Friday Five

It's been too long since I last posted anything. Poor old neglected blog. Anyhow,in an attempt to get back to blogging, here's my Friday Five.

1. I dusted off my paint box and palette and have waded back into oil painting. There's something seductive about color and after doing nothing but drawing for the past year or two, I miss it. Of course it helps if you can draw, too. In fact, if you want a great painting, you must be able to draw otherwise the whole thing is a failure. When I get some pictures of some recent work, I'll post them.

2. I attended the New Jersey SCBWI conference a few weeks ago where I met up with some fellow members of The Poets' Garage. I'd met Gail once before but never Diana or Laura. All of them are talented poets and writers. Laura recently landed a top notch agent and we're all wildly jealous of her. It was a well-organized, wonderful conference and I plan to go next year too. In the photo is, seated l to r., Laura Sassi, Gayle Krause, and standing l to r, me and Diana Murray.


3. Dennis finished revamping our kitchen cabinets. Gone are those orangey oak cabinets that I never liked. Instead we now have beautiful white maple cabinets. They are stunning! Next we have to order a new counter top and put in a new back splash. When everything is finished, I'll post a picture.

4. My sister finally found a job (with a little help) working in a hospital. Her husband of 20 years had left her and then she lost her job and was living on unemployment. Her unemployment benefits were about to run out and soon she'd be without health insurance, too. She was in panic mode, imagining herself living in her car, cold and hungry. The job came through for her just in the nick of time for her - and it includes a wonderful benefits package. Yay!

5. We went to New Orleans for a week - a place we'd never visited before. What a colorful city! I loved the French style architecture, the wonderful spicy cuisine and great jazz but, oh, the heat! I could never live in a city where the average summer temperature is in the 90s, not to mention the fact that it would be nearly impossible to run or ride a bike. Great place to visit, though.

The Dead - Billy Collins Animated Poetry

Billy Collins is one of my favorite poets. Here's an animation of his poem, "The Dead".

Dark Emperor and Other Poems of the Night

April is National Poetry Month. In celebration, I'll be posting videos of some of my favorites from both children's literature and adult literature.

A Sense of Place

The sun is out, but the cold March wind is blowing - rattling the windows and sending ripples down the canal that threads its way through our back yard then out to the bay. Who ever thought I'd wind up near the ocean, so far from the industrial reaches of Detroit? But this is where I live and eventually this place will probably find its way into a picture book manuscript, a short story or a novel. Setting is often one of the most overlooked elements of the writing process - especially among novice writers - yet it's so important.

Why so important? Setting grounds us and helps us to better understand the main character's motivation and actions. A well developed setting lends a story authenticity (especially an historical novel or a fantasy) and often mirrors the theme while developing the mood.

A few years back I attended the Writers Workshop at Chautauqua. One of the workshops I sat in on concerned setting. The setting is almost like another character, said the speaker. You must give the reader a sense of place and make it palpable. She was right of course. Who can forget Beverly Cleary's Klickitat Street home of some of my favorite characters from children's literature - Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins and Ribsy? Klickitat Street was much like the suburban block I grew up on. In Elizabeth Bunce's YA novel, A Curse Dark As Gold, the old mill has an ominous presence that sends shivers down the reader's spine. It seems to live and breathe as it keeps a surreptitious eye on the characters. More importantly, it plays a critical role in the plot. When I read Catherine Murdock's The Dairy Queen, I could smell those cow piles, see the stacks of hay and the muddy fields stretching in every direction around the farm. Palpable? Yes. In fact, every good book I can think of has a well developed setting that finds its way inside the reader's imagination.

When writing a fantasy, it's even more important to pay attention to setting. After all, the author is crafting a unique world. Think of Harry Potter without Hogwarts, The Hobbit without Middle Earth or Winnie the Pooh without the Hundred Acre Wood. They just wouldn't be the same. When I taught the elements of fiction to my students, I often had them take a famous novel and create a map of the setting showing where all the characters lived and where critical scenes took place. It was a great exercise for them and made them think about nearly all the elements of fiction - the characters, the plot, the climax, the resolution etc.

The fantasy I'm revising has a woods in it drawn heavily from the woods I cut through on my way to school. There I paused to pick pussy willows for my teacher, to watch a fox or a skunk scurry through the underbrush or to pretend I was Little Red Riding Hood with a wolf trailing after me. Those woods are gone now - cleared away years ago to make way for a housing development - but in my novel and in some of the picture books I write, the woods spring back in all their leafy greenness.

