, not a baby picture book.

Questions: Still, I have to ask myself—am I tackling too many subjects? Is there a way to get more clearly and quickly to the subject—the Leather Apron Club which started the first Circulating/ Subscription Library in America? Have I taken too many side roads along the way? Is this too much Billy’s book and not enough Ben Franklin’s? Would a child reader actually be interested in a philosophical talking club or would the childreader be more interested in Billy’s adventures? Should I dump the library idea altogether?

And of course questions such as: Is this the proper word? Have I said this once too often? Is this sentence lyrical? Am I straining at this metaphor? Am I clear enough? Though of course these are questions for any book.

Some of the questions I can answer now. Some may have to be answered once the editor gets a look (though not till a half a dozen more revisions along the way.)

But quickly here are some of the things those questions bring up. Am I tackling too many subjects? That’s a biggie. This is NOT a novel. Not a chapter book. Each double page spread needs to be illustrated. I know Wendell’s illustration technique well. He does great double-page set pieces. But there has to be in every double page text a central point. I may have to do some judicious cutting for that. Yet I don’t want to shortcut the story of Billy, his interesting family, his change from an adventurous, uncomfortable boy into a great reader and supporter of his father’s library ideas.

Is there a way to get more clearly to the subject—the Leather Apron Club which started the first Circulating/Subscription Library in America? Whoosh—that’s a tough one since as I have said before, that’s not a particularly inviting subject for a child reader. We need to get to it through Billy. I am probably going to need some help from the editor on this one. She will tell me if I have done too much or too little about the LAC and the Library.

Should I dump the library idea entirely? We began the book with that idea. It has an immediate appeal to librarians. But on second and third and fifth hand, a dump may have to happen. Sometimes a book moves beyond it’s initiating idea. But if it does, will the editor still want the book? Will Wendell Miner still want to illustrate it? That would be a big gamble. After all, we sold the book because it was about the first library. And I am nowhere near that choice yet, if ever.

All writing is a series of questions that an author asks herself. Sometimes the questions are so sotto voce she doesn’t even know she is asking them. Sometimes they come shouting in capital letters, overwhelming her. From her own brain, from early readers of the manuscript, from her editor(s). Normally my questions are internal, but by writing these short Interstitial pieces on the writing of this particular picture book, I am doing something not normal for me. I am letting everyone in on what is usually a very private practice.

But whether those questions are aloud or silent, EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF WRITING  IS AN AUTHOR’S WAY OF ANSWERING WHAT IS BEING ASKED. (Sorry to shout, but I want you to remember that.)

PS: I am thinking there will be two more of these mini-essays on writing LAC. One on the big revision process I will be undertaking, probably after Thanksgiving, and one on the editor-author relationship before, during, and after the work on the book. Knowing how slow editors are and how long it takes for them to get to anyone’s mss., this last piece may be several months away.

Interstitial Moment, Part 5 of 6:

So the editor of Ben Franklin LEATHER APRON CLUB picture book did, indeed, get back to me after the holidays. What she said—and I could not disagree—was that I have got to make this the boy’s story throughout. That I need to make more actual scenes, and not just talk about Billy and how he feels. If he is an out-of-control kid, we need to see that, not be told about it. If he becomes a book-lover, we have to see that happening as well. And if there is to be some interaction between Billy and the Leather Apron men or their Club House cum library we have to see that, too–not just hear about it after the fact. Picture books, like movies, come in scenes.

The editor said all this more elegantly than that, and she said it more fulsomely, and she certainly did not mince words either. Her message was clear, though she praised me to the skies: the story right now is a bit of a mess.

I had known that before I sent it, but I’d been stuck. And now, with her notes for each double-page spread to hand, I began to revise.

The revision had three parts. 1. Understanding what my editor, the redoubtable Patricia Gauch, was getting at. (Check!) 2. Taking apart each double-page spread and trying to make each a more active scene. (Still working on that) 3. Melding the two parts of the story—boy running wild, boy learning to love books and getting him to the library. (This has been the hardest and I will explain why in a bit.)

1. I think understanding my editor’s objections was the easy part, as I totally agreed with her. But if I had hoped she would TELL me what to do, I should have known better. She has never done that in the dozens of books we have worked on together, from novels, to books of poetry, and the many many picture books. She tells me in general terms, reminding me who the audience is, and how much they want a story. I know this, but it never hurts to be reminded of it.

She also reminds me about other things: active verbs, showing vs. telling, things I also already know. As I read over her notes for the second and third time, (and we had already spoken on the phone before she sent on the notes) I began to find my way back into the book. It's as if she and I are holding hands and walking into the story together. Now this is the editor I worked with on Owl Moon and Girl in a Cage, Naming Liberty, Bird Song, My Uncle Emily. We work well together. We trust one another. But still, I not only read her notes three times before beginning, I read each double page spread note as I plunged into that part of the revision. Patti is a writer as well as an editor, but she's very careful about not writing the book for me. As much as I trust her, she trusts me.

2. Writing a picture book has its counterpart in writing novels. Each are built on scenes that when put together lead the reader inevitably through a story that is a thematic whole. The picture book writer has to make scenes that are character-driven and beautifully written, but also each scene or spread has to suggest a picture or pictures. In other words, it has to be illustratable. And all this within 32 pages. Well, remember, not fully 32 pages, as you have front matter (half title, title, copyright/dedication page. In fact you might not actually start the book's text until page 6. And often in the case of historical picture books (and certainly in this one) page 32 is saved for a note about What is True in This Book piece. That leaves approximately 13-14 spreads, that is 13-14 scenes.

So I began by rearranging everything, starting more with the boy being out of control, showing him out of control, racing off into the city with his cousin, and coming home one day completely wet, disheveled, having dined out on cakes and cider with his equally naughty cousin James. At which point, Ben Franklin throws up his hands metaphorically and hires a tutor. Now before, I had Billy go from out-of-control to a book lover in two pages for no reason at all. Now I had to show it happening, and the teacher—Theophilis Grew, great name, and the real name of the tutor by the way —has to be the reason why. So I made that a really strong scene (I think) showing how a good teacher works. Not butting heads with these wild kids, but suckering them in by reading a story out loud that absolutely grabs them--The Odyssey (which is one of the actual books in the Leather Apron Club’s library.

3. The problem is that I am making some of this up. We know little about Billy’s early life except that he was a bit wild and adventurous, that Franklin hired the tutor in order to get his son into a good school, that Billy’s stepmother hated him, that Billy was indulged by Franklin, and that the two of them were together with Billy barely out of his teens in the kite/electricity experiment. Did Billy learn about books the way I tell it? Who knows. Did he ever go and sit in the Leather Apron Club meeting? Again, who knows. To make the story work, melding the two parts together, I had to do something. I hope that the Author’s Note is enough of an explanation as to what is true and what is speculation.

What I have done is to take what we do know about William (Billy ) Franklin’s young life and re-imagine the history. And of course the very word history ends in the word story, which I like to say at every opportunity! I hope that I have done him proud.

Small note: As enaging as young Billy was, his later life was a sad commentry on politics. He remained a Tory, loyal to the British crown, spied for the British, raised money for them, even though his father was one of the leading men of the Revolution. He was even imprisoned by the Americans and, after two years, when he was released, he helped put together a guerrilla movement that fought against the American patriots. This meant that after the war was over, he had to sail away from his family with whom he’d broken, and live for the rest of his life in Britain on a government pension.

The next installment of this journal within a journal, will be about the editor’s reaction to my rearrangement, my revision, my re-imagining. I still have about two or three days of more tinkering, twiddling, noodling (technical terms! LOL) before I send it off to her. Then we have the waiting period while she goes and does other things like HAVE A LIFE before she gets around to my book. If I am lucky, she will like it enough for only some minor stuff. If not, well, I am still a great reviser and we will get there in the end.

Interstitial Moment, 6 out of 6. . .but wait, there will be more

Finally the editor got back to me on the picture book, THE LEATHER APRON CLUB which I had revised top to bottom for her. She is very precise about the things she likes and doesn’t. But there is still a problem. She writes:

“For me, this is so much better, and so much more accessible. I have, however, one wish. This is the Leather Apron Club. Still. And it is what Wendell accepted doing. . .there is a natural wave of narrative that mounts to p. 30 and 31 where Papa takes him to the Leather Apron Club.

For me, it ends abruptly there, not letting me get quite to its narrative peak.”

I think what she means is that I have short-circuited the story just when it is reaching the height of the narrative. I have led us, Moses-like—so we can see the promised land, in this case the actual Leather Apron Club. But now, I stop the story. It is over. Wait—but what about that LAC and how does it impinge on the narrator’s imagination, his newfound love of books, his life story from then on? I think I know, but I neither showed nor told it. I just stopped.

And I agree with her assessment. Part of this is a problem with too much information. A historical narrative often suffers from this problem. And at the same time, not enough room. Picture books have limited space.

Patti suggested: “Can you sit on that moment? Perhaps beginning with “One night, Papa takes me to his club, etc.” Let the boy be there? Let him hear what they talk about? Can it be ecstatic, that moment. And let that page be that “recognition”, that ‘revelation.” Save James* for the following page. (*James is Billy's cousin who does not choose to be a reader.) I do like how the story winds down, but I hate to have that kind of winding down on the Leather Apron Club page.”

Ok—I can do this, But will I have to take something out? Will I have to compress the story even more to fit it into 32 pages? I am getting a bit nervous about that. The un-roominess of the picture book format for the historical narrative. I can feel my breath coming in short pants.

But then my lovely editor adds, ”If you have to go to 34 or 36 pages, let’s go there. That would make a 40 page self end book, which should be all right. (I am qualifying everything with the events of the world so nutty.)”

She means the publishing world, which is currently imploding. She would have to do some more fancy dancing to get the Suits to agree to a longer book.

Do I dare let it go on, hoping we will get the 40 page self-ends? And why wouldn’t they? This is Ben Franklin, this is Jane Yolen, this is Wendell Minor! I am nothing if not self-aggrandizing at this moment. It comes with Hope.

I will tell you why. Nothing is guaranteed any more in publishing. And a 40 page book costs more --more pages, more ink, fatter in a box of 50 copies, heavier to ship. So the price will have go up, or if there is major price resistance, the publisher will have to take less profit per book. They hate doing that! And then there is another concern. The illustrator has contracted for 32 pages, and may not want to invest more time and energy in a longer (more pictures) book. Yeah—lots of possible problems there. But the possibility of this being a major book is there as well.

So I will try and do BOTH things. I will let the story breathe and then see if  I can compress the longer story onto the pages of a 32 page book.

More anon as I tackle this. Wish me luck, God speed, and pray the creeks don’t rise.

 

Interstitial Moment, 7 out of 7, but I bet we are not done yet

So I began to work on the new revision of THE LEATHER APRON CLUB, and found that there was no way I could compress the story any more. In other words, I couldn't do what the editor asked for--"There is a natural wave of narrative that mounts to p. 30 and 31 where Pappy takes him to the Leather Apron Club. For me, it ends abruptly there, not letting me get quite to its narrative peak. . . Can you sit on that moment? Perhaps beginning with 'One night, Pappy takes me to his club, etc.' Let the boy be there? Let him hear what they talk about? Can it be ecstatic, that moment. And let that page be that 'recognition', that ‘revelation.'”

I mean--look at how much SHE had to write to talk about what still was needed in the book. We are talking several scenes, not just one short one. A revelation is a process, not just a simple Aha! moment.

So I had to go with her second idea: "If you have to go to 34 or 36 pages, let’s go there. That would make a 40 page self end book, which should be all right."

And that, dear readers, is what I did. Instead of ending on page 30-31 (32 was an Author's Historical Note, very important to let readers know what is historical, actual, can be cited, and what is re-imagined) I went 32-33, 34-35, and then ended on 36 (now the Author's Note), leaving us room for those self ends. In those two extra double page spreads, I was able to do everything she wanted (I hope). I show the boy going for the first time to the Club with Franklin on 30-31, hearing the questions each meeting begins with (start of revelation), listening to the men in their arguments (begins to crest), and hoping that when he is old enough he can become a member (Aha!) Then I wind down the story in a natural, positive way.

Of course, now I need to hear from the editor, which may take weeks more. Reminder: publishing is a slow-slow business. If the publisher won't go for the longer book, I will have to cut two of the middle double-pages which will not make me happy. But we will cross that ball of wax when we get to it.

For now, the ball is back in the editor's court. I just hope that we aren't moving our feet so fast we have blurred all the base lines.

Doncha just love mixed metaphors?

Interstitial Moment, 8 out of 7, magic time

It took weeks for the editor to get back to me and we fiddled with a few words over the phone together. But then she was pleased with it. Pleased enough to actually order my second half of the advance check to be cut! That’s a biggie.

However, we both know that once the illustrator begins his work, there will be more cuts, or some more re-arranging to be done. And I will continue the story of how the book was made when we get to those next steps. It will probably take some time.

I never said that picture book making was a quick way to make either literature or money. But it is always fascinating. At least to me.

A word about time: there are more than two time scales that go on when a picture book is getting done.

1. Author and how fast or slow she manages to beat out a first draft.

2, How long it takes an editor to get to read and reread the piece before making notes and sending them on. Editors do have lives, and they (gasp!) do have other authors they are working with. And sometimes a manuscript gets buried on a desk, an assistant quits, the editor gets flu or has an operation or a baby or a grandbaby or a divorce.

3. How long it takes to find the right illustrator (in this case we already had him) and said illustrator to be free and finished with other projects. I have had illustrators booked years in advance and my little offering just on the tail end of a five year line. Also illustrators have lives, too, and they (gasp!) do have other authors they are working with. And sometimes a manuscript gets buried on a desk, an assistant quits, the illustrator gets flu or has an operation or a baby or a grandbaby or a divorce. And sometimes the illustrator pulls out after they see the manuscript because the piece is not what they were hoping for.

And that’s just for starters. These days there are whole publishing companies that collapse or cut back or are sold. Editors and their assistants fired. Art directors, designers and their assistants fired. Barnes and Noble folk who hate the book and its idea and the editor is pressured into going back to square one (or not even buying the book in the first place.) I am not saying any of that happened with this book. But it has been happening all across the publishing industry, a kind of cancer spreading. Or Swinish Flu.

More when the illlustrator begins his work.

 

 

May 24-May 27, 2009:

A weekend of movies--two with Bob Marstall ("Star Trek," which we both loved, "Wolverine" which had the always delicious to look at Mr. Hugh Jackman but a bit too much slamming and banging about for any real character development, and "Night at the Smithsonian which I went to on my own. Some amusing bits, not much else.)

The rest of the time, I did a couple of revisions with Pat Lewis on our Chagall book, a couple of chapters with Adam on BUG, and the rest was trying to catch up with stuff on my desk before leaving for Scotland.

JOHNNY APPLESEED is on the Bank Street list of 100 Best Books, got to see a bit more of the artwork for the Honus Wagner book, and that's about it for now.

 

May 21-23, 2009:

As usual, the week and a half before I go off to Scotland is fraught with office stuff, saying my goodbyes to friends, and last minute catch-ups. So I do lots of filing, Xeroxing, phone and fax numbers written down, letters/emails to those who need to know my dates (June 5-October 9) etc.

This meant May 21: I ran the annual Jane Yolen writing contest for the Hatfield Elementary. 17 winners, and this year the top winner was a girl in 5th grade who had the single best voice in a piece of writing I have seen in the twenty years of this contest.

It meant going to the doctor and now being on heart meds for high blood pressure, I who have had low blood pressure all my life. Another pill in the medicine cabinet that is now my life.

It meant meeting a new date for tea. And explaining that I would be away five months. Sweet man. I am sure he will be snatched up long before I return.

It meant dinner with the family at Heidi’s.

May 22: It meant PT (I am down 13 pounds, though have slightly plateaued.) And my back feels better for all the exercises. Though there are enough twinges—especially on rainy days—to make me still remember it in a big way.

This meant May 23: I had a fun day out first with Barbara Goldin as we sashayed around the Paradise Arts and Crafts juried show at the Northampton Three County Fair. I bought birthday presents for the twins. And then I saw the “Star Trek” movie with my friend Bob. I had more fun at that movie than anything since the first Pirates of the Carribean.

All of this meant I didn’t do much writing, though Adam has sent me the beginning of a new BUG chapter which I hope to get to before going off.

 

I am constantly asked by friends why I spend so much time in Scotland. And the answer is simple. Besides the cool summer weather—which I love--and the house I love and the friends there I love, there is the quiet. No one demands/asks/cajoles/ offers large fees for me to do speeches and workshops. No one wants my autograph, a blurb, a mss. consult, a free essay. I am to a great degree anonymous there. I write a lot. Read a lot. Walk a lot. Visit a lot. I digress, regress, decompress, and I do not have to impress. The only meetings I go to are the block association on matters that have to do with our street. The only speaking I do is with friends over tea or dinner. The only traveling is for delight. Of course I love to go!

Interestingly, though David and I lived together in the Massachusetts house for nearly forty years, and only fifteen in our Scottish house, he is more present there than here. I am not sure why except he loved that house, that place, with all his heart.

 

May 13-May 20, 2009:

How could I possibly have kept up with the journal this last week? It was Ballet Week. Heidi was sewing costumes, Maddison was in rehearsal, I had lots of other stuff since Friday-Sunday was going to be Ballet 24/7.

May 13: I drove into Boston/Watertown with Rich Michelson as we are both Charlesbridge authors and they were giving a huge Meet the Authors party. It was hot and sweaty in their offices, but we both had a good time equally on the rides there and back gabbing, gossiping, telling stories, laughing. And at the party, where I talked to editorial staff, librarians and teachers, marketing staff, and old friends like Kathy Lasky and Ann Sibley O'Brien, and others. Bought a few books and had them signed to grandkids for holidays.

May 14: I had PT, went to tea with an old college friend (she made a High Tea with finger sandwiches and scones!) And then to Children's Books Drink night--Bob Marstall, me, and three librarians.

May 15-17: I saw the "Emily of Amherst Ballet" five times. I think it took me three full run-throughs before I was willing to look at someone else besides my gorgeous granddaughter! At all the Intermissions I signed copies of MY UNCLE EMILY. I also gave a talk sponsored dually by the Amherst Ballet and the Emily Dickinson Foundation at another High Tea at the Amherst Alumni House, called "The Writer's Emily." It was well received, but the audience was small (though very appreciative). It has given me the idea of a book about writing with the same title as the talk. Is it saleable? As my agent and I have agreed, we no longer seem to know anything about anything.

May 18: A long morning with old college classmates, five of us discussing the upcoming (gulp) 50th reunion. I am in charge of the signs we march with, which have to be humorous, witty, and thoughtful. I love these women! Even though I barely knew any of them in college more than to nod at. Then I went home in time to do a little diddling with stuff, before going to a local restaurant with Maddison and Heidi who were both understandably exhausted.

May 19: PT in the morning, writer's group (only four of us) at midday, and dinner in the evening with Heidi and Tom where we were very silly and very full by the early evening's end. But I was so tired, I went to bed at 8:45!

May 20th: Saw the doctor for regular stuff. Seems my blood pressure is to high for their liking, so am now on a low dosage of heart meds. Sigh More pills. Then I spent the day going through piles of stuff (will file on the weekend) and paid half the bills. That should raise the blood pressure even further! The other half of such bill-paying tomorrow--I hope.

I had two more rejection letters--sigh--and the great news that I had another starred review (this one in School Library Journal) for MY UNCLE EMILY. Huzzah!

May 3-May 12, 2009:

Sorry that I have not written for a while, but as you will see, my life has been somewhat of a whirlwind.

May 3-5, in Minneapolis for IRA (and a bit of staying with and playing with the Stemples there). I had a very good convention, signed oodles of books, but had no lunches or dinners or breakfasts with anyone in pubishing as I usually do. At Scholastic, I sold out within 40 minutes, and they’d brought 250 DINOS GO TO SCHOOL books as well as the f&gs of the new HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY I LOVE YOU, all of which went like wildfire. The Penguin/Putnam booth sold out of OWL MOON and DEVIL’S ARITHMETIC and did well with the other stuff they had. S&S, Harcourt,  and Boyds Mills went well, too. Adam and I had a rather slower signing at Anderson’s Books, but still did okay. We got four bags of loot for the kids. My own children used to call this "Shopping in Mommy's free store."

May 5, flew home after signing all day, and got back close to midnight. And then early the next day had to do laundry, email, catch up on important stuff, have an early morning doctor’s visit that I simply slept through I was so tired, so had to reschedule.

May 6-9: Texas for a speaking engagement at the Bill Martin Jr. conference. I got there only to find out they wanted two speeches, not just the one I brought with me—morning and then after lunch. No one had told me that in any of the emails. Luckily I had my laptop and the woman driving me had a flash drive. She printed it out for me. Both speeches went over very well—and I signed 2 hours after the first speech, 3 after the second. LOTS of books!

Did some work on a new picture book about a wolf who keeps trying to help folks (three little pigs on a rooftop, a girl in a red cloak mired in the mud, etc.) but “Nobody loves a Big Bad Wolf,” his mother tells him. It’s in rhyme and based on a picture of Laurel Molk’s of a wolf with his paw raised, as if volunteering for something, which was sent to me by her agent. Laurel and I had done OFF WE GO and BENEATH THE GHOST MOON, both pretty successful sellers. I don’t ordinarily work this way, because editors like to find their own illustrators, but I couldn’t resist that picture!

Flew home on the 9th.

And on the 10th, Mother’s Day I sort of rested. Caught up on email. bills, heard from all three kids. Went over to the ballet school so I could actually see Heidi and Maddison and was invited to come into the rehearsal for the Emily Dickinson ballet. It’s going to be stunning and if you are anywhere near Amherst this coming weekend, don’t miss it. Performances at Amherst College’s Kirby Theater. Go to the Amherst Ballet website for ticket orders etc. I also stopped in and saw Bob Marstall’s reconstituted studio. Suddenly it is flooded with light.Went home, watched some tv. went to bed early.

May 11, I was interviewed, had PT, and tried to write. More work on the new picture book about the wolf .

May 12, still working away on the wolf book and sent off an early version to the agent to see if they love it or hate it. LOVE was the word they used! Aha! I am energize! I also worked a bit on the new collection Pat Lewis and I are putting together. With poems both published and unpublished, we already have 54. (I will not say the subject until and unless the book sells.) And I finally heard from the editor of the Leather Apron Club book who said in passing that the revision was wonderful, so that is done with. For now. She always finds more stuff once the artist begins his work.

In the evening I was part of a local Valleywood production that was not particularly successful, but then it was more of a tryout.

More anon.

 

April 23-May 2, 2009:

 My goodness, a lot happened the past nine days. I can scarcely get it all down.

Writing:

         *Poems for BIRDS OF A FEATHER, five new poems, revising old ones till I have all but one needed for the book, though will be continuing to revise for as long as needed.

         *Revised an essay on the making of FOILED for the fourth major time. Hope this is the charm.The editor has been very helpful.

         *Retold a folk tale for the JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEASTS.

         *Wrote the last part of a chapter for B.U. G. that Adam worked on.

         *Rewrote my talk for the Bill Martin Symposium (though that is inTexas and am waiting to find out if —given the swine flu outbreak—they still plan to have me come down there next week.

 

Book News:

        *Starred review in PW for MIRROR FOR NATURE (I may have mentioned this but why not say it again!) Raves everywhere.

         *Korean contract for MY UNCLE EMILY.

         *Some rave reviews (no stars) for MY UNCLE EMILY.

         *So-so review from Kirkus on DRAGON’S HEART. They wanted more dragons, fewer humans.

         *I was told that HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY I LOVE YOU is having a 100,000 print run.

         *Editor of EXCEPT THE QUEEN thinks we may have to cut 10,000 words. But will make that decision after she reads the book. Hopefully this weekend.

 

Conferences:

         *Adam and I spoke at the Assn. of Private School Librarians (I think that’s the right name) in Las Vegas. The people were terrific, but I find Las Vegas too assaultive on my senses and they still allow smoking in public spaces. And I cannot tell you how many elderly people with          nasal cannulas of oxygen up their noses were smoking! And playing the slots while looking as if the whole thing is Not Much Fun.

         *Adam and I went from there to Reno, and were driven up an incredible winding road to Virginia City, a charming theme park of a town high in the mountains where the SCBWI Nevada group was   having its annual workshop. I spoke on landscape, Adam on fantasy.  We had the best time. Adam played a lot of music in the evening and I even got to sing the blues!

         *Saturday I did a reading/signing at the Emily Dickionson Museum of my brand new ED picture book, MY UNCLE EMILY, to about 25 people, and sold about as many books.

         *Am off (if the swine flu doesn’t shut everything down) to Minneapolis for IRA this Sunday and then off to Dallas (really Commerce) Texas on Thursday, to be the keynote speaker for the Bill Martin Jr. conference.         

 

Otherwise: I got to visit just a little bit with Adam and family, had several doctors’ appointments. (Have to stop the cholesterol meds which are making the back of my legs weak, even though they lowered my cholesterol 200 points. Doing PT which helps. E-mailing and talking to possible dates with older gentlemen, but not actually going out. Dinners with friends. A movie. Read several well-reviewed YA chick novels and confirmed that I really don’t like the genre. But then I don’t like adult chick lit either. But at least I have given it a good try

 

April 20-22, 2009:

So after being shot up with cortisone and feeling pretty good for almost a week, going to PT and still feeling well, I managed to trip backwards over a curb and land hard on my bottom. You know--the one I put in the chair to write!

Shook my whole body up a lot, grazed my palm. Had a butt full of gravel. And had to figure out how to get up--never mind gracefully--by holding onto a car bumper and hauling myself forward and up.

And went on to a luncheon meeting. Came home after and took two advils and eventually soaked in a hot tub.

Hope this doesn't ruin the entire cortisone high.Especially since tomorrow I am on a plane 4 and a half hours, going to Las Vegas and afterwards Reno.

Writing? Don't ask.

 

April 14-April 19, 2009:

Midori and I finished EXCEPT THE QUEEN in a rush. And boy are our arms tired. What happened was what I call the "barn door effect." As we got closer to what we knew was the ending, we could not stop writing, sending chapters back and forth, even starting new chapters before we’d even seen the old ones revised. We were the horses smelling the barn and heading towards that open door. Nothing—NOTHING—was going to stand in our way. We didn’t just run, we galloped, manes tossing, fevered, excited, unstoppable, just to get through that barn door.

Of course galloping has its own problems. First, the rest of one’s life is put on hold. Except for paying the taxes (which HAD to be done) no other bills were even looked at, no filing done, hardly any email was answered. Phone calls were not returned. I snacked, and did not eat regular meals unless my granddaughter cooked something and set it in front of me. Second, I was curt with family who wanted to chat, friends who wanted to party or have dinner or simply ask a favor. The exhiliration was all mine. (And, I have to assume, Midori's.) My nearest and dearest were only annoyed in a minor way, however. They have seen this behavior before.

And then the book was finished—130,190 words. Huge. Mammoth. (At least for me.) Midori and I spoke of various small problems still to be attended to. Some spellings we had to agree on (are Greenwood, Elfland, Highborn capitalized or lower case. That sort of thing. An easy fix now that we have computers.)

Just as we were finishing, the editor wrote asking if were we close to the end, not whining mind you, but concerned as ouor drop dead due date was the 15th, and we were several days off. By way of suckering us in, she sent us a color cover sketch. Yes, I know--no one but the two of us had actually seen the book, so how could there be a cover sketch, you ask? Well, the editor had published the original novella after all. But much had been changed in the novel. It was a chancy thing to do. But necessary given the lateness of our manuscript. That sketch was gorgeous but a bit problematic since it shows a handsome young woman with vicious tattoos and a crow flying by. Yes, she is a major character, as is the crow, and yes that scene was in both the novella and (luckily) the novel. BUT the actual heroes of EXCEPT THE QUEEN are two middle-aged women who were once gorgeous fairies kicked out of Elfland, out of the Greenwood. You can see the problem. We asked if the two adult women could be pictured on the back cover somehow. Further, it makes the book look a bit younger than it is, a perfect YA cover (think Holly Black). It is in fact an adult novel, for there is a lot of sex, violence, and swearing. (Midori's Baba Yaga does a complete dissertation on how to use the word "f**k", for example.) And with my standing in the YA community, I was hoping for a more adult looking cover, gorgeous as this one is. We will see if there will be any changes. But we also told her the mss was about to land in her e-mailbox. She was delighted.

If there are not too many necessary revisions,--and Midori and I edited one another ruthlessly throughout--the book will be out from Ace (Penguin/Putnam imprint) in February.

So once we were done—on Thursday—it was time to pay bills, clean the house, do the wash, go to lunches and dinners with friends, chat, get my back shot up with cortisone, teach a class at Mount Holyoke, and all the other fun things that make up a writer’s life. Thursday-Sunday. I also worked on two speeches for next weekend's conferences, wrote the last part of a chapter for Adam's and my B.U.G. Wrote a couple of interesting poems, including "The Vaulting at Cluny" which you can find in the comment section of The Drift Record/ Julie Larios on line.

But now I can check that book off my To Do list and am, on the whole, pleased with it. However, I just don’t want to re-read it any time soon.

 

April 1-April 13, 2009:

What a couple of weeks. Two science fiction conventions (I-Con where I won a major award, and Minicon), several writer’s groups, one trip to the theater to see friend Corinne Demas’ delicious play about internet dating. (Sigh.) Off to son Adam's gig in Minneapolis. Lunch on Thursday with Pamela Dean and Friday with Patricia C. Wrede, both old friends and both writers I admire greatly. Spoke about children's poetry at the Kerlan in Minneapois and got to see "The Loft" an entire building dedicated to writers and writing. Had a long conversation about the Honus Wagner book with the editor which meant a huge new revision. A doctor appointment (getting a shot this week in my back) and other interruptions to my writing schedule all of which slowed me down.

Also, two rejections, and some writing later, Midori and I are in the last couple of chapters of our novel, EXCEPT THE QUEEN. It has been a slog at times, and a delight at others. Several characters surprised me: a throw-away African-American man turned out to be the nephew of two important characters and the way to introduce my Serana to them. The Dog Boy has shown real growth. Midori and I have also wrestled with place and landscape quite a bit. And we are still arduously threading back some of the important elements and characters.

***Metaphor Alert!*** Novels—especially ones that go as long as this (about 130,000 words) are large slippery fish and we the clumsy bears who catch things only because there are a lot of them swimming upstream. ***End Metaphor Alert****

A number of interesting bloggers are doing special stuff for Poetry Month, and you can find interviews and other stuff about me (including some new poems) on Seven Impossible Things and Miss Rumphius Effect and soon on GottaBook, You will need to scroll down a bit. But take time to read all the entries because they are fascinating, not just the ones about me (and in one case about Jason’s photos.)

By the by—I am following the latest Amazon brouhaha about the de-ranking of books with gay content. I have sent a letter asking for information and saying I will no longer buy from Amazon if this keeps up. Long ago I made the decision not to link my website to them, only to the Indies. But occasionally we have bought books from them. And that will be stopping until I hear back and this nastiness is settled. You know—they actually carry that anti-Semitic tract “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion” and will not rank the gay books? GIVE ME A BREAK!!!

 

March 31, 2009:

I was picked up at 7:30 a.m., along with Bob Marstall and Shelley Rotner, by Gary Lippincott. Book-smart people will immediately recognize these names as illustrators of children's books (though Shelley is actually a photographer who's pictures are used in children's books.) And off we drove two-and-a-half hours to Saratoga Springs where the New York State Reading Conference was being held in the Hilton.

WMIG--our Western Mass Illustrators' Guild--was making a big show there, and I was the moderator of a panel of six illustrators. On the panel: Gary, Ruth Sanderson, Diane DeGroat, John Gurney, Jeff Mack, and Linda Graves. We spent the day schmoozing teachers and librarians, selling and signing books, g-clee prints, and original artwork, handing out materials about our books and school visits. Also there were Laura Jacques and Robin Brickman. Ralph Masiello had put our participation together and we saluted his hard work early and often.

The panel went well though it was sparsely attended Well, in fact the entire conference was sparsely attended, down from 1800 people a couple of years ago to somewhere well under 500. It's the economy, Stupid! But those who were there loved it and loved us.

Afterwards, eleven of the WMIG folk went out for a riotous dinner at Wheatfields (an Italian restaurant despite its name) where we once again saluted Ralph's hard work, though this time with good wine. Gary drove Bob and me home. Shelley got a ride with Jeff instead. So we left at 7:30, home by 11:00 an exhausting but fun day with people I am very fond of. Nothing wrong with that.

 

March 30, 2009:

Granddaughter Glendon is 26 today, and we still bless the moment she came to us.

I worked on revising a retold folktale for the JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEAST and did the sidebars as well. Have noine out of twenty. Slow going.

Worked on a two new poems, one of which I put on the Miss Rumphius Effect poetry stretch website. The poetry stretch was for a list poemt. Here is the one posted, slightly amended:

                  How to Write A List Poem

         1. Gather your thoughts.

         Try using the hand basket

         you were using for your trip to hell.

         Or the tote bag from the garden shop

         since green is the color for now.

         Or perhaps the backpack

         which you threw into the corner

         after your last abortive

         climb of Kilimanjaro.

         (Maybe learning to spell it should come first.)

 

         2. Make an Actual List

         Try a grocery list,

         with numbers to the left.

         Don’t forget the eggs, the hummus.

         Or a To Do list,

         because it is always fun to cross things off.

         Or a recipe, using good verbs.

         I particularly like: Stir. Whisk. Sear.

         Or in a pinch, Pinch.

 

         3. Gather sources.

         I prefer books,

         old hard covers discovered,

         in musty, fusty bookstores

         where a woman named Barbara

         or perhaps Mabel Jane

         adds everything up with a pencil.

         Young listers prefer the Internet

         which is democratic and erratic.

         My husband used his brain.

         He never forgot anything he ever read,

         could close his eyes and still see the information

         nestled on its page.

 

         4. Write.

         Butt in chair.

         Put your poem.

         Down.

         The.

         Page.

 

 

March 29, 2009:

Midori and I are barreling away on the book. I wrote another 1,100 words in the morning. Inventing some new stuff before we get to the BIG BATTLE which will be (I imagine) pretty much as it was in the novella since it was an explicit set piece. Except instead of being narrated in a letter, it will be played out.And of course there are some new threads which will have to be dealt with, emotional arcs tidied.

In the early afternoon, I managed to finish the chapter—another 1,400 words.

This means we may even get the draft we promised soon, though I would rather have time to go over it. Carefully. Ace wants to bring the book out next February but to do that, they need a complete draft by (gulp) April 15. And this week I am gone all day Tuesday, and then Friday-Sunday. And Midori is tending a sick mother. Life, as we all know, simply happens when you are trying to get things done.

In the late afternoon I did a first draft of a new JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEASTS story, interpolating a kugel/noodles story into a Hershel Osterpolier trickster tale.

PS: Did I mention that last week I heard SEA QUEENS has sold to Spain? Well, it did. And I got the Massachusetts Reading Assn.’s calendar with a piece of mine on writing poetry as the March offering. (Does that make me Miss March? Where's my bikini?) And JOHNNY APPLESEED was a runner-up for the 2009 Ohio Farm Bureau Federation (OFBF) Children’s Literature Award.

 

March 26-28, 2009:

OK--I have heard from a lot of you telling me what this journal has meant to you, and it's been a very positive, warming, and even ego-boosting experience. So I guess you have saved the journal for a bit. But it's going to continue on its cranky schedule unless life slows down somewhat, which I wouldn't place money on.

Much of these three days were taken up with work on the adult novel EXCEPT THE QUEEN that I am writing with Midori Snyder, based on our novella of the same name. The contract says 85,000 words but we are up over 100,000 now. I wonder if that will be a problem.

For me, though, the biggest problem in a novel is not length but the fact that no matter how many words one does or does not use, there are always major difficulties.Threads that don't quite attach in the right way. Characters who either act OUT of character, or seem too author-driven. I can (metaphorically) hold a picture book or short story or poem in my hand. I can see all the sides of it. Oh, maybe not at the very beginning of the piece, when words or characters or themes are floating around in my brain. But by the time I have a first draft, it all has recognizeable working parts. I can turn it around and around in that metaphoric hand, and look at it from every angle, polish every facet. Short forms are jewels.. Not so with novels, those pesky, difficult, annoyingly thready things.They are large sculptures, the outward face of a mountain one has to either scale or sculpt. I realize that real novelists (in Velveteen Rabbit mode here) probably think very differently about the books they are writing. But this is my journal and I get to give you my point of view here!

Midori has an interesting piece in her own blog about the writing of the book, of the difference between the shorter and longer versions that is very interesting and very instructive. Especially because this started out as a novella that was published in an anthology, and so our first confab was to decide how much to go with the original scope and range (it was an epistolary novella, ie written in letters back and forth between the two main character, fairy sisters thrown out of the greenwood and forced to live as middle-aged women in Milwaukee and New York. Here's the link: http://msnyder.typepad.com/the_labyrinth/except_the_queen/

Along the way, I also went to a family birthday dinner for Glen and Maddison at Heidi's house (and Glen's boyfriend Jason who had a birthday the same day as Maddison), and then was on Maddison watch since Heidi had to go out of town for a funeral. Friday I went over to my friend Jan's house to hear about her recent trip to India. Saturday I was part of a strange but interesting program called MELTDOWN at the Northampton Middle School which was a day out for kids sponsored by a local radio station that included folk and rock bands and 4 children's book authors. Let me tell you, it's not easy following a loud rock band with a reading of two books even if they are HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY GOODNIGHT and OWL MOON! (Maddison was in ballet rehearsals, so that worked out just fine.)

 

 

Interstitial Moment, 7 out of 7, but I bet we are not done yet

So I began to work on the new revision of THE LEATHER APRON CLUB, and found that there was no way I could compress the story any more. In other words, I couldn't do what the editor asked for--"There is a natural wave of narrative that mounts to p. 30 and 31 where Pappy takes him to the Leather Apron Club. For me, it ends abruptly there, not letting me get quite to its narrative peak. . . Can you sit on that moment? Perhaps beginning with 'One night, Pappy takes me to his club, etc.' Let the boy be there? Let him hear what they talk about? Can it be ecstatic, that moment. And let that page be that 'recognition', that ‘revelation.'”

I mean--look at how much SHE had to write to talk about what still was needed in the book. We are talking several scenes, not just one short one. A revelation is a process, not just a simple Aha! moment.

So I had to go with her second idea: "If you have to go to 34 or 36 pages, let’s go there. That would make a 40 page self end book, which should be all right."

And that, dear readers, is what I did. Instead of ending on page 30-31 (32 was an Author's Historical Note, very important to let readers know what is historical, actual, can be cited, and what is re-imagined) I went 32-33, 34-35, and then ended on 36 (now the Author's Note), leaving us room for those self ends. In those two extra double page spreads, I was able to do everything she wanted (I hope). I show the boy going for the first time to the Club with Franklin on 30-31, hearing the questions each meeting begins with (start of revelation), listening to the men in their arguments (begins to crest), and hoping that when he is old enough he can become a member (Aha!) Then I wind down the story in a natural, positive way.

Of course, now I need to hear from the editor, which may take weeks more. Reminder: publishing is a slow-slow business. If the publisher won't go for the longer book, I will have to cut two of the middle double-pages which will not make me happy. But we will cross that ball of wax when we get to it.

For now, the ball is back in the editor's court. I just hope that we aren't moving our feet so fast we have blurred all the base lines.

Doncha just love mixed metaphors?

 

 

March 11-March 25, 2009:

So there I was last night, wide awake at 3 am, worrying about being so behind on everything including my journal. Thinking tht no one was actually still reading the journal. If I were to give up something, I told myself, it would be this. In fact, I who never could manage to keep a journal in my life, usually writing about ten days, January 1-10, then maybe one posting January 24 and then never again, have done this online journal for a number of years now. Everything has it’s time, and perhaps—I told myself—the time has come to close down TELLING THE TRUE.

I felt good about this decision, fell back asleep, awoke refreshed, to discover not one but two emails telling me how much the journal meant to two perfect strangers.

I guess that solves that problem, or re-opens it.  I will keep going on. But do write me encouragement every once in a while so I know that I am not just spinning my wheels here.

Now what have I been doing the past ten days? Well, revising SHORTSTOP! Revising LEATHER APRON CLUB. Working on a speech that I gave in Long Island. Signing books. Doing more chapters on EXCEPT THE QUEEN (over  99,000 words).  Getting together the question for an artist’s panel I am moderating at New York Reading Assn in Saratoga Springs next week. Going gaga over the first color proofs of MY FATHER KNOWS THE NAMES OF THINGS and equally gaga over the first full pictures of LAST DRAGON I saw in Rebecca Guay's studio. Showing off the first copy of MY UNCLE EMILY to anyone who would stand still. Yes, dear readers, I still get mammothly excited about my new books.) Celebrating Maddison’s 14th birthday and Glen’s 26th birthday. Writer’s meeting, dinners with friends.

March 22 was the third anniversary of David’s death, and I wrote these two poems, both still in process.

                           Third Yarzeit

                  I will light a candle for you today,

                  this third anniversary of your death.

                  I will read your single love poem to me aloud.

                  I will remember things you said,

                  though not your voice,

                  somehow never your voice

                  which must have been burned away

                  in the crematorium.

                  Three years is a long time,

                  a short time,

                  a rubber band time

                  stretching and contracting

                  according to the weather, the season,

                  whether my back hurts or my rebuilt knee,

                  politics and what Faux News reports,

                  how well the writing goes or doesn’t,

                  birdsong, chocolate, or the time of day.

                  What a journey of three years this has been.

                  I move on, go past, but carry a long train behind.

                  Occasionally, rounding a serious bend,

                   I spot the caboose

                  and see you waving, like an addled conductor,

                  still collecting tickets

                  though the passengers have all left.

                  I wave back, another bend,

                  and you are gone again.

 

 

                           Memoria: A Triolet

                  This is the morning after his death

                  Though three years in the past.

                  I watched him take his final breath,

                  But this is the morning after his death.

                  There is no height, nor underneath,

                  There is no slow, there is no fast,

                  Only this morning after his death,

                  Though three years in the past.

 

The flu fever lasted five days, but the cough continued on and on and on. I had blood tests and a mammogram (regular check up) and also the doctor listened to my lungs because of the cough, but everything was clear.

I have read THE HUNGER GAMES and found it a wonderful page turner, though the prose was not quite up to the best fantasy writers—Pullman, Wynne Jones, Gaiman, McKinley, Hale. I will certainly read the next books in the series (trilogy?)a, because the world she limns is an unusual dystopia and the characters are engaging. But not the prose. Sigh. Not the prose.

 

Interstitial Moment, 6 out of 6. . .but wait, there will be more

Finally the editor got back to me on the picture book, THE LEATHER APRON CLUB which I had revised top to bottom for her. She is very precise about the things she likes and doesn’t. But there is still a problem. She writes:

“For me, this is so much better, and so much more accessible.  I have, however, one wish.  This is the Leather Apron Club.  Still.  And it is what Wendell accepted doing. . .there is a natural wave of narrative that mounts to p. 30 and 31 where Papa takes him to the Leather Apron Club.

For me, it ends abruptly there, not letting me get quite to its narrative peak.”

 

I think what she means is that I have short-circuited the story just when it is reaching the height of the narrative. I have led us, Moses-like—so we can see the promised land, in this case the actual Leather Apron Club. But now, I stop the story. It is over. Wait—but what about that LAC and how does it impinge on the narrator’s imagination. his newfound love of books, his life story from then on? I think I know, but I neither showed nor told it. I just stopped.

