'Tis (Not Quite) the Season

Snowflakes in the air,
beauty everywhere,
Yuletide by the fireside
and joyful memories there…
—A Charlie Brown Christmas

The first snow has just fallen—this year it waited politely until December to make an appearance. Christmas, on the other hand, invaded the stores and airwaves at least a month ago. Here’s one of my favorite cartoons by Sandra Boynton, showing Thanksgiving symbols exiting the stage as Santa and his reindeer come dancing in. I guess these days you would have to replace her pilgrims and turkey with ghosts and jack-o-lanterns.

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve always been staunchly against hauling out the holly before December. “To everything there is a season” after all, and I’ve always felt that you dilute and diminish Christmas by stretching it out past its time.

When our kids were young we started a tradition of waiting until after St. Nicholas Day (Dec. 6) to get our tree. We'd tramp through the snow at the tree farm until we found "the one" (usually too big for our space but who can tell when they’re all standing together in a field?). Then out came the Bing Crosby and Raffi Christmas tapes, along with the special mugs for eggnog (all three of the boys just loved that stuff!)

We’d spend the rest of the day decorating the tree with popcorn, candy canes and our beloved (sometimes bedraggled) collection of ornaments, accumulated through

the years and all reflecting the era in which they were made or purchased. Dinosaurs, pinecone carolers, Bert and Ernie, Cub Scout woodcarvings, Ninja Turtles—they’ve all had their moments basking in the glow of our Christmas tree lights. Here's our youngest son, David, with his very first tree. (Hey, don't mock the acid wash jeans—it was the 80s, after all.)

We managed to keep up this homespun tradition right through the teenage years and beyond. But with all three kids now living in other states, Jim and I expected this to be the year we finally had to face the end of it. I pictured the two of us wandering into Home Depot a few days before Christmas, listlessly choosing a crooked, dried-out tree someone else had cut down months ago and shipped here via semi-truck. I certainly wasn't in any hurry for that particular scenario.

But it seems we still have one Christmas ace in the hole. The only son close enough to come home for Thanksgiving, David rolled out of bed that Saturday morning, rummaged through the closet for some boots and gloves, and announced that it was time to go get our tree.
The good thing about your traditions is that they belong to you completely. You can turn, twist and tweak them any way you want. So out the window went “not until December” and off we went to the tree farm. Almost as sentimental as his mom, David wanted the whole experience, just as it had been every year since he was born (although Bing got passed over in favor of Sarah McLaughlin and the Charlie Brown soundtrack—sorry, Bing!). Because of him we have another happy "Tree Day" to add to our collection.

Now he’s back at school for a few more weeks, and the tree (just the right size for a change) stands sparkling in the window, loaded with twinkly lights and cherished memories. It’s a little early, but that's okay. For me the tree holds the promise and anticipation of all the family gatherings yet to come, and the sense of joy and wonder I feel at getting ready for Christmas, when we welcome the most treasured guest of all:

Make your house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the guest, is on the way.

.

--French Christmas carol

Words and music by Eleanor Farjeon, 1928

.

In Praise of November

Now that the “Christmas season” seems to begin the moment the last trick-or-treater toddles off into the sunset, it would be easy to glide right through November without pausing. But I will go down fighting to preserve November as being special in its own right. It's not a sparkly, showy month, but it has a quiet dignity all its own—an air of remembrance, reflection, and gratitude.

I was thinking about this recently after spending a day with my coworkers at the library’s annual all-staff inservice. I feel so lucky to be working with people like this—they are talented and smart, funny and kind. They love books and art and knowledge. They believe in the library’s mission with all their hearts, and they never stop working to make sure they are delivering the best possible service to our community.

It’s not just that I'm thankful to have a job during these hard times—it’s that I have this job. When I started working there I had just sold my first magazine story. Nine years and a lot of stories later, the library job and the writing continue to dovetail beautifully, adding up to a professional life I enjoy and am proud of. That I've made some wonderful friends at the same time has been the icing on the cake.

Also on my gratitude list—the experience of watching my book manuscript go through the publication process. I spent last week proofreading a PDF version of Anna Mei, helping make sure all the quotes were closed and the commas were in the right places. It’s all typeset and paginated, ready to go to press in December. I feel like Geppetto watching Pinnochio become a real boy—my little character is coming to life right before my eyes!

Then in the middle of all this bounty I got an email about the story I submitted to Chicken Soup for the Soul in August: “Your story has made it to the final selection round. Only about five percent of the submitted stories have made it this far. The vast majority of stories in this last round will appear in the book, which is scheduled for publication on March 23, 2010.”

Appropriately enough, the book is

called Thanks, Mom. And if you

think it’s probably a nostalgia piece about my childhood and about

raising my own kids… well then, you know me pretty well! Let’s just say that as both a mother and a daughter, I felt qualified to write about this topic. I hope the Chicken Soup editors decide that my story will resonate with all the other mothers and daughters out there (just in time for Mother's Day gift-giving ;).

In the meantime, I’ll keep the Christmas lights packed away long enough to celebrate November. I’ll raise a glass to family and friends, work and home—all the things that matter. And I’ll think of the traditional Irish blessing I used in Anna Mei, which sums all this up better than I can:

Walls for the wind,

A roof for the rain

And tea beside the fire.

Laughter to cheer you,

Those you love near you,

And all that your heart may desire.

