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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. |
March 29-April 2, 2005:
RIP: Craig Crist-Evans, dead at 51 of a massive heart attack. Craig had published one YA novel, several books of children’s poetry, had won the Lee Bennett Hopkins poetry award with his first book, and was writing a series of articles on children’s poets with Heidi for the Bloomsbury Review. Such a funny, talented, passionate man , and that he should die so young, just when he’d made the decision to leave his teaching job and embrace his writing career entirely, is an awful irony. We are all grieving here.
Tuesday started out with PT, then I fiddled with
all the stuff I had to take off to Georgia with me, go to the bank,
get refills of my medications. Next a doctor’s appointment with
the ENT specialist, still working on this esophageal reflux problem.
Peculiarly, it turns out we’d gone to the same high school, Staples,
in Westport, Ct. though I am a good twenty-five years older than he
is.
Came home, picked up my bags, and drove through rain
to the airport. I worried about flights leaving, but--as you will
see--I had no trouble getting there through the massive rains, only
trouble getting home!
I was picked up by a delightful professor from Kennesaw
University, and he took me to the hotel which was close to the university
where I would be speaking (but alas, not close enough to any food
sources!) I had him ferry me to a Quick Stop where I got some finger
foods, but they turned out to be inedible after all. How does the
great mass of American eaters get this stuff down? It was like cardboard.
I gave up, drank tea and watched tv instead.
Wednesday morning I began early with a trip to a
school for a special stealth reading (NOT a school visit I hasten
to add) with two fifth grades. It turns out it was the school where
my niece Kristy Stemple used to teach.
Then over to the conference where I got to hear Jackie
Briggs Martin give a lovely speech on writing. Her big book, of course,
is the Caldecott winner SNOWFLAKE BENTLEY, whose illustrator--Mary
Azarian--roomed across from me in Hopkins B at Smith College my senior
year. A little known autobiographical tidbit for those who collect
such things.
Then I was given a very moving tour of the Kennesaw University’s Anne Frank collection. Little was I to know that several days later this was to become a Moment! One of those great A-ha times!
Just as we finished the tour, the fire alarms sounded.
The entire building, conference and all, had to be evacuated. Luckily
it was a sunny day and we all stood around in the parking lot and
chatted. Fifteen minutes later the all-clear was given, and the conference
resumed.
I presented an afternoon keynote on the morality
of fairy tales and fantasy fiction, a variation on a speech I have
given before, but seriously upgraded. Then I signed books for two
hours. Afterwards I went out to a fine French restaurant with a bunch
of the people working on the conference plus some faculty members.
Thursday morning I had breakfast with Gary Soto,
both of us bewailing the state of publishing. Then he gave a dynamite
speech on regional writing.
As it ended, I was whisked away to the Smyrna Library
in an enormous thunderstorm, lighting striking all around us, to do
a reading which was attended mostly by adults since the groups of
children who were to walk over to the library or be bussed there had
all been canceled because of the severity of the storm. Still had
a good crowd. I read three books, the first of which was GRANDMA'S
HURRYING CHILD because it was written about my granddaughter Maddison
who'd been born in Smyrna! It also turned out (Heidi told me later)
that this library was the very one in which she’d done research
for our first book together, MEET THE MONSTERS. The entire Georgia
trip was turning out to be a series of bizarre coincidences.
Brought back to the conference, I gave my second keynote address, this one about writing landscape, which dovetailed nicely with Gary Soto's talk.
More signing, then I got the news that many of the
planes out of the Atlanta airport were being canceled right and left
because of the storms. Mine was one of them. So the conference organizers,
got me a hotel room at the airport Hilton and changed my ticket so
I could leave the next morning early. But I couldn't fly back home
as I was supposed to be driving in to New York with Heidi for Trina
Schart Hyman’s memorial service that day. So we changed the tickets
and I flew into La Guardia. Luckily I always pack an extra change
of underwear!
The Hilton charged a lot for their room, which had
neither a tv remote that worked (they sent up new batteries) nor bath
towels. (It took them a bit longer to get those to the room.) Since
I have a Hilton VIP card, I was able to use a computer for free in
the VIP lounge, and eat there as well.It was the first time I've ever
used the card but it came in handy. I had about 300 email messages
(dumped most.) Back in my room I rented "Station 49" (is
that the title?), the firefighting movie with John Travolta and Joaquin
Phoenix. Long on exciting fire-fighting scenes and awfully short on
character development. A lot of shots of John T looking strong, with
set chin, as he buries his best fire fighters.
Friday morning my plane left (though the next one
was cancelled) and I got to LaGuardia early. Great tail winds I suppose.
Somehow I managed to snag the only cab driver in NYC with a back worse
than mine. He was too crippled to help me put my luggage in the trunk
but not too crippled to accept a tip!
My agent Elizabeth was delighted to see me and I
got the news that another translation may be in the offing for one
of my books. And Abrams may be making an offer on a folk tale collection
next week. (Or maybe not! This is publishing after all.) I met the
new movie agent and we had a delightful conversation.