The Blog By the Side of the Road

It's been too long since I've updated this blog. It's like the dead skunk lying by the side of the road that you try hard to ignore every time you drive past it Aaargh. I'm still struggling somewhat with the writer's block that I'm now convinced is nothing but the winter doldrums. Whatever.

I find the long, gray days of winter dreary and confining. One of the reasons I enjoy skiing is that it gets me outside exercising while taking in some beautiful scenery. Dennis and I recently took in a few days up at Jiminy Peak, Massachusetts. It was nice to get out in the crisp air and sunshine. Running also helps, albeit on a treadmill. It gets the heart pumping, fires up the neurotransmitters in my brain and helps release those ever so helpful endorphins into my bloodstream. So I've been getting to the gym as often as I can to run and lift weights. It all helps. Slowly, I'm beginning to find my way out of the doldrums. After running 6 miles yesterday, I added several pages to my novel and completed a poem I'd been toying with. Maybe I'm on an upswing.

People have various methods of finding their way out of writer's block or mental impasses. One friend hits the kitchen when she gets stuck. Maybe something about the aromatic smell of cooking food stimulates other parts of her brain. Another friend settles down into a marathon reading session that could last anywhere for a few days to several weeks. She says that other people's writing inspires her. I understand. Yet another person I know knits. Some people scrapbook, paint, draw or sew. Whatever it takes to get you writing is what you should do. Often I'll paint when I'm stuck. Like skiing or running, painting completely absorbs me, transports me to another world.

What do you do when writer's block strikes? Do you do anything outside of writing or research? If so, I'd love to hear about it.

Winter Blahs.

Here it is January - a brand new year - and while most writers I know are full of enthusiastic resolutions to write more consistently and more often, I am floundering. I can't seem to get past the blank screen looming in my brain like a relic from a drive-in movie theater. Eeek!

There are two words for this: writer's block. I guess nearly every writer goes through it some time. This is a first for me. Somehow, I've always been able to work through my writing gaps but this time it's lasting far too long. Maybe the consistent cold and stretch of gray, wintry skies are paralyzing me. At any rate, it worries me. I know it will pass. Eventually. I hope it will pass. In the meantime, what's a writer to do?

Here are some things I've been occupying myself with in place of writing: running, drawing, cleaning out the attic, browsing the web, reading, doing the NY Times crossword puzzle, playing online Scrabble, cleaning out my closet. All good ways to pass the time but none involve writing. They won't help me get where I want to go.

This afternoon I reread my WIP and added two sentences to an abandoned chapter. Maybe this signals the beginning of the end of my case of writer's block. I hope so. Tonight I'm going to look at it again and maybe add a couple more sentences. Perhaps I'll finish the whole damn chapter and then move on to the next one.

What do you do when you're stuck? Anybody have any useful suggestions. If so, please, share them. I beg you.

Christmases Past

I recently came across a couple of old photographs from Christmases past. When I was a kid, my family often got together with the families of our Irish friends for Christmas eve to share Irish whiskey, snacks and lots of good cheer. Somehow the night always came to an end with everybody sitting around the floor singing - usually into a tape recorder for Grandma Fay back home in Ireland or my Grandma Coulthard back in England. I loved sitting around the rug in a big semi-circle, wrapped in love and security and hoping that each and every Christmas time would always be like this. After all, that's what it was all about - being with family and the people I love.

Oh yeah, it was fun to get presents too. For years my sister Vicky, a die hard tomboy, got a cowboy suit for Christmas, complete with holster and badge. My presents varied. One year I got a nurses kit, even though I hated blood and hospitals. What I really wanted was an artist's kit. The following year I got a box of 100 Crayola crayons laid out side-by-side in a colorful array. Although they were beautiful, somehow, I knew real artists didn't color. They painted. So, the next year I asked for paints for Christmas and this time I got a box of water colors and a couple of paint-by-number kits. I was sure that real artists didn't pant by number either.

Somewhere along the way, I kind of gave up asking for anything in the way of art supplies and made do with what I had. Instead, I received books, a blacklight poster of butterflies, plants, clothes and lots of other things I loved and wanted. I knew my parents sacrificed much to get us nice gifts and I appreciated every one of them, tied up beautifully with a pretty ribbon and Christmas giftwrap. What I remember most, I guess, is the love that went into each and every Christmas. The presents may be gone now, but the memory of all that love still remains, wrapped around me like a cozy quilt on a frosty winter night.