This is an occasional journal about how my life affects my writing and my writing affects my life. This journal is not to be a classic blog, in other words it's not interactive. It will not have photos either. Or links. Nor do I expect to write in it every day. And I don't want to have to moderate the thing. However, if you read something here that you want to respond to, send me email (janeyolen@aol.com) and I will write back. Please say whether or not you agree to have your email quoted somewhere in "Telling the True." I like getting questions from my readers--whether you are a writer or a book fancier, a teacher, librarian, or child. Note that the order of the entries is most recent first. Entries from earlier days are archived.

 

April 29, 2005:

Things started off well today, and then spiraled out of control.

My back felt pretty stable. I was able to do exercises, able to sit at the computer.

First thng in the morning, Heidi and I went to the Hatfield Elementary School to do my annual Writing Contest. This year there were 24 winners. And mostly boys, which was highly unusual since boys in elementary school are not normally big writers. The kids did a wonderful power point presentation about reading my stories, complete with a singer! As always, the entire student body supported the winners with cheers and high fives and loud clapping. The parents had been alerted ahead of time and sworn to secrecy and hidden away in the gym until all the kids were in the school auditorium.

So far so good.

I went on to get my hair done for the upcoming IRA conference. Heidi headed to pick up Maddison in school and do errands.

Now things began a downward spiral. I stopped into Michelson’s Gallery to pay off the rest of the money owed to them on my purchase of the Trina Schart Hyman cover for GIRL IN A CAGE. There I found out that my dear friend Barry Moser had had a small heart attack, and going to have a bypass operation. Okay, a bit scary, but he’s being well taken care of.

So I did some grocery shopping and then came home to do a last pass over the GHOUL SCHOOL KIDS and shipped it off by email to the Tor editor. However, she had already left for IRA so I will print it up tomorrow and hand it to her when we see her. I also worked on the first pass of "Max, the Hand, and Me" galleys, a short story that Heidi and I have in an upcoming Scholastic mystery anthology.

Then Heidi went off to buy a birthday present for a friend and pick up the business taxes which were due today. She’d left them with our long-time CPA earlier in the week. The accountant had said she needn’t wait, but to come back for the papers later. Twenty minutes after that, in his partner’s office, he had a massive heart attack and died. John Howes, a lovely, sweet man, always generous with his time, dead at 51! Leaving a wife and two daughters. RIP. Because we didn’t know, we missed the funeral which was on at the same time as our presentation at the Hatfield school.

When Heidi told me, we were both understandably upset. First, of course, because we'd known him for so long, and he was truly one of the Good Guys. He was much too young to die. And then--also, of course--because we hadn't a clue what to do with the taxes that were due, still in his office somewhere. It was certainly not the time to tackle his family for our papers.

We mulled this over some time and then Heidi went out with Maddison and friends for a quick dinner, as a pick-me-up. I stayed at home, visited with my friend Jan who’d been away for a week. I think we were both comforted a bit by our singular modes of coping.

Later, when Maddison went up to bed, we heard hysterical cries and she came running downstairs weeping and screaming. It turns out the cat had found a mouse in my bedroom and was chasing it all over the hallway.(Her first mouse.) The mouse had run over Maddison’s foot in its bid for freedom and Maddison had leaped onto the bookcase in fright, practically pulling it down on top of her, which would have been a major disaster. It's very heavy. In some ways it gave Heidi and me a good laugh, even while comforting her. (Though this is the same kid who took care of the DiTerlizzi’s pet mice for a month when they went off to Florida. She used to pick those mice up out of their cage and let them run around her arms!)

At last Maddison calmed down and went to bed and soon so did Heidi, and so did I, though I spent about an hour looking through sf/fantasy anthologies for a Golden Oldie story published in 1906 for the next YEARS BEST--should we get a contract for another.

 

April 28, 2005:

A little after 8 am, Heidi drove me to the doctor's office where I had two lumbar shots of cortisone. By 9 I was home and lying on the sofa. Had to take it extremely easy for the day. Just a thought: perhaps shooting novocaine in my butt on regular occasions might work as well as cortisone!

Watched tv, finished reading the book about J. M. Barrie and the Lost Boys. I think I want to re-watch the movie "Finding Neverland."

By afternoon, I was working on my part of the GHOUL SCHOOL KIDS. We have done a draft of three chapters and a proposal for a four book arc. About the size of the Magic Tree House books, though slightly more sophisticated. Grades 2-5 I would guess. Magic Tree House meets Spiderwick. Takes place in New York City. We hope to show this to Susan Chang at Tor when we are at IRA next week as she is the editor who showed a great interest before and helped us reshape it.

A lovely email from Grace Lin accepting my Robert's Snow poem. Her enthusiasm and--yes--grace has kept this project moving.

Reading about the possible discovery of at least one if not several of the ivory billed woodpecker (the "Lord God Bird") is slowly winding up the birding circles who are being cautious. Why cautious? In case this is a Loch Ness Monster sighting or three. David is hopeful, but so out of the loop right now in France. His own search for ring ouzels in the Pyrenees has not been particularly successful so far. He fears he is too early for any tapings.

 

April 27, 2005:

Bad back day. Combination of lots of rain, no ibuprofin (tomorrow I get cortisone in my back, so have had to be off it since Monday) and two hours signing.

No writing today.

Bad review. . .or at least a snarky review. . .from Kirkus on YEARS BEST. But then Kirkus rarely like my books. Besides, they called Patrick "Hayden" though his last name is Nielsen Hayden, said that five of the stories were from YA anthologies, though I believe only three were. Oh well, par for the course.

Mostly I just lay on the sofa and felt bad. Pooh!

 

April 26, 2005:

Journaling seems to be the biggest part of my writing these days. Have to change that. I did do a bit on GHOUL SCHOOL KIDS and sent it on to Heidi. Did a third and then a fourth revision of the Haldman poem and sent it on to the ReaderCon folk who wrote back immediately accepting it.

Then Heidi and I went off to do a charity book signing. A bunch of our friends were there--Jane Dyer, Ruth Sanderson, Corinne Demas, Julius Lester, Rich Michelson among others. The others being writers of adult books. The event was held at a car dealership with food and drinks and lots of chocolate supplied by various local restaurants and chocolatiers. Ruth had brought the original painting for the cover of ONCE UPON A TIME, SHE SAID which is astonishingly beautiful. Heidi and I sold about two dozen books, about as well as anyone else.

 

Now for another question for the journal: Mary asked, ". . .after having read of Aaron Shepard's reasons for beginning to self-publish.. . .are you considering the same thing? Just think, Jane, no more "out of print" books, no more rejection notices. You certainly have earned all you need from having been published by the mainstream houses. . .how much more credibility could you possibly need? And you certainly have the exposure and the reputation to be able to market your own books, and now that you have your kids in on the act with you, you could publish for them too! You could probably earn enough to hire your own brilliant editor. I'd really look forward to reading your response to this question on your journal."