Then Heidi showed up and we talked some more about
books with Elizabeth before heading off to lunch with the Marvelous
Maria Modugno, our HarperCollins editor. (Meanwhile Elizabeth offered
to cart my suitcase uptown later on when we were to meet again at
the memorial service. I gladly accepted.)
At Maria’s office, we were shown the tight sketches
by Brooke Dyer (Jane Dyer’s daughter) for SLEEP, BLACK BEAR,
SLEEP and they are so wonderful, I was afraid Heidi--who never cries--was
going to cry. And then Maria showed me the very loose sketches by
Jim Burke for my book on Johnny Appleseed. It’s going to be very
gorgeous in an entirely different way from the Dyer project.
We went to a fine French restaurant and celebrated
our new book(s) together. Maria is one of my best editors and best
friends in publishing, and she is thrilled to also be publishing Jane’s
daughter and mine!
After lunch, we headed downtown to the Flatiron building
to visit Tor. There Theresa Nielsen Hayden gave me a piece of architectural
salvage from the building (a big lump of stone to some, certainly
heavy to haul around!) and Patrick gave me the great news that our
YEARS BEST SF AND FANTASY FOR TEENS is being reprinted before it’s
even out. Wow! Evidently Baker and Taylor took
double what was expected. I hope that’s reliable. Then
Susan Chang (Tor’s children’s and YA editor), Patrick, Heidi,
and I went out for high tea. We discussed many possible book projects,
and ate many impossible cookies and cakes.
After a quick stop at Heidi’s favorite makeup
store, we headed uptown to the memorial service at the Yale Club.
Lots of good finger foods, drinks, and tearful hugs with dear friends.
Shared memories with Ashley Bryan, Michael Patrick Hearn, Marianne
Carus, Ed Young, Marilyn Hefner, Dan Derigan, among others. A huge
photo of Trina dominated the podium. Her daughter Katrin spoke, as
did publisher John Briggs of Holiday House, John Grandits, Hilary
Knight, Lois Lowry and more.
Heidi and I found Rich Michelson who we were giving a ride back home
(a 3 hour trip, for those who don’t know the East Coast), then
we gathered all my luggage (thanks again, Elizabeth), my architectural
salvage, our copies of the sketches, some books we’d scammed
from Maria, and headed for Heidi’s van, parked five blocks away.
I had to be dropped off at the Hartford airport to
pick up my car while Heidi took Rich to Northampton. We were home
and in bed by midnight.
Friday, Maddison and Heidi and I were up early and drove over to UMass where I was giving a lecture on Hans Christian Andersen at the Children’s Literature conference.
Then through the pouring rain, we drove to Stamford,
Ct. (On the outskirts of New York City, which means 2 1/2 hours for
those who don't know the East Coast.) My cousin Malerie’s son
Jakob was having his bar mitzvah.We knew we
were going to miss the actual ceremony, but were told the luncheon
would go on until 3:30, and then there would be a dinner for out-of-towners
back at their house in the evening. But when we got there, at 2:45,
the luncheon was already finished and people were streaming out of
the temple. So we went off with my cousins Fred and Bunny Yolen to
their house, along with their son Steve, his wife Mary Jane, and two
of their three daughters. We spent a delightful afternoon telling
family stories. Yolens can never tell a story straight, but always
elaborate, decorate, elongate, and--well--flat out lie!
What was especially nice was that the younger cousins
got to know Heidi and Maddison, because we haven’t really gone
to a lot of family occasions. And then we went over to Malerie’s
house for the dinner.
It was an enormous and stunning house, an enormous
and stunning buffet dinner for about 150 people, and we spent more
time with cousins until about 9:30 when we left through the pouring
rain. Heidi ended up stepping in mud up to her ankles ruining her
shoes and tights, and so drove home stripped down (her car’s
heater wouldn’t turn off either) and we got in after midnight.
Turned the clocks forward.
No more travels for 11 days, thank goodness. Time to write.
March 24-March 28, 2005:
I flew off to Minneapolis, leaving behind another
snowstorm and getting into a softer, warmer, greener Midwest--go figure.
Got picked up by Adam, and we talked writing, writing, writing on
the way to the house.
Grandkids, presents, the whole nine yards. Gosh, they are beautiful children. Smart, too. Ali at six is reading with great expression, learning Spanish and violin, and is deeply into the boys-are-yucky stage of development. David is that terrible twos temper tantrums plus gorgeous blue eyes and big smile when its clear he will have to charm you instead. He seems to know his numbers and letters and may (MAY, a grandmother weasel word) be actually reading a bit.
Friday noon I moved over to the convention hotel,
a big room with two double beds so Adam and Betsy and the kids could
use it as a pit stop as well. Betsy was going to take the children
swimming in the hotel pool, and Adam and I had between Friday afternoon
and Sunday afternoon, a combination of readings, signings, and lots
of panels.
I was on two panels with Adam--one on writing, which
he moderated. His first time moderating and he was terrific. (You
can see how he felt about it at his website: www.adamstemple.com.
