The End of September

I have today and tomorrow off work (Rosh Hoshannna). So, today I ran some errands. Then, I cleaned my nightstand of its cache of "stuff" - mostly back issues of School Library Journal, American Artist and Writer magazine. I found weird things in there, like a bag of pretty, smooth stones from Lake Michigan (I had considered doing a still life with them), some furry little bears from a side trip to the Vermont Teddy Bear factory one February (we went there to ski and it rained), books that people gave me as gifts but that I didn't like yet felt guilty discarding, an assortment of bookmarks, pens, ideas for stories that looked as though I'd jotted them down in the middle of the night (and probably had). I sat on my bedroom floor for two hours sorting through all that stuff. Now I have a box of donations.

This afternoon I ventured out in the backyard to cut back my daisies and settle into some serious weeding. I filled up two lawn and leaf bags with cuttings and weeds. I plan to spend a few more hours out there tomorrow, pulling up more weeds. These past few years, my garden has been plagued by some obnoxious, viney thing with purple flowers that entwines itself around everything. It smothers the life out of its victims.

So, tonight I'm relaxing. I've been reading Donald Maas's book, Writing the Breakout Novel, and it's taking me ages to get through. He makes many good points but, still, it's a little overwhelming and is going to take some time to soak in. Like maybe years. Or a decade.

At work, my new books have arrived at my main school. Yay! I've been having fun reading all the new picture books. I always read every single one of those. Some of the new nonfiction is so stunning - Nic Bishop's Frogs, Nic Bishop's Spiders, Living Color (by Steve Jenkins), Families (by Susan Kuklin). And of course I can't wait to read some of the new fiction.

For me, the end of this September is filled with the chirpy song of crickets, with the color of leaves changing from green to yellow, orange and crimson, with the sad yet joyful knowledge that my children aren't mine anymore. As I sit here writing, my oldest is out hiking part of the Long Trail in Vermont with some friends and my youngest has finally moved into his own place in Long Beach where he's busy carving out his own life. I applaud that, yet still I miss the days when we were all here together, curled up snug and warm. I miss reading my boys their bedtime story, attending their concerts, their soccer games and Boy Scout meetings, their music lessons and concerts. For a while I truly believed I was raising two aspiring musicians -- one a violinist and the other a cellist.

For me, September is a wistful time of inevitable transitions. This year is no exception.

Five Things On A Friday

1. Colds suck, even when you're home with a cup of hot tea, your computer on your lap and away from your day job. This is second day I've kept myself home from work with this nasty thing. Achoo!

2. Boxes of new books are one of the best parts of being a librarian. I got to spend a little more on new books this year (hooray!). Still, it's not enough. Among my new acquisitions are Living Color, by Steve Jenkins; The Underneath, by Kathi Appelt; Shooting the Moon, by Francis Dowell; Frankie Stein, by Lola Schafer; Diary of a Wimpy Kid, by Jeff Kinney; The Percy Jackson series, by Rick Riordan; The Arrival, by Shawn Tan, The Magic Thief, by Sarah Prineas, and many others. Lots of great nonfiction and poetry, too. It's like Christmas.

3. My youngest finally moved into his own place in Long Beach - a mere 15 minutes from work. Actually, he's sharing a house with 2 friends. They have little furniture (that will happen in time) and he's very excited about having a real job with benefits and living independently. We are too!

4. Tomorrow my husband is running the Hamptons Marathon out in East Hampton. He's been training for it for months. Unfortunately, the forecast is rain. Ugh. We hope it's gone by the time of the race. His goal is to run it under 4 hours so he can qualify for Boston. Go Dennis!

5. I sold an article to the SCBWI Bulletin in July. Don't think I ever posted this bit of news, though. It will be published sometime in the future (as opposed to the past?). No saying when. I hope it's within the year.

September 11th, Remembered

So, here it's been 7 years since that awful day when our country was attacked by terrorists and somehow hearing about it all over again still tears a hole in my heart.