And I agree with her assessment. Part of this is a problem with TOO MUCH INFORMATION. A historical narrative often suffers from this problem. And at the same time, Not ENOUGH ROOM. Picture books have limited space.

 

She suggests: “Can you sit on that moment?  Perhaps beginning with “One night, Papa takes me to his club, etc.”  Let the boy be there?  Let him hear what they talk about? Can it be ecstatic, that moment.  And let that page be that “recognition”, that ‘revelation.”  Save James for the following page. (*James is the boy’s cousin who does NOT choose to be a reader.)  I do like how the story winds down, but I hate to have that kind of winding down on the Leather Apron Club page.”

 

Ok—I can do this, But will I have to take something out? Will I have to compress the story even more to fit it into 32 pages? I am getting a bit nervous about that. The un-roominess of the picture book format for the historical narrative. I can feel my breath coming in short pants.

 

But then my lovely editor adds, ”If you have to go to 34 or 36 pages, let’s go there.  That would make a 40 page self end book, which should be all right.  (I am qualifying everything with the events of the world so nutty.)”

Do I dare let it go on, hoping we will get the 40 page self-ends? And why wouldn’t they? This is Ben Franklin, this is Jane Yolen, this is Wendell Minor!

I will tell you why. Nothing is guaranteed any more in publishing. And a 40 page book costs more --more pages, more ink, fatter in a box of 50 copies, heavier to ship. So the price will have go up, or if there is major price resistance, the publisher will have to take less profit per book. They hate that! The illustrator has contracted for 32 pages, and may not want to invest more time and energy in a longer (more pictures) book. Yeah—lots of possible problems there. But the possibility of this being a major book is there as well.

So I will try and do BOTH things. I will let the story breathe and then see if I can compress the longer story onto the pages of a 32 page book.

More anon as I tackle this. Wish me luck, God speed, and pray the creeks don’t rise.

 

 

 

Letters, We Get Letters:

TC asks: “In following your online journal, (especially your entry a couple of weeks ago where you decided you were working on too many things) I wondered how you do manage to balance all the different markets and genres? Not just the working on many different projects from different genres (young children/graphic novel/adult poetry/YA fiction, etc...) but how do you keep up with the *markets* for that many projects? Or is your agent just that awesome and handles a lot of that for you? . . . . How do you manage it all?

To begin with, I have always worked this way. It is only this year that things seemed to get out of hand. Maybe that’s age showing. Or maybe I really have tackled too many projects in 2009.

Why do I work on so much at the same time? Three reasons really: Low threshold of boredom. Can’t bear to turn down a good idea. And I’m just a girl who cain’t say no.

Let’s take these back end first. I am always afraid that if I say no to a particular project, someone else will get it and do it better and I couldn’t stand that. You see, like any other writer, I have an ego well bounded by feelings of inadequacy, or delusions of inadequacy. I mean, if someone does what I do better, than I will be shown up as a fraud. Or lose my crown. Or be naked in the throne room. Or some such.


And of course, since I get ideas all the time--and some of them are even good ideas--when I fall upon or stumble over or get handed a wonderful idea (a child goes owling with her father, a girl goes back in time to the Holocaust, Sleeping Ugly is NOT the plain girl in the woods but the beautiful princess, and how really DOES a dinosaur say goodnight?) I do not want to give it up. I want to take it as far as I can.

But even more basic is that low threshold of boredom. And to be honest, in the writing of every single book there is a moment or a day or a month or a year where nothing works and the whole thing falls apart and seems stupid. And I seem stupid. And the world seems stupid. And I cannot stand to be at the desk and in the room and in the world with that ever-increasingly stupid idea. So I simply turn AND WRITE SOMETHING ELSE. A serially monogamous writer? A publishing slut (which is what my husband once called me in a joking manner)? Perhaps I am more specifically really a story slut.

TC also asked if I keep up with the markets. Somewhat. I used to be an editor, first with Gold Medal Paperback books, next with the packager Ridge Press and Routledge Books, then assistant children’s book editor at Knopf, and finally I had my own imprint for nine years with Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich. So there were already parts of the publishing world besides writing of which I had a fairly extensive knowledge. I am an art hag, loving illustrators of all shapes and sizes and talent. In my imprint, I worked closely with all of them, and was in close contact with the Art Director about the way I wanted to see things in my imprint's books. I was the first New England Regional Advisor of SCBWI, and on the Board since its inception. And a past president of SFWA, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Authors of America. So I do keep in touch with the market to a large extent. I also read blogs, am on several online publishing lists, get SLJ and Booklinks and Horn Book and PW.

But to tell the truth (which is what this journal is about), things are moving so fast these days, so many good people and good imprints and good companies on the chopping block, that I am feeling a bit dinosaur-ish. Also I realize that at 70 I am not going to live forever and want to write all those stories already firmly entrenched in my head. So. . .I am learning to let a lot of that stuff go.

I can do that because I have a wonderful agent who has a shark assistant. As to my agent—she is only the second one I have ever had. My first and beloved agent of 35 years, Marilyn Marlow, died and her assistant, Elizabeth Harding inherited me and all my mishigas. Oh yes—and my family, too. We have been together, oh perhaps 8 years now. I think she is still trying to figure out who I am and how I do what I do. She is patient with my almost daily phone calls. And we together and with increasing difficulty and a mammoth virtual ouijah board try to figure out the ever-changing and alas ever-shrinking market. I think I will die with the most unsold manuscripts. in the history of the agency. (Maybe in the history of the world!) But think about it—my children will be able to sell my books for the next thirty years, even if they only sell them two or three a year! (This is only a slight exaggeration. Come on—can’t I make a joke?)

That being said, I have to point out that Elizabeth is one of three senior children’s book agents for Curtis Brown. Plus a bunch of well-taught assistants. There is also an agent who handles all the foreign rights, one for theater and film, a number of agents who handle adult books with whom Elizabeth consults whenever I hand her an adult book. Marilyn used to send me recipes for game back when my husband was a hunter, and consulted with me on clothes for my children (she helped pick out my daughter's first prom dress) and the proper silverware. It has ever been a FULL-SERVICE agency. Think of it as an entire machine working on my behalf . Plus I have a publicist as well. I know I am not CB’s only client, (nor the publicist’s). And I am not even close to being their biggest seller. But I like to think that longevity has some perks. And the fact that I write a bit of everything, which makes them all chuckle.

My advice--learn the market, get a good agent, keep regularly in touch. And always, ALWAYS, read your contracts.

So, TC—have I answered your questions? Has any of this helped you with your own problems? I hope so. I live to serve!

 

March 5-10, 2009:

The six days started well enough, with me hard at work on the taxes. And then by the weekend--in which I had two dinner and movie dates set up with friends, it went rapidly spiraling into fever and exhaustion. Damn, another flu. Minor, but just enough fever to make any real work impossible.

But at least I got a hunk of taxes, and the rest of the IMPOSSIBLES, a book of poems about mythical creatures with Pat Lewis, done. He sent it off on Monday morning. Or Sunday afternoon. We work really well together. So far we have sold three of our four books of poetry (this is #5) so we are batting well. I also retold another couple of JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEASTS stories and worked on the sidebars about the story and the recipes as well. Though Heidi will contribute to the latter when she gets time.

Also, I got some nice email from several wonderful readers, which perked me up over the weekend as I lay about in my fevered state. Also a request to reprint my story "Mama Gone," which I have always thought is one of my best. Also a nomination for the Rhysling Award for the best sf/fantasy poem of the year. Though the poem nominated--"Smells"--is about David dying and has no sf or fantasy content in it that I can find. Ah well. And a couple of rejections, standard. At least the books are moving around.And I got to see some more of the tight sketches for LAST DRAGON, and received two copies of the HOW DO DINOSAURS GO TO SCHOOL Big Book.

I have begun an interesting correspodence with illustrator (and Caldecott winner) David Small who has begun work on ELSIE'S BIRD. It has to do with landscape and character and we are both solidly in agreement on things.

And before I got sick, I went out to dinner Thursday night with Don and Ann Wheelock to the Green Street Cafe, afterward staying for a poetry reading, which was short and to the point. The readers were Ellen Watson and her co-poetry editor at the Mass Review. Their poems were very different, Ellen's metaphoric and lyric, the other woman's more prosy and prosaic. It made an interesting combination/comparison.

Oh yes, watched a DVD of "Doubt" which I thought interesting but not up to either "Milk" or "The Reader" in character development. The ending was not earned, in my opinion.

 

 

Interstitial Moment:

Thoughts on being interviewed. . .

In the last fifteen years or so I have been interviewed hundreds of times. And with the advent of blogs and FaceBook and other etceteras of modern life, that number has been escalating. But I have lived only one life to discuss and one bibliography, though granted it is exceedingly large. As well, interviewers only seem to have one middle-sized list of questions they ever ask, so I don't have to leap through very many mental hoops to answer.

Recently, a friend on FaceBook complimented me on one of these snort, snappy interviews, saying: "Great interview, Jane. I tend to think of the best things to say after an interview is over. You're clever, bright and engaging all the time."

Leaving out my usual screed on serial commas, I answered: "I am like everyone else, coming up with the good lines long after."

To elaborate a bit: Online interviews or email interviews--even snailmail interviews, though no one does many of these any more--are great. One has time to give the answers some thought and be clever (which is one step removed from witty and three steps away from wise.) Time for a writer is the stuff that dreams are literally made of. What I cannot do in person, I can almost always do in print. So no points to me for being "clever, bright, and engaging all the time." (Note serial comma.) Rather think of me as being a competant recycler of my one and only life.

Note, too, that the questions asked are almost always ones I have answered before, so the trick is to find new ways to phrase old answers and thereby sound fresh. That's harder than any actual interview. I do not envy celebrities who have to do rounds of back-to-back interviews where it is less recycling treasures and more like compacting trash. Where any small mis-slip (mis-lip?) is magnified into a major gaffe, every new tidbit becomes a mammoth hunt for meaning. Or a hunt for mammoth meaning.

So should you meet me in person, do not expect the soul you have loved on paper to turn up. She's off in her head somewhere else telling stories. In person I am a short, middle-age (well, brushing crone-ism) lady who in certain company can be considered clever, but in other company thought to be quite slow. A good interview when done on paper. A bit of a what-is-the-word-I'm-looking-for flubber when face-to-face with my interlocutor. Like most reasonably smart folks. Like all of you.

 

 

March 4, 2009:

Taxes all morning, two rejections in the afternoon, a typical day in the neighborhood. Hi, Mr. Rogers.

I also rewrote a picture book called LITTLE MAY & THE CHAPMAN from top to bottom. It’s a manuscript that I have always loved but no editor ever did. Going back to it years later, I can see the problems. It needed more interesting characters—not just names—and a bit more story, plus an historically interesting character. Made the child a bit more singular, made the chapman into Bronson Alcott—yep, Louisa May’s dad. As a young man he was a chapman, a Yankee Pedlar. Been working slowly on this rewrite and thinking about it for months. The last few days it has started to really come together and now I like this version enough, so have sent it on to my agent.

Son Jason is working on a terrific new Charleston/Low Country stock photography site. Daughter Heidi is cooking up a storm for our JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEAST. Son Adam has been coerced into speaking to a classroom full of kids in Minneapolis about the writing process. The Fabulous Stemples at work.

 

March 1-3, 2009:

In like a lion, March blew a lot of snow across our yard, piling it up high (about 8 inches) on the porch and railing. It looked magical but is actually a pain in the patootie. I am SO over winter. However, we have robins, fluffed and uncomfortable-looking, sitting on every bush in the back yard. The weather man tells us to expecting temps in the 50s later this week. Perhaps the robins know that spring is close by. Either that, or they will all be dead by Sunday.

Writing: working on a book of mythic beast poems with Pat Lewis, did a bit more on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, spent two days on taxes and not even close to done yet.

Taxes, taxes, taxes. You need know no more.

Went to see "The Reader" with a friend, and think it one of the finest movies I have seen in years. Kate Winslet was astonishing.

Writer's Meeting on Tuesday was interesting. That is said with love and a bit of anguish.

Otherwise a quiet three days.

 

February 26-28, 2009:

My hands are raised over my head in the universal sign for yielding. OK—I give up. I am trying to write too many things at the same time—a children’s novel with Adam (the golem book), the adult novel with Midori (EXCEPT THE QUEEN) the JEWISH FAIRY TALE FEAST with Heidi, THE GIRLS BIBLE with Barbara Goldin. I went over the pictures in process/in sketch form for the 148 page graphic novel LAST DRAGON and enjoyed the completed and colored 150 page graphic novel FOILED.

I also have the two new poetry books with Jason, a possible other poetry book for another publisher (this has yet to be decided), another board book for the HOW DO DINOSAURS series—I have done three or four abortive efforts and am not pleased with any of them. And I am working on a new poetry mss. with Pat Lewis.

And when all those are done, I have two historical novels started, a YA fantasy novel started, and the CURSES FOILED AGAIN graphic novel started as well.

I got to go over Rebecca Guay's artwork for my graphic novel LOST DRAGON sketch by sketch and also the first few color pages, which look like a cross between Dulac and Maxfield Parrish crossed with the Robinson Brothers and—oh, my gosh the stuff is beautiful.

Got to see Mike Cavallero's final art for FOILED which is absolutely perfect, both comic book hip and smart, moving the eye easily from panel to panel, spread to spread. It begins in grey-blue tones (the girl is color blind and we are seeing things through her eyes) until she puts on her fencing mask in Grand Central Station and color pops out of the woodwork. Oh, I am giving it away. But it is glorious.

And I also got to see the stunning (with tender humor) artwork by Stephane Jorisch for my upcoming picture book MY FATHER KNOWS THE NAMES OF THINGS, my homage to my late husband David on whose gravestone is written “The Man Who Knew Everything”.

Oh it’s been a grand few days for art. And writing.

Still, somebody hold my hand. Or take me to the movies. Or get me out of the house!

Meanwhile I am also wrestling with this Goggle Settlement in which authors are supposed to allow Google to put their entire ouvre up online for $60 per book. Well, I think not. Meanwhile, I have to go through all the stuff of mine already onlineon Google and perhaps Scribd which is part of the same thing, and count what is legitimately pr and what is theft. I don’t think putting the first 9 chapters of DRAGON’S BLOOD up (except for one page) is within the legal limits of Fair Usage, do you? And when they have put up some of the compilations, anthologies, and collections (which I had to pay money to other folks to get permission to print the stuff) and they are only using bits of stuff, but often this means whole stories and poems are there in their entirety, this also does not fall under Fair Usage. What a waste of my time! I should be writing, not tracking down pirates, and in this Google is acting like any other pirate site. Arrr—hand me my blunderbuss, sword, and snee. I’m having at ye, maties!

 

February 8-February 25, 2009:

What a couple of weeks. From the Denver hoohah where the assembled masses sang Happy Birthday to me, to dinner hosted by Tim and Heidi, with friend Susanna on my actual birthday, to Boskone (the Boston science fiction convention) with Adam where we were met Friday night by Heidi and Tom and a cast of if not thousands at least hundreds celebrating my birthday on Friday the 13th(which is my lucky day), to my birthday party at the house with all the kids and grandkids and about 100 close friends. Heidi made me a big book about being 70 with tributes from a lot of good folk which began with this thing I wrote:

"On Becoming Seventy

Wednesday, February 11, 2009 at 7:57am

Odd isn't it. It was just last month that I was 24, standing in my New York City apartment with my new husband holding my first two books in my hands. And just a week ago I was 27 and about to be a mother for the first time, walking to work in the orange groves of Kibbutz Schiller. And just a few days ago, I was 57, holding my first grandbaby in my arms in Atlanta.

And now, three children, six grandchildren, 318 books later, widowed, and a bit overweight, I look into the mirror and this old woman with laugh lines deep enough to catch rainwater is staring back at me.

How did this happen?

Life is stranger than any of my fictions."

 

I over indulged in chocolate, hugs, kisses, memories, conversation, singing, dancing. I over-indulged myself into a bad head cold by February 25, but as a kid wrote to me years ago, “Your stories will live forever. I hope you live to 99 or 100 but who cares.” In other words, I had a wonderful time. And if I am paying a bit for it right now, indeed—who cares!

Along the way Jason and I managed to sell two books to Boyds Mills—BUG OFF (poems and photos of bugs) and BIRDS OF A FEATHER, a third poem-and-photos book that makes a lovely trilogy of bird books for BMP. I wrote a couple of chapters on the golem book and Adam wrote one. We have reached the first attempt at making the golem. Midori and I got four new chapters on EXCEPT THE QUEEN (some are quite small). And I wrote several poems. Here are a few:

This one in response to a poetry prompt about numbers.

Subtraction

This is the day
To consider subtraction,
The opposite of attraction
Where two are drawn together
In inevitable and enviable addition.
Severance is what I am thinking about
As my granddaughter’s boyfriend
Was severed today from his job,
His allowance, his work, his worth.
We count forward, our lives are lived
In addition, not subtraction.
But this man-boy, this new subtractor,
Has been hit by economies
Not of his own making,
And the world is subtracted from his universe,
As the words
Are slowly subtracted
From
This
Verse,
Till we are both broke and broken
By the impossible mathematics
That confront us.

These next two were in response to a poetry prompt about “macaronic poetry” which is a poetry that uses more than one language, often comically as the poet subjects one language to the grammatical laws of another. (See the “Miss Rumphius Effect” website for more information
about this.)

Carrying On Carrying On

When life is a blevit of failure and grief
We carry on carrying on.
When life is so tres, even nothing’s relief,
We carry on carrying on.

When things of the future are things of the past,
When death is before us and first is the last,
When everything comes as a TNT blast,
We carry on carrying on.

When all the mananas are dwindling down,
When slips on bananas are tattered and brown,
When it’s too hard to
smile and much simpler to frown
We carry on carrying on.

I’ll carry on you, if you’ll carry on me
On a tres filled with sorrow, and crackers and brie.
And the only thing tres-er is so tres jollie
That we carry on carrying on.

Casa Dia: A Big Macaronic Poem

Casa dia,
one day with cheese,
perhaps macaronic,
smelling like old shoes,
zapatals and sandals,
ripe from walking in the sun.
I like the blander, blender kind,
but sometimes a soft brie
blowing through the hair
is just the thing to make the day
a little bit cheesy.
Am I crackers?

Also there was the premiere at Smith College’s Sage Hall of the six Emily Dickinson Sonnets of mine that Jerry Noble composed music for piano and soprano. They were breathtaking and beautifully sung as well. We had a nearly full hall, which was swell.

And I have a new grand nephew—hello baby Willem!

Will try to be a more faithful journalist in the future. But Life Happens. Be kind. Oh--and send questions. It's been a while since I have answered any.

 

Do Not Worry About Me, Argentina:

No, I haven't fallen off the edges of the universe, caught a chill, taken to my bed, suffered a relapse or any other difficult passage.

Well, one anyway. I have turned 70. And in-between suffering (David was a year and a half older and always breasted these big waves ahead of me) and celebrating, I have had little time to write anything thoughtful. So never fear. The last of the children and grandchildren leaves tomorrow. Afterwards, I promise a big catch-up which will include book news, writing news, family news, and perhaps a musing about age. Not old age, which someone once defined as anyone 15 years older than oneself, but age in general. And perhaps a poem or two.

And isn't that worth waiting for?

 

 

 

January 29-February 7, 2009:

What a ten days. It included two conferences (well one was a retreat),. Seeing the full new art for the re-publication of my 1977 Christopher Medal winner, THE SEEING STICK. Plus seeing the beginning of Rebecca Guay’s art for my graphic novel THE LAST DRAGON. Both absolutely gorgeous.

The retreat was Kindling Words, up in The Essex Inn in Vermont, home as well to the New England Culinary Institute. What an idea—a retreat with honestly great food. Who’d have thunk it! Katie Davis picked four of us up and off we went, gabbing away. There were 85 people at the retreat, including 17 editors, and about half of the rest illustrators and half writers. Though I believe there were slightly more writers. Nancy Werlin spoke to the writers, Mary Jane Begin to the illustrators. We had a Friday night talk by Ashley Bryan, who should be named a National Treasure. I wrote some on the Girl’s Bible—got a draft of the Intro down. Read a bit, talked a LOT (lost my voice), made friends with Rafe Martin. Spent time with old friends like Judy O’Malley, Yolanda LeRoy and Leda Shubert. Rode home with even older friends, Kay and Hank Kudlinski. It was lovely to have real personal time with them. At most conferences, the authors and illustrators rarely have time to talk with one another. We are there, after all, for the teachers and librarians who have paid rather too much to hear us perform. So all our energy flows outward. At KW, it goes both ways. I love it.

Several days later I flew off to Denver where I gave the Thursday luncheon speech at Colorado IRA and got a standing O, led by Jarret Krosoczka. They also sang happy birthday to me, the whole audience of 400 Colorado teachers and librarians. I was smart enough to have gotten oxygen ordered ahead--fifteen minutes in the morning, fifteen before bedtime--and so never got my usual altitude sickness, though along the way with both of the conferences practically back-to-back, I managed to get another head cold. I signed twice as long as the conference organizers had allowed for, but was not surprised.

I also managed to read THE UNDERNEATH on the airplane, Kathi Appelt’s brilliant and quite moving poetic novel that was a Newbery Honor Book, and well deserved.

Sold CURSES FOILED AGAIN, which is the sequel to FOILED. Had a conference call with the folks at Chronicle on a project Jason and I are talking about. Am awaiting news from a number of other publishers., but the way things are going in the country right now, I am not expecting much. Everyone is deep in a bunker mentality viz business, so I will just keep writing because the stories keep on appearing in my head. Thank God I am a writer, otherwise I’d worry about being crazy. I mean—all these invisible friends speaking to me!

I also had a dental and doctor visit--all normal keeping-the-body-going stuff. David's haiku/love poem to me came out in the local newspaper, a pre-birthday brunch with old friends Bobbin Young and Eric Webber who I don't see enough of. School report from my African granddaughter whom I am supporting. Life goes on.

Saturday night, the 6th, I dreamed of David and he spoke to me. And though I don’t remember what he said, it was such a comforting dream.

 

 

January 26-28, 2009:

Three days of cold weather, snow, sleet, and other unpleasantness, coupled with some poetry writing, a short essay (710 words) for a book about short stories, some more work on B.U.G., my writer's workshop, lunch with a friend, dinner with another friend, and assorted stuff. Oh and lots and lots of snow.

Another three--things of possible writing interest: a conference call with a publisher on a book, a rejection letter from a different publisher on another book, and (I think) an offer on a new graphic novel. I am being mysterious because until things are nailed down, they are. . .um. . .not nailed down.

And one Big Downer. A friend has informed me that I share a birthday with Sarah Palin. What are the odds? Probably 365 to 1, right? I know, I know--someone will shortly inform me how to really calculate those odds. I never said I was any good at math problems. That's why I married a mathematician.

I wrote this for FaceBook and thought it might be of interest:

25 random thing about me

1. I am a chocoholic. Especially dark chocolate.
2. I am an Arthur-holic. King Arthur owns me.
3. If it's a fairy tale, I live it.
4. When I was a child, my father did publicity for Slinkies, Silly Putty, and Double Bubble chewing gum so we got as many as we wanted and more than we needed.
5. My father was International Kite Flying Champion and I couldn't get a kite into the air.
6. As a hobby/profession my mother made crossword puzzles and double-crosstics, though I still struggle doing them.
7. My book count is up to 317. Written.
8. I took 8 years of ballet at Balanchine's school.
9. I was captain of the girl's basketball team in high school.
10. I am 5'3.
11. My husband and I lived in a VW van for almost nine months in Europe and the middle east in the mid '60s.
12. Shortest time to write a book: 3 days.
13. Longest time to write a book: 19 years. Some I am still counting.
14. I have been reliably told by my children that 6 grandkids are all I'm getting.
15. I have gone dogsledding in Alaska, down the Colorado white water rafting,
snorkling in both the Red Sea and the Great Barrier Reef.
16. I hate flying.
17. The only thing I am afraid of is snakes.
18. I was a delegate to the Democratic Convention in '72, pledged to McGovern.
19. I wrote the lyrics for our senior show at Smith College.
20. Several rocks groups and folk singers sing my songs.
21. I was asked to try out for a musical trio being put together in the early 60s in Greenwich Village but declined, or it might have been Peter, Paul, and Jane.
22. Bob Dylan tried to pick me up at his first gig at Gerde's Folk City until my six foot tall boyfriend came out of the men's room and loomed over him.
23. I spent 8 hours in a sound studio with Kevin Kline recording a voice over for an animated short I wrote. (I have the photos to prove it.)
24. My favorite movie is "Truly, Madly, Deeply."
25. Three people I would have loved to have dinner with are Emily Dickinson,
Eleanor Roosevelt, and Isak Dinesen.

 

January 19-25, 2008:

Adam and I are cooking now on the Golem novel, having gotten down about 4000 new (good) words this week, though we both agree that everything now having been set up, the magic has to start happening.

Which brings me to this thought about fantasy novels. In some of them, the magic starts at the very beginning: WIZARD OF EARTHSEA, THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING. But some books take time to get there. The difference is whether magic is rife, or whether it is rather realistic fiction with a spot of the fantastic.

And of course, BUG is the latter. We have a Jewish boy—Sammy Greenberg--being bullied in school. He makes an unlikely friend. The two form a garage fusion klezmer band. The Jewish boy has a crush on a girl who will also join the band. And he starts work on his bar mitzvah. All realistic. It’s only about chapter 10 that we have a hint of the upcoming magic. Talk of a golem. (Sammy’s dad is a potter.) A strange and fascinating Hebrew teacher. But it’s time. And starting in this next chapter the two boys—Sammy and his unlikely friend Skink—make a golem.

Do I worry that the book is too slow getting to the magic? Of course I worry. But then I worry about every part of every book I have ever written. Yes, even OWL MOON. Even DEVIL’S ARITHMETIC. But every book has its own rhythm and it’s important to listen to that rhythm and not force something else, some other flesh on to its bones.

That being said, I have worked on some more adult poems. Two of them—the Inauguration poem and the other a Jewish poem —have been taken by an online journal, Pirene’s Fountain. So that’s three poems taken this month, all online journals.

I have seen another movie—“Slumdog Millionaire”—and this is my review from my Facebook page: "I am just back from viewing 'Slumdog Millionaire' which everyone has been touting as a feel-good movie. All I could see was the horrific tortures and abused children. Yes, it was a Bollywoodish fairy tale, a boy and girl rise from out of the ashes of their slum lives to their fated (in the good sense) final clinch. The bad guys are (sort of) defeated. But feel-good? This starts with a young man being waterboarded. We see his mother murdered before him in a flashback during a religious riot. We see him picking garbage in the huge Indian dumps, taken in by a Fagin who maims children to make them better beggars, the girl turned into a prostitute, the older brother into an enforcer for the mob, etc. And I am supposed to feel good at the end when the two left standing find one another and he wins a million dollars in the Indian version of 'Who Wants to Be A Millionaire?' I don't think so. Color me not impressed but depressed."

In other stuff, I have been to meetings (Western Mass Illustrators); poetry (I was part of the Inauguration poetry project and 30 of us local poets read our poems); music (Aztec Two Step who seem to have overstayed their welcome); dinners with friends (2); kid-sat for my granddaughter who got a minor concussion on my watch (well, at school actually); worked on a speech for a Colorado conference in a week and a half; another award: Sea Queens selected as a 2008 NCSS Notable Trade Book! The book will be featured at the NCSS Exhibit in Atlanta; and I also did a LOT of filing. Oh yes, I watched—watched over?—the kitchen guys working on my ceiling and new lights. Should be done by Tuesday.

And boy are my arms tired! (Old joke about flying.)

 

January 16-18, 2009:

Writing: I am on a writing roll now. I get up, shower, come downstairs, have something to eat, and start. Though most of what I am doing right now are massive revisions on two picture books. One is THE DAY TIGER ROSE WENT TO CAT HEAVEN, which has now dropped the heaven part and is called THE DAY TIGER ROSE LEFT because an editor is interested and I am trying to re-envision the book. I think I have managed it, though it is certainly a very different book now. That may mean she will no longer want it. A crap shoot. But my entire career has been that way: I work, rewrite, sell or don't sell, rewrite again. Never give up. It's a continuum, and while being turned down never makes me happy, I am well used to the path I am on. All selling artists work this way, walking the path between pure art and consumerism. Even Emily Dickinson wanted to sell her poems, but got bowled over by the reality. And now look--she and Van Gogh, neither of whom made any splash when they were alive but not from want of trying--they are worth gadzillions and are known (and taught) everywhere. Is there a moral to this story? No. Every artist walks the path. Some of us get to the end early, some late, some miss the turning entirely.

The other book I am revising is the Ben Franklin book. And that process I have benn writing about quite thoroughly here in the journal.

I have also been working on some adult poetry, and trying very hard to write a poem about the inauguration. After three brutally bad tries at different poems (including a terza rima), I finally have written one I sort of like (still needs more work. But that is the rule with poetry, it is never done! As Ciardi declared: "A poem is never finished, it's abandoned." It turns out this new poem is not actually about the inauguration at all but about the power of word and prophecy and a world coming to pieces. I may read it tomorrow at the Northampton Inauguration Poetry Fest. Meanwhile, Heidi and I are also going to try and write a poem together for the same Fest. We will see how that goes. I am certainly glad I wasn't the poet tapped to write something for Obama and recite it up there in front of thousands upon thousands of critics. I am critical enough about my own work, thank you. (Actually, it would probably have been a momentous blast. But I am realistic enough to know my very very low pecking order in the world of adult poetry, deservedly so!)

 

Kitchen: After taking the family plus Glen's boyfriend Jason out for brunch, we all came back to the house to work on getting the kitchen cleared out for the workers on Monday. I am having the ceiling redone and recessed lighting replace the 38-year-old units we put in when we first re-did the room. Lots of money, but I hope it will be worth it in the end.

 

Movie: Bob Marstall and I went to see "The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons" with good friends of his, and after dinner at their house. We had a smashing time. And though I had some critical things to say about the movie--most noticeably the actual LACK of curiosity on the part of everyone within the movie as to what is wrong with BB and whether he can be helped!-- I enjoyed it. And the CGI stuff (I assume it was done with CGI) is pretty amazing.

 

Interstitial Moment, Part 5 of 6:

So the editor of Ben Franklin LEATHER APRON CLUB picture book did, indeed, get back to me after the holidays. What she said—and I could not disagree—was that I have got to make this the boy’s story throughout. That I need to make more actual scenes, and not just talk about Billy and how he feels. If he is an out-of-control kid, we need to see that, not be told about it. If he becomes a book-lover, we have to see that happening as well. And if there is to be some interaction between Billy and the Leather Apron men or their Club House cum library we have to see –not just hear about it after the fact.

The editor said all this more elegantly than that, and she said it more fulsomely, and she certainly did not mince words either.  Her message was clear, though she praised me to the skies: the story right now is a bit of a mess.

I had known that before I sent it, but I’d been stuck. And now, with her notes for each double-page spread to hand, I began to revise.

 

The revision had three parts. 1. Understanding what she was getting at. (Check!) 2. Taking apart each double-page spread and trying to make each a more active scene. (Still working on that) 3. Melding the two parts of the story—boy running wild, boy learning to love books and getting him to the library.  (This has been the hardest and I will explain why in a bit.)

1. I think understanding my editor’s objections was the easy part, as I totally agreed with her. But if I had hoped she would TELL me what to do, I should have known better. She has never done that. She tells me in general terms, reminding me who the audience is, and how much they want a story.She also reminds me about other things: active verbs, showing vs. telling, things I already know but can always use the reminder. As I read over her notes for the second and third time, (and we had already spoken on the phone before she sent on the notes) I began to find my way back into the book. It's as if she and I are holding hands and walking into the story together. Now this is the editor I worked with on OWL MOON and GIRL IN A CAGE and NAMING LIBERTY, as well as the upcoming Emily Dickinson picture book, MY UNCLE EMILY, among others. We work well together. We trust one another. But still, I not only read her notes three times before beginning, I read each double page spread note as I plunged into that part of the revision. She’s a writer, too, but very careful about NOT writing the book for me. As much as I trust her, she trusts me.

2. Writing a picture book has its counterpart in writing novels. Each are built on scenes that when put together lead the reader inevitably through a story that is a thematic whole. The picture book writer has to make scenes that are character-driven and beautifully written, but also each scene or spread has to suggest a picture or pictures. In other words, it has to be illustratable. And all this within 32 pages. Well, remember, not fully 32 pages, as you have front matter (half title, title, copyright/dedication page. In fact  you might not actually start the book until page 6. And often in the case of historical picture books (and certainly in this one) page 32 is saved for a note about What is True in This Book piece. That leaves approximately 13-14 spreads, that is 13-14 scenes.

So I began by rearranging everything, starting more with the boy being out of control, showing him out of control, racing off into the city with his cousin, and coming home one day completely wet, disheveled, having dined out on cakes and cider with his equally naughty cousin James. At which point, Ben Franklin throws up his hands metaphorically and hires a tutor. Now before, I had Billy go from out-of-control to a book lover in two pages for no reason at all. Now I had to show it happening, and the teacher—Theophilis Grew, great name, and the real name of the tutor—has to be the reason why. So I made that a really strong scene (I think) showing how a good teacher works. Not butting heads with these wild kids, but suckering them in by reading a story outloud that absolutely grabs them--the Odyssey (which is one of the books actually in the Leather Apron Club’s library.

3. The problem is that I am making some of this up. We know little about Billy’s early life except that he was a bit wild and adventurous, that Franklin hired the tutor in order to get his son into a good school, that Billy’s stepmother hated him, that Billy was indulged by Franklin, and that the two of them were together when Billy was 20 in the kite/electricity experiment. Did Billy learn about books the way I tell it? Who knows. Did he ever go and sit in the Leather Apron Club meeting? Again, who knows. To make the story work, melding the two parts together, I had to do something. I hope that the Author’s Note is enough of an explanation as to what is true and what is speculation.

What I have done is to take what we DO know about William (Billy ) Franklin’s young life and re-imagined the history. And of course the very word history ends in the word story, which I like to say at every opportunity! I hope that I have done him proud.

Small note: As enaging as the young Billy was, his later life ws a sad commentry on politics. He rmained a Tory, spied for the British, raised money for them, even though his father was one of the leading men of the Revolution. He was even imprisoned by the Americans and, after two years, when he was released, he helped put together a guerrilla movement that fought gainst the American patriots. This meant that after the war was over, he had to sail away from his family with whom he’d broken, and live for the rest of his life in Britain on a government pension.

 

The next installment of this journal within a journal, will be about the editor’s reaction to my rearrangement, my revision, my re-imagining. I still have about two or three days of more tinkering, twiddling, noodling (technical terms! LOL) before I send it off to her. Then we have the waiting period while she goes and does other things like HAVE A LIFE before she gets around to my book. If I am lucky, she will like it enough for only some minor stuff. If not, well, I am still a great reviser and we will get there in the end.

 

 

January 7-15, 2009:

Yes, I have been a sluggard about my journal lately. I am a sluggard about most things. I have been caught up—addicted—to three new things. FaceBook, online Boggle, and E-Harmony.

You see, I am trying to loosen up a bit, get a life or even a Life. My daughter asks for No Details. But I went on two E-harmony dates with very nice men and there aren’t any Details. At the rate I am going, maybe never.

Writing: Yes, of course. I continue to do that. A couple of chapters back and forth with Adam on B.U.G, the golem novel. We are over 12,000 words and pushing along.The plot is beginning to develop nicely. I like the characters. We haven't gotten to the golem yet. Another two chapters I think, maybe three and he will appear.

I am well into the rewrite of the Ben Franklin book. Later I will put up an as-I-go Interstitial on that. I have written some possibly good poems for adults. With poems it is hard to tell! And I had a good conversation with the Library of Natural Sounds folks at Cornell, because Jason and I have a possible book project that they are interested in, though they are not the publisher.

There are about 13 picture books and proposals and one finished middle grade novel out on offer. So I am hoping that in the next few weeks that there will be movement, if not actual news to be had.

NAMING LIBERTY has been named a Jewish Libraries' Sydney Taylor Award Honor Book, which tickles me enormously. I won the award in the novel category 20 years ago with DEVIL’S ARITHMETIC. And SEA QUEENS was named one of the Chicago Library Best of the Best lists.

Stuff: I got to play myself in a cameo role for Jarrett Krokoshka’s new mini-film about being a writer. My character tells him to stop whining and put his BIC, butt in chair.

I got to do the voice-over for the new HOW DO DINOS GO TO SCHOOL video. In three takes, thank you very much.

Went to see MILK with friend Bob Marstall, and we were both blown away by it, and I am not even a Sean Penn fan. And at a Girl's Night Out with friends, watching the bizarre Topal version of the Brecht Gallileo. I could have done without the singing boy sopranos and the Commedia delArte middle.

Interesting times, for me. Not so much for the journal!

 

January 1-6, 2009:

So this thing hung on for days and days. This flu/cold/thing-from-hell. Who knew the body could make that much phlegm. (And who indeed can spell that? Words should have more vowels than that. On the other hand, since I not a good speller, it may actually have them.)

My head was so full of gunk, I could read, couldn't write. Couldn't think. Played Boggle online. Napped--which I NEVER do. Watched the news.

And then, on Monday, I got the news that NAMING LIBERTY is the Honor Book for the Jewish Libraries Sydney Taylor Award. (DEVIL'S ARITHMETIC won it twenty years ago!) It made me smile and I believe I really began to get better from that moment on. And Tuesday I heard that SEA QUEENS is on the Chicago Library's Best of the Best lists for the year.

Now if only I could get my head back and write.

I had a long talk with editor Pat Gauch on what needs to be done on the Ben Franklin book. A complete rethink, top-to-toe revision. I already knew that. But she had some good ideas. Time to get to work. And to add #5 Interstitial Moment as I get into the revision.

 

 

December 31, 2008:

Okay--I made a mistake. I went out on New Year's eve. Oh, the idea was lovely. Going to a Speakeasy party at Holly and Theo Black's with my friend, illustrator Bob Marstall. Seeing people I know. Playing in Holly and Theo's marvelous Goth house. Laughing. Drinking. Dressing up.

What really happened was that I carried a box of aloe-tissues and used up almost the entire box. I sat around feeling lousy. Talked to very few people. Made Bob take me home early. Climbed into bed and snuffled myself to sleep.

Yeah, I feel sorry for me, too.

 

December 24-30, 2008:

A quick round up because I have the world's WORST head cold. I am in the snuffling, sneezing, coughing, grunting, face-on-fire part of it. All I want to do is lie down. But today Adam and family are leaving so I feel as if I should at least try to be present.

I love my family, but being this sick, I just want to be left alone. Not a good grandma at all. So I dodged yesterday's trip to the Butterfly Museum, and Friendly's. Managed to go out the night before with Heidi &Tom, Adam&Betsy to the Monkey Bar in Amherst helped by two $50 gift certificates. Granddaughter Maddison on crutches couldn't babysit, so granddaughter Glendon--who had somehow damaged her back--did. Only yesterday morning Betsy had to take her to the doctor's for some emergency anti-spasm pain meds. It's been that kind of holiday.

Adam beat me every single time in Boggle. I did not come even close. But I warned him I was still a better (or at least faster) writer than he was.

Though who could tell. What did I write? A poem for Elise Matthiesen, posted on her LiveJournal. Another poem posted somewhere else, I forget. Sent off the Author poems to Horn Book. Rewrote the chapter on B.U.G. That was it!

Am looking forward to the New Year, if only to get out of this one.

 

Interstital Moment:

I wrote some of this on FaceBook in response to someone asking why writers don't talk about process the way actors do. Thought it might be of interest here. And of course, I have addded to it.

I think actors talk about process in public a lot more than writers do. Perhaps actors--being celebrities--get asked more often.

But if I were to speak of process, I would say that writers are observers first. Of people, of landscape, of emotion, of relationships, of movement. We are listeners as well. We eat up stuff hungrily, greedily and like some strange squirrels or bears, save it away for winter/writing.

And certainly some writers are more skilled, more talented, better observers, better listeners than others. Some can only write second, third, tenth, twentieth iterations of books they have read and not stuff observed or listened themselves. So we get Eregon and Shannara, sons and grandsons of Middle Earth. We get Twilight, daughter or great granddaughter of Dracula by way of Ann Rice.

I have been known to tell my writing students: If you are going to stand on the shoulders of giants (as we all do), read what they have read, not just what they have written. Take a course in bird identification, on the proper way to set in a sleeve, how to roast an ox, how to weed a garden. Read a book on shoing horses or stand by someone doing it. Smell the air. Name the clouds. Learn how to read the stars. Taste a clementine with your eyes closed. Go through your house eyes shut and touch as many surfaces as you can. See what grows in the cracks of a city street. Dive into the ocean. Ski down a mountain. Sit on a rock and watch without moving all that moves about you. Breathe in the world.

 

December 19-23, 2008:

Once the holidays arrived (and the snow, snow, snow, at least a foot of it) things both started up and shut down. What started up were all the things needed to make this time fun--family, presents, extra food, good wishes, warm clothing, shovels for digging us out from under (real time and metaphorically).

What shut down--publishing, business, writing.

All right, I will admit that I did write a few things. I finished and sent off a 4th stage version of the gn picture book though I don't expect to hear anything till. . .well. . .some time before the end of February if I am lucky. I did a 3rd revision of a picture book Heidi and I have been wrestling with. Gave the editor looking at TRASH MOUNTAIN another three weeks for them to make up their collective minds. Or find their minds after the holidays. After that, we take it elsewhere. (Glyph of knife cutting throat.) And I received the first gorgeous copy of MIRROR TO NATURE, son Jason's and my new book of poetry and photographs, about reflections in nature. And upon natures. It is a spring book.

Oh, and I have been writing some strange little poems about authors who are either children's book authors (Potter, Baum, Alcott) as well as those taught in school (Shakspeare.) Not sure if there is an actual book here. We will see.

So, I have time to play Boggle with son Adam (who--after years of my slaughtering him and a year of his practicing on line--is now beating me all around the town. I have time to go out to dinners en familia. I have time to chat with local friends. I have time to catch up on magazines, read books.

And I have time to wish everyone who reads this journal the happiest of holidays despite job losses, publishing disasters, 401K crashes, the passage of that appalling California anti-gay initiative, criminal acts on Wall Street, torture in our name, and all the rest. May we truly effect change in 2009 as mandated by the voters and our hearts. May celebrities do what they do best, and stay out of the real arts. May the Washington and Wall Street criminals get their comeuppances and not their come hithers for richer jobs.

And may we all, truly, live happily (or more happily) ever after.

 

December 14-18, 2008:

The week has been full of last-minute shopping, water therapy, house cleaning, settling in my new futon, getting on FaceBook, and a lot of work on the picture book in graphic novel form that I started this past summer in Scotland. By week's end, I had finally finished it. Wrote some poetry. Packaged up the stuff to be sent to the Kerlan Collection.

Also did the page proofs for ON THE SLANT, checked some bird expert's notes for corrections in EGRET'S DAY, signed a bunch of books, did the Grandmother Saves the Day stuff with Maddison (and took her to the doctor for a torn tendon or ligament and now she is on crutches) etc.

None of this very glamorous. But now I am all ready for the holidays.

