Sweet, Simple Things

A Fresh New Look

2010-10-05T22:34:00.011-04:00

I just realized that this month marks the 10th anniversary of my professional writing life. In October of 2000, I got the news that a story I had written about the art of quilting in colonial America would be published by Cobblestone, a history magazine for ages 9-14. That first sale led to others, and eventually I built up a list of credits that basically served as a resume.

Since so much of the business of freelance writing takes place online—market research, interviews, submissions, collaboration with editors and other writers—I knew that eventually my resume would need to go online, too. Having a professional site allows you not only to list credits, but to show editors and other potential employers your level of commitment.
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I decided to hire a fledgling designer to create a website for me—my son, David. He actually built the whole thing from scratch, using HTML and a lot of other hocus pocus I know nothing about. The result was a unique site completely customized to my specifications. In February of 2009, CarolAGrund.com was officially launched, just in time for my first public appearance at a women’s expo.

Not long afterward, I was contacted by an editor about writing a full-length middle grade novel. I was glad I could refer her to my website, where she could see my credits, learn a little about me, and get a sense of my writing style from the blog entries linked to the site. I can’t say that having a website got me the job, but I do know it was an important step in my transition from hobbyist to professional.

After serving me well for a year and a half, I decided that the site needed a facelift. So I went back to my favorite designer, who by this time was attending a digital media & arts school in Chicago. Once again David waved his magic wand, producing a clean, fresh design to showcase my work. Of course, what seems like magic to me actually represents a lot of instruction, hard-won experience, and many, many hours of his time. The finished product showcases his hard work and talent as well.

So without further ado, it’s my pleasure to direct you to the new and improved CarolAGrund.com. (If you already have this site in your cache, you may need to refresh to see the new version.) I hope you’ll take a few minutes to check it out, including some new features like a press page and a dedicated Anna Mei section. All feedback is appreciated, so please don’t hesitate to let me know if you have any suggestions. You can also scroll down to the bottom of any page and click on David’s name to see the site for his gaming development company. One of his projects recently won an award from an online design community. Next time I need him to design a website, I will probably have to get in a very long line!

Accentuate the “Positive”

In other fall news, a Chicken Soup for the Soul book titled Think Positive has just been released, with my story called “Sudden Clearing” appearing on page 271. It’s an account of an experience I had shortly after buying a new house, one that had all the earmarks of a disaster but turned out to be, as they say, a blessing in disguise. The book is available at most bookstores right now, as well as online.

About that Sequel…

For an update about the sequel to Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl—including the official title!—pop over to my Anna Mei blog. Work on book 3 continues, but that’s a post for another day...

Days of Endless Summer

2010-09-06T18:48:00.056-04:00

The older I get, the more my summers seem to go like this: Memorial Day—> whoosh! —> Labor Day. I’m not exactly sure when this started to happen. All I know is that summer once seemed very different than it does now.

There used to be an eternity—give or take a millennium—between the last school bell in June and the first one in September. I remember zooming out the door of my elementary school and into glorious, sunshiny freedom. Summer stretched out ahead of me like an endless green lawn, dotted here and there with yellow butterflies, while the faint jingle of an ice cream truck sounded somewhere off in the distance.

Back then almost every house in our suburban neighborhood was bursting at the seams with kids. There were the baby boomers, already in their teens and sporting the long hair and tattered jeans that made them seem somehow exotic and unapproachable. The youngest kids in these families, the ones I ended up babysitting for, were the first of the Gen-Xers.

But the ones in between—the tail-end boomers born in the late 50s and early 60s—those are the ones who ruled summers when I was a kid. Nobody was in daycare. We just woke up, slipped on a striped or plaid shirt and a pair of shorts, poured ourselves a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, and headed outside. Calling each other first to make plans? Unheard of. We just knocked on the doors and asked the moms if our friends could come out and play.