The five problems I have with self-publishing are:

1. Needing a reliable editor to read over and critique the work.

2. Needing a reliable art director to put the book together so that it's a stunning piece to look at as well as read. Yes, I could hire them both and fold that cost into the book’s cost, but watch out for #s 3-5. They are the doozies.

3. Warehousing the books: I have a big house and two barns, but they are not set up for warehousing books which need a constant temperature or they will buckle (I live in New England.)And printing on demand one at a time and sending books out one at a time is simply not cost effective in terms of my time or energy. As it is. I have Heidi as my PA and our time is already more than taken up with business matters. If I had to hire someone to just deal with a self published book--well add that to how much the book costs me.

4. Marketing the books: Many bookstores will not take self-published books, many journals and review media will not touch them either. So unless the author drags them around and hand sells each book (and I have a bad back and little time or patience for such a thing) no one will know the book exists. (See above--Heidi and I sold about two dozen books, spread over eight or nine different titles. The authors at the book sale with only one book sold far fewer. We were there for two hours, and driving took almost an hour. If I had to hand sell a self-published book, I would have to set up these kind of events on a weekly basis.) And what about book clubs? Book groups? And what about catalog companies like Chinaberry? The hundreds of awards committees? I don't have the list of all of these or how to get hold of the proper folks to send them to. What about foreign publishers? Movie and theater and talking books companies? How do I get my book to all of them?

5. Publicity and advertising the book: Oh yes--I suppose one could take out big ads for the book. And the price has just gone up further. I would have to pay to go to major library and reading conferences on my own instead of being taken by my publisher, have to wine (or whine) and dine top librarians and booksellers on my own. I would have to pay for a booth because buttonholing people in the aisles to show them a book is not only not cost effective, it is demeaning. I expect if I still went on school visits, self-publishing MIGHT make more sense, as I could sell the books directly to the kids. Should I also fold in a trip to Bologna Book Fair, BEA and Frankfurt book fairs? Should I pay a publicist?

Nah, I really just want to write and be cosseted (as much as any publisher cossets midlist authors these days). If I really wanted to be a publisher, I would have remained in editing. But thanks for asking.

 

 

April 25, 2005:

Writing: Rewrote and reshaped the Joe poem. Revised my parts of the DANCE book. Phoned and wrote more illustrators for the Robert’s Snow auctions to raise money for cancer research.

C sent me another question: "I notice that many houses say they will only read ‘agented or published authors' material.’ Well, I'm half-way there. [I still ask that age-old question of the un-agented, 'Does one really need an agent?'].

It is indeed an age-old question. And not so long ago, I would have said that agents are a wonderful luxury, especially in the children’s book field, as there were so few good children’s book agents out there. And I would have added, with total conviction: it’s easier to find a good children’s book publisher than a good children’s book agent. But in the last five-ten years things have changed so radically, that I think an agent has become a necessity in the field. And oddly, at the same time, there are suddenly a plethora of agents out there. Well, maybe it’s not so odd because many of them are the very ex-editors who were fired when publishing companies got leaner and meaner.

The real problem is finding an agent. There are (alas) scam agents around. Please read http://www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/ and read it all the way through. Rule of thumb: money flows to the author. In other words, you should not pay an agent (and certainly not an editor) up front money for anything. An agent takes a cut (usually 15% national sales, 20% international, though it can vary a bit) from the money that the publisher gives you. Watch out for agents who say, "This is wonderful, but you need to hire an editor/book doctor to help get it ready to see a publisher." Then they give you the names of some of these editors. This, too, is a scam. Remember--money flows TO the author, not AWAY from the author.

Networking with other writers will help you locate solid agents. Sharing this information is vital.

And also remember--not every good agent is good for everybody. My adored agent of 38 years, Marilyn Marlow (who alas, died two years ago) had some detractors. It goes with the territory. They left her or she left them. These things happen. But there is nothing worse than a bad agent or an agent who is bad for you since your agent is the wall against the world. You can hide behind that wall or stand up on it and raise yourself higher. But if you fall off. . .oh my God, she’s committing metaphor expansion again. Stop her. Now!

What do you want in an agent? Good communication skills: to you and to the prospective publisher/editor. A solid knowledge of the field. A commitment to keep up with what is going on. Connections as well with foreign publishers or foreign agents, and connections with Hollywood and theatrical agencies. Enough clients selling to top publishers to prove the agent has a solid track record. Tact plus a terrier’s ability to grab a rat and not let go.

Would I suggest the names of good agents in my journal? Nope. Because agents are as individual as authors. I would have to know you and your work before suggesting a specific agent. However, if you (meaning anyone reading this) are not a member of SCBWI, why not? SCBWI has a list of agents who deal in children’s book materials. That is the best place to start.

 

April 24, 2005:

Heidi and Maddison and I took a 2 mile walk around Hatfield. Well, Heidi and I were walking. Maddison was scootering. As happens in any small town, we stopped and gossiped with friendly townsfolk along the way. Heard about another house (across the street from us) possibly going up for sale. Heidi has already vetoed it on aesthetic lines. We are thinking more and more about building.

Writing: More noodling. Nothing great. Started a poem about Joe Haldeman that might be used for a convention booklet where he is Guest of Honor. Needs more work.

Then we went off to a seder at Barbara Diamond Goldin’s house. Included in this night’s seder were Leslea Newman and her partner Mary, as well as Barbara’s daughter Josee and husband Phil, home safely from their posting in Bagdad, Phil’s mom, Barbara’s cousin and her family, and a friend of Barbara’s--Warren--who was studying Judaism in order to convert. It was a lively gathering, made even more lively by a fire in the dumpster! We sang, we drank the four glasses of wine, we acted in plays about Exodus (I was God. Heidi felt that was typecasting!) Maddison along with Barbara’s cousin’s twin sons (teens) looked for the afikomen and the kids all received money for finding it. We ate ourselves silly. It’s been years since my last seder. I think Heidi was an infant then. I had forgotten what fun seders can be.

 

Now when I posted about not hearing from any readers for a while, I got some wonderful email. There are several questions I think need attending.

From S in Australia: "I read your journal today and laughed - the gaunt and fat cows are a wonderful analogy. I'm having a bit of a fat cow year, for some reason, with several books accepted and one shortlisted for an award (not announced yet - I don't want to jinx the cow by hoping too much!). I have been thinking about why I am going through a good period and have come to the conclusion that it's because I have been sending out more, and persevering with submitting. In the past, submitting has been at the bottom of the list much of the time. As in, No time to send out, I have to get X finished or Y needs another rewrite. And so things that are finished and may have been rejected a couple of times sit in a pile and cry to leave the house!

"I have also spent time on marketing and networking though, and have a pretty good idea of what is being published by whom. I read a lot, and love to read award winning and honour books to see what that author has done, what might be different or special. Maybe the result of all that has been that I did finally make submitting a bigger priority, and it is paying off. But you are right - the gaunt cows can come mooing back into my paddock any time. I have to keep them well fed, in a variety of ways."