Golden Autumn Leaves

Quiet thoughts come floating down and settle softly to the ground
Like golden autumn leaves
around my feet.
I touch them and they burst apart
with sweet memory…

I’ve always gravitated toward lyrics like these, the kind dripping with sentiment and nostalgia. I’m especially susceptible to them in autumn, when the passage of time seems less like an abstract idea and more like an anvil dropping, right alongside all those leaves.

With all the kids grown, autumn has really changed for me. The activities that marked the season—soccer games, Cub Scout projects, Halloween costumes, Homecoming—used to keep me busy right up until it was time to start Christmas shopping. While certainly a lot more chaotic, that lifestyle suited me somehow. This quieter, more peaceful version gives me a little too much time to dwell on the melancholy of it all.

Nothing marks this change more sharply than Halloween. When we were first married, Jim and I had fun decorating our little apartment and carving pumpkins. One memorable year we were invited to a costume party. With literally no money to spend, I took markers to posterboard and voilà—the King and Queen of Hearts! Jim was not exactly thrilled with my inspiration but he let me paint red hearts on his face (it must have been true love). We still laugh about those costumes because I had failed to take a very important fact into account—once those sandwich boards were on, it was impossible to sit down. Oops.

After the boys were born, we had the perfect excuse to celebrate
Halloween, putting scarecrows on the porch, going to Boo at the Zoo and visiting the pumpkin patch. We hosted carnivals in our backyard for all the neighbor kids, one of which featured a spook house in our garage. Jim enjoyed putting that together as much as the boys did. Right up until they moved away they were still carving pumpkins and helping give out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

Last year was the first time we didn’t have any kids home for Halloween. No trick-or-treaters, either—our country house is too far away for kids to venture out. We lit candles and watched some old Twilight Zone episodes (that one where Billy Mumy’s dead grandmother calls him on his toy phone? Still creepy!). But it felt strange, and not in the good, Halloweeny way.

Since then I’ve realized that the best way to keep from getting bogged down by old memories is to keep making new ones. In September, we had a great time with Matthew and his girlfriend Lauren when they visited from Oregon. We watched the sun set over Lake Michigan, hiked the dunes, went apple-picking and saw a Tiger baseball game. On their last night here they cooked us a delicious dinner, complete with apple pie.

In October, David came home from college for an R & R weekend. He recharged his batteries with lots of sleep and good homecooking, and we also managed to squeeze in the Toy Story double feature. It was so much fun to watch those movies with him again on the big screen.

Then we spent a weekend with my parents, making applesauce (and pie!), as we’ve done every fall for almost 20 years. The next weekend we drove to New York to visit Paul. He took us to a farmer’s market, the antiques district and an apple orchard. We had another delicious dinner, this time courtesy of his friend Ardyth (and yes, there was pie). We rounded out the trip by playing Scene-it—Paul is the only one in the family willing to challenge me in trivia games!

So it's been a different kind of autumn, but wonderful in its own way. We made lots of new "sweet memories" I'll cherish. And as a bonus? There sure was a lot of good pie! (I put the picture in just for you, Dad.)

Sharpening My Pencils

I know everyone says this, but honestly, didn’t that summer whiz by? Seems like I was just planning the menu for our 4th of July picnic (cherry pie, anyone?) and now it’s October. This picture is the view from my kitchen window.

Ready or not, I do love autumn. It’s always been my favorite time of year, even when I was a kid and it meant going back to school. Maybe because it meant going back to school. After a long, sticky summer, I always felt invigorated by the crisp, cool days and the new challenges that awaited me in the classroom. If I may quote from You've Got Mail once again (oh come on, it's my blog!), Tom Hanks tells Meg Ryan that fall weather "makes me want to buy school supplies [and] send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.”

It’s a feeling I need to muster up again, because I am now under contract with Pauline Books & Media for two Anna Mei sequels! A few months ago I submitted story ideas to Diane, my editor. She took them to her Editorial Board, who then took them to Acquisitions. After we worked through some details, they sent contracts for two more 28,000-word manuscripts. The books are tentatively scheduled to come out in February 2011 and April 2011. “Hey, it’s a trilogy,” one of my friends said when I told him the news. “Just like Star Wars.” Heh.

So now, with summer over and the excitement of the new contracts behind me, it’s time to sharpen my pencils and get down to the hard part—actually writing the books. But before I move on to the sequels, I wanted to share some news about the original:

1. PBM has selected an illustrator for the front and back covers. His name is Wayne Alfano, and he has just the style I was hoping for—colorful and lively but not cartoony. Here’s a cover he did for a Scholastic sports book for the same age group. I can’t wait to see how Anna Mei looks through his eyes.

2. Diane asked me to contribute three last things to the original manuscript: a back cover blurb (meant to entice readers but not spoil any of the plot), a short author bio, and a dedication. I know it sounds crazy, but in a strange way, these were harder to write than the book itself!

3. And finally, Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl is now officially registered with the Library of Congress. I visited the LoC when I was a kid, never in a million years believing I would have a book there one day. It’s just an incredible feeling.

Grund, Carol A.

Anna Mei, cartoon girl / by Carol A. Grund.

Summary: When eleven-year-old Anna Mei, who was adopted from China, moves from Boston to small-town Michigan, she finds herself questioning her identity, family history, and more as she seeks a way to fit in.

ISBN 0-8198-0788-5 (pbk.)