Click on the Ink Blot and the Blog page.) We were also on a collaboration
panel. Beside that, I was on panels about children's/YA literature
on Peter Pan, and several on writing. I also did a reading with Adam
on Friday and then on Saturday he did a reading with me. In other
words, we shared two readings. I was also one of 8 (I think) Lady
Poetesses from Hell, which is a regular event at Minicon. We do a
round-robin reading and always to a full room, which is nice.
Friday night the kids, grandkids and I had room service
and watched "The Incredibles" and it was loved by three
generations. I liked it better this time, as I could relax and get
more of the jokes.
Over the weekend I visited with some friends--got
to see Patricia Wrede's new house, checked out her closets, which
her artist sister is painting. One is the Narnia closet, with the
old fur coats hanging, and a lamppost that shines in the dark; an
Oz closet with a whirlwind on the inside of the door and the Emerald
City shining in the distance, etc. She also has a closet with a full
fake bookcase which her writer friends sign. Besides
visiting with Pat, I had breakfast with Laurel Winter, mostly to help
her solve a difficult agent problem. She's a wonderful writer whose
first book did very well--and then her new agent dumped her. I see
no problem getting her a better one! Otherwise, I spent time with
old friends Steve Brust, Caroline Stevermer, Joel Rosenberg, Pamela
Dean, Lois Bujold, Jim Frankel, and was on several panels with the
irrepressible Terry Pratchett who makes me (and everyone else) laugh.
Sunday, after the con, Adam picked me up and we went
off to his mother-in-law's for a big Easter dinner with Betsy's extended
family. They are a wild bunch, and very funny.
Sunday night I crashed at 8 o'clock and Monday morning
Betsy and I went to Ali's school because the vice-principal turns
out to be a big JY fan. When she found out I was Ali's grandmother,
she nearly fainted. (She is writing a children's book.) When we arrived,
she said, "May I curtsey to you? You are the queen." And
I said, "Absolutely not!" But we had a jolly conversation
about the way to work on her book. Gave her an autographed copy of
NOT ONE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS. We hugged as I left, and I said, "Remember
these two very important words. She turned her face up to me (she's
much shorter than I am, and I am only 5'3.) "Alison Stemple,"
I said. We all laughed.
The trip home was in a full plane and very bumpy.
Rain was blanketing the entire east coast and there were floods predicted.
Once home and having eaten dinner, I read Heidi's
Massachusetts counting book for Sleeping Bear Press, and made some
critical comments. Over all, it's very good.And she is pleased as
well.
Okay--so I sold no books over the last few days,
got a rejection on a short story from Polyphony, a check for my speeches
in Lacey, WA., and a check for an interview video. But at least no
more picture books bounced.
Writing? Only in my dreams.
March 23, 2005:
Early morning, I worked some more on my speech for the Umass conference,
starting the packing process for Minicon in Minneapolis, and then
went off to physical therapy. The last few days have been better than
the weeks before, and I have some hope that we are finally beginning
to see a tiny bit of the work paying off. But it is a slow process.
As the therapist said, "You have years of pain, years of damage,
to make up for."
Then I came home and worked on the next chapter that Bob Harris sent for ROGUE’S APPRENTICE. This one needed much more fiddling. Bob is best at real action chapters, and this one has a lot of talk--necessary talk setting up the rest of the book, but talk nonetheless. The chapter needed more of a setting. People don’t just talk. Or at least we don’t like to read about talking heads. Where are the characters within their environment while doing all this talking? Are they shuffling their feet, looking around, grinding teeth, staring? Are they unnaturally quiet? Not that the writer should overburden the conversation with massive amounts of this stuff. But the characters shouldn't be floating in space either.
After that, back to finish up the Andersen speech. It runs about 18 pages, which should be close to 40 minutes of talk, and then time for q&a. In all, it probably took me two full days of writing and thinking to get the speech down. Two full days out of my writing life. Busy-ness.
Then came the news that Barak Obama (whom I like quite a bit) has
become the latest celebrity to sell a children's book. Or in his case
three unwritten children's books--to Random House for $1.9 million
dollars. All right, jaws off chests. I would have to write for the
rest of my life (and live for another 20 years) to even come close
to the first half of that number. Okay, I am going to give up on the
idea of getting a pointy bra and going on stage a la Madonna. I am
going to run for congress. I can write one helluva speech and I am
great at delivery. And I am a liberal in a liberal state. At my age,
infinitely more doable than dancing half naked on a stage.
March 22, 2005:
I couldn't sleep past 4 am, so got up and did a huge amount of going
through piles and sorting out stuff for filing. I also read a bunch
of stories for the next YEARS BEST, and started on my presentation
for the UMass conference (on art fairy tales.)
By breakfast time, I'd already done four hours of work. Just as well,
I had to leave the house by 11 for errands and then my writer's group.
