storyfires

Recharged

2011-12-19T11:54:00.000-07:00

I haven't logged in many barefoot runs lately. One on Thanksgiving that got me all the way around the temple before my feet went numb. One two days ago, late morning, when the sun was up and the frost had mostly thawed the grass in the drainage basin. Two times around the bowl before I couldn't feel my feet. Perfect.

What those two barefoot days reminded me: how little we feel of the world most of the time. How much we miss, walking around with our shoes on. "The soil is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod." That's Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Too bad a barefoot run was out of the question today. I put on wool socks and my "barefoot" shoes and a hat and gloves and took Andrei the Giant up the mountain--next best thing to going barefoot. The dog agrees.

The fog made everything look so ethereal: hoar frost sprouting from each blade of long grass, each branch of scrub oak, and the cloud sitting low on the rocks jagging up the ravine. Tried to take a picture for you, but my phone said no connection with my camera. Because of the two times I dropped it on cement, perhaps?

A day for birds. A hawk sat on the top of a power pole, feathers puffed and head tucked in against snow that wasn't falling as much as being squeezed out of the fog, like flour dust, dry and fine. Little flocks of starlings and sometimes chickadees kept flying up as we passed. I saw a flicker swoop into an oak cluster, wings pink in the snow dust.

Passed a man with two matching spaniels off their leash. I put Andrei back on his and was happy the guy sent his dogs down the hill off the path while we passed. Happier they were well-trained enough to do it. Andrei would never, off his leash. No self-control with other dogs.

Do the power lines sizzle more when snow hits them, or do they always buzz that way and you just don't notice until the fog makes things so silent that you hear remaining sounds more? Like the dog howling from some house, somewhere. The chatter of chickadees. The city noises, below and away from our path.

By the time I got home, my face, bum, and the second toe on my left foot were numb, even with wool socks. Perfect.

I think our brains need alone time with themselves. They need a chance to think, to feel, to be silent. To run barefoot, if you're me. To walk on the mountain. Or just to sit and be alone with living things. Easy to forget in a wired world.

Finding a Rhythm

2011-10-28T17:55:00.019-06:00

Sometimes your rhythms are off.

Sometimes when your normal rhythms falter, you look around for new ones, and you find something works in a way you weren't expecting.

I woke up this morning and was not feeling it. Went to bed late. Woke up late. Drank green smoothie. Drove kids to school. Didn't exercise. Sat on couch with computer instead. Decided to try out Stephen King's writing schedule and ended up writing from eight to ten, ate a snack, wrote some more. Took a nap, wrote some more. I don't think nap was part of Stephen King's schedule. Felt good about the writing. Felt kind of gross about everything else.

Stephen King

Stephen King writes until noon, then goes for a walk. So at 12:30 I went for a run with the dog. Dog was sluggish. I was sluggish. Couldn't fall into a rhythm. Dumped the route and went to the park where I took off my shoes and ran barefoot with dog. Andre was tired after one lap. I squished around in the grass and finally found my beat. Kept my shoes off and ran home barefoot. What the heck? It didn't hurt. Last time my feet felt thrashed. One lady almost drove into a telephone pole while staring at me running barefoot on the road carrying my shoes. One bored-looking young guy stopped looking bored and cracked a huge smile. Is running barefoot really that weird?

I've been trying to find a new writerly rhythm. What I liked about Stephen King's: I got to use that just-awake time when my subconscious is close to the surface and my inner editor is far away. I also wasn't tired from exercise.

What I didn't like: I wasn't energized from exercise when I wrote. And the dog was mad at me.

But it worked for today.

I've tried working in my bed, at my upstairs desk, at my downstairs desk, on the couch, at the kitchen table, at the library, at the bookstore. At 2:00 am. At 10:00 am. First thing in the morning until late into the night, only stopping for food and bathroom breaks.

I heard Marilynne Robinson read from her beautiful Gilead and then answer questions last Friday at BYU. I love her writing, so I was interested when someone asked her about her revision process and she said she doesn't revise. She has to get each word right before she can move on to the next.

Gary Schmidt

Gary Schmidt (Okay for Now), whose writing I also admire, writes on a 1950s typewriter to make himself slow down, because, as he says, writing is not about speed. He revises by cutting with scissors, pasting with glue. When he's done with a draft, he burns it in his wood stove and starts over.

I need to revise. I am not a genius like Marilynne Robinson. She really is. I have a typewriter, but I cannot compose on it the way Gary does because I make too many mistakes and it would drive me crazy. Also, I don't like glue. And I can't help revising as I go. I do like to give myself permission to write a crappy first draft. But maybe I will try slowing down this week. Giving myself permission to search for the perfect word before moving on if I feel like it.

So I will not be churning out an entire novel for NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month) in November. What I will be doing in November is working on the first draft of my novel, slowly, in whatever rhythm I find works. I just have to figure out the best way to feel the music of words, one day at a time.

Bread-writing

2011-10-07T14:39:00.000-06:00

Today I am writing by making bread.

I haven't made bread in a long time. Maybe a year.

It's cold and dark outside, so I built a fire in my wood-burning stove, and then I made bread dough. It's rising. Meanwhile, I've figured out all kinds of things for my novel that I will soon write down.

You think I'm dodging actual writing?

Ha. Doubters. I'm getting ever so much done in my head. Really. And I will have hot bread to eat while I get it all out on electronic paper.

Mmm. Come by. We'll have a bread-eating novel-writing party.

Going Barefoot

2011-09-21T10:55:00.003-06:00

Here's a story about going barefoot. Not Going Barefoot, as in my novel. Going barefoot, as in my life. As in, no arc. No actual ending. Just my bare feet. Running.


Do people really get this far off the ground when they run barefoot?

Some of you have heard (and if you're my family are probably sick of) my rant about how my chronic knee and plantar fasciitis trouble healed when I zeroed out my running shoes and started running barefoot in the grass at the park. I realized I run very differently when barefoot, so I started trying to mimic that upright, butt-kicking, ultra-bent-knee style every time I ran in shoes, too.

My favorite shoes: New Balance Minimus. Second favorite: Vibram Five Fingers. Both of which have zero padding and are only a couple steps beyond barefoot.

I mostly run in shoes because I'm scared of that crud always lurking on the side of the road, like to save barefoot running for the grass. Love splashing through that spongy, soggy, just-watered grass in the park down the road from my house. Mmmm. Yes.

I garden barefoot. I walk around my house and yard barefoot. I squish in the park grass barefoot. I love going barefoot.

Barefeet are happy feet

BUT, I do not run on the road with bare feet. I think my brother, a hard-core barefooter, whose bare foot-prints I have seen in snow, is certifiably crazy. Even though he's a math professor.

And then I read Barefoot Ken-Bob's book

sorry, you can't click to look inside unless you go to Amazon

and felt like a big ole wimp. I mean, the guy runs marathons barefoot.

So this week I started barefoot running on the road. I've done it twice, now. The first time I ran around the corner. Woo hoo. Today: down two-and-a-half streets and around four corners.

My feet were not torn to shreds. My legs and knees feel good. I was ok with people staring at the weirdness of it. The end.

Only it's not the end. I'm going to keep doing it. Told you there was no arc.

I'll let you know how it goes. Gotta go scrub my soles.

Write for the Fire

2011-09-14T14:15:00.003-06:00

Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for.
--Ray Bradbury

I read this quote on Ann Dee Ellis's blog today and it was like getting hit in the head with a pine cone. Ray Bradbury is a hero of mine. He graduated from the library instead of college. He writes original, inimitable stuff.

a pine cone

I started writing because I loved it. I loved it so much I could write myself out of a depression, and that's a big deal. I was totally in love.

me, in love

I didn't know what I was doing. A lot of what I wrote was buffalo chips, destined for the fire. But I was having too much fun to care.

a buffalo chip

Am I still in love with writing? Yes. A lot of what I write is still chippy and fire-bound, only now I'm a little more aware of when I've produced poop, and also that someone else who knows the difference between buffalo chips and swiss chocolate might read it, too.

definitely not a buffalo chip

I have been putting off writing this book because I'm afraid of producing poop instead of chocolate. Silly. That's what the fire is for, right?

storyfire

I had to remember I'm writing for the fire today, so I have nothing to lose. If I don't, I might fall out of love altogether and have to get a real job that I don't love at all.

Yeah, so, write for the fire, hey? Write (or paint, or run, or play your violin) for the joy of it, and even if all you come up with is buffalo chips, remember, you can start a fire with those.***

***Whatever that means. I'm not really sure. It's either terribly profound, or...well, you know.

Writers Write, Billy

2011-08-31T12:06:00.006-06:00

I know tons of people who want to write a book.

Maybe it was the easy success of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with those vampire books, but at least three people within a couple of blocks of my house all say they're writing books.

So when my son came home one day and said, oh, by the way, so-and-so from work is writing a book about a boy who grew up in Needles, California, my husband announced, "Everybody is writing a book. I'm going to write one."

And he made one up on the spot, about a kid who grew up in Needles, California. My kids quote the entire thing on a regular basis, which isn't hard, because it's really short. Here it is:

"It sure is hot out here," said Billy, as he looked across the barren wasteland that he called home. "Mom, can I have a cookie?"
"Sure, Honey, it's the least I can do since we live in such a crappy place," she said, wondering why she'd ever married a man who would move to a place like Needles, California.

That's it. The end. He never finished it.

Most people don't. Yeah, everybody wants to write a book, but that doesn't make them writers. Writers write. Every day. And they keep on writing. And revising. And submitting. And reading about writing. And revising. And writing some more. And submitting again. And reading some more about writing. And writing again. And they keep on. Sure, they take breaks, but they always get back to writing again.

Two days ago someone told me about a friend who writes but has decided she's quitting because she hasn't been able to get published. I know someone else who gave up after her first rejection, because it was too demoralizing to try again.

Julie posted this on our One Page a Day Blog. It's by Sara Zarr (Once Was Lost):

"Sometimes I think I could have just as easily not been a writer. For example, by not writing, because of fear or self-doubt or not feeling entitled to give it a try. Or by watching more TV instead. Or giving up when I couldn’t figure out what happened next in a story, or after the first five years of rejection, or after I lost my first agent, or after the second five years of rejection. Et cetera. I’m still aware, every day, that this career is mine to keep or lose. There are lots of things from the business side of things I can’t control, but if I don’t keep writing I definitely will not be a writer."

It's funny how ten years of sweat and dues-paying seems to be the magic number before publication for many writers (except a certain writer of vampire books, but that's just kind of freaky). It's good to keep in mind that Sara Zarr and even Madeleine L'Engle had their ten. Rejection and persistence is part of the job.

And after reading this I remembered, oh, yeah, summer is over and so is my break and the house is silent and if I don't get to work NOW I might not be a writer anymore; I might be a former writer, for which I have no excuse, because I have a book begging to be written about a slave boy, and he's haunting my dreams. Or nightmares. (And no, his name isn't Billy from Needles). He won't shut up and when I try to suppress him the way I've been doing all summer he gets into my psyche and makes me a crazy person with weird disorders. I should probably deal with him so I can pretend to be sort of normal again.

Because yes, Billy, you do have to write to be a writer (and to be sane, if you're me). And you have to get past the first page and keep on and not give up, ever; otherwise it's just a little hobby, like flying remote control airplanes in the park, and you might as well be watching soap operas, because real writing isn't that kick-back. It's a job.

"Hey," my husband says, "I'm going to publish my story. I might even get published before you do."

Ok, I tell him, but you should probably finish it first. And that first page might need a little revision. Um, maybe a lot of revision.

*Disclaimer: I did not write the Billy story. Really. My apologies to anyone who lives in or anywhere near Needles, California or the Mojave desert. I'm sure it's a lovely place to live.

July: Transformed into a Barefoot, Bearded, Green-smoothie-drinking Rain-cloud. Or Something.

2011-08-09T18:14:00.002-06:00

Time has a way of evaporating sometimes. It has nothing to do with fun. It just disappears, like steam. I guess that's what happened to July, because somehow today is the second Tuesday in August, and a whole month is gone, and I don't know how it happened. The sun came out and, poof!

I wasn't writing. Riding, yes. Finally fixed my bike. But writing? Not on the new novel. Obviously not blog posts. Letters either. Both my sisters are probably mad at me.

Here's what I remember:

*We lost the dog and chased him down.
*Worked hours in garden, which is growing like green demons.
*Hiked mountains.
*It poured rain every afternoon. In Utah. Where the total rainfall is 15 inches a year.
*I injured my Achilles and rehabilitated it. Didn't see doctor.
*Read book on barefoot running.
*Read book on plot because I was mired in mine. Think I found my way out.
*Ran barefoot with dog and kids in squishy park grass.
*Experiment A: drank one quart green smoothie/day.
*Quit experiment after one nasty green smoothie consisting almost entirely of collard greens, and another of watercress. Have you ever drunk watercress? Think of raw frog juice.

Uh, huh.

*Made yummy (as opposed to froggy) green smoothies for the girls' cross-country team.
*Experiment B: did all gardening barefoot. Awesome.
*Bought running shoes. Why? A mystery. Barefoot, hooray! Except on Utah rocks. Ok, which one marathon, do you think, inspired Barefoot Ken Bob's barefoot friend to scrounge up shoes made from a trail-marker, and even Ken Bob to admit it totally sucked? Park City, Utah. Yup. Utah rocks. The rocks I get to run on. Not so good for bare feet. I like my New Balance Minimus shoes for trails. Feel the rocks, but don't feel them.

Also:

*Read lots of fiction.
*Hung my wash outside on line. Had to rescue it often from rain.
*Watched Harry Potter.

Funny, though. Except for Harry Potter, most of those things happened in the first eight days of August. Huh. I don't know where July is. Floating around the Universe somewhere. Lost on vacation. Transfigured into a barefoot, bearded, green-smoothie-drinking rain-cloud.

What about you? Do you ever lose a whole month of your life?

June Book Winner

2011-06-27T15:02:00.000-06:00

Hey, all. Time for our June blog book give-away drawing. I'm using my uber-high-tech method of randomly selecting a name that I've scrawled on a folded orange sticky note and thrown in a cereal bowl, along with a lot of other orange folded sticky notes.

uber-high-tech selection process

I close my eyes, reach in, unfold the paper...

And the winner is Jamie! You get a free book! Email me your physical address and I'll get Leviathan in the mail right away.

Everyone else, head to the library right now and get yourself a copy. Unless you happen to be my sister, and you happen to live in Brazil or Fiji, and summer happens to be winter where you live, and books in English are harder to come by than they ought to be, in which case I might send you a copy anyway.

Happy reading!

Reading still makes you sexier and one more day to enter free book drawing

2011-06-25T12:22:00.001-06:00

Perhaps you didn't believe me when I said that reading can make you sexier. Or skinnier, especially if you didn't click on the link in the last post, but it's true. Young girls who read a book about an overweight girl who made positive life-style changes had a reduced Body Mass Index after six months, compared to a control group, whose BMI increased.

See how skinny she's getting? See the stack of books she's reading?

Literature can be powerful, have I mentioned that before?

Even though the book sounded utterly BORING. Which, I guess, suggests reading could also make you fatter if you read an equally boring book that promoted unhealthy lifestyles. Or you could read an interesting book and perhaps magically loose weight anyway. Because the authors of the study didn't use a second control group of girls who read a very exciting book that had nothing whatsoever to do with weight loss and compare their weight at the end of the study. So maybe it really was the reading itself that made everyone skinnier. Why not? Reading uses brain power, which--who knows?--probably burns a few calories, especially if your heart rate goes up in exciting parts. I'm choosing to believe that the magic potion was the reading itself. But whatever.

Anyway, you only have one more day to enter to win a free copy of Leviathan. Contest ends at midnight, June 26th (Sunday).Go here for rules and a review of the giveaway book. And then check back Monday for drawing results. Right now your chances of winning are one in six.

Reading makes you sexier, and a free book for June

2011-06-22T15:29:00.006-06:00

Summer Solstice was yesterday and the weather here in the Wasatch mountains is finally not cool or wet. Which reminded me that my favorite thing about summer is books. Which are also my favorite thing about spring. And winter. And fall. But especially summer, because you can read what you feel like (instead of what your teacher tells you) and you can read in the grass, or in the tree-house, or up the mountain, or on the beach, or at the pool...

And I've read some great books this year, so I have some recommendations for all y'all's summer reading lists. In fact, I think it's time for a freebie.

I've been enjoying steam punk lately. Maybe you've read Leviathan, by Scott Westerfeld? And the sequel, Behemoth. If you haven't, you're missing a fabulous series. Although just when you're really getting into the story, you'll realize it's not done, and the next book doesn't come out until fall. How rude.

The world of Leviathan is an alternate WWI setting, where countries with technology based on engineered beasts pit themselves against the Star-Warsesque machines of their enemies. Westerfeld has a lot of fun playing with the two super-techno cultures, but my favorite part (of course) are the characters: Alek, prince on the run, and Deryn, a girl posing as the boy of all boys, one of the best soldiers in the Darwinist forces, whom everyone admires, but is always a misstep away from exposure.

As Alek and Deryn become friends, Alek thinks Deryn is the boy he's always wanted to be, while Deryn finds herself falling for Alek, a romance that can't happen. And we don't even get to know how it all turns out, because the next book isn't yet published. My twelve-year-old son loves the action, and he especially likes Alek; I like the great story and, yes, the romantic tension that is subtle enough for boys. Can't wait for the release of Goliath, the sequel, which comes out September 20th of this year.

Meanwhile, I'm offering Leviathan for my June blog book-giveaway.To enter the drawing for your free copy, same rules as usual apply:

1) Follow my blog. If you already follow, you're good.
2) Leave a comment here, letting me know you follow and want to enter.
3) Do 1 and 2 by midnight, June 26th.

That's all. Follow, comment, do it on time.

Or you can just head to the library or the bookstore pick up a copy right now and not have to wait. Except if you're like me even the library won't be free because can I return a book on time? No, I cannot. I find it's cheaper to buy books in the first place. And then they are new. And then you don't have to feel guilty when you don't bring them back. Cheapest of all is to enter my drawing and win one.

Whatever you do, grab lots of books this summer and read them. New evidence shows that reading can make you skinnier. We already knew reading makes you smarter. It probably makes you prettier. Stronger. Sexier. And it's fun.

Take off your shoes. Lie in the grass. Ahh...

**********************************************************************************

And if you're interested, a few more ideas for great reads:

*The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Bronte. Who reads Anne Bronte? I hadn't. I really enjoyed this, although it was sometimes a tiny bit too preachy. Considered scandalous in her day.

*Snow White and Rose Red, Patricia Wrede. The sort-of-steam-punk/Renaissance version of one of my favorite fairy tales. Lots of fun.

*Thirteenth Child, Patricia Wrede. More ultra-creative steam-punk.

*Rick Riordan's latest: The Lost Hero (more Percy Jackson's world, but with new lovable characters), and The Throne of Fire (sequel to Red Pyramid). My kid likes this second series better than Percy.

*If you like dystopian stuff, Matched, by Ally Condie is one of the best. Beautifully written.

*Dragon Slippers (and sequels), and Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow, Jessica Day George. I didn't like the covers for her Dragon books, so I never got around to trying them until this year, after I heard her at a conference and she was one of my favorite speakers. Really fun, for middle-grade and younger YA readers.

*Each Little Bird That Sings, Deborah Wiles. Again, for middle-graders. Ruby Lavender by her was my daughter's favorite for years and is lovely, too. She has a mesmerizing style and the character development is always wonderful. I liked Aurora County All-stars, as well.

LargeThings: Cups and Cockroaches

2011-06-06T22:14:00.007-06:00

I spent the weekend in New Mexico at the Great Southwest Track and Field Meet.

Albuquerque was hot. And smoky, thanks to a huge Arizona fire that filled the place the night we got in. The city was also full of fast people with large muscles and zero-percent body fat running in the heat. Luckily, a hot wind blew away most of the smoke so the runners didn't die of smoke inhalation.

My favorite part: water cups in Albuquerque are HUGE.

Yes, huge.

You know how if you go out for fast food or to a movie theater and ask for water, most places give you a leprechaun-sized styrofoam cup and if you complain they threaten to call the cops for suggesting something so outrageous as a full-sized drink of water? In Albuquerque, you get giant water cups. Humungous. With lids. And straws. And lots of ice. Which was great, because did I mention New Mexico is hot?

My least favorite part: large cockroaches. Like the one we found in a drawer in my hotel room. Nice and healthy-looking.

We closed the drawer and hoped it would go away. It did. We don't know where. I'm scared to unpack my luggage.

And yes, I watched my kid run. Which, ok, yeah, was a bigger deal than large water cups. But, hey, it was over so fast and the ice-water lasted the whole 2000-meter steeple-chase. How cool is that?