 

 

Interstitial Arts:

Okay, I caved. I joined FaceBook. Almost two hundred folks I know either really well, fairly well, or have professional interests with are there being my "friends". But what a time waster. I expect I will eventually get control of it, but it really sucks the life out of a day.

What good does it do? It connects people on a number of levels, most of those levels fairly plywood thin. But it reminds those of us there that we have folks we haven't been in touch with at all recently.

However, I used to be a true letter writer. How do I know this? Recently, I have been sending a lot of materials from my early books off to the Kerlan Collection. Part of my get-this-house-under-control momentum. And as I wade through the material to separate what to send and what to keep (the legal stuff), I found myself re-reading the letters. They are about the work on the book, my life, my emotional state. They are occasionally charming, sometimes smart, once in a while testy. But they are real letters.

These days I rarely write more than just a quick e-note unless I am writing in this journal.

So perhaps FaceBook has some use after all. Like a memo to self: write more to your friends, to the future and for the future.

 

December 9-13, 2008:

Hah! I re-counted my book list. I was wrong. It’s not 307 books (also included, books under contract but not yet out, about 30.) No, I made a big mistake. Not 307 at all.

It’s 317.

The number is still too high for me to take in, so I shall leave it to you, dear readers. And if anyone wants to send me an email asking for the complete list, I will email it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Over the five days this journal entry covers: I worked more on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, tidied up a bit of B.U.G., wrote a poem called “Ich Bin a Yood” though I have NO idea where to send it. (Maybe Lilith magazine?) Joined FaceBook though I have NO idea how to use it. Helped Heidi with the art work data base which subsequently crashed. Though I have no idea how to help her. Sigh. We really do need someone proficient in this stuff. Do you sense a theme developing?

I also went for an overnight to friends Linda and Ursula’s house in Vermont which was restorative, joined Heidi and Tom at the Emily Dickinson birthday dinner in Amherst (great fun), saw the eye doctor (I seem to be all right by their tests even though not by my own reckoning. Perhaps I am becoming a hypochondriac in my old age!) Had lunch with friend Betsy Harries in Northampton. Signed at the Odyssey bookstore. Went to the annual Amherst Ballet Upper School recital. Wrapped a lot of presents for grandchildren. Ah yes, the Holidays are upon us. Spending money, wrapping things, visitors, lunches, teas, dinners, parties, ballet recitals, the works.

 

Oh, and I wrote an Emily Dickinson clerihew at one of the poetry prompts on Poetry Friday online. In case you didn't see it, here it is. My meter is a bit more traditional than a real clerihew, but I think this gets to the essence of ED quite well. See Julie Larios' explanation of the form at http://julielarios.blogspot.com/

 

                           Emily Dickinson stayed at home

                           And each day wrote a little poem.

                           A little poem each day turns out

                           To be a lot to write about.

 

 

 

Interstitial Moment:

One of a writer's great moments is when a book achieves clarity, that lightning stroke when you--the writer--can see the entire thing.It is as if you can suddenly hold it in your hand whole.

And one of the other great moments is when you--the editor or teacher--can do that for your writer, help them see the book that has been hiding in the words.

I got to do this on my little overnight getaway visit to two Vermont friends, Linda Peavy (who had been a student in my very first Centrum class) and her partner Ursula Smith. Linda and I worked over two of her picture book manuscripts with a-ha moments occurring in each. Sometimes I think I enjoy this more than my own private book revelations because of coming to a piece fresh. Maybe I should have stuck to editing. . .oh yes, and then I could have been fired last Wednesday along with all my friends.

 

 

 

December 5-8, 2008:

Writing: Some more on EXCEPT THE QUEEN; more reading of Jewish folktales and choosing stories; wrote a pizza poem for John Grandits to make into a concrete poem; actually set up the opening of CURSES, FOILED AGAIN into comic book form.

Other book stuff: The next stage of SCARECROW f&gs arrived; much better color. I wrote to the editor about tweaking the jacket and she agrees. I am cited on the jacket as the author of the DINO books, and actually SCARECROW is much more closely aligned in tone and theme to OWL MOON, so they will change that.

Also I did the reading/signing at the Broadside. Though it was well-enough attended (all the seats were filled) hardly anyone bought a book. Not sure what that means. It could be that everyone is broke, already bought their holiday gifts, thinks my books stink, or figures they can always get my stuff and come to the house to get things signed. Besides, in the crowd were three neighbors of mine (one of whom already buys oodles of my stuff at the discount places, the other two being booksellers themselves), Heidi and Maddison, and my house guest to bulk out the crowd. And they sure weren't buying! The best part of the whole day was going out for tea afterwards with Geri Sullivan and my Alaskan visitor. We sat at Paul&Elizabeth's, a favorite Noho spot, and talked for almost two hours.

Guests: Well, the Scottish guests left, and the Alaskan guest arrived, Debbie Miller, a fine nature writer who is touring schools in the area. We had one night out, her treat. Alas, we tried a new local restaurant in Hatfield-- lovely ambience and lousy food. I told Heidi I took the bullet for the family. We will not be going there again unless they get a new chef. The next night, Glendon and I cooked for the three of us. As Debbie said: Yolen house 10, other restaurant 2. Debbie also showed me how her Skype works. I am impressed and will have Heidi check it out. It could be especially helpful when I am in Scotland.

A note about health matters: knee is fine, back still bad, especially in the mornings, but so far Tylanol and Ibuprofin are my drugs of choice. My eyes seem to be getting worse, so have another eye appointment later this week. At my last eye appointment this Fall, I had no biggies--glaucoma, macular degeneration or the like. But still my eyes are bothering me. Best to have another look.

A note about writing in general: It is a blessing that I have the time, the energy, and enough talent to make a living at writing. Especially because I find writing such a joyful experience. But I have handicapped myself the last few years by getting bigger books under contract without having written them first. So now I am struggling with three major contracts, two of which I am actively working on with co-writers (son Adam, friend Midori Snyder.) Once I have fulfilled these contracts--and I am late on all three, argh!--I am not going to do that again without first writing at least half the book. Most writers need that contract either to have the money or the energy/commitment to finish. I find it stalls rather than stimulates. See with what joy I wrote, rewrote, and rewrote again TRASH MOUNTAIN. The joy I had in that book shows. I still don't have a contract for it, but it is done. Lesson learned.

 

 

Your Basic Blantant Book Hucksterism:

OK, it's almost Christmas/Chanukah/Quanza. What you need are signed books for the children you know or the childlike adults. An inexpensive way to tell them you'll love them for a looooong time to come. Books really are the gifts that keep on giving.

I just (cough! cough!) happen to be signing books this Sunday at the Broadside Bookstore in Northampton, Mass: 413-586-4235. Oh, and next Saturday at the Odyssey Bookstore in South Hadley Mass: 413-534-7307 or 800-540-7307.

You can call them, order a book, I can sign it any way you wish--and they will ship them to you in plenty of time for the holidays. And no need to stand around in a line.

Just saying. . .

 

 

BLACK WEDNESDAY:

This has been the worst day of book publishing I have ever been through, and I became a member of the Establishment in 1960 with an Assistant Editorship at Gold Medal paperback books.This journal entry should be rimmed in black.

For a good summary, check out: The Antick Musings of G.B.H. HornswogglerGent athttp://antickmusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/merry-christmas-for-book-publishing.html Those publishers include Random House, Houghton, Scholastic, S&S, and others. Don't expect a bailout from Congress any time soon! <That's a snark.>

How this has directly affected me and my books? The two brilliant and wonderful men in charge of Simon and Schuster's children books department have been pushed out. Rick Richter and Rubin Pfeffer. I had come back to S&S directly because of Rubin. He had been my mentor and friend at Harcourt, the man who asked me to become the editor of my own line there. At S&S he personally asked for the two young collections of poems and stories to be illustrated by Jane Dyer--WEE POEMS and WEE TALES. He bought both SCARECROW'S DANCE and MY FATHER KNOWS THE NAMES OF THINGS and gave them to the terrific young editor Alexandra Cooper. (None of these books are out yet.)

Then I heard from two friends in the Harcourt marketing department, Barbara Fisch and Sarah Shealey, with whom I have worked closely for years. Both let go.

I am sure there will be more news down the pike.

Ugly stuff. Ugly times. More below in my journal.

My IRAs, that small bulwark against a lingering old age since David's pension died with him, have been cut in half. My new plan: write/write/write/die. I have nothing else.

 

November 30-December 4, 2008:

Visitors: We drove to Westhampton for lunch at poet Patricia Lee Lewis’ wonderful aerie, a house high up on a hill surrounded by 100 acres and occasional bears. (No bears while we were there.) She's a friend of mine and coincidentally an old friend of Marianna's. That evening we had spaghetti Bolognese cooked by Pete, with Marianna and me working as sous chefs. Well, actually, we mostly stayed out of his way! Bob Marstall came over for dinner as well, and we settled down to watch “Local Hero," a favorite of mine. But I was so tired from too many late nights, that I left them all to go to bed before Burt Lancaster even got to Scotland. (My favorite part.)

The next day I took Marianna and Pete off to Petersham where they were staying with a friend of theirs at his museum of a house. His name –Sam Adams Green, the self-proclaimed “Sir Edmund Hilary of the social climbers.” (I asked him who his Sherpa was, and he just giggled.) Yes, The Sam Adams Green who—according to him—discovered Andy Warhol, squired around Greta Garbo, was amanuensis to Cecil Beaton, friend of Caroline Kennedy’s escort to Ethel Kennedy, and who was supposed to be in John-John Kennedy’s plane that went down but got there too late, etc. etc. And maybe all those stories he told are absolutely true. Only he kept undercutting every story by reminding us that even he no longer remembers which stories are true. It was a kick. Charm oozed. We laughed. Jaws dropped. It was like being at a one-man show. However, the further away one got (ie driving home much later) the less the whole act was believable. I mean--Petersham???? Lovely town for a summer retreat but it's 20+ miles to the nearest real grocery store. It's 60 miles to Boston, 150 to NYC, and probably at least an hour's drive or more to Tanglewood/Joseph's Pillow. He didn't seem the hardy New Englander type. But the two houses he owns in Petersham--one an early Victorian, and one an early Colonial--are gorgeous.

 

Work: The next three days were work-strewn. More on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, the finish of the first pass galleys for DRAGON’S HEART sent off to the publisher, going over the copyediting for both THE EGRETS DAY and ON THE SLANT.

I started CURSES, FOILED AGAIN, even though FOILED isn’t out yet. But you know—when an idea offers itself, you have to go with it or it floats away into the ether and someone else might grab it

Also I did a bunch of research on Jewish food folktales. Am saying no more for now.

And anyone who has been reading this journal since this summer (You, and you, and yes YOU, raise your hands!) will remember that I had been working on a picture book graphic (er) novel called PRAmazon and the DIAPERS OF DOOM with Bob Harris. Well, I hauled it out again, and added another double page spread. But if Bob doesn’t get his act together and send me PLOT, I shall write it on my own. So there.

Finally, I did two last revisions on two separate days on the LEATHER APRON CLUB picture book and sent it off to the editor. We will see what she has to say. (Actually, what she said was that it's the middle of the publisher's Launch Meetings and she will get back to me when she can, which could mean after the holidays.)

And then there was a lot of emotional energy and emails back and forth because on Wednesday it was announced that S&S laid off the two heads of the children’s book department, Rick Richter and Rubin Pfeffer, both friends of mine. I just saw Rubin two weeks ago, at the Michelson Gallery show. Now I have 7-8 books signed up (or about to be) at S&S so of course I worry about them. But more important, I think about those two men, brilliant, hard-working, who lived and dreamed book making. And all the folks under them counting on them. I send them my love, and prayers for a soft landing.

 

November 25-29, 2008:

Books: Going over DRAGON'S HEART galleys. I am never happy with my own writing. And here are 391 pages full of it. Arrrrrgh! I know I am not supposed to be rewriting mammothly at this stage of the book. But there are these repeated words, these awkward sentences, these. . .

And this is true not only in large novels, but in picture books. A reader at the Dickinson House found a two small errors in the About This Book section of my Emily Dickinson picture book and luckil the book had not been finally printed so we were able to get those changed. Aha! I thought, time to rewrite it. But no such luck.

Also putting the final touches (more rewriting) on the proposals for FINE FEATHERED FRIENDS and BUG OFF! (Two poetry collections based on Jason's photographs.)

I once heard Phyllis Whitney, who was a Famous Author in the 60s and 70s say that books were not written, they were rewritten. Yes!

Life: Of course this is Thanksgiving week, which means not much happening in the book world as such. But LOTS of food. Our big holiday dinner on Thursday was at Tom's house with Heidi and family. Plenty of leftovers. Friday at 11 pm I went to the airport to pick up Marianna and Pete, friends from Scotland, and got us home before midnight. Just. They are staying till Monday. Saturday, as they are both artists, we went into Northampton, to the Michelson gallery. Surprise, it became a reunion of sorts as Holly and Theo Black, Jarret Krokoshka, Mo Willems and others suddenly appeared there as well. After a good long look around, the three of us went off to Bob Marstall's studio since Pete and Bob are both birders. Then a big dinner at my house which Heidi cooked. Six of us there.

And along the way Heidi and Glen repainted the room next to my bedroom which will become a sitting room, guest room, and extra office. Hurrah. Slowly getting this house in order.

 

 

Holiday Fun:

I normally don't do these things online, but I thought this list from Miss Rumphius Effect was charming, and ends up telling you stuff about me you might not otherwise know.

The ones I have done are in bold.

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (Well, sang with one, does that count?)
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain (Er--ok, define mountain!)
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped (Are you kidding?)
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child (Though one of my grandkids is adopted.)
16. Had food poisoning (More than once, alas!)
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (I was a school kid in Manhattan.)
18. Grown your own vegetables (For 7 years kind of Biblical that!)
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train (Many times, both as a child and adult.)
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked (Good Jewish girls don't!)
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb (At a taverna in Greece at Easter, just as they were cooking its brother.)
26. Gone skinny dipping (See # 22)
27. Run a Marathon (Have you ever seen me?)
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run (I was the best baseball player in elementary school. Grew out of it.)
32. Been on a cruise (Not for me!)
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (My ancestors' birthplaces were wiped off the map.)
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language (Still working on English.)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo's David
41. Sung karaoke (Neh!)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant (I tend to pick up checks too often.)
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater (My generation's favorite dating place.)
55. Been in a movie (Does tv count?)
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving (See # 11.)
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy (Book, yes; toy, no.)
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar (Hated it)
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone (Amazingly, not so far!)
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle (High school boyfriend.)
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (Over 300, actually!)
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House (Wore my Peace button.)
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (That's what my West Virginia husband was for!)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life (Heimliched a friend!)
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (Bob Dylan tried to pick me up at a gig!)
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby (Actually 3.)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake (Have seen it. Swam in the Dead Sea, which is similar.)
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee (and bitten by a quirrel.)
100. Read an entire book in one day (Hasn't everybody?)

 

Interstitial Moment: 4 of 6

So there I was in San Antonio, having dinner with one of my favorite people, Judy O’Malley who is (among other things) an editor, teacher, mentor, mensch. And I brought up THE LEATHER APRON CLUB book talking her through the problems. She is not the editor, but a very smart friend and a great listener.

Her first thought was—that’s a novel! And you know, maybe there is a novel there, but I am writing a picture book. It’s under contract. And the last thing I want to do is add another novel idea to the 6 or 8 I already have. (Three under contract, and a fourth already written.)

So we talked some more, and I realized that I was probably not as far off as I thought I was on this book.

Rearrangement: Sometimes in book terms, rearranging means pushing the deck chairs around on the Titanic. And sometimes it means moving furniture in a small room to make it appear larger. Sometimes rearranging things brings a story into focus.

So, when I got back home, and after a day of NOT working on the book—there were too many things to do before I could actually sit down, and luckily my writer’s group was canceled—I sat myself down with the laptop and started the process of pushing and pulling and rearranging.

And voila! I got down a complete first draft. (To be honest, I was only two and a half spreads away from finishing anyway.)

Finishing: The hardest thing in any book is getting that first complete draft down. Good, bad, or somewhere in-between, you can’t really know it’s possible to finish the book until that first draft is done.

All the rest is revision.

Revision may take you hundreds of times longer to do than the first draft That’s not important. But getting it down does three things. 1. It removes doubt in your mind. 2. It gives you time to breathe. 3. It gives you malleable clay to work with.

Getting a complete draft down means you can now take a cautious but complete look at what you have. Measure it with mental tape. Re-read your research. Take notes. Take a bath. Hell, take out a sledgehammer.

Length: The first thing a picture book author always asks is: Is it too long? Probably. Picture books are always too long on the first draft. Though with an historical picture book, length is not so much an issue. This is a book for 3-6th grades, not a baby picture book.

 

Questions: Still, I have to ask myself—am I tackling too many subjects? Is there a way to get more clearly and quickly to the subject—the Leather Apron Club which started the first Circulating/ Subscription Library in America? Have I taken too many side roads along the way? Is this too much Billy’s book and not enough Ben Franklin’s? Would a child reader actually be interested in a philosophical talking club and more interested in Billy’s adventures? Should I dump the library idea altogether? And of course questions such as: Is this the proper word? Have I said this once too often? Is this sentence lyrical? Am I straining at this metaphor? Am I clear enough? Though these last are questions for ANY book.

Some of the questions I can answer now. Some may have to be answered once the editor gets a look (though not till a half a dozen more revisions along the way.)

But quickly here are some of the things those questions bring up. Am I tackling too many subjects? That’s a biggie. This is NOT a novel. Not a chapter book. Each double page spread needs to be illustrated. I know Wendell’s illustrations well. He does great double-page set pieces. But there has to be in every double page text a central point. I may have to do some judicious cutting for that. Yet I don’t want to shortcut the story of Billy, his interesting family, his change from an adventurous, uncomfortable boy into a great reader and supporter of his father’s library ideas.

Is there a way to get more clearly to the subject—the Leather Apron Club which started the first Circulating/Subscription Library in America? Whoosh—that’s a tough one since as I have said before, that’s not a particularly inviting subject for a child reader. We need to get to it through Billy. I am probably going to need some help from the editor on this one. She will tell me if I have done too much or too little about the LAC and the Library.

Should I dump the library idea entirely? We began the book with that idea. It has an immediate appeal to librarians. But on second and third and fifth hand, a dump may have to happen. Sometimes a book moves beyond it’s initiating idea. But if it does, will the editor still want the book? Will Wendell Miner still want to illustrate it? That would be a big gamble. After all, we sold the book because it was about the first library. And I am nowhere near that choice yet, If ever.

All writing is a series of questions that an author asks herself. Sometimes the questions are so sotto voce, she doesn’t even know she is asking them. Sometimes they come shouting in capital letters, overwhelming her. From her own brain, from early readers of the manuscript, from her editor(s). Normally my questions are internal, but by writing these short Interstitial pieces on the writing of this particular picture book, I am doing something not normal for me. I am letting everyone in on what is usually a very private practice.

But whether those questions are aloud or silent, EVERY SINGLE PIECE OF WRITING is an author’s way of answering what is being asked. EVERY SINGLE PIECE.

PS: I am thinking there will be two more of these IMs. One on the big revision process I will be undertaking, probably after Thanksgiving, and one on the editor-author relationship before, during, and after the work on the book. Knowing how slow editors are and how long it takes for them to get to anyone’s mss., this last piece may be several months away.

 

 

November 18-24, 2008:

Everything is churning here at home, and in constant motion. I have hired a friend (Andee) as a second assistant on a temporary basis to help us get the house, the offices, the books--and a database—in order. I’d like to do it without buying lots of new file cabinets. Instead, we are going through the old cabinets and sending off massive amounts of stuff to the Kerlan Collection (my job) while Heidi and Andee move stuff around.

As a holiday present, Heidi and the girls will be spackling and repainting her old childhood room (which had been the art room when they returned to live with us) that is connected to my bedroom for a sitting-room and extra study. I will get a futon in there, and it will be the Poetry room, Elizabeth Helfman room (I am her literary executor) and extra guest room, etc.

We are also--AT LAST because Andee knew what to do with the stuff--getting rid of all the old and useless computers, screens, faxes, etc. that have been cluttering up the place.

I am already feeling better about things and realizing that I have had a low grade three-year depression (of course I have, duh!) that has kept me from dealing with house stuff.

And that is what has taken up a lot of November 18-20. Plus my writing group, water therapy, tea with a friend, tea with co-author Barbara Goldin about our Girl’s Bible book (Charlesbridge), hair appointment. And writing on the blasted Ben Franklin book, two new chapters on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, some work on the two proposals for the Jason poetry books, and a new poem for the Bible book.

Which leaves November 21-23 when I went off to NCTE (National Council Teachers of English) in San Antonio hoping for many book sales and good weather. Got the first, though the weather was cold (44 degrees) and gray and unsatisfying. Lucky for me I left in the cold and so had a coat. The folks from warmer climes, expecting the same, were all REALLY in trouble.

All my signings went extremely well. Well, except for Harper, which got canceled because the warehouse sent Steven Kellogg’s JOHNNY APPLESEED instead of mine! And my talk on the poetry panel was well received. That's three "wells" in a row. I heard that Lee Bennett Hopkins won the NCTE Poetry Award, which was a terrific choice as no one has done more for children’s poetry in this country. Although most of us said: “You mean he hasn’t won it before?” which astonished us all.

There and back on the plane I worked on the first-pass galleys of DRAGON’S HEART and got about 2/3 done.

I returned Sunday evening, and Monday did some Kerlan culling, catching up, saw old friends from India who came for tea (they brought lovely tea from their homeland), and then two more friends popped in, one at dinner time. We schomoozed right through till 8 when I sent her off, totally forgetting I was supposed to be going out to a party at Gavin Grant’s house. Actually, I went right up to bed.

I will do an Interstital #4 on the Franklin book as soon as I can.

 

 

Interstitial Moment: 3 of 4 for now

Okay, I lied. Well, maybe I just misspoke. There are going to be four parts to this because the book is becoming infinitely more complicated as it goes on.

(Or maybe five and six parts if things continue to work out that way.)

Audience: The basic fact of the Leather Apron Club is really quite sophisticated and not at all child-friendly. It was a Junto, a drinking and talking club of young artisans and tradesmen who wanted to better themselves and their community, which was Philadelphia in the 1730s. Ben Franklin began it. My pov character Billy was only a toddler then. Now, my pov character will be infinitely more interesting to my audience than the LAC members and their long-winded doings, but I have to be able to tell the story of the LAC in a way that Billy is fascinated by it AND the reader is, too.

And it is not going well.

Question: how much is audience important to a writer? In some ways it is everything, and in other ways nothing at all. I like to say I write for myself as I was as a child. But right now, even I at age 8—who read cereal boxes, for goodness sakes—would not have been interested in this story. The first part which is all ab out Billy—yes, I would have followed it eagerly. But not the LAC part. So there has to be another way of getting there and I just haven’t found it yet. How long will it take to get there? No one, certainly not me—knows. I don’t even know IF I will get there in the end. But I am trying.

Linearity: I describe myself as a linear writer. I tend to be a linear reader, too. I like my books to go forward. Which is not to say I never like a non-linear book.

One of my favorite adult novels of the past 25 years is THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE and it is anything but linear.

I wrote THE WILD HUNT which is hardly linear, having two main characters who lead parallel but separate lives for over half the book before finding out that they are living in the same (and yet different) house. And the interstitality of my Holocaust novel BRIAR ROSE has been much remarked upon. As has my SISTER LIGHT trilogy. And my most recently published picture books have interstitial underpinnings. NAMING LIBERTY is two stories in one, matching one another on the tick of the high notes. JOHNNY APPLESEED has three separate tellings on each double page spread—poem, story, and extra marginalia.

But this story is trying to be linear and failing. I must go back and think some more. Arrrrgh.

 

 

November 16-17, 2008:

More of everything.

Sunday, I went to a party at the Michelson Gallery for the opening of the children’s book illustration show. The roll call of authors and artists was astonishing: Norton Juster, Jerry Pinkney, Jane Dyer, Barry Moser, Kathryn Brown, Jarret Krokoschka, Susan Pearson, Alice Schertle, Barbara Diamond Goldin, Mordicai Gerstein, Bob Marstall, Rebecca Guay, Tony DiTerlizzi, Leslea Newman, Ruth Sanderson, Linda Graves, Peg Davol, and I am spacing on the two dozen others there.(Tugs forelock, begs forgiveness and/or absolution.)

Heidi and I did an interview before everything started.

More water therapy.

More emails, snail mails, though no mailed heroes coming to the rescue.

And writing on the Ben Franklin book, looking over the material for the Girl’s Bible book, and much filing. God, I hate filing!

 

 

Interstitial Moment: 2 of 3

Research: I pulled out the five or six books I already had on Franklin, bought some more, read Poor Richard’s Almanac, looked at timelines, checked online sites.

For me—other writers’ may differ—there comes a moment in my research when I know enough to start though not enough to finish. Friends of mine research till they know absolutely everything and then start. I continue researching as I go along. Yes, this may mean some missteps and I have to go back and redo something that turns out to be anachronistic or otherwise just dead wrong. (For example: I used the word “frock coat” in an early version of one double page, but after researching the actual 1730s clothing, I quickly changed it.)

The reason? I want to be fresh on the page, not a spewing of dates and facts from over-learned notes. I need to get a start on writing when the characters and their situation is sparking, not dead from too much reading. YMMV=Your mileage may vary.

Point of View: When the editor and I had been speaking about the book many years earlier, I thought I might use one of Franklin’s two sons as the pov character. Then well into my research, I found some problems. One of the sons--Frances--died at 4. Ooops. Can’t use him. One of them—William --grew up and became a Tory and broke with his father till almost the end of Franklin’s life. Oops. Can he be re-made as a good guy? Franklin’s apprentices were too old to be the pov for the book. There was a nephew, but he was the same age as the Tory son. I held on to him as a possibility for far too long. But for the little bit I could find out about him, he wasn’t particularly bright or attractive.

What to do? What to do? I was flummoxed, poleaxed, and ready to sell the book back.

Delay, delay, delay: I pushed the book back down the pile. Wrote some DINO books. Became enmeshed in two novels—one for kids, one for adults. Did a bunch of signings. Had dinners and lunches with friends. Spent time in meetings. Visited children and grandchildren.

Yes, I still wanted to write the Franklin book, but the pov problem had to be solved first. That’s where I needed to start and couldn’t start until it worked itself out. Worked itself out. As much as I am a believer in knowing when the right time to work has come, I also believe that the hind brain, the lizard brain, the subconscious, the unconscious mind works best when ignored. I let it work.

Then I sat down one day after the election was over, after I’d sent off everything on my desk to either my co-authors or agent or various editors. There was nothing else pending for the moment. So I said to myself, sez I: “This has been hanging over my head for far too long.” Well, I wasn’t actually that polite with myself. But metaphorically I took myself up by the nape of the neck and gave myself a good shaking. Sometimes it’s the only way to get my attention.

And I began.

Back to that pesky POV problem: First I had to find that viewpoint character, a child, who could have been around during the time of the Leather Apron Club.

And I got nothing.

So I stepped back and tried a different door. Or an old door. I re-examined the one son who had lived a long and productive life, even though later he became a Tory and broke with his father.

Three things hit me at once: 1. He was evidently bright and hard-working and adventurous. Good characteristics for a boy lead in a picture book. 2. He was Franklin’s illegitimate son brought up by Franklin’s not-so-pleased wife so was a bone of contention between the husband and wife. Interesting problem, though not the main point to stress. 3. He was actually (at age 21) the young man who did the kite-electricity thing with Franklin. I could use that! After all, I am the daughter of the man who was International Kite-flying Champion. (It’s a long story and not one to get into here.)

And suddenly, I had my main character. William Franklin, known to the family as Billy, whose stepmother never warmed to him , whose father over-indulged him, and who loved to learn and to write and who eventually got into politics himself—though on the wrong side of the American Revolution. Wrong--that is--if this is a book about Benjamin Franklin.

That was a huge step, deciding on Billy. And all the rest followed. Not easily and not all at once.

I am still struggling with it. Picture books may be short but they are not quick. Every word counts. Every. . .single. . .word. Like a poem, the text has to be compressed, lyrical; and if it is an historical picture book, it has to be a life fined down to its essence.

And of course there was something else, a new problem. Now I had to research Billy, too.

 

Researching Billy: It turns out that very little is known about Wiliam Franklin's early life (before he is 8) though lots about him once he gets educated in England, marries, becomes Governor of New Jersey, stands with the Tories, is jailed for two years after the American Revolution, goes to England where he remains the rest of his life. But during the period I want to use him? Not much at all.

Besides, he was 1-2 years old when the first Leather Apron Club meeting happened.

I began to worry all over again. (Of course this is not new. There are three places I always worry about in a book: the beginning, the middle, and at the end!) Had I made a mistake choosing Billy? I considered this from all sides. I still liked Billy. I knew I could work with him. He would have been a good listener to his father's stories. Crossing all the appropriate appendages, I plunged in.

 

A note to my readers: #3 in this series will take a bit longer to get to you. Don't despair. I am in the middle of writing the book so there is, as yet, not a #3 to tell you.

 

Interstitial Moment: 1 of 3 on Writing A Picture Book

I thought it might be instructive to do a kind of diary of the writing of a picture book. So this is how and why and perhaps even occasionally a what-not-to-do in the making of THE LEATHER APRON CLUB.

Idea: So there I was at the White House in 2003. Yes, THAT White House. Near the end of the National Book Festival. I was wearing my peace pin and had already done a ritual obesiance to the JFK portrait.

Lucky me--I was sitting next to Wendell Minor on one side, Walter Dean Myers on the other. We had just been treated to a wonderful buffet breakfast and were now in a room with dozens of other authors listening to the Superstars talking. We not-so-superstars mingling with the literary hoi polloi, doncha know. Walter Isaacson was speaking about Benjamin Franklin because his latest book--Benjamin Franklin: An American Life—was just garnering all sorts of praise and awards. He said something about the Leather Apron Club which Franklin had begun with his friends, and it led directly to the first Circulating Library in America. I turned to Wendell, an illustrator I greatly admired and wanted to work with some day, and said, “There’s a picture book there.” And he smiled. “You write it, I’ll illustrate it.”

Wow. Sometimes the magic happens.

 

The Pitch: A few months later I was talking to one of my editors, Patricia Gauch, thinking about possible new work together, and I remembered that White House conversation.

Passionately, I told her about it.

“Give me something to talk to the committee,” she said. So I did a proposal about one page long which took about three days to do. Normally I can sneeze a one page proposal, but I found myself revising and revising it again and again.

 

The Acceptance: And after a bit of arm-twisting and fast-dancing (Minor already worked with a different editor at the same publishing company) we got a contract. Signed it. Got paid half the advance.

Since Wendell was already booked up for several years, I didn’t even consider starting on the actual manuscript right away. And that was ’04.

 

Time Passes: And then Life intervened. Well, Death actually. My beloved husband’s cancer returned in ‘05, and he died in ’06 and my world turned upside down.

Oh, I was still writing. Publishing. But I pushed difficult research projects to the bottom of the pile over and over again. I didn't want to think difficult or troubling or anxiety-producing thoughts.

Difficult? A picture book? O, ye of little knowledge. To remind you: a picture book is usually 32 and occasionally 40 pages long. Half or more of it is pictorial. The trick of writing one--so far as there is a trick--is to be a prose writer with a poet's sensibility. Or a poet who is comfortable with story. Furthermore, an historical picture book needs to be able to boil down a biography or a part of a biography into a followable line with illustrate-able pages.

During the next few years I wrote a picture book about Honus Wagner, but his life had a fairly predictable trajectory. Ditto a book on Johnny Appleseed. Yes, those books was pretty straight-forward though the finished books were not exactly that easy.

And along the way, I lost my excitement for BF. This is always a problem with signing a contract before a book is written. The exigencies of a writer’s life often means one has to sell unwritten stuff ahead of time. I don’t like to do that, but think of it the other way around: spending months, years working on a book and then it never sells! What a waste of time, energy, emotion—and you are not even making a living. Yes, I love to write, but I love eating and keeping a roof over my head even more. Well, maybe not even more. It's sort of a tie.

 

Getting Down to Writing: Now we come to ’08 and the whole of America is buzzing about politics. Hell, the whole world is. And politics was what BF was all about. Even when he was a printer, he was thinking about the way people integrate their daily lives with family, community, government; how they teach themselves about the world; how they bootstrap themselves up the ladder of success. So of course I began to think again about THE LEATHER APRON CLUB. How could I not?

I have been a published writer for well over 40 years and one thing I have learned: I know when I am ready to write something. I may get it wrong the first dozen times around, but I know when I am ready. A light bulb goes off in my head. A gong sounds in my ear. An invisible hand taps me on the shoulder. It really is as much a metaphor as that.

So I knew. It was the right time. Even the write time. Trust me--would I lie?

More anon.

 

November 12-15, 2008:

I seem to be in one of those incredible weeks where I am burning the candle at both ends. If I am not careful, there is going to be a crash—of both mind and body.

What I mean by this is that I am writing a great deal AND going out a lot as well.

As to my social life: Wednesday evening I went to Leslea Newman’s poetry book launch and reading at the Broadside Bookstore, Thursday there was Children’s Lit Book Night at the Northampton Brewery with some 18 people in intense conversations, Friday evening I was part of a three-day Barnes and Noble reading/signing to raise money for the local PBS channel, and Saturday I went to an opening at the Eric Carle Museum (honoring artists Kinuko Craft, Paul Zelinsky, Jerry Pinkney, Leo and Diane Dillon, and Chris Van Allsberg who were all here and Mingling), and then off to a retirement concert for works written by my friend Ann’s husband, composer Donald Wheelock. (He and I were actually in high school together!) Whew—I am tired just writing all that. And that was the night stuff for the most part. Daytime, besides some errands, I went to water therapy three times this week.

More interesting is the variety of writing I have done in the last four days. Midori and I are barreling ahead on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, revising one another’s stuff and making suggestions. We are up to 58,000 words. Rebecca Dotlich and I have totally revised and rewritten the poems in GRUMBLES FROM THE FOREST, which are our fairy tale poems. I sent them off to our agent on Friday. I revised my speech for next week’s poetry session at NCTE in San Antonio and printed it out. Did some more revisions on the poems for the two new proposals for Boyds Mills just waiting till I hear if they are interested in seeing either one. Revised (again) the two new DINO board books and sent them off on Saturday. And I have started the actual writing of THE LEATHER APRON CLUB: A Story of Benjamin Franklin which I have been researching the past few weeks.

Now in case you've lost count, that means I worked on an adult novel, a speech/essay, a book of children's poems, proposals with poems for two more children's poetry books, two board books, and a picture book all in four day period. Reminder: Worked On, I didn't say I finished everything. That's important.

What does this mean? I like variety, it keeps me young (well, young enough to go out every night in that same period!), and does what I caution all writers today to do if they want to have a 45 year writing career: keep your mind supple, reinvent yourself constantly, and by doing a variety of things one can never be stunned into silence by Writers Block.

But still--whew! Aching brain and aching body. Though the good kind.

 

Letters, I get letters:

So C writes and asks: "What does one do with the high level of disappointment and discouragement in this intensely subjective business? With all this hard work, SOMEthing's gotta crack open SOMEtime!!! Broth-ER!!!”

It's a constant, C--and not likely to get easier in the short term. Have you seen all the news about publishers canning editors, art directors, marketing experts, sales force, etc? Scholastic invited anyone over 50 years old to leave early with a special deal and over 40 people took them up on it. Harper, Farrar Strauss, among others recently let top editors go. Authors get the tail switch of this. As if we had it easy before.

I wish I had good news. But when the economy goes into the toilet, the publishers go, too. I expect we will get to the other side, eventually. (Breaststroking across the toilet? What a metaphor!) But leaner and meaner publishing will put the emphasis even more on product instead of books and those of us who are NOT bestsellers or celebrities will need to turn even more than we do already to the smaller publishers. (NOT, I hasten to add, self-publishing which takes up all of a writer’s precious time.) We have to be more proactive for our books, and try to put a positive spin on things. But I will not kid you. We are all in for tougher times ahead.

And you thought you were coming to me for Happy Talk and Good Advice.

 

NB:

I have heard from Mike in Canada that he and his wife have named their baby daughter Akki-Lea after my character Akki in the Pit Dragon books.

Years ago I was told that someone had named a son Greyling after my picture book of the same name. Poor kid.

Charles deLint called some selchie rocks in one of his books the Yolen Rocks. An apartment group in Holyoke, naming their apartment styles after local authors (Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost) had one style named after me. Probably an office suite since that's where I am most of the time.

It's a peculiar kind of egoboo. Would love to hear from anyone else who has named someone or something after any of my characters. Not that I particularly encourage it, you understand. I mean, imagine being called Thornmallow or Gerund or Commander Toad all your life.

 

November 11, 2008:

So I get my final proofs of HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY I LOVE YOU, and on the cover it says “Over twelve million in print”. And I’m thinking: That can’t be right. And later when I talk to my editor about two very small things that need changing, she says that the twelve million part is true. I start grinning and dancing around the house and being extremely foolish. Why not!

Lest you all start counting my money though (LOL), remember that a huge number of those were board books (low royalty), foreign sales (even lower), book fairs and book clubs (even even lower), and HOW DO DINOSAURS LEARN TO READ which was given away to club members/teachers for free. And my daughter reminds me that this is the same counting method (she calls it publishing math) that I use when I say I had 16 rejections in one day when its really 4 different publishers turning down the same four books.

But who cares? Twelve Million copies is more than all the rest of my books put together and multiplied any number of times. Even using my friend Fred's Magic Counting Tricks, I couldn't get there.

Oh yes, there was also a writer’s meeting (only four of us) at my house, and I worked on two new DINO board books from a suggestion from the editor in that same telephone call. (PETS, one for cats one for dogs).

And worked on the SCAREDY CATS book a bit more though Heidi is not sure of this new approach.

Read some more on Ben Franklin. Lots of notes taken. The book is going to be more difficult to get into than I thought. I need a young narrator and haven’t found one yet. Maybe an apprentice? His sons were too young at the time of the story. Unless I move further along in the timeline. Hmmm…you (and I) heard it here first.

Which brings me to a thought. Writers break into two camps: those who think out their books ahead of time, those who just start writing. Usually I am in the latter camp. Thinking things ahead is anathema to me. Yeah, I’m lousy at chess, too. How do I know what these characters are going to do until they show me? Well, the Franklin book needs a lot of ahead-thinking, which may be why I keep putting it off. Sigh.

 

November 9-10, 2008:

Sunday: Paid bills. Cleaned up tv room, reading Tom Dumm’s book on loneliness, reading mystery short stories, actually finished up the EXCEPT THE QUEEN stuff and emailed it off to Midori (co-author), made lists of things to do in the week ahead. Went to bed before 9.

Monday: Let’s see—a good review from Kirkus on MAMA’S KISS: “When Mama throws her curly-headed little girl a handful of kisses, ‘Most land right, but one kiss misses. / Mama says she’ll throw another, / It sails off toward Baby Brother.’ This begins a peregrination that takes that wayward kiss through the neighborhood, into the woods and back (via ‘a runner’s hair’—Papa, the reader sees) to the little girl it was meant for, spreading affection wherever it lands. Yolen’s meter never falters, providing a rollicking counterpoint to Baxter’s drolly energetic cartoon vignettes, the winged-lipped kiss tying all visually together. Sweet—but not saccharine—good-hearted fun.”

A new attempt by Heidi and me on the cat book. Not sure even this is getting us closer. She had a sort of plot. I tried it without rymes, and then with rhymes, sent both new beginnings to her. Sometimes a book dances and sings. Someimes it drags its feet and scuffs its shoes. This is a really draggy one.

Went over the editor’s notes on EGRET’S DAY. Most I agree with, some are absolute non-starters.

Got the offer for WAKING DRAGONS. We have accepted.

Began research on my Ben Franklin picture book by reading two children's books on The Great Man (and The Great Character). I have a couple more short books to go before settling in with two major biographies. I know the period (fairly early in his printer days) I want to write the book about. But I need to get a good rounded idea of him. Unlike my knowledge of Emily Dickinson & Co., I had only a school child's understanding of Franklin solidified by Stubby Kaye's rendition of the singing, dancing Franklin in "1776."

Received copies of the Cornell Library of Natural Sounds’ Caribbean bird songs tapes, dedicated to David and with a couple of his recordings in it. He would have been so proud.

Went to swim therapy.

Yep—that’s enough. Not as good as getting a tour of the White House by the outgoing president, but it will have to do.

 

 

November 8, 2008:

People ask—yes, they do, all the time—what a typical day of mine looks like. As if I do the same thing day in and day out. Anyone following my journal knows this isn’t true. Even the work varies greatly. Sometimes I am obsessive, sometimes I am a lazy bum. But today, I thought I would give you a don’t-take-it-as-typical look at a Saturday in November hour by hour. All times are approximate.

5 am: Wake, get on bedside computer, check my 23 messages, answer seven of them, answer 5 return emails that come in (most from Britain where it is now nearly noon), read Dailykos and Huffington. And think/plot/write myself notes about the rest of the day. Of course, things never quite go how I plan them, that’s a given.

6-6:30: am Up, take first round of pills, shower, hair wash, get dressed.

6:30-8 am: Downstairs, print out stuff from email that I need to keep. Have Special K cereal with a banana, tea, take pills, watch MSBNC and other news broadcasts. Sneak in a half hour of “Charmed” which I haven’t watched since becoming obsessed with the political news. More Sarah Palin meltdown serves to help wean me off the pundits, much like the zombie Obama supporters in the funny video: http://www.clubforgrowth.org/2008/11/obamas_zombie_supporters.php

8-9 am: Worked on the two proposals that Jason and I will send to Boyds Mills, I hope this next week. This included reworking some of the poems. I read them out loud (thank goodness Glen is away for the weekend!) and add the little nonfiction pieces to some. Refine them once and twice and three times. Then I send everything on to Jason for his reaction. I hope to hear from him this weekend, but know he probably doesn't turn on his home computer even once Saturday and Sunday. It's family time.

9-10 am: Clean the kitchen. Check email. Read some short fiction in Ellery Queen mystery magazine. Do a crossword puzzle. This is recovery (from poetry writing) and a stalling tactic, too.

10-11:15 am: Off to get the mail, which included Japanese and Korean editions of HOW DO DINOSAURS GET WELL SOON? Continued on to the local book club’s holiday fair. (I have donated about a dozen autographed books for the raffle.) Bought a pie and two loaves of bread for a potluck party tonight. Bought $8 worth of lottery tickets, though I never seem to win anything unless it is hard liquor—which I don’t drink. Visited with some of my neighbors who I like but never really see much of.

11:15-11:30 am: started this journal entry.

11:30-2:45 pm: Worked on revising the chapters so far on EXCEPT THE QUEEN--we are up to 46,800 words—fortified by frequent cups of decaf tea. I stopped for about fifteen minutes for a Jewish salami sandwich and an apple at 1. Then went back to work. What I was doing was rereading the entire thing, doing a lot of word and phrase rewriting, and getting a feel again for the language of the book. Tomorrow I will move forward. Or at least that's the plan. (See 5 am note about plans in my life!)

2:45-3:30 pm: Back at the holiday fair to see if I won anything at the raffle. Surprise! I did! A present which I will give to Heidi and Maddison for Christmas/Chanukah.