Good on you, S! I love hearing stories like this, probably because they confirm what I already believe: that we make our own luck.

CL also responded to that cow image,but was having a different kind of year. She wrote: "As to those fat and lean cows, they live in the fields around me, along with horses, goats, sheep, and an occasional donkey. On a farm not too far away, a herd of bison and several emu. It seems to me, writing and publishing is quite a bit like farming. Some years the weather cooperates and our neighbor gets his crops planted on time. Sometimes the floods wipe away everything. Sometimes he's still harvesting corn in December, after working all day at the power plant. Many times I see his tractor lights in the fields late at night. But he loves the land no matter what. And he needs to do what he does to feed his family and all his livestock. Hard as it is, he doesn't give up.

"Last year was a lean year for me as a writer. So far, this one looks more promising. But no matter the publishing climate or the droughts I experience, I love the land of writing, and I will continue to tend the stories and poems in my care. Hard as it is, I won't give up."

I love it when a metaphor works! But I also love the passion in CL’s commitment, which says to me that she’s going to make the leap from lean to sleek. Bet money on that!

By the way, S also asked: "What is the Thor Power Tool Amendment? Is this a US thing? I haven't heard of it before."

Yup. It has to do with the way bits and pieces of product in warehouses were accounted for to the tax man. In this case the Thor Power Tool Company and its tool components. After passing the amendment, the US congresscritters decided to enlarge the bloody thing to include books in warehouses. And suddenly, afraid of double and triple taxation on merchandise that was not selling through in a single year, publishers began to dump stuff onto remainder lists and put books out of print willy-nilly. By this I mean books that weren’t selling a magical number by the end of the season, or possibly the end of the fiscal year-- and to make things more difficult, each publisher decided on its own magical number, none of which was shared with the authors, of course. And soon publishers had changed their entire warehousing systems. So even those editors who might have joined with writers organizations opposing, now agree that leaner and meaner publishing companies are better suited to today’s market. It is an old story, publishing history, and I am afraid there’s no going back to revisit or revise it. We just have to accept it and find new ways to make sure our books remain in print.

Aren’t you glad you asked?

Then one of my favorite correspondents, "C" wrote: "Ok, Miss Jane; I'll bite. Here's a publishing business question to toss into the conversation your online journal facilitates: As an "emerging writer" (I think I have moved to that position rather than the 'wannabe' stage), I think that having several non-fiction book contracts from school library and reference publishers is a good thing and will help get my creative manuscripts read at mainstream commercial houses, but will it? I have sold one fiction picture book so far to a smaller commercial press and others are circulating, but I have not yet tried to get an agent. Should I? Am I wasting my efforts if I keep taking on more school library and reference projects if I want to write and publish fiction? [The concern in this question is about career direction and how to get there as opposed to which path is more financially certain--the non-fiction route is more certain right now, and I do enjoy writing those books, but they are not the kinds of books I originally set out to write or want only to write.]"

A lot of different questions in there, C, but I think they boil down to something my husband once told a friend when she was worried that writing some small Disney books would damage her forever. He said, "They won’t do much for your art, but they’ll do a hell of a lot for your craft."

I believe that everything we writers work on teaches us something. And what you are doing is forging strong links within. Yes, some of what you are writing is akin to finger exercizes. But I know you have come upon some stunning stuff that will feed into your fiction for the rest of your writing life.

Now does any of this translate into networking? Hmmmm. Sometimes. (How is that for a weasel word?) Sometimes editors move in. . .shall we say. . .interesting directions. I first got to know one of my favorite editors when she was working for an ALA magazine. Another favorite moved from copyediting to head up a major children’s list. I always remind my students to cultivate the assistant editors who Real Soon Now will be in charge of the circus.

But your direct question about whether having nonfiction or library reference books out there help get one read at a commercial house--that is a bit trickier. Certainly editors love to know that you have been published before, and by this I do NOT mean published online or self-published or produced (I won’t elevate it with the other P word) by something like Publish America. The editors want to know that you have worked under editorial direction in a professional market. But in the end, of course, it has to do with the manuscript at hand.

C added, a bit provocatively, "Also, I'm intrigued by your "Grand Canyon." I think that gap between what we get and what we imagined for the piece needs to be as narrow as we can make it, doesn't it? If we "settle" for a wide gap, does that mean we are compromising something? Or do you mean coming to peace with the inevitability of the gap is part of the maturing process as a writer?"

Oh C--of course I meant the latter. But good of you to remind us all of that.

And C also said, "Does the gap change shape as one looks back on a published piece years later, comparing the finished piece to what we thought we first imagined it would be? Gaps are full of air--could it be that we have just allowed air and life to enter the writing and separate it from us, kind of like letting it find its own life?"

Personally, I have NEVER fully liked a piece when I look back on it a day, a month, or years later. I may find a line, a paragraph, even a scene that I go, "Hmmmmm--how DID I do that?" And sometimes I suspect that the editor sneaked that bit in on her own, until I go back and look at the manuscript and see that it was there from the start. But getting stuck forever on one piece is another name for writer’s block. And we authors have to recognize that at some time in the writing of a particular story or poem or book we have begun on the next piece. And that’s when it is time to let it go.

 

April 23, 2005:

I have been interested to watch how the comments about my website have waxed and waned. We are now in a waning period. I wonder if the lack of recent responses tracks with my lack of recent discussions about writing, or with my lack of recent disclosures about books rejected. I always get mail about that, mostly of the "It is such a relief to know you get rejections, too" variety.

So in order to try and stumulate a bit more conversation, here are some bits and pieces I have written over the last few years. Not sure if any of them have been posted on my journal before. Certainly not recently.

1:
Anthony Burgess once said that dream seldom survives the first paragraph. And Edith Wharton, quoting an old French proverb, wrote "I dream of an eagle, I give birth to a hummingbird."

All writing is about that gap—no that chasm--between expectation and final product. A veritable Grand Canyon. It is the very thing that induces writer’s block.

I say that we writers should just expect that disappointment, not be surprised by it. Expect it, side-step it, move on.

 

2:
Learn about the publishing business so you won't be manhandled, disenfranchised, overpowered, or screwed.

Well, you'll still probably be manhandled, disenfranchised, overpowered, or screwed. But at least you'll know why.

 

3:
Do you remember the dream of Pharaoh: "Behold in my dream I was standing on the banks of the Nile; and seven cows fat and sleek, came up out of the Nile and fed in the reed grass; and seven other cows came up after them, poor and very gaunt and thin, such as I had never seen before in the land of Egypt. And the thin and gaunt cows ate up the fat cows, but when they had eaten them, no one would have known that they had eaten them, for they were still as gaunt as at the beginning."

I believe Pharaoh was a publisher and he was dreaming about the troubling world for writers. Do I hear an amen, Sisters? Brothers? For like Joseph, I say unto you that in the '60s and '70s and yeah--even into the '80s, we writers were all those fat cows. We ate the good green grass and frolicked in the warm sun, and were happily milked by our publishers. And we never gave any thought to the future.