[1. Moving, Household--Fiction. 2. Adoption--Fiction. 3. Chinese Americans--Fiction. 4. Schools--Fiction. 5. Identity--Fiction. 6. Individuality--Fiction. 7. Family life--Michigan--Fiction. 8. Michigan--Fiction

Jingles That Jangle

Lately I’m drawn to the TV whenever I
hear the sweet, clear voice of a young Michael Jackson singing “I’ll Be There”:

You and I must make a pact.
We must bring salvation back.
Where there is love, I’ll be there.

This song was part of the fabric of my childhood, and every time I hear it I’m transported to that far away time called “the 70s.” For just a moment I’m in my bedroom, sitting on my purple and yellow-striped bedspread, writing a story or doing my homework. There’s no computer, no TV, no phone, no video game system. But there is a record player, and a stack of 45s I’d bought at Woolworth’s with my babysitting money.

I’ll reach out my hand to you.

I’ll have faith in all you do.

Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.

So imagine how it feels to realize that in 2009, the very year of Michael Jackson’s untimely death, this sweet and tender love song is on my TV because it's being used in a commercial for State Farm insurance. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, tainting the way I feel about that song and that very personal memory from my childhood.

I realize that Madison Avenue has been co-opting popular music for a long time. I remember an old song called “Button Up Your Overcoat” being drafted for an Alka-Seltzer commercial (“you belong to me!”). The lyrics of a standard called “Tangerine” were twisted into a pitch for diet bars called Figurines (“it’s the diet lunch you love to crunch out loud!”). It turns out that the Pledge jingle from the 70s (“Lemon Pledge, very pretty, and the lemon smells so sweet…”) is really a folk song called “Lemon Tree.” Even Sinatra wasn’t safe—his classic “Strangers in the Night” was used in a spot for Anheuser Busch beer, featuring animated penguins.

Then there are the songs that seem tailor-made for marketing. You knew Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You” was destined to be a phone commercial the first time you heard it. “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair” from South Pacific made a perfect theme song for Clairol—they just substituted "gray" for "man." And you could make a case that Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "Takin' Care of Business" was a pretty good fit for Office Depot.

There are even songs that are better known for their use in commercials than for their original release. I’d never heard of The Hilltop Singers’ “I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing” before Coca-Cola changed the words and made it famous in their iconic 1971 commercial. Carly Simon had a decent-sized hit with “Anticipation,” but that song got huge after Heinz used it to sell ketchup.

But somehow, when it’s my songs being

ripped off, the commercialization seems like a personal affront. Imagine my horror on hearing my beloved Partridge Family singing their mega-hit “I Think I Love You”… on a commercial for Cheerios! Or the dreamy Davy Jones asking the musical question, “Oh what can it mean?”… and finding out it means that “Daydream Believer” is now being used to hawk eBay.

The ad companies may think that using recognizable songs to push their products helps endear us to those products, but I disagree. For me, at least, there’s an element of “Thanks for ruining my song, guys” that makes me want to boycott them completely. One of the worst offenders currently on the air uses the Etta James version of “At Last.” Those beautiful violins, that gorgeous voice, those romantic lyrics… to sell Hoover vacuum cleaners?! Or how about the Moody Blues harmonizing to perfection on “Tuesday Afternoon,” from the smash 70s album Days of Future Passed? Yeah, it’s now a commercial for Visa, in which parents are encouraged to go into debt lavishing things on their children, since heaven knows the little darlings will be growing up soon and you may not have many more chances to spoil them.

To round out my rant, let’s go with a song that my then-boyfriend (now husband) and I used to like when we were dating: Todd Rundgren’s classic “Hello, It’s Me.”

It's important to me that you know you are free

'Cause I never want to make you change for me.

Think of me, you know that I'd be with you if I could…

It’s a song that perfectly reflects the era (spell that ERA, as in Equal Rights Amendment) in which it was written—a love song that also acknowledges the importance of personal independence within a relationship. After all these years, Rundgren finally sold the rights, and “Hello, It’s Me” is now being used to sell…Tums. Seriously. The lyrics are actually sung to food, the kind that once may have upset your stomach but which you will be able to eat again by simply popping a few antacid tablets. I can’t even watch the thing—it gives me a whole other kind of heartburn.

I know, I know—there are worse problems in the world. And it’s surely another step on the path toward curmudgeonly-ness to be lamenting changes from “the good old days.” But it just feels like one more little piece of my childhood that's been sold to the highest bidder—now even the soundtrack to my memories has been co-opted by the marketing machine.

.

For all you youngsters reading this, I'm sure you've noticed that lots of songs from the 80s and 90s have also been commercialized, including all those used in the initially-clever-but-increasingly-irritating Swiffer ads (“Swiff it! Swiff it good!”). I did a little searching and came up with some you may recognize. See if you can match the song to the product. You’ll be able to guess some, but for others, a logical link between the two is completely non-existent. Answers appear at the bottom—let me know how you do!