3:30-4:30 pm: Again at work on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. 47, 360 words including a very short interstitial chapter which I stuffed in earlier in the manuscript to help set up something to come, called “The Dog Boy Marks His Territory.” Sometimes a writer doesn't know what will need setting up until there's a POW! moment in the book. Then there's this mad backwards scramble to Make Things All Fit. Unlike real life where everything is topsy-turvey and nothing fits. Or fits awkwardly. Life is messy. Art not so much.

4:30-5:30: Putting stuff away, getting dressed, and off to the party in Northampton. It was pouring. Luckily I got a parking spot right at the steps. Ordinarily I do not have Parking Karma, though Heidi does. The umbrella was in the trunk of the car. It could have been a disaster. The gods were smiling.

5:45--8 pm: Party at Shelly Rotner’s studio, talking to folks including two photographers who remembered having taken pictures of me. (I, alas, did not remember them.) One called me "iconic." Boy, I really feel old, now. I got a lovely tour of a jewelry studio. No, more than jewelry—a real sculptural artist who happens to work in jewelry. Amazing pieces. There was a lot of local gossip, toasting in champagne to Obama, publishing talk amongst the publishing folk. Found myself too tired to stay long. Came home by 8:30. Watched a bit of tv, wrote the rest of this journal, checked email, went to bed.

Now aren't you sorry you asked? Yes, you. You know who you (plural) are.

 

 

November 5-7, 2008:

Wednesday: Exhausted. Even took a nap, which is so not me! Even too exhausted to go to water therapy. Now, no worried emails, phone calls, letters. I have been staying up too late because of politics, not taking care of myself, getting up early. Nothing to worry about.

Got the color proofs of THE SCARECROW'S DANCE and even uncorrected, they are gorgeous. After reading it over four times and taking notes, I only had four small suggestions--1. My name gets lost on the cover, 2. a small change in the number of books I have written (they had 250, and it is over 300), 3. Some problems reading the first page of the story, and 4. A small change in the text as I read it again. All easy-peasy things to fix, as the editor agreed.

Took Heidi and Tom to an early, terrific dinner at Chez Albert in Amherst. Lots of talk about politics. Home to bed before 9. Didn't I say I was tired!

 

Thursday: No work today. Back spasms, exhaustion--and a morning trip with Heidi to Brattleboro where we did some Christmas/Chanukah shopping. Clothes for the youngest grandkids at the Carter Outlet which made me a bit sad/nostalgic as it's the last time ever as they will all be too big next year.) And then we hit about six other stores that we love up there.

No--I lied. There was some work. Heidi and I discussed a rhymed picture book we've been working on called SCAREDY CATS that--after three revisions--is definitely NOT working. Heidi suggested an entirely different tack and when we got home, I did a couple of verses in the new direction. Sent them on to her. We will see.

Wrote a letter of recommendation for a friend/colleague looking for a teaching job. Otherwise, a waste of a day, really.

Though if my day was useless, son Jason's day was a disaster. Murray the dog managed to pull down a fairly full bucket of white paint on himself while in the tub (he sleeps there), then ran hysterically around the house and onto the sofa at 6 am. Joanne (who--alas--had left the paint in its vulnerable position) has been working all day scraping paint off the wooden floor and stairs. God knows what they can do about the sofa. It's a mess! Though Jason admits that after 2 dogs and two kids, the sofa is probably toast anyway. Could have been funny if not so awful.

And on that note, I am turning again to the news and afterwards, dinner at Heidi's.

 

Friday: Another big shopping day. But first Heidi and I met with the money guys (still working on that Family Trust thing. It's complicated!) Then off to Linens&Things which is closing, so good bargains found for the holiday gifts and my own kitchen. Then Zanna's where I got a black top and a pair of Uggs boots for the winter.

Work: mostly moving stuff around on my worktop, reading magazines, watching politics. (It's not really entirely over, is it?) And to bed early.

Oh--a Murray-and-the-paint-pot update: Joanne managed to do a wonderful job on the floor, the dog groomer gave Murray a thorough going over, bath/rinse/comb/fluff for only $5 more than usual. As for the sofa, well the cushion is now dry and turned over. But there is probably a new sofa in the Southern Stemples' near future.

 

November 4, 2008:

This was the day the world actually changed on its axis!

GO OBAMA!

Heidi and I spent four hours (2 ½ hours and a break, then 1 ½ hours) holding up signs at the Hatfield Town Hall polling place. Some other Obama sign holders showed up for a small part of that time. It was cold enough for coats and gloves. Heidi and I were both exhausted and aching by the end. And a bit worried. A lot of people wouldn’t look at us, and got hastily into their cars. There were no McCain folk with their signs, though. However, Obama won 2-1 when the votes were counted in our small town, so perhaps people just didn’t want—or have time—to engage.

In the evening, Heidi and Maddison were off with Tom at the Amherst College’s Political Science Department’s to watch the returns with students. I hosted five friends at my house: Fran and Mitch Gougeon (both teachers, and he was for a while Hatfield’s Superintendant of Schools), Don and Ann Wheelock (he is a professor of music at Smith College and a composer, she was a music teacher and is now a writer) and Jan Grenzke who has her own political polling company. Obviously all of us pointy-headed intellectuals! We had cheese, crackers, apples, wine, tea, sparkling cider, Godiva chocolates. And massive CHEERS!

Though I have to add that I was disappointed that Bachman and Stevens seem to have won their rebids for congress. And the hideous Prop 8 seems to have passed in California. So there is still much work to do to make the world a better place for ALL its people.

Still--that Barack Obama and Joe Biden won the presidency and veepship pleases this old unabashed liberal who remembers being a delegate to the ’72 convention pledged to McGovern with a kind of embarrassed and exasperated sense of longing.

 

November 3, 2008:

I tried to pack a lot into the day, since Tuesday will be Vote Early and Often time! Well, you know what I mean.

Work: So I did work on a bunch of the poems for the Jason-and-Jane proposals. “Work” includes revisions (some massive, some initial stabs at poems.) They ranged from rhymed poems—a true limerick, an anarchic limerick, some rhymed couplet poems, some internal rhymed stuff—to haiku and other unrhymed poems. There are funny poems and serious ones. By the time we hear back from the editor as to whether she wants to see one or two proposals, I think we will be ready to send her one of the books entirely, and one will be about a third done. Jason will need the spring to shoot the other. But spring comes earlier in South Carolina than here so even then they will be pleased.

Then I turned to the recent (yesterday) email from Adam with a bit more on our novel B.U. G. In case you have forgotten, that stands for Big Ugly Guy, the golem novel. I didn’t add much, but I did revise what we had already done and ended the chapter with a bit more roundness. I suggested that perhaps there was a last scene not yet written and sketched it out. Also gave an idea of what the next chapter should be. Hope he runs with that. If not I will.

Went over some of Rebecca Dotlich's poems for our total re-do of the fairy tale poetry book. We decided--after a number of rejections all saying the same thing--that it needed to be younger.

Cleaned up my desk, did quite a bit of filing. Made some important phone calls.
And. . .

Other stuff: Started my water therapy again. It’s been six months and I am feeling every bit of being away from it—stiff, hurting fairly constantly even with the meds. I forgot how wonderful a half hour to an hour in a heated pool feels.

Signed a bunch of books and donated them to the Hatfield Book Club’s Christmas fair. I do this every year.

Stopped at David’s grave and told him the family news. Such a cold duty for such a warm human being. He is still so much in my thoughts. Every day.

 

 

October 31-November 2, 2008:

Books: Galloping along. (Don't you love when that happens?) Reworking some of the old dino stuff into new dino stuff. Especially enlarging, engaging, engorging, ecouraging HOW DO DINOSAURS TAKE A TRIP and HOW DO DINOSAURS LEARN TO READ (redoing the book club giveaway.) BIRTHDAY PARTY is not working, though that’s the one all the marketing people want. Isn’t that always the way. Sigh.

Writing some more poems for the two books Jason and I want to pitch.

Finished TRASH MOUNTAIN and it is over 21,000 words. Sent it off to my agent. I like it. I think expanding it deepened the characters and gave me more room to expand the plot. (The plot! I actually have a plot!) With a twist or two. Wow.And giving the main character a chance to redeem himself (at least in his own eyes.)

This next week (except for Voting Day when Heidi and I will hold signs at our local polling place) I want to work on the next bits of EXCEPT THE QUEEN and send it on to Midori. Hold me to it!

Other Stuff: I got about 50 kids for Halloween. Had about one big bag of candy too many which means the candy sits around in my pantry singing its siren song. Worked a shift at the Obama office, making signs, selling buttons and tee-shirts and Kenyan coffee, going for a Xerox run. That sort of thing. Dinner out with a friend, Lori. Helping Heidi and photographer Shelly Rotner put together a proposal for a book they are working on. Poured tea at a Smith College event. Visited Bob Marstall’s studio.

Oh, and a bizarre dream Saturday night. I faced down the Faerie Queen who had been holding two of my babies hostage. Woke and realized, oddly, they were the two miscarriages I’d had, one between Heidi and Adam, one a tubal pregnancy when Jason (my youngest) was in first grade. I rarely think of them. In neither case did I know I was pregnant when the disasters occurred. Nor did I ever know which sex (neither would have been knowable at such an early state back then.) Though every once in a while, I think about the miscarriages. And--for the first time I can remember--dreamed about them. Why now? The mind is a bizarre bit of business yes?

About eight years ago(?) I wrote this poem in which they are mentioned.

 

                                 Fife Cemetery

                        Discrete spirals of moss,

                        like a child's painting,

                        spatter the gray headstones.

                        I read the graven letters furtively,

                        as if steaming open private messages

                        meant only for the heirs.

                        Here a devoted wife,

                        a son lost at sea,

                        a faithful servant of forty years.

                        Here an entire family,

                        the children all dead before four,

                        their little bones devoted

                        to some thoughtless God.

                        How could the mothers, the fathers

                        stand upright, how not throw themselves

                        into the yawn of grave.

                        A child's death is surely worth a leap.

                        The two I lost were not known to me,

                        bled out before their time.

                        Do I haunt old cemeteries

                        to find them, the nameless

                        bits of blood and sac

                        that might have become mine?

                        Or do I go to thank that thankless God

                        for letting me escape

                        such gray graven grief?

                       

 

October 24-30, 2008:

Friday and Saturday: On the road again. OK, not a big book tour, but two days in Virginia, one day of which was SCBWI. Dinner Friday night with cousins. Saturday, One major speech, five manuscript consultations, and a dinner with the conference staff and speakers. All went well. Saw a few old friends, like Cyndy Cotten. But though it was a good conference, it didn’t energize me. In fact I felt sapped the whole trip, as if someone had taken a cork out of me and all my energies had run out. I think I am having withdrawals from the Political stuff. Or maybe I am just tired.

Sunday: Early morning, off to South Carolina for several days with Jason and family. There was a difficult bumpy half hour, going from Washington DC down to Charleston, but then things evened out. We were going around the tail end of the storm that was moving through the mid-section of America towards the east coast. Jason and the twins met me—my! They have grown so much since May. Adorable, funny, smart. Both had lost first teeth and were just beginning to read by themselves.

The weather was cool and lovely. I got settled, gave the girls their presents, discussed Christmas with Jason and Joanne. We had a good long walk in the neighborhood with the girls running around us on their bikes. Then I took us all out to a lovely dinner (we dressed up) at the "Fat Hen." Didn’t get to bed early enough. After the twins went down for the night—after I read them two books--we grownups watched Olbermann and Maddow.

Monday: I went into work with Jason after teaching the girls all about palindromic words at breakfast, which they loved. At Kiowa Plantation, where Jason is the official photographer, we spent the first part of the morning driving around while Jason shot a lot of nature stuff. Then he had to shoot some of the architecture, so I stayed in his office and worked on my own stuff. And also get down some stuff that Jason and I were planning to talk about at lunch. I always can do these conversations better if I have an agenda written down.

We had a work lunch, got about ten different projects talked over, some for the two of us to do, some stuff that he will work on alone. Then as he went out in the afternoon to do a bit more shooting, I worked on some of the poems for a proposal for one of our new books. Then he came and got me, we went back to the house, first picking up the twins at school. I had a bit of a lay-down because my back was hurting a lot.(Leaning over Jason's desk and working on his computer!) Then Joanne made us a lovely dinner, and I read to the girls again. I only made it as far as Keith Olbermann before turning falling asleep on the sofa while Maddow was on.

Tuesday: This was to be my day with Joannae as Jason had a golf tournament to shoot. We went to about four antique stores, including an architectural salvage place. (Luckily the two of us don’t have asthma or bad allergies or the musty smell of the architectural place would have done us in. Bought some presents for Christmas and birthdays, and some pieces for Jason and Joanne. We ate at the "Med Deli." She is an absolutely lovely d-i-l. I am lucky in both of them.

I spent a couple of hours in the afternoon setting down my notes on everything Jason and I had talked about as well as working on some more poems and revising the earlier ones. I would go back to these poems over and over before dinner, after dinner, and at bedtime. Sent what I had to Jason so we were both—literally—on the same page! I also worked on the (gorgeous) color proofs of MY UNCLE EMILY. A few things needed redoing. At last, my Emily Dickinson book, written so long go, will be coming out. Look for it in May.

We ate at the girls’ favorite restaurant, "Mimi’s", and then headed back for what I as hoping was an early night. Read the some books. Went to bed right after KO.
However, I did a quick scan of some of my regular e-lists, and found out that the Author’s Guild (of which I am a long-time member) had won a massive suit against Google which had been simply putting people’s books on line WITHOUT PERMISSION, and a lot of these were mine. They didn’t always put an entire book on. But parts. Like 113 pages of one of my Pit Dragon novels! The suit the Author’s Guild won guaranteed only $60 per author per entire book so I will get nothing and still my stuff is up there. I AM OUTRAGED1 And of course, this agitated me so much I couldn’t sleep. So I worked on some more poems, finally falling into a dead slumber at 1:30 am. I woke still angry. I don't do anger well. It literally makes me ill. Stops me from writing, sleepipng, being level-headed.

Wednesday: Jason and I went into work, drove around. He got some shots of birds and landscape—and a tick, for a book about bugs. Then he went back to the golf tournament while I did more work on the poems. We had a wonderful soup lunch (it was cold in Charleston!) and I read the new versions of poems to him. We ageed we liked all but one of them.

Then we drove back home, picked up Joanne at Target, and got me to the airport in plenty of time to get my plane home. The first leg of the trip—to Charlotte—was easy-peasy. The second leg was in an overbooked situation. I think it had to do with the fact that weather in the Northeast had meant many earlier planes both yesterday and this morning had been cancelled or delayed. So our plane was carrying a lot of those who had been bounced.

Coming home after a trip is always depressing—too much mail, newspapers, magazines to deal with. Too far behind on projects. Too much STUFF in my house. And of course I stayed up way too late for me--reading mail, email, newspapers, watching tv.

Thursday: Got to work on stuff. Mostly the two new books with Jason and TRASH MOUNTAIN. Am rewriting the entire thing. A lot of small stuff. And revisiting all my research on squirrels, gulls, rats. Adding details. Got about a third done. Hope to finish up on Friday.

Also had to do a huge grocery run since Glen had eaten everything in the house and I also had to get Halloween candy.

Then went to the WMIG (Western Mass Illustrator’s Guild) meeting. Four of us in one car since the meeting was held in West Brookfield, about 40 minutes away at Ralph Masiello’s spooky mansion which was all set up for the big Halloween celebration. He and his family got over 400 trick-or-treaters last year, coming from all the towns around. That’s how great the house is!

At the meeting, we saw artwork from folks like Rebecca Guay, Robin Brickman, Linda Graves, Ralph Masiello, Jeff Mack, Diane DeGroat, Peter Zierline, Shelly Rotner, and Gary Lippincott who showed us all (and me! ME!) half of the artwork for our book THE FAIRIE’S BALL. If you want to know more about these good folk and others, google WMIG.

We also each got to decorate a white mask that Ralph supplied. I, of course, in the presence of such wonderful artists, only managed to write stuff all over the thing. Ah well, I just love being close up to artistic genius. I am a Great Appreciatrix.

 

 

October 17-20, 2008:

Saturday: Still on Maddison duty, plus the weekend was full of Stuff, including a party to welcome baby Morgan whose dads have just adopted her. I got to hold her and give her autographed books. Then a lovely party plus symposium for Professor Betsey Harries' retirement. (I was lead-off speaker and read two poems, one an old one and one written especially for Betsey.) So a start and an end, all on the same day --what a beautiful combination.

Sunday I went to the performance of JOHNNY APPLESEED at the Longmeadow First Church of Christ, a truly iconic New England church. And of course Longmeadow is where John Chapman aka Appleseed grew up. There were several pieces before--one by Peter Schikle, the others by Jerry Noble. Jerry's score for JA was brilliant, the all-girl chorus did beautifully, the musicians were truly professional (three of them had been in the Springfield Symphony for ENCOUNTER) and Jerry's lovely musician wife Kara narrated. I was very moved. The book's illustrator Jim Burke, his very pregnant wife, and their incredibly gorgeous two-year-old daughter Ella drove two hours for the performance. Afterwards, Jim and I signed books till we were almost literally swept out of the basement by the scowling janitor.

Monday I went to a big Northampton Obama rally in a gorgeous house with all the political movers and shakers of Western Mass. But boy--too many people for me, standing cheek-by-jowel and listening to speeches. I don't do well in those kind of situations. Luckily a couple of friends were there. Judge Mike Ryan and his wonderful wife Judy whom, I have known forever. Photographer and children's book author Shelly Rotner. And--surprise--Mo Willems and his wife. (Mo is a bestselling children's book author/illustrator.) They have just moved to Northampton. But aside from them, I spoke to no one. I have--alas--no small talk. I will be sending in my Obama contribution, but stand-around parties, rallies--not for me.

As for writing: up to 18,000 words on the TRASH MOUNTAIN book. I don't think I am going to get to 20,000, but pretty close. Wrote a new chapter as I had realized after some deep soul-searching over the last two days that what the book was missing was for the main character to redeem himself. He had hidden while his parents were killed (though quite obviously, if he hadn't, he would have been dead himself) and so he has to save someone at a real risk to himself. And so--now--he does. But he won't realize what it is he'd done till the very end.

The editor of WEE POEMS has gotten back to me needing some more revisions. They are for the most part straight-forward, though a small handful will probably need totally new poems.

Pat Gauch has some possible great news for me on an illustrator for ELSIE'S BIRD. Though we would have to wait some time for this artist. More if the artist gets signed.

Oh my, and the politics--Colin Powell, very polished, reasoned, elegant speech. (Though I have not forgotten the My Lai cover-up, and the speech at the UN in favor of war against Iraq.) Rush Limbaugh's garbage mouth. Tires slashed at an Obama rally. An Obama canvasser attacked. A black bear cub shot and an Obama sign wrapped around it. Sometimes I do wonder about the horrendous split in the human psyche.

 

October 15-16, 2008:

Okay, that little personal pep talk I called “Interstitial Moment” worked. These two days, I settled into TRASH MOUNTAIN, The Novel, and am now up to 16,000 words. Rebecca and I did more work on the revision of GRUMBLES. I did some more on B.U.G. and will send it out in the morning. I reworked the speech I will give next week in Virginia.

And of course I drove everywhere, picking up Maddison at school, driving her to ballet, doing errands, driving Glen, picking up Glen, and in the car working through some of the knottier problems of all the books above.

Tomorrow, though, is Filing Day. I may discover some important stuff that needs doing hidden under the massive amount of important filing. Like the five manuscripts I need to critique for the Virginia SCBWI. Sigh.

Of course—how many times do I have to say this?—all I really want to do is write.

 

 

Interstitial Moment:

I am getting a bit frantic to be back at my writing. So I have been looking over what I've already done. Here’s a bit from the adult novel EXCEPT THE QUEEN:

“Leaving the nest, we spun a quick glamour over ourselves that consisted of willow-shaking, a spider web, an ingestion of a tisane for changing. We soon looked nothing like ourselves, but rather like two large fireflies. Waggling our wings, we tried out our lights, before taking off into the sky determined to find those pesky boogans. I carried a pocket of blackberry leaf which we could use to return evil should they seek to harm us, as well as some white clover flower for driving them away.

Meteora, of course, carried nothing. She was too intent on the adventure. That’s why she has an older sister. A serene older sister. A calm older sister. A smart older sister. I do not tootle my fairy horn without reason."

When I write such things, there is a wonderful flow until I get to a place that needs a bit of research. Like the blackberry leaf and the white clover flower which both come from a book on herbal remedies. But I'd prepared beforehand, knowing that I would need such things. So I already had lists of remedies and tisanes and concoctions sitting on my desktop where I could dip in without interrupting the flow.

Why is flow important? Because a sentence should seem—indeed a paragraph should seem—all of a piece. So when I go back and revise, I read what I have written aloud, all of it, making sure that it suggests a single line, an uninterrupted splash of paint, a completed passage of music, all resolving beautifully.

Maybe other writers don’t work this way, but I have to. There is a balletic movement, one step flowing into the next, to make the movement seem flawless and flowing.

Just a thought.

Here's more from a bit later in the book:

"Green. So many shades of it. The yellow-green light filtering down through the canopy of trees. The grey-green fingers of late summer maple. The stubby dark green lobes of oak. Heartshaped silver-green leaves of the birch trees. The matched light green droplets of the rowan, dark-green rounds of alder and beech, the lighter green spray of ash, and the hazel’s double-toothed hairy greenleaf.

And me, lying on my back, in my nest, under the trees, the green light covering my legs and belly and the aureoles of my nipples, all green."

I wish you all happy writing. Me, too.

 

October 14, 2008:

Books news: working on making the fairy tale poems in GRUMBLES FROM THE FOREST younger. Every single rejection letter, while praising the poems, said they were too sophisticated for the book. So Rebecca and I are back at Square 1. I think I can only save three of my poems, and the rest will have to be totally new. She is checking out her own. Nothing is lost, of course. I will send the unpublished rejected sophisticated poems out and try to get them published elsewhere. We began sending new material back and forth. Not only is Rebecca a wonderful poet, she's a strict, good critic. Yea, Us.

Been thinking a lot about TRASH MOUNTAIN and adding a completely new scene about a family of Rats. I had already introduced the old man early on. ("Name's Naw. Nothing's silent.") But a bit later he and all the Rats on Trash Mountain bubble up to defend their territory against the raiding Gray Squirrels. And it occurred to me that the reader would not care what happens to the Rats if we don't know get to know them first. So I have been thinking about who they are, trying out names, and the scene has been playing a bit in various ways in my head. Soon enough I will sit down and write the thing.

Managed to get to my writers' group. Read the new poems. A great reception.

Other news: Am the offical family chauffeur last week, this, and possibly next week as well. It doesn't leave a lot for time for writing. Also, my obsession with the political scene carves away the rest of my time. I will just have to forgive myself.

 

October 5-13, 2008:

My apologies. Life just got in the way of writing in the journal. On the 5th, daughter Heidi and I did a signing at the Conway Festival of the Hills (my new Prius loved the down-hills, and hit 63 mpg). I hosted editor Patti Gauch on the 6th. Haircut and writers group on the 7th. I am on drive-Maddison-everywhere for the next two weeks.

Saturday, I went to my Staples High School (Westport, Ct.) 52nd reunion, which was a hoot. Stayed over with an old h.s. acquaintance and his wife, who are a sensational couple. Hi Janet and Dave Auerbach. Had lots of good conversations at the party, some with old friends like Mark and Sue Alcott, Steffi Haas, MaryLou DiMatteo, Sally Campbell, Jack Patterson. Some with folks I never knew at all. An old boyfriend Bill Copp was there, though our memories of our few months of dating in high school seem rather at odds with one another. 52 years of living will do that! We all had so much fun, we're going to do it again in two years.

And in the interstices, I worked on TRASH MOUNTAIN and B.U.G. and a bit on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. Also, Heidi and I are possibily starting a new picture book.

Two rejections in one week. Sigh. But saw the jacket painting for DRAGON'S HEART by Tristan Elwell and it is gorgeous. And have gone over the xeroxed pages of the completed MIRROR TO NATURE which are really classy.

Reading: still the Janis Ian bio, plus the latest Chelsea Quinn Yarboro St. Germain novel. Read Holly Black's first graphic novel--very dark, ended a part of the way through the story. I can admire its darkness, can't write that way myself. Interesting comparison to my graphic novel FOILED which won't be out for a year. Both high school stories with a girl who can see fairies and has some hitherto unknown connection with the fairy world. But my story is much less dark, my girl a bit younger and more naive than hers. My book has more humor. Hers is more goth. Very interesting compare and contrast.

So that's why I have been silent so long. Will try to keep up a bit better in the future.

 

 

October 1-4,  2008:

Slowly getting back to normal stomachwise. I am sure the five pounds I lost will come roaring back.

Worked on two things: Going over the chapters we have (and the new chapters Midlori sent, two of which are brilliant and scary) for EXCEPT THE QUEEN. And a new chapter for TRASH MOUNTAIN, more action and less "telling." Up to 13,750 words.

Reading more of Janis Ian’s autobiography. Fascinating stuff.

And absolutely absorbed. . .no , absolutely riveted by the political stuff. And yes, probably anything I have in way of savings for old age is pretty much wiped out. So it’s write-write-write and then die quickly. At least that’s my plan!

I ran a panel for the “Flights of Fantasy” exhibition at the Eric Carle Museum. There were about 50 people in the audience. The panelists were Rebecca Guay, Holly Black Gary Lippincott, Jarrett Krosochka. We had a rotating slide show going on behind us of book covers, paintings, and bits of my poetry. Went over well.

After that, I picked up Heidi and Maddison in Amherst and we went to the Amherst Ballet Gala to party and help raise money for the ballet school. I did my part, and bid high on several items, including a ballet barre for Madison. A week in Wayside went for a good deal of money, too.

 

September 30, 2008:

OK—a lot of busy work filing. A lot of watching the news. (I am a political junkie and, as I have said before, an Obama supporter.) I also worked a bit more on adding and deepening and broadening TRASH MOUNTAIN. Up to 12,500 words now. I am loving the characters.

I am also reading through all my Jewish folklore books because of a possible new project with Heidi and found this wonderful story:

A young Talmudic scholar had just written his first learned book and came for advice to his rabbi, begging for a reading and a testimonial.

The rabbi looked at him with compassion. “My son, you must learn to deal with the real world of publishing learned works. You will have to peddle the thing from house to house as if you were a vendor of pots and pans. You will suffer hunger and cold doing this until you are forty years old.”

The young man nodded. “And what happens after I am forty?” he asked, knowing he would soon hear great wisdom.

The rabbi smiled, shook his head, then said, “Ah, by the time you are forty, you will be used to it.

Dear Reader—I howled!

 

 

Interstitial Moment:

I was recently asked to speak about the Craft of Writing and here are some of my immediate thoughts:

Now I am sure you all know that “craft” is a word with at least three meanings. It can mean a skill involving the arts. Surely writing is that.

“Craft” is also used for the magic that witches do. Are writers witches? Well, magicians, maybe. However, I have to tell you that I got into trouble a few years ago at Keene State College because I was speaking while wearing a dress that was black and covered with arcane arcane symbols like E=MC2. As usual with that outfit, I wore silver earrings that were shaped like the sun and the moon. One of the students accused me of witchcraft and would not come back to my lecture or the festival. As Molly Ivins used to say, “I am not making this up.” Though I did say to David White, the director of the Festival, that he should flunk her. And then added, “Never mind, I will just turn her into a newt.” But of course the magic craft I practice is storytelling.

Third, a “craft” is a kind of boat. And as Emily Dickinson wrote, “There is no frigate like a book. . .” meaning books are better than water craft to bear you across time and space and to the worlds we both know and want to know. Though it would be hard these days to teach that particularly wonderful poem to anyone below college level as the giggle factor for the word “frigate” is too. . .well, you know what I mean.

 

September 29, 2008:

Another quiet day, trying to get my stomach back in order. Along the way, I did a lot of tidying up and going through the massive amounts of back mail.

I heard from editor Pat Gauch who is coming on Monday for a good long chin wag. (I always wanted to use that 40s???) phrase. She has four of my picture books—the Honus Wagner book SHORTSTOP, an Emily Dickinson book MY UNCLE EMILY, a not-yet-written Benjamin Franklin book THE LEATHER APRON CLUB, and is just buying ELSIE’S BIRD, which is about a young Boston woman marrying a farmer from the Plains during America’s western migration.

And Candlewick wants TRASH MOUNTAIN, the short novel that surprised me in Scotland this summer leaking out of my fingertips onto the page. Predictably, they want it longer (it was only 11,500 words) and deeper, but I am certainly willing. Was already thinking along those lines myself. But I am so delighted. It’s the first place we sent it to. They are talking about design already. These are the folks who did the gorgeous bookmaking for Kate deCamillo’s Newbery-winner, THE TALE OF DESPEREAUX. They just do incredibly handsome books and have a number of mine out already with three more to come, so I am delighted to make it four with this novel.

 

September 25-28, 2008:

What a week. It began with work and ended in the hospital. But wait for it. And don’t worry. I am home now, and while slowed a bit, and bowed a bit, I am OK.

I worked on a new book of poems with Pat Lewis (we have such fun together.) We send poems back and forth, critique one another’s work (with humor) and enjoy the process. So far we have been spectacularly sucessful, sellin g three out of three books--the book of twin poems to Candlewick, the pet epitaph book to Charlesbridge, the Marc Chagall book to Creative Editions. But who knows if four is still the charm.

I read and marked up the proofs of DANCE AROUND THE WORLD (fun).

Thought a lot about the next pieces of EXCEPT THE QUEEN.

Was in touch with the editor of MIRROR TO NATURE on the page proofs (gorgeous.)

Heidi’s and my complete revision of PRETTY PRINCESS PIG got the thumbs up from the editor, though it still has to go 1. To her boss and 2. To the pub committee. Baby steps. But good baby steps.

Great reviews coming in (especially on blogs) for SEA QUEENS, NAMING LIBERTY, and JOHNNY APPLESEED.

Had dinner with friend Anne Wheelock on Wednesday.That's always a treat. We had a lot of things to catch up on.

Thursday I had dental cleaning, an APPLESEED phone interview, and in the evening was one of about nine authors in a new book (poetry and prose) on menstruation at the book’s launch and reading at Smith College. WOMEN.PERIOD is the title. My poem, “First Time” opens the book and my second poem “Last Time” is near the end. It was a lovely evening, though a small audience. We all left on a high.

 

WARNING: ACTUAL BODILY FUNCTION TALK AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL:
And then it happened. About midnight I started having stomach spasms, ice cold sweat (went through three nightgowns), etc. I toughed it out for several hours, then called Heidi. I was afraid it was the Big D--another Diverticulitis attack. Heidi and Maddison came over to sleep at my house. Heidi was up a number of times with me and finally, at 6:30, we decided I needed to go to the hospital.

OK TO READ NOW. NO MORE BODILY FUNCTIONS FOR A WHILE:
It being an early Friday morning, there was no one else in emergency so I got right in with my own room and--even more important--my own bathroom! The nurse for my case was—how wonderful—a Hatfielder and old friend of Heidi’s, so I got super-super care. Blood taken. IV started.

Then I had to drink a gallon of lemon-tasting gunk for the scan. That was the hardest thing. Amusingly, the clock in my room had stopped but I didn’t realize it, so I thought I was getting a LOT of the stuff down with plenty of time to sip at it lesiurely. Suddenly, I saw the clock out in the hall and it was an hour ahead. I had to gulp down the rest.

WARNING: ACTUAL BODILY FUNCTION TALK AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL: The doctor and I were both sure it was the big D again. But the scans saw nothing. Except. . .except. . .a cyst on my ovary. But the pain was in the wrong place for that to be the culprit. My appendix is long gone. Gall bladder not in trouble. And since I had no fever, we wondered about stomach flu. But as I also had had no vomiting, so no one thought it had been food poisoning.

OK TO READ NOW. NO MORE BODILY FUNCTIONS:
I was released around 3 pm, having spent the last hour on a bed in the hall because Emergency was now being filled up with auto accident victims. (One a train meets car mess.) Released with NO diagnosis.

I had been supposed to give a major speech to the New England Reading Assn in Springfield, and Heidi took a copy of my speech and gave it to a standing O. She said it was for the speech itself. I think it was for her Grace Under Pressure since she hadn’t even read the speech before that morning. She told them we would supply signed book plates later for anyone who bought a book. I have since signed 200 and will do 100 more just in case. There were 500 people at the luncheon.

After the speech, Heidi brought me home, and I managed to stay up until 7:30, then slept for eleven hours! With nothing planned until next Saturday, I have plenty of time for recovery.

Whew.

Update Sunday: still some gut ache. But nothing else. And I lost 4 pounds. Hard way to do it and, as it is just water loss, I am sure it will all come back with a rush when I start eating regularly again.

 

September 13-September 24, 2008:

I have told my family if I ever do this kind of tour again, just take me out and shoot me. Now, I need to qualify that. If I ever do a ten day tour in which I drive myself everywhere, haul my bags around on my own (full of books, computer etc.), and stay on friends and relatives’ sofa beds instead of in hotels, remind me how much my back is killing me right now, how tired I am, and how few books I actually sold!

And yet. . .and yet. . .I made new friends, saw new bookstores, talked with knowledgeable bookstore owners, librarians, teaches, other writers. I got to know the marketing department at Charlesbridge a little better, all wonderful hardworking folk who make stuff happen on no budget at all. They have put up a SEA QUEENS website, with jokes, and stories, and downloadable WANTED posters from the illustrations in the book and an interview with me, and other links at: http://www.charlesbridge.com/client/client_pages/sea_queens/sea_queens_home.html) And I re-met old cousins, having a lot of fun along the way. Oh yes, and I sold some books.

I left knowing that Harcourt had suddenly put five of my books out of print. But in NY, I got to view the incredible paintings for my S&S book SCARECROW’S DANCE by Bagram Ibatoulline. In fact the whole department was buzzing about them. I was knocked over they were so beautiful. The pictures have a landscape that replicates the heart of the story, a scarecrow who somehow has Fred Astaire moves, and a night sky that is truer to any night skies I have ever seen in illustration. I also saw some delightful sketches for NOT ALL PRINCESSES DRESS IN PINK. (Arrrgh, have forgotten the illustrator’s name. Many apologies.)

Funniest moment of the trip: I was staying in a friend’s apartment in New York, went to have breakfast with my cousin, theater director Pam Berlin, a couple of streets away, and she told me that her sister Kathy lived in the same building where I was staying! So that night I visited Kathy (political activist and Hollywood publicist), as well. I also saw a whole slew of young Yolen relatives, stayed with two of them. And met (in once case re-met) my Hyatt cousins, too. Harry Hyatt—their grandfather--and my grandfather were cousins. Quick, someone, what does that make us? Second cousins once removed? Third cousins? We gave up trying to figure it out.

Of course by the time I got home ten days later, my house was even more of a disaster than before. I have been working slowly to catch up with stuff, but also Heidi and I rewrote PRETTY PRINCESS PIG for S&S. This afternoon, I finally stopped looking for where I'd (arrrrrgh) put the print-out of my speech for Friday and printed it again. And Pat Lewis and I have started a new book of poems.

Lots of family stuff, writing group, letters, filing. Am feeling overwhelmed, as if I just got back from Scotland. Wait a minute—I DID just get back from Scotland.

 

Book Tour Dates:

I am off on book tour for the week reading and signing my new book SEA QUEENS. If you are able--come see me at one of these locations.

Saturday, Sept, 13:
3-5pm Mystic Seaport Bookstore

Sunday, Sept, 14:
afte rnoon Larchmont NY The Voracious Reader

Monday, Sept 15:
5-7 Books of Wonder
18 West 18th Street New York City

Tuesday, September 16:
6:15 speaking at the New School, New York City

Wednesday, Sept 17:
1:30 Cambridge, MA Porter Square Books
Evening Swampscott, MA. Library

Thursday, Sept 18:
Sheraton Boston for the NEBA Conference

Friday, Sept 19:
3-4:30 Watertown Library
Watertown, MA.

Saturday, Sept 20:
Wellesley MA Library afternoon

Sunday, Sept 21:
3:00 Cambridge, MA Curious George Bookstore
7:00 Rockport MA. Public Library

Monday, Sept, 22:
Eight Cousins Bookstore, Falmouth MA afternoon

 

Interstitial Moment:

I have been doing a lot of soul-searching about the efficacy of book tours as I am about to embark on an 10 day, drive-myself-all-over-NewYork-and New-England SEA QUEENS tour.

Yes, I have signings at bookstores and libraries, and am speaking at the New School, and being interviewed in Boston. But the miles, the sleeping in strange beds every night (except for three days in NYC), the hauling luggage and computer around--all of which will play havoc with my knee and back—make me regret saying yes.

And yet. . .and yet. . .I will meet new people (including several new editors), greet fans, educate students, wear my pirate hat, stay with cousins I rarely get to see, and try out my new Prius, the estimable “Silenus.”

Does any of this matter? If I am lucky, I will sell between 200-500 books. (Of course one year, I attached myself to Tomie dePaola for four appearances, and we signed over 1,000 books at one bookstore. That book was HARK, now long OP.) I am not a huge draw on the road by myself. If I get about $1.50 in royalties per book, anyone with a fourth grade education can figure out that this is not a great way to make a fortune.

So—what does a tour do? Besides playing havoc with sleep and eating patterns? Besides hurting one’s back and causing backup in one’s bill-paying ability? Well, an author connects with her reading public and with the bookstores who are her special province. There's a bit of egoboo when things go well (though if noone shows up—as has happened to me—it can be devastating, too.)

In the end, I believe in Touch Magic—pass it on. And when author and reader meet, there is that moment of magic. So, I go on, hope once again triumphing over experience. I will report from the road.

 

September 12, 2008:

One of those felicitous and lovely moments, making me remember why I love to write. I spent and hour and a half with composer Jerry Noble in his Smith College studio, listening to his music based on six of my Emily Dickinson sonnets (for soprano and piano) and most of the score for a presentation of my book JOHNNY APPLESEED (for a children's chorus, narrator, and small ensemble.). I love Jerry's work--he did ENCOUNTER with the Springfield Symphony earlier this year. And these pieces were superb.

The rest of the day I signed about 200 bookplates for Chinaberry Catalog, packed, did laundry, packed some more..

 

September 11, 2008:

More running around. To the eye doctor for tests, to lawyer to see about my will, some clothing shopping, and a quick stop in at the Michelson Gallery since I won't be able to get to the opening tomorrow of the Thomas Locker show. And then an evening out with Bob Marstall for dinner and visiting with our old friends, Jeff Dwyer and partner Elizabeth O'Grady.

Work--zero. But I did get an Obama sticker for my car.

 

September 10, 2008:

Running Glendon around to an interview, sitting down with Ruth Sanderson to look over her wonderful sketches for HUSH LITTLE HORSIE, looking over the designed pages for Jason’s and my A MIRROR TO NATURE: Poems About Reflection. And approving the cover sketch for PUMPKIN BABY.

For the book tour coming up, I did a first round pick of clothing to take with me, then gathered a box of books (and wine) to take along to my hosts.

Also, Midori sent on her next chapters for EXCEPT THE QUEEN though I will probably get to them on the road, not here. Too many little things to deal with as I make ready for the big trip.

 

 

September 8-9, 2008:

Lots of errands. Overcome by the sheer amount of work to be done on the house, on the files, on the back mail, etc. I’m not in Kansas..er Scotland. . . anymore. Besides, the level of uncivil discourse re the election is so loud here, it is ear-and-heart shattering. Where are those damned red shoes when you really need them?

So, in order: On Monday I had blood work (thyroid still too high), dentist (gum is swollen a bit but dentist not too worried), and bought a new car. Arrrrgh! That last hurt the most. In the pocketbook. My Nissan was ten years old and beginning to have problems. So traded it in on a Prius. First time I have owned a non-gearshift car ever. But it should help my back and my knee. Great lumbar support seats, too! I am calling it after Priapus (Prius), hence Silenus. It will take me on my rounds of sex/drugs/rock&roll! Well, I am forty years past that, but it's still a cool car. And a much more eco-friendly car than my Nissan. Then I went grocery shopping. In-between, I answered about a hundred emails, did some triaging on mail and piles of stuff Heidi had pre-sorted for me.

On Tuesday, in the monsoon rain, I went back to the car place to finish my paperwork, off to the hairdresser's, then my writer’s group, back for an important phone call from an editor who had emailed that it was urgent. Of course she never called! Did a small amount of fiddle work. FInished reading the Lt Sharpe book I's been reading on the plane. Then off with Glen to meet Heidi and Maddison at Tom’s house for dinner, after a lesson on how to use the GPS which mostly gave me instructions to Tom’s that would have taken me through the worst traffic so I ignored it until it repositioned itself after I passed some mythical place of no-return. Of course, since Tom is a political scientist and Heidi and Glen and I are very political, the dinner (both before and after) was full of political rhetoric.

Yes, I am back home! And while tired, seemed to be on the proper sleep patterns.

September 7, 2008:

I woke up at 4:30 a.m., finished packing, had something to eat, stripped the bed, started the dishwasher, even got to do some email and DailyKos before Debby came to pick me up. And then off under a slate-colored sky overloaded with with grey clouds. I prefer leaving Scotland when the weather is this way. When it is gorgeous—as it was a couple of days go—I am shattered by its beauty and weep because David is not there to see it. But this gray shroud was not inviting, nor was the occasional spit of rain.

We got to the airport in exactly an hour (no traffic this being Sunday early morning) and after a coffee (for Debby) and tea for me, and muffins, and a lot of good conversation about teaching writing, she left for home. I went up to the lounge where I had rather more time than expected because the plane was due to leave a half hour late.

But even late (and three crossword puzzles, half a Lieutenant Sharpe novel and a movie “Young At Heart Chorus” which was moving and wonderful) I got to Newark in plenty of time to get my plane to Hartford. Both flights were easy.Heidi and Glen picked jetlagged me up. Hartford time: 3:04. Body time: 8: 04. Getting about time for bed.

Hugs all around. At home, hugs to Maddison as well (though carefully as she is wearing a big orthropoedic thing on her arm because she was injured last week when she fell down the stairs.

I managed to stay up till 9. Major CRASH.Woke up eight hours later.

 

 

September 6, 2008:

I have to admit it. I am a lousy flier. You would think that with the amount of actual flying I do, that I would finally be offhand about it. But no. I am scared from the day before (today) to the moment I make the last touchdown.
Now David used to explain Bernulli’s Principle before every trip so I would understand that planes do not just fall out of the sky. One of his favorite things to say was “The most dangerous part of your trip will be the drive to and from the airport." And statistically he was right. But tell that to my stomach whose answer is in knots, but translates this way: “At least I can crawl out of a car.”

So think of me tomorrow (or today, depending upon when you read this) and pray to your appropriate God or God substitutes. Me, I will be white-knuckled across the Atlantic. As usual.

What did I do today other than have a stomach tied in knots? All the last minute things I needed to do in order to get ready for being away from Wayside for nine months and in the States again.