Then along came those seven gaunt cows. I shall name them: Multi-national companies, Barnes & Noble/Amazon, Thor Power Tool Amendment, zero dollars to school libraries, overproduction of books, television/movie-driven merchandised celebrity writers, and the super-saturation of slush piles by desperate wannabee writers sending in multiple submissions by the dozens.

The publishers responded to this situation by making deep and devastating cuts in their lists, firing their editors (both junior and senior), further amalgamating with other publishers, and closing their doors to unsolicited and unagented manuscripts.

That's the bad news. We have all been at the receiving end of it. Without an agent, you cannot get in the door. Get in the door, you get a rejection that says "Much as I love this, I cannot get my pub committee to agree." Or "This is too quiet and gentle a book." Or (as I heard several years ago from a British firm that turned down 7 of my books at the same time, "She writes beautifully but is too literary for our market." Too literary for the British market?????

And if against all odds you finally sell a book--your editor dies, moves west, or starts a boutique--all of which have happened to me. Or the manuscript is paid for, and after one or two or three or--as happened to me recently--after nine years languishing on my editor's desk waiting for an illustrator, the mss. is returned.

But remember--after the seven gaunt cows, will come seven fat cows. Or maybe seven sleek but not quite fat cows. Or seven comfortable-looking if not exactly sleek cows. Or seven okay cows if not exactly comfortable cows.

Are you finding this a moooving discussion?

I believe this change in cowdom is already starting to happen. Why, in the last few years in the online writing groups I frequent, a number of people have sold their first books--picture books and non fiction and YA novels as well. Sometimes to small publishers, local publishers, regional publishers. And sometimes to the Big Guys. And in the last couple of months, one of the members of my critique group (all of us well published professionals) who'd gone through a seven year drought of sales sold a picture book.We did the happy dance at our meeting and she grinned nervously, afraid that things might still fall apart.

Sometimes the only thing that stands between you and the gaunt cows is the research you do on the marketplace, the constant networking, a new and hungry agent, and the ability to never give up. And so I remind us all of something Churchill told a group of school boys He said: "Never give up. Never give up. Never, never, never give up."

 

As for my life, I did no writing. (Well, okay, a bit of noodling on the DANCE book, a bit of noodling on ANGEL OF HADLEY, a bit of noodling on BURD JENNET. Just to keep my hand in. Nothing else.) In the evening, Heidi, Maddison, Glendon and I went out to a local production of "Kiss Me Kate" in the driving rain. It was enjoyable but not Broadway standard great. Still, we had a wonderful time and by the time it was over, the rain had abated.

 

April 22, 2005:

Email brought a long detailed revision letter on the DANCE anthology and to my amazement, I can’t find a final draft on either of my computers. I even organized all the files in the DANCE folder--and it’s gone! If the final draft isn’t on Heidi’s computer, we are going to have to get the editor to send it back!

Also, my English picture book editor at HarperCollins is taking the new HOW DO DINOSAURS book (not a surprise as they are doing well for her) and will be making an offer on the two DIMITY DUCK picture books I wrote especially for her. Whew. I had given up on them since this has been a two-year wait. But if picture books are difficult to sell here, they are almost impossible there, especially as HarperUSA did not take them a the same time. But editor Sue Buswell had always had faith in the character of Dimity and her friend Frumity (a frog) and at last she says an offer will be coming in two weeks.

I went off to PT at 11am, then had a myriad of small errands, getting home by 1. With Brandon on kid wrangling duty, Maddison had a friend over for a picnic and dress-up games (it was school vacation) and Heidi arrived home at 2 from New York with a lovely scarf as a present for me. She said, "You always give me presents for no reason, and I saw this and knew you had to have it."

I worked on finalizing all my IRA signings and make copies for Heidi who is going with me. Updated my list of books and stories out on offer.

After taking Maddison and Heidi out to dinner, I declined to go with them to see a local production of "Grease." I never liked that play/movie any more than I enjoyed "Happy Days." I grew up in the 50’s and those bad boys were not charming and wise--they were dopey and scary, thank you very much. They would make loud sexist remarks as girls walked down the hall and lie about conquests. They called people names who studied hard. It was NOT pleasant.

I have started reading a book called CIRCLE OF SISTERS, the group biography of the four Macdonald sisters of Victorian England, daughters of a Methodist preacher. They were barely middle class to begin with, but one of them married the Pre Raph painter Burne-Jones, one married the man who became director of the National Gallery, one became the mother of prime minister Stanley Baldwin, and one the mother of Rudyard Kipling. It’s quite a story!

 

April 21, 2005:

Since David was going off to Scotland and from there to the Pyrenees on Monday, we had a lot of catch-up work to do on my website. We went over and updated the "What’s New" section as well as the "Travel" section and he also added the cover and blurb for YEAR'S BEST. I can only update the "Journal" as the rest is far too complicated for this Bear of Little Pixel Brain.

I received the first copy of my picture book SOFT HOUSE (Candlewick) with wonderful pictures by Wendy Halperin. This is a book I first wrote nearly thirty years ago and rewrote endlessly (and submitted in endless variations) for as many years. And now it is out, quiet and lovely. Thanks to Liz Bicknell the editor with whom I first worked at Harcourt. Though I believe that if it hadn't sold to her five years ago, it would never have sold today.

Once David was off--Brandon took him--I started working on a first chapter of my Tam Lin book (called BURD JENNET). Often after finishing something, I find myself drawn to work on a new piece. This is a book under contract to Tor, but they know I will not really get going on it till some time in 2006. But here came a first chapter, pouring out, and I discovered that it needed photos and other stuff embedded in the text. Don’t ask me why, it just does. I ended up with a whole flurry of emails back and forth with the editor about this. I don’t want to move ahead until I have the editor’s take on this strange idea.

Then I spent time on the phone with the WordSong (Boyds Mills) poetry editor about how we will work together with their new publishing configuration. I wrote to Jason about all we discussed, and he and I will be giving them some proposals with photos soon.

I also wrote to my Tor editor with whom I do adult books, asking if she had read the novella in letters that Midori Snyder and I wrote, "Except the Queen." It’s published in a new anthology, FAIR FOLK, edited by Marvin Kaye. Our story is about two middle age fairies kicked out of the Seelie Court and exiled to earth. We think it could easily be expanded into a great novel. She emailed right back asking to see a reading copy, so I shipped that off. Boy, does email lighten that particular load.(Not that publishers necessarily anwer any quicker. You've heard that rant before!)

Finished up signing some books sent to me, caught up on back newspapers I'd not had the time to read, and babysat for Maddison for part of the afternoon, not a difficult chore as at 10 she is quite capable of entertaining herself.

Then Maddison, driven by Brandon, went off to fencing and I settled down to writing the first part of this journal entry, doing crossword puzzles, watching my guilty pleasure --"Star Gate."