Better than an over-sized cock-roach roaming loose in my hotel-room. And perhaps in my luggage. Or in the bag of left-over pretzels. Ergh. Ick. Pretzels are going into the trash right now.

Loving the Path

2011-05-31T17:48:00.002-06:00

I didn't set any New Year's Resolutions this year. Not one. I felt sort of guilty about that for awhile.

Um, not that guilty. Not guilty enough to set any.

I mean, I'm constantly evaluating myself and trying to do better. Maybe too much. And then I decided, maybe goals are overrated. Maybe I spend too much of my time looking forward, wishing, wanting, dissatisfied with myself and others, and not enough time savoring the moment.

Beautiful Mt. Timpanogos. My favorite.

When Robert Persig (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) pointed out that it's the sides of the mountain that count, not just the top, he wasn't just talking about hiking.

Maybe that's what I haven't been doing in my life.

Maybe I need to do what my neighbor does: wake up every morning, see the sun or the rain or the snow, and say, I am alive, and that's a gift. And just enjoy whatever the Universe dumps in my lap. Even when it looks like pig poo. Er, perhaps I don't have to be grateful for the pig poo.

I did happen to finish my book this year. But not because I set a goal to do it. I finished because I was doing something I love every day.

I want to find joy. I don't think a list of goals is going to get me there. It's here, now, all around, if I take the time to stop and see it. Rest. Relax. Quit setting so many goals. Learn to love the path as much as the peak.

Ok, that's sounding suspiciously like a goal. So stop it already. Savor, savor.

Cookie Apocalypse and Free Book Winner

2011-05-23T09:25:00.003-06:00

the apocalypse

Ok, so we're post apocalypse now, and still alive, even though we ate all but two of the cookies we made last night, which is sort of a disaster, since how are we going to decide who gets the last two?

And also, my son's broken ipod is sitting next to the computer here and mewing. Yes, mewing. I don't know what that means, but it's bugging me.

But I think we're ok. And I still have a book to give away.

So I wrote down a bunch of names on little scraps of paper and threw them in a bowl and drew one. Very random and scientific.

And Amberly, you own a copy of Gary Schmidt's Okay for Now. The perfect not-actually-dystopian post-apocalyptic read. Congratulations!

I'm ready to send it to you, so if you email me at ejjube at gmail dot com and let me know your address, I'll get it in the mail.

Thanks to all you new and old followers who entered the drawing. If you like free books, keep watching for another giveaway. I try to do this every month or two, and your chances for winning are always pretty good, since the contest is nice and small.

Even if you didn't win, you should still go check out this book from the library, or buy a copy for yourself. Because all y'all need to read this one.

End of the World and Last Day for Free Book

2011-05-21T01:15:00.000-06:00

The world ends today. 6:00 pm, I think? So does my blog contest.

Good thing I finished and sent off that book of mine this week. Whew. So, this is your last chance to enter to the drawing for Gary Schmidt's latest, if you haven't gotten around to it. Except I'm giving you a post-apocalyptic six extra hours (until midnight), if we're not all dead or translated or whatever.

See post below for my review of the book and for contest details.

I'll announce contest winners Sunday or Monday (if I'm feeling lazy), so be sure to check back then, anyone who still happens to be around. I mean, if Armageddon does come, the power will probably be out, and we'll have no T.V., so you'll want something good to read to get you through, right? Books and chocolate, everything's A-OK.

The Magic "Send" Button=Free Book for You

2011-05-18T15:22:00.002-06:00

I did it.

Finally pushed the magic "send" button on my computer. Yes, only three weeks later than I'd wanted. My verse novel is out of my hands and into my agent's and I'm going to have a life again.

I'm going plant my garden.

Going to exercise.Writing is so dang sedentary. Gained 10 freaking pounds writing this novel.

Buy food (we're tired of nothing but cereal).

Read Brideshead Revisited before next week's book group.

Take care of the huge tax error the IRS thinks we made but didn't.

Attend my kids' dance showcase, State track meet, and sixth-grade graduation.

Hang out with the fam.

And of course, give away a free book. To you. To celebrated finishing my novel. All you have to do is enter my drawing.

It's a great book: Okay for Now, by Newbery author Gary Schmidt.

Wow. Such a great book. Perfect, actually. I have faith in literature again. Schmidt's two Newbery's were good. This one's better.

I love the way he organizes the story of tough-kid Doug Swieteck around the pictures in John James Audubon's Birds of America, as Doug discovers new friends in a small town where he didn't want to move; new talents; new ways of living and dealing with old problems--such as an abusive father, a delinquent brother, and another brother crippled from his time in Vietnam. Schmidt's gift is powerful understatement that takes the top of your head off, Emily Dickenson style. His language is beautiful and simple and poetic, the story simple and wonderfully rich. One of those books you finish and think, yes, that was a perfect book.
Really. And you will cry.

I had to give this one away. Meant to do that in April, but I was trying to finish a book, ok?

Rules as usual:

1) Follow my blog. You can do that by clicking on the "Followers" link to the right. If you already follow, good enough.

2) Leave a comment here to let me know you follow and want to be entered.

3) Deadline Saturday, May 21, Midnight.

Sorry, except for Fiji and Brazil, U.S. addresses only.

Saving the World From Fantasy

2011-04-27T09:16:00.001-06:00

My daughter's History teacher goes on a class-long rampage if a student mentions the word "Twilight." Not because she thinks the last book is somewhat sexually explicit for 13-year-olds, or because the romance is a tad over the top. She thinks Edward is "too perfect," which gives kids "an unrealistic view of the world." My daughter rolls her eyes as she tells me this.

Er, by the way, did we forget Edward is a vampire? He sucks blood for dinner. Craves his girlfriend's blood. But no, the story isn't realistic. The genre is called Fantasy. Definitely not History.

Sigh. Another fantasy-basher.

I couldn't help thinking about the anti-fantasy proselyters that came to my door a couple of years ago. And since I'm still trying to finish up my novel to send off by the end of the month, I thought I'd rerun this post.

* * * * *

Here's a real-life story for a Friday afternoon.

Once upon an actual Sunday morning, not too many months ago, a couple of lovely, polite, and very earnest people knocked on my door, Bible in hand.

Earnest Woman: "We're worried about the disturbing trend of children's books about witches and wizards and magic."

Me: (blink)

Earnest Woman: "I see you have children, I'm sure you're concerned about their well-being?"

Me: "Mmmm."

Earnest Man: "We'd like to read you a verse from the Bible about the dangers of witchcraft, if you don't mind."

Me: "Mmmm."

Whereupon they proceeded to read a verse where Paul warns against seeking out witches and wizards who "peep and mutter."

These people were so earnest, and really nice, I didn't have the heart to tell them that I, myself, had written two books about witches and magic. I didn't want to horrify them.

I also didn't have time--I would have been late for church--to explain how I (and a large number of fantasy-writers out there) can claim to be Christian and justify writing witch books: George MacDonald, C.S. Lewis, and J.R.R. Tolkien among them, not to mention J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. These books we're talking about ARE imaginary, after all, not how-to books, or tracts.

Fantasy is not supposed to be literal, I wanted to say. No witch is ever simply a witch, no monster is ever just a monster, as author Brandon Mull (Fablehaven) likes to point out, and magic isn't exactly magic, either. Symbolism allows a story to take on as many different meanings as it has readers, each person bringing his own real-life experiences with him. Story is inherently interactive that way, even read alone under the covers at night.

I could go on: fantasy lets a child lay out her fears and look at them in a way that doesn't have to hurt so much it cripples her. It lets little people go away for awhile and do the impossible, and then they can come back to regular life and see new possibilities. Ideally, it leaves them with hope, and that's not imaginary at all. Not incompatible with Christianity, either, as far as I can see. Even Jesus told parables. And Job sure feels like fantasy to me. Which might be why it's such a powerful, meaningful story.

Well, I didn't say all that to the people on my porch. I didn't want to burst anybody's earnest bubble. I also didn't feel like apologizing for what I do all day. So I just blinked and said, "Thanks," and let them go on saving the neighborhood from witchcraft. I shut the door, got dressed, and tried not to giggle hysterically all through church.

And you can bet if you peek in my window on any given day, you'll see me typing away at my latest witch book. I didn't hear anything in that Bible verse to make me think that's such a terrible thing.

I'm Fine.

2011-04-18T11:46:00.003-06:00

I had a good marathon weekend before last. How about you?

Met my goal: finished my shotgun phase of revisions; fixed all the piddly things I'd made notes to myself to fix and had been putting off for later; ready to print! in prep for the next phase of revisions.

Then Spring break happened and

1. I broke my printer while printing out my book.

*Note: that's not, "The printer broke," it's "I broke the printer," as in, I yanked out some already printed pieces of my book that were getting sucked back in and that's when I heard a crack. And then my printer wouldn't feed paper any more. And I had lost my receipt. And hadn't bothered to register my product when I bought it (who does that?). So they couldn't look it up. (Next time just tape the receipt and protection plan to the bottom of the printer, they told me. Duh. You idiot.)

2. So I had to go out and buy a freaking new one. Which was a downgrade that cost as much as the last nicer one. And which didn't even come with a USB cord. Which made the new printer unusable until I went back and got the old one from my broken printer which I'd traded in for a discount. But I'm fine. I took some yoga breaths on the way back to Office Max. I'm fine.

Even though I didn't get around to shopping for that stupid printer until Saturday, because I was

3. Shopping for a prom dress (because I don't sew anymore). And a puffy slip. And shoes. Which had to be ballet flats with ribbons up the ankles. That have to be dyed. Prom is Friday. Of course my kid wanted one we have to alter. And add stuff. Cut stuff. rearrange stuff. Take things in. Urgh.

4. And I took my kids to a movie.

5. And jumped on the tramp with them (well, for about 10 minutes).

So did I write all week? No. I did not. Even though the entire month of April is supposed to be my personal Writing Marathon Month and I promised Agent Steve I'd get my book into his hands before month end.

But I get to watch my daughter promenade. In her altered dress. And dyed ballet shoes with ribbons up the ankles.

And I read three books.
And I found my free book to give away for April, so check back soon.
And the forsythia's in bloom.
And my magnolias are recovering from the snow (sort of).
And it's getting green on the mountain.

And I printed out my manuscript without another mishap. Whew.

So I'm fine now. Just fine. Ready to get back to my book. Even though we're still figuring out the dress. (Did I mention I don't sew anymore? )

No problem.

Writing Marathon Weekend

2011-04-06T22:27:00.004-06:00

Hey, I'm doing a writing marathon this weekend. Decided...um, just this minute.

I wish

It was Carol Lynch Williams's and Ann Dee Ellis's idea, and they're throwing a dinner if you meet your goal, so consider dumping everything and joining the marathon. Here's the link that tells what you have to do. It's free, and you set your own rules/goals, so how can you lose?

I'm doing this because I need a deadline.

An excuse not to cook dinner or clean my house for three days is always nice, too.

Do I need an excuse? No. But it sounds slightly better than the usual: my mom's a writer so it always looks like this around here.

My goals for the marathon: finish my current polishing-up run-through of my novel and go back and fix all bajillion things I made notes to myself to fix, so I'll be ready by Monday to print out my WIP for yet another run-through.

Goals are good, but you don't have to do a writing marathon to have them. What are yours for this weekend?

Do you need an excuse to write? Sign up! Write! Just do it, like Nike.

Hello, Spring!

2011-04-04T10:01:00.001-06:00

Saturday: 74 degrees and the magnolias popped.

Today: my poor, frozen magnolias.

And what's left of the daffodils.

Hello, Spring!

April's writing goal: to finish my Barefoot revisions and send them to Steve by the end of the month.

Acquainted with Night

2011-04-03T00:29:00.000-06:00

It's 12:15 am and I'm drinking green smoothie and writing a blog post. Robert Frost fit my mood. Simple, elegant, eloquent. And depressing. Perfect.

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Poem of the Week: Good Hair, Sherman Alexie

2011-04-01T09:39:00.013-06:00

Anyone who has heard Sherman Alexie speak tends to become an instant fan. I did, at the SCBWI L.A. Conference a couple of years ago. He's hilarious, smart, and talks about stuff that matters. I also happen to love his poetry, so, as April is National Poetry month, here's Sherman Alexie to kick it off. Fair use? I found this one on Poets.org.

Good Hair

by Sherman Alexie

Hey, Indian boy, why (why!) did you slice off your braids?
Do you grieve their loss? Have you thought twice about your braids?

With that long, black hair, you looked overtly Indian.
If vanity equals vice, then does vice equal braids?

Are you warrior-pretend? Are you horseback-never?
Was your drum-less, drum-less life disguised by your braids?

Hey, Indian boy, why (why!) did you slice off your braids?
You have school-age kids, so did head lice invade your braids?

Were the scissors impulsive or inevitable?
Did you arrive home and say, "Surprise, I cut my braids"?

Do you miss the strange women who loved to touch your hair?
Do you miss being eroticized because of your braids?

Hey, Indian boy, why (why!) did you slice off your braids?
Did you weep or laugh when you said goodbye to your braids?

Did you donate your hair for somebody's chemo wig?
Is there a cancer kid who thrives because of your braids?

Did you, peace chief, give your hair to an orphaned sparrow?
Is there a bald eagle that flies because of your braids?

Hey, Indian boy, why (why!) did you slice off your braids?
Was it worth it? Did you profit? What's the price of braids?

Did you cut your hair after your sister's funeral?
Was it self-flagellation? Did you chastise your braids?

Has your tribe and clan cut-hair-mourned since their creation?
Did you, ceremony-dumb, improvise with your braids?

Hey, Indian boy, why (why!) did you slice off your braids?
Was it a violent act? Did you despise your braids?

Did you cut your hair after booze murdered your father?
When he was buried, did you baptize him with your braids?

Did you weave your hair with your siblings' and mother's hair,
And pray that your father grave-awakes and climbs your braids?

How do you know when you're done with your book?

2011-03-25T09:23:00.006-06:00

It's snowing again. But last week the weather was warm, and I put on my barefoot shoes and went for an almost-barefoot run in the park.

Have I mentioned that running barefoot in the grass is Epiphany and Nirvana and Halleluia rolled into one?

Aahh....Bare feet.

That's why I had to write a book about it. Which is still way too long.

People keep asking me (since the revisions go on and on, Judah), how do you know when you're done? That's a REALLY good question. The answer on the current book is: not yet.

It's not like I know anything. I just write because I can't help it. But I can tell I'm NOT done if I'm not happy with these things:

*Plot. Problems? Does everything build to a climax?

* Characters/character traits. Do they talk in a way that a reader could recognize without dialogue tags?

*End of chapter hooks?

*Do I love every word on my first page? On my last?

*How's the rhythm? Does anything jar?

*Transitions, cliche's, confusing spots, anything awkward?

*Get rid of every extra word, sentence, paragraph, page, chapter. Cut, chop, slash. I always write too much.

*Play proofreader; go over grammar, punctuation and spelling like a lice-picking chimp. If that stuff isn't your forte, you might want to hire someone to do it for you.

I happen to like this part. Yeah, weird. Got a C in my college Physical Science class because I copy-edited the textbook instead of studying it. It was a terrible book. (Hmm. Maybe you should hire me. Then I could hire someone to clean my house).

*Check chapter titles and format: headings, spacing, all that crap.

These things can take, well, like, forever. Sometimes a year if I get really hung up on plot issues and decide to rewrite the entire book. But when I find myself changing everything I did yesterday back the way it was the day before, I know I need to get it out of my house.

Then I'm done. I push "send", the scariest button on earth.

What about you? How do you know when you're finished revising?

Book Winner

2011-03-21T09:59:00.003-06:00

Thanks everyone who entered the free book-drawing, and welcome to all my new followers! Wow, everyone wants to get their hands on The Clockwork Three. Of course. It's a great book. Even if you didn't get it free, you should go buy yourself a copy.

As a little introduction if you're new to the blog, I am a fiction-writer in the process of shopping my stuff. I have an agent, so I let him do most of the work there, while I do the work of writing books.

I love to read, love to write, love all things bookish. Here on the blog, I write about the writing process, review books I liked, talk about the life of a writer, and try to give away a book a month. The drawings are small, so your chances of winning are always pretty good.

My rules for give-aways: must be books I've read myself and loved, with great stories and beautiful sentences. They aren't always the hot sellers, but I swear they're worth your time. Because there are so many books out there. And so few minutes in a day.

Ok, the drama moment.

The winner of the give-away is...............ALEETHA.

Congratulations, you now own a copy of Matthew Kirby's Clockwork Three. Email your address to me at ejjube at gmail dot com and I'll get your book in the mail ASAP.

Thanks for participating! Talk to all y'all around the blog soon.

Time Running Out...

2011-03-19T10:33:00.000-06:00

Only two more days to enter to win your free copy of Matthew Kirby's The Clockwork Three. Contest ends at midnight tomorrow. Check Monday for winner. See below for details.

Lucky You: Matthew Kirby's Clockwork Three

2011-03-17T09:56:00.003-06:00

In honor of St. Patrick's Day and Irish luck, I'm giving away a free book today that has nothing to do with Ireland: my friend, Matthew Kirby's The Clockwork Three.

If you haven't heard of Matt's debut novel, you're missing out on a fantastic middle-grade read. Released in October of last year, Clockwork is a wonderful adventure story with three main characters, three converging plots, an automaton that comes to life, boy-pleasing amounts of danger and - my favorite bit - a magical green violin. Kirby's book defies genre, but manages to weave elements of steampunk, historical fiction, fantasy, and mystery into one thoroughly satisfying, well-crafted book.

My eleven-year-old son's simple review: "One of the best books I ever read." You'll want to read it, too.

Check out the book trailer, if you like. I tried and failed to get the video to work on my blog (not too tech-savvy right here), so click on the purple/red link to watch on YouTube.

To enter to win The Clockwork Three:

1. Become a follower of my blog by clicking on the "follow me" icon to the right. If you already follow, good enough.

2. Leave a comment and let me know you follow and wish to enter the drawing.

3. Do the above by Sunday, March 20 (which also happens to be the Vernal Equinox. Happy spring!).

4. Check back Monday, March 21 for results.

Good luck! Wear green!

Novel Update: Triage Mostly Over

2011-03-14T16:26:00.001-06:00

I think I'm finally finished with what Dave Farland calls the "triage" phase of my novel revisions.

You know, the part where you assess what drastic measures you need to save your story's life. The big stuff.

Adding, chopping, sewing things together.

Bloody. Painful. Satisfying.

Now, onto the "shotgun" phase, where I shoot it all to pieces again. Why are Dave's metaphors so messy? I wipe my hands on my pants, hope the casualties aren't too great, and move on.

Only six more phases to go.

New Month, New Look

2011-03-10T22:17:00.001-07:00

It's almost spring, February died a gruesome death (good riddance), and the blog wanted a new look. Whadaya think?

I'll be giving away more books soon, so check back.

Tips From Dave on Revising

2011-03-01T15:20:00.003-07:00

"Your first draft is for what you want to say; your final draft is for how you want to say it." --Dave Farland.

The most useful advice anybody ever gave me as a novice author was go to writing conferences.

I had a 27-page picture book that wanted to be a novel, 60 pages of another book, and no idea how a person would go about getting anything published - or whether my writing was good enough to bother trying.

Writing conferences answered my ignorant questions, pointed me to the resources I needed, gave me valuable feedback on my writing, and eventually led to signing with my awesome agent, Steve, who loves my writing and believes in my books, even when I am ready to throw them in a mud puddle.

I still often find something I hear at a writing conference gives me some little insight I needed. Last week at LTUE it was Dave Farland's session on revising.

Aha, said my brain. Oh, yeah. Now I see.

I got a little excited. I like revelations. So I'm passing Dave's secrets on to you. Maybe you're stuck, and something will help you, too.

Dave's Excellent Editing Tips:

Your first draft of a novel is the one where you're figuring out what your story is, where it's going, finding its shape. After that, Dave goes through each novel at least 7 times before sending it out into the world.

First time through: what Dave calls the "triage" edit; the high-level, drastic edit, where you add, chop, and change major stuff, figure out what shape your story needs.

Second time through: "Shotgun" edit. Go through manuscript, identify problems, bug-a-boo areas, look at all ways to improve my story--world creation, characters--go through until every word feels right, then make a to-do list to come back and fix it all.

Tracy Hickman says at this point that he likes to print manuscript out and do a chapter-by-chapter break-down on paper, with color-coded markers for different characters, to see where somebody's not getting enough page time, etc. Which sounds really organized. Like the kind of thing I will never do. Although I admire Tracy for being able to.