Looking back on what I managed to do professionally in the three months here: three speeches ready to be printed out and delivered; a short novel TRASH MOUNTAIN; two books of poetry written with two other poets, DUCK PARADE and SELF-PORTRAIT WITH SEVEN FINGERS: Marc Chagall in Poems; about half of the 30,000 of the 40,000 words so far on EXCEPT THE QUEEN with Midori Snyder; about half of the 4,000 of the 6,000 words so far with Adam on BUG; revision after revision with Heidi on the comic book part of BAD GIRLS; rewriting the DANCE book intros with Heidi; several more revisions with Heidi of NOT ALL PRINCESSES DRESS IN PINK picture book; going over the copyedited DRAGON’S HEART; working with Pat Lewis on adding a few last poems to LAST LAUGHS; outlining WEE TALES; revising MY UNCLE EMILY picture book. Those were the major things. A lot of looking at galleys, copyedits, early sketches, etc.

Oh, and working on the map for DRAGON’S HEART. I can’t draw, but creating a very poor cartoon version to help the artist.

Looking at that list, I am very proud of how much I did. Not bad. Not bad at all. Especially since once I get home, the majority of September will be eaten up by travel. Though I will take my laptop with me on the trip, I don’t see me getting much actually writing done.

 

September 3-4, 2008:

Thanks everyone for hanging in there on the journal. We have (especially Heidi has) had an awful time of it. Finally turned out that our server couldn’t carry this large a website so we have changed over with the help (well, actually he did it all!) of Steve. The router was moved downstairs. And now I am fully ensconced in David’s old study while my once gorgoues two room writing Aerie is basically deserted.

I have been mostly glued to the unfolding train wreck that is Sarah Palin’s background. When I come home, I am sending a check to Obama’s campaign. There was never any question about where I stand politically. I was a McGovern delegate to the ’72 convention, for gosh sakes. But it’s time to get serious.

Speaking of train wrecks. No work has been done on the roof, though the painter came and did a quick fix on the area of damp. Useless unless the roof gets done of course, especially with the amount of rain.

The boiler is fixed. At last, a shower. My underclothes washed today and tomorrow. All getting closer to being ready.

No writing, but did bash away on the upcoming ten day book tour. Anyone in the Boston area, Mystic Ct., Rye NY, or New York City, I will be at the following places:

Book Tour Dates:

Sat Sept, 13
3-5pm Mystic Seaport Bookstore

Sun Sept, 14
afte rnoon Larchmont NY The Voracious Reader

Monday Sept 15
5-7 Books of Wonder
18 West 18th Street New York City

Tuesday: September 16
6:15 speaking at the New School, New York City

Wednesday, Sept 17:
1:30 Cambridge, MA Porter Square Books
Evening Swampscott, MA. Library

Thursday Sept 18
Sheraton Boston for the NEBA Conference
Friday September 19

3-4:30 Watertown Library
Watertown, MA.

Sat Sept 20
Wellesley MA Library afternoon

Sun Sept 21
3:00 Cambridge, MA Curious George Bookstore
7:00 Rockport MA. Public Library

Mon Sept, 22
Eight Cousins Bookstore, Falmouth MA afternoon

My last days here in Scotland have been busy. Dinner Thursday night with Marianna and Pete at Pete’s house, and though we kept saying we were going to talk about something other than politics, that never happened.

Lunch here Friday with Lucy and Claire, more politics. (I showed them one of the bits from the Jon Stewart show on the Republican convention. Hysterical.) And dinner with Bob and Debby.

Tomorrow I have to finish packing,errands, putting stuff away and—I hope—finish the laundry.

 

September 1-2, 2008:

Still no water, but the guy came out to inspect it and concurred that it needs a new fan. They will have the fan by Thursday (Friday20at the latest) which is cutting it awfully short for me! So on Tuesday, I took a shower at my next door neighbor’s new wet room! Very Scandinavian (she’s Danish) and it was lovely!

The roofer did not come on Monday. Sigh!

I took Bob and Debby out for dinner at Rufflets. We had a grand time. Then they came back to my house and polished off some single malts.

I did not sleep well because of worry over the state of Wayside and the fact that for two months I have tried to get someone over to paint the house and do some fix up stuff. Finally I came downstairs in the middle of the night, got online, and gave myself a swift talking to. “It’s just paint. It can be done next year.”

Books: Another picture book turned down (“Lovely but too quiet, though we would adore having JY on our list” letter.) But ta-ta! On Tuesday, which would have been David’s and my 36th anniversary--and just when I was at my bluest and a bit weepy--Pat Lewis and I heard that Creative Editions was accepting our poetry book: poems about Marc Chagall’s life to (we hope it will be illustrated with specific pictures by Chagall.) That’s Book 306 for me. I also revised the new EXCEPT THE QUEEN chapter and sent it off to Midori.

Dinner at Nora and Rob’s. We watched “Cold Comfort Farm” afterwards. One of my old favorites. “I saw something nasty in the woodshed.” And “There is no butter in Hell!" Both have become family sayings.

Note From Heidi: As you all have probably noticed, we have been having a LOT of internet problems. They started with the disappearance of the journal and just got worse from there. But, with the help of our friend Steve from UMass (my dad's colleague and friend) and a very nice cable guy, we've got it all figured out (gulp, maybe...)

 

August 29-31:

Stuff: Drinks at a neighbors house (she’s American, he’s Australian. . .I think), dinner at Bob and Deb’s, dinner at Ann and Ron’s. Sunday I took a turn at Japanese Taiko drumming at the Byre theater. Wow! Does that get the heart pounding.

Also have a gas leak and no heat and no hot water (washed my hair in cold water Sunday.) Waiting for an engineer from the gas company. Did last-week errands in town.

Books: Revised EXCEPT THE QUEEN, going over Midori's new stuff (40,700 words so far out of 90,000) and wrote another chapter, finished the 20 minute speech on writing poetry for NCTE. Thought about the possibility of a new book of short stories for YAs, mostly using stuff already published but not currently in print (things I have contributed to anthologies.) I almost have enough for two collections! Of course, when I get home, I may find I have even more.

I am thinking about going home. A lot. Last-week blues.

 

August 21-29:

Because the journal is still down—and our great helper, Steve Cook on his honeymoon (we hadn’t known he was getting remarried) I have been awfully lax about writing.

So here is a quick catch-up of the past week:

Guests: Gary Wolfe (dean, reviewer, professor, friend) came with his stepdaughter and step-niece for the wedding of a step-nephew in Edinburgh. It being Fringe Festival time, there were no reasonable hotel or B&B rooms left. So I put them up, though it was a bit like an Agatha Christie novel. First night, three of them. Next night, two. Next night one. And then there were none. But I got to give them some meals, some tourist time, and we had some great talks. And for the most part, the weather cooperated. Just.

Books and Writing: Did the copyedit (STET is your friend) for DRAGON’S HEART. I am incapable of not rewriting when given the opportunity. Worked some on the comic book picture book. Polished up two speeches. Saw the updated sketches and some art for MY UNCLE EMILY (an Emily Dickinson picture book) with amazing illos by Nancy Carpenter. Did a bit of rewriting. Also saw the adorable sketches for PUMPKIN BABY. Did (yep) a bit of rewriting. Heidi and I did some revisions on NOT ALL PRINCESSES DRESS IN PINK for our S&S editor, who is fast-tracking this. And my agent loves TRASH MOUNTAIN. Hope she can sell it.

Had a picture book and a graphic novel turned down.

Stuff with Friends: Birthday dinner (with prezzies and poems) for Christine, dinner x 2 with Deb and Bob, Rufflets High Tea with Janie and Pam, dinner and Byre Theater for the Pinter play, “Betrayal: with Clair and Lucy. Drinks with Robin and her family, tea with Marianna and a friend. Heard about illnesses of two local friends both of which are very worrying. All in all it’s been a good summer for writing. Not so good for weather. Everyone is bummed that I am going back to the States so soon. However, I am ready to be home. As I always am the week before I go.

 

August 15-18, 2008:

Because the journal went down again, and because I had visitors, and because I was finishing up some writing stuff, I didn’t write any entries for a while.

Visitors: Up from London came Farah Mendlesohn and Edward James for the weekend, both movers and shakers in the critical world of sf and fantasy. We had a riotous time. They brought good weather for two days. We walked about St A, and drove through the East Neuk fishing villages. We went into Edinburgh on Sunday to have lunch with Ken McCloud and others at the Book Festival. They left from there to go back to London while I went back to St A on the train which instead of an hour took two and a half because there was a woman (either crazy or drugged) walking on the tracks between Kinghorn and Kirkaldy.

Reading: One of the Ian Rankin Rebus books I’d missed.

Writing: finished and sent off TRASH MOUNTAIN, worked on two speeches (one for NERA in September, one for SCBWI Virginia workshop in October), rewrote three chapters on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. (We are up to 34,000 words.) And restructured the farm poetry book, DUCK PARADE.

Books: saw some color work from FOILED, about half of the finished paintings for MY UNCLE EMILY and the jacket as well, and some very sketchy sketches for SHORTSTOP and the J. M. Barrie picture book LOST BOY. All in all a very bookish week.

 

Interstitial Moment:

There is a built-in fear factor for creative people. THIS is the day that ends my career. I will NEVER have another idea/job/audience again. So we tend to pack in more than we should just in case. I have at least fifteen major books in my head that I will probably never write. It kills me that this should be so.

But every day. Every single day, I worry that I will no longer have the mojo. That the magic trick will elude me. My fast fingers will fail. And every single day that I write a good line, a fine sentence, a chapter that sings, I am content. Yes, I tell myself, I still have it.

Until tomorrow. Then that fear begins all over again.

Someone (L’Engle? Joan Aiken? Virginia Hamilton? I am not sure) said “If I ever write the perfect book, I will have to stop writing.” No problem. I will never write the perfect book. I will only always worry about whether I will be able to write at all.

And then I sit down at the computer, put my fingers to the keys, and all those fears disappear. I still have the magic in my fingertips, the stories pouring out of them onto the keys and thence onto the screen.

I don’t envy dancers and actresses. They are at the mercy of gravity and age. I don’t envy singers. A single node can end a career. Being a writer means I can do my work sitting down, by myself, cup of tea at hand, chocolate if I want it.

Reading, traveling, listening to music, going to theater or movies or museums—I get put that all put down as research. When I spend days reading books of poetry putting together an anthology, it’s work! How cool is that.

And then other creative folks—artists, composers, movie makers, choreographers take my words and carry them farther. How cool is that.

And children (and adults) read my stories and poems and books and it adds to their lives, or invades their lives, or changes their lives. How infinitely cool is that.

So along with the fear every day, every single day, is the coolness factor. It’s a great karmic balance. I'll settle for that.

 

August 13-14, 2008:

So the obsession continued and I did about five revisions of each chapter and am pretty pleased with the result. It was 8 chapters in all, 11,575 words. Now just because I like it, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily salable. I can hear the pub committee now: A talking animal story? Squirrels and Gulls? What kind of an ending is that? I hate the interstitial stuff. What’s the market? What are her sales numbers?

Well, it’s written, sent off. I am happy. Onward.

Wednesday, I attended an art workshop where I did a painting of a (not) Celtic cross done on material with flowers to color it instead of paints. I hated my first attempt as too controlled and ugly. The second I loosened up and it was much more successful. I will never be an artist, but I learned something about painting. About looking. About letting things flow. I finished it off, ironed it. And will give it to Bob and Debby as a present. Afterwards, Marianna—who ran the workshop, came for a quick dinner.

Thursday in the evening Nora and I went to see the new “Voyage to the Center of the Earth”, not the 3-D. We enjoyed ourselves in a way we did not at the new “Mummy” film. It had to do with expectations, and sweetness, I think.

 

August 12, 2008:

I had lots of plans for today. But it rained. My movie partner was sick. So I stayed home and. . .surprise! I wrote.

Now some would call me compulsive. (My children.) And some think the amount of writing I do is amazing. (They don’t have to live with me.) But to me, it is a combination of pleasure and compulsion and there’s nothing amazing or stunning or astonishing about it. Except when it works well. Then it's all of that. The writing--not me.

Today first I worked over the chapters I did the last couple of days on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. Then I worked on a speech I will be giving in Springfield MA in September (a retread of an old speech, with lots of new parts). But from noon on, I became obsessed with turning “Trash Mountain” into the children’s story it really is.

I worked until 9 at night, and molded four and a half out of eight chapters, though of course it was already 80 per cent there from the 7500 words short story I’d already written. What I have to do, though, is make it sing more, characterize more, make more scenes with characters talking to one another. Real action, not just talked-about-after-the-fact action. The short story is mostly narrative until the middle. Then characters start actually facing one another, touching one another. So it was in the first pages that I needed to get things to work. Needed more tension.

And then, I had a great idea for a little prologue for each chapter: stage setting. I’m not yet sure whether it slows things down, or is absolutely charming. I remember doing a similar thing for SWORD OF THE RIGHTFUL KING, only it was a tone poem. We (the editor and I) eventually dropped most of them, using just for the four or five (I forget how many) section openings. In the paperback, we restored them all as back matter, because the whole thing was a kind of Arthurian poem.

I am having so much fun, I will probably shove everything else to a back burner and run with this. I shouldn’t. It’s not what I need to be doing now. Naughty. Bad writer. Stick to the plan.

But sometimes you just gotta go with that creative flow. And damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

I’ll let you know whether Good Writer or Bad Writer wins.

 

August 10-11, 2008:

Still cooking as far as the writing goes. Sent off the DUCK PARADE animal farm poetry mss. done with Rebecca Dotlich to our agent. And Pat Lewis and I finished up our poetry project—a life of Chagall in fourteen poems. It’s off to an editor now.

I also managed a new EXCEPT THE QUEEN chapter (mss. up to 32,400 words now) and have the next chapter in mind. Getting a lot of this stuff thought out before falling asleep at night.

Also heard that Jerry Noble, with whom I did the symphonic version of ENCOUNTER, is working away on JOHNNY APPLESEED based on my new picture book. This is exciting news.

And Mike Cavallero is starting the color work on FOILED. He sent the first picture on via jpg.

Other than that, I watched the Olympics as well as a perfectly horrifying tv documentary on the Shanghai Circus School. Seeing children the age of my younger grandchildren forced to endure hours and hours of agonizing workouts under the guidance of shouting teachers made me cringe. Watching the two things together. . .well, it puts things into a completely different perspective. When does desire for success and celebrity in a field cross over into masochism, sadism, and horror? I have no answers, obviously, just scratching the surface.

The rains continued. During one break, I walked about the garden. One of the two new apple trees has many small apples growing, though I will probably be gone by the time they are big enough to eat. The other has more leaves, but no apples at all. The two new pear trees are fully leafed out but no buds. It may take them longer to establish, or the rains may have broken off any attempts to bud. The stone pathways in the garden are covered with moss and mold because of all the rain. Sigh. But good weather for staying indoors and writing.

 

Addendum:

Terri Windling has done a gorgeous collage (for sale) of my poem Beauty and the Beast. Enjoy.
http://windling.typepad.com/photos/fairy_tales/beautybeast.html

Interstitial Moment:

Summer is a tough time in children’s book publishing. Either the editors and agents AND CONTRACT PEOPLE are speaking or shepherding their authors and illustrators at BEA, ALA, SCBWI or the multiplicity of writing conferences around the country, or they are on vacation themselves.

Everything slows down.

Except, perhaps, the writers. We can only go to so many conferences.(I only managed BEA.) And perhaps we take a two-week family vacation if we are partnered with someone particularly well off. But the rest of the time, the majority of us are head down and writing.

Of course writing is the important thing for us to be doing. Passionate, strong-minded, wrist-pumping, singable, heart-pounding, gut-wrenching writing. Without it, there would be no publishing.

But we want feedback. Notice the first part of that word: “feed.” Response is our meat (or vegetables if you are a vegetarian) and drink. We hunger for it. And if we don’t get it, instantly and often, we despair. So in the summer, when editors, agents AND CONTRACT PEOPLE, all seem to be on vacation or away for conferences, we turn to our friends or co-writers or loved ones and the few editor s who are not on the road. And these days, we also haunt the Internet for sites like Fuse#8 and Seven Imps and Blue Rose Girls and Educating Alice. We network like crazy, hold one another’s hands, even—gasp!—read manuscripts and critique. Anything to make us forget the gallivanting publishing folk and the slowness of response.

I am not the only author to long for September and the return of publishing as we know and love it. Yes, it will still be slow. Still whacky. Still occasionally forcing us to contemplate letter bombs or hari-kari—or both. But there.It will be there and functioning once again.

(With apologies to those editors and my agent who got back to me on and off through the summer. Please remember I am a writer and so by definition excessively needy. And exceptionally hyperbolic.)

 

August 9, 2008:

Yes—Adam sent a good chapter, and I wrote a new one to follow it and sent it back. Hope he likes it. I think it’s fun.

I also got a new FARM poem ro Rebecca and worked on a companion one.

Then I got down to business. I read all of the galleys of the stories from the DANCE book. Made notes, which took from about 11-5. And then sent it on to Heidi.

Brains officially scrubbed. Off to dinner at Debby and Bob’s.

August 7-8, 2008:

Thursday: Last night I went to bed and came up with the next two chapters of EXCEPT THE QUEEN, even dreamed some of it, and woke to do the first of the two. It took an extreme jolt to the left, which surprised me, but I really like what happened. It sets up some more agony for one of the two main characters, and as well sets up a possible reunion. The writing of this took all morning and a bit of the afternoon

Then I began to work on the galleys of the DANCE book. Heidi and I are not happy with the way someone at the publishing company seems to have rewritten parts of it without any input from us, so we are talking with the new editor to try and solve this. But it is slow going, having to look at what is in the galleys and compare it to what we sent. Yes, there is always a revision process—several revisions processes. Revisions by each of us separately, then together, then presumably with editorial input. (We did that at least once.) Neither of us has problems with revising. In fact, we both love it. But when we got the galleys, they were very different from our last go around and there is an entirely new section in the back which we did not write. Note: an editor (or editorial assistant) cannot simply write whatever she/he wants on a pe rson’s manuscript. This Undoing will take several days.

The carpet-fitters came back with two of the three actual sections of carpet. The third had been—astonishingly —stolen from the store. So it has had to be reordered, making the process of fitting the carpet longer than expected. But I love the color.

In the evening I went to the Hepburn Gardens owners association's annual meeting. I only know three of the people socially outside of the meetings. But that is fine. Being a part-timer, I have to pick my friends and my social events carefully. Otherwise, I could be overwhelmed.

Friday: I polished up the new EXCEPT THE QUEEN chapter and sent it off to Midori, then turned my attention to the DANCE book. Hard graft. Not so much fun. Sent the finished letter to Heidi first to see if she agrees with all my points.

Watched the opening of the Olympics. Not usually my cup of tea. But this one had a real magical quality about it. IF one could forget the politics and the smog and the rest. Which I can’t.

The carpet section (new) arrived, and the men finished fitting it by mid-afternoon. It looks wonder ful. Still no word from the painters, though.

Nora and I went to see the park-your-brains-at-the-door latest MUMMY movie with Brendon Fraser, and mourned for the demise of the franchise. It was about an hour too long. I liked the yetis and the two battling armies of dead men and pottery soldiers. There was nothing for poor John Hannah to do but get vomited on by a yak. There was nothing for the poor yak to do but vomit upon John Hannah. Jet Li and Michelle Yoh were. . .themselves, which is always fun. And we did get to admire BF’s abs at one point. However, the young actor playing the son of the mummy hunters was best at smirking, not acting. I missed the real fun of the first two movies. One star at best.

I got home and there was a new chapter of BUG that Adam had emailed, so I know what I will be doing in the morning.

 

August 6, 2008:

Happy birthday, wee Davey, my only grandson. You are a rousing, bouncing, energetic six-year-old today.

I worked on my final poem for the poetry book (Pat has four of his own to do) after doing quite a bit of research. I also fiddled a bit with a timeline for the last page of the book. All will be revealed once the book is sold!

Midori sent on her notes for EXCEPT THE QUEEN which I will work on tomorrow. My chapters are solid, but I have to say her chapters with Baba Yaga are brilliant, bawdy, and occasionally laugh-out-loud hilarious.

In the afternoon, Christine and John came over for tea and a good natter right after the carpet people had been and gone. I am having the upstairs landing carpeted (and painted. . .if the painters ever answer their damned phone!)

Writing is going well, but we have had days of hard, constant rain which plays havoc with my arthritis and back. So part of me is longing to be back in the States (where I understand it’s been raining as well.) But I am loving my time here, weather excepted.

 

August 5, 2008:

Is this getting boring yet? Another day head down in EXCEPT THE QUEEN. I sent the Red Cap sections and the new opening of the book to Midori. Once again the Internet scores. She got back to me by evening (my time) to say she loves what I did. So I felt: Well done, Jane!

I took and hour and a half off and had tea with Eleanor Livingston, the head of STAnza, the St Andrew Poetry Festival. This past March they housed a number of the poets in Wayside and will do so again next March. We had tea at the Byre and had a wide-ranging talk about the state of poets and poetry in both the US and the UK. I had a lovely time out of time, and hope she did, too.

Came home and rewrote the latest poem for the Pat Lewis book. I think it works much better now. He’s on vacation so I won’t send it till he’s home, giving me time to go over it again several more tries. I have one more poem to do (he’s got four) and then we will take a good look at what we have, to see if it is enough, if they are all good enough.

Heidi tells me that the new JOHNNY APPLESEED books ha ve arrived in quantity at home. Yeah us! So now am only waiting on copies of MAMA’S KISS and my three fall books (don’t forget SEA QUEENS) will be in.
I had dinner with Bob and Debby and then home to watch a bit of mindless tv and to bed.

 

August 4, 2008:

So it was head down time on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, writing one new chapter (short) and re-arranging the opening. Also, as I had fallen asleep last night, I was thinking about the book and realized that the character of Red Cap, the ‘Enforcer’ for the Unseelie Court and a nasty piece of work, sounded too much like the Seelie Queen and the two middle aged heroines. In other words, his voice was indistinguishable from theirs on the page. Which made them ALL sound like Midori (my co-author) and me. So I worked hard on making him speak like a combination of Tony Soprano, Grendel, and a Viking beserker. Twisty, mean, and uncontrollable. But t leavened it with a bit of self-serving humor. Now to see if Midori feels I pulled it off. That took all day, writing from around 8 till 4. Head now emptied of all brains!

I also got the bones of a new poem for the Pat Lewis book.

In the evening, I went to Pittenweem, at the Church Hall, where there was a fine production of a play about J. M. Barrie. Bookending the play were pieces from his famous speech to the St. Andrews students when he was one of the rectors, “Courage.” The play was less about Barrie’s life and more about his writing. I found it fascinating as I have done a book called LOST BOY which is a picture book biography of Barrie’s life which should come out either 2009 or 2010, depending upon the illustrator. Barrie was really a strange and--in many ways--a sad man, and I think that comes out in his writing, especially PETER PAN and THE WHITE BIRD. I think he didn't realize how very autobiographical his books and plays were.

 

August 3, 2008:

File this under The Mills of God grind slowly. From Daily Kos: “Fire broke out last night at the Westboro Baptist Church, home of notorious hate-monger, Fred Phelps and his sick family. Officials have not said what started the fire, but some people say it is clearly a sign that God hates Fred Phelps and his family.”

Yes, these are the folks who go to funerals of American soldiers to protest against homosexuals (I don’t get the connection, but what do I know!) but they are ALSO the same folks who burned my book BRIAR ROSE on the steps of the Board of Education in Kansas City when the book was first published because one of the characters is a gay man! Justice delayed can still be justice served!

Claire and I spent the day at the Pittenweem Arts Festival, as showers turned into brilliant sun. There were three artists I loved: Madeleine Hand (from Dunkeld. . .I own a print of hers) and a husband and wife artists Reinhard Behrens and Margaret Smythe. Also I bought a Christmas present (not sure for which grandchild). We had lunch in Pittenweem and then later on a cheese platter at the Cheese Factory which Claire had never seen before.

Both before going to the Fetival, and then when I got back home, I worked on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, and tomorrow will settle in for a long, long slog this week on the novel. With some lunches and movies and a Monday night theater piece on J. M. Barrie. (This last is part of the Pittenweem Festival.)

 

 

August 2, 2008:

Heidi told me that a bear had been seen on my front porch last week. Evidently a lot of my neighbors watched from their cars. About the same time there was a dead rabbit on my lawn here which, within a few hours, the crows, ravens, and gulls had disposed of. Life, death, and the animal kingdom. A full set.

Today I was dodging showers and downpours all morning. First I walked down to the farmer’s market where I met my friend Claire, then we waited for a the shower to pass by hanging about under the stall awnings with her two big dogs. Then home to do some house cleaning and some work on the new poetry book, mostly reformatting it a bit, though Pat had already done a good job.

Next I raced down town for two errands. St Andrews was aboil with tourists and it took forever to just get a parking space. And then I had to wait fifteen minutes under the awning of Fisher and Donaldson, the great bakery shop, discussing (of course) the weather with a lovely middle-aged Scots woman while the thunder roared overhead and the rain poured down.

When it was over, I went home, got dressed, and was off to Anstruther to pick up Christine, then over to the church at St. Monans, a lovely ancient stone church overlooking the Firth. Marianna had a show opening, and Christine and I were to read some of our poetry. There was also a wonderful Gaelic singer named Ruth and it was all very jolly. The pictures/hangings were stunning against the whitewashed walls of the church.

 

August 1, 2008:

OK, in a white heat I wrote three poems for the new Pat Lewis book. I know I will be polishing, carving out, restructuring, re-engaging in these poems for weeks. But the first drafts ain’t too bad.

And then, after a flurry of errands in town, I went off to Anstruther to pick up Christine for a lovely lunch/tea at the Cheese Factory in Anstruther. Picture this: we sit on the roofed porch looking out to the Firth of Forth. A herd of black-and-white cows is lying down in the meadow to our left. The sun has come out after a morning of hard rains which were so strong and unrelenting, my entire front walkway was under water. But the rain have cleared away, leaving the sky wide and blue and the air fresh and brilliantly clear. We can see across the Firth to the Border towns, can make out the fields of wheat, golden beside the green meadows. The cows stand up and walk in their stately I-am-not-really-drunk manner towards the right. I eat my brie and pear sandwich on home-baked bread. Christine has a scone. We drink tea. It is a perfect moment in what started out an imperfect day.

 

July 31, 2008:

Worked all morning (from 6:30 a.m. on) rewriting and rewriting “Trash Mountain.” It bulked up—even with deep cuts—to over 7500 words. I sent it off by attached email by early afternoon. La! The magic of the Internet. Before I went off to see “Dark Knight” with Nora and her husband Rob, I had an acceptance from the editors of the anthology. Yea Me.

Also I got another idea for a book of poems with Pat Lewis, but we have to finish the one we’ve started first. My grasshopper mind finds ideas in everything I see, read, hear. I have enough ideas to be writing for twenty years more. But I will be 70 in February. So I doubt all will get written.

I ended the night by reading almost to the end of the Pascoe and Daziell book, having firmly in mind whom I think is the murderer. Tomorrow morning will see if I am right.****

Now--about the “Dark Knight.” Nora, Rob, and I must be the only people in the world who were not only unimpressed but rather turned off by it. Even Heidi’s Tom, a college professor and deep thinker, has already seen it twice. My own dislike of the movie (and I loved “Batman Begins”) are fourfold. A warning, my final point has a SPOILER in it.

*Distressingly sadistic. I can deal with violence, even a good deal of violence, but this seemed to linger lovingly over bondage and degradation.

*On a personal level, I could not get over how bizarre and distressing Heath Ledger looked. And I suppose if he were still alive, I would simply put it down to wonderful (if over-the-top) acting. But it felt like a haunting to me.

*The PG13 rating in the States is a different rating in the UK, where children 4 and up could attend, accompanied by parents. And there were so many that, at every moment of hands-over-eyes violence (Nora spent half the movie that way) , I worried about the 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 year olds in front of me.

*(SPOILER ALERT) I felt that if the White Knight is to turn dark, we need to see some of that darkness earlier. I kept thinking how a young Sean Bean should have played that part and we would have gotten the sense of that underground darkness running through. Otherwise, his turn into a bad guy doesn’t work.

****I was right about the murderer. Yea me.

 

July 29-30, 2008:

Oops, Tuesday, after a hilarious breakfast with the sleep-overs (lots of Dorothy Parker references and spin-offs), and sending all but one friend on their various ways before 8:30 a.m., I was suddenly overcome with extreme nausea and dizziness. Spent the rest of the day lying down, eating toast-and-tea, watching tv, napping, working a bit on the FARM poems, checking the galleys for a story with Adam ("Little Red") for the new FIREBIRDS SOARING anthology,and reading the third Pascoe and Daziell mystery. By evening, though, I felt a whole lot better, which made me think the stomach spasms and vertigo had been due to an overdose of chocolate and/or the street fair paella. Really, you don’t want my stomach!

Wednesday, I felt absolutely fine and began writing mega-big time, including a poem for the project with Pat Lewis, some more FARM poem work, and finished the first draft of “Trash Mountain” which still needs mammoth work and is over 7200 words.

Still, it does make me think about rhythms in writing and what makes one day a hardcore writing day, and another a total space-out. Obviously health matters. If I feel unwell—stomach, headache, even more-than-usual aches and pains—I find it difficult to concentrate. Likewise, if I am traveling I get little done. (Though son Adam does his best writing as a passenger in car, plane, train.) And days filled with errands, meetings, tea, and sympathy are usually too broken up to be profitable in terms of word count.

However, on the good days, what is it that makes me more fluent, more creative, more on game? I know for me that light is a key, which is why I write so well in the summer in Scotland where daylight starts at 4:30 and lasts till after 10 pm. A steady barometer is necessary since a massively-falling barometer gives me headaches. (Back to health matters.) Priming the pump helps--doing email, galleys, revisions, the journal. And if I am in the middle of a large project and it is going well (novel, long short story, the final editing of a poetry book) the momentum simply sustains itself.

But the rest is—well—magic. And that is by definition unexplainable.

 

July 26-28, 2008:

I joined Debby and Bob on a trip to the Borders for author Elizabeth Kerner’s 50th birthday party and ceilidh (pronounced kay-lee). We arrived in the late afternoon, settled in the Inn. We had adjoining rooms, shared a bathroom. Got dressed and went down after having sandwiches in the room.

People were gathering in a large hall. There was a cake and Elizabeth like a queen reigning over us all. A table groaned with champagne and orange juice (we had sneaked in a bottle of sparkling water as well, because it was very hot in the hall and we hadn’t even started dancing yet!)

The ceilidh band began and the caller moved amongst us, going over the steps of the jigs and reels. I only danced four of the dances, including the “Dashing White Sergeant,” “Haymakers Reel” (really a Virginia Reel) and the one Scottish dance I already knew, “The Gay Gordons” plus one I can’t remember. It was fun and exhausting, and we were all dripping wet. I was the first to retire at 11 pm, the rest stayed up much longer and the dancing went on way into the night. But I was delighted to have danced that much and so well, without missing any steps or messing the others up. I look forward to taking Scottish Country dance lessons once I get back home as they are given on Thursday evenings.

Friend Nik was there, and drove me back to St A, where she was staying with me for two nights. She went out for the afternoon and evening and I got down to writing. A thousand words on “Trash Mountain.” Up to almost 5000 now. Rewrote several of the Farm poems, and began discussing a new book idea with Pat Lewis since we did so well on the two so far.

And I tidied up the mss. for Pat’s and my LAST LAUGHS and sent it off to the editor.

Also, I heard after many years that a book I have two poems in is finally coming out. Yep—it’s:
WOMEN.PERIOD.
WOMEN WRITING ABOUT MENSTRATION
The first of its kind, WOMEN.PERIOD. celebrates, curses, and talks about one of the most life-changing events in a woman’s life. This is what WE have been waiting to write about. Writing down to the womb, is what editors Julia Watts, Parneshia Jones, Jo Ruby, and Elizabeth Slade achieve with a variety of contributors like Crystal Wilkinson, Karen Howland, Jane Yolen, Ellen Hagan, and more. The beginning, middle, and end of the natural revolution are explored with poetry and prose giving women permission to talk about, share, and celebrate a phase in our life that affects everything around us.

On Monday, Nik and Debby and I met other friends in town for an International Market. We ate a fine paella there, and I bought some chocolates to be eaten that night which was a planned Games Night. Usually Games Nights are held at the Harris house, but there were so many of us—12 in all--20we moved it to Wayside. Three other people stayed over as well—Elizabeth Kerner, and her librarian friend Susan and friend’s son, Tim.

Did another 1000 words on “Trash Mountain” which brings me to 5500 words, perilously close to their 7000 word max, and I haven’t hit the big fight scene yet and the escape and denouement. Must be another 2,000 words to go. Well, what’s 500 words among friends. Of course, once I get the entire thing down, I bet I will do some serious cutting and polishing.

At Games Night, we had three tables of 4 each on the first round. I was with the group playing “Labyrinth” which I’d never seen before, but ended up winning. I sat out the second round, when our table teamed up with another table and played “Family Business.” I kibitzed, cleaned the kitchen, watched the other four play a real strategy game, and just enjoyed the company.

 

July 24-25, 2008:

Continuing on the mucho-writing path.

I rewrote two of the Farm poems, wrote another 1000 words on “Trash Mountain, ” revised (under editorial direction) the poems in MIRROR TO NATURE, edited and revised some more of EXCEPT THE QUEEN, and began the close-editing of the DANCE THE WORLD galleys. I also did a bit of work on LAST LAUGHS. Lots of writing on a variety of subjects.

I know that a lot of writers find my ability to work on about a dozen different projects at any one time mind-boggling, though that’s only five of them in the last couple of days. But honestly, I work on each one-at-a-time. Finish with the section, or sentence, or revision, than put it back in its mental folder, and go on to the next. And just as a child in school moving from class to class doesn’t get English Lit mixed up with Algebra, so I don’t get mixed up working on different things during the day. Nor do I get making breakfast mixed up in my mind with using the toilet or doing the laundry or the dozens of other actions I (and gadzillions others) perform in a single day. So why should writing be any different? Oh yeah, it's a "creative" thing, not a mind-number like folding laundry. But when I an ON, folks, and my mind is flowing with creative juices, I baste everything with that wonderful stuff. And it makes me super happy to do so.

Jane Yolen gets a contact high from writing. Pass it on.

Oh yeah—I also read the second of three Pascoe & Deizel mystery novels I’d bought recently (I’d read the first on the trip with Heidi and Maddison into Abederdeenshire). Paid a bunch of bills. Mailed them out. Spoke to folks on the phone. Did email. My life is, as yours, circumscribed with small things that add up to a single day of Stuff. But writing keeps me sane within the context of that kind of day.

 

July 22-23, 2008:

Lots of errands, tidying ups, dinner with Bob and Debby (where we plotted a picture book for Bob and me), and going to see “Hancock” with Nora.

But mostly I have started writing, writing, writing. After all, I only have a month and a bit to get things done.

I worried that I might have a children’s book and NOT a short story in TRASH MOUNTAIN, and did not want to break my back over finishing it this week if it isn’t what the editors want. After alI, I can always work more leisurely on the children’s book at any time. But the short story is due now. So I sent the first third (all I had done so far) to the editors, fully expecting them to say no, and less than a half hour later, came back an enthusiastic FINISH IT! My guess is that they need stories!

I also rewrote one of the farm poems. I'd been worried that the Barn Cat poem, while I loved it, was not really in the tone or age of the other poems. So I did a completely new one which--after I go over it a couple more times--I will send on to Rebecca Dotlich, my co-poet.

God, I love to write!

 

July 17-21, 2008:

After leaving Tom at the airport in Edinburgh, Heidi, Maddison and I started out on our Highlands adventure.

First stop was Scone Palace near Perth where we picnicked in the large formal gardens and fed the peacocks (including an albino that was astonishingly beautiful.) The huge birds circled our table like sharks ready for the kill. Then we walked around the beautiful grounds. We’d already decided (Maddison being “castled out”) that we wouldn’t go inside the castle. Afterwards, we made our way to Dunkeld where we did some minor shopping, got wet in the rain. Since it was closing in on dinnertime, we headed into the Highlands.

We found a lovely B&B, where chaffinches were attacking the feeders. Had a good dinner at the Spittal of Glenshee, our server being in full kilt but speaking with a mittal European accent. After several guesses, we missed that he was from Bulgaria. Back for early bed. Alas, I had nightmares all night in the 300 year-old-cottage, dreaming that it was the site of murderous attacks by the host and his wife. Woke in a sweat. Of course everyone laughed at me in the morning. As well they should.

Then we dashed off further into the Highlands, accompanied by spurts of rain. Saw a short-eared owl on a fence, red grouse and chicks in the low brush, and of course lots of sheep.

We stopped by Balmoral, but one couldn’t even get into the grounds without paying a fortune. We figured the queen already had enough money, so proceeded instead into Ballater where I bought a lovely ring for Heidi for a late birthday present.

Onward.

We were actually heading for Alford and Montgarrie to stay at a B&B we'd already booked, and got a bit lost finding it. Then over to Syllavethy Gallery where my high school friend Mike Gassaway was being feted for his 70th birthday by his wife Susan and his sister Anne. It was to be a barbeque and the sun was out until it was actually time to start the coals, and then the heavens opened up. We waited a while, watched a surprise video of Mike’s life, chatted with old and new friends. And then the rain stopped and cooking began in earnest: chicken, ribs, sausages. Heidi helped as she is a barbeque specialist. Maddison met a young dancer named Liam brought to the party by his ballet teacher, Susie Alexander (one of the original Sadler Wells baby ballerinas.) Susie is a dear friend of Mike and Susan’s and last year the four of us went to the opera in Aberdeen together. Well, the two young dancers commandeered the gallery and did some dancing there, then Liam (who knew less about ballet and more about gymnastics) taught Maddison to do handstands on the wet grass near the grill, while we all watched and applauded.

Saturday morning, we headed for home with three detours: one to see the Maiden Stone, a fine Pictish stone (you can see a picture of me in front of it on the third page of my Biography on this website). Another detour allowed us to have elevenses at a farm shop in Finzean—pronounced Fing-en, that’s Scottish place names for you!-- with a view to the mountains to die for. The final stop to check out the Pictish stone in the front yard of the Manse in the village of Glamis.

Heidi and Maddison spent the afternoon wandering around St Andrews while I fiddled with email. Then we went to dinner in an Italian restaurant before turning in early.

Sunday morning Heidi and Maddison—after a slow start—got off to Edinburgh by train. They finished buying their presents, Maddison got a kilt, and with her own money bought “the Pocketbook of Destiny.” They got back by 6, and I picked them up at the train. Then it was packing time.

Monday morning, early, I drove them to the Edinburgh airport. My car was making odd noises and a brakepad light came on, then went off. So we all decided it was best that I simply drop them without turning off the car, heading back home instead of having a last tea in the airport and hugs there. I made it home all right, the strange clicking sound stopping only as I drove through Cupar, the town right before St A. It started up again as I entered St A. The car man said it was not a big problem, but I needed to go to the Dundee Peugeot dealer20when I could. So I did shopping, and came home to decompress after the long, unrelieved drive there and back.

Book News:
http://www.schoollibraryjournal.com/blog/1790000379/post/20029802.html Huge Fuse#8 review of SEA QUEENS.

Adam sent me the second chapter of our book BUG (I had done the first chapter), so I spent time going over both. And then over a period of three days I wrote the 3rd chapter and on Tuesday sent it on to Adam.
I also received the color proofs of two UK DINO board books (COLOURS and COUNT TO TEN) with all the “ou” changes and “fire engine: in for “fire truck.”

 

July 14-17, 2008:

Tom’s arrival really brought gorgeous weather. The crew went one day into Edinburgh. I stayed home and revised the BAD GIRLS comics section with editor Judy O’Malley’s cheery notes beside me for--we hope--the last time. Heidi and I went over everything first, of course.

We visited Marianna’s studio, then the troop minus me and my aching calfs went on the walk (into mammoth head and then tail winds) to see the Colessie Man Stone. They took so long--Marianna has wonderful rites that must be performed there--that I feared they’d all been slaughtered by some Children of the Corn sect.

We hosted two dinner parties. (Heidi and Tom cooked.) Watched and howled at “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” though Maddison didn’t get most of the jokes, except the fart ones.

I took them to High Tea at Rufflets on Tom’s final day, and all applauded the decision afterwards.
Writing? I fart in your general direction. (That’s a line from the Frenchman in the castle from MPATHG in case you don’t remember.)

Don't expect another journal till Tuesday at the earliest. Travel, then Heidi and Maddison go home. Then I fall over in a dead visitor-induced coma for a bit. You know the drill.

 

Interstitial Moment:

Lying in bed, thinking about EXCEPT THE QUEEN, I suddenly had an image of a crowd of people madly waving. Aha! I thought, I'm on to something important. And so I was. It’s called—for lack of a better phrase, “Waving the hands.”

When an author wants to keep you from looking at spots in a book where there are rather large holes, she does a lot of hand-waving. “Nothing there. Don’t look at the man behind the curtain.” That kind of thing.

I have spoken before about the old Pointing the Finger which seems as if it should be just the opposite of Hand Waving, and yet accomplishes the same thing. Here’s the set up. Our Heroine (let's call her Amelia) is alone on a dark street. There are several houses, most with one or two or three lights on. An escaped maniac is somewhere in the area. Amelia needs to make a phone call. One house is totally dark. And that’s the house she goes into and is the house, of course, where the maniac is waiting. Remember--there is no story unless Amelia goes into that house!

Pointing the finger would deal with it this way: Amelia knew that there was no real reason for her to go into that darkened house. Indeed, everything about the house almost shouted for her not to go. But her heart had its own reasons and she always trusted her heart. She mounted the steps, not at all reluctantly, turned the knob of the front door, and never once wondering why the door was unlocked, went right in.

Waving the Hands would do it this way: As Amelia walked down the darkened street, she heard the soft soughing of the wind through the trees. Some birch, some alder, even some pine. A black shape suddenly flew in front of her on silent wings. She knew its silhouette at once—a Great Horned Owl. It flew up over old Mrs. Curry’s house. There were no lights on, though every other house had at least a single light on, two of them porch lights and the rest off in the rear of the buildings. Amelia wondered, suddenly, why Mrs. Curry—a night owl herself—should be sitting in a darkened house. It nagged at her until she stopped, turned, went up the long steps and across the wide porch, her footsteps echoing solidly as she went. She knocked softly and the door opened on its own. Now she was really worried for Mrs. Curry. This was not the time to have an unlocked door. She slipped her cel phone from her pocket, ready to press the single digit that would call 911. Then, stepping into the pitch-black front hall, she called out the old woman’s name.

So in the first instance, the author tells the reader right up front that she understands this is a stupid thing for the heroine to do. Indeed, the heroine knows this as well. But for the story to work, she needs to go in. So the old “heart” trick is used.

In the second instance, the author is waving her hands so hard they nearly break off at the wrist: we get wind and owls and lights on and off, we get the cel phone at the ready and the old woman possibly in danger. No mention—or at least no re-mention—of danger to the girl herself.

And just the same, I found myself waving my hands a whole bit in the opening sections of EXCEPT THE QUEEN as I step over the potholes. Only I now see we need to slow down and actually fix all those potholes. In the original novella, all written in a letters format, our two characters are fairy sisters who have been kicked out by the queen for some unknown reason. They have both ended up in American cities, far apart, and have manage to get themselves apartments and are sending letters to one another by means of doves. Well, birds, but mostly doves. And then the real adventure starts. But all that backstory—the angry queen, how they get from Faerie to the American cities, how they (for God’s sake) get apartments and money to buy food and work permits; how they pay taxes and the water bill and learn to ride on buses (cold iron?) etc. is just a given. We start the novella long after all that has been done. But in the novel, we have to lead up to it. And the lead -up can be dull without a bit of hand-waving. But it will definitely be a huge mistake not to world-build with care because we need to make the magic real.