1. “I’ve Been Everywhere” (Johnny Cash)
2. “Dust in the Wind” (Kansas)
3. “Love Train” (The O’Jays)

4. "Revolution" (The Beatles)
5. “U Can’t Touch This” (M.C. Hammer)
6. “A Kiss to Build a Dream on” (Louis Armstrong)
7. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” (The Who)
8. “Just What I Needed” (The Cars)
9. “Free Ride” (Edgar Winter)
10. “Do You Believe in Magic” (Lovin’ Spoonful)
11. “Simply Irresistible” (Robert Palmer)
12. “Top of the World” (Carpenters)
13. “I Feel the Earth Move” (Carole King)
14. “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (Bonnie Tyler)
15. “Feels Like the First Time” (Foreigner)
16. “Love is in the Air” (Paul Young)
17. “All By Myself” (Eric Carmen)
18. “Take it on the Run” (REO Speedwagon)
19. “Like a Rock” (Bob Seger)

20. "Don't You Want Me?" (Human League)

A. Folger's

B. GM

C. Subaru

D. Chips Ahoy

E. Choice Hotels

F. Citgo

G. Kohls

H. Holiday Inn

I. Applebees

J. Coors

K. Glade

L. Nike

M. PetsMart

N. Visa

O. Aquafina

P. Chevy

Q. Nissan

R. Avis

S. Circuit City

T. Purell

_________________________________________

Answers: 1-E, 2-C, 3-J, 4-L, 5-T, 6-N, 7-T, 8-S, 9-F, 10-G, 11-I, 12-O, 13-M, 14-R, 15-A, 16-K, 17-B, 18-H, 19-P, 20-D

The Not-Quite-Empty Nest

Now that summer's ending, it’s time to
visit the whole empty nest concept again. It turns out to be even more complicated than I thought when I wrote about it for Chicken Soup for the Soul, back in 2008. At that time two of my sons had already moved out and my youngest was a senior in high school. I knew that for the first time in 24 years, my husband and I would be facing life without kids.

Anticipating how much we'd miss them, and the life we had when we were all together, we decided to make a pre-emptive strike. We sold our house in the suburbs and moved to the country. Our hope was that hard work in a new setting would help take some of the sting out of the adjustment phase. We would spackle over the empty spots in the nest with our own projects and challenges. And in the end we would have a new kind of life we had built together, just the two of us, just as we did when we were first married.

But it didn’t exactly work out that way. It seems that “empty” is one of those fluid words, at least in the context of the nest. Over the past two years, all three of our sons have lived with us for short periods of time. It's ironic, given that one of our primary reasons for moving was to live in a house that wasn’t filled with memories of them.

It turns out that we were wrong about that part. In fact, their presence here has helped make this house feel like home, in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. They’ve helped us strip wallpaper (ugh, a job I hope never to have to do again as long as I live!), put in a vegetable garden, build a waterfall in the backyard, install shelves in the basement, even stack hay in the barn.

On a practical level, this help has been invaluable. But the true value is in the pleasure of working side by side with them, talking about everything and nothing, admiring their skills and their confidence, appreciating the good and accomplished young men they’ve become. It's a unique experience, living with your children again, getting to know them after they’ve moved away and have come back all grown up. It's something we never anticipated but feel lucky to have had.

It's also gratifying that all three have been comfortable and happy here. They've taken to this peaceful country setting in a way they never would have before, when their lives revolved around friends, school, sports and a million other activities. And since they’ve each lived here for a time, they don’t feel like they’re just visiting Mom and Dad’s house—they feel like they’re coming home.

The downside? Besides having to share a bathroom with boys again? For me it’s that the process of letting them go has been prolonged. Each time one of them stays for a few weeks or months, our lives take on a new rhythm. We learn to share the bathroom and the washing machine. We help take care of each others’ pets. We remember that a large pizza will barely go around, let alone provide a few days of leftovers as it used to do. We watch family movies and laugh about the old days. I never get tired of looking into those grown-up faces and seeing my sweet little boys there.

But then the day comes when their plans take them away again. For me this just never gets easier. While helping them pack I’m already anticipating the loss. Then for weeks afterward I bump into it at every turn—their car no longer in the driveway, their cat or dog not there to greet me when I get home from work, their favorite foods now sitting uneaten in the cupboard.

And it’s not as if they are just moving across town—currently they live in three different states, none of them ours. I think it's this "all or nothing" aspect that makes it so hard for me. Either they actually live in my house or they are far away—there's no in between. Now we won’t all be together again until Christmas time, and that’s only if the stars align.

So here we are, my husband and I, once again comforting each other. We know that having our sons here for a while has been worth the grief of seeing them go again. We also know that there are much worse things than having a family that misses each other when they’re apart.

Now it's time to adjust to the suddenly quiet house again and to start making plans for the fall. As some incredibly wise (though somewhat naive) person once wrote in her story for Chicken Soup: "After all, life doesn’t run backward. There is only forward. There is only the never-ending challenge of keeping your balance. I know I'll be fine if I just keep pedaling." I think it's a lesson I'll need to learn over and over again, at least for a little while longer.

Page to Screen

I’ve been seeing commercials lately for the upcoming movies Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and Where the Wild Things Are. Both are based on beloved children’s books, by Judi Barrett and Maurice Sendak, respectively. (That's my son David in the photo, at age 2. He absolutely adored that book!)

Now, it’s no surprise that I’m a big fan of children’s books, and I happen to consider myself a movie lover, too.* But instead of feeling excited about these particular movies, I find myself apprehensive. The chances of either or both of them being terrible are, I'm sorry to say, excellent.

It seems to me that really good movies based on children’s books are few and far between. And of the ones that are good, very few are recent. In fact, one of the best ones turned 70 this year. In 1939, MGM did a masterful job bringing

L. Frank Baum’s The Wizard of Oz to life. They had to leave out some of his original story, of course, but they managed to capture its essence—a farm girl’s thrilling/terrifying journey into an unknown and often hostile world, and her triumph over adversity by virtue of brains, heart and courage.