When Maddison got home, she and I watched "Groundhog Day" though she covered her eyes whenever anyone kissed, which amused me enormously. We talked a bit about some of the ideas in the movie, but she understood it pretty well on her own.

 

April 20, 2005:

The day after finishing a book can be a day of depression, mourning for what could have been. The only thing to do is to start something new or do something fun or turn a corner.

So this is what I did:

I reveled in a painting that Ruth Sanderson sent by email--the cover for my upcoming World Con collection, ONCE UPON A TIME, SHE SAID. The picture is exquisite, a Gothic period piece. Young woman  with long black hair, dressed in black, book in hand, in front of a belvedere where a sunflower is growing. It is an illustration for my fairy tale "San Soleil." David printed it out so I can take it to my writing group. And show it around. . .whenever.

Went to WFCR, the local NPR station in Amherst, to be interviewed about Hans Christian Andersen by a BBC call in. A good half hour which will be part of a five part series in May. Other people being interviewed are A.S. Byatt and Marina Warner. And a bunch of kids who love Andersen’s tales..What good company.

Finalized the winners for the Jane Yolen Writing Contest for the Hatfield Elementary School (the 15th year, I think.) About 24 winners this year. I give autographed books to all winners, and for the high Honors, $10 and $15 (a tie this year) to the Best All Around .

Enjoyed Adam’s news that a movie producer is sniffing around his novel, pitching it to her boss as “Trainspotting meets Lord of the Rings”, a Hollywood concept if ever there was one. Of course sniffing, as he well, knows, rarely turns into an actual movie. But it’s a fun dream for a while.

I paid off all our bills. Read some poetry. Did some crossword puzzles. Watched tv. Chose the poems I will read at IRA at the Poetry Blast. Finalized my IRA schedule. Made dinner. The usual stuff.

Oh yes--our offer was turned down by the house seller who feels he will get a better offer. For his sake, I hope so. For our sake I am a bit disappointed.

April 19, 2005:

Phoenix Farm is full again with David home, though he is only here for three days before heading off to Europe. At 9 am we made an offer on the house next door, and then David went off to the dentist. But I sat down with the laptop and made the final push on PIRATES, rereading everything, doing a spell check (which always brings up bizarre offerings!) and then, finished, I sent it off by email attachment to the editor at Charlesbridge, the marvelous Judy O'Malley. I wonder if she is related to Grania O'Malley, the first female pirate in the book! And Judy, bless her, sent a note saying that it was finally proven--I could write faster than she could read.

Now the waiting begins. And the slight niggling worry. Will she like it? Will there be a LOT of revision? Is the book as basically sound as I hope? And why, after all these years as a professional writer, do I still second and third guess myself? Probably that just goes with the job.

At noon, the real estate broker--an old Hatfield neighbor--came by to have me sign documents. And now the offer is official. We should hear yea or nay by Monday. My guess is the offer won't be accepted. But at least we will have made the offer.

I spoke to my agent about her trip last week to the Bologna Book Fair. There was evidently a lot of foreign publishers interested in both PAY THE PIPER and Adam's novel, but whether that will eventually translate into sales is anyone's guess. And HarperCollins UK is still interested in a series of picture books about a character called DIMITY DUCK, which I wrote for them two years ago! They even have an illustrator--but no contract offer. So we just smile and wait. In fact "waiting" is the most prevalent mode in publishing. It has gotten worse over the years instead of better.

David and I ate dinner at our fabulous local Chinese restaurant, then were met by Brandon (Heidi's ex-husband) and off we went for an evening of listening to Smith College student poetry because Glendon was one of the readers. Interestingly, there seemed to be about the same percentage of real poets in her class as there were in the days I went to Smith. But we were more concerned with (or perhaps acquainted with) metrical systems and verse forms.

Walking through the campus on such a clear, warm April evening, we were all struck with its beauty, this place of privilege,this center of intelligent beauty. I remarked that I'd never really appreciated it enough when I was in school. But now, with my 45th college reunion looming, I am awed by the college as never before.

 

April 18, 2005:

Heidi and I began the morning walking to the house next door which is still for sale. We took another tour around. The price we can afford for it is still well--and I mean WELL--below the asking price but certainly a good step above its assessed value. Unfortunately real estate here in sleepy Hatfield, as everywhere else, has skyrocketed, outpacing the assessors at every turn. Then we talked seriously on the way back home, and for some time after, about whether we should make an offer (yes) and what we should do if it is accepted (doubtful, so worry later.)

The mail brought the wonderful f&gs for BABY BEAR’S CHAIRS with Melissa Sweet’s absolutely adorable bears, plus the really nicely -done teacher’s guide for PAY THE PIPER to be given out at IRA and ALA, as well as a whopping big check from Scholastic which really comes at a great time.

Then Heidi went off to do errands and I got back to the PIRATE book. I worked steadily from 10:30 until 2 when I had PT and picked up laundry, and afterwards worked on the book again until dinner. After dinner, I worked on it some more till 8 when I wrote a quick journal entry, then drove off to pick up David who was flying home from the Caribbean.

His plane got in early by a few minutes but I was already there and waiting. Having not had more than a few quick phone messages from him in a month, we played catch-up all the way home. And then fell, exhausted, into bed.

A word about writing nonfiction: I actually find it soothing. No plot to worry about may be its biggest plus!. And once the format is set, the research done, I think the main problem is being sure that the writing flows within the parameters I've set down. I also have to be aware that those parameters may have to change. Rigidity is for bad text books. But a good nonfiction picture book is about problem- solving, and that’s fun!

 

April 14-17, 2005:

I took off for S Carolina, in beautiful weather--an easy flight. Jason met me at the airport, and I checked into the hotel, just dropping my stuff and gathering up my presents for the twins. Then we went over to their new house, which needs lots of loving care, but will be a gem when they are done.

The twins at a month shy of two are gorgeous, funny, sassy, talkative book lovers.Their parents are worn out!

We brought in Chinese food and chatted once the kids were in bed. Then I crashed into my hotel bed and slept nine hours.

Friday Jason and I wandered around Kiawah Island where he is the official photographer. Lots of extraordinary marsh landscapes and multi-million dollar houses. We talked a great deal about future projects, and where we stood with various publishers. Then we played outside with the children, then went out to dinner at a local restaurant that had, alas, fallen in service and food prep since they’d last been there.

The next day (Saturday) we spent at the Charleston Aquarium (four stars!) where the girls fell in love with the sea turtles especially. "Gurgulls," was what Caroline called then. I bought the girls big plush turtles. Then off to the Farmer’s Market where we got fresh bread, cake, and cookies, as well as a variety of herbs in pots. Then while the girls played in the backyard, we planted the herbs. Then off to the local playground a block away at a school where the children found larger and larger slides and I discovered that sitting in a swing and leaning back made my back feel great. The girls insisted on sleeping with their Gurgulls.

And Sunday, after a lovely breakfast and some play time outdoors, I returned home. An easy trip back.