Remember Gary Wolfe’s astute : “. . .some disbelief can be willingly suspended, and some has to be beaten down with a stick.” Well, it's stick time, friends.

 

July 9-13, 2008:

We have been mammothly busy. Lots of wonderful touristy moments. Alas, a lot of bad weather at first, and then the sun came out.So several really brilliant days. Heidi's friend, Tom, arrived for a week on the 11th.

Some of the best moments: Climbing the 180 steps down to the entrance to Dunotter, the ruined castle on the headlands near Stonehaven. (My calves are still aching, a day later.) The ruins of Arbroath Abby, birthplace of the Scottish Independence movement. Kellie Castle and the gardens. Walking in PIttenweem. The rocks and tidepools of Fife Ness outside of Crail. A wild ride through the Highlands, with sheep and kamikazi rabbits, brilliant mountains, some gorgeous early bloom of heather, and Tom trying desperately to remember that the name of the purple-flamed roadside flowers is “Rose Bay Willow Herb.” And many photos of Maddison (the ballet dancer) doing a wonderful arabesque in front of castles, abbeys, ruins, etc.
Not much writing, besides a bit more of “Trash Mountain.” As far as book news, a small check for the on-completion of SLEEPING MONSTERS, and a couple of nice reviews of SEA QUEENS. It’s post ALA and summer vacation time. Many editors are not around to make decisions until September.

NOTE FROM HEIDI: I managed one last entry before jetting off! Bon Voyage!

July 6, 2008:

Sue is being buried today. Jewish funerals are almost always quite quickly managed. I spent a lot of the morning thinking about her. Holding her—and her family—in the Light. Remembering the good, funny times.

And then I wrote a bit on “Trash Mountain” though, after rereading the call from the editor, I think it’s not really what they want for the anthology. They are looking for zombie raccoons and killer rabbits. Mine is a squirrel story, and the change doesn’t occur until the very last sentence (I think—though I am not there yet.) However, if it doesn’t sell to the anthology, I may be able to retrofit it to a children’s chapter book.

Also worked on a duck poem for the FARM BOOK. And another chapter for EXCEPT THE QUEEN that leads into the first letter from the novella.

I also went to a lecture by Christopher Rush on Shakespeare, because his new novel WILL-- about Shakespeare’s last days--is newly out. The book had been turned down by 17 British and international publishers before it found a brand new, small publisher in London. And when the book came out, he got calls from Kevin Spacey for theatrical rights and Ben Kingsley for movie rights. He read from a bit of it and it was wonderfully dense and not for the faint-hearted. (Especially the bit about the treatment for syphilis which, in the 17th century, was by using heavy doses of mercury.)

NOTE FROM HEIDI: If you are a regular reader, you know that I post the journals during my mom's summers in Scotland. But, I am happy to report that (ready for this?) I am taking a real VACATION! So, while I am gone, there will be no posts. Hang in there Readers! August will be back to normal! I promise. Heidi

 

RIP: Sue Alexander, Good writer, dear friend

I got this July 4, early morning, email, from Lin Oliver, president of SCBWI:

"It’s with a heavy heart that we bring you this news. Sue Alexander passed away suddenly this evening. She was sitting and talking with her husband Joel around dinnertime, and suddenly, she said, “Oh My God” and was gone. Steve and I learned of her death from Sue’s dear friend Betsy James, just minutes after her passing.

Steve and I are at the office late, reeling from this shocking and sad news. We all know what a vital life force Sue was, and her contribution to the creation of SCBWI was immeasurable. Through all the years, she helped create, sustain and guide the organization, and took justifiable pride in what we have created together. Just this week, we all witnessed on the list serve her fierce dedication to what she believed was right. There was never any doubt either about her opinions or about her commitment to doing what she thought best for this organization that she so lovingly nurtured from its inception.

This is a sad evening here at the SCBWI office, however, we can all take comfort in the fact that Sue died without the pain or suffering that she dreaded, and that up until her very last breath, she was full of ideas and joy and fight.
Sue’s children, Stacy, Marc and Glenn, are on their way to Los Angeles to be with Joel. At present, the family is still making plans. The SCBWI will hold a celebration of Sue’s life at the August conference, and perhaps sometime earlier as well, if her family would like. The Sue Alexander Award exists and will continue her legacy.
The address at Sue’s home is: 6846 McLaren Ave., West Hills, CA. 91307."

This is what I wrote to Lin:

"Oh Lin, oh everybody, this is the first thing I read this morning here in Scotland, my hands over my mouth, tears running down my cheeks. Sue was one of my oldest, dearest friends. We first met at a conference at Colorado Women's College (I was teaching, she was attending) and she told me about these two young writers named Lin and Steve who were thinking about starting a new organization. She had just joined. I was the second.

Sue hadn't sold any books yet, though had been getting published in magazines like Humpty Dumpty. And she had with her to show to her teachers (Frances Keene, Uri Shulevitz, and me) about 40 (I kid you not) manuscripts. They all had a spark, but were still too much like the stories she admired by Sendak and others. But we stayed in close touch (by mail, this was back in the Pleistocene, no email yet) through the years. I went through her first and subsequent publications with her, got her to her beloved agent Marilyn, joyed when things went well with her, sorrowed when they didn't. It was a long distance friendship, emphasis on long.

Sue was feisty, overwhelmingly warm-hearted, hardworking (for years she turned over one room in her house to collecting the books for the Golden Kite judges), funny, dear, opinionated, tender. . .I could go on and on.

What a hole in my heart. What a hole in our organization. She was so tiny and is leaving such a big space."

We have sent flowers. But it being a holiday weekend, nothing will be delivered until the 8th, and since she was Jewish, she is being buried on Sunday.

 

July 2-5, 2008:

Sorry—we are having more problems with the journal. Doncha just love computers. Come on—it’s been well over a week since I have complained about modern technology. For someone who is basically a technophobe, that’s not bad.

So Wednesday, working on the revision (again, still) of the comix section of BAD GIRLS. Rewrote a poem for the farm book.

And then I went to see Prince Caspian with Nora and Rob. I nicknamed the movie “Pagans 1, Romans 0.” My favorite CGI? The Neptune character, though Tilda Swinton with maybe ten words and a long hand stretch almost walked away with the picture. Still, I enjoyed it. Always wanted to write REEPICHEEP’S LAST ADVENTURE. In fact, years ago, when asked by Harper to do a new Narnia novel, I proposed that. But that was vetoed by Douglas Gresham (C. S. Lewis’ stepson) who said that when the mouseketeer sails off in the Dawn Treader, he has died and is going to Heaven. OK. Gresham is the vestal of the copyright, not me. But it would have been a terrific book.

Thursday: More and more BAD GIRLS revision (while watching Wimbledon.)

First copies of JOHNNY APPLESEED (Harper) showed up. It is a handsome book, Jim Burke’s artwork quite gorgeous. Appleseed himself was one of those peculiarly American eccentrics, like Bronson Alcott and Thoreau. What most people don’t know was that he died quite well-off. He SOLD those apple trees, didn’t just give them away! Had quite a nursery business going.

And then I went to hear the Eroica Quartet playing Beethoven and Mendelssohn in a church in the East Neuk town of Crail. I had a front row seat, which was—alas—behind the cello. If I’d been a soprano this might not have been as distracting to me as it was. As a low alto, I tend to hear the low line in any piece before I hear the higher sounds anyway. This from years of choral work in both high school and college. Still the music was wonderful. As their website states: “The Quartet was formed in 1993 by four of Britain’s leading period instrumentalists, committed to performing music of the Romantic period and to rediscovering the style of its performance.”

Friday: I was devastated by the news about Sue Alexander (see above). It was the first thing that greeted me as I got online, cup of tea in hand. The tea got very very cold as I sat, weeping.

I had a hard time turning to work, so went out for a 25 minute Wolfstone Walk, remembering all the good times with Sue, and there were so many. Most---obviously--were around SCBW and then SCBWI events, but they made me smile, in recollection. One in particular: Sue and I are at the SCBWI Los Angeles national conference, probably the third or fourth year, but Sue is already showing what a fireball she is, as well as a nurturer. A man with a thick European accent wants to talk about writing children's books in an Esperanto-type made-up language of his own. We give him a slot during one lunch time and he speaks with charts and (alas) makes little sense. But he becomes our very own stalker, giving us chocolates and wanting to sit with us. I finally throw Sue to the wolf, and scuttle away. I have small patience with this. But she--with with her typical no-nonsense approach, tries to make him understand why his project is not going to get very far. She kept at it for the entire conference.

By the time I got home, sweaty and a bit achy, I looked at email again, and awfully enough, there was news that Marcia, who had been the chef and hospitality person for the Highlights picture book workshop I ran, had been in an car accident and had broken her back.

So I wrote to Sue’s husband Joel, and then Marcia, had Heidi send flowers, and finally, with some kind of measured relief, I was able to finish BAD GIRLS. Though of course I imagine whenever I look at that section, I will always think of Sue.

In the afternoon, I found my way (not an easy thing as the map was unclear) to Cameron Kirk by the side of Cameron loch (where 5-8 years ago David and I had a fantastic badger encounter.) As part of the East Neuk Festival where a rather splendid actress read “The Ash Tree”, one of M. R. James’ chillers. I know the story, of course. Not my favorite of his stories, which are “Whistle, and I’ll Come to You” and that chiller of chillers, “The Mezzotint,” but gorgeously performed.

Afterwards, had dinner at friends Claire's and Lucy’s house, and then the three of us walked to the Byre Theater for a lovely evening of Celtic music with the Anna Massie Band, an award-winning Scottish group that consisted of fiddle, guitar, and accordion (the accordionist also played one piece on the sma’ pipes.)

Saturday, after the one day of St Andrews’ summer, we were back to cold, grey, and threatening rain. I walked into town because there was a farmer’s market in the town parking lot. Got many wonderful sausages and some garlic-stuffed olives (these for Heidi who will be here Tuesday with Maddison.) Managed to get back before any rain.

Worked for several hours on a prototype map of The Rokk to give the artist for the Pit Dragon book. I can’t really draw, this is just to show things that absolutely need to be there. I sketched it once, realized I’d made a mistake in the actual book text, fixed that. Then redrew it and will wait until Monday to fax it.

Watched the French movie, “Brotherhood of the Wolf,”, basically a silly historical costume piece taking place about thirty years before the French Revolution but with a kind of afterward ending there. It pretended to be a werewolf movie but was actually not. I called this “Last of the Mohicans meets A Tale of Two Cities by way of Romeo and Juliet.” The bad guy was easy to spot long before he was unmasked (literally.) Hated the female lead whom I couldn’t imagine the hero falling for, but never mind. My favorite character was the “Indian” played by a king fu master actor of Chinese, Japanese and Hawaiian descent. Oh, those droll French movie makers!

And finaIly, I learned that a piece I wrote about SEA QUEENS is posted on the Charlesbridge site: http://charlesbridge.blogspot.com/

Interstitial Moment:

Lying in bed, thinking about EXCEPT THE QUEEN, I suddenly had an image of a crowd of people madly waving. Aha! I thought, I'm on to something important. And so I was. It’s called—for lack of a better phrase, “Waving the hands.”

When an author wants to keep you from looking at spots in a book where there are rather large holes, she does a lot of hand-waving. “Nothing there. Don’t look at the man behind the curtain.” That kind of thing.

I have spoken before about the old Pointing the Finger which seems as if it should be just the opposite of Hand Waving, and yet accomplishes the same thing. Here’s the set up. Our Heroine (let's call her Amelia) is alone on a dark street. There are several houses, most with one or two or three lights on. An escaped maniac is somewhere in the area. Amelia needs to make a phone call. One house is totally dark. And that’s the house she goes into and is the house, of course, where the maniac is waiting. Remember--there is no story unless Amelia goes into that house!

Pointing the finger would deal with it this way: Amelia knew that there was no real reason for her to go into that darkened house. Indeed, everything about the house almost shouted for her not to go. But her heart had its own reasons and she always trusted her heart. She mounted the steps, not at all reluctantly, turned the knob of the front door, and never once wondering why the door was unlocked, went right in.

Waving the Hands would do it this way: As Amelia walked down the darkened street, she heard the soft soughing of the wind through the trees. Some birch, some alder, even some pine. A black shape suddenly flew in front of her on silent wings. She knew its silhouette at once—a Great Horned Owl. It flew up over old Mrs. Curry’s house. There were no lights on, though every other house had at least a single light on, two of them porch lights and the rest off in the rear of the buildings. Amelia wondered, suddenly, why Mrs. Curry—a night owl herself—should be sitting in a darkened house. It nagged at her until she stopped, turned, went up the long steps and across the wide porch, her footsteps echoing solidly as she went. She knocked softly and the door opened on its own. Now she was really worried for Mrs. Curry. This was not the time to have an unlocked door. She slipped her cel phone from her pocket, ready to press the single digit that would call 911. Then, stepping into the pitch-black front hall, she called out the old woman’s name.

So in the first instance, the author tells the reader right up front that she understands this is a stupid thing for the heroine to do. Indeed, the heroine knows this as well. But for the story to work, she needs to go in. So the old “heart” trick is used.

In the second instance, the author is waving her hands so hard they nearly break off at the wrist: we get wind and owls and lights on and off, we get the cel phone at the ready and the old woman possibly in danger. No mention—or at least no re-mention—of danger to the girl herself.

And just the same, I found myself waving my hands a whole bit in the opening sections of EXCEPT THE QUEEN as I step over the potholes. Only I now see we need to slow down and actually fix all those potholes. In the original novella, all written in a letters format, our two characters are fairy sisters who have been kicked out by the queen for some unknown reason. They have both ended up in American cities, far apart, and have manage to get themselves apartments and are sending letters to one another by means of doves. Well, birds, but mostly doves. And then the real adventure starts. But all that backstory—the angry queen, how they get from Faerie to the American cities, how they (for God’s sake) get apartments and money to buy food and work permits; how they pay taxes and the water bill and learn to ride on buses (cold iron?) etc. is just a given. We start the novella long after all that has been done. But in the novel, we have to lead up to it. And the lead -up can be dull without a bit of hand-waving. But it will definitely be a huge mistake not to world-build with care because we need to make the magic real.

Remember Gary Wolfe’s astute : “. . .some disbelief can be willingly suspended, and some has to be beaten down with a stick.” Well, it's stick time, friends.

 

July 1, 2008:

Happy birthday to my darling daughter, Heidi Elisabet Yolen Stemple. First born. Had her Dad wrapped around her little finger since the moment he saw her. Girls and their fathers! And now she is my friend and my assistant and my next-door neighbor. And still slim and gorgeous, which can be annoying! She has the scarf gene, too which I wish I had. Happy birthday dear one.

Did another revision of chapter 11 of EXCEPT THE QUEEN, now 1042 words. And reworked the opening section’s outline as well.

Got my first package from home, with crossword puzzles, local news, PW, and mail that needs answering. Lots to do, lot to do.

Then off to grocery shop for necessities, not even what I will need once Heidi and Maddison are here. Oh—and I repotted the plant that was left on my doorstep.

I spent the rest of the day slowly working through the comix section of BAD GIRLS that Heidi had returned with her changes. She did a great job, and mostly I’m just rearranging deck chairs. But it is slow going and will need another day.

 

June 30, 2008:

Interesting writing day: working on a Muslim version of the Adam and Eve story for GIRL’S BIBLE and got a raw first draft down. Then, after a long talk with Bob here, over tea and whiskey (guess who drank which) about writing a short story for an anthology, I then came up with a 300+ word opening for one of the two ideas we'd talked about, this one called “Trash Mountain.” He might try starting the other one, about black mass church mice. I also reworked the proposal for a GN called BROTHER BEAST that Bob and I had worked on two years ago (using my newfound knowledge of GNs so hard-earned after doing the two books) and sent it on to DarkHorse.
Otherwise a quiet day.

 

Interstitial Moment:

Gary Wolfe has written: “With due respect to Coleridge, some disbelief can be willingly suspended, and some has to be beaten down with a stick.” And I am reminded of this as I work on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. Writing urban fantasy means trying to allow magic into the interstices of the place, using a different kind of cement between the lines.

I admire Megan Lindholm’s WIZARD OF THE PIGEONS more than I can say. Ditto Emma Bull’s WAR FOR THE OAKS. And bits of deLint’s Crow Girl stories nail it. But I am taking up a rather big stick to this new book. How much of the urban atmosphere needs to be explained, and how much can be assumed before the magic is allowed to intrude? Can I say street, avenue, bodega, police car and know my reader has already made a picture in his/her head? I mean, when I write a forest, I am always careful to give it setting. The book's forest and Under the Hill scenes are fully painted in. The city is much sketchier.

I wish I could get back to the eleven-year-old-urban-me living in New York City and feeling the city’s magic in my pores. The subway was a place of mystery. I was in walking distance of the greatest museum in the world—the Natural History Museum. Just walking to school was an adventure. Going to ballet classes (I studied at Balanchine’s School of American Ballet) an epic journey. These days, I find the city dirty, threatening, appalling, and simply a place to do my business, before fleeing, rather like a dog defecating in the street and letting its owner clean up the mess.

Hand. Meet Stick. Thanks, Gary.

 

June 29, 2008:

I rewrote the interstitial chapter of EXCEPT THE QUEEN, developing the character of Jose Flores, the owner of the bodega where my fairy character shops. The whole thing grew from 700 words to 863 words, but wordage means nothing. Words mean everything.

And then, I went and had a truly lovely and interesting day helping Marianna celebrate her birthday.

First, I prepared a sumptuous picnic: two kinds of sandwiches (egg salad, tuna salad), deviled eggs, clementines, cheese and crackers, grapes, a thermos of tea, grape drink, and chocolate cookies. Packed two sofa cushions. Then I drove through sunshine and rain to Newport where I picked Marianna up at her partner Pete’s house. She brought along fresh pineapple and Pete’s camping mattress. Then off we went to the grounds of Fingask, a charming small family castle outside of Dundee in the road to Perth, to hear the RTO.

RTO? It stands for Really Terrible Orchestra and it really, truly lives up to its name. Think the London Proms but without the musicianship. Think sitting through your children’s and grandchildren’s school performances hosted by a British Robin Williams. Humor without scatlogy. Hmmm, maybe you really needed to be there.

The RTO was started by Alexander McCall Smith, author of the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency and other books. It's under the distinguished baton of Sir Richard Neville-Towle, man who is as wry humorous as he is--obviously--dedicated. As their website quotes from the Fringe Programme 2001: "The Really Terrible orchestra has rapidly become one of the highlights of the Edinburgh Fringe. Why this group of [very] modestly talented musicians should presume to perform in public is beyond anybody.--"

As to how the RTO was formed, in a piece in the Telegraph, McCall Smith wrote:” Eight years ago my wife and I decided that we would do something about never having played in the school orchestra. We are both very challenged musicians: at the time she played the flute – hesitantly – and I played the bassoon – extremely incompetently. . . .So we formed the Really Terrible Orchestra in Edinburgh, a city known for having a number of fine amateur orchestras. The name was carefully chosen: what it said was what you would get. . .The response was overwhelming, particularly from clarinettists. I suspect that a very high proportion of the population is exposed to the clarinet at some stage and that British attics are crammed full of forgotten clarinet cases. Many of these were dusted off for the first meeting of the Really Terrible Orchestra, as were various other instruments. . . .We appointed a professional conductor, Richard Neville Towle, a well-known Edinburgh musician and founder of the ensemble Ludus Baroque, and we began to rehearse. The result was cacophony.

“Those who joined generally lived up to the name. Some, though, stood out for their musical weakness. One cello player some years ago even had the notes played by the open strings written in pencil on the bridge of the instrument. . . .An orchestra needs to perform, and we decided to hold a concert. Wisely, we took the view that the audience should be given a glass of wine, or even more than a glass, before the concert. This assisted their enjoyment and understanding of our idiosyncratic performance. Virtually every piece we played was greeted with shouts of applause and a standing ovation.”

And later in the article he asks:” Which makes one wonder: what is it that makes people want to listen to a group of extremely bad musicians torturing a piece that most of them cannot play? Is there something about failure and its cheerful acceptance? Whatever it is, there's certainly something quintessentially British about it. And the orchestra does a very fine Land of Hope and Glory – a semi-tone flat.”

So that was the orchestra.

The grounds of Finsgask where we picnicked before the performance—a family-sized small castle with interesting outbildings, some hidden within the trees. Sculptural, totemesque topiaries, a hilltop child’s railway, large-out building rented out for weddings perfect for the orchestra and the several hundred listeners: men, women, small children, dogs. The garden where we all picnicked was high up not quite on the crest of a hill, overlooking a hidden loch (possibly man-made). Around us, rather posh people with posh hampers of food, champagne. Everyone laughing, enjoying themselves.

A smattering of rain. Not enough to stop Scottish picnickers. We raised the umbrella for, maybe half a minute. Marianna’s friend and neighbor, Alice, joined us. A retired social worker and administrator, she was a handsome, lovely woman with an easy manner.

We took seats in the back of the performance building because Marianna was recovering from a chest infection and still coughing. She wanted to be able to bolt should she get into a coughing fit.

The “Midsummer’s Day Dream”, as the performance was titled, consisted of the following numbers: Sousa’s The Liberty Bell March, Prelude to Te Deum by Charpentier, The Radio 4 UK Theme (which was a combination of a number of UK folk songs and anthems), the Suite from the Gondoliers. All of this was commented upon in the interstices by the conductor in a wonderfully satiric mode, with mock-sincerity.

Then with a blast or possibly a blare from one of the trumpets, answered by a klaxon from a Bentley, said Bentley was driven INTO the building and seated on the back, in full regalia, was a modern major general, in fact it was Major General Euan Loudon, the man who is head of the Edinburgh Tattoo. He alit from the Bentley, made his way to the foreground, and proceeded singing (quite admirably and with newly-minted lyrics that suited his background) G&S’s “I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General.” We all helped the chorus sing the. ..er. . .chorus. No sooner was he roundly cheered, then the trumpeter went outside again and gave another blare and a SECOND Bentley came tearing along the path and entered the building, parking right behind the first. (Scraping the side of the door as it came, which made the entire building tremble!) A rather rotound gentleman, in a black robe and with a white wig sat up on the back and he was Lord Menzies, and alit to sing—yes, G&S’s “Judge’s Song.” And he was a good judge—and singer, too.

Well, we were barely recovered from that, when a gentleman stood up to read two poems by the Scottish epic poet William McGonagall who is to poetry what the RTO is to music. We heard, of course, “The Tay Bridge Disaster,” and another one as well.

There were three more pieces to go, as well as a singing of Happy Birthday to Marianna and another woman. Then Marianna was made to do a Can-can and the best that can be said was that she rose to the heights that the orchestra and MacGonagall had lead us. Much applause. She was given a swig of wine at the end, which was much appreciated.

At the raffle (alas, I won nothing, but then I never do), one man won the right to lead the orchestra in the next piece which was Roger Miller’s “King of the Road” and I report with great sincerity, that he was a perfect match for the RTO, leading with enthusiasm that completely overshadowed his lack of ability. Then the regular conductor took over again to lead the RTO in the march “The Dambusters,” before finishing with a massive audience-participation in “Jerusalem" which we sang with heart.

I drove us home, and we had a quiet dinner that Pete had cooked. We sang a happy birthday to Marianna who opened her presents. But as we were all exhausted, I left for home by 8.

 

June 28, 2008:

Woke up having dreamed about the format of the companion book to WEE POEMS, which is WEE TALES. As soon as I was compos mentis, I set about writing down and researching which folk stories I could possibly retell for the book. When I got things where I thought they were clear enough, I emailed them off to the editor and my agent (among others.) Of course I know the editor is at ALA until Wednesday—and was informed of that by her return email—but I needed to send it on.

About dreaming books: It doesn’t happen to me often, though I do solve problems—especially problems within novels—as I sleep. Let me see--I dreamed the opening of WIZARD’S HALL almost word for word. And the first three chapters of WILD HUNT. I literally turned the pages of my book (never published. . .yet) FEVER DREAM as I slept up in the Highlands on a trip with David, scribbling it down frantically in bits and pieces of a bedside pad so as not to forget it, though I did a mammoth number of revisions afterwards. And I dreamed the basic title and plot of UNCLE LEMON’S SPRING. So I do listen to my dreams, when I can remember them. But I do not count on dreams to do the writing for me. Writing, even when you enjoy it (as I do) is still a hard gift. And when I have had even a moderately good day of writing (not the nine hour marathons) I can feel my brains shrinking in the brain case and I can barely think straight when I am done for the day. I probably babble. My nearest and dearest don’t need me to tell them when I have had a successful and long writing day. It is etched in my face, a combination of utter bliss, release, and exhaustion.

Other than setting down the WEE TALES ideas, I did no writing today. Instead, I went to a library sale in St Andrews where I scored some research books and a French cookbook, and then across the street to a small traveling antique market where I bought 4 books, including the early letters of the Brontes.) Bumped into and then chatted with friend Ann Morrison and two of her friends who were sitting at an outdoor café. Then I made a reservation for a concert for the evening, and bought myself some blue blown-glass earrings. I also bought tickets to 4 events in the East Neuk week next week, at interesting sites. Alas, most of the concerts I wanted were already oversubscribed. But I did manage an Eroica Quartet concert, a lecture by author Christopher Rush, a spooky ghost storytelling, and a Scottish chamber orchestra performance all for 37 pounds or about $75. So I have a full week ahead, Sunday to Sunday, booked with events. It will be either terribly exhausting or very exciting. And all in Northeast Fife! (Well, not exactly all as tomorrow’s picnic concert with Marianna and Pete is near Perth. But more of all this anon.)

The evening concert at the Byre Theater was an American Celtic group called Tullamore, from KC. A three piece band—guitar, fiddle, hammered dulcimer—they were a well-oiled machine, but much less raucous than the Celtic and Brit folk bands bands I am fondest of—Battlefield Band, Tim Malloys, Boiled in Lead (when Adam was with them), Wolfstone, Steeleye Span, etc. In the middle of their second set, a fire in the Byre kitchen set off the alarms and so we were all pushed out into the street waiting for the fire trucks to come and signal the all-clear. It took them a half hour to get there (evidently the St A fire station is unmanned, and the police were busy all over because of graduation weekend, so the truck from Tayport was summoned. By then, of course, there was no fire left. Luckily there was still a building left! And we traipsed back in and heard the rest of the concert. The band was remarkably level-headed and pleasant about the whole thing. But then it was the final night of their 16-day Ireland/Scotland tour, so perhaps they were just relieved.

 

June 27, 2008:

Walked into town (20 minutes) hauling a heavy package to mail to granddaughter Alison for her birthday, then all around own for shopping stuff (30 minutes) finally hauled two bags of things back home (20 minutes. Halfway through, I realized that I’d forgotten to take my regular dose of tylanol and ibuprofin before starting out. Ow ow ow! But great cardio-vascular stuff and probably good for the legs, too.

Worked on about 700 words of an interstitial chapter of EXCEPT THE QUEEN that will need several revises before sending it on to Midori. And thought a great deal about what should come next.

A picture book (novelty book) was turned down but the editor is still holding on to three others. One of them she is still thinking about, one she thinks needs some more work but hopes to do in 2010, one is a retread of a book they already published in 2002. They had me rewrite it a bit and have gotten a new illustrator. And this is bizarre because originally I wrote the book because they sent me an illustrator’s samples of an adorable bunny and asked if I could write a book for her, which I did. It was BEDTIME FOR BUNNY. The book did only modestly well, but everyone still liked the concept, so along comes this retread. New title will be: GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE BUNNY. I should see samples from the new illustrator later next week if they remember to send it to Scotland and not Massachusetts.

There was a mouse staggering around in my under-the-sink cupboard. Yes, staggering. I have this electronic plug-in device that emits a high sound that keeps rodents away. Maybe this one was half deaf and only became disorientated. Anyway, I called Bob Harris who came over right away. With rubber gloves and a plastic bag, he captured the mouse. (That’s how disorientated the little thing was: it allowed him to pick it up) He was going to release it onto the Braes on his way home. I know, I know—how wimpy of me. But I just got the heebie-jeebies thinking of dealing with it.

Besides, my friend Christine was over, and we had a bit of a sit down over tea to talk and then I drove her home and we sat drinking more tea in her sitooterie. And then I took Christine and her husband John out to dinner, fish and chips. Then back to the sitooterie where I got to pick through the five big boxes of books culled from her shelves that she was giving away.

 

June 25-26, 2208:

Worked on a Barn Swallow poem which may be massively too sophisticated in its word play for our little FARM BOOK poetry collection.

Worked on a chapter (1999 words) for EXCEPT THE QUEEN.

Did some research into the story Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden for my new GIRL’S BIBLE book.

Finished reading the Barbara Vine THE BLOOD DOCTOR and figured out the ending before the main character did, not usual for me with Rendell or Vine since normally reading her is about character and not whodunit so I don’t concentrate on the mystery.

My website meister, Theo Black, has been getting his minions to move along on changes in the WORKS section of m website. Let us know what you think.

Went to lunch with Deb and Elizabeth K. and another friend at The Glass House. The salad Elizabeth and I ordered (avocado and goat cheese) had chili oil on it. Neither she nor I had noticed that in the menu. We were almost howling with pain after a couple of bites, and gave our salads to Deb who ate them both without incident. But Elizabeth and I had numb lips and the insides of our mouths hurt. Ow ow ow. Clearly I need to read the menu more carefully in the future!

Bought a bunch of presents for granddaughter Alison who will soon be 10. Will package them up and send them in the morning.

Now for two mysteries, one funny, one spooky.

Funny one first: Someone left a plant that needs major re-potting on my doorstep, no note or anything. I assumed that this is (again) someone getting the 96 Hepburn Gardens houses wrong. There are 6 of us with the same number: Easter Wayside, Wayside (all one house really, or as they say here two semi-detached houses), Wester Wayside and Wayside West (ditto) and two modern houses behind us, 96A and 96B. So under the assumption that the plant really belongs to someone else, I have been making discreet inquiries. Nothing. So either I have a secret admirer—or a secret stalker. Whichever, the mystery remains.

Spooky one next: Two times already, while I am sitting quietly writing in the tv room, laptop on my—well—lap top, the DVD clicker has suddenly slid/jumped/leaped off the top of the tv cabinet. Said cabinet is flat on the top, and the clicker acts as if an invisible hand has flung it off. Now I am NOT a believer in ghosts. And why David (who didn’t die here after all) should want to fling a DVD clicker at my feet makes no sense. But just in case, I spoke to David telling him, basically, not to play silly buggers. Still, wouldn’t it be lovely to have him haunt me. But he, the pure scientific mind, would be really ticked off if there are ghosts and he one of them.

Finally, Heidi is reworking the BAD GIRLS comic section and hopes to send it to me soon, and I have just been invited to a new Tekno anthology so am asking Bob to join me in writing a story.

 

June 24, 2008:

Difficult night—I was trying to get hold of the editor working on DRAGON’S HEART because she was having a lot of trouble opening up my attachment on her PC. (Get Macs, folks!) But she was not gettable.

Also I thought I’d lost my bank card, but finally after hours of looking, I found it right in my wallet, only it had slipped down and so was unseeable.

Not gettable and unseeable. Perfect combination for sleeplessness. Finally corked off at midnight.

In the morning, gray and promising rain, though it never quite achieved it, I thought to do some work on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. Managed a 304 word new section and another 87 words addition to an older section, almost 400 words. Not great, but at least something original (i.e. NOT a revision.)

And Rebecca Dotlich and I are sending farm poems back and forth. We will see if it turns into a book. She has done pig, calf, and rooster poems so far. I have managed a barn cat poem, thinking about our old barn cat, Noodge, who used to line up mouse rears, with the pathetic little tails all in a row to remind everyone that he was doing his job well. Also worked on a Hen and chick poem (to go with the rooster poem of Rebcca’s) and an old horse poem.

By my day’s end, no one had yet been able to open the DRGON"S HEART revision.* Going to bed depressed. I HATE computers. Notice, it’s been a while since I said that. Of course it’s not MY computer I am hating today but other people’s machines.

*Just as I was about to send this, I got a note from my agent's assistant--THEY GOT THE ATTACHMENT OPEN! Go Us!

 

Interstitial Moment:

Okay, I finished the three peony poems, and with thanks to Rebecca Kai Dotlich who gave me a good comment on making the first one better. See, Rebecca—I always listen to you! Have decided to put all three in the Journal.

Peonies

I turn the knobs of peonies
and the door to summer opens.
The garden had been all spring before,
green, lush, inviting to rabbits
who lounge on the mossy lawn
as if in their own parlor.
But now, at my invitation,
summer marches in
through the open door
decked in full regalia,
bright red epaulets on its shoulders,
clutching a dozen pink roses,
not minding the thorns.

 

Peonies 2

If peonies were an instrument,
I would say: trumpet.
See them blare the news
that summer has finally come,
stepping briskly, despite the winds,
into my garden.
Tan-tan-ta-ra, the trumpet spits
and a dozen new flowers
spring forward into life,
taking the place of dying poppies
and capturing the garden’s unbroken walls.

Peonies 3: A Haiku

Peonies in bloom
Need no silly metaphor,
Already a poem.

 

June 23, 2008:

Aha! Working on three peony poems. I like these lines:

knobs of peonies have been turned
and the door to summer opens.

Though upon more reflection, I wonder if they should be in a less passive voice. Perhaps;

I turn the knobs of peonies
and the door to summer opens.

That of course will mean changing the entire poem. Sigh.

That’s the thing about poetry, you can be satisfied with two lines and not the whole poem. Or change a few words and the entire thing is destroyed. Whilst in a novel, you can like a chapter and not the entire book, though it takes much more to ruin it. But once it’s ruined, it takes a great deal more physical effort to salvage. However, surprising as this might be for non-writers, the emotional, psychical, and writerly effort is about the same.

And speaking of novels, I put the entire first section (so far) of EXCEPT THE QUEEN into one file, tarted it up a bit, took an emery board to some lines, moved a section around, and sent it off to my co-author Midori Snyder. We have done over 8,000 words in the new section (so far.) I think the next part of the opening section should double that number of words. Since we signed the contract for the book, Midori has moved from Wisconsin to Arizona, sold her house, packed up her belongings, changed weathers, friends, associations. So we are slower on this book than either of us wants. But we are now getting back up to speed. And speed it better be. We owe 100,000 words too soon for comfort!

We have a kind of outline of the next chapters. I never do this when I write on my own, being a “flying into the mist” kind of novelist. However, I often find that it’s valuable when working with a co-author. At least we can be on the same—er—page.

And all this before 9:30 in the morning. Well, I do get up at 5:30 a.m. after all. Would you have me simply sit in front of the telly?

Other stuff: I had lunch at The Doll House with Northampton friends who had stayed at Wayside to visit their daughter at the University. And had dinner with the Harrises.

Also: reading a Barbara Vine mystery I somehow missed, called THE BLOOD DOCTOR. (You do know that Barbara Vine is actually Ruth Rendell, yes?) And catching up on my copies of “Realms of Fantasy.” And reading some of the bizarre chapters in the wonderfully eccentric nonfiction book, AN AUDIENCE WITH AN ELEPHANT.

And Rachel at DarkHorse wins the Great Editor award. She has already been reading and likes my revision of LAST DRAGON, saying: “It looks marvelous so far. I also noticed you've added some cross-referencing with minor characters' appearances, which is a great idea. . .” SCORE!

 

June 22, 2008:

It bucketed down all morning but by 1 pm starting clearing away. By 1:30, the sun was out, the sky that wonderful blue, with only fluffy white clouds around.

I was determined to finish the Pit Dragon revision which I started on again at 8 a.m. and did so, sending it off by email at 4 p.m.. So 8 hours of work today. And you know what? I like the book. It is big and sprawling and had some problems as all final books do, getting all those threads tied up. But it has a rousing finish (and a still very pertinent political subtext with a chapter that has a debate better than those we watch on TV from our reputed leaders). Going over it with a fine-toothed comb was fun. Of course, I will need to read galleys soon. Sigh.

I walked the fifteen minutes to friends Ron and Ann’s house. The barbeque went along fine, sun out, we were sitting outside, and suddenly the heavens opened up. Ron and Grahame finished cooking under an umbrella while the rest of us sat inside. Great food, good company, and by the time I walked the fifteen minutes back home, though it was damp out, it was no longer raining.

 

June 21, 2008:

The longest day of the year and Scotland is one of the places where you can really notice this. At 10 p.m. when I was off to bed, it was still very light out. I phoned Heidi because—except for a three-minute conversation with my friend Christine—I had not spoken to a live human being all the long day.

Afterwards, I lay in bed thinking about the difference between being alone and being lonely.

I like being alone to do my work. In fact, I spent 9 good alone hours today working on the (I HOPE) final final revision of DRAGON’S HEART. Fifth editor on the book. Has only read it and book 1 (quickly). Of course she has some questions. Anyone would. I think I have another day or day-and-a-half to go on this go-round. And no need to go outside as It was on-again, off-again rain. More promised for Sunday when I am off to the Morrisons for a cookout. Och, aye—a real Scottish barbeque with the rain pattering down.

But when I am done with my work, I don’t want to be alone. I like to talk to someone about the day, about my discoveries, uncoveries. About lingering problems. And about Life, the Universe, and Everything. That someone was David for 46 years. Now Heidi for about 6 years. (Some crossover, both before she moved back home with us, and after.) Yes, I was feeling lonely last night.

And I have been feeling boxed in by all these revisions. That’s three major revisions in a row. I have not even written any poetry, though the blown poppies in the garden, the resident rabbit who lounges as if blissfully uncaring that I see him, the strutting magpies, the knobs of peony buds all ask to have something said about them. So there, I have done that. But it’s not like writing a poem.

So here’s a promise. When I am finished with this revision, I will write three garden poems and post at least one of them here. They may not be any good, or pretty, or full of any insight. They may (gasp!) be what David used to term "winky little daisy-flower poems." But hold me to my promise. With my Swiss cheese mind, I might not remember.

 

June 20, 2008:

Debby being away for two days, I drove Bob to work early this morning (well, not as early as I am up, but at 8:30 a.m.) and got to his gorgeous period office building in the area called Mount Melville.

Then I went home to do stuff like bills, clean up, etc. I combined posting the first batch of bills with my walk, then worked a bit on EXCEPT THE QUEEN, the novel that Midori Snyder and I are doing. She had emailed the next batch of stuff and I went over it. We are still trying to re-arrange the opening sections before we get to the bulk of stuff already written in the novella which was published two years ago. So, not so much writing as thinking and moving the deck chairs around on the Titanic feeling. I am about ready for us to burst this thing wide open. But not today. Not this weekend.

In other words, a lightweight day, letting my little fried brains rest.

And of course, waiting on editors. Since most of them are off at ALA, and won’t be back before midweek, I expect nothing. In fact, expecting nothing means one can never be disappointed. It’s crushed expectations that make publishing so difficult.

 

June 19, 2008:

Finished the LAST DRAGON revision (six more hours going over everything a final time) and sent it off. God bless email. The editor at DarkHorse which is based in Oregon got it minutes later and, with the help of their IT guys, opened it right away. See—computers (when they work) are really useful for some stuff.

Feeling good about my ability to fix the router and get back on e-mail, I went out to tea with friend Pam. Though it was sweater weather, the sun was out, the sky a deep blue. We sat in the Rufflet’s formal garden and had tea and scones and birdssong. (Well, to be honest, she had coffee and scones which seems a bit of sacrilege to me! But then she is Scottish and allowed.) Then I walked back home, not quite a Wolfstone Walk as it was only 15 minutes, but at least something.

I just heard Tasha Tudor just died. An amazing woman who wrote, illustrated, and lived life to her own eccentric and exacting standards. She was 92. I met her only twice, and one of those times we sat side-by-side signing and telling each other stories in-between. I had just published GREYLING and told her the plot, which moved her tremendously because someone she knew (her brother perhaps, I can't remember?) had drowned. I gave her a copy of the book, and signed it. She drew a prototypical Tasha Tudor child in bonnet and costume on the back of an envelop, and signed that. It is framed and under glass and hanging in my entryway, a treasured possession.

Completing my triumvirate of comic book hero movies, I watched BATMAN BEGINS which had more passion and compassion than the other Bat Man movies put together.

 

June 18, 2008:

I worked in the morning on THE LAST DRAGON about three hours. It was too cold for my walk, and I needed to leave the house at noon to drive to Marianna’s house. We went out with her friend Helen to The Pillars of Hercules, usually a very nice vegetarian restaurant. We sat outside on the porch, under the hard plastic roof until scratching made us look up, thinking it was one of the famous Falkland red squirrels. Nope. It was. . . a RAT! Marianna got a bit hysterical and raced inside. (Now if it had been a snake, you would have seen me run, and Helen acknowledged spiders were not her beastie of choice.) So we alerted the folks who ran the place and moved indoors for our lunch.

Helen and her late husband were both journalists, so we talked writing and widowhood. Then the three of us were joined by a young Californian with a Scottish accent, who had been at school at ST A for the past six years getting her doctorate. She’d been an elementary school teacher before that. As her great grandfather had been a crony of John Muir (THE John Muir) and she was all into ecological stuff, I asked what grades she’d taught. On hearing 2nd and 4th grades, I gave her a small test. Naughty me. I asked if she’d ever heard of a book called OWL MOON. “Oh, I love that book,” she said. She gets an A! “I wrote it.” I told her. Gobsmacked is too nice a word for her response. Oh yes. I have no shame.

We finished the afternoon at Marianna’s studio having tea and talking about art.

After picking up a bunch of roses, herbs, and border plants at the Cuper Garden Center, (my gardener comes tomorrow) I came home to do more work on LAST DRAGON. I think I will finish the revision tomorrow.

BUT now my Internet connection is down and if I cannot solve this, I may have to weep buckets, spit nails, cry Havoc—and let loose the Dogs of War.

Arrrrrrgh.

PS: In the morning of June 19, after phone calls to BT and much hair-pulling when they said it was a router problem and not their BroadBand, I found the router on my own, unpplugged and replugged things, and LO! It's working again. (For now.)

 

June 17, 2008:

I was on my way to another 9 hour revision day, when my friend Marianna called by. I was grateful to her because sometimes it’s not a good idea to pound away when your brain is this fried. You simply make bad decisions. I sure wouldn’t want a doctor operating on me when she’d been working straight for this amount of time without a rest.

There is something to say for total immersion, though. With a picture book or a poem, I can see the thing whole. Longer pieces, well--I keep losing stuff here and there: color of eyes, the exact speech patterns of a character, how many times I have used the word “tosspot” (not a word one lets pass unseen) etc.

It’s not been nice enough to do my Wolfstone Walk the last two days. But since my goal is at least 3 times a week, and I walked on Sunday, I still have time to get two more walks in this week.

Other book news: A tour for SEA QUEENS along the Boston, Ct. and NY seaboard is being worked on for early fall. So anyone who can put me up in the Boston area, Rockport, Mystic, and NYC, it would be great to hear from you. I do have some cousins I will be calling as well.

More book news:
One editor says she will let us know a decision by next week, another is bringing two books to committee some time soon, a picture book has been turned down, we are waiting on an editor for several novelty book ideas, and are waiting on a contract offer for a bunch of new HOW DO DINOSAUR books. The amount of sheer waiting is exhausting to the spirit. But by having a LOT of stuff out there, I spread out the good/bad ratio a bit more than many.