I read the book, Fireboat, by Maira Kalman, to my 4th graders today and, even though I thought I was well over this event, I found myself choking back tears as I read the story. The kids looked at me, wonderingly. I thought of David from my art class who lost both of his daughters. They worked for Cantor Fitzgerald. I thought of Stephanie, a young woman who babysat for our boys when they were young. She lost her husband that day and she still hasn't remarried. I thought of all the people whose names I can't remember, people lost in the rubble, reduced to bits of flesh and bone found by the cadaver police dogs or haphazardly by firefighters, EMTS or others. I thought of the signs draped over the parkways that day and in the weeks afterward when the normally jam-packed roads were nearly empty. "Pray for the Missing EMTS". "Pray for the Missing Firefighters". And then "David, Come Home". That one got me. I also thought of all the little kids in the neighborhood selling lemonade and trying to help, in some small way, to raise money for the families of the victims. It was both sweet and sad. All those images crowded my mind as I read the story of the fireboat, the John J. Harvey.

Sometimes I want to forget this day ever happened. Like the day Kennedy or Martin Luther King was assassinated, somehow I can't. It's just as important to remember the sad memories as it is the good. They're all part of being human.

Back To Work

For the teachers and students of Long Island, this was back-to-school week. Yesterday, we had a school wide meeting with our new superintendent, who truly is a super guy (well-educated, articulate, smart and a person of integrity). Then back at our building, we had a meeting with our principal to explain everything that was in a folder (and we could have read ourselves). Principals always insist on stating the obvious or going over things we've been over a million times before. Of course it was time I could have better spent updating my library automation program, hanging a new bulletin board or opening my Picturing America grant.

Out on the blacktop this morning were the usual collection of kindergartners in their new clothes, carrying their new backpacks filled with shiny things - pencils, crayons, water bottles, scissors, etc. One girl keep unzipping her pack and peeping inside with a smile on her face. Some had tears in their eyes while others had a "been there, done that" attitude. One little guy was having a full blown tantrum while clinging desperately to his mom's leg. The parents were all there with cameras, camcorders and last words of advice for their kids before we shepherded them down the long corridor to kindergarten. One phase of their lives over and another just beginning. Somehow, I think it was more traumatic for the parents than the kids.

Over the summer, I forget how much I miss the kids. They are, after all, the reason we have jobs. And they always remind me of how much I owe them. Today a boy named Sam asked me if I had the book, Dog Heaven, by Cynthia Rylant. After I helped him find it, he sat down to read it. The class aid looked at me and whispered, "His dog died yesterday." After he'd finished, Sam had tears in his eyes. I hope that in some small way, Dog Heaven helped him come to grips with the loss of his pet.

Books are such powerful tools and this small incident reminded me once again of the power of the pen and the ability we have to help children through every part of their lives on the bumpy dirt road to adulthood.

Teen Jobs

Over on Author2Author, they've been discussing favorite teen jobs - always great fodder for a story or two. Teen jobs are usually sucky, minimum wage deals that you do for pocket change or so you won't have to beg your parents for money to buy new clothes all the time.

As I entered my teens, I babysat for people with lots of kids - at least 4 or 5 (or more) each. This was back in the day when most mothers still stayed home with the kids while the dads went off to work every day in the sole family car. To keep them quiet, I often sat them down at the kitchen table with a stack of paper, pencils and crayons and drew them while they worked on a picture of each other. This was good for an hour or two at least, despite comments like, "Mikey keeps sticking his tongue out at me" and "Annie keeps wiggling her eyebrows".

The first job I had after babysitting was working at MacDonald's. Yeah. I started on milkshakes, then moved on to french fries, dressing burgers, toasting buns, cooking burgers and working the counter. A favorite past time on a slow day was watching customers get out of their cars and predicting what they'd order before they approached the counter. I wrote a short story about this experience for a creative writing class in college.

Then I worked as a cocktail waitress at a student disco bar. It was loud and smoky with colored lights that flashed in time to pulsating, surround sound music. The tips were lousy but I had a lot of fun with the staff, especially after work. We went to Denny's for breakfast or over to somebody's apartment to unwind and laugh until our sides hurt. I often climbed into bed as the morning's first rays peeked over the horizon. After I'd had enough of drunks throwing up in my section, I asked to become a bartender. A slightly better job. I learned how to mix exotic drinks and to dance and play the air guitar. I also became a decent shot at pool or, as they called it, "billiards". The kiss-off song after last call was always "Last Dance" by Donna Summer. Anybody remember her?

I had other jobs, too. Carhop, aid for a special ed. teacher, clerical worker. I waitressed at the Moose Club, at a French restaurant and at a health food restaurant.