Me (far right) and the backyard
Kool-Aid stand I won in a contest

And boy, did we play. Climbing trees, catching butterflies, building forts, jumping rope, challenging each other to squirt gun fights and bike races. Eeny-meeny-miney-mo! Red Rover, Red Rover, and Mother May I? Endless games of kickball and dodgeball and baseball in someone’s backyard. The yards were small so we were always calling interference! and do over! whenever the ball hit a clothesline or a swingset.

Sometimes a mom would bring out Dixie cups full of Kool-Aid, or slices of watermelon, or a boxful of popsicles, which we gulped down gratefully. Moving from yard to yard, you could manage to have sticky fingers practically from breakfast until bathtime. And if you got thirsty, every yard had a hose, hooked up to a handy spigot.

Make-believe was part of summer, too. Spy shows and westerns were popular then, so we assigned parts and acted out episodes from The Man from U.N.C.L.E. or Roy Rogers. Sometimes we cobbled together costumes and put on plays out in the garage, charging the moms and younger kids 10¢ for popcorn.

My husband Jim (center)
and neighborhood pals

We were expected home for supper, of course, but after that the porch lights went on. Then it was Kick the Can at dusk, catching fireflies in jars, and playing Sardines until you were the last one left and your own yard suddenly seemed like a scary, alien planet. When the dads came outside to call us in, that meant a cool bath, maybe a little TV, and then falling asleep to the sound of chirping crickets and whirring fans.

Back then, summer seemed to spin out with endless days like this. As soon as one was over, another would begin, with no end in sight. So by Labor Day, I felt ready to leave the long, hot days behind and get back to school where a whole different set of friends awaited me. I don’t remember pausing to look back.

Now I wonder why I didn’t appreciate those childhood summers more. I guess I thought it would always be that way, that there would always be more of everything waiting just around the corner—more sunshine, more running through the fresh-mown grass, more eating cherry popsicles, more laughing so hard your sides ached, until you literally had to fall down on the ground and make yourself stop.

Ferry Boat ride to Mackinac Island

Having kids of my own and seeing summer through their eyes brought some of the old feelings back to me, and I’m grateful for that. It was fun to take them to the beach, run with them down the big hill at the park, go camping together. They rammed around our neighborhood with friends, caught butterflies in the garden, put on carnivals in the backyard, slept out on our screened porch.

In fact, I would say that their childhood summers were some of their happiest days, too. I hope so. I also hope they get to relive them with their kids someday. My wish for them, now and forever, is a life where the sunshine and popsicles and laughter are always right there in reach, as sweet and delicious as an endless summer day.

Coming Up for Air

2010-07-25T21:12:00.026-04:00

Today I feel like a swimmer who has traveled a long way underwater and then, upon surfacing, looks around in confusion at her surroundings. My thoughts go something like this: How could I have ended up here, near the end of July, when I dove into this project way back there, in February?

The weeks in between are a blur, which explains why I've neglected this blog for so long. I had hoped to use it as a sort of journal, chronicling my experiences as a working writer. But I’ve been so busy with the “working” part that I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone do any “journaling.” And although I regret the missed opportunity, I can at least look back at the past few amazing months and summarize the experience as best I can.

In February I began writing the sequel to Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl. The basics of the storyline had been approved by the editorial staff at Pauline Books & Media, but Diane, the wonderful editor who had guided me through rewrites on the original book, had left for another job. While I continued to churn out pages, I definitely felt the lack of guidance. And I worried whether the new editor they eventually hired would want massive changes.

In the middle of all this, Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl was released on April 1st! What a thrill to open a carton of books and hold them in my hands. Suddenly my efforts turned from working on the new book to promoting this one.

I started by creating a special Anna Mei website, so that readers could easily find reviews, a list of booksellers, resources and some book-related projects and information for kids. I visited local bookstores with ordering information, so they could stock the book. I also created teacher packets and delivered them to local schools, hoping that teachers might read the book over the summer and consider using it in their classrooms this fall. The packets included an article I wrote about Anna Mei, which appeared in the spring issue of PBM's
quarterly magazine.