Not that they didn’t try to mess it up. At least three different directors worked on it—never a good sign. One director had Judy Garland in a curly blonde wig and heavy kewpie-doll makeup. Another had the brilliant idea of cutting the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” scene, saying it slowed down the action too much. The composer and lyricist had to beg to have it restored.

In fact, I would give those two much of the credit for the success of Oz. The songs they created were not simply interludes that interrupted the action, as was the case with most musicals at the time. These songs contained storyline elements; they defined the characters and moved the plot along. You knew as much—or more—about Dorothy Gale from that song as from anything that “happened” in the film. This approach truly changed the way musicals were written.

OK, I seem to have veered off onto the yellow brick road here. My point was supposed to be that for every good film made from a children’s book, there seem to be an awful lot of terrible ones. I think this especially applies to picture books. A picture book story is intentionally short. Making it long enough to fill up a 90-minute movie completely changes and, more often than not, ruins it. And it doesn’t help that most of the additions tend to fall into these unimaginative categories: zany hi-jinks, sappy sentiment and potty “humor.”

Author Chris Van Allsburg once said that those who write for adults have to worry about what Hollywood screenwriters take out of their book when adapting it for the screen. This holds true for longer, more sophisticated children's books as well—think Harry Potter and Little Women. But most children’s writers have to worry about what screenwriters put in. He was right to worry. Jumanji looked like a movie with ADD. And despite the state-of-the-art special effects and presence of actor extraordinaire Tom Hanks, The Polar Express has little of the magic and charm of the original picture book. Turning that hushed and lovely train trip to the North Pole into a roller coaster thrill ride was both unnecessary and obnoxious. (Sorry, Tom! Still love you, though!)

Other terrible film adaptations? Rod Howard, a guy you can usually count on for high-quality entertainment, has much to answer for with his wretched version of Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It wasn’t just that he stuffed it with all kinds of senseless, boring plotlines, he actually changed the story so that the Grinch ends up teaching the Whos not to be materialistic. Just unforgivable.

Conversely, some of the best children’s movies have been from original screenplays. The geniuses at Pixar, for example, wrote incredible stories that became Toy Story, Toy Story 2 (see, Tom? You were brilliant in these!), Cars and Up. All the characters and situations in those movies are organic—they feel as though they belong there, instead of being grafted on to fill up time or to meet "famous actor" quotas. Maybe Hollywood should consider keeping its grubby paws off beloved children’s books—especially picture books—and just hiring talented screenwriters instead.

So what are the chances that Cloudy and Wild Things will retain the magic of the books? I’m not optimistic, but would love to be pleasantly surprised.

While you all wait breathlessly for my verdict, take a look at these other page-to-screen projects for children's books, in no particular order except the one in which they popped into my head. I didn't repeat any I already mentioned. Feel free to chime in, challenge, or point out any you love/hate that I may have missed/boycotted (yes, I’m looking at you, Cat in the Hat!)

Pretty Good
The Snowman (Raymond Briggs), 1982 – gorgeous, inventive, charming, and the only picture book in the bunch
The Brave Little Toaster (Thomas M. Disch), 1987
Because of Winn-Dixie (Kate DiCamillo), 2005
Holes (Louis Sachar), 2003
Sounder (William H. Armstrong), 1972
Call it Courage (Armstrong Sperry),1987
Flight of Dragons (Peter Dickison), 1986

Pretty Dismal
Ella Enchanted (Gail Carson Levine), 2004
The Tale of Despereaux (Kate DiCamillo), 2008
Stuart Little (E.B. White), 1999
Heidi (Johanna Spyri), 1937 Shirley Temple version
The Borrowers (Mary Norton), 1997

James and the Giant Peach (Roald Dahl), 1996
Little House on the Prarie (Laura Ingalls Wilder), 2006 ABC-TV miniseries

*Oh my gosh, do yourself a favor and run to the theater to see Julie & Julia. It’s just delicious, pun intended. Trust me, you’ll never think of butter the same way again!

A Satisfying Summer

When I last talked about my writing projects, I was mulling over an ending for Anna Mei: Cartoon Girl. A lot has happened since then, so I thought it was time for an update. Here’s what I’ve been working on lately:

Anna Mei
I completed rewrites on the book, including that new ending my editor had requested. I knew it would be a short passage but an important one, and I considered several versions. The one I chose came to me as I was drifting off to sleep one night (as excellent ideas often do!). It’s no “Tomorrow is another day,” of course, but I’m delighted to report that my editor liked it. In fact, “I love the new ending,” she wrote. “Just a lovely, lovely way to wrap up the book.”

I thought we might be tweaking things for a bit longer, but in that same email she said, “As far as I'm concerned, you are finished. ANNA MEI, CARTOON GIRL IS PERFECT.
Whee!” Never having considered a single thing I’ve ever written to be “perfect,” I had to resist the temptation to ask her if I could take another crack at it. Instead, I echoed her “Whee!,” only I did it out loud in my family room, which made the dog jump up and rush to the door, intent on thwarting the impending invasion she was sure must be lurking outside. It was a great moment anyway.

Since then, PBM has held a “positioning meeting” to discuss details about Anna Mei’s publication. They determined an official release date (April 1, 2010) as well as book size, cover finish and illustration style. They also released the information to Amazon.com, where you can officially see a page for a book that doesn’t exist yet! Apparently this serves as a place holder, and the publisher will feed them more information as it becomes available. Even with nothing on the page but the book title and an ISB number, it’s still thrilling to log on and see it there.