3rd time through: Voice edit.
- throw away the beginning and start where characters come alive.
-make sure each character sounds consistent, uses the same kinds of unique buzz-words and dialogue tags.
-make sure each is recognizable, remind the reader of his characteristics throughout, so they don't forget what he looks like.
-do research at this point, if necessary, to make the character feel authentic, to get a true feel for your guy or gal.

4th time through: Descriptive edit.
Check all your descriptive passages and ask
- are you using all five senses?
-do you give a clear sense of place throughout?
- are your metaphors/similes fresh? Do you need more?
-check the poetic elements; is your language evocative?

5th: Syllabic edit: Dave loves Hemingway. Hemingway uses short words.
- Dave's take is that cutting back syllables speeds up the writing, lowers the level required to read it. Sometimes that's not what you want. I feel you could overdo it, give your writing a chopped, too-harsh rhythm, but it's something to consider.

- cut extra words (you can always cut "finally" and "then")
- cut extra paragraphs
- cut extra pages

6th: Line edit.
- Put the manuscript in a new typeface, like palatino 14, and print it out, then read aloud for typos.

Um. I'm not a math person, but I'm pretty sure that's only six edits. I don't know what the mystery seventh edit was, but Dave swears he does seven. Maybe I got mixed up somewhere in there.

*Dave's final warning: don't over-edit or you'll kill it.

My mini-apotheosis: I was trying to do all six edits at the same time. I am a compulsive copy-editor. Triage needs to happen all by itself or I will copy-edit my book into oblivion. Ready to dive back in. Hooray!

What's your revision style? Do you have any methods you love? What works for you?

Life, The Universe, and Everything

2011-02-16T23:36:00.002-07:00

Tomorrow is the first day of LTUE (Life, the Universe, and Everything), a Conference for Sci-Fi and Fantasy writers.

Yep, the crazies. Like me.

Extra fun because...

1. At least one friend is speaking (Bree Despain).

2. I just finished Diana Wynne Jones's book Deep Secret, which makes hilarious fun of Sci-Fi/Fantasy conferences, all while creating an exceptional fantasy story with multi-verses and magic. Incredibly creative. She always astonishes me. And the book put me in the mood. I like fantasy people.

3. It's cheap. You don't get much better than twenty bucks for a writers' conference.

4. It's close to my house.

Are you going? I'll see you there.

If not, you're probably hard at work, unlike the rest of us slackers who are spending the next three days talking about our work instead of doing it.

Write like the wind!

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-15T17:41:00.001-07:00

I forgot I meant to post this lovely poem for Valentine's Day. My disgust with February doesn't extend to romantic poetry as long as it's truly lovely. As usual, I use the Emily Dickinson standard for judging: you feel it takes the top of your head off. This one did for me.

Here it is, a day late.

On The Origins Of Things

by Troy Jollimore

Everyone knows that the moon started out
as a renegade fragment of the sun, a solar
flare that fled that hellish furnace
and congealed into a flat frozen pond suspended
between the planets. But did you know
that anger began as music, played
too often and too loudly by drunken performers
at weddings and garden parties? Or that turtles
evolved from knuckles, ice from tears, and darkness
from misunderstanding? As for the dominant
thesis regarding the origin of love, I
abstain from comment, nor will I allow
myself to address the idea that dance
began as a kiss, that happiness was
an accidental import from Spain, that the ancient
game of jump-the-fire gave rise
to politics. But I will confess
that I began as an astronomer—a liking
for bright flashes, vast distances, unreachable things,
a hand stretched always toward the furthest limit—
and that my longing for you has not taken me
very far from that original desire
to inscribe a comet's orbit around the walls
of our city, to gently stroke the surface of the stars.

Book Give-away Winner Announced

2011-02-07T09:54:00.005-07:00

Thanks to my new followers and to those of you who blogged about or otherwise promoted my giveaway, and especially for all the February condolences and good whishes. I mean wishes. See what I mean about brain fog? I can't even write in February. Bleh. My book is going so slow. Ly. Slowly.

But I'm always happy to give away a free book. It makes my February less ugly. I'm throwing names in a dish right now (too lazy to find a hat)...pulling one...and the winner of the February Brain-Fog-Book-Blog-Givaway... is...

Gaylene.

Congratulations! Yay! Hooray! Huzzah! I'm so excited to send you a book! Email your address to me and I'll send you Bree's lovely blue (ish) Lost Saint.

Ok. Seven days into February. It goes on, Judah. Here's an update:

1 surgery (son)

1 possible stress fracture or stress reaction (daughter)

1 set of x-rays to find out

1 MRI to find out for sure

1 crappy insurance policy that pays for nothing (I really ought to sell a book)

7 days of crappy weather

way too much flu

1 kid moving out. (It's ok. I'm not clingy. I believe in independence. He's 21. He can move out if he wants. Waaaah.)

2 finished books (read, not written--I wish)

12 erased stop-settings when I went to play the organ for church. After having not practiced. At all. I hope somebody got a laugh, at least, from the way I slaughtered the postlude.

1 gag-response to pre-game hype.

1 very crappy attitude

And one day of Grace, like an undeserved gift. Thank you! (Except for the football. I hate football.)

At least February is a short month. Twenty-one days to go. Julie, I'm moving in with you.

Last Chance for Free Book; Also, the Perfect Green Smoothie

2011-02-05T12:17:00.001-07:00

Just a reminder that today is the last day to enter to win Bree Despain's latest novel, The Lost Saint. See post below for details and rules for the drawing. They aren't complicated, I swear. Deadline for entries is midnight tonight. You don't want to miss a chance to get free reading material in the month of brain fog. Also, this is a small-scale contest. Chances of winning are currently about 1 in 6.

Ok, then. The Green Smoothie. My current favorite breakfast.

Crystal Harper first told me about green smoothies. How they were the perfect running breakfast, etc. And, well, you can't argue with her daughter's running times. Not that Summer wouldn't be amazingly fast without green-smoothie fuel.

But then, there's the Tarahumara Indians of Born to Run, who swear by chia seeds for eighty-mile nearly-barefoot runs over hot desert sands. Only, chia seeds are so not delicious plain, as my daughter will tell you.

I wasn't excited about jumping on the Green-Smoothie-Girl Diet bandwagon--I don't do diets. I just wanted to try a green drink packed with super-healthy stuff. And then throw chia seeds in it.

Crystal told me the basics of her own green smoothies; I played with the details for mine and came up with something even my hyper-picky, sugar-eating, 11-year-old unadventurous eater thought tasted delicious. He doesn't like to admit that. I mean, it's freaking green.

Here's what I came up with. And mine's free. Just like the book I'm giving away. See how nice I am? Even though it's February? I could take out my brain cloud on you, but I'm giving you free, green stuff instead.

The Perfect Green Smoothie:

4 kale leaves
3/4 of a 1-lb. bag frozen tropical fruit
1 1/2 C. pineapple juice
1/2 C. orange juice
1 T. chia seeds (opt)
1 C. all-natural vanilla yogurt
1 C. crushed ice

Combine all ingredients in blender and frappe' until smooth.

Happy green drinking!

February, Alas. And, Oh, Yeah, a Free Book.

2011-02-02T11:17:00.004-07:00

February is here. Alas and woe.

Have I mentioned that I happen to hate February? That I think it should be banned from the year, and we should switch to an 11-month calendar? Valentine's Day should be banned, too, with all its horrible pink underwear and antacid-flavored candies.

I hate pink. I hate air-inversions and smog. I hate heart-shaped jewelry. I want to crawl into bed with a cup of bitter, slave-free hot cocoa and not come out until March.

Ok. I'm done now. I'd better give away a free book or something, as an apology for blackening your month with my hatred.

It's even a romantic book. By my friend, Bree Despain--the sequel to her YA novel The Dark Divine. It's called The Lost Saint and it came out just after Christmas.

If you like vampires and werewolves and things Twilightish, this is your kind of story. *Disclaimer: I still haven't actually read it because my girls are book-hogs and won't share. But they tell me it's "very intense."

Rules:

To be entered in the book drawing, you must

1. Follow my blog by clicking on the "Follow" link in the sidebar to the right. If you already follow, you're good to go and I love you already.

2. Leave a comment and tell me you want to be entered.

3. Do it by Saturday, February 5th.

That's all. I tried to make it easy, because it's February and I don't want to tax anyone's mental skills in the month of Brain Cloud.

There's a good chance I'll be giving away a second book this month, just because I like books and I hate Februrary, and giving away books makes me feel better, so check back soon for details.

Good luck surviving until March. Me, I'll be in bed reading and writing lots of depression poetry on my computer.

The Most of 2010

2011-01-29T14:38:00.009-07:00

Ok, January is not over, and I don't think it's too late to talk about last year's books.

I took the 100+ Book Challenge and read 101 books in 2010.

Most were Middle-Grade and Young Adult, since that's what I write. I read a little non-fiction, even some books for grown-ups. Most of the time I tried to pick the best of what's out there.

I mean, why waste the time if it's not great? Some of it wasn't. And sometimes I just read the shortest, because it was New Year's Eve and I was running out of time.

Here's The Most of my year's reading.

*Note: Keep in mind these aren't books necessarily published this year, only read this year by me.

Oldest

Beowulf. Reread this for my poetry novel. Still fascinating to me to be in that ancient world.

Most Important

* Hold on to Your Kids: Why Parent Need to Matter More Than Peers, by Gordon Neufeld and Gabor Mate'.
This isn't even fantasy and it still wins. This book has changed everything about the way I see parenting. I wish I could buy one for every parent I know. Especially in the wake of the Tiger-Mother brouhaha, Hold On to Your Kids is a book that matters. Being a mom or dad is the hardest thing on earth; good thing someone brilliant figured out a simple key: that it's all about relationship.

Most Books by One Author

Diana Wynne Jones: I read 19 of her books this year. Discovered Diana for the first time at the end of 2009, and was hooked. My favorite are her Chrestomanci books and Dalemark series. I didn't love her more realistic, modern-set fantasies as much, but they're still entertaining. I consider Howell's Moving Castle a nearly-perfect book, but I read that in 2009, so I shouldn't talk about it here.

Most Addicting

The Thief and its sequels, by Megan Whalen Turner. I started reading this aloud to my family when we got stuck for two hours on the freeway in a snowstorm, and it got us through. I had to rush out and buy all the sequels as soon as we finished. My son got mad when I kept reading ahead, but I couldn't help it. Really.

Fattest

The Swarm, by Frank Schatzing. I forget how many pages, but it was huge, and not a quick read, either. The editor in me wanted to cut it back, but I enjoyed especially the last third of the book quite a lot. And I liked the eco-message.

Funniest

The Teacher's Funeral, A Comedy in Three Parts, by Richard Peck. My 11-year-old and I couldn't stop giggling. And Peck is a brilliant writer. Besides being a charming person. Besides, I can say I shook his hand, and he smiled in my face, and said he was charmed to meet me. Perhaps I have a bias.

Most Beautiful Fantasy

A Wizard of Earthsea, by Ursula LeGuin. I can't believe I got through my teens without ever reading this. LeGuin is proof that fantasy can be fine literature, regardless of what the anti-fantasy people say.

Most Waited For By My Family

The Lost Hero, Rick Riordan. We're Percy Jackson addicts around here.

How many books will you read this year? I'm still trying to decide between quantity again, or length this time.

Happy reading in 2011!

Books Read in 2010

The Water Horse, Dick King-Smith
The Wide Window, Lemony Snicket
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
The Forgotten Door, Alexander Key
Island: Book 3: Escape, Gordon Korman
Island: Book 2: Survival, Gordon Korman
A Conspiracy of Kings, Megan Whalen Turner
The King of Attolia, Megan Whalen Turner
Island: Book One: Shipwreck, Gordon Korman
The Queen of Attolia, Megan Whalen Turner
Hold On to Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers, Gordon Neufeld, Ph.D., Gabor Mate', M.D.
The Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin
Mr. Monday, Garth Nix
Sabriel, Garth Nix
The Thief, Megan Whalen Turner
The Clockwork Three, Matthew Kirby
Exposed, Kimberly Marcus
The Lost Hero, Rick Riordan
Things As They Are, Andrew Clements
Freaky Friday, Mary Rodgers
Because of Winn-Dixie, Kate DiCamillo
A Long Way From Chicago, Richard Peck
The Teacher's Funeral, A Comedy in Three Parts, Richard Peck
Season of Gifts, Richard Peck
Scumble, Ingrid Law
Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins
Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins
The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins
The Swarm, Frank Schatzing
The Life of Pi, Yann Martel
Criss Cross, Lynne Rae Perkins
The River Between Us, Richard Peck
When You Reach Me, Rebecca Stead
The Loser's Guide to Life and Love, A.E. Cannon
Wolves, Boys, And Other Things That Might Kill Me, Kristen Chandler
Hate That Cat, Sharon Creech
The Wish, Gail Carson Levine
The Tiger Rising, Kate DiCamillo
Archy and Mehitabel, Don Marquis
Archer's Goon,Diana Wynne Jones
Glimpse, Carol Lynch Williams
Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher
The Homeward-bounders, Diana Wynne Jones
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J.K. Rowling
Hexwood, Diana Wynne Jones
It's Like This, Cat, Emily Cheney Neville
Year of the Griffin, Diana Wynne Jones
Sweethearts, Sara Zarr
Everything is Fine, Ann Dee Ellis
The Book of Three, Lloyd Alexander
The Pictish Child, Jane Yolen
The Ramsey Scallop, Frances Temple
The Dark Lord of Derkholm, Diana Wynne Jones
The Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
Eight Days of Luke, Diana Wynne Jones
Just Ella, Margaret Peterson Haddix
The Game, Diana Wynne Jones
Well-Behaved Women Seldom Make History, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
The Crown of Dalemark, Diana Wynne Jones
The Spellcoats, Diana Wynne Jones
The Red Pyramid, Rick Riordan
Drowned Ammet, Diana Wynne Jones
Cart and Cwidder, Diana Wynne Jones
Enchanted Glass, Diana Wynne Jones
The Pinhoe Egg, Diana Wynne Jones
Conrad's Fate, Diana Wynne Jones
Witch Week, Diana Wynne Jones
The Magicians of Caprona, Diana Wynne Jones
Hadji Murat, LeoTolstoy
Wings, E.D. Baker
Sea of Trolls, Nancy Farmer
The Lives of Christopher Chant, Diana Wynne Jones
Charmed Life, Diana Wynne Jones
Interworld, Neil Gaiman
Wings, Aprilynne Pike
Midnight Magic, Avi
Murder at Midnight, Avi
How To Train Your Dragon, Cressida Cowell
A Necklace Made of Raindrops, Joan Aiken
Caleb's Story, Patricia MacLachlan
Book of the City of Ladies, Christine de Pizan
Beowulf, Burton Raffel, translator
Calamity Jack, Shannon Hale
Rodzina, Karen Cushman
The Way He Lived, Emily Wing Smith
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling
The BFG, Roald Dahl
The Whipping Boy, Sid Fleischman
Stardust, Neil Gaiman
The Golden Bowl, Henry James
Odd and the Frost Giants, Neil Gaiman
Lake of Secrets, Lael Littke
Dark Interval, Joan Aiken
The Dark Divine, Bree Despain
Stealing Death, Janet Lee Carey
Jingo Django, Sid Fleischman
Jim Ugly, Sid Fleischman
Bandit's Moon, Sid Fleischman
Humbug Mountain, Sid Fleischman

Elevating Gossip: "It Takes a Hero to Make a Poem"

2011-01-21T11:36:00.002-07:00

I was trying to dig up a Robert Frost quote today that had something to do with my book, and I came across a great old BBC interview of Frost explaining what he meant when he said the poem is a "momentary stay against confusion."

So many gems in there.

Here's one of my favorites:

"One of the three great things in the world is gossip, you know. First there's religion; and then there's science; and there's - and then there's friendly gossip. Those are the three - the three great things. Philosophy is just a thing that trims religion, you know - that prunes it and all that. And you've got science. And you've got this: the biggest of all, is gossip - our interest in each other ."

Where does that leave us writers? Ha. Eavesdropping little gossip-mongers. Which is nothing to be ashamed of, if Frost is right:

"It is hero-worship, you see, and one of the things that makes you go, is making a hero out of somebody that nobody else had ever noticed was a hero....It's in making a book, you know. And it takes a hero to make a poem."

Which makes sitting around the house in your pajamas all day, hunched over the computer, banging its keys, sound practically noble. I mean, well, it ought to be noble. Who needs a business suit, anyway? Or a paycheck?

Right. Thanks, Rob. For justifying the insanity.

*To read the full interview, go here.

Cutting Through the Dregs...

2011-01-20T10:32:00.000-07:00

The dregs of winter upon us, I needed a little Hardy today. Maybe you do, too, so I share.

The Darkling Thrush
by Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate
    When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
    The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
    Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
    Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
    The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
    The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
    Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
    Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
    The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
    Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
    In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
    Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
    Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
    Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
    His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
    And I was unaware.

By the skin of my teeth...

2010-12-31T23:51:00.000-07:00

Kind of a disgusting image, when you think about it. Makes me want to pull out the electric brush and scrub until my gums recede.

Finished my 100th book of 2010 with twenty-five minutes to spare. Whew! Not a very thick coat of plaque between me and failure. How lame to finish the year one book short. I couldn't let myself.

Now I'll have time for long books again.

Happy New Year!

Still Counting...

2010-12-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

Two more days, two more books.

I'm rediscovering all the great short novels in my house. Who knew the shelves held so many? I might never have remembered them without this urgent need for short books.

I reread Fahrenheit 451 last night for the first time since college, when Ray Bradbury came to speak and I soaked up every word. I still want to "graduate from the library" the way he claims to have done, but I fear I fall short.

I am astonished to think that he wrote F. 451 in 1952, never having seen ear buds and ipods and large-screen TVs; and a whole generation of increasingly obese preteens (30%) who do little besides play Nintendo and Wii; and hoards of teens who sit in rooms full of other kids and text as if no one else exists. And nobody reads. And picture books are dying a slow death. And literary fiction is dying a speedy one. And book stores have to sell movies and music and coffee to stay alive. And anti-racist books like To Kill a Mockingbird are banned because they use the word "nigger".

Call Bradbury a prophet? Or just perceptive and imaginative?

I also learned that my guess was right, that Ray Bradbury wrote episodes of "Twilight Zone." They were so reminiscent of Martian Chronicles. I figured.

On to my next short book...

Foot Odor Lingers...

2010-12-26T19:14:00.001-07:00

I live with foot in mouth.

When I speak, nothing comes out the way I meant. When I write, my words have a chance of approaching the outer rim of my intent.

I write to make myself feel slightly less of an idiot.

I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear. --Joan Didion

Countdown...

2010-12-26T16:50:00.000-07:00

Two books today.

Yeah, okay, they were only 130 pages each and written for twelve-year-olds, but I have a challenge to meet, dang it!

Four books to go...

Countdown to New Year's Eve

2010-12-26T01:44:00.001-07:00

Six more days and six books to go.

It's 1:37 a.m. Christmas night. Just finished book number 94.

Probably should read shorter books, but I'm hooked on this series, which is priming my brain to work on the boy story again.

This Christmas Eve...

2010-12-25T01:01:00.000-07:00

Christmas Eve and seven days to read seven books if I am to achieve my goal of reading 100 books in 2010.

Tomorrow: the family skis, I curl up on the couch and read. I can't keep up with the slowest child on the ski runs anymore, so this works out nicely for all. My perfect idea of vacation. Theirs, too. Maybe I'll ski with them on New Year's Day, if global warming takes a break long enough to create some white powder at Sundance instead of the slush we've got now.

Wish my missing family were all here instead of on the other side of earth.

Thankful for a silly and also lovely Christmas Eve (braided beards and silky shepherd hats and four Wise Men who looked like a musketeer, a Greek warrior, and a couple of cross-dressers) with all my children under my roof again.

Merry Christmas, all, especially my sisters in Fiji and Brazil, and to all a good night!

Trivial and Fickle

2010-12-15T13:04:00.001-07:00

I'm tired of my old blog design, and on an unrelated note, here's some usage trivia for you.

I just got back from Alabama, where they knock the hat off your head if you're rude enough to wear one indoors. No shirt, no shoes, no take-off-hat, no service. Also, people apparently don't do anything fun there.

Us: What is there to see or do around here? Any good trails or museums or historical sites?

Hotel concierge: I have no idea.

Gas station guy: Well, you could look at that billboard over there.It might say something.

That was all right, because we were too busy driving around getting lost to have time to do anything other than run, watch other people run, and take pictures of runners. Thank goodness for GPS.

While there, I ate grits for the first time, and would have liked them, except for the artificial butter swimming all over the top. Also, I learned the correct way to use y'all. I think.