Along the way, I read several sf magazines looking for stories for the new YEARS BEST should we get to do it. And I read some more of the J.M. BARRIE AND THE LOST BOYS book. What a bizarre and ultimately sad story. But really, this was a family time, and I enjoyed every bit of it.

 

April 13, 2005:

The errands: picked up David's car, picked up MRI film, did laundry, packing.I head out tomorrow morning for four days in Charleston, SC, to visit my son Jason, his lovely wife Joanne, and the twins who will be two in a couple of weeks. Back home Sunday. Don't expect a journal till then.

The writing: reworked the Emily Dickinson sonnet about the fir trees, and I think I got it right. Or at least I got much closer. It meant changing some of the rhyme scheme as well as refocusing the intent of several lines. This was a concentrated two hours for a book of poems I shall probably never get published, but it is a labor of love.

The rest of the day included working down the pile of stuff that has been accumulating on my desk, looking (and not finding) the brand new handle for my best suitcase, and going to the back doctor.

The back: spinal stenosis and herniations around L3/4 and some arithritis around 4/5, the same diagnosis as seven years ago. But this doctor seems more positive--though he ruled out surgery as not helpful in my case. (And he is a surgeon!) Two weeks from tomorrow I will have a cortisone shot in the back, and hope that will help some. More PT.
As everyone says, growing older ain't for sissies. But. . .consider the alternative.

 

April 12, 2005:

I thought that the story of writing the Anansi poem (see yesterday's journal) would be instructive, more because it is completely atypical. It began with a phone call to my friend and sometime editor, Terri Windling. I was calling to try and get her to be one of the artists for this year’s "Robert’s Snow" project which raises money for the Dana Farber Institute and cancer research. As a cancer survivor herself, she was more than willing to participate.

However, in passing, I remarked, "I guess I missed the deadline for the Trickster anthology you're editing." She said it was full. "Though we could still squeeze in a poem." I told her I was listening. "But not a poem about European tricksters. We have enough of those." I told her I would think about it.

Of course I was knee-deep in the PIRATE book and should never have given the poem another thought. But poems are not like that. You do not think them--they think you!

Anansi popped into my head. The Ashanti (West African) trickster figure. Spider man. Who tricked the sky god into unlocking the box of the world stories. Who brought rain and stairs and grain and. . .I began reading about Kwaku Anansi (I have an enormous library of folklore) and the more I read. . .the more the poem took shape in my head. So I sat down and began to write. And. . .

. . .it was awful! Forced rhymes, and rhymes that pushed the poem in a direction it should never have gone. I tried a second time, to rescue the two hour's worth of work on the poem. And it . . .

. . .was worse. More forced rhymes, sprung rhythms, stupidity up the wazoo. Only two lines I liked, that were possubly salvageable. Plus a great title:"Kwaku Anansi Walks the World’s Web."

So I stopped, got up, made a cup of tea, started again. Put only the title and the two lines I’d rescued (non-rhyming) from the first attempt. Closed the old window and started over. And this time--everything flowed. It was as if Kwaku Anansi had been tricking me with the first poems, saying, "Silly human poet, how can you capture ME in your forced lines."

Writing the poem took three and a half hours, counting those first false starts. Normally I work on a poem for days, weeks even, noodling, nudging, replacing a word, a line, a thought, a metaphor. But this one was done. I emailed it to Terri and then put the entire thing out of my head. One has to do that within the publishing world. Waiting to hear from an editor is a ticking clock that can drive a writer mad. Better to just go on to something else, even if it is only eating chocolate.

An hour later, she wrote back: "This is fabulous!!!!! Thank you, thank you. I can't believe you did it so quickly!!!"

Yes, quickly. And she did it (whatever "it" is that editors do) quickly as well. But if I wrote the poem quickly, it was not without a lot of thought, a lot of arguments in the head, a lot of choices--some bad, some good.

Sometimes the magic works.

 

But today--ah today--I worked without stopping about ten hours on the PIRATE book (writers’ group was canceled, which gave me the uninterrupted time) and got within four double page spreads of the end. But I also sent off for an important research book. So once it arrives, I may be redoing a number of parts of the manuscript. If I am lucky, next week I will be able to work on it and finish the blessed thing.

What makes this book more difficult than I'd first planned, is that every page--every single page--now has marginalia. I think it deepens the whole reading experience, making it easier for a child--used to computers and their various popups and non-linear links--to get the big picture about pirates as well as about women in pirating.

I also received back TROLL BRIDGE from the editor with a request for another revision go-round. Oh joy! Though as he was so right on the last revision, I trust him. I was just hoping we were finished, that's all. Adam will do the first pass on it and I will go over it aftewardsr. This buys me time to finish the PIRATE book. I expect any minute to get the DANCE book back for revision as well. But that will be simple compared to a fiction revise.

Tomorrow is a clean-up-before-travel day. And a doctor visit day. But today was a total writing day, ten full hours plus an hour of signing books for neighbor, Jan. And boy! was I tired. Luckily, I had a lovely evening planned, taking granddaughter Glendon and a college friend out to dinner for Glen's birthday. We went to the always terrific Green Street Cafe, troubled a bit by a clearly sick (perhaps rabid) raccoon in the road ahead of my car. It climbed on a Smith student's bike while she was riding, which was really scary. The police swarmed all over Green Street but couldn't find the poor thing. Hmmm--bears several days ago and now a racoon up close and personal. Getting to be pretty wild around here!

 

April 10-11, 2005:

Hard to work on this journal as it is done on my husband's computer which is now hidden behind loads of stuff while his office is being painted. So this will be a quick roundup.

Have gotten about 12 hours of work done on the PIRATE book between the last two days. Also errands, dinner out one night with Heidi, Maddison and friends. Wrote a poem about Anansi for an anthology. Helped make phone calls for the second year of the Robert's Snow auctions. Got my tax stuff ready to go out.

Ah, the exciting life of a writer.

 

April 9, 2005:

I got up at 5 am to say goodbye to Heidi and Maddison who were off with friends to New York City for a long day, going to a fencing tournament to watch a friend competing for the first time, then shopping and museums, then to see "Wicked."

I went back to bed and awoke around 7 am and went immediately up to the Aerie where I worked for two hours on PIRATES. I was adding more Marginalia, not moving forward otherwise. But the book is taking shape, and it's always fun with a nonfiction book to see it find its form. I believe the voice is strong, and the Marginalia really make the thing work.

After lunch, and picking up the Saturday mail, I went for an MRI for my back. David and daughter-in-law Betsy are both claustrophobic and hate MRIs, opting for the open machine which, I believe, takes longer. This one took about half an hour of lying still in a closed tube. It's so noisy, they give me earplugs. I thought of it as being at a very bad rock concert, and just napped. After all, with my eyes closed, I could't see how closed-up the tube is.