The meeting was shorter than usual, fewer folk (missing
two of us) but some nice pieces by both Barbara and Corinne were read.Barbara's
was an op ed piece with a killer last line. Corinne's was a picture
book with great charm. We saw the new sketches for Leslea's latest
picture book and Patty's first copy of her newest book.
Then home to work some more on sorting out the PIRATES
book. By the end of six email exchanges, editor Judy O and I had decided
on a 64 page book, this after I sent on a fairly complete outline
of the pages. I think we are both happy with that.
David set a burbling note from the Caribbean, having
gotten himself settled and seen an agouti. I told him about the short
story sale from yesterday.
Maddison was home sick again, missing her part in
the school chorus, which made her very sad. A quick trip to the doctor
showed no strep, but a good old-fashioned flu.
I had to take time out from work to deal with two
young men who will be doing some indoor painting for us, trying to
fix the mess left by the last workers who took our money and left
us in the lurch. As one of these two young men is granddaughter Glendon's
boyfriend, we won't have that problem again.
Then I finished signing the last of the 500 bookplates
for Chinaberry while watching "Law & Order," and listening
to Heidi's first draft of the Massachusetts counting book she is doing
for Sleeping Bear Press. It's quite wonderful and I am very proud
of her.
An omelet dinner, with ettamamas--however that is
spelled-- on the side. Heidi makes the best omelets in the world!
Mine was with feta cheese, onions, and red pepper.
I was determined to stay up longer than last night
and made it by watching "I, Robot" and thinking that poor
Asimov must be turning over in his grave! I have a couple of funny
Asimov stories, but they are tellable ones and do not translate well
on to the page. So stop me when you see me and ask.
I read a bit more in the King writing book (really a Memoir, disguised as a book on writing), and then fell fast asleep.
March 21, 2005:
Up at four, I drove David to the airport for his
4-island Caribbean bird recording trip. He will be gone a month. Of
course in that month I have at least a half dozen or so conferences
and workshops, speeches and travel dates. So, while I will miss him
dreadfully in the evenings, I will hardly have time to think about
him during the day.
Maddison was home sick. David, Heidi and I are all
hoping we don’t catch it.
I had PT, made a number of doctors' appointments (ain't aging fun!) for both David and me, worked on back mail and bills, and settled in to figure out some important conference stuff, including a visit to Rutgers in April about which I have NO information at all. Without information--where, when, what all being mysteries--and only a date on the calendar, I cannot possibly go. The conferences took the rest of my morning and half the afternoon, since I had to be sure I had the proper speeches, reading materials, etc. This is the kind of necessary business that gets in the way of writing.
I received the contracts for my SF World Con book, the collection
ONCE UPON A TIME, SHE SAID. Very little money, small press, but a
lovely thing to have in hand.
And in the afternoon, Adam and I heard that we’d
sold a short story, a fairy tale redaction called "Little Red"
to the third Firebirds Anthology edited by the ever-astonishing Sharyn
November. It's a tough story, about child abuse, cutting, wolves,
Red Ridinghood--and schizophrenia. Or maybe it isn't. Sharyn has had
it slightly over a year! Never let it be said that publishing has
wings. We are talking snail here. See that slime trail over there.
Follow it to glory.
I sent some poems and short stories out by email to my college reunion book for reprinting. Again--no money, small press, but a nice thing to be involved with.
Then Heidi and I cooked a lovely stir-fry for dinner. Afterwards I
wrote this journal entry and watched an old "Star Gate"
episode before crashing for the night, reading the Stephen King book
on writing, which is riveting.
March 20, 2005:
The calendar says spring. But we have piles of gray in the yard and
our fields are deep with crusty snow. I am remembering our Scottish
sojourn in January with longing, where the garden was abloom with
color. Yes, there is nothing so beautiful as new snow falling, as
long as one is inside looking out. But weeks of this, months, is deadening
to the spirit. I am ready for the calendar's promised spring.
Instead I stayed indoors and--yup--wrote. It was
the kind of writing day that lifted my spirit in another way.
I went over the NAMING LIBERTY picture book once
again, this time aloud. Fiddled a bit. Noodled a bit. Titivated a
bit. And then I shipped it off to the editor by email. 2 hours.
Then I went over and did a serious 2-3 times revision
of the first section of the PIRATES book and sent that off by email
to its editor. 3 hours.
And then I spent 3 hours on the two chapters sent
to me by Bob Harris for our book ROGUE'S APPRENTICE. They were pretty
clean actually. I added some dialogue, a buzzard in a stoop (British
hawks are called buzzards), created a section divider with a wonderful
stanza of a Burns poem. But the chapters already moved along at a
good pace so my work on them was minimal.
Finally I wrote and posted my journals for the last
five days. About an hour.
I know this all sounds as if I am unfocused. How
can I possibly work on such dissimilar projects one right after another?
Interestingly, they all have history in common. But that has nothing
to do with my ability to work on many pieces at once. I learned how
to sharp-focus on individual projects in two places. First in school,
where one has an hour for math, an hour for spelling, an hour for
civics etc. (And who among us ever thinks that a sine is the capital
of Venezula, or a gerund is part of the Bill of Rights.) Then secondly
as a newspaper reporter--in high school, in college, and for the Bridgeport
Sunday Herald one summer, where being able to shift from story to
story was considered not only a given but a gift.