Disclaimer: I heard this from someone who is not a southerner, who heard from someone else, that this is what they teach students in English class down South. If I'm wrong, don't throw a rock at me.

Y'all is for two to three people. All y'all is for four or more.

So, all y'all (notice how I assume four or more people actually read this blog), tell me what you think of my new blog design.

Too cluttered? Ugly? Liked the last one better? Even though it was waaaay too orange. Even though I only kept it for a couple of days.

Liked the old one better? Liked the old-old one better? Should I try again?

Quick Christmas Picks

2010-12-13T11:57:00.011-07:00

This is the year I set a goal to read 100 books. By Christmas I was going to have all kinds of book recommendations.

Which I do.

I just don't have time to talk about them.

I still have (ack!) eleven more books to read in the next three weeks. Plus Christmas stuff. No problem.

But people have been asking what books to buy for Christmas, and there's not much time left, so, okay, here's the short version of my 2010 book recommendations (not all published in 2010, but all read by me this year).

Keep in mind I have a literary bias. I mean, my true favorites are always the books I feel have a real sense of the beauty and wonder of language. They must tell a great story. I have to love the characters--or hate them and then grow to love them. The character progression has to interest me. The book has to have something worthwhile to say, but never, ever beats me over the head with its ideas. And in books for kids, they have to carry a sense of hope and possibility. Because kids need books like that.

My number one picks with these qualifiers:

Middle grade boys: The Clockwork Three, Matthew Kirby. My 11-year-old son's one-sentence review: "One of the best books I ever read."

Middle-grade girls: Kate DiCamillo's The Tiger Rising, even though the POV character is a boy. Which means it's also for boys, but most good books work that way. DiCamillo has a beautiful, poetic way with words and the story is simple and lovely.

Teen girls: Wolves, Boys, and Other Things That Might Kill Me, Kristen Chandler. See my earlier short review.

Teen boys: Interworld, Neil Gaiman. Gaiman's language and storytelling are always perfect. This one reminded me a bit of Diana Wynne Jones's multi-dimensional worlds, but was still brilliantly creative and entirely Neil Gaimanesque in style and development.

Fantasy: Diana Wynne Jones's Chrestomanci series, and Dalemark Quartet. See my earlier short review and the Diana Wynne Jones official website for more.

Older Teens: The Life of Pi, Yann Martel. Surprising, and then you want to start over and read it again. Makes you think. And funny in unexpected ways. My eighteen- and sixteen-year-olds loved this book. Me,too.

Adults: To be honest, I didn't read a lot of big-people books this year, besides books for research related to my novel. The 100-books-in-a-year goal didn't exactly lend itself to long, slow reads, you know. So my favorite big-people book for the year was a really short one, a novella, actually: Hadji Murat, by Leo Tolstoy, a beautifully-written, tragic book about Tolstoy's real-life experience with the real Hadji Murat. The perfect pick for your literature-lovers, since this is not well-known or widely read. Also, it's short, so they'll have time to read it no matter how busy they are.

Picture Book: Didn't read a single one this year. Sorry. Nobody that age at my house. I'll do better there next year. So I'll just throw out one of my all-time favorite picture-books, instead: Petronella, by Jay Williams, Illustrated by Friso Henstra. Out of print, like most of Jay Williams's books, which is a gross crime, but you can still get it at alibris.com and amazon in time for Christmas, I'll bet. A perfectly-told perfect story. Jay Williams was brilliant. Nobody does picture books like that any more. Yes, the illustrator matters. The newer edition makes Petronella look about 40 years old with bad bangs.

So.

More soon for the new year, when I've finished 11 more books. Plus an author interview I've been meaning to do for a couple of months now.

No, I have not completely abandoned my blog.

P.S.
We survived our trip to Alabama (didn't get lost, mugged, or crash), and my daughter won second in her 5k at the National USA Track and Field Cross-Country Junior Olympics.You can go here to see the official listing and her time, in case you're interested. Notice she was only one second away from the first place girl.

Am I bragging? Yes. As if I had anything to do with her speed. Ha, ha.

P.P.S.
How obnoxious is this blog-design? I might get rid of it soon. Very soon. It's so...orange.

Blog-Blockage.

2010-12-07T17:32:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since I blogged, I think I forgot how. I have writer's blog-block.

Let me think of an excuse, quick.

Um...huh.

Maybe a top-ten list:

10. Didn't feel like it.
9. I was writing. As opposed to what is happening here.
8. Plans for my next post way too big. I was intimidated.
7. My house was dirty (not posting didn't change anything there).
6. Too busy being thankful.

5. Working on a freaking novel in verse. You think I have extra brain-waves left over?
4. My kids hog the internet. They claim it's homework.
3. It snowed.
2. It rained.
1. Uh....I went for a run?

10 REALLY good reasons.

Actually, what I should be posting about are the good books I've read lately that I want you to read, too, but first I have to fly to Alabama and back to watch my daughter run a race.

Newsflash: I am not worried about this trip. I am over my travel anxiety/panic/freak-out tendencies.

I promise I'll be back soon. Unless my plane gets hijacked. Or I get lost between Montgomery and Birmingham. Or we crash and die. Or I never recover from motion-sickness. Or...never mind.

I Thought of That While Riding My Bike, Again...

2010-10-16T14:24:00.000-06:00

Albert Einstein on his Theory of Relativity: "I thought of that while riding my bicycle."

It happened again.

I didn't want to exercise because my head was in my book and I wanted to be writing, and...because I was feeling lazy.

But when I finally forced myself to get on the bike,

and the canyon breeze was blowing through the hair on my legs (probably should have shaved),

and the smell of maple was in my nose,

something unjammed inside my head.

The mind-wheels got turning and the story fires got burning and suddenly I knew what to do with that one character in my book that had been stuck.

I love my bicycle.

:)

Powered Fall

2010-10-11T13:05:00.001-06:00

Yellow harvest moon
Glows down golden-shine
Like elven electricity

      Without wires
      Without batteries

Without anything human-made

On rattle-dry cornstalks
And fattening pumpkins
In their shadowy roundness
Under spiked leaves;

Marigolds sprawl
All weed-entwined
Because weeding this time of year
Seems a violation of something
Bigger than tidy gardens;

Tomato skins are colder,
Raspberries plumper
From a week of cold rain;
They taste richer--spiked, even--
Or maybe electrified by lightning
From that last wild hail-storm
With stones like marbles;

And if you listen
You can just hear Demeter
And her wild Persephone

       Dancing

Before the frost

Kills it all
And both girls

Trip
And then
They fall...

Book Drawing Winner

2010-10-04T09:58:00.000-06:00

Ok, so only two people like free books. Or (more likely) only two people read my blog.

That's ok. I'm not whining. Er, maybe I am. But what these two people have figured out that the rest of you haven't, is that when a few people enter my drawings frequently, those few frequently win free books.

But I wax alliterative. And I will shut up now.

So, the winner of September's book drawing is....are both of you ready?

Alyosha!

Congratulations, Alyosha. Send me your address and I'll send you a book.

Two More Days to Win a Free Book

2010-10-01T09:06:00.003-06:00

I've decided to extend the deadline on my blog contest, since I only gave you two days to enter, which wasn't really fair.

The new deadline to win Kristen Chandler's new book, Wolves, Boys, and Other Things That Might Kill Me, is Sunday, October 3rd, at midnight.To see contest rules, go here. It's a well-told story with a satisfying romance that teenage girls, especially, will love. And it has wolves. Real ones. Best of all, it's FREE. All you have to do is enter the drawing.

Winner will be announced Monday morning, so be sure to check back.

Two Books, a Free Book, and Cheers to Some Friends

2010-09-28T16:07:00.003-06:00

I walk into Borders one day and see stacks and stacks of a new book with a blue cover and a picture of a wolf.

Not a werewolf. A real one.

That gets my attention. I love wolves.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against werewolves and vampires. But I'm a total sucker for real, live wolves.

The other thing that catches my eye is the author's name: Kristen Chandler. Hey! I know her! We were in a workshop together three years ago. I remember her reading a scene from this very book. A very fine scene, as I recall.

I grab my copy and head home, where I curl up on the couch and spend some really pleasant hours with the lovely wolves of Yellowstone Park, a thoroughly likable tom-boy main character, and a way hotter love-interest than either Jacob-the-Werewolf or Edward-the-Vampire. Way cuter. And he feels as real as the wolves. I finish, put down the book, and sigh in satisfaction. I know my next blog-giveaway book.

What were in those snacks they served in that class? (Too bad they didn't they rub off on me). This is the second book published in the last year from that little group.

The third book just came in the mail this very day: Matt Kirby's The Clockwork Three--a fabulous book that's getting great reviews and you should all snatch up as soon as it appears in bookstores this week. Matt's launch party happens to be in two days: 6:00 pm Thursday, Sept. 30th at the King's English bookstore in Salt Lake.I'll see you there, hopefully, where Matt will be talking about his book and signing.

Matt's book will be my giveaway for October. Hopefully by then I'll have a signed copy to give you.

One other exciting news item: my friend Bree Despain (also from that same class),whose book The Dark Divine came out early this year, just signed a movie deal on that book with the X-men guys. Congratulations, Bree!

And then one more news-bite that nobody but me will care about: I freaking finally finished The Swarm, by Frank Schatzing. It was quite exciting. I did nothing but sit around on my behind and read all day today. So why did it take me so long?

1. Because I'm used to reading kids' books and my attention span has shrunken, apparently.

2. It's a grotesquely fat book (almost 1000 pages) and way too heavy to carry to the doctor's and everywhere. A prime candidate for the Kindle. Even I think so, and I hate the idea of ebooks.

Now I'm way behind in meeting my goal of reading 100 books by the end of the year. I foresee a lot short books in my future.

But down to business. Free Books.

I've been slacking on the giveaways, I know. It's been a rough summer. So this will be a short contest, since I'm trying to squeeze it into what's left of September.

The info:

September's Free Book= Wolves, Boys and Other Things that might Kill Me, by Kristen Chandler.

To enter:

1. Follow my blog by clicking on the follower do-hickey to the right of this post.
2. Comment on this post and tell me you follow; also in that comment, request to enter the contest.
3. Do it by midnight September 30th, 2010. That's in two days. Thursday.

That's all!

Next month, look for a signed copy of The Clockwork Three.

Note: if you're a freebie junkie and one free book isn't good enough for you, you might want to take a look at The Giveaway Scout , a site that searches for giveaways, free stuff, and blog contests like this one.

Laurie Halse Anderson - Speak Poem

2010-09-22T09:31:00.003-06:00

You've probably heard the controversy over Laurie Halse Anderson's beautiful book, Speak, which is being called "soft porn" because it deals with teen rape. I leave the discussion of book banning to other blogs, since that's being amply chewed over everywhere. But I had to share this video of a poem Ms. Anderson wrote, based on letters she has received from readers of Speak. As usual, poetry says it more powerfully than regular words could ever.

Love your helmet

2010-09-17T15:06:00.001-06:00

My new favorite object:

Ever since Monday, when it saved my husband's head.

Here's a close-up:

See the gouges that would have been in somebody's head? The helmet hit twice.

Unfortunately, helmets don't cover arms. The left arm broke and was surgically repaired.

That's ok. We're used to broken arms. We already had one of those this week when daughter #3 tripped at a football game. Just a little buckle fracture. Radius and Ulna.

This is the bike that guys like to covet and wives and girlfriends love to hate.

Yes, it was a beautiful machine. Even I can see that.

See the twisted engine guard? It's my second favorite object this week, because it saved at least one leg from getting really smushed against a car.

Moral of the story: WEAR YOUR HUGE, WAY-TOO-HOT, SUPER-ULTRA-GALACTIC-PADDED HELMET AND YOU PROBABLY WON'T END UP IN A COMA OR DIE WHEN YOU CRASH YOUR MOTORCYCLE.

Love your helmet. It's a beautiful thing.

My Wilderness

2010-08-30T23:05:00.001-06:00

Hiking in the high Uintas this July:

Mountain lakes.

Backpacking in a downpour.

Watching the sparks fly up in ribbons from a massive fire built on rock.

Not sleeping the first night because there might be bears.
And the ground is just so hard.

Falling asleep the second night the instant we hit the therma-rests because we are just so tired.

Freeze-dried food

Zero time wasted on face and hair.

A mountain silence bigger than space.

A million flowers.

A billion mosquitoes.

Lying on our backs on a rock slab watching layers of cloud barely overhead.

Sunset silhouettes.

Life stripped down to the simple.

We have our peace to carry back home.

Time to get back to work.

Writerly Life: Yes, We are (All) Totally Mental

2010-07-24T02:47:00.003-06:00

Are writers all crazy?

Well...duh.

I mean, we (some of us) work for free.

And if we are honest with ourselves, we expect that to continue to happen for at least ten years (unless we are Stephanie Meyer).

And we all know we may never get paid a single penny, even after twenty years.

Honestly, what sane person would do that?

Also,

we live in imaginary worlds where dragons exist and eleven-year-olds can save the world from utter destruction;

we do things like spend all day deciding in what order to arrange seven words;

and then tomorrow we erase all seven because they were stupid.

My theory: most (all?) writers suffer from

ADD (what other job would zoned-out, dreamy, late, always-getting-lost people like us not get fired from?),

OCD (how else could we spend twelve hours a day for months working and reworking scenes and sentences if we couldn't obsess...er...hyper-focus? And then act out our obsession..er...hyper-focus...through a compulsion to write? How many authors have you heard say they "can't not write"?),

(mostly likely) SERIOUS DEPRESSION. (Well, it goes with being sensitive enough to write something emotionally powerful.)

What do you think?

It's just a hunch.

But if not, how do you explain all those people at writing conferences who have the same freaked-out OCD hand-washing ritual--involving too-many-paper-towels-and-when-you-can-turn-off-the-faucet-and-how-you- can-open-the-door--that I have?

Yep. I believe we're ALL crazy. Musicians and artists, too.
and
We only do this stuff because we HAVE to. Like we have to wash our hands.

Right.

Any sane person would have quit before she'd started.

We're Back...

2010-07-22T14:26:00.003-06:00

I am back from Korea. Thank you all for your book suggestions.

Unfortunately, I didn't read at all.

I was too drugged out on motion-sickness medicine to read on the airplane. Or the bus.

The rest of the time we spent running between subway stops and up and down flights of subway stairs. No wonder Koreans are so thin. They are ALWAYS walking. Also, they don't know how to make edible desserts (though they do make killer lettuce-wraps). I lost weight.

And...

...my computer is back from the repair shop. It works (so far).

It's a blooming miracle. It has only taken two months. MONTHS. Not weeks. Not days.

Moral: do not drop off your machine to be fixed by a guy who works in a wire-filled dungeon in the basement of an acupuncture clinic.

Anyway, I am writing again. At last.

Vacations are nice. But getting back to work feels like putting my head back on again after airing it out for awhile.

I knew I was missing something. Just couldn't think what.

Book Suggestions, Please

2010-06-28T18:48:00.003-06:00

Help! I'm getting on a plane headed for Korea in one week. That means I have 28-plus hours of potential reading time to fill, not to mention down-time in hotels.

That is a good thing.

The trouble: I've finished everything I was reading, and I don't know what book/s to bring. My goal, as you can see if you look to the right, is to read 100 books this year anyway, so I need all the suggestions I can get, all the time.

So, tell me--what would you read if you were me? What great books have you read lately? What are your favorite reads? Young adult, big-people, middle-grade books--I'm up for anything, as long as you loved it.

Thank you!

BTW, you can tell me what you think of my new blog design, if you want, which has nothing to do with fires, or books, exactly, but I liked it anyway.

Book Winner for June

2010-06-25T10:30:00.000-06:00

Oops! I forgot about my own blog contest, which ended two days ago. Sad. Luckily I remembered today and pulled a name out of the hat.

Winner of the book-drawing for June: Hoontah. Congratulations, Kristi! Send me your address and I'll send you a book. You know my email. :)

Happy reading!

Last Day for Free Book

2010-06-22T19:45:00.000-06:00

Just a reminder: tomorrow is the last day you can enter drawing for a free copy of Sid Fleischman's out-of-print marvelous little book, Jingo Django. Go here for contest rules and for more on why you don't want to miss this little-known book.

Also, Maria, you won a book a couple of months ago. Contact me at ejjube@gmail.com and let me know your address, if you still want it.

In Memorium: Sid Fleischman; and a Free Book

2010-06-18T10:47:00.005-06:00

Sid Fleischman died in March this year. I just found out, and I am mourning. I loved his books when I was ten. Still do. He had a way with language that delighted me when I was young and awes me now as I write my own books. He wrote like a magician, which he was: with plot twists and surprises that felt like rabbits pulled out of hats and Houdini-style escapes. His characters were my friends. When I signed up for the summer SCBWI conference in L.A. last year, it was largely because Sid was supposed to be there. When he canceled last minute, I was seriously bummed.

Most people are familiar with Fleischman's Newbery-winning book The Whipping Boy. Unfortunately, few seem know the fabulous Jim Ugly, or Ghost in the Noonday Sun, or Humbug Mountain. My ultimate favorite Sid Fleishman story is one that has been out of print for years, which I consider a horrible crime: it's called Jingo Django, and I've got a copy that I'll be giving away this month.

Jingo has a perfect first page and last page, a wonderful first line and last line, and a gripping everything in between. You couldn't ask for a more lovably-flawed main-character, or more dastardly villains--a la Charles Dickens--or a more artfully-crafted book. Pardon my adverbs. I get carried away when talking about Sid's writing. I consider this book perfect: it's everything I love in a middle-grade story for boys. Girls love it, too. I did. I keep hoping somebody will consider reprinting, especially now, in honor of Sid's passing.

Until they do, I'm offering it free to you. Yes. FREE BOOK. I did say that.

Same rules for entering drawing apply:

a) Follow my blog.
b) Leave a comment and tell me you follow. Also, tell me you want to be entered.
c) If you're not eighteen, get permission from a parent.

Contest will be open until midnight Wednesday, June 23rd.

You should also check out Sid Fleischman's website. It has writerly tips, answers to FAQs, and you can see what else he's written, as well as read his memorial page. Sid has also written an autobiography: The Abracadabra Kid that's worth checking out.

We'll miss you, Sid. The writing world has a big hole in it without you. You got my son reading to himself in bed at age eight, and that took some real magic.

Missing the Conferences

2010-06-10T09:53:00.008-06:00

I love writing conferences. Like the Writing and Illustrating for Young Readers conference that's happening next week. Like the SCBWI Summer Conference that's coming up in a couple of months.

Conferences are where you learn everything you didn't know you needed to learn about writing craft and the publishing world.

They're where you get legitimate feedback on your writing and meet the writers you already admire--like Richard Peck and Karen Cushman--and the ones who are just starting out, like you.

Conferences are where you find your writing group, your writing friends, your mentors, and even your agent or book deal sometimes.

Writing conferences give you something to blog about.

But there comes a time when you need to stop conferencing (like how I just made that a verb?) and just get to work and write your wretched books. That's me right now. I have a book that's almost done, but not quite, and never have enough hours in the day to spend on it.

So I'm missing all kinds of stuff I'd rather not.
Like hearing the friends with whom I used to sit in workshops give presentations of their own.

Like buying way too many books (oh, how can a person have too many books?).

Like hanging out with other writer friends you haven't seen in a long time.

Like feeling the energy and excitement of all those writer brains getting together into one big mass. Wow. Nothing's quite like that.

Not happening this year.

I'm not going to WIFYR for the first time in four years. I'm not going to SCBWI. I am saving money. And maybe I'll actually get this book finished.

Have fun all you conference-attenders. Attendees. Why do they call them attendees, anyway? Attending isn't something that happens to you, it's something you do, right? Attenders.

Wish I were there. Honestly.

Dratted priorities.

Out of the Office

2010-06-02T17:08:00.001-06:00

Taking a break this week on the blog to watch my daughter run steeple-chase in New Mexico for the weekend.

I am being forced to extend my leave of absence from writing, as well. My computer is STILL being fixed. I am getting a little irritated about it. Except that it gives me an excuse to read more. How can I complain about that?

Talk to y'all next week.

Book-Winner for May and I become a Woman of Steel

2010-05-28T09:23:00.000-06:00

Winner of May's book give-away: Anthy.

Congratulations, Anthy! You now own Rick Riordan's The Red Pyramid. Send your address to me at ejjube@gmail.com and I'll get your book in the mail right away.

A bit of trivia: as of last Saturday, May 22, I am a Woman of Steel.

I have a gray rubber wrist band to prove it.

This was my second triathlon. It was an all-women race this time. 800 of us. I don't win, but I finish, and that's pretty good for someone like me. Let's just forget about all the women older than me who still beat me.