Afterwards I went off to the MacLachlan's because Patty’s husband had recently had a shunt put into an artery to his heart. I was just visiting for a moment, to bring him my love and cheer for an easy recovery, plus three books he hadn't read yet. Patty was off buying stuff for their daughter who is about to have a baby, so Bob and I sat in the kitchen and talked about health matters. (And it does.)

Suddenly I said, "Is that a bear in your backyard?" A black bear cub was busy about twenty-five feet from the French doors, gathering up whatever birdseed had fallen from the many feeders.

Now Bob is supposed to take things easy, but he swiveled around, eyes growing wide. Then he jumped up from his chair, and raced over to a kitchen cupboard. Grabbing up two pot lids, he ran out onto the deck and banged the tin lids until the cub raced away . .to join its twin who climbed a nearby tree. That’s when I thought--Right! Two cubs. So where's the mother? After all, I had to leave soon, crossing about twenty feet of front yard to get to my car.

When we opened the front door, we heard the neighbor's dogs barking hysterically. Aha! So that's where the cubs were now. A good football field away. I dashed into my car and left.

Drove to the Williamsburg Country Store to buy two adorable stuffed bears for the twins since I will be visiting next week. Then off to Troubadour Books, a wonderful secondhand bookstore, where I dropped $150 on Emily Dickinson books, folk tales, and books about whaling--all for research. Then home.

Home to work another two hours on the pirate book, doing a first draft on two more spreads. I am liking it quite a bit now.

And going over our taxes. We paid slightly more than necessary in quarterly payments and that goes against the first quarter due. Whew!

Finally, I did three crossword puzzles (gotta keep the old noggin sharp) and watched the 2003 movie of Peter Pan which I thought quite magical. Certainly better than "Hook." The kids playing Wendy and Peter were very good though they mugged a bit too much for me. But that's a given with kid actors, I'm afraid.

And then I wrote this journal article. Not a bad writing day. With bears.

 

April 8, 2005:

RIP Charlotte Huck, one of the great ladies of children's literature. Professor Emeritus of children's literature at Ohio State, where she developed a program that allowed Masters degrees and doctorates in the subject. Also the author of a number of books about the literature as well as many books for children. She was an educator in the best sense of the word, leaving her students--and the world--better than she found them.

I heard today that there is to be a major shake-up at Scholastic, where my best-selling DINOSAUR books reside. Sigh. Have I told anyone lately how I hate this business?

It's true. I love the writing. But I hate the business. For me, writing is a time of discovery, enlightenment, joy. The business is flat-footed, intrusive, and joyless, even when something is doing well in the marketplace. Business wants to take over my life. I don't write to be famous or rich. I write. . .for the story. Or the single line that feels perfect. Or to find out what's going to happen next, and next, and next. Writing gives to me, business takes from me, though to the outsider it may look the other way around.

After an early morning cat scan for my throat/esophagus at 7:30 am (it took, at most, five minutes and that included all the positioning and explanations) I got back home and worked on the Emily Dickinson poem. That meant keeping the last two lines, rearranging much else, plus writing the missing lines. I am nowhere near happy with it, but at least now I have an armature on which to try and hang the real poem.

Then I worked for about three solid hours on the PIRATE book. Mostly I was revising and titivating what was already there. And working on the bibliography as well. This weekend, before and after an MRI on my back, I hope to get a lot more done on the book. I am determined to get down 2-4 more double pages. Heidi and Maddison will be in New York on Saturday so I will have the house to myself. Except for the painters who are redoing David's work room. Ah--what fun I have ahead of me.

It looks like my check from Scholastic is late so we will have to borrow money to pay the taxes and then pay ourselves back. I hate when that happens. Have I told you that I hate the business stuff?

Our day ended with an early dinner at the great Northampton pasta place, Viva, and then to an art opening. Our next door neighbor, Georgia Pugh, is a painter who years ago did the illustrations for a book of mine called BEFORE THE STORM. She had a show with two other women in Northampton. Her paintings were bold, almost science fictional landscapes, her charcoal sketches exquisite. We met friends there as well, which would have made a lovely finale except my back was hurting badly, so we left early.

 

April 7, 2005:

An award, a poetry reading, and lots of writing. Whatta day.

Jason and I heard that our poetry-and-photographs book, FINE FEATHERED FRIENDS, has been named a Massachusetts Book Award Honor Book. Much happy dancing in the kitchen. (The best place for Happy Dances!) That set the tone for the day.

I spent the morning working on bills. (Heidi found the missing check book and, alas, I had misjudged NOT in my favor, by $6000. Arrrrhgh. It's amazing I hadn't seriously bounced checks.) And I did a lot of clearing away of the rest of the fan mail.
Then I began writing. Four double-page spreads for the WOMAN PIRATE book. I am leaning toward the title SEA QUEENS. (With a sly pun on sequins.)

Next I read a couple of Magic Tree House books by Mary Pope Osbourne since that is the series our Tor editor keeps heading us toward with the GHOUL SCHOOL KIDS. They are tiny books really, which surprised me. I expect that typed they are no more than about twenty pages. Very simple prose. Not sure I can write that way AND do characterization AND plot. By the way, though, I managed a draft of the Prologue. And then Heidi and I started calling for "Plot Man! Help us!" as we drove to pick up her van at the Honda repair place.

We were relieved to hear that our dear Dan Derigan came through surgery fine. At least that's one friend who has escaped the scythe in this year of death.

I went to dinner at Glendon's dorm at Smith. Afterwards, we walked around the campus and sat outside in the spring evening, eating chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven. Then off I went to a reading by poet Jane Hirschfield. Jane and I had taught together several years at Centrum Writers Conference back in the late 80s, early 90s and I always enjoyed both her company and her poems. I have several of her books. Her poetry is luminous, particular and yet universal, and she is a wonderful reader. I felt lifted up by the evening's end. Walking back across the campus to get to my car, I felt twenty again, a student at the college. Just as I got into the car, it began to rain, recalling me to my senses.

By the time I got home, though, several Emily Dickinson sonnets were forming in my brain. I lay in bed and wrote the beginnings. Hated one, but the other has possibilities. While it is still missing four lines, the final couplet goes:

Where fear's the driver, all are driven.
This war there is no quarter given.

Not sure where that came from, though it has somewhat to do with Emily's fear of going out into the world and the fir trees standing guard over her house. But also the fear of the world's concerns (for me) now. Death is all around me, but there are still some who have come through their trials, like Dan and like my beloved husband David, and some who live--like Patty MacLachlan's Dad, past 100. I want to live long enough to see my grandkids grow, and to write the nine novels in my head: Rogue's Apprentice, Dragon's Heart, An Arch of Bone, Many Mansions, Goblin Market, Angel of Hadley, The Big Ugly Guy, Greener Mansions (needs better name), and The Selchie Wars. Not to mention the picture book about Ann Frank, several new collections with Jason, several new folklore collections, and the Emily Dickinson sonnets. Hmmm, I need at least 15 to eighteen more years, in case anyone is listening.