On and off during the day, Maddison and I watched
a good bit of "Walking with Dinosaurs" (whenever I took
time out from writing to sign some of the 500 bookplates sent by Chinaberry
Catalogue.) Her comment was: "Do they have to be so realistic
about the eating?" This from a child who has just decided to
be a vegetarian.
We gave the granddaughters (Glendon and Maddison)
early birthday presents since David was about to head out to the Caribbean
for a month of bird recording. And I have at least a half dozen trips
between now and March 30th, missing both girls' actual birthdays.I
tend to shop all year around for presents, feeling that the right
present comes along when it wills. So the presents came fom Scotland,
South Carolina, Minneapolis, Northampton, Seattle, and New York.
We took Heidi and the girls
to Hunan Gourmet for a special dinner. At the table next to us was
a family celebrating the great grandmother's 103d birthday, which
was a kick. She was in a wheelchair, but was otherwise bright and
sassy. Then an old high school cheerleading buddy of Heidi's showed
up. And David discovered the man at another table near by taught at
WVU where David went to school. So it was a kind of old-school night
all around.
When we got home from the restaurant, our friend Pat was waiting in the driveway. She'd decided on a whim to stop by. So we all chatted for a while. But then we kicked her out early. Heidi and Maddison were still exhausted from the drive back from Myrtle Beach, and David and I had to get up very early to get him to the airport in the morning. Retired by 9. I think that will go on my tombstone.
March 16-19, 2005:
After I had a PT session, David and I took off for Minneapolis. Son
Adam was to be playing St Patty’s Day with three different groups
and we didn’t want to miss it.
The airplane trip was easy, though--as David remarked--the
pilot clearly thought the landing strip was ten feet lower than it
really was. What a bump!
We rented a car and got to Adam and Betsy’s
house before the children were home from school, so we did a bit of
visiting with Adam. Then Betsy arrived with the kids, and of course
after that it was pretty much nonstop kidness.
There is something so special about grandchildren. You know, without
thinking about it, that they are the most wonderful children in the
known universe. Even when--as in Wee David’s case--they are smack
in the middle of the terrible twos. It’s just that he’s
so dang cute and predictable when he throws himself down and sobs
without a single tear in order to try and get his way. Where do they
learn that? It seems to be built-in. A hardwired response to the word
"No!"
We took the whole family out to dinner, and as I
finished first, I got to play with David and Ali in the vestibule
of the Greek restaurant so the others could enjoy their food. It was
a game called toll bridge, and they could only pass from one side
to the otherof a long bench by paying tolls--hugs, kisses, pats on
the head, and whispers in the ears. Not terribly original,. but it
kept them occupied so the others could finish their meal in leisure.
Then I kid-sat at the house to let Betsy go with David to hear Adam
and his partner John do a duo at a college bar. I was delighted to
sit that one out.
St Patty’s day dawned early for me. My book
news on email included: a Chinese edition of MY BROTHERS’ FLYING
MACHINE (picture book about the Wright Brothers), and money (a very
small amount) for the Science Fiction World Con book of my stories
and poems and essays. I also heard that there is going to be a test
marketing of dinosaur pajamas sold with HOW DO DINOSAURS SAY GOODNIGHT,
which made me giggle. I’d always said there should be children’s
sleep wear to go along with the book!
It does, of course, bring up the problem of merch,
as the musicians call it. Merchandise. How much is too much? My answer
to that--somewhat self serving though it may be--is it is only too
much if it supercedes or undermines the book. Or precedes the book.
Or if the book is written to accommodate the merchandise (product
placement.) But if one already has a popular book and someone else--a
plush toy manufacturer, or a purveyor of children’s pjs--wants
to come along for the ride, I can’t find it in my heart to complain.
Especially when it is MY book! All right, not somewhat self-serving.
Terribly self-serving.
The rest of the day was taken up by Adam’s performances:
first a duo with Irish-singer Elizabeth Hall, then the Tim Malloys,
both at Kieran's Irish Pub. Smokey, loud, but wonderful food. I had
the best potato leek soup I have ever had, and a big--no HUGE salad.
David had corned beef and cabbage. We ended with Irish bread pudding
dessert, shared. The music was wonderful, and not just because it
was our son playing. The only problem was that we were at high tables
with stools, and by the end of afternoon, I could barely walk, my
back hurt so badly.
Then after dinner at the house we went off to the big venue, First Ave, where the Tim Malloys were opening for Boiled in Lead, with Adam playing in both bands. Betsy found me a friend of hers who had good seats and it made a huge difference to my back. I sat the entire concert out and did my exercises at the table, which helped. As usual, we had a wonderful time, though it is rare that I go out for this much music and this much hard-rocking music.
.