The stinky parts:

*It poured rain all during pre-race set-up and was so cold they canceled the swim and turned the tri into a bi (run-bike-run). I was mad about that. The swim was going to be my best leg and give me a head start. I am not a great runner.
*I had killer cramps during that first mile run--probably because of all the meat and fat from the Poly Plate I ate the day before. Lau Lau and triathon don't mix well. Just a bit of advice.
*The shirts they gave us were teeny. I had to give mine to my daughter.
*They wrote my age on my calf in some kind of super-indelible-never-come-off-until-you're-dead-and-maybe-even-later marker (I think they ordered it from Robert Munsch) and I can't scrub it away. 42! my leg screams. This woman of steel is forty-fetching-two years old!

The good parts:

*It didn't snow: the weather kindly waited until Monday for that.
*I finished and didn't die.
*My cramps went away on the bike.
*So did the rain.
*It was fun! I got to do it with my sister, who got second place in her age-group (yay, B!).
*I got a cool triathlon necklace out of it. And a gray rubber wristband that says I am a Woman of Steel.
*I don't feel guilty about all the chocolate chip cookies I've been eating. I think I deserve cookies.
*I can be lazy for awhile and blame it on post-race fatigue.
*It's over.

I think I'm going to take another nap. Even though the race was last week. I'm milking it, ok?

Last Day to Win a Free Book

2010-05-26T09:55:00.000-06:00

Just a reminder: tomorrow is the last day to enter my blog book-giveaway and possibly win Rick Riordan's new book, The Red Pyramid. Go here to find out more about the book and how to enter.

Still don't have my computer back. Complications, apparently. ARGH!

Don't mind me. I'm just freaking. I NEED to write.

Lost

2010-05-24T18:10:00.002-06:00

My computer freaked out Thursday afternoon, and I had to take it to the computer doctor.

The doctor happened to be one of two non-store-affiliated computer-repair places in the entire county (I hate Circuit City for shutting down and taking away my computer geeks). There weren't a lot of options. Even so, I had instant second thoughts about leaving my baby there as soon as I pulled up.

My new geek is located in the downstairs of a former house converted into an acupuncture clinic in one of the sleaziest areas of town.

I couldn't find it at all in the beginning, though I could see half of its sign sticking out of the juniper bushes. No door to be seen. Just the acupuncture clinic and a ramp leading pretty much nowhere into piles of junk.

I wander around for awhile, then finally give up and ring the doorbell to ask the acupuncturist upstairs (apparently it was still a lived-in house, not just a converted one). After about five minutes an old Japanese man answers the door and irritably gestures down the ramp toward the junk.

I try again. Through a non-door, down some dark, dirty stairs, to a hallway full of wires.

A huge, smiling Japanese kid with bad teeth and bad hair steps out and immediately starts talking computer talk in an excited voice.

I take a relieved breath. I have my geek, and he doesn't look like a rapist. Yes, I am judging purely by irrational gut feeling and the fact that Japan has very little crime. Also, because he is so excited to fix my computer. He turns it on, gets my error screen, and holds it up to his ear.

Him: Hear that clicking sound?

Me: Uh, no...

Him: That's the hard drive trying to load files and it can't.

Me: I'm not going to have to replace my whole computer?

Him: Oh, no. This is easy. I will call you when it's ready, probably tomorrow.

He doesn't give me a claim paper or have me sign anything. I hope he doesn't mix up my computer parts with all the other wires and computer body-parts lying around.

That was Thursday, late afternoon. Today is Monday, late afternoon. I'm hoping my baby wasn't sold over the weekend on ebay.

I can't work today, so I mope around and read an entire book.

I am lost without my computer.

This one has no space bar (don't ask). You can't write novels on a computer with no space bar. And I cannot focus my brain when I can't write. It spins. I sometimes think my computer is my brain.

So I'm writing a blog post on the computer with a missing space bar and it's taking me forever. My brain is still spinning.

But it works well enough for me to remember that the reason I decided to write this post is that I put no deadline on my free book drawing. So, let's make it Thursday, May 27th, just for an even week.

I'll tell you when I get my brain back.

Another Free Book and Two Excuses for Dropping Out of the Blogosphere

2010-05-20T14:32:00.008-06:00

This has been a crazy month.

One reason for this is that I signed up to become a Woman of Steel last December. It sounded like a good idea back then. The Woman of Steel Triathlon was months away. It would give me a training goal, help me get in shape, blah, blah blah.

Now that the race is two days away, I'm thinking it was not such a good idea. I'm not feeling like a Woman of Steel. More like--I don't know--Woman of Silicone, maybe? I'm talking about muscles, of course, not...what you thought. Well, whatever.

I blame those people who set New Year's resolutions to get in shape this year and hogged all the lanes at the pool. And the February smog that made me not want to run. And of course all the rain this spring that kept me off my bike.

I've tried to make up for all that sloppy training in the last two weeks. Except I haven't been very good.

And I'm going to sample my first Poly Platter the day before the race. This is strictly research for my Hawaiian character in my current novel. My friend, Dori's, disclaimer: "Um, I know you sort of like to stay in shape and stuff, but this isn't going to be low-fat or anything. I mean, it's Hawaiian. I thought you should have an authentic Hawaiian experience."

Do I care about my race enough to pass this up for a plate of pre-race spaghetti? No way.

I'll let you know if I die on Saturday.

Research for this character, by the way, has been a blast. My Hawaiian/Samoan neighbors have bent over backward to help me and I've been trying to think of a way to convince someone I need a writer's grant to send me to Hawaii.

I guess that's a stretch.

But I have been scrambling to see how far I can get on this draft before my kids are out of school next week, so I apologize for dropping off the planet lately. I've done very little lately besides read, write, research, and scramble to make up for all my scanty training.

But I'm still going to give away a free book, never fear.

I'm only offering one book for May, but you probably don't have it yet, unless you were like me and counting the days until its release:

Rick Riordan's latest, The Red Pyramid.

This has only been out in book stores for two or three weeks, so it's hot off the press. More great fun for Percy Jackson fans, Pyramid is the first in a new series called The Kane Chronicles and switches back and
forth between two narrators: a boy and a girl. This time we get Egyptian gods instead of Greek. Lots of adventure and excitement, and some real info about Egyptian mythology.

Same rules as usual to enter:

1) Follow the blog. You can click on the follower link to the right if you aren't a follower yet.

2) Leave a comment and tell me you follow, and that you want to enter the drawing.

3) If you're under 18, get parent permission.

Also, if you are Maria, you might not have noticed that you won a book last time. Email me your address at ejjube@gmail.com so I can send it to you. :)

Happy May!

Audacious

2010-05-12T09:48:00.006-06:00

I've been thinking about what it takes to be a writer.

*Patience, everyone says. It's true the publishing world is a slow place.

*Persistence, yes, because good writers don't ever just dash off a novel in a couple of weeks if they care about their creation. And because the publishing world is a slow place.

*Perfectionism, too, because you have to want to get it right badly enough to keep working long past the point when a normal person would send the #$!%&*! book through the shredder--or it won't be any good. And maybe it won't be any good anyway.

La dee da. Whatever.

Mostly, I realized this week, being a writer takes audacity. It takes mental swaggering. To think your writing is good enough to deserve to be in print on the national market. To take a place in book store shelves next to writers like Natalie Babbit, Sid Fleischman, Karen Cushman, Lloyd Alexander.

Really? You think so?

Maybe it's true. Maybe it absolutely isn't.

But to write all day long every day, to rework a thousand times and then again, to submit and keep submitting to people who know fine literature and work on Diana Wynne Jones's books and Neil Gaiman's? Seems more than arrogant, if you ask me.

Audacious even to hope.

It's what I'm doing. My own audacity astounds me. Somebody needs to slap some sense into me. Into all of us presumptuous enough to call ourselves writers.

Except we'd be too crazy to listen. It's a writerly thing.

Pure audacity.

April Give-Away Winners

2010-05-03T11:09:00.000-06:00

Thanks to all who entered April's book give-away drawing. My heart felt cheered to discover a few kindred poetry-loving spirits out there. Carry-on, word-lovers!

Winners (ahem...that does NOT make the rest of you losers):

1st place: Princesa
2nd place: L.T.
3rd place: Maria

Congratulations! Winners, please email me at ejjube@gmail.com with your book preferences in order of most- to least-wanted. First place gets first pick, second gets second pick, etc., in case you all want the same one.

Just to remind you, the book options are

Smiles to Go, by Jerry Spinelli,

Savvy, by Ingrid Law, and

Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Vol. 1, by Diana Wynne Jones. This volume includes two books: Charmed Life, and The Lives of Christopher Chant.

Go here if you can't remember what I said I liked about these books.

If you didn't win, you still have lots more chances. I try to do a book-drawing every month.

Happy May, everyone! Read like the wind!

Poem in Your Pocket Day

2010-04-29T11:35:00.000-06:00

Welcome to my new followers (Thanks again, Alyosha)! If you haven't yet entered April's blog drawing, you have two more days to win free books. Go here for contest rules and to see the books I'm giving away.

Today is National Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day, which means you carry around your favorite poem all day and inflict it upon everyone you meet. Which is what I intend to do here.

I had a hard time choosing. Something modern and obscure? Something famous that everyone was forced to read and hated in school? Something funny and accessible? I don't have a single favorite.

I chose this, just because I love it so much. And because it was Earth Day last week. And because it's Spring. And because Hopkins really is my favorite poet. I love the sounds. I love the images. It knocks me off my feet.

God's Grandeur
by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
   And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And, for all this, nature is never spent;
   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Hold Ghost over the bent
   World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Free books and why yesterday's poem was stupid

2010-04-27T10:32:00.004-06:00

I almost let the month slip away without giving away free books.

I like books. I also like giving books away. Especially really fine books, with good stories and beautiful sentences. I try not to give away crappy books on my blog. I try not to give away books I didn't enjoy myself. They aren't always hot sellers. They are always books I have read, books I know you'll like, if you love words as much as I do.

This month's picks:

1. Smiles to Go, by Jerry Spinelli, who's one of my favorite authors.

2. Savvy, Ingrid Law, which I've offered before and nobody has snatched up yet, strangely. Probably because they don't know how great it is. (Newbery winner, folks!)

3. The Chronicles of Chrestomanci, Vol. I, by Diana Wynne Jones. This is actually two books in one. It's also my new favorite fantasy series for kids. If you haven't discovered Jones yet, you must. Neil Gaiman is a fan, too. He says Jones is "...always perfectly magical." I agree. Just delightful fun.

The free book drawing goes until Friday (April 30) at midnight.
Winners choose their books.
This is always a small contest. If you enter, you have excellent odds of winning, so don't get discouraged if you haven't won yet. It's probably only a matter of time if you keep entering.
Same rules as usual apply:
To enter,
1. Become a) a new follower of my blog or b) already be a follower
2. Comment on my blog and tell me that you follow
3. Be eighteen or get parent's permission to enter.

Tres simple!

My teenage daughter read yesterday's poem.

Her (voice dripping sarcasm): How is that a poem? Because the words are all lined up in columns?(eye-roll here)

Me: (shrugging) Uh, I thought it was funny. I liked the word-play. You know: Hat/Hate?

Her: Look of scorn.

I forgot how stupid everything is when you're that age.

So today's poem has imagery and rhythm you can feel, like a drum-beat. And is short, because long is stupid.

Note: I also decided not to give away a poetry book, even though it is National Poetry Month, because apparently, nobody but me likes poetry.

This is just for torture purposes:

Youth
by Langston Hughes

We have tomorrow
Bright before us
Like a flame.

Yesterday
A night-gone thing,
A sun-down name.

And dawn-today
Broad arch above the road we came.

We march!

What, you don't like poetry?

2010-04-26T09:02:00.003-06:00

The blog response to National Poetry month has been a little tepid, to say the least.

I don't blame you. Why read poetry if you aren't in school and (most of all) aren't being forced? Sigh. Because it's my blog and I like it.

You only have to suffer through five more days and then National Poetry Month will be over. I've decided to post a poem a day for this last week of Na-Po-Mo, just to torture you, culminating in Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day, where you carry your favorite poem around with you all day and force other people to listen to it, like it or not. Ha!

But even if you're not a poetry-lover like me, I think you'll like today's poem, which is by Aaron Belz from Lovely, Raspberry, published by Persea Books. It was sent to me by poets.org as a daily poem to share with others, so I assume it's ok to share here. If not, my apologies.

The Love-Hat Relationship
by Aaron Belz

I have been thinking about the love-hat relationship.
It is the relationship based on love of one another's hats.
The problem with the love-hat relationship is that it is superficial.
You don't necessarily even know the other person.
Also it is too dependent on whether the other person
is even wearing the favored hat. We all enjoy hats,
but they're not something to build an entire relationship on.
My advice to young people is to like hats but not love them.
Try having like-hat relationships with one another.
See if you can find something interesting about
the personality of the person whose hat you like.

More Na-Po-Mo

2010-04-22T23:39:00.000-06:00

A quote for National Poetry Month:

"When in doubt there is always form for us to go on with...The background is hugeness and confusions shooting away from where we stand into black and utter chaos...To me, any form I assert upon it is...to be considered for how much more it is than nothing....The poem is a momentary stay against confusion."
--Robert Frost

And a poem, by Sylvia Plath:

The Night Dances

A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting.
Nowhere.

National Poetry Month and a poem

2010-04-19T11:29:00.004-06:00

April is National Poetry Month.

This happens to be fitting because I happen to be writing a poetry novel--a story written almost entirely in verse.

Why would anyone do such a thing? Besides the fact that April is National Poetry Month? (Which is sort of irrelevant, actually, since I wrote the first draft before I'd ever heard of Na. Po. Mo).

First, because my agent thought I should.

Second, because it's fun.

Third, because I think a lot of teachers kill poetry for teenagers. I got lucky and had a teacher who showed me why I should love it. I'd like to pass that on, try to make poetry a little more accessible to kids.

But that begs the question: WHY on earth would anyone want to read a poetry novel?

I don't know.

Because it's a good story, I hope.

And it doesn't rhyme, mostly. And I've tried not to be obscure.

Because it deals with real-life teenage issues and is sometimes romantic.

And because I learned when I was seventeen that poetry speaks to the heart more any other kind of writing. It can make you laugh. It can make you bawl. It can rip your heart out. It can be powerful. I hope mine will be.

So, well, here's a poem for Na. Po. Mo. No, I didn't write it. Yes, I wish I had. Here's "Pied Beauty," by my favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, a nineteenth-century Jesuit priest who, as you might expect, wrote a lot of religious poetry, though you don't have to religious to appreciate what he does with language (sound, rhythm, imagery):


Glory be to God for dappled things--
   For skies of couple-colour as a brindled cow;

       For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches wings;
    Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
       And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
       With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                                  Praise him.

Who's afraid of witches and dragons?

2010-04-12T11:30:00.007-06:00

Sorry about the long gap between posts. I've been on vacation for a week.
I traded 30-degree weather and avalanches for 75 degrees and earthquakes. I sat on the beach and watched waves, smelled salt, read four books and started a fifth. I went to an aquarium and saw sharks and sea-horses. I ran barefoot in the sand. I got wet in sea-water. And now I'm ready to get back to my Utah spring and back to my writing.

Which reminds me of something:
Fantasy-writers can't write, somebody once told me. They don't care about quality. "And, by the way," she said, "Harry Potter's crap."

One guy I know snorted at the suggestion that Lord of the Rings books might be fine literature.

Me: "Have you ever read them?"

Him: "I can't remember."

Me: "Really?"

Him: "Um, probably not."

Another guy: "They're just fantasy. Fantasy is escapism. People should face life, not run off and pretend to fight dragons."

That's the intellectuals.

Personally, I think they're scared.

But poor Harry gets it from the other end, too. Sometimes Rowling's books get burned because they're evil. I didn't believe those rumors until the day some people came to my door, Bible in hand, preaching against fantasy fiction (see my post about it). I'm still shaking my head over that one.This is 21st-century America. Do we still need to burn our witches? Really?

Is everybody afraid of fantasy?

Ursula LeGuin has been fighting the stigma against fantasy for so many years she gets pretty annoyed. She says,

"I think that a great many American men have been taught... to repress their imagination, to reject it as something childish or effeminate, unprofitable, and probably sinful.
Now I doubt that imagination can be suppressed. ... If it is rejected and despised, it will grow into wild and weedy shapes; it will be deformed. At its best, it will be mere ego-centered daydreaming; at its worst, it will be wishful thinking, which is a very dangerous occupation when it is taken seriously. ... Nowadays, with our secular Puritanism, the man who refuses to read novels because it's unmanly to do so, or because they aren't true, will most likely end up watching bloody detective thrillers on television, or reading hack westerns or sports stories, or going in for pornography... It is his starved imagination, craving nourishment, that forces him to do so. But he can rationalize such entertainment by saying that it is realistic--after all, sex exists, and there are criminals...and also by saying that it is virile, by which he means that it doesn't interest most women." (source: http://scilib.typepad.com/science_library_pad/2007/07/are-americans-s.html)

I've noticed that plenty of women are just as scared of imagination flights, too, but it's an interesting point, and true, I think, that if imagination is repressed, it's likely to morph into something less desirable.

LeGuin's own writing is beautiful, and about as hard-core fantasy as you get. Nobody could accuse her of not caring. Her language is artistic,poetic; stunning. And, like all fine literature, realistic or un-, it makes you think:

About who you are and what sort of person you want to be in real life.
About what to do when faced with hard things, enemies, and things that scare you.
About what to do with the ugliness that's sometimes inside your own head and heart.

That's fantasy. And fiction, for that matter. It's a way of learning how to be objective about real-life issues, of stepping back and seeing ourselves completely out of context--in somebody else's story--so we can step back into reality again, ready to face our own set of problems with courage.

Like the soldier that fantasy-author Tracy Hickman said he met at a book-signing, who told of how he'd had been lying face-down on the ground with a shattered back after a surprise enemy attack and suddenly remembered a character in one of Tracy's novels. Inspired by the memory, he managed to get to his feet and save his friends' lives by warning them of the danger.

Mocking fantasy because it's escapism is like mocking vacations.

Or recess.

Or time-outs.

Or sleep.

Everybody needs to escape sometimes. As long as you come back again, escape is a good thing.

As for quality, that's a personal thing. There's plenty of realistic crap floating around out there, too. Myself, I don't enjoy slogging through any book in any genre if the writing's poor, no matter what else it has going for it.

But I'm not scared of witches or dragons. Are you?

Book-giveaway Winners and Some Thoughts on Art and Artists

2010-03-29T13:35:00.006-06:00

We have three winners for this month's Neil Gaiman book-giveaway: 1st, Kim; 2nd, L.T., and third, SuperPi. Congratulations and thanks for following!

Normally I'd let first place get first pick between

The Graveyard Book

Odd and the Frost Giants

And Coraline

and then the second winner would get to pick between the two remaining books, and third place would get whatever hadn't been picked by #1 and #2. But since I'm behind the ball and haven't bought any of the books yet, I don't care if you all pick the same book.

Winners please email me your choice of the above books and your address at ejjube@gmail.com and I'll send it to you this week, while I'm in my off-writing mode for a moment.

Here are a couple of quotes for the last week of March, which happens to be the anniversary of the deaths of Ludwig Van Beethoven and Virginia Woolf, both of whom suffered from bouts of severe depression.

I suppose it's the artist's curse to feel things more, both the beauty and the pain.

Beethoven, speaking of his awkwardness with women:
"In society I am like a fish on the sand, which writhes and wriggles and but cannot get away until some benevolent Galatea casts it back into the sea."

Later he wrote, "I would have committed suicide long ago had I not read somewhere that it is a sin to part from life voluntarily so long as one can still do a good deed. Life is so beautiful, but for me it is forever poisoned." Literally, it was poisoned; in 2005 the U.S. Department of Energy found found enormous amounts of lead in Beethoven's bone fragments. Perhaps that contributed to his depression, but I'm inclined to think it had as much to do with the composer's artistic sensibilities.

Here's Woolf:
"What a born melancholic I am! The only way I keep afloat is by working. Directly [when] I stop working I feel that I am sinking down, down."

And yet, she says, "If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt, but already should be faded, fatalistic, and aged."

I'd rather risk depression.

So we writers, musicians, and artists don't stay in our art-caves, don't keep our work to ourselves, but thrust ourselves and our art, such as it is, out into the world for others to thrash (one critic compared Beethoven's music to "the upsetting of bags of nails--with here and there also a dropped hammer"), with the hope that someone somewhere will also see the beauty, which gave us the urge to create in the first place, and be uplifted by that beauty, if only for a moment.

Beethoven's music does that for me, in spite of the nails.

Hopefully, we also survive.