My most exciting event during this time was throwing a book launch party in May, so friends and family could come and celebrate this milestone with me. I signed a lot of books that day and really enjoyed chatting with everyone who stopped by.

Then in June, I was invited to make my very first school presentations. I traveled to my nieces' school in upstate New York to meet with kids in grades K-6 about being a children’s writer, and to talk with them about Anna Mei and Friend 2 Friend. I was really nervous but the kids were enthusiastic and asked amazing questions (“Was it hard having an editor who wanted you to change your words?” This from a third grader!) The school had even arranged to have newspaper coverage of my visit, and a nice article appeared in the local paper the very next day. My first press clipping! The reporter did a good job of transcribing my remarks, but I'm not too happy with the picture of me with my eyes closed...

Following the school presentations, I was the guest of honor at a reception hosted by my brother and sister-in-law, whose two daughters helped inspire the story of Anna Mei (that's eight-year-old Ana in the picture). I met a lot of friendly and interesting people, including quite
a few kids who confided that they liked to write stories, too. I loved signing their books and encouraging them to keep at it—and to save those stories and poems! I wanted them to know that even unfinished ones can serve as a springboard to a new project.

Only a few days after arriving home from that trip, I drove to Grand Rapids to do a book sale and signing at an annual event for families with adopted children from China, Eastern Europe, Korea and Latin America. My niece Kristina, who is from Russia, has been attending the camp for several years. I met quite a few of the girls adopted from China—several were actually named Anna! Some of their parents told me that it’s very difficult to find books for this age group that include—let alone feature—an adopted character. Although anyone who has ever worried about fitting in will be able to relate to Anna Mei, I hope the story resonates in a special way with these girls.

Meanwhile, with all of this going on, there was one more little thing I was supposed to be doing, something about writing another book...? At some point along the way a new children’s editor was hired, and with Jaymie’s expert guidance, I was able to keep the project from going off course and off schedule. After months of hard work we ironed out the last few details last week. Which means I’m delighted to report that the book is now finished! It’s scheduled to be released in February 2011 and features an expanded role for Anna Mei’s friend Zandra, as well as much more about Danny Gallagher, a character who has received quite a lot of fan mail. In fact, if Anna Mei is not careful, he’s liable to steal these stories right out from under her nose!

I have much more to talk about—both writing-related and life-related—but the rest will have to wait a little while. Now that I've resurfaced I need some time to feel the sun on my face and solid ground under my feel. I need to reflect on the journey I've just taken. And most of all, I need a nice, long nap.

Painting: The Swimmer by Lina Golan

To All My "Moms," with Love

2010-05-10T01:06:00.066-04:00

My mother is a neverending song in my heart—of comfort, happiness and being.

I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.

~Graycie Harmon

I couldn’t let Mother’s Day go by without acknowledging this gentlest of holidays. I love the sweetness of it, like the way it’s marked with little fistfuls of handpicked flowers instead of skies full of fireworks, with slices of burnt toast instead of platters heaped with turkey dinners. I wanted to write something that would honor the women who showed me what motherhood could be, long before I had children of my own.

When I was a kid, most Mother's Days included visits with my two grandmothers. They lived about a half hour’s drive apart—one on a busy city street and the other on a dirt road in the country. They were different in other ways, too, but both were wonderful cooks who loved having “company” come to visit. (Does anyone use that word anymore to describe their guests? We kids were often told that certain treats were for "company,” not for us!)

I still remember how it felt to watch these women as they went about their lives—so gracious, so competent, so filled with housewifely knowledge and easy expertise. They made me want to be a member of that club someday. And they had a gift for making me feel like I was someone special, someone cherished. The fact that I was only one of dozens of grandkids made no difference to them at all.