A wave to several friends with health problems—Bob, Annie, Stella. I am keeping you all in my heart.

 

June 16, 2008:

A nine-hour work day. All on THE LAST DRAGON. I am about halfway through and my brain is fried. I stopped in time for dinner at the Harrises. Except for food, phone, and doorbell interruptions (the latter all mistakes!) I simply slogged through. I figure I will be done by the first go-round on Wednesday, and then have a day to go over everything. Then I hope to email it off Friday. Of course, bad things can happen along the way. So who knows what I will actually do.

Bob and I came up with a new book (or series) idea. Not sure if I have time or energy to work on this. But what fun it is to talk book ideas to the Harris clan. We had a ball.

 

June 15, 2008:

There is an absolutely hilarious interview with Gore Vidal in the NY Times that made me laugh out loud at least three times. I’d forgotten just how outrageous he can be. (And maybe I thought he was dead!) David and I read him back in the 70s and 80s. In the interview he says the sort of things that authors always wish they dared say.

Spent the day finishing the BAD GIRLS revision and sent it off to Heidi who will get to it come Monday. Then I turned to the revisions for the graphic novel LAST DRAGON.

There are some fiddly things (like actually learning the way GNs are supposed to look on the page, nothing that the editor at First/Second cared about, nor did the wonderful illustrator Mike Cavallaro.) But I am a good girl, so am redoing it the way Dark Horse wants. Otherwise, the editor’s notes are smart and pointed, so I am pleased.

In the evening I went to see an 8-person performance of “Romeo and Juliet” in the courtyard of a ruined castle with my friend Pam. We sat on a rug (she brought), with sofa cushions (that I brought), and ate a picnic (that I brought.) It was a fairly young cast, quite good, and I had forgotten that Paris gets killed at the end. As I said to Pam, it makes Romeo’s death inevitable. We had a smattering of raindrops, and then as the two young lovers were killing themselves, a real bit of rain--which seemed spot on for the mood. This being Scotland, no one left. We just put up umbrellas, or put on hats, drew windbreaks and rain gear over us, and watched till the end when the rain stopped and we applauded the slightly damp actors.

Oh—and I finally got some actual reviews for my HIPPO board books:

http://www.umanitoba.ca/outreach/cm/vol14/no21/alligatortales.html
“Forget counting sheep - adding up these hilarious hippos is much more fun!”—BookLoons

“The series would make good birthday presents for very little people. . .” –Chicken Spaghetti

“I love simple, fun board books as much as my children do. I love the sturdiness of board books for toddlers too! This is why I find the Hippo board books by Jane Yolen so Great. Each book: One Hippo Hops, Sad, Mad and Glad hippos and Hip Hippos are written with playful rhymes. They teach about the world of numbers, colors and feelings. The illustrations are beautiful and the simplicity of the story. Each edition has been designed to appeal to the imagination of infants and toddlers.geared for children ages 0-4 years old these make great gifts.” --BabyGear

 

Interstitial Moment:

I have been thinking a lot about the difference between really deep-rooted discovery-revision and fiddling.

God, I hate fiddling.

Just as much as I love those moments of revising when things come together in ways they had not before: when a character finally becomes alive, when a landscape (inner and outer) greens over, when a word is found that had been forgotten or misplaced, when a metaphor is so perfect it throws a shadow.

But too much of the time it is just fiddling.

I have never learned in all these years of writing how to make the fiddling become real revision. It either happens on its own, or it doesn’t. No amount of eye-squinting, pounding of keyboard, saying words I hope the grandkids don’t know I know, kicking table legs, gets me there. It either metamorphoses or it doesn’t.

You can try sending me your recipes for great revisions. I will print them. But don’t expect me to believe them. Maybe they will work for me as they do for you. Expectations low. Appendages crossed.

 

June 14, 2008:

Moving along, another four hours for BAD GIRLS, and a lovely outing to Kellie Castle for a lecture on Hew Lorimer’s sculpture. Afterwards, there was a lovely catered lunch. If the weather had been better, it would have been out in the gardens, but as the day was cold and showery, we were in a smallish room off the garden.

Luckily, a friend—Ann Morris of the Shell House—was there as well so I had someone to sit with at lunch and talk to. And further bizarre luck, I was sitting next to a woman who wrote children’s textbooks.

In the evening, Nora and I went off to see THE HULK which we quite liked. It was a very fast two hours! I called the hero “a Green Jason Bourne” but there was also quite a bit of Jeckyl/Hyde and even King Kong in the movie. Plus a couple of fun cameos, one by the original movie Hulk—Lou Ferrigno as a guard, and Robert Downy Jr. giving us a peek ahead at IRON MAN. I thought the weak spot was the bad guy, played by Tim Roth. I loved Roth as the baddie Archilbald Cunningham in ROB ROY where he used his grace and smallness to advantage. But in THE HULK, standing next to William Hurt, he looks too slight to be such a fantastic soldier. So I lost my belief in him as a character early on.

That makes two movies from comic books this week. Hmmm, what does that say about my taste level! Since David died, I find it impossible to watch serious drama where serious people in serious relationships die. But I can watch mayhem comic book style and enjoy it. Don't know if I want to analyze this further!

 

June 12-13, 2008:

Yes, I am working hard again. Another five hours on the comics in BAD GIRLS on both days. This kind of revision is a bit mindless. Some refocusing, some restructuring. It doesn't fully engage me. I look forward to finishing and moving on to something more refreshing. Normally I adore revision, because one sometimes finds the heart of a piece that was missing in that first flush of red hot composition. Not this time. I feel as if I am exercising, not out for a discovery walk.

On Thursday I went for High Tea at Rufflets with friend Janie Douglas. We laughed for about two solid hours, and this included conversations about cancer, grandchildren, education policy differences in three countries USA, Scotland, and Uganda), and politics (in two countries.)

On Friday, Deb and I went antiquing and lunch out. I bought presents for Alison (birthday coming up) and Maddison (Christmas/Chanukah far away.)

At home Friday evening, I watched HELLBOY (borrowed from the Harrises) from start to finish and marveled at how true to the original comic it was. I think Ron Perlman is brilliant even inside all that body armor. But the guy playing Abe Sapiens moved magnificently. I assume he is a dancer.

The painter is done, and I moved back into the master bedroom.

For all my friends in the sweltering heat of New England—it is cool here. And a farrago of greens. And an extra bonus--with my walking, I have already started to lose weight and feel a bit better.

 

June 11, 2008:

The painter came. Master bed is moved. I will have to sleep in the guest room 2-4 nights. Sigh. But at least it will all be redone before any friends or relatives come to stay.

Could find neither a jewelry box nor an IPod charger in St Andrews, though—surprise—I found both in the smaller East Neuk town of Anstruther when I went to visit with friends Christine and John for tea.

The day was cool and rainy, so I didn’t get my walk in. But with two editors (count ‘em) requesting heavy-duty revisions ASAP, I spent the morning hunkered in front of the computer for five hours working on a new draft of the comics section of BAD GIRLS. Am hoping to get it done by the weekend and off to Heidi, so I can turn my attention to the LAST DRAGON gn revision.

Turned down the poetry reprint, but enthusiastically endorsed the new DINOSAUR use.

And then I drove into town for a few more errands (I think I am done now) and then off to Anstruther, the lovely old fishing village that overlooks the Firth of Forth. The clouds were gathering again after morning showers. The East Neuk looked to be under the worst of it. It was low tide, and what water I could see was a kind of tarnished silver color. The Bass Rock brooded on the horizon, only partly seen, as if through a scrim or veil. Walking through Christine’s wonderful garden, such a representation of her personality, both open and hidden, full of color and full of cool, quiet green spaces. And then it began to rain. We got into the Sitooterie just in time. Tea, cakes, conversation.

It poured all the way home where--in-between dinner and dessert—I worked another two hours worth. And stayed up too late.

Not out of the woods yet viz jetlaggedness.

 

June 10, 2008:

Well, the master bedroom needs half the ceiling repaired, which the painter started on today but has to come back tomorrow to finish. Damn.

The cleaning crew came and routed me out. I did a Wolfstone Walk while they worked. (Say that ten times fast!)

And I got a fan letter through my agent from a child who loved BOOTS & THE SEVEN LEAGUERS and wanted to read WIZARD’S HALL next but hoped I hadn’t stolen anything from HARRY POTTER. So I set her straight. WH having been published eight years before HP, so there! I said it much more politely.

There are minor gales here, and I had to put the heat on this morning. I heard from Heidi that it was 99 degrees in Western Mass and they were sleeping in air conditioning, it’s so hot there. Dodged THAT bullet.

Friends came for lunch and told a horrific story of being robbed on their Portugal trip. And the robbery was then made worse by the way they were treated when trying to get Pete a new passport to replace the one stolen. Makes one want to stay home! And to wonder how terrorists have such an easy time getting passports while true blue citizens cannot. But they did get to see Great Bustards and Megoliths. Plus Marianna's trip diary/sketch book was great fun.

A permission for reprinting one of my children’s poems and a new use of one of the Dinosaur books came through email. The only thing even slightly book related.

And a couple of oh-oh moments, where the lights went out upstairs. (I found the ladder, fixed the thrown fuses. But one lightbulb is now bad and will have to be fixed tomorrow. The other oh-oh moment when the BT wireless connection went down. In trying to reboot the computer, I couldn’t find the On switch for about ten scary minutes. It is artfully disguised as a logo on the frame. Whew!

Day ended with a meeting of the Hepburn Gardens Association, a home owners group I belong to. And more Ruth Rendell.

 

June 9, 2008:

So I started the week as I hope to continue. After breakfast, I took the first of my “Wolfstone Walks,” using my new iPod filled up with fast-paced Wolfstone tunes and went out the door. First walk, a brisk 25 minutes which I hope to improve on in the coming weeks. Now I do NOT plan to walk in gales and storms. But if I can get in 3-5 walks per week, that would be great.

There are always a bunch of errands to be done when I arrive. Food to be bought, banking (my royalties had NOT been sent by the British agent which is annoying), making sure things are working well. (There’s a light out in the boxing cupboard that needs attending and a bit of the ceiling in the master bedroom that needs redoing.) I also bought four new blouses and am looking (unsuccessfully so far) for a small jewelry box to leave here. And couldn’t resist the second hand book stall in the middle of Market Street, where I dropped twelve pounds on a Ruth Rendell mystery, a Barbara Vine mystery (you do know that’s the same woman, yes?), an Ian Rankin mystery and an old book of St.a Andrew ghost stories.

Otherwise, had friends Christine and John for tea, started reading the Rendell and occasionally dozed. It will take me a couple of days to get over jetlag.

It is cool here and blustery, the poppies already blown in the garden, and I hear from my New England family and friends they are sweltering in almost 100 degree weather. Glad to be in Scotland for many reasons, but that’s a big one.

 

June 7-8, 2008:

Don't you agree that traveling halves the fun?

Continental was in the throes of problems--late planes because of traffic tie-ups into Newark (my first stop) and heat which screwed up the small plane's instrumentation. Instead of a 2 1/2 hour layover, I got to Newark Airport with barely an hour to spare (meaning a half hour before boarding.)

The plane to Edinburgh had electrical connection problems which stopped the movie partway. At least I was able to get it going again. Watched "The Other Boleyn Girl" which did a good job underlining how self-destructive and narcisisstic Anne was but not what made her sister Mary so attractive as she was played as a catatonic sleep-walker by Scarlett Johannson. And Henry VIII never comes off well in any movie or book about the period.(Though Eric Bana--hubba-moody-hubba!)

I also read lots of magazines, did crosswords, watched half of "Spiderwick" (again).

What I didn't do was sleep.

However I did have a horrific and interesting breakthrough emotionally. At home, I have been watching (or NOT watching) reruns of "Angel" and "Charmed" while writing or reading, or even while spacing out. And suddenly--DUH!--I realized that was because the tv room is where David spent his last three months of life, for we turned it into a hospital room for him so he didn't have to (couldn't actually) go upstairs. And he died there while I held his hand. It's been as if I have been camping in there ever since, trying not to lose touch with him. Will this knowledge change my behavior? Will it set me on the next part of my journey forward? Or is it just an interesting insight which means very little in the long run? We will find out in September when I return.

Friend Debby Harris picked me up at the airport, and we gabbed all the way to Wayside. I took a four-hour nap, then spent the afternoon unpacking, getting stuff in the right places, and discovering that--voila!--I could get on email easily with the new Air Mac computer.

Dinner with Deb, Bob, and managed to stay awake till 9.

Tomorrow my time in Scotland will really begin.

 

June 5-7, 2008:

Wine and cheese with Smith alumnae friends one night, dinner with Glendon the next, another revision (this time on SHORTSTOP). Also packing and re-packing. I have misplaced the seven crossword puzzles I was planning to take along for the plane. Have gotten everything down to two carry-ons. And am ready to go.

So will spend the rest of Saturday morning filing, getting mail, paying bills. . . and dreaming of Scotland, though not of the plane trip.

 

June 2-June 4, 2008:

The last week before going to Scotland is always a week of tidying up. What will I take with me? What can I safely leave behind? I need to bring no clothes to speak of since I already have a closet-full there, but lots of books, work related stuff, new computer, presents, etc.

And saying goodbye to friends and relatives.

And getting stuff off my desk and on to Heidi’s.

So: Saw the doctor about blood pressure (it’s down, hurrah!) though my weight is still up. Went to my last writers’ group till fall, and read “Elsie’s Bird” for which they gave me some good direction. So I went right home and worked on that revision and sent it off to the editor. Had diner with Heidi and Maddison at her friend Tom’s house. (They will all be coming to visit in July.) Had lunch with another friend, Naomi Miller, and then dinner with Bob Marstall. Filled three large boxes with materials to send to the Kerlan Collection at the University of Minneosta. Signed a bunch of books and book plates. Got together books and other stuff to send to a friend’s daughter who is on her third tour in Iraq. Did a sitting Thursday morning for Lauren Mills for a bust.

Bought some good walking shoes.

And I thought a lot about what Scotland does for me. I mean, beside the gorgeous scenery, the cool weather, the wonderful friends. Besides High Tea in the Rufflets’ garden, and long strolls along the seacoast. Besides driving through the Great Glen and finding stones to sit upon to watch shepherds herding sheep. Besides discovering old castles and new eateries. Besides reading snugged up on the sofa. Besides rain pattering down on the slate roof. Besides all that. It is a sanctuary, a place of rest and recovery. A place to sit in the garden, to walk about the Auld Toon. To dream books the way I used to when I was younger. To contemplate infinites. Or perhaps split infinities. I don’t know for sure. It is someplace special, that at least I do know. And I go on Saturday.

 

May 27-June 1, 2008:

The BEA special edition of Telling the True. BEA= Book Expo America. (It used to be called ABA, American Book Assn.) The biggest book convention (not counting ComiCon) in America.

Before I get to that, let me remind my Dear Readers that on the 27th I went to my writers' group, and on the 28th finished up the revisions of both HUSH, LITTLE HORSIE and ELSIE’S BIRD and sent them off. Oh yes, and wrestled with the United Airlines online check-in, mostly unsuccessfully.

Then early on Thursday the 29th, off I went to LA via Washington D. C., for Book Expo. I had a head cold and was drizzling and grizzling like mad.

Bought a copy of Newsweek at the airport, and on opening it found that I was expertly displayed in the front speaking about books that had made a difference in my life. This was not pure chance, as I knew the piece was there, though my own copy of the magazine hadn't yet arrived. However, to be featured the very week of BEA was fortuitous. (And you should have seen the numbers of old friends, relatives, and past lives who contacted me over the weekend by email and by phone because of the piece!)

I was crowded in on the small flight to Washington DC, but lucked out on the second longer flight to LA, sitting in an exit row of only two chairs, at the bulkhead, extra leg room—AND NO ONE IN THE OTHER SEAT. Heaven.

Got to the Hotel Westin Bonaventure, a nice room with a view, and dinner with children’s book writer Anastasia Suen and a group of folks she'd put together, including her daughter who is a comic book artist and graphic designer, Andrew Smith who has just sold his first two novels, and others. We were at a Mexican restaurant overlooking a marina sunset. On the way to my hotel, Anastasia got caught in Laker traffic and on the way back, we ran into the celebration as they won the Western conference, and we still got to the hotel in time for me to watch the finale of  “Lost”. Nice timing, that.

My first day at BEA consisted of  the Book Sense luncheon (HERE’S A LITTLE POEM had been one of their picks), then one of the big cattle-call signings for SEA QUEENS. Charlesbridge had been told that I was not an hour slot author but a half hour. However, when they saw my line, the Powers That Be suddenly found another table for me to continue signing for that extra half hour! Of course we ran out of books. I might remind long-time readers of this journal, that this has happened to me before. The day ended with a children’s book dinner and silent auction. I bid on many pieces, only one of which I actually won, an illustration by Diane deGroat for one of her books. Wee David will get it (framed) for Christmas/Chanukah.

The second day started early, as I had a ticket for the graphic novel/comix breakfast. Twenty-five dollars got you a sweet bun, coffee or tea and some orange juice. Glad my ticket was a freebie. The speakers were sensational. There was the author of BONE, predictably amusing and self-deprecating. HELLBOY’s Mike Mignola, (we got to shake hands; you do remember that I just wrote the Intro to the newest HellBoy graphic novel—right?), who was almost shy in that company.  And Art Spiegelman. That’s right. The author/illustrator of MAUS, arguably the most important GN ever. Stunning. He was funny, anarchic, witty, wise. By accident, I sat at the table with his gorgeous French wife and handsome son who is looking at colleges even as we speak. (There was a fourth man, and am spacing on his name. He was more Hollywood and super hero so I didn’t focus well.)

On to Speed Dating. Oh, not looking for a boyfriend. This consists of authors speed dating with bookstore owners. We had to give 20 three-minute spiels to 20 tables full of from 2-10 bookstore people. Some of them were engaged and some seemed glazed, the latyter as the morning wore on. And three minutes is not a lot of time. I was talking about SEA QUEENS and said this in a rush: “The first book I can remember taking from the Newport News library when I was four years old was called ‘The Pleasant Pirate’ and though it wasn’t a great book, I was hooked for life. On books and on pirates. In seventh grade, after readings lots more books on pirates, my project was a book of pirates that I wrote and illustrated, the centerfold being Anne Bonney and Mary Read. When I got out of college, having already published poetry and journalistic pieces, I wanted to be in books. I created a proposal for a book to be called PIRATES IN PETTICOATS. I said that besides Anne Bonney and Mary Read there were many more female pirates. I made that last part up. It was a guess. I really didn’t know any. But an editor at David McKay loved the idea and gave me a contract. And then—oh then I got lucky because living in the town of Rye, next to New Rochelle where my parents were then living, was a man named Robert Naismith who owned ‘Foul Anchor Archive,’ the largest collection of published and unpublished piratania in the world. He let me research at his house while his wife baked us chocolate chip cookies and made endless cups of tea. When the book came out in 1963, Kirkus reviewed it, saying “More swish than swash” and I was devastated. Thought I should change careers. Considered hair-dressing. But I persevered. Wrote a picture book about Anne Bonney and Mary Read called THE BALLAD OF THE PIRATE QUEENS. And 45 years later, when SEA QUEENS came out, using a lot of material from the first book but presenting it very differently, and with loads more information that had been produced since that earlier time, Kirkus gave me a star. I couldn’t tell if that meant I was better—or Kirkus was.”

That’s a lot to say in three minutes. And for the last half-dozen presentations, we all thought they’d shortened the time down to 2 ½ minutes. Exhausting!

Then I was part of a Candlewick presentation on their new book called THE WHITE HOUSE: Inside Out, Outside In. I had the opening poem in it, about John Adams and Abigail, an imagined conversation.

Finally I went out to dinner with the Charlesbridge crew, and for a while we got thoroughly lost, climbing the only major hill in the middle of LA. But we finally found the Italian restaurant where we had a reservation, had a lovely meal, and lots of laughs.

Oh yes—learned about one book of poems being turned down, a picture book decision being pushed back till the earlier book comes out. Saw the completed pasted-up copy of MAMA’S KISS, and talked to many editors as well. A hug for Bruce Coville, Katie Davis, Sara Jane Boyers, Kathleen Duey, Mary Brigid Barrett, Katherine Paterson, Kathleen Krull, M. (Tobin) Anderson, David Shannon, others.

I flew home early on Sunday, though with the time change, arrived after dinner. Some really bad weather between Washing DC and Hartford in a smallish plane gave me a sour stomach, but I got home all right.

 

May 23-26, 2008:

Off to Jason’s house to celebrate his birthday and—more importantly—the twins’ birthday. It is always worrisome going to SC for me in May. I do not do hot weather well. But it was cool at night and surprisingly for the time of year only in the low 80s. Manageable. (Just.)

The girls had 10 friends over for a fairy birthday party, of course—after all, they ARE five years old! Joanne put together a gorgeous table for them and sandwiches cut to resemble flowers. Pink and lavender stremers hung in the screened-in porch. There were pink and lavender balloons tied to every conceivable tree/slide/playhouse. I hid tiny fairy dolls in the garden (from me), and as each child found one, they received a fairy wand (also from me). The decorated their own individual fairy wings and played a game of pin-the-fairy-on-the-flower (also my gift, said game being designed by illustrator Melissa Sweet.) There was an astonishing birthday cake made and decorated by Lucinda, the designer at Jason and Joanne’s workplace. And a lot of dancing, squealing,  twirling, bouncing—as only five-year-old girls can do. Oh yes, Jason had gotten a bubble machine as well, so this was all done outside to the accompaniment of constant bubbles. It was delicious fun. And consider this —ten girls, plus the designer and J&J’s boss all there, with presents for the TWINS. It looked more like a wedding than a child’s birthday party with a table groaning with gifts. But it was all quite wonderful.

Jason and I also had time over the weekend to deal with some book work. And I took everyone out for a shrimp dinner. Also we had a long walk with the girls on their two wheelers (with training wheels) at the end of which I was so soaking wet, I had to change my clothes.

Still, it was a lovely trip. I won’t get to see them again until September or October at the earliest when they will have moved to Greenville.

I came home to a couple more (late) revision letters for ELSIE’S BIRD, DRAGON’S HEART, and a STARRED review in Kirkus for SEA QUEENS which makes us all deliriously happy. And check Newsweek online's Life in Books for I am there this week.

On the trip I read Ellen Wittinger’s YA novel SANDPIPER—lovely writing, fine poems, deep characterization, though way more junior/high school sex than I am comfortable with. (After all, granddaughter Maddison is in 7th grade!) I also finished A. J. Jacobs’ THE YEAR OF LIVING BIBLICALLY which was charming, funny, and occasionally moving. Went out to dinner and a movie with friend Bob Marstall. We saw the new “Indiana Jones” and found it less than satisfying but fun for the most part. I remarked that if it had been the first one, there wouldn’t have been three more. I suggest to my Gentle Readers that—if you must—rent it when it comes out in a year.

 

May 13-22, 2008:

Lots of stuff happened, not a lot was meaningful.

Tuesday: Writer’s meeting I read my parts of LAST LAUGHS: ANIMAL EPITAPHS, and got some helpful feedback. In the evening I went to (yawn) Town Meeting. The disputed land for which the OWL MOON garden had been proposed was voted back into the hands of the Selectmen, for what that’s worth. Still nobody in power will accept a FREE garden and a $1500 stipend per year to the school to bring storytellers and authors and illustrators to the school to perform partially in the garden. In a town where they are having troubles (like all communities these days) fighting to retain programs, you would think. . .

Wednesday: I spent most of the day with Geri Sullivan at her house in Wales and at the big Brimfield antique and collectables fair. The fair is spread over a dozen or so fields and back gardens. I bought a pair of earrings for me, and some wonderful bits of old paper (bills of sale, ancient programmes, etc.) as a birthday present for my friend Corinne.

Thursday-Monday, I was off very early to Winnipeg where I was to be fantasy GOH for KeyCon, the Manitoban science fiction convention. The people there were lovely (special shout-outs to Rhiannon and Kim and Kay Stone) but I was left rather too much on my own in my hotel room for hours on end. Luckily, authors Tanya Huff and Eric Flint and I went out for dinner one night together. I got home Monday after midnight. Not my usual self.

Tuesday: another writer’s group, and dinner with my friend Ann Wheelock. Disney—having reupped PAY THE PIPER options for several years, has now turned it back. Everyone who had been interested in it has either been fired or left. Typical. Well, as I told Adam, we cashed their checks and they didn’t bounce.

Wednesday, I traveled five hours round trip to spend 2 ½ hours with editor Judy O’Malley in Rockport. She is looking and sounding amazing when a year ago she was in a coma and at death’s door. We walked all over the town, climbed several flights of stairs to see her boyfriend Joe’s apartment and his photographs, drank pots of tea using the new tea and teapot I brought her. Oh yes, and of course we talked work. My heart was full, seeing this wonderful woman still vital and smart and wanting to live as full a life as she can. Yes, she walks with a cane, and one hand does not (may never) work again. Yes, her speech is the tiniest bit slurred. Yes, she has been through hell and back again. And don’t ask about the medical system and the battle that anyone who has health issues and handicaps has to endure, and the posturings of those supervisors and lawyers and social workers who are supposed to be helping but only throw up roadblocks. Trust me, it will make you want to pick up sharp weapons. But there she is, beautiful and imaginative, and perceptive about books as always. And caring about other people. Oh—and I fell for her boyfriend, too, who is funny and handsome and wonderfully individual.

I came home on Maddison duty (Heidi was in New York) and that is always a pleasure. Picked her up at school, got her to ballet, and as a treat for me, went to Zanna’s where I bought two tops to wear at BEA in a couple of weeks. So anyone who sees me there, I want compliments!

Did I work? Of course I worked. Being a writer doesn't stop for little things like travel and tea parties and kid-sitting. I revised HUSH, LITTLE HORSIE, did some work on LAST DRAGON revisions. Did some revisions of LAST LAUGHS. And of course, wrote this journal entry. I mean—not work? When have you known me to do that?

 

Interstitial Moment:

"C asks:  If you are a writer who loves to read (and what writer doesn't?), how do you avoid writing fiction that is derivative of your favorite books?  That is, how do you avoid imitation?"

I am not sure anyone can totally eliminate imitation. But there is a huge gap between imitating or emulating or writing something derivative of a piece you adore (or even a piece that has moments you like a lot) and plagiarizing. I think one has to be aware of source material, take careful and annotated notes, have a great editor, and then think and think and think again. And be ready at a moment’s notice to accept the fact when pointed out that in fact, yes, that was rather too similar. At which point you apologize, and change it.

It is also possible to be derivative of oneself, which I have found myself doing. In my fiction I  must have three or four minor walk-on characters with a wandering left eye, something a friend with the same physical problem asked me about. And rather too often I have written that someone has “a serpent’s smile, all teeth and no lips.” Also, I know I have quoted Emily Dickinson’s “Tell all the truth/but tell it slant. . .” vastly too many times. The stories had been written years apart and so I’d never noticed it.)

 

May 7-12, 2008:

Good news first:  Sold a new picture book with daughter Heidi: NOT ALL PRINCESSES DRESS IN PINK to Alexandra Cooper at S&S. Alex and I were chatting in her office several months ago, and as I was leaving, I asked her if she had any books she longed to see. She mentioned a few ideas, and one--with a sigh--was: "I am so tired of princesses in pink."  "Well," I responded, as I walked out the door, "Not all princesses dress in pink.” We grinned at one another. We both heard its possibilities. “I'll see what I can do," I added.

Heidi and I had taken Maddison on a school holiday birthday trip to the city. So at dinner that night, I told Heidi what Alex had said. And before you could say "Princesses in Pink" ten times fast,  we had a first verse. Two months and seventeen full revisions later, we sold the book to Alex. That was speedy for us. Take that, Mrs. Bush and Jenna!

I also have been working on the (I hope final) revision of my graphic novel THE LAST DRAGON and working on a plot outline for the artist as well. The editor asked really good questions and I have been trying to answer them. The outline (after-the-fact) made me rethink some of the pacing, too.

Pat Lewis and I have had the most fun working on a new book of poems. More on that when we hear more from an editor who is looking at it.

A very short short story Adam and I wrote has been turned down.

The new picture book is NOT a picture book but rather a not-very-sucessful poem, and I am retiring it.

And in family news: Glen had lasik surgery on her eyes, which seems to have been successful. Maddison has a new retainer in this last six months to becoming orthdont free. I ran the 20th Writing Contest at the Hatfield Elementary School. The four of us went to see a local production of "Man from La Mancha" on Mother’s Day. Heidi and, Maddison, and I gave a presentation to the Nobscot Reading Council. Jason and wife have gotten new jobs and so will be moving to Greenville, SC. And the town voted that the selectmen accept the offer of the land between the school and the library. As this is where we had hoped to put the OWL MOON garden, it simply delays things even more. Alas, the garden may never happen.

And it seems to be spring. Really, truly.

I am off tomorrow for five days in Winnipeg for a science fiction convention called KeyCon. I’m the fantasy Guest of Honor. No, people are not having fantasies about me. (Those days are Long Gone.) But I am the fantasy writer on their list of GOHs. I’m hoping there are a few people I know there. I am really not all that good in crowds of folk I don’t know.

Finally: I want to send my love and prayers to my dear friend Sara Holbrook whose seven-year-old granddaughter has just died tragically. There are truly no words for this. Nothing makes sense when this sort of tragedy happens, and an outlyer’s words don’t do much to help anyone in the family. But for what it’s worth, I love Sara and—by extension—her daughter and family. If it’s the loan of a shoulder, an arm, a hand, a heart, they are all I have to give but I give them to her gladly.

Dirge Without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, --

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

         -- Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

May 2-6, 2008:

Needed new brake pads, nothing more ominous. A short story rejected, a picture book inching closer, starting on a new picture book that I think has little promise but am not sure yet. Contract for HUSH, LITLE HORSIE from Random House. Great (first) review for SEA QUEENS from the blogger “Miss Rumphius Effect” at http://missrumphiuseffect.blogspot.com/2008/05/nonfiction-monday-sea-queens.html

She says among other nice things: “thoroughly engrossing book”  and ends this way: “If it's any indication of how much I enjoyed this book, you should know that day it arrived I sat on the couch in my office (okay, reclined!) and read it from cover to cover. It is a fascinating, well-written text that is thoroughly engaging. This may actually be one of my favorite nonfiction reads of the year to date. I highly recommend it.”   Can’t get much better than that!

The rest:

Friday--Grandparents Day at Maddison’s School. I got to sit in on an Intro Cum Fund Raiser for Williston (sorry, all my money has gone to paying the school fees!), a geography class, English class, and gym class. It was exhausting and only half of Maddison's ordinary day! I wouldn’t be back in junior high for a gazillion dollars.

Saturday: Flew to Philly where the Philadelphia Ballet School and Company performed a ballet based on THE EMPEROR & THE KITE (published in 1967 and still in print!) I read the book to the audience before the performance. The young ballerinas and the even younger various corps were brilliant. Joy Cappponi who runs the school, the company, and choreographed (and designed the costumes) is simply a genius. Tough but loving. Everyone adores her and now I do, too. In the intermission between the 2 o’clock and the 5 o’clock performances, I watched a demonstration by a local Chinese school’s dancers and got my name calligraphed in Chinese. Signed lots of books. So the week began with a symphonic performance of ENCOUNTER, and ended with the ballet of THE EMPEROR & THE KITE. Nice.

Oh—and while I waited for everything to be packed up and out (because I was going to a late dinner with Joy, husband Dominic, Traves who was the man who played the Emperor, and the Capponi’s nine year old daughter Anna) I got out my new Air computer and rewrote chapter 6 of EXCEPT THE QUEEN.

Stayed over night at a Day’s Inn and got home by 11 the next morning.

Sunday: Dealt with mail, and stuff, read back magazines, back newspapers, not much else.

Monday: Heidi and I took a trip up to Brattleboro to buy clothes for the twins’ birthday. It’s really the last time we can buy at the Carter’s Outlet Mall because they will be too big next year. Sigh.

Tuesday:  In-between a little bit of writing, some cleaning, some family stuff, I signed books for a friend. Nothing much to report.

In fact, I am doing a LOT of waiting to hear from editors who have promised a decision and haven’t made any yet. Some has to do with committees, some to do with indecision, some to do with the IRA in Atlanta. (No, not THAT IRA—International Reading Association, silly.) But I won’t turn this into a rant. You have all heard my rants about waiting far too often.

 

Interstitial Moment:

It has been some time since I received any questions from my Dear Readers. So I thought I’d put this up on my own.

As part of a speech at Whidby Island in 2007, I was asked to give a talk on writing rules. and I said:

         “I HATE writing rules. I HATE imposing them on others. Mine work for me. If they work for you, fine. If not, feel free to ignore them. They are very simple. There are 20 of them.”

Now, I'm not going to impose all 20 on you, but here are five of them.

1. Eschew the exclamation point! If your prose is not exciting all on its own, a screamer (as it has been called in some circles, though not mine) is hardly going to help.

3. Don't let your characters float on the page. Unless, of course, they are birds, fairies, superheroes, or jet pilots. By that I mean anchor them with some action. Don't let them just talk and talk and talk. In theater, actors always have some bit of "business" that keeps their characters rooted in the real world. Even the birds, fairies, superheroes, or jet pilots.

8. Make your reader fall through the words into the story. As a wordophile, I love words like “furbelow” and “Taradiddles.” My favorite is the Scottish “Traghairm” which means to prophecy while wrapped in a bullock’s skin behind a waterfall.” But using a word that is unparsable at best and a bloody big STOP sign at worst is simply bad writing.

14. What about an editor? What do we want? What do we need? They are not necessarily the same thing. Well, this is what I want: truth, attention to detail AND the big picture, getting back to me on time, hard questions, and a love letter each bloody time we correspond. I want the editor to love the manuscript as it is, even though we both know it needs to be better. I want the editor to make the revision journey with me, sometimes leading me, sometimes a hand on my butt pushing me up the steep hill. I want the editor to be my voice in the publishing company, my cheerleading section, my advocate, and my sherpa. She (or he) does NOT have to be my best friend. In fact, sometimes having an editor as a best friend gets in the way of a good publishing relationship.

18. Dealing with the dreaded BLOCK. Here’s what I do if a project or piece of writing is being balky, threatening to stop up, or otherwise shut itself down. I stand up, walk about, eat a chocolate chip cookie (check this waistline if you want to know how I have been faring!). I have a cup of tea; watch a rerun of TOP CHEF or AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL; check email; read blogs like Fuse # 8 or BlueJo or Making Light; peruse magazines like Newsweek or Style 1900 or Smithsonian. (You now know more about me than is good for you!) What one is trying to do is to sucker in the hind brain, the lizard brain, getting it to work while it thinks no one is paying attention. If none of these distractions help, I turn to a different writing project. Since there are always plenty of them around, I never have to worry. Notice, I  never settle into reading someone else’s finely-wrought novel during work on my own. If I do, it will be many hours or days before I resurface, my own projects forgot, and the beat of the novelist’s language in my head instead of my own novel’s voice.

It occurs to me that I may have posted some or all of these before, but it never hurts to re-emphasize. Employ as you will.

 

 

May 1, 2008:

Writing: on my journal, fiddling with stuff to take to Scotland, checking on my speech for KeyCon, and all those etceteras. I know that in Scotland I will be working on two novels, and maybe two new speeches. Reading a lot. Walking a lot (to the tunes on my new I-pod if granddaughter Maddison can teach me in time!)

Oh dear—major problems with NAMING LIBERTY which should have been published anyday now, but when the final proofs came back, because of a series of small and insignificant mistakes along the way production-wise, a page was repeated. Luckily, this mistake was found by my sharp-eyed publicist Susan Raab. BIG huzzahs for her! So Philomel/Penguin/Putnam has to find a way to fix it, which delays the publication a month, till July 3 when I won’t be here in the States. So at least one planned signing with illustrator Jim Burke has had to be scrapped.

Dolly Parton’s Imagination Library  has chosen OWL MOON to be one of the books this year. (The group gives away hundreds of books in 750 communities in 45 states, 6 provinces, and 2 territories. A big hand for the little lady!

I seemed to have gotten a box of HOW DO DINOSAURS EAT THEIR FOOD in a Korean translation. I will keep one, give one to the cleaners who are Korean and who donate the books to their church. Always odd to see one’s (unreadable) name on a book.

Took the car to the garage to find out what’s wrong. News at 11. (Or tomorrow.)

 

 

April 30, 2008

My wonderful and talented middle child, Adam, is 40 years old today and that hardly seems possible. I remember his birth vividly. We were living in Conway, Mass. My water broke seventeen hours before the first actual pain. At which point—every towel in the house soaked and washed and soaked again—we got into the car, drove the 25 minutes to the hospital, and less than three hours later I had this big (close to nine pounds) baby boy. He had white blonde hair, blue eyes, and was early talking, reading at 2 ½, a delight. (Until adolescence, but that’s another story altogether.) So happy birthday, darling boy.

On the bad side—my car is in the process of dying and I need to sell another book fast in order to pay for a new/used one (as well as pay my June quarterly taxes.) What I really want is the car to limp along until the fall, since I will be in Scotland June7-September 7 and won’t need it. I have many book manuscripts out there, but have you noticed that the word FAST is not in the vocabulary of editors?

Otherwise, I went to my last Lindy Hop lesson of the season, and afterwards, sweaty and pongy, went next door to the Forbes Library reading by Northampton’s Poet Laureate, my friend, Leslea Newman. She is absolutely adorable in front of an audience, and she led us through four decades of a poet’s life, from her first poems at 14—predictably angsty--to her strongly moving STILL LIFE WITH BUDDY poems, and beyond. The new work is even more powerful. Many of the poems I had already read, some I had heard in our writing group. Fun to see a friend perform, and perform so wonderfully.

 

April 26-29, 2008:

Saturday, Lovely reception for writer Erzi Deak at illustrator Diane deGroat’s house. Filled with children’s books authors and illustrators talking business, being alternately cranky and loving.

Worked on the final (maybe) go-round of WEE POEMS with input from the editor.

Heard that Dozois and Dann are going to take "The Tsar's Dragons" (note title change per Dozois' suggestion) though because it is so long--nearly 15,000 words--they will not be taking the shorter story, "The Mesopotamian Dragon" so we now have another story to shop around.

This is what I have been doing otherwise.

From the Springfield Symphony Orchestra website:

Youth concerts: Our Educational Outreach project for this season began with the commissioning of "Encounter," an original symphonic work for orchestra and narrator by composer and music critic Clifton J. Noble Jr. It was inspired by the book of the same name written by the renowned children's book author Jane Yolen. The book tells the story of the historic first meeting between Christopher Columbus and the Taino tribe, as seen through the eyes of a young boy of the tribe.

On the mornings of April 28 and 29, the SSO will perform two 50-minute performances of this work - Yolen will be the narrator for all four performances - at Symphony Hall for more than 6,000 elementary school students, including all fourth graders of the Springfield Public School system. Maestro Rhodes will demonstrate how music, as a universal language, can illuminate man's emotions and actions.

The first segment of this project includes in-class performances by the SSO's Woodwind Quintet and Clifton J. Noble Jr.. We thank the generous support of Hasbro, Verizon, the Davis Foundation, the Morgan Stanley Foundation, the Big E West Springfield Trust, the Westfield Academy, Big Y World Class Markets, Hamilton Sundstrand, the Springfield Partnership for Education, the Massachusetts Cultural Council, the Springfield Cultural Council and other area LCC's.

And what it meant for me was that for three short days I was an instrumentalist in the orchestra, that instrument being my storytelling voice. I had my own score and had to keep my eyes glued simultaneously to the page and to the maestro beside (and above) me. Not an easy task with only two eyes, one of which tried to also look at the audience! Maestro Rhodes cued me in throughout the piece. We had one rehearsal (Sunday) and two performances on both Monday and Tuesday. The audience of schoolchildren, teachers, and other adults was completely riveted.

Jerry’s music is both melodic and Mahleresque at times. It is rich, full-bodied, moving. I thought it brilliant and evidently the musicians did, too. Several of them asked if he would write commissioned pieces for them (he will) and we also had some interest about doing the piece (with narration) elsewhere.

I had a blast. Hearing someone else’s interpretation in a different media of a piece of writing I’d slaved over is just astonishingly good fun as well as invigorating.

Thanks to everyone who made this astonishing moment of my life happen: everyone at the Symphony, but especially Mike Jonnes who never wavered in his enthusiasm for the performance, Maestro Kevin Rhodes who IS enthusiasm writ large, and Jerry Noble whose work I love so much we are planning to try something else ASAP.

 

 

Interstitial Moment:

This is a plug, and given wholeheartedly: Vermont College still has a few spaces left in its upcoming Picture Book Semester. They only accept five writers each semester. It's an intense, one-semester graduate certificate program.  The faculty advisor will be Julie Larios who won the Boston Globe Horn Book award. Besides being a lovely poet and picture book writer, she’s a brilliant teacher. I got to listen to her lecture last winter and learned some new things. Plus this summer the visiting authors/illustrator will be the Stevens sisters--Janet and Susan, as well as Harcourt editor Jeanette Larson.

Anyone interested can contact Katie Gustafson at:  katie.gustafson@tui.edu.  or Kathy Appelt (speaking of brilliance!) at  kcappelt@verizon.net.

Oh yes—very important: You do not have to have an MFA or graduate degree to apply.

 

April 25-25, 2008:

Playing with my new thin Mac laptop. Some things I like a lot, but as always with new and upgraded computers, you lose some of the things you relied on in the old one. For example, moving stuff over to it, while it’s easier with my flash attachment than putting a CD in, the stuff doesn’t seem to want to go on the desktop the way I expect it to. Lots of putzing about trying to find my folders.

There’s a new interview with me (and she asked some interesting questions) at: http://www.kimantieau.com/   Thanks, Kim.

I had one poetry book rejection, one new contract on its way (two different books, obviously), and had to do a substitute poem in the MIRROR FOR NATURE book because Jason’s picture of the bobcat walking by the river side and reflecting in it was not sharp enough to use in the book. We substituted a frog picture and I wrote a new poem for it. Verse really. Took about three solid drafts. After I hear from the editor, I am sure it will need more. (And not written in the 45 minutes Mrs. Bush and daughter Jenna spoke of in a tv interview about their writing a children's book. Arrrrgh. Even this small poem took half of one day, half of another.) The editor promises to get back to me next week about all the poems in the book. And the editor of the WEE POEMS project also promises the same. So I expect next week and the week after will be very busy. Especially since the first three days--Sunday-Tuesday--I will be in Springfield with the Symphony first rehearsing and then performing ENCOUNTER.

Sent off the “The Last Tsar’s Dragon.” As it is pushing 15,000 words, it may simply be too big for the Dozois-Dann dragon anthology. So we may have to figure somewhere else to send the bloody thing.

My copies of the 3 HIPPO board books finally arrived and boy! are they adorable. With enormous thanks to editor Linda Preussen at Key-Porter as well as the wonderful illustrator, Vlasta Van Kampen whom I’ve never met. And my copies of the pirate book arrived, too. And extra copies of TROLL BRIDGE and other stuff. Heidi and Glen were hauling books up the stairs for hours, it seemed.