Free books for March because I finished my novel

2010-03-23T00:50:00.001-06:00

I finished my book. Really, this time. All the way. I'm not revising anything on it anymore, until an editor buys it or my agent tells me to. I've emailed Agent Steve and will be pushing the "send" button as soon as he answers.

Click.

Hmm.

Shouldn't there be fanfare or something?

You used to have to walk down to the post office and pay for postage at least. It feels so anti-climactic this way. Click. All done.

It's cheaper, I know. Fewer trees die. It's probably a good thing.

I feel like I need ceremony.

I guess I'm just going to have to celebrate by giving you Free Books. FREE BOOKS! Free Books! I have three Neil Gaiman books this month, just because everybody likes him so much, and I'm drawing three winners, so your odds of winning have just improved over last time.

Here are the prizes:

1)Graveyard Book (Newbery winner)
2)Coraline (if you've only seen the movie version, you haven't seen how Gaiman puts his words together)
3) Odd and the Frost Giants (Gaiman's newest- really charming)

To enter,
1) follow or subscribe to my blog, or already be a follower or subscriber,
2) comment and tell me so,
3) be 18 or older or have a parent's permission to enter,
4) do the above by Saturday, March 27th at 5:00 pm.

That's all. Easy-peasy.

Can't wait to celebrate my novel by giving you books!

Happy St. Paddy's Week

2010-03-15T16:41:00.001-06:00

I am obsessed with things Celtic; therefore, I like St. Patrick's Day.

This kind of thinking is typical of American descendants of Irish people. In Ireland, St. P's is a religious holiday. In America, it's a celebration of rockin' Irish roots and cheesy green decorations.

My personal obsession with the Celts began around fifth grade with Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising series

and Lloyd Alexander's Book of Three, etc.

Richard Llewellyn's How Green was my Valley helped the obsession right along. Those were Welsh Celts, and I wanted to be Welsh. I loved the sounds of those Celtic words (I studied Susan's pronunciation guide in the back of The Grey King), the landscape, the names, the folklore, the musical/poetical traditions...blah, blah, blah. I wasn't excited about the coal mining. I fell in love with the name Bronwen.

I wanted to be a bard:

Me, in my fifth-grade dreams.

Alas, no Welsh ancestry in these veins. But I did have Irish, Scottish, and Manx fore-bearers galore, so that that was all right. I had me Gaelic genes.

So, I was pondering the date and figured I owe the Celts a lot, but just because Wednesday is March 17th, let's focus on what I owe the Irish. My hair-color, for instance. My religion, since they left their green, green country to come to a brown, dry American desert for it. And lots of other things - at least six, anyway:

1) Potato soup and soda bread. I always know what to make for dinner on March 17th.

2) Pookas (see that old Jimmy Stewart movie "Harvey" for a lovely Hollywood pooka). Pookas and the sort of mind that would invent such fairy critters inspired aspects of my current WIP.

3) Genes that keep my family's hair from turning grey (special thanks to my several-greats Irish grandma Agnes Cross, whose hair stayed blonde into late old age). So far so good on my black-Irish hair staying black. We'll see how that pans out when I'm ninety.

4) Love of the color green. Green has always been my favorite color.

5) The Celtic knot.

and 6) a lot of great poetry. Ireland has its bards, too, you know.

Here's Irish poet William Butler Yeats's The Lake Isle of Innisfree, which was influenced by American Henry David Thoreau's Walden Pond, and is an excellent example of Americans and Irish getting along right fine:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I will have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Happy St. Paddy's!

Writing Marathon

2010-03-12T02:01:00.001-07:00

This has been a writing-marathon week, peaking yesterday and today, when I stayed in bed with my computer and only got out to do essential stuff like eat and read bedtime stories to my kid. Didn't even exercise or shower. I feel kind of disgusting. My daughter cooked dinner.

I finished another round of revisions and my book is almost ready to go to my agent again. I've given myself a final deadline of March 20th. It's almost two am and I shouldn't be posting on my blog, but I had to record somewhere that I'm done with this piece of the process--that is, until I get my manuscript back again from a last critique or two.

Now I can clean my house again, fix food again, pay my overdue bills, use soap, and put on a birthday party for my son without feeling like something's itchy in the back of my mind, undone, scratching for attention.

A short respite from the crazy dogs behind the fence. They'll be back soon, I know they will.

Grammar Day Quiz Answer Key

2010-03-09T23:21:00.003-07:00

Sorry this is late. I promised tomorrow; I lied.

Correct the Celebrity Answer Key

1. Which album title has the spelling error?
a. “Dutchess,” by Fergie
b. “Growing Pains” by Mary J. Blige
c. “Graduation” by Kanye West
d. None of the above

2. What’s wrong with this lyric by Justin Timberlake?
“When you cheated girl, My heart bleeded girl.”

a. It’s perfect as it is. Leave Justin alone!
b. “Bleeded” is not a word. “Bled” is.
c. There should be commas before and after “girl.”
d. Both b and c are correct.

3. Circle the errors Paris Hilton made blogging about her new shoe collection. (Hint: there are at least three!)
“Don’t worry, [unnecessary comma] if you arent [aren't] in Orange County, [should be a semicolon] you can also get the shoes at Kitson, Zappos.com, Endless.com, Bakers, Lord & Taylor and select specialty boutiques across the counrty” [country, also needs a period]

[Alternative interpretation] “Don’t worry, [should be a semicolon] if you arent [aren't] in Orange County, you can also get the shoes at Kitson, Zappos.com, Endless.com, Bakers, Lord & Taylor and select specialty boutiques across the counrty” [country, also needs a period]

4. Correct the following movie titles:
a. How She Move (How She Moves)
b. The Pursuit of Happyness (The Pursuit of Happiness)
c. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (Honey, I Shrank the Kids/ Honey, I've Shrunk the Kids)
d. The 40 Year Old Virgin (The 40-Year-Old Virgin)

5.Circle the error in this statement by Christina Aguilera:
Today is a very joyful and special day for Jordan and I [“I” should be “me”] as we welcome our first son into this world.

6. What’s wrong with this David Hasselhoff quote?
“I am also doing a heart-rendering set on my life and the mistakes I have made.”

a. There should be a comma after life.
b. “heart-rendering” doesn’t need a hyphen.
c. “heart-rendering” should be “heart-rending”
d. The sentence is fine as is.

7. One of Jessica Simpson’s boyfriends dumped her via text message. The related headline
contains an error. What is it?

Jessica Dumped in 118 Characters or Less.

Jessica Dumped in 118 Characters or Fewer. “Less” is for amounts you can't count individually, and “fewer” is for quantities you can count—such as characters.
©
2008
SPOGG

How obnoxious, I know.

This quiz and its answers are courtesy of http://www.nationalgrammarday.com/

You know March is here because...

2010-03-04T15:41:00.001-07:00

February brain-fog is lifting, even though the weather still kind of stinks. I had a good writing day.

It's also NATIONAL GRAMMAR DAY, March forth, er, fourth. I know you're excited.

Some Grammar Day comics for you:

Take this quiz, courtesy of the Grammar Girl website. See how you do.

Correct the Celebrity

1. Which album title has the spelling error?
      a. “Dutchess,” by Fergie
      b. “Growing Pains” by Mary J. Blige
      c. “Graduation” by Kanye West
      d. None of the above

2. What’s wrong with this lyric by Justin Timberlake? “When you cheated girl, My heart bleeded girl.”
      a. It’s perfect as it is. Leave Justin alone!
      b. “Bleeded” is not a word. “Bled” is.
      c. There should be commas before and after “girl”
      d. Both b and c are correct.

3. Circle the errors Paris Hilton made blogging about her new shoe collection.
(Hint: there are at least three!)

“Don’t worry, if you arent in Orange County, you can also get the shoes at Kitson, Zappos.com,
Endless.com, Bakers, Lord & Taylor and select specialty boutiques across the counrty”

4. Correct the following movie titles:
      a. How She Move
      b. The Pursuit of Happyness
      c. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids
      d. The 40 Year Old Virgin

5. Circle the error in this statement by Christina Aguilera:
Today is a very joyful and special day for Jordan and I as we welcome our first son into this world.

6. What’s wrong with this David Hasselhoff quote?
“I am also doing a heart-rendering set on my life and the mistakes I have made.”
     a. There should be a comma after life.
     b. “heart-rendering” doesn’t need a hyphen.
     c. “heart-rendering” should be “heart-rending”
     d. The sentence is fine as is.

7. One of Jessica Simpson’s boyfriends dumped her via text message. The related headline
contains an error. What is it?
     Jessica Dumped in 118 Characters or Less

© 2008 SPOGG

Answer key forthcoming tomorrow.

What's your favorite grammar error?

February Redeemed

2010-02-28T01:40:00.001-07:00

The last week of February ends tomorrow and I admit, in spite of the rest of it, the month has redeemed itself:

First, because the sun came out and there was light.

And because snow fell all day one day and stuck to the trees and they stood around like bright-white elegant sculptures in the fog while I took the dog for a walk on the mountain twice. It looked like this:

Magical.

Also, because then the sun came out again and shone so hard and warmed up the air so much I went on a bike ride. I don't have a picture of that.

But,

all that brightness turned on something in my brain, and I rewrote the beginning of Hepzibah again - and decided I have my final beginning. I've said that before, but I believe this time it's true.

And then, because of "Bright Star," which I watched tonight, about the poet John Keats. It was stunning. I love his poetry, loved the movie. I cried.

And then I remembered that I got to hear Manachem Pressler play Chopin a few weeks ago. Oh. Sigh. Oh. I have no words. Time moves so slowly in February, I had forgotten that was still this month.

Also, I taught a lesson on the purpose of pain and decided February exists so we can feel the joy of spring.

February, adieu: redeemed upon thy deathbed.

Book-Giveaway Winner and Suggestions

2010-02-20T10:19:00.000-07:00

Thanks to everyone who joined my blog this month and/or participated in the Ides-of-February book-giveaway.

I hate this part of blog contests, because I'd love to give you all a book, just for following my blog, and I can only pick one. I'd love to give everyone in the world a book, kind of like that Coca-Cola song. Too bad.

The winner of the Ides-of-February book giveaway:

(drumroll please)

Pat!

Congratulations, Pat.

The rest of you, don't give up hope if you didn't win. I'm doing another free-book contest in March, and since so many of you mentioned how much you like Neil Gaiman, I'll be sure to include him again. Also, please feel free to suggest any other books you'd like to see in future giveaways and I'll consider them.

An Ides-of-February Book Giveaway

2010-02-15T12:04:00.002-07:00

Today is February 15th.

The Ides of February.

(Insert raised eyebrow and sinister music here).

They say the Ides of March are bad luck--what with the anniversary of Caesar's murder and all--but February is so much worse than March, I say the Ides of February must be worse, too. I expect something dreadful any day.

On that superstitious note, I say we need something to counteract the bad omen. Free books, I think. Did I say that loudly enough?

FREE BOOKS!

This time I'm giving you a choice:

1. The Graveyard Book, by Neil Gaiman. It's a beautifully written, incredible story, with a rather disturbing first chapter, which doesn't change my opinion that this book is amazing--it just changes the age of the child I would give it to for a birthday present. When I closed the last page, I sighed and thought: That's how I wish I could write.

2. Rapunzel's Revenge, by Shannon Hale. My ten-year-old son read this in one sitting. It made him an instant Shannon Hale graphic novel fan, which is kind of funny. She's only written two. He liked the sequel, Calamity Jack, too (which was recently released), but still thinks Rapunzel is better, so that's the one I'm offering here. Nathan Hale's illustrations are perfect. The story is zany and hillarious: a wild-west Rapunzel who uses her braids as weapons. My teenage daughters love Rapunzel as well. I like Rapunzel. But we all know we need more boy books, and this is a good 'un, even if the main character is a girl.

3. Savvy, by Ingrid Law. As you can see in the column to the right, this was one of my favorites of the books I read this year. It won a Newbery, and deserved it. I love the language--poetic and beautiful--the story is well-put-together and satisfying, and the romance is cute. But don't let the romance scare your boys away. It's not mushy--it's funny. My son hates romance and he liked this book. My daughters liked it even better. I was reading it aloud to my 10-year-old, and my daughters (13 and 16) wandered in, then sat down, then wouldn't let me stop reading until I was hoarse.

Okay, there you have it: books to combat February evils. Here's what you have to do:

a) follow my blog or

b) already be a follower of my blog or

c) blog or tweet about my giveaway and

d) leave me a comment telling me what you've done. Not everything you've done. I don't want to hear if you've cheated on your spouse or anything. Just if you've done a, b or c above.

e) do it by Friday, February 19th at midnight. Also, you have to be 18 or have parental permission to participate.

Saturday, I'll put your names in a hat and draw, then announce the winner, who will need to 1) choose a book and 2) email me their info at ejjube@gmail.com, so I know where to mail your choice.

We will face the second half of February armed with books. Good ones. So there, Brutus! Ha!

*P.S.:
An update on my reading of Henry James's Golden Bowl: (drumroll, please)

I FINISHED.

And to make it count as one of my 2010 100-books, I even went back and re-read the first 100 pages I began in 2009. The amazing thing: beginning at about page 300, I started to like it, even had a hard time putting it down. I shouldn't be surprised. That always happens with Henry James. I hate the first 3/4ths, love the last 1/4th. At least I can say Henry James did not defeat me. And Mary, I'm going to rent the movie right away.

Surviving February and updates

2010-02-05T11:58:00.006-07:00

Lest anyone has been doubting, yes, I am still alive.

I'm trying hard to survive February, my least favorite month of the year (take a peak outside if you want to know why), and the best way I know how to do that is write. Unfortunately for the blog, that doesn't mean blog posts. Sorry, readers. I'll try to do better. But sanity comes first.

I have a post about fantasy-writing I've been wanting to write forever. I have books to give away. I promise I'll get back in the swing before the month is out.

However, I figure I owe you some updates now, at least. So,

Hepzibah: The novel I started several years ago, worked on for a year, put in a drawer for another, got out again, and thought I'd finished. After a couple months' letting her rest and some helpful feedback, I'm back to revising her. So, I sat down to work and was completely embarrassed that I let my writing people read her in this state. Agh! I'm going through with a hatchet, disgusted with myself. Anyway, she has a new name, thanks to my agent, Steve: The Story of Hepzibah Death. Let me know what you think.

My poetry novel: I thought I'd finished the rough draft at about 200 pages and 24,000 words long, but I keep adding. It's been so fun. Really different from anything else I've ever written. I've been reading Beowulf to get me in an epic-poetry frame of mind.

I was about to tell you more details, but decided a public blog isn't the right forum. Let me just say I wrote a villainelle yesterday. I feel like I'm back in my high school poetry class and having a blast, believe it or not.

My slave-boy story: is being neglected. But I have him in the back of my mind, stewing, ready to go as soon as Hepzibah is finally out of my hands and the poetry has settled down. Some books insist on being listened to first, like it or not. The boy story isn't insisting as hard as the poetry, so will have to wait.

The Golden Bowl, by Henry James: I tried (honest!) to read this for my book group and didn't manage to finish in time for the meeting. Went to book group anyway to figure out why anybody likes Henry James. After a fascinating discussion, decided to finish after all. I think I need to read it faster, let it seep into my brain instead of stopping along the way to try to uncover the meaning of sentences like these:

"He became aware himself, for that matter, during the minute Maggie stood there before speaking; and with the sense moreover of what he saw her see he had the sense of what she saw him."

Ha! So there. Don't ask me; I don't know, either.

Triathlon training: In preparation for the "Woman of Steel" Tri in May, I've been increasing my yoga to twice a week, upping my running miles. I injured my foot twisting it in the ice, so that has set me back some. Bought a pair of Vibram Five Fingers shoes so I could pretend I'm running barefoot (free toes! hooray!), but my injured foot says no running in them on pavement yet. I love walking (almost) barefoot everywhere. Walked my son to school in them the other day and about froze my toes off.

It's February, duh.

I'm obviously in denial.

100+ Book Challenge

2010-01-20T23:33:00.006-07:00

This year I want to read more. Every year I want to read more. So a few weeks ago when I came across this challenge to read 100 books in a year, it seemed just right. Granted, most of the books I read aren't exactly Henry James (thank goodness), or I'd never meet that 100 goal. I try to read a lot of middle-grade and young-adult books, since that's what I write. I do draw the line at chapter books. Picture books seem like cheating. Still, 100 seems like a good number to push for.

If you want to join the challenge with me, click on that little 100+ book challenge logo-thingy on the sidebar. Or on this blog post title. That should work, too.

My other reading goals:

1. Include at least one grown-up book a month that has nothing to do with the how-to's of writing craft whatsoever--something that would be considered Literature with a capital L.

You'll notice right now, if you check out the sidebar again, that book is a Henry James.

I happen to hate Henry James.

The Golden Bowl is 500 pages. 500 pages of pain. I consider it self-discipline. Mental exercise. An attempt to finally understand why my sister-in-law loves him. I may not live through it. I figured out his average sentence is approximately half a page long, and so complicated you forget what he said at the beginning by the time you get to the end.

Just to clear this up: I know I started Golden Bowl before 2010, but I'm speed-reading the beginning a second time so it will count.

Enough about James. What does he have to do with anything, anyway?

2. Go to my book group every month. I have the most amazing book group in the world. It's made up of a bunch of women who are all brilliant and intimidating and hard-core readers, and I feel really stupid every time I go, but the discussions are fabulous and enlightening and insightful and I think I'll stop using adjectives right now.

3. Read something every single day. As Stephen King says, you can't write great stuff unless you're reading great stuff all the time. My old creative writing teacher, minimalist author Daryl Spencer, used to say it this way: if you want to be a fiction writer, read fiction every day, write fiction every day, and after ten years you might be good enough to get published. If you're lucky. Maybe.

That was his class: we read minimalist short stories and we wrote minimalist short stories and occasionally talked about the evils of purple prose. Just for the record, I write terrible minimalist short stories. That's why I quit writing fiction for about twenty years. I'm just glad I rediscovered fiction-writing in a new incarnation.

But I digress.

The whole post sort of digresses. Where was it going? I have no idea. Books. Read a lot of books.

Read 100 books, actually. By the end of 2010. Or just read more than you did last year.

And if you happen to love Henry James, please tell my why. I honestly want to know your reasons.

Book-giveaway Winner and Running Almost Barefoot (actually not) with Andre

2010-01-14T11:58:00.008-07:00

Thanks to all you new blog followers/subscribers/commenters and to Julie for sending most of you my way.

Congratulations to Sylvia, who is the blog contest winner! You now own a signed copy of The Dark Divine and a matching bottle of official Dark Divine purplish (or pinkish - my family disagrees about the actual color) nail polish.

Email me at ejjube@gmail.com with your address so I know where to send it.

For everybody else, I'll be giving free books away about once a month this year, so keep checking back. Also, you can find The Dark Divine by Bree Despain at Borders, Barnes and Noble, The King's English Bookstore, Amazon, and elsewhere online. Ask at your local library, too, and maybe they'll order it for you if they don't have it already.

So.

My advice for the week: NEVER RUN BAREFOOT ON A TREADMILL.

Friction burns. Duh.

Didn't think of that before I took off my running shoes at the gym and stepped on that moving belt.

Another revelation: running inside isn't inspiring. Not like running barefoot in the grass. Which puzzles me a little, since most of my writing ideas happen during exercise sessions. My favorite Albert Einstein quote on Relativity: "I thought of that while riding my bike."But I'll bet he wasn't riding a stationary bike at the gym. What is it about that environment? Too smelly? No mountains? I guess I'm not ready to move to a Wall-e-style space-shuttle world. I need my nature.

After reading Born to Run (see my review under "book reviews" in the column to the right) and running barefoot in the grass all last October, I'm a barefoot-running convert. I'm happy to bear testimony to the orthopedic benefits of barefoot running. But it's not fun in the snow.

Really. Not.

There's a reason most hard-core barefooters are Californians.

I can hear all you shoe-wearers saying to yourselves, "If God wanted us to go barefoot, he wouldn't have given us Nike."

But anyway.

So yesterday I went for a run outside in zero-drop shoes. I will explain. I took a perfectly good pair of expensive running shoes to the shoe-repair store and paid twenty bucks to have them slice out a wedge of padding on the back part of the sole, throw it away, and then glue the hacked-apart pieces back together.

The result?

Almost as good as barefoot: a five-mile run with my dog, Andre the Giant, and NO INJURIES, which is a small miracle for someone like me. Knees good, heels good, arch good, previously-injured top of foot good. Maybe that marathon is in sight after all.

Here's the Giant:

Except Andre tripped me and I ended up sprawled on the road at one point. At least I think that's what happened. I don't think I'm that clumsy. It's all kind of a blur.