Friday morning, we worried about the weather because snow had been
predicted, anywhere from a dusting to a major storm. But we didn’t
get our act together in time to get the very early flight out (7:34
am) and had to hope our tickets home on the 1:30 flight would be all
right.
Well, it was still in wet-snow stage when we arrived
at the airport. We got into the plane. And after a half hour of futzing
around, they announced there was a serious problem with the wing heaters.
After another hour, they announced we were to change planes. By then,
of course, it was white-out conditions. Feeling a bit nervous, we
got on the second plane, it rolled out onto the pre-runway and was
de-iced, Then we waited while the snow pelted down for our turn on
the single runway that was open. FInally we left at 3:45. It was a
bumpy, bouncy half hour, but once we were away from Minnesota and
high enough, the rest of the ride was a piece of cake. We came down
beautifully in dry Hartford, only 2 1/2 hours late.
We learned afterwards that by late afternoon, at
least 268 flights were canceled at the Minneapolis airport, 23 of
them by Northwest, which we were flying. So we really did just get
out of there by the skin of our teeth!
The next day (Saturday) Heidi got home with her crew
earlier than expected from Spring Break at Myrtle Beach. The cat was
really pleased.
I had a hair apointment which took up almost three hours. Then I came home and settled in for four hours of final revisions on NAMING LIBERTY, as well as doing mail, bills, and assorted catch-ups.
.
We ended the day with a lovely dinner at our friend Zane Kotker’s.
It turned out to be a six-person party, with talk of poetry and writer’s
colonies abounding.
March 15, 2005:
I hosted our writing group and six of the seven of
us attended the meeting. We spent about an hour and a half just reporting
on news because it had been so long since this many of us had been
together. And there was a LOT of news. I love my critique group, though
I know that such groups are not for everyone. But we have been together
in various incarnations for thirty years, and the last of us to join--Leslea
Newman--has been with us well over three years.
What do I get from such a group? Tough love on my manuscripts, healthy advice on my life. Friendships through the decades. We have watched marriages fail, children grow up, grandbabies born. We have sorrowed together and joyed together. But most of all, we have been careful and loving critiquers of one another’s work. Not all of the work. I simply write too much to bring it all to the group, travel too much to be at all the meetings. And the same holds for every one of us. Still, I feel I (and my work) would be much poorer for not being in this Tuesday group. The members are Patricia MacLachlan, Ann Turner, Barbara Diamond Goldin, Leslea Newman, Corinne Demas, Anna Kirwan--in no particular order. All children’s book writers though some of us write adult books as well.
March 13-14, 2005:
RIP: Illustrator Ted Rand, with whom I have spent many pleasant conferences,
has just died. He was a gentleman and a gentle man and his books reflect
a quieter time: Knots on a Counting Rope, Barn Dance, Mailing May,
Night Tree are among my favorites. My heart goes out to his lovely
wife Gloria. As I once wrote in a poem: “The world is but dimly
lit by this flickering out of stars.”
I did a complete first draft of the Grania O’Malley
section of the FEMALE PIRATES book (about ten book pages, approximately
1800 words). Plus the marginalia (my favorite part!) Then I did several
revisions, two of them complete rewritings and the rest just fiddling.
As always when I start a book, I think: “I am in control. This
will be a piece of cake.” And of course, the deeper I go into
the book, the harder it gets, the more complex, and the more interesting.
Most important, I have settled on the style of telling, the construction
of each chapter. The voice of a non-fiction book needs to be as settled
upon as the voice in fiction.
Another picture book was rejected. It doesn't get
easier, but it reaches the point of Silly every now and then. With
24 picture books out there making the rounds, this is definitely the
Silly Season.
FRIEND: The Story of George Fox and the Quakers--a
massive YA biography I wrote about thirty years ago and long out of
print--is being brought back by a Quaker organization. No money, no
royalties. But the book will find a new audience and for that I am
delighted. It will go where it needs to go.
However, I told my agent that free books and rejections
were getting old and I was ready for a sale any day now! She heartily
agreed.
Nibbles: I was asked if I were interested in writing
two separate picture books by two advocacy groups, but neither are
publishers. They are just hopeful. I was also asked for a short story
for a Gardner Dozois YA anthology, WIZARDS. Whenever I get asked for
things I haven’t yet written, my response is the same: If I can.
Writing is not (at least for me) a hire-able job. If the request is
interesting, I might make a stab at it. But at least half the time
nothing happens. A quarter of that next half never gets finished in
time. So I am successful a quarter of the time. Actually, that makes
for a lot of stories and poems, though not books.
This leads me to think about poet laureates who often
have to produce “occasional” poems, that is poems for specific
occasions--weddings, funerals, parades, the crowning of a new king,
a presidential swearing-in, etc. I think of great Renaissance painters
who produced specific works of art for their patrons to celebrate
marriages, cartels, pacts. It’s a tough way to create art and
often works against the artist.