These summer jobs paid for most of my tuition and books as I worked my way through college. I developed an appreciation for all the people who work hard for a living and I know there's still a lot of stories to mine from the memories of every single one of them and the assortment of characters I worked with.

Outlining

Does anybody outline their novel? Until recently, I never believed in outlining a work of fiction. Research papers and nonfiction articles - yeah. But never fiction. I always believed in letting the story develop organically, that one thing should logically lead to another. Somewhere along the way, though, I got lost. Granted, I'd never written a novel before - just short stories and picture book manuscripts where you can keep all your characters and plot strands in easy sight.

With a novel, though, characters begin to wander away and before long you lose sight of them. I left one in a shed and nearly forgot about her. Gad, she could have died! So, I recently began outlining my novel. Not tightly, mind you. I'm just writing a little two or three line description of what should happen in each chapter in order for my main character to grow while trying to keep the reader interested. Writing a novel, I've decided, is a lot like conducting an orchestra. Not that I've ever conducted one, but I've watched enough of them to get the main idea. You have to know when to bring in the violins, then the trumpets and the flute solo, then all the strings, etc. If you forget something, the music becomes nothing but a cacophonous arrangement of unforgettable noise. The listener stops listening or, as in the case of a novel, the reader stops reading. Or worse, falls asleep. We do not want to put the reader to sleep.

So, I'm now working on an outline. I hope it helps me get through the rest of this thing without pulling out my hair.

Follow the Brick Road

Chautauqua is a magical place. When I arrived, I felt as though I'd somehow sailed over the rainbow and landed smack in the middle of Oz. On my first day there, I got lost. I asked for directions and was told, "follow the brick road". I grinned. I almost really was in Oz. An Oz for artists and free thinkers of all kinds -- musicians, artists, singers, dancers. And yes, even aspiring writers of children's books. Some people still think writing for children is "cute". Not a serious business at all. But not the Highlights people. And certainly not the 100 or so people who attended the Chautauqua workshops.

They ranged in age from their 20s to their 70s and came from all areas of the country, including Alasa. Some were writing picture books, some fantasy, historical fiction, mysteries, nonfiction, biographies or poetry. All were there to hone their craft and learn more about the long brick road to publication.

We were well fed, well educated, well coached and well entertained. I stayed at the historic Atheneuem Hotel looking out on Lake Chautauqua. With the second oldest elevator still in operation, vaulted ceilings, tall windows and long porches crowded with rocking chairs and wicker furniture, the hotel held an irresistible charm.

Not all of us stayed at the Atheneuem. One member of our group stayed at another hotel where, she claimed, she couldn't get any rest because her bed kept shaking. When she looked under and around the bed, she couldn't find any reason for the shaking. When she complained and asked the management for another room, they told her they'd never had anybody else make that complaint and that the hotel was full. Not only did her bed shake, but her clock radio flashed on and off periodically and sometimes she detected a growling noise. Even though she didn't really believe in ghosts, I think she finally believed some supernatural force was to blame. Finally, desperate for rest, she addressed the "ghost" - or whatever it was. She told it she was tired and needed to get some sleep so it could have one half the bed if she could have the other. Miraculously, the shaking stopped. This all sounds far fetched, I know, but the woman was totally creeped out about her close encounter with, ahh, whatever it was. Maybe she could weave her experience into picture book?

Anyhow, besides the ghost, we had sessions with authors Jerry and Eileen Spinelli, Mary Casanova, Rich Wallace, Neil Waldman, Sally Walker, Suzanne Bloom, editors Randi Rivers (Charlesbridge) and Traci Gates(Viking), Carolyn Yoder, Judy Burke and Patricia Lee Gauch (Philomel). We attended many different workshops. I couldn't go to all of them, but I did attend workshops on point of view, setting, characterization, beginnings and endings, writing historical fiction, writing fantasy, creating illustrations (with ill. Floyd Cooper), mining your memories and writing poetry, to name some.

The key note addresses at the beginning of each day were inspiring. Linda Sue Park gave the funniest speech and, for me, Peter Jacobi the most inspiring speech. They were all wonderful, however, and if I could go back to Chautauqua there'd still be plenty for me to see and do without getting bored.

In the photos above are a few of the scenes from Chautauqua They don't begin to do it justice. My mentor was Judy Burke, Managing editor of Highlights, in the third photograph.