Anna Mei, Part 2… and 3?
It’s a good thing I like my little character because I haven’t seen the last of her yet. My next task is to send the editor some ideas for a sequel, to be published next year. Here’s part of her request: “People here are very, very enthusiastic about Anna Mei. It would be fantastic to come out with another book in 2011... If by any chance you’re overflowing with ideas and want to shape them into two books, so much the better.”

I've been jotting some ideas down but nothing is solidified yet. Maybe I should start keeping a notepad by the bed, in the hopes that night time inspiration will strike again...

Friends Story Collection
The first Pauline Books & Media short story collection, Friend 2 Friend, came out on June 1st as scheduled. It includes the two short stories I wrote about a few weeks ago, along with 10 others by various authors. To date, it has four ratings on Amazon, all of them 5-star, so someone likes it! I think it’s ideal for kids in grades 4-7. I’m hoping schools will pick up on it and order some copies this fall. In fact, it’s on my to-do list to send the names of my local schools to the PBM marketing department.

Christmas Story Collection
Although the weather has been gorgeously summery for the past few weeks, I’ve been busy writing a Christmas story! With Friend 2 Friend completed, PBM has started working on another collection, to be released in August 2010. They commissioned a story from me, asking for a Christmas theme and a male main character. I’ve written lots of stories about boys but have never done a Christmas one before—in fact, most of my boy characters have been playing soccer
(right, David?). Anyway, it was a little weird thinking about twinkling Christmas lights while watching the fireflies come out, but I think it turned out well. It’s due in a few days and I’m just letting it simmer a bit before I give it a final polish.

A Second Serving of Soup
Since five makes a nice round number for a list, I’ll end by mentioning a story I just submitted to Chicken Soup for the Soul. They post upcoming titles on their website, and as I learned with Empty Nesters, they get thousands and thousands of stories for each book. But I’ve really enjoyed my association with them and thought it was worth a shot. If and when I hear anything —many, many months from now—I’ll be sure and let you know.

It’s been a busy, productive and satisfying summer of writing so far. But I’ve made sure to sip a little lemonade (just for you, Jodi!) and to stop and smell the roses here and there. So unless those evil invaders actually do penetrate my dog shield, I should be in pretty good shape come fall.

Just Get Going!

It’s graduation season again, a time when we congratulate the high school and college grads in our lives and send them on their way to whatever future awaits. The occasion seems to call for advice-giving, which can be a tricky thing. After all, it assumes that we adults are qualified to tell younger people what they should be doing with their lives, when really, aren’t an awful lot of us still trying to figure that out for ourselves?

Still, some of the advice I’ve run across over the years does ring true to me, and I wouldn’t hesitate to pass it on to today’s graduates. One of my favorite bits is from the exceptionally wise and wonderful Dr. Seuss:

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own
And you know what you know.
You are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

~Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

For some people, though, being the master of your own destiny seems more terrifying than thrilling. How do you choose when there is so much to choose from? How do you know what you will want to be doing a few years from now? A few decades from now? What is the magic “thing” you are meant to spend your life doing?

Some young adults I know seem almost paralyzed by these questions. If they pick one thing, they can’t pick another, and that means they might miss out on something. They’re afraid of choosing the wrong path, afraid of dooming themselves to be unhappy or unfulfilled, afraid of having regrets about their choice.

So how do you know what you want

Til you get what you want,

And you see if you like it?
All I know is, what I want most of all
Is to know what I want.

~Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods

To those people I would say (and have said, as certain members of my family will attest): “It doesn’t matter that much what you decide to do now—just make your best guess and get going!” I strongly believe that standing in one spot worrying about the next step is exactly the wrong thing to do.

Stop worrying where you're going—move on!

If you can know where you're going, you've gone.

Just keep moving on.

~Stephen Sondheim, Sunday in the Park with George

I guess I’m not sure there is a magic thing for everyone. I’ve found that it’s the rare person who grew up knowing exactly what he or she wanted to do, then went on to be happily content doing that. Most people I know started on a certain path but found that it led them to unexpected places. Their journey wasn’t all mapped out—it’s more that they made a series of choices that led them in a direction they couldn’t have predicted.

I’m certainly one of those people. An avid reader and diligent student, I went to college with the vague notion of becoming a teacher. Then a guidance counselor (whose name I can’t recall, luckily for him!) told me to steer clear of teaching, as there was an overabundance of teachers, jobs were scarce and pay was low. He suggested I simply earn an English degree and then figure out my direction later. Being too naïve to realize that this was probably just a ploy to get me to shell out money for grad school, I shrugged and said, “Okay.” Then fresh out of college, English degree in hand, new husband by my side, I looked around and thought, "Hmmm, now what do I do?”

By sheer chance I ended up taking a job as an administrative assistant for an agency that served families during their childbearing years. I worked with nurses and other professionals who really cared about the health and well-being of parents and their kids. It was a very nurturing atmosphere in which to start my own family, and I know that the things I learned there made me a better parent than I might have been. I also learned to be organized and prepared. I learned to trouble-shoot and problem-solve. I took my first computer training classes there and produced the agency’s first newsletter.