My grandmothers may have set high standards, but my mother seemed to have no trouble living up to them. Married in the fifties, she had four children in six years. How she managed to get us all clean, fed and off to school on time—even after my youngest sister came along a few years later—is a mystery I’ll never solve. If you asked her now she would shrug and answer with genuine humility, “Things had to be done—I just did them.” It may qualify as the understatement of the century.

For all the years of my childhood, my mother routinely performed the magic trick of pulling items like these out of her hat: freshly-pressed white uniform blouses (for the girls) and blue dress shirts (for the boys); brown bag lunches customized to the particular taste of each child (baloney with mustard for me, PB & J for my brothers, and for my older sister—liverwurst! yuck!); endless milk money, school supplies and permission slips; homecooked dinners on the table at 5:30 sharp; costumes for trick-or-treating and school plays; wardrobes that included everything from the most basic “play clothes” to the lace-trimmed anklets, black patent leather shoes and clip-on ties we wore for dress up occasions.

Where did all this bounty come from, day after day? It was as if she whipped it up out of nothing but thin air and a spatula. Only later did I start to comprehend the incredible amount of skill, patience and stamina it takes to be a mother like this. But what I did know, even then, was that we kids were safe and happy in a world where someone loved us and encouraged us to do our best. And the someone wasn’t a distant, shadowy figure or a housewife too busy with chores to notice us—she was right there, hugging us and making paper dolls for us and washing our hair in the kitchen sink and rocking us to sleep whenever we felt sick or had a bad dream.

When I was pregnant with my oldest son, my mom was the first person I told. When I brought him home from the hospital (honestly, what were they thinking—sending that tiny, helpless infant home with me?), my mom came and stayed with us, doing laundry, cooking meals and getting up with me for 2:00 AM feedings. More importantly, she was my personal cheerleader, assuring me that I really

could do this mothering thing. Even though I eventually got better at it, she still came and stayed with me when my other two children were born. And I cried buckets when she had to go home—all three times!

I credit these incredible women for showing me what strength and hard work and a loving heart look like. Obviously they knew times of heartache and struggle, but these women coped. In fact, they did more than cope—they overcame. With grace and quiet dignity, they persevered.

As an adult, I have been lucky to have one other woman in my life who shared many of those same qualities—my mother-in-law. Florence welcomed me into her family when I was barely out of my teens. A talented seamstress, she bought me my first sewing machine, then helped me make a quilt as a wedding present. She loved to bake and was always delighted to share her recipes with me.

Over the years I learned more about her as a person—how she had grown up in Chicago, had a career as a working girl, taken care of her aging mother for many years. Eventually, her generous spirit led her to marry a widower with three young children to raise. She took that on, and within a few years had added two more children to the family. To supplement their income, she sold Avon products, working so hard at it that she quickly became one of the company’s top sellers. That was typical—Florence never did anything halfway. She threw her heart and soul and boundless energy into everything she did.

The two greatest treasures in her life were her family and her faith. She was a perfect example of someone who "walked the talk," working tirelessly for her church community and many charities. People said she had a “servant’s heart,” but that shouldn’t be misinterpreted as meaning mild-mannered or weak-willed. She had strong opinions, all right, but she didn’t let them override her willingness to look after the needs of others. Even as she aged and grew physically weaker, that generous spirit never changed.

Florence passed away last Sunday, just one week shy of what would have been her 54th Mother’s Day. I was privileged to be among the family and friends who gathered for a beautiful funeral service celebrating her faith, her love, her courage and her spirit. Through our tears, my husband and I thought about Florence today, wishing her a Happy Mother's Day and thanking her for the many gifts she left behind.

The sweetest sounds to mortals given

Are heard in “Mother,” “Home” and “Heaven.”

~William Goldsmith Brown

Harbingers

2010-03-09T22:26:00.025-05:00

"You know it’s spring when the sandhill cranes come back!"