Otherwise, not much in the way of writing or book stuff. Mostly letters, cleaning up desk top, reading back issues of some magazines and newspapers, a lot of crossword puzzles, and two dinners. Thursday at friend Andrea’s in Deeerfield with Heidi and Maddison, and a lot of computer department catching up because Andrea’s husband Jack was a colleague and good friend of David’s. And then Friday at my friendly drug dealer. . .er book dealers down the block in Hatfield, where we discussed politics, growing up, and laughed a good deal.

 

 

April 21-23, 2008:

Head down trying to finish up (rewrite) a lot of things.

       *Heidi and I are still wrestling with revisions (“Make  it more active,” said the editor) on NOT ALL PRINCESSES LIKE PINK. We have gone back and forth about ten more times. Working mostly on scansion and activities.

       *Adam and I are wrestling with final touches on “The Last Tsar’s Dragons,” which includes some tidying of language, checking to see that dragon colors are        consistent, and making the death of Rasputin by dragon even more pointed.

       *Reworking ELSIE’S BIRD, a picture book about a Boston girl who marries a Nebraska farmer and moves  west in the late 19th, early 20th century. This started        with a piece in the Smithsonian magazine that I read at a doctor’s office (and tore out, with permission) years ago. Now I get the magazine myself. It was an article        about how women carried canaries out to their sod houses which kept them company (and kept them alive). Editor said it had a grand opening and a great finish, but the middle. . .well, you all know what I think about middles! So hard at work on that.

Tuesday from noon on I was at Smith College for a big gala of and for and by Alumnae poets. We had a q-and-a (I a’d rather more than my share of q’s, for which I apologize) and then a fine dinner at the president’s house (stuffed & baked trout, delicious young asparagus, etc.). We finished with a marathon poetry reading in front of a packed house at Wright (now Weinstein) Hall, one poem per poet. I read one of the David poems. My favorite part of the event was getting to meet Celia Gilbert who was at Smith about five years before me. She is I. F. Stone’s daughter. We talked of our fathers, of politics, of the rather strange and lingering misogyny in the presidential race, about being Jewish at Smith in the 50s, etc. I always feel as if on occasion the Universe surprises me by offering me a new friend--unasked for and probably undeserved on my part. But when it happens, I hold on with both hands.

Wednesday night I was the only one at the Lindy Hop beginner class, so I got an individual lesson. Of course this was wonderful for learning, but meant I was dancing twice as much as usual, so was hugely sweaty and pongy by the end. Plus my knees began to give out. Chatted a bit with the two teachers before going home. Found out she was a Smith grad from the 1990s, day job environmental lawyer, and was trying to write a YA novel. Isn’t everybody! Next week I will grill him (if I am still the only student.)

A bit of garden news: planted (finally) the willow tree that was to have been my Roots Award. Probably too late to get the Roots folks to give me any money for it, two years later. And at the same time we planted two apple trees on the section of land between Heidi’s house and mine. The daffodils are blooming all over the garden, the dogwood is gorgeously in bloom. I am a bit worried about the ornamental apple tree which seems to have lost a lot of its branches. Last night we had a burst of fireworks aka lightning, and a skunk smell so bad I thought I had an electrical fire brewing in the house. Spent about half an hour going from attic to cellar trying to find what smelled so. After the downpour, the smell abated. (And maybe the skunk did, too.)

 

April 18-20, 2008:

And off I went to be the Official Children’s Ambassador at Winterthur Museum, the old duPont estate in Delaware. I flew in, horrible landing, but otherwise easy, and was picked up by Vicki Saltzman whose official title is Senior Communications Manager, but for us was the Angel of Winterthur and the Barney Oldfield of Golf Carts. Us= Heidi and the girls, who drove in, trying out the new GPS on a real trip. It was. . .an adventure.

We were put up in the estate’s “Golf Cottage”, a "tiny" place with eight bedrooms and gorgeous views, and—it turns out—a resident ghost.

By the way, the place is pronounced Winter-tur and the joke was we had the Vicki tour at Winterthur.

For the past nine months, Winterthur had mounted an exhibition called “K is for Kids” which was an alphabet of stuff chosen from their vast collection of decorative Americana items in the museum to tie into the children's book theme, items from hornbooks, puzzles, quilling, etc., and chosen with exquisite care and with a new-minted rhyme for each letter written by the young curator of the exhibit, Lois, who did this as her Master’s thesis. I was there for the weekend culmination, to speak to teachers, urge them to visit the exhibit, do a family hour of storytelling and reading, attend a children’s choir singing some of the songs from my various music books, etc.

My final task of Saturday was to read CHILD OF FAERIE—the brand new Winterthur edition in hard cover!!!--to children in the estate’s “Enchanted Woods.” The EW contains a troll bridge, a thatched faerie house, standing stones, a tree house INSIDE a tree, a maze, a fountain with magic misting mushrooms and much more.

On Sunday, there was a brunch with recipes from FAIRY TALE FEASTS (the chefs liked Heidi's chocolate mousse recipe so much, it's going into their regular menu) and then I gave out prizes in four age groups to children who had entered the ABC book contest. (I was the judge.) In-between, Heidi and I signed lots of books, Maddison and Glen got to play in the vast gardens, ride the golf cart, enjoy our 8 bedroom cottage!!! And we spent quite a bit of time in the actual museum as well. Henry duPont was quite the collector!

Friday evening we had dinner with the director and her husband and daughter, and several Winterthur people. A gorgeous colonial house with period furniture. Saturday Vicki had, in her spare time (hah!) created a huge seder. She, her husband and youngest daughter (the oldest was at her high school prom), and three other young people two of whom worked at Winterthur, plus the four of us. More food than could humanly be eaten. Too much wine. Elijah drinking the wine scared Maddison and Vicki’s daughter, Caroline into fits of giggles.

On Sunday, the girls (including Caroline) were frightened from the cottage by a ghost—footsteps, doors opening and closing, creaking stairs etc. When we got back from signing, they were sitting outside (Maddison on top of the van) scared out of their wits! If nothing else a great story!

The museum itself, the houses, and the gardens—well, the atmosphere was magical. And that’s without counting the variety of birds we saw, the massive fox, the four woodchucks, hundreds of squirrels, an enormous bullfrog in a pond, carp the size of salmon.

And then—which brought us all to tears—they dedicated a newly constructed owl nesting box to David, with a bronze plaque bearing his name.

Heidi has taken massive amounts of photos and some might actually get to my WHAT’S NEW page in the next millennium.

The ride home was a bit of a nightmare. I went with them because--even taking more than an hour longer than usual due to the Pope traffic in both New Jersey and Connecticut--I still got back before the late plane home. We had fights with the GPS, which is as bossy as an Icelandic stewardess. There was a scare about Glen’s wallet which she thought for a horrifying ten minutes had been left about thirty miles back at a rest area (but hadn’t.) Then home again, home again, falling into bed, and it was all quite wonderful.

 

 

April 17, 2008:

Dentist, haircut, bank, etc., all the little stuff that gets in the way of writing. Then packing, bath.

Yeah, I managed some work. Well, business stuff anyway. I answered a lot of email which included close reading of the last ten pages of Mike Cavallero’s wonderful drawings for FOILED; responding to Linda Prussen, editor at Key-Porter, about our search for the perfect illustrator for PUMPKIN BABY; enjoying editor Yolanda LeRoy’s enjoyment of Heidi’s and my comics at each chapter end of BAD GIRLS; reading illustrator Jeff Mack’s letter to S&S about why he wants to illustrate my WAKING DRAGONS; corresponding with my co-writer on the GRUMBLES FROM THE FOREST fairy tale poems, Rebecca Kai Dotlich; responding to editor Heidi Kilgras at Random House about some of the suggested revisions on HUSH, LITTLE HORSIE.

But really, it’s the writing I love best. And there was none of that today. Call it a transitional day, where I transition between being a writer and a business woman, between being an author and a lecturer, between sitting at home with my computer and sitting on the plane. . .with my computer.

Oh, I invented a word for people who dive into ComicCon (which is this weekend in New York City, though I will be in Delaware.) I call them ComicKhazis. And both Mike Cavallaro and Betsy Bird want to immediately adopt the word. With my blessings, kids.

 

Interstitial Moment:

Some website interviews with me you may have missed:

http://glamhub.com/2008/04/jane_yolen/

http://wordswimmer.blogspot.com/2006/12/one-writers-process-jane-yolen.html

www.writerswrite.com/journal/jun02/yolen.htm

http://www.locusmag.com/1997/Issues/08/Yolen.html

www.schoollibraryjournal.com/blog/1790000379/post/1190016919.html

www.schoollibraryjournal.com/blog/1790000379/post/1250016925.html

 

April 11-16, 2008:

Fiddling away grasshopper style still, I finished my take on “Tsar’s Dragon” and sent it off to Adam; finished my go-round of the first three chapters of GHOUL SCHOOL and sent it to Heidi; picked up the first chapter of ARCH OF BONE and massaged it quite a bit; started a rewrite on AMELIA EARHART to see if Heidi and I could salvage anything from the dropped Unsolved Mystery from History manuscript; wrote a few more verses for WEE POEMS and sent the whole thing off; ditto for THE EGRET’S DAY and sent it off. Then I played the CD of the music for ENCOUNTER that the Springfield Symphony is performing next week and tried to fit my narration in. I didn't do a good job (though I'd done just fine when it was just the piano music) and will have to go over it a whole bunch more.

How does it feel to hop about that way? It keeps me alive. It keeps me fresh. It reminds me of why I have had a 45-year career in children’s books. And how much stuff I have learned along the way. I am one of those writers who believes that one should not necessarily write what you know, but what you want to know.

Still--it does make some folks dizzy!

Heidi and Maddison and I went to a memorial pottery show for dear Jim Salem, whose loss to the Valley and to his wife, children, and friends is incalculable. It was held at Deerfield Academy where he worked.

On Sunday I went to the Eric Carle Museum to hear illustrator Marla Frazee with her editor (and my friend) Allyn Johnston speak. Also Rubin Pfeffer of S&S was there as well and we got to chat quite a bit. I adore Rubin. He’s one of the Good Guy publishers. Other friends came-- among them illustrators Jeff Mack and Jane Dyer, authorsTobin Anderson and Peg Davol, some great librarians I know well, others. It was a lovely day.

Tuesday I bought a new laptop, one of those thin thin thin Macs. It should arrive next week. Went to my writers' group and afterwards to Zanna’s for some spring clothes. And then I bought a wonderful pair of metal ice cream parlor chairs and a matching small round metal table to go outside on the front patio. It was warm enough Wednesday afternoon to sit outside, do a crossword puzzle, drink a cup of tea, and talk on the phone. The life of the sybaritic Ms. Yolen who finished up everything she was worried about. Now I only have to worry about what I forgot I had to finish. A worry wart’s job is never done.

 

April 4-10, 2008:

My grasshopper writing life continues. Wrote a huge chunk of the ending of “Last Tsar’s Dragons.” Finished revising stuff for the comics section of BAD GIRLS. Wrote four poems for THE EGRET’S DAY and a half dozen new young verses for WEE POEMS. Spent a lot of time trying to find an illustrator with twins connections (a twin, a mother or father of twins, a brother or sister of twins, etc.) to pass on to the Candlewick crew for the twins poems book. Worked some on the novel EXCEPT THE QUEEN.

And in-between all the writing, my friend Gary K. Wolfe came for the weekend. Gary is a Dean at Roosevelt University in Chicago and a reviewer for (among other places) Locus magazine and knows more than almost anyone I know about science fiction and fantasy. Oh, and Holocaust novels. We went to dinner Friday night with some of the sf/fantasy writers in the area, including John Crowley, Allen Steele and his wife, Kelly Link and Gavin Grant and their two interns. Saturday was a three-museum day: we saw the outside of the Yiddish Book Center (it was the Sabbath so of course it was closed) and went into the Eric Carle Museum to see the Arnold Lobel show. We ended up at the Emily Dickinson house and because I know everyone there, had a private tour of both the Homestead (where Emily, her parents, and sister Lavinia lived) and the Evergreens (where brother Austen and family lived.) In the evening, Gary was my guest at the University of Massachusetts Friends of the Library dinner where I was one of the three speakers.

When Gary left for home on Sunday, Heidi and I dropped Maddison at a friend’s house and drove off in a New Hampshire snowstorm to speak Monday morning at a teacher’s conference. Though we were well-prepared, with both the keynote speech and two power point breakout sessions, we both felt it was all a wee bit flat, even though we gave it our all. Sometimes these things happen, and I always feel that as long as I have given unstintingly, both in preparation and on the day, that's all I can do so there's no reason to let it nag at me.

I had no writer’s meeting or poetry meeting this week, and so got a lot of stuff done, grasshopper style, until Wednesday when Ruth Sanderson came over and we discussed how to do the revisions (read cuts) of HUSH LITTLE HORSIE, the picture book just acquired by Random House.

That afternoon I did a one hour quick walk with friend Jan. Later that evening I had a Lindy lesson. And boy did my legs hurt the next day. But the good kind of hurt.

The bad kind of hurt—Maddison was standing with a bunch of friends and one of the boys gesturing rather largely (he’s 5’11) connected with her nose, resulting in a hairline fracture and two swollen eyes. Poor baby.

And from Thursday for two days, with Heidi off on a mini-vacation, I got to play Mama. A bit of the homework cop, though she really needs no urging. In-between, while Maddison was at ballet (sitting out her lesson because her nose hurt too much to dance) I raced over to visit with the DiTerlizzi's and to play Nana to their baby who is now 10 months and just about walking and talking a bit. What a cutie!

 

Interstitial Moment:

Bedtime is where most of us heard stories first, collaborating with our mothers or fathers in the stories that would become the most important part of our lives.

I was a reader-under-the-cover-with-a-flashlight, and there was a wonderful covertness about it. Only years later did I realize my parents had known all along. After all, who had given me the books and the flashlight? My parents, of course.

It is the partnership of parent and child and book that lead me not just to reading but into writing. I was a child of writers, of readers. They modeled both for me. There was not a book in the house off limits to me. So at age eight I struggled through Thomas Mann’s JOSEPH IN EGYPT, and read the fully illustrated copy of THE RUBIYAT OF OMAR KHHYAM. And those words, those glorious words just rolled into and around in my head, whether Iunderstood the concepts or not.

 

April 1-3, 2008:

I am well into the P word these days. Prolific. Or is that Profligate? My writing is all over the place. I am working on revising Heidi’s revision of our GHOUL SCHOOL chapters. Revising Heidi’s attempt at the comics section of BAD GIRLS. Writing more poems for the WEE POEMS collection. Trying to add (as yet unsuccessfully) to the POPSICLE GRINS picture book. Did three online interviews. Worked with Heidi on our speech for Monday in New Hampshire. Dove in and out of the novella “The Last Tsar’s Dragons.” And did some research on questions asked by the illustrator of LOST BOY: The Story of J. M. Barrie picture book.

A busy three days.

I also had dinner with friend Ann Wheelock, took a Lindy Hop lesson, went to the Broadside Bookshop to listen to a poetry reading by local poet Ellen Watson, whose work I love.  Along with, of course, all the daily duties—cleaning house a bit, laundry, bank, bills, cleaners, grocery shopping, etc.

Clearly I need a wife.

 

March 19-31, 2008:

Oh, my, the time flew by. And I flew by, too.  Been to Minneapolis and Kansas City since I last posted. People have died, four books have been rejected, and two have been accepted. I have done a bunch of revisions. Wrote two speeches. Gotten the first copy of SEA QUEENS which is gorgeous. Car problems. Two granddaughters had birthdays. Gave speeches, been in panels, signed lots of books. Been rained on, hailed on, snowed on—and played in the sunshine. Oh yes, I have been busy.

I bet you have been busy, too.

Oh—the two books sold? HUSH LITTLE HORSIE with Ruth Sanderson to Random House. THE LAST DRAGON graphic novel to Dark Horse. A bunch of other stuff pending.

Reading: Jo Walton’s HA’PENNIES is brilliant. Adam Stemple's (remember that name) new STEWARD OF SONG is riveting and—as PW says—“shimmering.” Graphic novel LAIKA moved me to tears, as did GN called THREE SHADOWS.

And to everyone commenting on the new design for the website—yes, we are going to fix the size of the type. One of my busy working lunches was with Theo WebMeister about that. There will soon be a button to push that will bring you to the large type. (Some of us can no longer read or sweat the small stuff!)

 

March 10-18, 2008:

Sorry for the delay, but we have had incredible amounts of ups and downs.

To start with the downs, here during the anniversary week of David’s death, two more deaths in the family. Glendon’s birth grandmother died, as did Adam’s mother-in-law, Myrna Darr. Neither were unexpected, but hard nonetheless. I didn’t know Glendon’s grandmother, except for a few stories about her from Glen. But Myrna I had known for about twenty years, and she was a wonderful grandparent to Ali and wee David, regularly sitting for them. She was able (unlike me) to play at their level.

Adam and the kids have the flu, which means I won't be staying at their house Wednesday-Friday before Minicon, but will be going early to the hotel. Better bring my laptop then and get some writing done.

Also, Monday my friend Jackie deBoer Salem came over and it’s the first time we have had a face-to-face since her husband (and my dear friend) Jim Salem died suddenly, about eight months ago. We’d spoken a number of times on the phone, I wrote to her from Scotland. But we sat there, alternately laughing and crying, she saying what a great man David was, and me saying the same about Jim. I wrote this about him:

Jim was the first craftsman to come to us. He built an outdoor kiln on an extant cement loading platform (the barn was too much of a fire risk to build the kiln inside) and rebuilt the bathroom. He figured out which part of the barn he wanted to work in, and set up walls to keep his shop distinct from anyone else’s.

Very shortly thereafter, he moved in his wheel, his tools, his clay, built shelves, and began. One of his cousins (and of those there were dozens!) came to help him out with grunt work. Then Jim began to make his pots in earnest.

Well, he was earnest, but his luck was lousy. Those first few weeks, it was one disaster after another. The cousin dropped several shelves of bisque ware. One entire row inside the kiln fell down, destroying the entire firing. Another full week’s worth of pots froze in the barn because Jim had turned off the heat overnight to save on his gas bill on the single night a freak dip in temperature turned the valley into ice.

Now because you all knew Jim so well, it will not surprise you that his disposition remained sunny, interspersed with spots of sheer desperation. But it was at the tail end of all those disasters that I made one of my casual forays into the barn to talk with Jim. He was sitting working at his wheel, the wet clay growing into an interesting shape between his hands. His eyes were closed and he was wearing a positively beatific smile.

I cleared my throat. He heard it over the sound of the wheel. Without losing the clay, without losing his smile, he opened his eyes.

“You look. . .” I began, not needing to reference all the disasters, “you look. . .happy.”

The smile turned into a grin. He gestured with his chin towards the large serving bowl that was clearly appearing between his hands.

“Sometimes,” he said, “sometimes the magic works.”

I have adopted that as my mantra for the past thirty-five plus years.

 

Otherwise the week itself began rather splendidly. Heidi, Maddison, and I went into New York City for three days, me to do business and win an award, the others to shop. Well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Maddison's 13th birthday was almost upon us, and this is her spring break, so it made sense to celebrate a bit early.

We made the last minute, slightly rash decision to goin a half day early and stay with cousins Malerie and husband Jeff Cohen and son Jacob in their big, beautiful (and welcoming) Stamford home, arriving just at dinner time. (Don’t you love relatives who can accommodate on little notice and with a smile and lots of family gossip as well!) Malerie is a magazine writer under the name Malerie Yolen and I am so proud of her success. We left early Wednesday, after breakfast and drove on into the city.

Half our stay was being paid for by Candlewick who published HERE’S A LITTLE POEM which was one of five books winning Bank Street Awards on Thursday. So we sucked up the extra day onto the business card.

And what a great little hotel—On the Avenue, up on 77th street and slightly off Broadway. Our room was large enough to accommodate two queen size beds and a sofa with coffee table, desk and chair. The bathroom was large and the shower more like a bowling alley lane than the usual cramped quarters of NYC hotel rooms. We were quite happy. And most important, they had the room ready when we arrived at 8:15 am.

Off we went for a 9 am muffin/Danish break with our family agent, Elizabeth We gabbed, I signed contracts for three books, found out about mss. that were sent back, etc. Met with the movie agent and the foreign agent and the British agent as well. Did some strategizing. The usual. I don’t know how people go it alone without an agent. She holds my back. She knows things I don’t know (and don’t want to take the time to learn.) She is MUCH more organized than I am. And she—and her assistant Anna (who I alternately call the Little Shark and The Goddess) hold publishers toes to the flames even when I am ready to douse the fire. So, not only does she hold my back, she is my backbone as well.

From there, Heidi, Maddison and I went for a meeting with Dianne Hess, an editor at Scholastic. Though first we stopped in the Scholastic store and took pictures of me with the GI-normus reading dinosaur based on the HOW DO DINOS books. I hope soon to get some photos up in the “What’s New” section of the website. But it may take a couple of weeks so don’t you all rush there right now.

Then H&M went off for their first shopping extravaganza and I had tea with the HandPrint editor, Ann Tobias. She had the f&gs of my first book with them, MAMA’S KISS. It is absolutely delicious, and the illustrator got both the charm and the deeper meaning of the little rhymed story, which pleases me enormously. And Ann, whom I’d met several years earlier at a Whidby Island conference, and I got along famously. We talked and talked until I had to run.

Raced over to Dutton (walking halfway there because, alas, the taxi situation in the heart of Greenwich Village is dire.) Met with Steven Meltzer, my editor of both the Hans Christian Andersen book, THE PERFECT WIZARD and the J. M. Barrie book, LOST BOY (Steven showed me the sketches which catch Barrie’s spirit.) Steven is also the editor of BUG, the klezmer rock-and-roll fantasy novel that Adam and I are working on.

Then I raced back to the hotel via cab, met the girls, and off we went to dinner three blocks from the hotel with Dan Farley, once the head of Harcourt Trade and now the head of Holt. Heidi and I had often sat with Dan at Harcourt functions at IRA and NCTE, so it was good to see him again.

Thursday we were picked up in a cab by Sharon, Library and School Marketing Director for Candlewick and went up to Bank Street College where the award ceremony was taking place. A lot of grand book talk. Three of the six winners (including me, speaking for myself and co-author Andrew Fusek Peters) were there to accept in person. Here is a bit of what I had to say:

“I literally fell into children’s books. The biggest serendipity I ever had  outside of meeting my husband. It changed the course of my writing, my reading, and my life.

Since that time, I have done two collections of adult poems,  plus 4 adult story collections with interstitial poems, and 3 adult story anthologies with poems. But in children’s books I have written 26 poetry collections, dozens of picture books as both rhymed and unrhymed poems from OWL MOON to HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY GOODNIGHT, and 10 poetry anthologies, the latest to be published being HERE’S A LITTLE POEM which you are honoring today. Despite this, Lee Bennett Hopkins wrote to tell me that he was just at a meeting for NCTE’s Poetry Award and brought up my name. “Oh,” said a newly minted librarian, “she doesn’t write poetry.”

It’s nice to feel that Bank Street knows better.

Speaking of serendipity, this book began because I had several years earlier started an email correspondence with a young British poet named Andrew Fusek Peters with the charmingly accurate email address of VeryTallPoet. He invited me to send some poems to him for several anthologies, and we became long-distance friends. He wondered in one email if I would ever EVER think about doing a book with him, because Walker (the British sister of Candlewick) was wanting him to do a child’s first book of poetry. And, because I love poetry and because I was already working with Candlewick and because I wanted to have a British presence since I live part time in Scotland. . .I answered a hearty YES before he stuttered any more. I was to seek out American poets, he British. We spent the better part of a year reading both old and brand new poems all to do with a young child’s day.

That kind of research is what I call book aspirin because it’s so good for the heart.”

Oh there was more of course, both in front and behind. But just to give you some of the flavor.

After  the ceremony and a luncheon and a lot more book gossip, Heidi and I did a small talk with the 7 and 8 year olds at Bank Street. When I read the Robert Louis Stevenson poem about swinging up high, one little boy raised his hand to ask us if we knew what else Stevenson had written. Before I could answer, he said, “Treasure Island” and “Kidnapped, and I read both of them.” Thank goodness he didn’t mention “Jekyll and Hyde” or I would have been appalled.

Afterwards, Heidi and Maddison and I parted. They to shopping, me to visit with Mark Siegel at First/Second where I got to meet Mike Cavallaro who is the artist doing the graphic novel FOILED. He showed us some of the latest work, which was terrific, full of pizzazz and strong characterizations. He was quiet, a bit shy perhaps, but very knowledgeable about the comics business.

I met Heidi, Maddison, and Irene (Heidi’s boyfriend’s college daughter who is at NYU) and we went to dinner at a terrific restaurant named Whyms. Afterwards, we raced down to the theater to see “Chicago.” Heidi and I had been before in better seats. But it was Maddison’s birthday and Maddison’s choice of show. We did a lot of “jazz hands” on the way back to the hotel. I truly think that “Cellblock Tango” is one of the finest written and directed numbers of all the musicals I have seen.

Friday morning, I began with an early morning wrangle with bad traffic because President Bush was in town in the midst of the Governor Eliot Spitzer drama. Cops everywhere. Bush was speaking in midtown just mere blocks away from where I was going. My goal was the Harvard Club for breakfast with editor Elizabeth Law. I’d been to the Yale Club for Trina Hyman’s memorial, but the Harvard Club really puts that into shadow. Wood paneling, sweeping staircase, old leather chairs, minstrel gallery, stuffed animal heads (the elephant head is appallingly sensational), servers in uniform. The food was excellent if a bit predictable. Very quiet. One could actually hold a conversation without shouting. And converse Liz and I did. She’s starting the American children’s publishing arm of the British publisher Edgmont.

From there, it was a mere three blocks to Simon and Schuster where I was to spend 12-3:30, seeing four different editors, having lunch, working on a revision with one editor, and a huge reworking of the idea of the first of two books with Jane Dyer on a conference call with editor Paula Wiseman, publisher Rubin Pfeffer, and me.

After that I raced back downtown to Elizabeth to give her the round-up of the three days. (A much more detailed account than here, of course.) And with me traveled the news that editor-in-chief of Harcourt’s children’s books, the astonishingly good Allyn Johnston, has been let go by the new Houghton overlords. Basically that wonderful department has now been officially and awfully dismantled. I am in mourning.

I am in mourning, too, not only because it has been a two-dead- grandmother week. But Anthony Mingella has died as well—one of the few Hollywood insiders I would have loved to meet—because of his “Truly, Madly, Deeply” and the writing he did for the Jim Henson “Storyteller” series. Dead, too, is the ineffable Sir Arthur Clarke. Minghella much too soon—he was in his 50s and still had much to do in the world of theater, opera, movies. And though Clarke had lived a good long life, much of the latter part of it he’d been in pain. (And still managed to write, thus an inspiration to us all.)

And I still have to get through Saturday. The Anniversary of David's death.

Of course I am leaving out the weekend—lots of writing speeches (for Minicon this weekend, for a Quabbin presentation on landscape next week, for the Reading Reptile conference in KC next weekend. Heidi and I worked on a new picture book NOT ALL PRINCESSES DRESS IN PINK. Oh yes, it’s been a writing time as well. And I filed and filed until the pile had become a mere lump instead of a towering mountain of paper.

Got to the movies twice, 10,000 BC which I went to with Glendon. It   was actually better than it had any right to be, though pretty silly as a whole. And PERSEPOLIS which was very moving, delineating a particular mindset with great dignity, humor, and pathos.

Reading a lot, too, which I will round-up on later. If I remember. And after I get back.

 

Interstitial Moment:

I don’t know if any of you are interested in trying some sort of writing prompt, but I have devised three of them. I will give you the opening of a book that no one has yet written. Not even me! It is up to you to think of the arc of the book and write an ending paragraph and or dynamite last line to go with it. There are no prizes for doing this, but I might (with your permission) print a few in the journal.

1.  Fantasy middle grade

That day when Janey woke up, she was a doll. Lying next to her in the bed was a gigantic figure. A gigantic human figure. “Oufff,” said the human, turning over in the bed, her arm hitting Janey’s midsection. Janey didn’t understand it, but cried out, “Ma…ma!” anyway, in that high automatic wheeze that her own doll always used.

2. Historical novel  middle or YA

Ben Franklin was not amused. There were papers everywhere in the print shop, mostly on the floor. Someone had obviously been earlier to rise than he, and overturned the press, scattering the newly-printed broadsides. Though not—Ben was happy to see—the ones encouraging insurrection. Those were still carefully hidden in a chest under his bed. No, he wasn’t in the least amused.

3. Modern school novel, YA

If I had been a. smarter  b. thinner  c. richer  --you choose one—I would not have been in this situation. Okay, I would have still been in this situation, but probably a lot closer to a solution than I am at this moment. Instead, I am sitting on the floor, my hands bound behind me, a lampshade on my head which effectively keeps me blind, while some yahoos from school are making plans around me, none of which I can figure out as they are speaking in  a. Double Dutch   b. Pig Latin or   c.  a kind of oral text messaging, which are not any of the five real human languages I know.

 

March 7-9, 2008:

All ballet, all the time. Well, at least it felt that way. This was the weekend of the Amherst Ballet production. So Maddison was in rehearsals every free moment. And as Heidi was head of the costumes, she was frantically sewing stuff up until the last minute. Which meant that while I did my own filing, her filing has piled up so much that if we have even a moderate earthquake, piles will paper/litter the floor up to our waists.

On Friday, I did some reworking on the first two chapters of GHOUL SCHOOL and sent them to Heidi. I did a massive rewrite of what we have so far for “The Tsar’s Dragon” and sent it to Adam. I did file re-arranging, and sat down to read all the piles of papers and magazines I was behind on.

Saturday late afternoon, our friend Susannah—a children’s lit teacher from Storrs, Ct.--arrived. Off we went for an early dinner, joined by Glendon. Then the three of us went to the ballet, watching Maddison in the salsa, and in two very different sections of “Sleeping Beauty:” ballet, one on toe. The costumes were glorious and Maddison danced beautifully, as did all the students. She managed to injure her ankle and spent the night with an ice pack around it.

But trooper that she was, Maddison was back en pointe the next day, at 2.

I had gone to the Eric Carle Museum first, to sign some stock because Melissa Sweet was coming to speak. Then I had a whirl around the main show (called something like “Children should be seen. . .”) which I hadn’t hadn't managed to get to before. Alas, Melissa was late, so after lunch with Susannah and old friend Rusty Browder (who had started the great children’s bookstore in Brookline but had sold it some 11-12 years ago) I went on to watch the ballets all over again without having a moment to give Melissa a hug.

Tried to see a movie after, there were at least three that sounded interesting, but it would have meant waiting in the mall for 1 ½ hours, so I declined, and went home. Actually went to bed early, reading a few more magazines.

 

Interstitial Moment:

When asked--by teachers, by doctor's offices, by the IRS, by Customs Officials what I do for a living, I never say Author. I call myself a storyteller. Or a writer. To me, an author is someone long dead and canonized. I see myself as a master writer, a storyteller who works hard at her craft. As John Ciardi wrote to me close to fifty years ago when he turned down some of my poems for the Saturday Review (I was just out of college) "Of a comparable piano performance, I'd say 'very accomplished' But not concert rank yet." It seems to me an Author must be concert rank. I am still working to get there.

 

March 6, 2008:

Spent hours writing checks now that I finally have started getting paid again. When I had David's money as the ground bass for the song of our life, my money was simply for extras. The first year after he died, I still had monies from various accounts that got distributed in many different ways. But this year I am entirely on my own. Reminder to self: be smarter about money so as not to get in this bind again.

A freelance writer's money comes in four ways. 1. Payment for work done, as in Introductions, reviews, articles, short fiction. You know what you have handed in, and usually get paid reasonably on time. 2. Payment in advance of work done, as in book advances. Once you have signed the contract, you know when you will be paid. Though usually a final payment is sent when the finished manuscript is in, or in some cases when the book is (finally) published. 3. Reprints and foreign rights. Comes in. . . whenever. And can't be counted on. 4. Royalties. Reported twice a year by individual publishers. I have enough publishers to have royalty reports March-June, and September-December. But that leaves January-February and July-August royalty-less. (And of course no one counts on royalties, because most books simply don't earn out, or earn out only for a few years and then drop dead.) Really, this is not the way to earn a living unless you are Stephen King or J. K. Rowling, and even they have the dreaded twice-a-year royalty accounting to worry about.

More than any of you really wanted to know, I'm sure.

Heard that editor Bonnie LOVES the big dino LOVE book. Whew!

Wrote (rewrote) the first bit of the comix section of BAD GIRLS for Heidi to judge.

Bought a bunch of research books at Joslin Hall, my neighbors down the road, mostly for the whaling/Nantucket book. But several others as well.

Cleaned off more of my desk.

And have given a lot of thought to the following. The sharp awful pain of the first two years after David’s death is down to one those long, dull aches, rather like a migraine one lives with because—well, because one has to. I write (which helps) and see friends (which sometimes helps) and keep in good contact with the children and grandchildren. Watch a lot of tv and read. And wait for spring. Once spring comes, I will start walking again. The ice has been treacherous this year and for someone who is more likely to stay housebound by choice, it simply underlines that choice. But it was David who dragged me away from the typewriter/computer, who forced an active life on me because it was how he lived, and how he knew my work would grow in response. Right on both counts. It's just that without him by my side, I--like many writers--tend toward sloth, couch potato-ness, and the indoor and in-one's-head life.

 

March 5, 2006:

HERE’S A LITTLE POEM is on the list for this award, picture book list: “The E.B. White Read Aloud Award, established in 2004, honors a book that reflects the universal read aloud standards that were created by the work of the author E.B White in his classic books for children: Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and The Trumpet of the Swan. In 2006, in recognition of the fact that reading aloud is a pleasure at any age, the award was expanded into two categories: The E. B. White Read Aloud Award for Picture Books, and The E. B. White Read Aloud Award for Older Readers. Titles are nominated for the award by ABC booksellers, and then the final award is made by committee. ABC members chose books for distinction based on their universal appeal as a "terrific" books to read aloud.”

The garage has a drain that is iced over and so right now there’s about foot of water on top of the ice—treacherous. Won’t be parking in there till spring. In fact there’s so much water, Heidi’s basement sump pump is working overtime. Normally she says it sounds as if trolls are laboring down there. Now she says, the orcs have killed the trolls and are dragging their bodies around. And this from a not-fantasy person.

Small errands today—post office, grocery store, and bringing the taxes in.

And then I got to watch the new Cate Blachett “Elizabeth” movie. Reviews have called it slow, but I thought it elegant. However, Mary Queen of Scots had a Scottish accent, which made me giggle. She had lived in France till she was 18 and when she moved to Scotland, spoke English to the Scots lords with a heavy French accent. Obviously no one told the actress who sounded like a Glaswegian on a good day.

Doing some tsarist research for the dragon story. Sent off my MOON picture book to my agent, worked a bit more on the NY trip. Not much writing except for a full page (300+ words) ending the chapter I wrote a couple of weeks ago on EXCEPT THE QUEEN. Got word that the editor loves the new DINO book. Did some copyediting decisions on SCARECROW'S DANCE (mostly I agreed, added a few more commas.) That kind of fragmented writing day.

 

March 3-4, 2008:

*Polished the speech for UMass Library.

*Wrote my thank you speech for the Claudia Lewis/Bank Street Poetry Award.

*Rewrote (twice) A KITE FOR MOON.

*Reworked and tidied up, and put on discs finished mss. for A MIRROR TO NATURE, the book Jason and I are doing for Boyds Mills.

*Looked over the delicious cover for Fall ’08 picture book MAMA’S KISS, sent my comments to the editor.

*Wrote a couple of bits of bio and flap copy for various projects.

*Long talk with editor Judy O’Malley about possible books.

*Setting up New York trip.

*Setting up Minneapolis/Minicon trip.

So a good combination of business stuff and writing the last couple of days. I can deal with business stuff if it doesn’t completely overwhelm the writing. Let’s face it, when I am writing, I am happiest. I feel strong, original, even important. Dealing with business matters makes me feel overwhelmed, useless, un-prepared or under-prepared. If I can continue to work on that balance, even tipping it towards the writing end of the scale, life is manageable. Even (she whispered) enjoyable.

And happy birthday, Patty MacLachlan.

 

March 1-2, 2008:

Saturday morning I sat down with Yolanda and Susan and did what I do best--talked about possible books. I love that part of the business, when creative minds get together and we get excited about stories, poetry, art, and books. Especially with editors and art directors who are as passionate as I am about what we do.

I had printed out a bunch of stuff to give them, showed them Jason's photos, even told them about two of Heidi and Jason's half-done books. Maybe in another life I'd be an agent, but I hate the business stuff, so probably not. They took away all but two manuscripts with them for further consideration. Reminder to self and anyone reading this: it doesn't mean that they will necessarily buy anything. But at least they will think deeply about what they have and--in the end-- that's what I want.

What did they go off with? One folk tale retelling, one book of tall tales already finished, two of Jason's and my book ideas half done, a proposal for another longer book with Barbara Goldin, a book of poems Heidi and I have been working on, and I am to work on another Jason proposal for them. Check back in a month or so.

Then close to noon, off they went, though I was worried whether they could get out of the driveway as the snow had not yet been plowed. But as Susan pointed out, they were both New Englanders! They were going to see two illustrators and continue talking about books. I envied them.

I cleaned the house, and started the long-needed filing of stuff that had been piling up for weeks. Worked on seven crossword puzzles, watched some tv, read back issues of magazines I'd been meaning to look at, from Nature to Newsweek to PW and Horn Book. And went to bed early, sleeping for ten hours.

Sunday was a full work day I printed up the tax stuff which is now ready for the CPA. Then I did more filing. Got several weeks worth put away.

In one of the piles I found an envelope on which I'd scribbled the first few lines of a picture book, probably on an airplane though I hardly remembered doing it. Typed it into a new folder, and then ended up writing an entire first draft. It's called A KITE FOR MOON, about a boy who becomes an astronaut, and the moon. Probably unsaleable because it's quiet, metaphoric, poetic. My usual!

I did some tidying up of THE EMILY POEMS aka THE EMILY SONNETS. This is something I head back to every few months. A lifetime project I suppose.

I got my airplane and hotel accounted for Minicon, in Minneapolis in a couple of weeks.

And because it is March, two years after David's death, I packed away some more of his shoes and clothes to take to the Sally.

My office is now reasonably in shape. My taxes are done. I’ve started a new picture book and am about to tackle an asked-for proposal. Adam and I are moving along on the gonzo dragon story. Two of the three novels are started, waiting for my co-author's turn. And I also have an idea for rewriting one of my history picture books that has yet to find a home.

Now if I could get my back in shape (which means losing about twenty pounds and returning to my swimming routine) things could be almost pleasant around here.

 

Interstitial Moment:

Every time I am in the company of artists, I am jealous. Oh, not just jealous of their ability to create pictures, but also jealous of their toys.

I mean what toys does a writer have--pen, pencil, scribblepaper, a computer and printer? But go into an art store and look at what is on offer there. Hundreds of pens, dozens upon dozens of papers in different weight and tooth, colors varying. Water color paper about which artists argue passionately. Watercolors vs. oils vs collage vs. various print techniques, each with tools/toys attached. Brushes some as thick as your hand, others several hairs worth only. Cutters, from scissors to fine edges that would make a surgeon green-up with envy. Easels, portfolio bags. And more, so much more.

Every time I go into an art store, I want to walk out with beautifully bound sketch books and hands-ful of printed papers, with prismacolor pastel sticks and Strathmore drawing pads. I reach for my credit card, as I mentally gather up a variety of Winsor and Newton tubes of oils, acrylics, watercolors, with names like Scarlet Lake, Permanent Rose, Rose Madder, Ultramarine, Cerulean Blue, Viridian, Burnt Sienna, and Lamp Black. (Yes, W&N is a British company that started back in 1832.)

And then I remember--I can't draw.

Barry Moser once told me he could teach me to draw. "Can you teach me to draw like Barry Moser?" I asked. "Like Jane Dyer and Mordicai Gerstein? Like Maurice Sendak and Trina Schart Hyman?" He shook his head. "I can teach you to draw like Jane Yolen," he said.

That wasn't what I wanted.

Oh, I go into art stores still. I buy presents for friends, for grandchildren who have not yet learned how to fail at art. I go in because I desire all those wonderful art toys. Artists may call them supplies but I know better. They are the best damn toys in the known world.

 

February 29, 2008:

This day was all about the Western Mass Illustrators Guild, a group I helped start about twenty years ago and am still the only regular non-illustrator member. Over the years, I have managed to help get a number of them publishers, which delights me. And this evening I was hosting a potluck dinner with the Charlesbridge editor in chief, Yolanda LeRoy and art director Susan Sherman who had agreed to look at portfolios.

So I bounced out of bed, and after a shower and breakfast, began to do my part of the cooking. Heidi was making meatballs and a huge mac and cheese. My part was a chicken and vegetable stew, a dozen and a half deviled eggs, garlic bread, wine, and sparkling water. While stuff was cooking, I did a bit of tidying up the rest of the kitchen and living room.

Then I printed out some mss. because Heidi and I were meeting Yolanda and Susan for lunch, before coming home and finishing the prep work.

Rebecca Guay arrived an hour early to meet with Yolanda and Susan because they wanted to discuss Heidi’s and my BAD GIRLS manuscript with her. She sounded very excited, so we hope it will work out. Yolanda did a buoyant out-loud reading of the introduction. Heidi and I decided we need her to go on the road with us!

Then the illustrators started to arrive and it was clear we had much too much food—and a snowstorm approaching. So we got down to business. Though about twenty members came, only 8 or 9 brought portfolios. I listened in on a few of the comments. Yolanda and Susan did yeoman work and we got the folks who had come from the Berkshires and far afield done early so they could leave ASAP. One illustrator got a desperate call from his wife—the furnace had gone out and she wanted him home to deal with it. As he had been the very first portfolio critique, he was able to leave right away. During the rest of the time, we held a regular meeting, and I orchestrated who was the next illustrator to bring in their portfolios.

After the last, we partied some with the more local illustrators, though only Susan and Yo—who were staying overnight—took me up on the single malt. But by 9:30, when snow was coming down fast and furious, we sent everyone home.

All in all, a successful time.

 

February 27-28, 2008:

Okay, I finished the taxes except for printing stuff out. (I will do that Sunday.)  One whine dealt with.

Cleaned house and picked things up. Another whine dealt with.

I seem to be getting over the last lingering flu symptoms. A third whine gone.

And Saturday is March, so I can’t whine about February for very much longer.

Not much I can do about the bouncing manuscripts, except to work on new ones, or revise old ones.

So—I reworked ELSIE’S BIRD, an historical picture book about a young Boston woman in the nineteenth century who marries a Nebraska farmer and almost dies of the silence on the Great Plains, except for her caged canary who sings her alive until she’s ready to hear that landscape’s particular sounds.  My Philomel editor Patti Gauch---who has bought the book--and I had a long phone conversation about what the book still needed. She is so sharp! She pointed out that it was missing its moment of epiphany, and once she pointed that out, I knew exactly what to do. She didn't have to tell me what to write, just mentioned what was missing. Of course! And how I love epiphanies. Coming to that moment is a particular kind of magic. I spent about three hours on the rewrite, and Sunday will probably spend that much time again going over it. But I know it's already mostly there.

God--I love to write!

A bit of money finally came in, a poem sold to a textbook for a lot of money. So I got to pay off bills. Ah, the life of a freelancer!

Borrowed NICHOLAS AND ALEXANDRA from the local library to reread for textur