I divide my own books into heart books and head books, the former coming out of a great desire inside and the latter out of a suggestion from an editor. BUT--and this is a big BUT-- there are times that line is crossed. A few of the books I wrote from ideas first suggested to me by editors or others turned into heart books. They include: ENCOUNTER, SACRED PLACES, NOT ONE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS, O JERUSALEM, MY BROTHERS FLYING MACHINE, WELCOME TO THE GREENHOUSE. In other words, the suggestion started small tremblors in the heart and, as with any other idea that finds its way to me, I went on to make the piece my own.
March 11-12, 2005:
Weather: snow.
Movies: Four Feathers
Music: Boiled in Lead
Travel: Are you kidding?
Basically I stayed in and worked and watched the
world turn white.
It wasn't fun work, but work nonetheless. I did the
bills, filed (Heidi being in Myrtle Beach) cleaned, cooked, revised
two speeches for an upcoming visit to Kennesaw University in Georgia
plus two workshops there. Caught up on a lot of mail, email. Made
phone calls.
Then I started to noodle with the women pirate book.
I have decided to begin with the one great woman pirate I left out
of my 1963 PIRATES IN PETTICOATS--Grania (Grace) O’Malley. I
have several books about her, and some websites.
Been enjoying Adam’s new website: http://www.adamstemple.com and finding hidden messages in it.
I have also been thinking a lot about revision because
on my trip in and around Seattle I was asked 3 separate times about
it. Twice the question came from teachers who wanted me to tell kids
how important revision is to the writing process. The third time was
from a writer. Everyone made a face when the dreaded word was mentioned.
My answer was basically the same each time. While
that first white heat of new writing is exciting, revision is the
real empowering mode. It is in revision that a book is truly born.
Like a potter slapping clay onto a wheel and creating a pot only when
the clay is worked and reworked, so a piece of writing becomes itself
only when it is reshaped.
I like to break the word down: Re-vision. Re meaning
again, vision meaning a dream, a seeing. As a writer I get the chance
to dream or see a story again. And again. In real life, we don’t
get to revise ourselves. Or at least not easily. But with writing,
we have a multiple of chances to have at it again. In fact so many
chances, we could do nothing but revise a single story for the rest
of our lives. The gift is knowing when to stop!
When I revise, I am seeing the story while wearing
several hats: writer hat, reader hat, editor hat, critic hat. Each
hat aids in the work. Each sees good stuff and a lot of the awful
stuff as well. Sometimes the reader is the most critical (“I
don’t get it!”) Sometimes the editor is insightful. (“Why
leave that scene out? It’s what the reader has been waiting for,”)
And sometimes the critic holds sway. (“Okay, what is the wish
line? Any subtext down there or is it just a damn sinkhole?”)
And the writer answers, “I can do it. I can fix it.” And
tries. Really tries.
Yes, some revisions damage the book and the soul.
Some editorial advice is wrong or stupid. Some authorial angst gets
in the way of seeing things anew, dreaming anew. But the great majority
of revisions are sensible and actual make a piece better. In revisions
I renamed the father in OWL MOON Pa, and that was perfect. In revisions
I found out that the old man in THE SEEING STICK was blind, too. That
made the book. I can tell this same story about every one of my stories,
novels, poems.
Oh yes, and by the way, I had another picture book rejection on my way out of town to Seattle! I forgot to mention it. Rejections are simply boring and rarely teach one anything except sorrow. I refuse to bend the knee to sorrow.
March 10, 2005:
I spent all day playing catch up on mail and email, though I managed
to do revisions (there wasn't much) on two BABY BEAR books, which
took about two hours each. Then I went over the color xeroxes for
COUNT ME A RHYME and sent the editor my changes.
Heidi and crew were off to spring break in Myrtle
Beach after dinner. So David and I will have the house to ourselves.
And the cat!
Family news: Adam, has a wonderful new website. (Put
in Adam Stemple and you will find it.) And Jason ad Joanne have sold
their old house Just as well as they are moving into the new one this
weekend.
Book news: PAY THE PIPER has been nominated for a Top Teen award, and will have a curriculum guide (Adam and I revised it slightly.) A Korean edition of WELCOME TO THE GREENHOUSE arrived--can't tell where my name is. Bob Harris sent me a new chapter for ROGUE'S APPRENTICE. Horn Book has accepted an Emily Dickinson poem. And we are getting close to finalizing the stories and poems and essays in ONCE UPON A TIME, SHE SAID, the book for the Glasgow World Con. it will have a Ruth Sanderson cover, which tickles me.
March 2-9. 2005:
So I signed lots of books, gave lots of speeches, did several readings,
talked to children, young adults, and adults, ate poorly, slept badly,
carted heavy bags of books around, made some new friends, and saw
some old ones. I was awed by spring in the Pacific Northwest where
everything was blossoming and burgeoning, and troubled by the three
hour time change. But writing? Nary a word.
I began my tour in Lacey, Washington, which was doing
a "One Author/One Community" festival. They had done terrific
planning, and I had good crowds at the family reading, the two sessions
with bused-in primary and middle/high school kids. (One high school
boy wanted to know if I would show them my titanium knee! I declined,
with a laugh.) I also talked to a session of teachers and librarians
that went well. I wrote the town a poem called "Lacey loves to
read and so do I.. ." which was made into bookmarks with my signature
for all the kids to have. Now if the authorities will only send on
my check, I will love Lacey forever.