But I got my Eureka! as well: I came home and wrote about 20 pages in my poetry novel and had a brilliant revelation about how the story should progress. And it's even January, one of the most uninspiring months of the year. A miracle.

So nature inspires me. Running with the dog, too. Also, strangely, I like to write in bed. Encourages the subconscious, I guess.

What inspires your writing?

Dark Divine Launch Party and Free Stuff!

2010-01-06T16:28:00.025-07:00

Author Bree Despain's paranormal romance The Dark Divine officially launched at a lovely little Salt Lake indie bookstore, "The King's English," on Saturday, January 2, and if you missed the party, I'm sorry, because I went, and I got free purple nail polish to match my book cover.

But you'll get a second chance to win not only the nail polish, but a signed copy of Bree's book. I tell you about it in a minute.

Because first I have to say, I'm in print! Uh...well...my name is in print.

First, go buy a copy of Bree's excellent book, The Dark Divine, which you will like so much better than Twilight, whether you love Twilight or not, then open up the back to the acknowledgments page and there I am.

I will explain.

I need to begin with a story, of course. Pull up a log.

There was once--about three and 1/2 years ago--a writing conference with a writing workshop like no other, with a wonderful, brilliant writing teacher named Martine Leavitt, who is also a wonderful, brilliant writer (if you haven't yet, you must read her Keturah and Lord Death and Heck Superhero, and when you finish those move on to Tom Finder and The Dollmage, and...I have to stop somewhere, I guess).

This class was my kick-start into the fiction-writing world. In it I discovered that maybe I could write after all, and got an inkling of the fine, tall stack of books I needed to read, and a massive list of resources for navigating the publishing maze.

Mostly, from Martine I got inspiration.

I met my agent, Stephen Fraser, at that conference, and was thoroughly impressed. That's the agent I want, I was thinking by the end of the week, but it took a couple of years before I dared submit anything to him. I didn't want to be rejected by my ideal agent.

In Martine's class were also a lot of gifted writers, one of whom (Bree) is now in print, and another about to be (Matthew Kirby, The Clockwork Three, also a great book which my relatives will be getting for next Christmas or birthdays, depending on its release date), and some of whom, Jamie, Julie, Gaylene, Kim, and Bree, turned into my critique group.

Hence, my name on Bree's acknowledgment page. Yes, we count ourselves lucky we got to read and critique it two years ago. And we've been following her path to publication with interest, excitement, and all that: from submissions, to Bree's finding her agent, the birth of her blog and website, to the offer from Egmont USA, and finally the release, at last. I feel like an aunt. Does baby have a touch of my nose? My hair or eyes? I'm thrilled. I feel like handing out bubble-gum and birth announcements. Which this pretty much is, if you haven't noticed. Actually, I'm handing out the baby, which is Bree's after all, not mine. More in a second.

So, the launch party. I hate getting my picture taken so that part was painful, but everything else, especially seeing so many writers and friends and writer-friends, was fun.

First, Bree, reading from The Dark Divine:

My cute daughter, with my friend and great writer A.E. Cannon (The Loser's Guide to Life and Love) and me:

Ann was the one who read my first 15 pages of Thrushbeard (which was about all I had, since it was a picture book first) and insisted that I finish and send it out. Bree and I were also in the same Ann Cannon workshop together in 2008.

My critique group sisters: Kim and Julie, minus Gaylene, Jamie, and Bree, who was busy signing.

With Julie and Matt Kirby, whose book I'll be giving out to my relatives this year:

Bree and me (matching purple shirts, except one of us--not me--has a chest and one doesn't) and my cute daughter:

Congratulations, Bree!

All right, now the FREEBIES:

So, here's the deal. I have an extra copy of The Dark Divine signed in purple ink, as well as matching official Dark Divine nail polish and I'm giving them away. To you. All you have to do is

become a follower or subscribe to my blog and

leave me a comment telling me that's what you did,

or, if you're already a follower, leave a comment before Wednesday, January 13th at midnight and tell me that's what you are,

and I'll enter you in my prize drawing.

I'll announce the winner Thursday, Jan., 14th, and that person will need to email and tell me where to send it. If you're under age 18, I'll need your parent to write and give me consent.

Questions? Leave a comment :)

Book Review: Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen, by Christopher McDougall

2009-12-13T00:17:00.005-07:00

I love to run...er, I would love it, except that I always seem to get injured when I do it. Which is why I read this book. Because I'd had plantar fasciitis for six months and done absolutely everything doctors and everybody else recommended, including never going barefoot and buying orthotics and special shoes with extra arch support, and my heel pain kept getting worse. And then I heard something about a book called Born to Run and how some tribe in Mexico runs like 80 miles a day for fun with barely any shoes on at all.

So I bought the book, but my daughter snatched it, and then she lost it. Meanwhile, a guy at the shoe store was telling me that going barefoot might actually make a person's arches stronger, and my brother was telling me how he and my nephew had been running barefoot and how much more fun it is to run without shoes. So I walked my dog to the park one day on my miserable, screaming heels, took off my running shoes, and ran two miles barefoot in the grass.

It felt great. I did it again. And again. I was addicted. And my plantar fasciitis was gone in a month. I ran a triathlon, trying to mimic the barefoot technique as I ran in my shoes, and never had any heel pain at all. So weird.

And it dawned on me that when I used to love to run in elementary school, I did it in my little archless canvas Keds shoes, and I never had an injury of any kind until I convinced my mom to buy my first pair of Nikes and I read in a runner's magazine that proper running technique was to land heel first, something only possible in a highly-cushioned pair of shoes.

I finally found the book the other day, and had to read it almost in one sitting. After hearing and believing for so long that a person's body isn't made for running, I loved reading about an entire community of people, old and young, who run ultramarathons on a regular basis in nothing but strappy sandals, and they're all amazingly fast, which makes you think that maybe the human body was meant to run after all, and we moderns are just doing it wrong with our fancy cushioned shoes and lazy lifestyles and ultra-processed food.

Born to Run talks about technique, and shoes, and diet, and how running and caring about other people might sometimes have something to do with eachother, and it tells the story of a secret, amazing race between some of the most elite runners in America and members of this astonishing running tribe. It's also about finding joy in running and life and everything you do, and about a couple of scientists who discovered that the human body is actually designed to run, long and far. We aren't made to be walkers, we're made to be runners--long distance runners. If we can only remember how we used to do it. And remember to find the joy.

Although occasionally I got impatient with the sometimes too-long digressions about each participant in the race, and I didn't quite see what some of those details had to do with anything, overall I loved this book. I needed it. And reading had the interesting side-effect of making me want to run really far in the cold and eat a lot of chia seeds.

Well, and I stayed up reading until 3:00 am because I couldn't put it down.

I definitely recommend it (unless you're troubled by reading strong language, because it has some) if you're a runner, or want to be, or suffer from a million orthopedic injuries.

Deck Your Shelves...More Christmas Book Suggestions

2009-12-08T10:45:00.002-07:00

It's book-buying time of year (we hope!) and at least a couple of other bloggers have great Christmas book suggestions:

check out Shannon Hale's (Goose Girl) recommendations and writer Matthew Kirby's.

And then, more book suggestions by me:

How could I have left Calvin and Hobbes off my list of boy books? The collected volumes of the comic strips by Bill Watterson (Something Under the Bed is Drooling, Sunday Pages 1985-1995, etc.) have been my ten-year-old's (and almost every one of his friends') standby for the last two years. Great vocabulary builder. You'll find kids will start asking you about things like Cubist art and sex-discrimination, so be prepared. Reluctant readers will happily wade through difficult words because they want to understand the joke, even if it seems too sophistacated for a kid that age. My 10 and 12-year-old quote from Calvin as much as from movies.

For the grown-ups (or serious teen-readers), how about a classic? Books I could re-read more times than I can squeeze in:

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. Got me through the dark days of Junior High, along with Tolkien.

Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. I know you've seen the movie(s), but have you read the book--lately? Not just romance, it's hilarious, even makes fun of the traditional romantic novel. Sparkling prose, dialogue any writer could learn from. It's brilliant.

Far From the Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy. If you gave up on Hardy after Jude the Obscure, try again. Nobody tells a story like Hardy and this is my favorite of his.

Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner. For the serious reader. I loved the allegory of modern humanity as a crippled, searching old man.

Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis. Stuns me every time.

Middlemarch, George Elliot. One of my all-time favorites. Love the BBC movie, as well.

The Woman in White, Wilkie Collins. Gothic romance by a peer of Dickens, I read this as a spoof and can't help laughing out loud at random moments, more evidence that I'm more than a little crazy. It's also terrifying and I love the villain, Count Fosco. If you've seen the movie, don't toss out the baby with the bath. The book (as usual) is much better.

If you have your own recommendations for fabulous books, please feel free to add to my reading list with a comment. I love to hear what you think.

Let me take care of your Christmas shopping...

2009-12-04T14:47:00.004-07:00

It's easy: buy books--for everyone.

Nothing better than curling up with a great new book during down-time on Christmas Day. Besides, books are cheap. They go well with chocolate. And cozy Christmas fires in the fireplace. They don't even rot your brain.

If you're stumped about which book to buy for the kids in your life, let me take care of that problem for you right now.

Here's my list of this-year's book recommendations after twenty years of reading aloud and talking about books to kids, as well as watching how kids respond to the read-aloud experience of individual books. All the books on my list have passed the story-under-fire test: they've grabbed and kept real-life kids' attention, whether the kids are reading-addicts, or not so easy to please. Besides, they're all great, high-quality books I've read and happen to love myself, or I wouldn't put them on my list:)

Eat-the-book phase (babies):

*   Pat the Bunny, by Dorothy Kunhardt. It's an oldie, but goodie. Babies love this. I know my kids went through at least three of them, and I don't have a copy now because the last copy must have gotten eaten, too. But it set all five of my kids firmly on the love-books track from the time they were old enough to sit up on a lap and see that far (before that, you might as well read them Shakespeare, since they only care about the sounds anyway).

*   Goodnight Moon, Margaret Wise Brown. Another classic that still works. Babies love the sounds, and they really can't hurt this one unless they bring it into the tub. Perfect for settling down to bed.

*   Barnyard Dance, or The Going to Bed Book by Sandra Boynton. Kids love the silly pictures and fun sounds.

Less-inclined-to-eat, more-inclined-to-snuggle-and-look-at-pictures phase:

*   Mother Goose--almost any. I like the "Real Mother Goose," because of its old-fashioned charm, but Rosemary Wells has a fabulous MG and kids especially love her pictures. So do I. Young children can't seem to get enough of the sounds in nursery rhymes; they're just so fun to say aloud.

A-little-bit-older-kids-who-can-read-to-themselves, but-don't-want-to phase:

* Anything by Bill Peet. My kids absolutely can't get enough of his books. Our favorites: Jethro and Joel were a troll, How Droofus the Dragon Lost His Head, Kermit the Hermit. You really can't go wrong with Bill.

* Pinkerton, Behave! by Stephen Kellogg. Still one of my 10-year-old's favorites.

Independant-readers-who-still-might-like-to-be-read-aloud-to, whether-they admit-it-or-not phase. (Read aloud to the youngest where everyone can hear, and watch the whole family start hanging out close by, pretending they aren't listening). Also, great books for everyone ages 10 and up.

*   Black Hearts in Battersea, and Nightbirds on Nantucket, by Joan Aiken.

*   Fantastic Mr. Fox, by Roald Dahl. I was thrilled when I heard they made this into a movie, so now it will be more accessible again. It's been one of my kids' favorites for years. I never get tired of reading it aloud.

*   Savvy, by Ingrid Law. Everyone at my house--boys and girls--from ages 10 to 16 loved this. They loved the story, I loved the language. It won a Newbery and deserved it.

* I'm not sure where to put this exactly, because everyone seems to love this book, even the ones who don't understand it: Rapunzel's Revenge, a graphic novel by Shannon Hale. Funny and exciting, and grabs the ones who are intimidated by lots of words and no pictures, as well as everybody else.

*   Howl's Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones. It's got everything: action, magic, humor, and a little romance, but subtle enough not enough to scare the boys away. Don't tell them it's romantic and they might not realize. It's just a great story.

Great boy books (just because people are always asking). A lot of girls like these, too:

*   Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, beginning with The Lightning Thief, but I guarantee your boys won't want to stop there, by Rick Riordan. Hands down, my favorite books right now for boys 9-15, maybe even older, depending on their tastes. I've never met a boy who read these and didn't love them.

*   The Dark is Rising  series, by Susan Cooper. Ages Middle school and up will like these best, unless you have an avid younger reader who can handle a bit of scary, or you read it to them. Read these aloud to my 12-year-old son who had stopped wanting to read at alland it got him reading again.

*   The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien, read-aloud to ages 10 and up, read to self ages 12 and up.

*   Lord of the Rings, for determined 12-year-olds, or 14 and up. A little hard for my reluctant 14-year-old reader at first, so I started reading Fellowship of the Ring to him, but he soon took it away and it became his favorite series.

* Maze-Runner, by James Dashner. For 14 and up. Just came out this fall. Everything a boy could want, except having to wait for the sequel.

For Twilight-loving teenage girls:

*   The Dark Divine by Bree Despain. I liked it better than Twilight, especially the cool prodigal-son/paranomal twist to the story. It comes out two days before Christmas, but you can pre-order it now at Borders like I did, and I assume other book stores, too. Bree happens to be a friend, and I was lucky enough to read her pre-published version over a year ago, so this one is especially exciting for me. You can even get purple Dark Divine nail-polish to go with it (check out her blog here) and you can read the first three chapters in Romantic Times if you want to preview the book before its debut.

Other great girly reads:

Forest Born, by Shannon Hale. Next in her Books of Bayern series., just came out this Fall. If you haven't read them, or your daughters haven't, start with Goose Girl, then Enna Burning, and River Secrets. I also recommend Princess Academy and Book of a Thousand Days, also by Shannon.

The Loser's Guide to Life and Love, by A.E. Cannon. For slightly older teen girls, maybe 14 and up. Teenage boys might like this, too, since the main character is a boy and it's a funny book, but I haven't tested it on any real-life boys and it isn't action. You know your kid. You'll have to judge.

**********

I hate to stop here. I don't have any more room--just a tiny sampling of my personal kid-favorites for this year, and some classics that never die. Feel free to email me at owhither.gmail.com if you want more suggestions.

So many great books, so little space to tell you about them all...

What's in a name, Romeo? More than you thought, maybe...

2009-12-01T15:52:00.023-07:00

I've noticed a trend in my writing: I think I might be slightly obsessed with names.

For instance, my princess story has a main character who loses her name--and has to find another; my witch story centers around a girl who's stuck with probably the worst name on earth; and my current work-in-progress has a main character who's a slave boy with no real name at all.

One of the things my princess, slave boy, and witch each discover, I think, is that a name is often not some floating thing you toss or take up like a bit of seaweed, even if you manage to change it (which I'd do in a heartbeat if my last name were Bloodvessel, for instance, like a particularly-nasty character in one of Joan Aiken's books); it's often attached to something else--to family and origin, history and genetic traits, even culture, place, and heritage; it defines, at least a little bit, our sense of who we are.

Unfortunately, in Romeo's case. And Juliet's.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," Romeo tries to convince Juliet (just hours after being hopelessly in love with another girl, but we'll leave that alone). Somehow everyone ends up dead in that story. Maybe because the main characters decided to pretend names didn't matter. They did matter--a lot, actually.

Your name isn't you. We hope. But it has some effect on you. And who are you, really, aside from your name? Do you know? Do I? I wonder.

I'm going to psychoanalyze myself here. Which should be interesting, since I've no actual psychology background.

I think I'm obsessed with names because mine is weird. It was, and continues to be, a little bit of an issue for me.

Here's a story: I grew up in a mid-sized town settled mostly by Scandanavian and English immigrants (top five most common surnames in my city: Anderson, Jensen, Christensen, Larsen, and Smith). Girls in my elementary school were named Sara, Amy, Mary or Becky.

Nobody was named Elena.

Nobody knew what to do with that.
They couldn't say it or spell it.
It was just weird.

Even I wasn't quite sure how I should pronounce it. The crossing guard said it the Spanish way (he sang Marie-Elena to me every day); my dad was a Russian professor and said it the Russian way, with a nice, fat Russian accent--more like Eliena than the Spanish "Alaina" version, and the rest of my family called me a Finnish nickname (my dad spent three years in Finland). Well, I figured I was just a weird, multi-cultural conglomeration of something. I always thought of myself as different from everybody else. And I always was. I was nerd-girl. Even my last name (Jarvis) was kind of a prissy-sounding English name (sorry, Jarvii). It evoked butlers somehow, or happy little wizards on cereal boxes. It got me teased, too.

So then I married one of maybe 8 Jubes in the entire U.S. I don't even hope for correct pronunciation of my names at this point, though people are getting better at the Spanish version of Elena these days. I answer to anything that sounds like an attempt: Elna, Alona, Alana, Alaina, Ee-lain-a, Elenna, Ellen-a, Jubb, Juke, Jule, Judd, Joobee, Hoobay, Jhoubay, whatever, and it's all ok. It's one piece of who I feel I am, however you say it.

Each time someone creatively pronounces me, I think, hmm, what if my last name really were said the French way and I were actually French? Or French-Canadian? What if my first name was pronounced the Manx way and I grew up on the Isle of Mann instead of in the Wasatch Mountains ? What then?

So, I write about names. Because I think it's fascinating how a name can define you--or not. I hope I'm more than just a weird name. And I wonder what I'd be like if I'd grown up named something else entirely.

Maybe I'd be exactly the same. I kind of like to think so.

Honestly, I doubt it.

And I wonder what would happen if a person suddenly discovered they weren't the person they thought they were all along.

What if Romeo discovered he wasn't a Montague after meeting Juliet? What if he were the illegitimate son of Juliet's nurse? Or Paris's long-lost brother? What then?

An entirely different story, at least...

Just in time for the holidays...

2009-11-24T23:41:00.003-07:00

Hubby put the Christmas lights up

and

I mailed off Hepzibah to my agent at last.

I expect to do some more revisions before we send her out into the publishing world, but I feel a little bit like I've just sent my baby to her first day of Kindergarten. Except I couldn't cry. I did laugh aloud.

There's a little story behind all this. It begins
Once upon a time, H was my first novel ever, and I worked on it non-stop for about a year, all the while attending conferences and reading like a mad-woman, but I never found a beginning I liked,

so,

after about 35 *&%$#! beginnings,

I got sick of it and set it aside for a couple of years. Meanwhile, I wrote a second novel--the novel which got me an agent--and began three others.

I learned a lot in those three years of writing and reading every day and studying novel-writing. When I picked H up again, I realized she needed a complete overhaul, poor girl. I kept getting her out and tinkering, and then I'd get distracted and pick up one of my other projects, and she got a little lost in the shuffle. Because it's so much easier to do something new and get it basically right the first time, than to fix what seems like a big, fat mess.

I finally got down to business when my friend, Jamie, started a One-Page-a-Day blog where we commit to write at least one page every day and then report on the blog if we've done it or not and make our sorry excuses if we fail. I decided then to force myself to work on H every single day, whether I felt like it or not and set aside my other projects for awhile. Thanks, Jamie. What a great idea. If you're a writer (or would like to be) and want to join us, feel free to check out the rules (for example, you have to prove you're not an axe-murderer, and it really helps if you know one of us) on the blog at http://onepageadaygroup.blogspot.com/.

Once I got my head in the story again, it took off, and I decided to finish her up for National Novel-Writing Month. Which I did last Saturday, and sent her off to the agency that night (er, Sunday morning, I guess) at 1:30 am.

The end.

And we lived happily ever after. For a few days, anyway.

So,

for Thanksgiving, one of the things I'm thankful for is that Hepzibah is out of my hands for the moment, after nagging at me for three years to finish her up. I really like her. I do. I'm just glad to get her out the door for a bit.

My family is thankful, as well.
I cooked dinner yesterday for the first time in I-can't-remember how long.
I have time to think about Christmas presents and such things.
No more witch girl hovering over my head and haunting me: finish me up, finish me up.

A couple of other random thankfulnesses:

I'm thankful for my sisters.
And my poor, neglected children and husband. I'll be seeing more of you now.
And the amazing mountains by my house.
And the smell of cinnamon.
For fresh thyme still growing in the garden.
For happy moments
And music.

Happy Thanksgiving, all! I'm baking rolls--real, homemade, five-hour butter rolls. Mmm.

We (Writers) Are Transmitters

2009-11-23T09:25:00.004-07:00

I cringe whenever I hear an author say, "I don't write for an audience; I write for myself."

Bull-pucky, as a friend of mine used to say.

I have three teenage girls, and when they pick up a book, that story isn't just the author's anymore, it belongs to my daughter--it's in her head and how she responds to it could change a lot about the way she thinks.