The point is that I never planned to have that kind of job—I intended to stay for only a short time. But it didn't take me long to realize that I had stumbled onto the perfect situation. I could fulfill my need for meaningful work of my own while still being a very hands-on mom. After the kids were born I worked part-time, leaving every day at 3:00 PM so I could pick them up at school. On my days off I was their classroom aide, library assistant, reading helper, room mother. The job I hadn't known I wanted turned out to be a perfect fit.

As a wonderful, unpredictable bonus, the woman who hired and mentored me (also named Carol, which led to much confusion and amusement over the years) has been the kind of lifelong friend most people only dream of having. We ended up living next door to each other for a while. Our families grew up together; our lives and memories are forever entwined. Knowing them has been, and continues to be, a rich blessing.

So here I am, many years post-graduate, with good friends, a healthy family, work I love, and success as a published children’s writer. But it didn’t happen from any one big decision about what I would be or what I would do. I just kept going, making new choices every time my path turned and adjusting my plans whenever they no longer seemed to fit.

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.

~Author Unknown

So to my nephew Justin and all the other new graduates out there I would say only this: get going! Things evolve. Trust that there is something wonderful out there waiting for you. And remember that everything you learn along the way goes with you, so try really hard at whatever you find yourself doing in the meantime.

Excellence is not a skill. It is an attitude. ~Ralph Marston

And at the risk of once again “ending with someone else’s words” (ahem), here’s a final favorite quote to help you when you can’t quite figure things out. It's a never-fail method, I promise:

If at first you don't succeed, do it like your mother told you.

~Author Unknown

The Little Stories That Could

I’m usually sorry to see May come to an end. It’s probably my favorite month, what with my birthday, my husband’s birthday, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day and graduations all combining for what’s practically a 31-day celebration. Adding to those pleasures is the pure delight of warm sunshine, fresh air and beautiful foliage that make spring in Michigan worth waiting for. The forsythia, lilacs, redbud, tulip trees and flowering fruit trees have been just spectacular this year.

But for once I’ve had a special reason to be in a hurry for June to arrive. On June 1, Pauline Books & Media released their new short story collection, Friend 2 Friend. It’s for kids ages 8-12 and includes 12 different stories about (surprise!) friendship. Mine are “The Challenge,” about two boys on a bike race, and “Friends in Deed,” about a girl who discovers an essential truth about friendship while babysitting.

Both stories originally appeared in “My Friend” magazine. It was exciting at the time but I never expected either of them to be heard from again. Nor did I dream they would be my ticket to eventual book publication. The editor of Friend 2 Friend—Diane Lynch—is the one who approached me about writing a novel for that age group, and now Anna Mei: Cartoon Girl is on the fast track for a June 2010 release.

So you could say it all started with these two stories, and I’m delighted that they will be read by a much wider audience now. How wide remains to be seen, of course! I will receive a small number of contributor copies, which I plan to donate to local schools and libraries. If teachers and students like the book, maybe those small seeds will grow into larger sales.

In the meantime, you can read more about Friend 2 Friend on the PBM blog. It already has two reviews there. It's available for sale at Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and for anyone who does decide to order a copy, please consider registering at those sites to leave your own reviews (unless you don’t like it, of course, in which case you should feel free not to share your opinion with the world!).

So this year, here’s to June—a month almost as wonderful as May—and to the success of Friend 2 Friend, which I hope all the tweens in your life will love. And most of all, I’ll raise a glass (of lemonade, naturally) to those two little stories that could.

Famous Last Words

Revisions on Anna Mei are due this week. I’m down to the last few sections that need tweaking, including beefing up the role of a minor character that could appear in a possible sequel. She’s like the bit player waiting in the wings and hoping a bigger part comes along next time. Good luck, Zandra—I hope it works out for you!

The task that’s weighing heaviest is
coming up with an additional sentence or two for the ending. The final setting is the night before Thanksgiving, and I used a quote about gratitude to end it. While the editor likes the quote, she wants an ending in Anna Mei’s words, to make it more personal. And the thing is, she’s absolutely right.

I think I’ve always struggled with figuring out the exact words that will wrap up a story in a perfect bow. In college I liked to end my term papers with scholarly quotes, which worked like a charm until I ran up against Dr. Robert Weisbuch, head of the English Department at the University of Michigan. “Overall it’s quite good,” he wrote at the bottom of my first paper for his class. “Your research holds up and your points are well thought out. But it’s weak to end with someone else’s words.” Busted!

A few years ago I was submitting a short story called “Peter Keeps Cool” to children’s magazines. Paula Morrow, an editor at Carus Publishing, actually took the time to write a personal note on the rejection form. She said that she had really enjoyed the story—it was lively and whimsical, and perfectly captured the loving relationship between a mother and her young son. But she thought the ending fell flat, that it didn’t measure up to the playful atmosphere I’d built up in the story. She invited me to rework the ending and submit it again.

It was a generous offer, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away. Besides, I could see exactly what she meant. I came up with a modified ending that maintained the playful tone of the story, and sent it back—along with a thank you note—to Paula. Not only was “Peter” published in Ladybug Magazine, it has been resold to two different testing companies. So far I’ve made more income from that little story than anything else I’ve ever written!

Coming up with the perfect ending is no small feat. For inspiration (sometimes spelled “procrastination”), I came up with a list of some of my favorite last lines. I think you’ll recognize most of them, but just to make it a little more interesting, I put the book titles at the bottom.

1. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning.

2. Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere.