 

April 6, 2005:

Spring sprung today. Actual shorts weather (though I don't wear shorts.) It was hard to stay indoors and work.

However, I did a bit more on the copyedited short story and then it was done.

I wrote a blurb for a friend's novel, even though I'd promised myself no blurbs this year. But she's a friend and I was caught from the first line. Loved it--a fairy tale that is large, romantic, magical: BELLA BY MOONLIGHT by Diane Stanley. I started reading it yesterday and finished it this morning in two great gulps, teary and happy by the end.

The REFLECTIONS poetry book (A MIRROR TO NATURE) was turned down by the publisher, which was a shock because we have a long poetry history together, though perhaps (on reflection--ha!) it wasn't. Boyds Mills has recently reorganized and things will change. It had to happen, I suppose. But I was glad to be there at its beginning. After talking to Jason and our agent, I sent the editor an email outlining several alternative projects. We hope one or more will interest them. And we will send A MIRROR TO NATURE on. I still think it is a strong book.

I sent out DISASTOUR INC, a reader's theater sf book that has been serialized in a bunch of newspapers, (starting with the Boston Globe) to Tor. I also sent copies of an aborted series I'd done some years ago for Knopf--THE ROBOT & REBECCA. I'd been deep into the third book when the line of middle grade books my series was in was suddenly canceled and the editor, Pat Ross, left publishing to start a boutique. Yup, you heard that right.

I also fiddled a bit with the first chapter and synopsis of THE SELCHIE WARS, a trilogy Adam and I have been working on. I want to finish the first chapter and send it on to him for the second chapter. We will each take a character and write from that pov.

Then it was back doctor time. (Doctor time is infinitely more important than person time, I'm sure you've noticed.) Though I got there fifteen minutes early, they took me a half hour late! However as he is a great back doctor, I didn't care.)

I think I forgot to mention that a dinosaur from our HOW DO DINOS series is on cereal boxes sold at Target! If that isn't a Wow!!! I don't know what is! On the other hand, no one from either Scholastic or Target told me. I learned about it when one of the Kennesaw Conference staff brought it to me. Her kid had been eating the cereal for breakfast. Another instance of the author being the last to know. (Well, actually, my agent was the last to know, since I showed it to her when I went into New York. She's tracking that down now.)

Never mind. It's spring. At least this week.I hear it's snowing in Scotland.

 

April 5, 2005:

PT and writer's group took up the large part of the day. Then going over the short story changes with Heidi and steting most of the copyeditor's changes took the rest of it. Luckily the anthologist agreed with us.

Which leads to some thoughts on editing and copyediting, as opposed to writing. In fact, oppositional is the wrong way to edit. (I have been an editor, so trust me on this.) The editor's job is to help the writer make the piece better. Not to rewrite it; not to fiddle, diddle, and dictate. The best editors ask questions. "Why did you make everything happen in three days?" was a question a great editor--Linda Zuckerman then of Viking--asked me on the manuscript of THE GIFT OF SARAH BARKER, my first major YA historical novel. I huffed and foofawed about trying to answer her, until I realized that I was imposing a structure on the novel that didn't fit--a fairy tale structure that had nothing to do with the story I was telling and everything to do with my discomfort level in writing a new (to me) kind of book. Then she said, "Trust the audience to go with you." And I did.

Copyeditors are supposed to "write rongs." Spelling, gross grammar mistakes, time problems, unmeant anachronisms, a change in the color of the hero's eyes--all these should be pointed out. But beware the copyeditor who finds sentence fragments anathema, who wants to change your 12-year-old hero's grammar to old-maid perfect, who--in essence--wants to write the story herself. You know what, copyeditors--then do it! Go write your own dang stories--and leave mine alone. A good copyeditor is worth her weight in gold. A bad one--well, it's time to finally buy myself that STET rubber stamp.

 

April 4, 2005:

PT and bills and fan mail took up most of the day. At PT, the therapist said all the traveling had put my back seriously out of whack (don't you love these technical terms?) and had to do a lot of work to get me realigned, but I felt much better when I left.

The bills brought the bank account seriously low.

The fan mail only got half done. I'll finish tomorrow.

I also went over the copyedited manuscript of a short story Heidi and I wrote about two years ago for a Scholastic anthology of mystery stories:"Max, the Hand, and Me". As far as I can tell, they want to take out everything that gives the piece a significant voice, capitalize Day-Glo and Dumpster, and change "his mopey mooney voice" to "warbling." That is NOT line editing, that is rewriting.

Following the Anne Frank picture book story idea: I got back an email note from the editor who loves the idea, but needs to pass it around to various other editors to see what they think. This particular publishing company has the toughest Pub Committee in the business, and an editor who does not first build consensus is doomed to have her projects shot down. Even building consensus is no guarantee of success. But my agent is crazy about the idea as am I. We will keep going if this first publishing company doesn't come through. Stay tuned. This is going to be a long, long road.

I wrote three haiku for son Adam's haiku contest on his website (www.adamstemple.com) and that and the journal entry was all she wrote today!

 

April 3, 2005:

Because of the long two days and the time change, I slept until 9 am, not my usual! And I didn't wake refreshed. In fact we all moped about the house, feeling washed out and sorry for ourselves.

David called from St Lucia all bubbly about the birds he was recording, one of which was an endangered species, and I grumped at him.

I managed to do a first pass through my mail, put out a few fires, put off a few more. Wrote my long journal catch-up and posted it. Thought about titles for the BABY'S FIRST POETRY BOOK, went over the proofs of APPLE FOR THE TEACHER (which used to be called WORKING AMERICA) song book.

Most exciting, though-- illustrator Jim Burke came up with a dynamite picture book idea for us. I first worked with him on MY BROTHERS' FLYING MACHINE, about the Wright Brothers. It was his first book and what an amazing debut. Now we are working on two books which aren't out yet, aren't even illustrated yet, though the text is finished in each case--JOHNNY APPLESEED (for Maria Modugno at HarperColins) and NAMING LIBERTY, about the Statue of Liberty (for Patti Gauch at Philomel.) Jim had been asking for more ideas and I had come up with nothing. But then he sent me this challenge: "Anne Frank by Jane Yolen, illustrated by Jim Burke." And everything suddenly lit up all over my body, a good sign. After all, hadn't I just been at the Anne Frank exhibit? Haven't I written two acclaimed novels about the Holocaust? Hadn't I identified with Anne Frank when I first read about her, noting how much I looked like her as a child. If I had lived in Europe with my family, during the '40s, I would have BEEN Anne Frank, frightening thought. So I sent off a quick email to Maria to see if such a project might interest her. For those of you who want to track a book from idea to finished page, here's your chance. Just don't fall asleep. These things take time. And not all ideas actually become books. But I have a good feeling about this one. . .

Heidi and Maddison went off to ballet rehearsal, and I stayed home. I wanted to write, but actually I dozed a bit, watched tv, read some sf stories for the new (in case there is one) YEARS BEST. Really, I was recuperating from the hard week just past.