One of the teachers drove me into Seattle proper
where we waited at the Nordstrom Mall (and did a stealth drive-by
signing at a B. Daltons to their delight.)Then I was handed over to
Wayne Ude for the next step of the trip.
Though Wayne and I had never met before, he'd taken his MFA at UMass, and is a teacher and critic as well as a novelist, we had lots to talk about. He's the author of several books, one of which I read on the trip back, BECOMING COYOTE which is a wonderful, detailed novel made of stories about Native Americans in the upper west. He brought me over the ferry to Whidbey Island where I was one of forty (!) presenters at the Whidbey Island Writers Conference. I gave two workshops: Writing the Picture Book, and Using Folklore and Fairy Tales, was on a panel of children's book writers, and gave a keynote address. I also attended two of the children's book sessions and Steve Martini's keynote, as well as the final presentation by a Hollywood writer who' name I have misplaced. The food at the two restaurants I got to was wonderful and I had an amazing hotel room with a balcony that opened onto a beach. But I was dead tired each night.
A special feature of the conference was the charming
director Elizabeth who paid attention to every detail and made me
feel especially welcome. A wonderful surprise was that Monica Wood,
my ex-apartment mate from my '60s Greenwich Village days showed up.
We'd had some sporadic correspondence over the past ten years, but
we hadn't laid eyes on one another since, I'd guess, 1963. Yet we
felt so close still, even though we could only talk briefly.
I ended my stay at Whidbey giving a family reading
which had standing room only. And then went out to dinner with Elizabeth
and her husband, son, and friends. It was one of those book-talking
dinners I am used to in Scotland but not in the US, and I adored it.
Elizabeth took me to the 10 am ferry to Seattle, and walked on with me and rode over (and then she went right back). I was met by old friend Astrid Bear (author Greg Bear's wife, and daughter of Poul Anderson) who took me to Hullaballo, a charming children's book store which was, alas, closing down. I was to be their last author. A sign of the times, alas, when a community-oriented bookstore (they ran all kinds of special book clubs and events for the children) can't make it. We had a good crowd and a kindergarten class came. SF author Amy Thompson showed up as well because her daughter was in the class.
I was to have had lunch with author Karen Cushman
and spend the day with her, but she had stomach flu. So Astrid took
me around Seattle. Later I went to dinner with Leslie, who runs the
SF Museum, and sf writers Octavia Butler and Vonda MacIntyre. I am
a great admirer of both women and their work, and rarely get a chance
to spend any time with them. I am afraid, though, that I was much
too tired to be much of a sparkling dinner companion.
Tired or not, when I got back to the hotel, I rented
"Finding Neverland" which I liked but did not love. As a
Johnny Depp fan (I could watch him read the Brooklyn Telephone Book)
and a big Barrie fan as well, I was hoping for more. Lovely mood,
lovely mode, but I was not pleased with the lack of proper history
and the lack of a good story.
The next day I did a program for librarians, went
to dinner with the Bears and f museum folk, then gave an evening reading
for the museum. It was small (maybe 30-40 people) but appreciative.
Monica Wood came by, as did Mollie Siebert, a daughter's friend whom
we had taken on as a quasi-adopted daughter when she'd been at Smith
some ten or more years ago.
I had managed to get online at the hotel, and there
was a nasty letter from a woman who had been at my Whidbey keynote.
At the q&a session after the speech, someone had asked me about
my thoughts on J. K. Rowling, and I'd answered honestly. I said that
she was a good storyteller, needed better editing, that her work was
not that original (except for quidditch) and that she had given kids
the idea that they could read long books. I also noted that I loved
the idea that a children's book author could be the 2nd richest woman
in Gt. Britain. The email writer accused me of jealousy, of nastiness,
and said her sister who lived in England had never heard of me, and
that she herself was English and didn't think it worth reading American
writers as there were so many good English writers. Etc. I answered
her gently, and my email bounced as I wasn't on her acceptable mail
list. So it felt a bit like a drive-by shooting.
However, that was the only dark spot in an otherwise lovely trip, except that Delta lost my luggage and when they returned it, the handle of my bag was gone, rendering the suitcase useless.
March 2 onward:
I will be away for a week in the Seattle area, in Lacey for "One
Community, One Author" celebrations, on Whidbey Island for a
writer's conference, at the Seattle Science Fiction Museum for a reading
and signing, and at Hullabaloo bookstore for a reading and signing.
If you are around, come and see me.
When I get home, next Wednesday, I will play catch up in the journal. And, I hope, get to writing again.
March 1, 2006:
Working all day getting stuff ready for my week-long trip to Seattle, making sure I have the speeches, the workshops in order. I suppose you could call that writing, or rewriting, but it felt like organizing rather than creative work.
Continued to read the Lester book, which is less about writing and more about living story. I love it.
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