3. So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

4. After all, tomorrow is another day.

5. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

6. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.

7. Thank you, thank you, Sam I am.

8. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.

9. Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye and sailed back over a year and in and out of weeks and through a day and into the night of his very own room, where he found his supper waiting for him, and it was still hot.

10. Well, I’m back.

Aren’t they great? They illuminate what came before and make you wish the story could go on forever. Here are the gifted authors who wrote them:

1. Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird
2. Margaret Wise Brown, Goodnight Moon
3. F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
4. Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
5. A. A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner
6. Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
7. Dr. Seuss, Green Eggs and Ham
8. Henry David Thoreau, Walden
9. Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are
10. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

So, that's it for now, I guess. Um... the end?

Magic Mailbox

A few weeks have passed since I last wrote about Anna Mei, so I thought it was time for an update.

For one thing, getting the mail has certainly been more fun lately—I keep finding treasures tucked in there among the bills and the credit card applications. First to arrive was a nice “Welcome to the Family” packet from the publisher, including their 2009 catalog and a detailed style sheet for submitting my final document. I also got a lovely hand-written note from my editor and a PBM ballpoint pen, which I had to rescue from the dog when it rolled off the table, everything on the floor being automatically perceived as hers. Just ask all the poor socks that have suffered an untimely (not to mention slobbery) death by shredding.

A few days later my contract arrived—eleven pages of whereases and hereunders that I had to distill somehow into actual English. My favorite part is the one that refers to selling the rights to my manuscript “in all forms and all media now known or hereafter developed throughout the world.” That pretty much covers it, right? So in the future when we are all reading books via microchips implanted into our brains, mine will apparently already come preloaded, even for people who live in Outer Mongolia. I think I can live with that.

After shooting a few questions over to the Business Office manager, I was ready to sign on the dotted line. Normally I would use my “lucky” pen, the one my son David gave me to celebrate my first sale. I’ve been using it to sign my cover letters when sending in submissions, and it has done a pretty great job for me so far. But since this sale was already a done deal I figured I’d seal it with my official PBM pen (once I’d wiped off the dog drool, of course).

Next I heard from the editor again, who seems almost as excited about this project as I am, and to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude for getting the ball rolling. She outlined her suggestions for improving the story and asked that I lay a foundation for (dare I say it?) a sequel. She also wondered if I had any suggestions about cover art. How exciting to think of seeing the character of Anna Mei brought to life by an illustrator!

So now the ball’s back in my court—it’s time to start sharpening and revising my story so that it’s as perfect as possible before being shipped off to Boston again. Not that this process will be a piece of cake or anything, but it will certainly be sweetened by the most recent treasure to show up in my mailbox—a check! This is the “advance” I get to keep whether Anna Mei sells one copy or one million. Eventually I’ll figure out something special to use it for, but for now I only have two primary goals:

1.) get those revisions done, and

2.) keep that check from falling on the floor.
_________________________________________

P.S. I finally have my "Comments" button enabled, so please feel free to leave a comment about this post or any of those that appear below.

Time to Sing

Spring! I know it officially began on March 20, but let’s be realistic—as author Henry Van Dyke once pointed out, “The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another.” At least it is in Michigan, where a good month might separate the two events.

For me, celebrating Easter is the thing that tells me spring is here. The actual weather on that day doesn’t matter so much. Even when accompanied by that most unwelcome of guests—snow!—Easter still manages to speak to me of soft pastel colors and fresh green smells. In my mind’s eye I always see it the way it looks in children's picture books—all painted eggs and downy chicks, crinkly cellophane and shiny foil, yellow forsythia branches and potted red tulips.

When I was little, my bothers and sisters and I would hunt for candy in our living room, then get dressed in our Easter finery for church. I don’t know how my parents did it—not just the corralling and scrubbing of five kids who had eaten chocolate bunnies for breakfast, but providing those spectacular, once-a-year outfits that were such a departure from our drab school uniforms and hand-me-down play clothes.

Here's a picture of us taken a few years before my youngest sister was born (that's me on the left). We girls always had ruffled, pastel-colored dresses, lacy ankle socks, shiny patent leather shoes, all topped off with flowered hats. And check out my sister's white gloves! Our brothers wore dress pants and jackets, white button-down shirts with ties, miniature lace-up dress shoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had starched handkerchiefs tucked into their pockets. Do kids dress like that anymore? Ever? Anyway, even though I was never a frilly, dressy-up kind of girl, I never minded making an exception for those lovely, floaty Easter outfits.

All grown up and blessed with three sons,
I could never duplicate the glory of my own childhood finery (sorry, Mom!), but I did my best to find suitable dress-up clothes they could wear to church. It was often quite a challenge, considering the day might bring sun, rain, snow, or possibly a combination of all three. Looking through our family pictures, you’d see each of these outfits exactly three times, as they passed down—barely used—from brother to brother.

But no matter how much time passes, my feelings about Easter don't change. There's still something about it that speaks to my soul—the return of light and warmth to my everyday world, the purple hyacinths and yellow daffodils poking up through the muddy patches, the colored eggs and baby lambs that make me think of birth and rebirth. There’s something about squishing into a pew next to all the other gussied-up people who woke up that morning in a world filled with hope and light, singing the glorious old hymns that celebrate “our triumphant holy day.”

A song my boys learned in grade school had these simple but profound lyrics: “In the spring, everything starts to sing!” You can be sure that “everything” includes me.