If you're published, you're writing for an audience.
If other people read your stuff, you're writing for an audience.
Anyone who takes their manuscript out of its drawer and hands it off to someone else has written for an audience.

And there's a certain amount of responsibility that comes with that, like it or not.

Your words have power to change lives, and that's something you've got to take into account when your work goes out into the world. Hopefully you remember that, as John Gardner points out in The Art of Fiction, somebody who reads your book may be desperate, or suicidal, or otherwise in trouble, and your book may be the tipper, one way or the other. Especially when you write for young people that's true, because kids actually listen, unlike adults.

Your words are power; what are you going to do with that?

I love this poem by D.H. Lawrence. I've removed one politically incorrect line, so nobody rises up in outrage and threatens to beat me with a stick, but I think the idea applies perfectly to a writer's reponsibility.

We Are Transmitters

As we live, we are transmitters of life.
And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow through us.

That is part of the mystery of sex, it is a flow onwards...

And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work,
life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready
and we ripple with life through the days.

Even if it is a woman making an apple dumpling, or a man a stool,
if life goes into the pudding, good is the pudding,
good is the stool,
content is the woman, with fresh life rippling in to her,
content is the man.

Give, and it shall be given unto you
is still the truth about life.
But giving life is not so easy.
It doesn't mean handing it out to some mean fool, or letting the living dead eat you up.
It means kindling the life-quality where it was not,
even if it's only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief.

****************************

Writing is a happy thing for me. It's fun. I do it for myself, because I like it, and some of my work will never see the light of day, because it really is just mine. But once I consider letting it leave my hands, D.H. Lawrence and John Gardner start talking in my head, and that changes everything.

I hope they talk to you, too.

Excuses, excuses

2009-11-17T09:46:00.005-07:00

I know I've been pretty silent on the blog lately. I have excuses. I do. I've been...busy. Well, I've been writing. That's my job, after all. It's also November, which means

*Birthdays: three within 10 days of each other in my family. Fun, but exhausting. And expensive. Who decided that all the birthdays should be the month before Christmas? Was that my fault? Somebody needs to do some explaining. Sidenote: I got a camera for my birthday. When I figure out how to work it, maybe I'll start posting photos once in awhile.

*A race: my first trialthon. Yes, I lived through it. Didn't quite freeze to death (the weather decided to be unseasonably beautiful). Didn't win. Ha, ha. Ha. Ha. I even had fun. My sister-in-law actually did win. Congrats, Sara! (She wins so often it's not even exciting for her anymore. I, on the other hand, was excited just to finish). I might even do another. I have yet to attempt an open-water swim, which gives me panic attacks to imagine. Here's me (#244) at the Telos Turkey Tri, pretending I'm not cold:

Who do you think has bigger muscles? Me or that guy in red just behind my shoulder? Hmmm.

*Reading: not that this is a uniquely November thing for me to do. But it's cold outside. It snowed this week. And I love to read, almost as much as I love to write. Maybe more. I can never decide. I can think of nothing better to do when it's cold than read. Just read three great books in a row and started three more (yes, I'm ADD, always reading several things at once). Thanks, Jamie, for loaning me Diana Wynne Jones's Howl's Moving Castle. How could I not have read anything by this author before? The book isn't much like the movie, if you've seen that, which is bizarre and creative steam punk (thanks for teaching me that vocabulary word Laura), but pretty much a different story altogether. The book is not steam punk, in case you wondered. It's just delightful.

*Writing: In honor of NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month), I've set a goal to finish my current work-in-progress (WIP) revisions by the end of November. Which means the story's on my mind a lot. I fall asleep every night to scenes from my book. I don't have much brain space left for blog posts.

I'll get back to regular blogging soon. I think.

Until then, I bid you all to curl up with a book while the snow comes down. Except Adri in Brazil, where there is none. You should bring a book to the beach. Read like the wind! Write like the wind! Especially all you die-hard NaNoWriMos. Woo hoo! Write that novel!

Hmm. I think I just used my monthly quota of exclamation points.

Slacking, But Not

2009-11-03T11:31:00.002-07:00

Slacking on the blog means lots of novel-writing, so I'm sorry, but not.

Updates:

Holy cow--I'm on page 64 of my teen poetry novel. It's taken me up and run away with my brain. I wasn't going to work on this yet. And I thought I only liked fantasy, but I find I'm dealing with stuff like depression and rejection and physical abuse and it feels like a perfectly natural seque from fantasy-writing. Who knew? The worst part: sending this one out will be like walking onto a swimming pool deck in nothing but my flip-flops. We'll see if I can do it.

Hepzibah revisions--up to page 157. Going quickly, but I keep getting distracted by the novel in verse. Luckily, I'm not sure where I'm going next with that, so I'm back into revisions full time again.

Secret Hot Fudge Recipe Revealed

2009-10-21T11:13:00.003-06:00

I'm on a fiction-writing roll--haven't left my house for three days--but I haven't posted for two weeks, so today you get...my own awesome recipe for hot fudge sauce, invented by me. Perfect on Breyers vanilla icecream.

Chocolate makes everything better. Makes you write better. Makes you well when you're sick. Maybe. That's not a scientifically-proven statement. But I stand by it anyway.

Homemade Hot Fudge Sauce

1/2 C. real butter (no margarine)
1/2 C. slavery-free fair-trade cocoa powder (Dean's Beans is my favorite--you can buy online at http://globalexchange.org/)

1/2 C. milk
1 1/2 C. sugar

Melt butter in covered glass bowl in microwave. Whisk in cocoa until combined. Then whisk in milk thoroughly. Then whisk in sugar. (Don't try to dump them all in at once or it won't work). Microwave on high 2 minutes. Take out and stir. Mike another minute; stir. One more minute, then stir again. Continue until mixture is thick and begins to foam up. Cool a little and serve over icecream. Or, if you're my daughter, over bananas.

You can do this over the stove, as well, just follow the directions above, only do your cooking over Med-Hi heat and stir constantly with a wire whisk until thick.

So yummy. Don't make it if you're on a diet.

*note: oops, apparently Global Exchange doesn't sell Dean's Beans anymore, but it's still a great fair trade site you should check out. You can buy Dean's Beans baking cocoa at http://www.deansbeans.com/ instead.

The Art of Reading Slowly, Or, Read Like You Eat

2009-10-06T13:23:00.003-06:00

America believes in fast: fast cars, fast food, fast writing. Look at Stephanie Meyer. She wrote Twilight in, what, two months? Wow, that blows my mind. We love speed.

I know a lot of people who read fast. I've heard rumors that JFK read some ridiculous number of words a minute--7,000, or something, though I have no legitimate source on that. I took a speed-reading course in college, even taught speed-reading mini-classes as part of my job at the reading/writing center where I worked. I know HOW to read fast. But I don't do it. Not that I didn't understand all that speed-reading stuff. I just didn't like it. I never could make myself practice.

I like reading slowly.

Not that there's anything wrong with reading fast. I admire those people who can read 2 or 3,000 words a minute. Or even 700. How nice to be so efficient. It has to be good for school.

But I read slowly. I mean, really slowly, as in read-aloud-slow, like Charlie Brown's Snoopy from the old Peanuts comic strips, who moved his lips when he read, to Lucy's disgust. Only you might not want to cut me as much slack as Snoopy, since I'm not a dog (I also hope my novels are slightly better than his; they all began, "It was a dark and stormy night..."). I'm not going to apologize for the slow reading, though.The better the book, the better the language, the more likely you are to catch my lips moving. And I felt vindicated when I read that Stephen King, who reads voluminously, considers himself a slow reader, too. Yeah, me and Snoopy and Steve.

I like to read the way I eat, savoring the textures and flavors and details. I love the way some authors rub words together. I like to hear those sounds, feel them in my mouth. Kate DiCamillo's new book The Magician's Elephant is great for lip-moving reading. Words delight her--you can tell. Her words delight me. And poetry, how can I do it justice inside my head? Language is all about sounds. That's one of the great things about reading aloud to kids: you get to experience the whole book aloud. You get all the roundness and play of the language in your mouth. It's delicious.

I don't always read slowly. Sometimes I don't have time; sometimes I don't care, or it's not worth it. You won't ever notice my lips moving when I scan the morning paper for headlines. If I'm really in a hurry, I might even make myself dust off the old speed-reading techniques and go for pure speed; for example, if my book group is meeting tonight and I just got my copy of the book today.

But I don't do fast with the really good books, if I can help it. They deserve slow.

Or the really bad ones, come to think of it, like my old university Physical Science textbook, which I spent all my time copy-editing instead of studying, because the terrible grammar drove me crazy. I got a C in that class. Oops. But the book was all fixed and ready to go to press for a second round by the end of the term.

You might try Snoopy-style reading sometime (do NOT copy-edit your science book!). Slow down, taste the words. It's an art, really. More people ought to dabble in it.

And you can think of me, reading to myself, lips moving as I go.

Banned Books Week

2009-09-30T20:54:00.005-06:00

In honor of intellectual freedom and ALA Banned Books Week (Sept. 26-Oct 3), I'm making a plug for reading a banned book this week. You'd be astounded at some of the books on the ALA's banned list: Where the Wild Things Are, Speak, Harry Potter, Golden Compass, To Kill a Mockingbird, Bridge to Terabithia, Farenheit 451, Lord of the Flies, A Separate Peace, and the Gutenberg Bible, to name a few. Some of my favorite books have landed their authors in jail, including the wonderful Nigerian playwright Wole Soyinka. Call of the Wild was burned in Nazi bonfires.

I'm admittedly conservative about the books I'd personally hand to a young child; I believe, like Corrie Ten Boom's father (the Hiding Place), that some subjects are too heavy to ask young children to carry, just as a large suitcase might be. But that's a decision for individual caretakers to make for their own children, not for other people's. And I get angry when others try to make that choice for me. Often when people push for a book to be banned, they do it out of ignorance: they don't even know what's in it (Golden Compass, for instance), or don't understand it (Lord of the Rings, burned by a religious group for being satanic). Let me choose for my kid; you choose for yours. Once a child reaches his teens and is not so emotionally delicate, some books are simply too important to protect a child from, and when we ban books by authors like Huxley, Steinbeck, Hemingway and Faulkner, what we end up protecting most is supreme ignorance.

Growing up with a Russian professor father during the 1970s, I heard a lot about book banning issues and the fear of getting caught reading the wrong books in Soviet Russia. I knew my dad's Russian Bible was lovingly (and furtively) passed around the congregation when he brought it to an Orthodox church in Moscow, which only old people with little to lose dared attend. I always felt grateful American intellectuals didn't have to hide (except ironically during the insane anti-communist McCarthy era--funny how similar methods were used by both Communist governments and communist-fearing groups) or risk getting shipped off to Siberia, and I admired the Russian Intelligencia who wrote anyway, because they believed in speaking the truth, regardless of consequences.

So read a banned book this week and join librarians, writers and book people everywhere in speaking out for freedom to speak and write truth as we see it, and to make our own judgements and let others make theirs. Gotta love that first Amendment.

Happy Thoughts and Updates

2009-09-28T12:31:00.003-06:00

I collect happy thoughts in a file folder.

Really.

I stick things in there like the Mothers' Day card my daughter once made with a picture of an oversized version of me in my glasses and ugliest green sweats with a creepy grin on my face, and I'm standing on a mini version of earth like some sort of balancing super-sweat woman; the caption underneath my huge self says, "to Mom, the best person in the WORLD."

Wow. And you guys thought YOU were hot stuff. Think again--I'm better. The best. Arguably, according to this picture, the largest, as well.

Though she's the daughter who liked to balance my ego by shouting when she was mad at me that I was the WORST person in the whole world.

But I digress from happy.

Anything that makes me smile goes into that file in the drawer. And I like to take out my happy thoughts and read them sometimes. So here are just a few of mine this week, and not from the drawer:

*the Wasatch Mountains in the fall

*yellow cherry tomatoes from the garden

*blueberry-grapes every morning from the vines over the front porch

*falling asleep to scenes from my book

*letters from my son in Korea

*reading Over Sea Under Stone every night with my 10-year-old

*three teenage girls in the house as of this week (thanks to my daughter's 13th b-day): well, yeah--it can be a mixed bag, but kind of delightful, too. And ideal for perfecting my YA voice.

What are your happies?

Since I can write myself out of a depression, writing is a happy thought, too. Here's an update on my writing, and on a couple of other things, too.

On my fairytale-fantasy: Not allowed to talk about that here. Yet. Sorry.

On my work in progress (WIP): Revisions going well, mostly what I call up-writing--pages and pages of notes to myself on stuff like world-building and character details that have changed or needed clarification in my mind. I do up-writing until my brain is so full the story just dumps itself out. Kind of like doing imaginary research--when you get enough info packed into your head, it's hard NOT to write.

Started a YA poetry novel, kind of dark and edgy, because it's hard for me to write poetry that isn't a little dark, at least most of the time. For older teens, and it's prosier than the poems I usually write: 11 pages into it. Passed a test-reading by my picky almost-16-year-old. My question: should I bother continuing or should I stick with regular fiction? Her verdict: "Yes. I wanted to read more. Really liked it. And I hope there's a romance. There has to be romance." There will be--duh, it's YA. I always feel vaguely surprised that teens like poetry, until I think about myself as a teen. I loved poetry, the darker the better. Still do. It reaches into the crevices of the soul like no other writing.

On my Boy Story: Fantasy about a 12-year-old desert-dwelling slave boy. That's all I'm giving you now. Hard not to dump WIP and just go for it with this story, which teases me a lot, and so does my son, who feels gyped that all my books have female protagonists. But I think WIP deserves attention after a lot of time in the drawer.

On School Absence Excuse Notes: wrote one this week.

On triathlon training: attempting my first (possibly last) triathlon the beginning of November. My plantar fasciitis is clearing up, but I'm still not running, so I'll be able to for the race. So I'm doing mucho power-walking, and hitting the biking really hard, and plenty of yoga, which boosts my swimming somehow, which I always seem to put off. In other words, I'm going to choke in the swim and the run, and the bike will be only part where I don't die. Wish me luck. The best thing about it is that I'm getting lots of high-oxygen thinking time for my books.

On having a nice day: I can't tell anyone to have a good day without hearing, at least in some back corner of my mind, Harrison Ford as he stands on the deck of a boat in the movie Mosquito Coast and shouts, "Good-bye, America, and have a nice day!" his voice oozing with sarcasm. That does not mean I don't mean it when I say it. The sound just pops into my head, like a cynical brain-wave radio announcer. I can't help it. And I swear I'm not being sarcastic now when I say I wish you a happy day. Really.

I plan on having one :)

Poetry (Again)

2009-09-22T09:50:00.006-06:00

Okay, revisions are top priority, but I couldn't help myself--just one poem before I return to novel-land. Only I'm feeling guilty: last week I handed you rotting corpses, this week you get dark poetry. I promise I'll write something happy next time.

Lost in the Desert

I am desert
I am dry
Not enough wetness
for a sigh;
nothing here
but dirt and sand
sifting through
my open hand.

Everything is dry, dry.

Lost on a winding
red-rock trail
I stumble up
to the ridge of a hill
looking for a vision there--
Or at least a wind
to blow my hair:
The air is still.

Everything is still.

Here was once
a creeping plant
roots thin
leaves fat
reaching down
into the sand
like fingers clinging to
the land.

And a single a drop of water.

What's left of it got
crushed by a truck's tire.
What did it expect?
It was in the road.

Sand turns to rock
and a crack appears--
breaking up
the work of years--
opening up
a malformed heart,
showing every
defective part.

All is dead there.

Hard as rock.
Dry as sand.
Still as the air
inside my closed hand.
I close my hand.

A cloud slides over,
dark as cursing.
Will it rain?
Let it rain!
Will the rock swell
'til it crumbles,
full of water
full to bursting?

Let it break, then, full--
Better wet than dry.

As am I.
I am dry.

Tongue cracks.
Breath rasps.
Heart gasps.

Clueless,
coreless
a used-up lizard skin
in the shape of another--
perhaps--
life somewhere
scuttling off across the land--
beside a stream, maybe--

But I am
shifting
shuffling
through desert sand

Lost

And oh,
so dry.

Book Review: Going Out Green: One Man's Adventure Planning His Own Burial, by Bob Butz

2009-09-17T11:02:00.002-06:00

Ever since I was six I knew I hated open-casket funerals. My friend, Chrissy, died of leukemia that year, and though I was not really disturbed by the idea of her death (I knew she'd been terribly sick and she wouldn't be anymore; besides, she was going to live with Heavenly Father and be happy forever--why was everyone crying?), I was pretty creeped out by the sight of her waxy-faced body. I didn't think it looked like a person in there, let alone the living, breathing girl who'd come to my last birthday party.

The viewing didn't bring me any sense of closure; it just brought a sense of mild horror. It felt like voyeurism. Except that I was six, and didn't know what voyeurism meant.

The same sense of vague creepiness always comes back whenever I see another embalmed version of the shell of someone I once knew, pumped all full of formaldehyde and smeared with a ridiculous amount of make-up, especially when I think about the outragous cost of creeping people out and poisoning the ground.

Dying shouldn't cost that much money.

Besides, the best part of funerals is taking time to remember what a person was like while alive, not trying to pretend a person's body won't really decay if you use enough toxic chemicals.

Several years ago my mother-in-law died, and when my brother-in-law tried to force my little son to get a good look at the formaldehyde version of his Grandma Jube--he had him by the arm, ready to drag him over; my kid wasn't budging--well, that was the last straw.

I was going to be cremated. No kid was EVER going to be forced to check out MY dead poison-filled body.

Needless to say, when I first heard Bob Butz talk about "green" burials on NPR, I was intrigued: cemetaries as nature preserves, no poisons, no giant granite monuments, just a place of beauty, where a body could give back a little something in death by helping new things grow, and a family could have a peaceful place to wander and reminisce. I liked the idea of death truly being a returning of the body to the earth.

So I preordered this book. And I'd forgotten all about it when it came in the mail this month. The reading inspired several gruesome conversations with my husband about what actually goes on during the embalming process--much worse than what you learned in sixth grade when you studied Egyptian mummies. It also got me thinking about death.

And I learned some interesting things:

1. Cement vaults, satin-lined, sealed coffins and formaldehyed are not required for public health and sanitation, contrary to what many people believe. They're required by most cemetaries for their own convenience, but not by law, in most states.

2. You can get buried in an eco-pod if you want--a paper mache, Star-Trek-looking thing, which costs almost as much as the cement vault, partly because it has to be shipped from Great Britain. Or you can use a good old pine box. Or just a shroud. Or a blue sleeping bag, if you're Edward Abbey. Though you probably shouldn't try an Abbey-style burial, unless you want to get arrested. The law frowns on burying your buddy on public lands.

3. Cremation still pollutes, because of all the mercury in people's fillings, and because some people like to be a mummy for the open-casket deal, and STILL get cremated, which sends both mercury and formaldehyde into the air during incineration.

I'm still opting for cremation, because of 4.

4. There's such a thing as a "death midwife," who assists with preparing the body for burial. The key word here is "assist." You can't just say, "Here, take it away and do what you do, then let me know when you're finished." No. YOU are the one washing and dressing your dead loved one, putting coins or rocks on the eyes, tying up the jaw, getting the dry ice to keep the thing cold until you can gather your family around. Not to mention massaging to encourage the last "purge." I'm not going into more detail on that here. You'll just have to read the book if you're intrigued. Let's just say my husband was thoroughly grossed-out. And he's not a guy to gross-out easily. And there's NO WAY I'm doing that for him when he dies. Forget it, buster. Incineration's sounding really good for you, too.

5. Utah actually has a natural burial cemetary in Bountiful. I was floored. There aren't many, and Utah isn't usually cutting edge on anything but software.

6. Utah also tried to pass a law requiring a funeral director's signature on a death certificate, but citizens rose up in outrage and lawmakers backed down. Wow. Utah and eco-friendly; they don't usually go together. But I guess we like our individual rights.

7. Embalming used to be considered dessecration of the body in America, until the Civil War, when so many decaying corpses had to be shipped back home. Embalming has become standard practice ever since.

This book isn't an instruction manual on how to have a green funeral, as one review called it. But if you really want step-by-step instructions, it will point you in the right direction. It was a funny book and interesting, very informal. I like the idea of a natural burial, but personally, I don't want to have to deal with the gross stuff in the middle of grieving. And I don't think I can ask anyone else to deal with that for me, either.

The romantics like Mary Shelley (of Frankenstein fame) had a better idea, I think: burn your husband's remains and sprinkle them over a river in Italy. At least the family gets a trip to Europe out of it, instead of having nothing to show for the cost of death besides undrinkable ground-water.