A couple of years ago, when we first toured this house with a realtor, I was reading the spec sheet to learn the details of the property. In a section describing the wetlands beyond the hayfield, the owner had written the sentence above.

It seemed like an unusual thing to include in a real estate description, and at the time I paid little attention to it. I was infinitely more interested in details like square footage and whether the tanks in the drain field were working properly.

The first summer we moved in, though, I really enjoyed having those cranes around. They had a very distinctive call and were quite beautiful in flight. There were always three of them, never just one or two. One was noticeably smaller than the others, so we surmised that this must be a family, sharing a nest together in our wetlands.

They stayed through the fall but were gone when the cold weather came. It was a particularly harsh winter in Michigan, that first year. It seemed to snow nearly every day, and our power got knocked out twice by high winds (no generator yet—it’s still on our wish list). Then just when it seemed as if winter would never end, and the world outside my window would stay frozen forever, the cranes came back.

And that was it—the last of the cold weather. The air began to smell musty, like dirt and rain and roots. Tiny shoots started poking out of the ground. The frozen wetlands grew mushy again. We hung up our winter coats and hats and gloves. It was spring.

Last year, only two of the cranes came back. Jim and I told ourselves that the third one had finally grown up and left home, and the remaining two were now empty nesters, like us. We hoped that’s what happened, anyway. We like to think that Crane, Jr. is out there somewhere, with a family of his own.

A few days ago, Jim was out in the backyard with the dog when he suddenly came and knocked on the kitchen window. “Can you see them?” he asked, pointing through the trees. “Right there.” At first I couldn’t see anything,

but then one of them moved. And then the other. Then they both took off over the house, long necks and graceful wings outstretched. Jim and I smiled at each other, because we’re believers now.

No matter what the calendar or the weatherman or the Farmer’s Almanac might say, we know the true harbinger of spring: it’s when the sandhill cranes come back.

Manuscript Update
One of the consequences to letting people know about a work in progress is that they tend to ask things like, “So, how’s the book coming along?” On different days I have different answers—the process of creating something from nothing has been both exhilarating and exhausting.

To give you some idea of what it's like, I’ll close with a couple of quotes (I know, I just can’t help myself!). The first is an often-told story about James Joyce. When asked by a friend about his manuscript in progress, he said with some exasperation, “I’ve written seven words today.” The friend replied, “Well, James, for you, actually, that’s not bad.” Joyce considered this, then said, “I suppose that’s true, but now I’ve got to figure out what order to put them in.”

And finally, here is Oscar Wilde on the subject of the writing process: “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again."

A Work in Progress

2010-02-19T19:21:00.050-05:00

“Every first draft is perfect, because

all it has to do is exist. The only

way it could be imperfect would be not to exist.” --Jane Smiley

I have this quote tacked to the bulletin board above my desk, to help me stay on course when I get stuck working on a new manuscript.

For me, first drafts can be excruciating. Even with an outline, there are so many decisions to make at every turn. Is that the exact word I want? Should this line of dialog go here? Does that setting need more detail? It’s so easy to get bogged down at this point, so easy to feel overwhelmed by the thought of all those blank pages lurking out there, needing to be filled. I wish I could just pull the thoughts out of my head and sprinkle them on the paper, like magic fairy dust.

I’ve found this stage to be especially challenging for the project I’m working on now—the first sequel to Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl. Since the characters and setting are already established, and the publisher has already approved the storyline, I expected it to be easier this time. But as I kept struggling with the first few chapters, it dawned on me that I had never written a sequel before, and I honestly had no idea how to do it.

It turns out that sequels are tricky little things, with their own unique set of decisions. Should the story stand alone, or is it considered merely the middle of a trilogy? Could I assume the reader had read the first book, or did I need to repeat some of the original story? And how would I find that nearly invisible line between filling in the new reader while not boring the returning reader to tears? It felt paralyzing at first.

It took a while to figure out an approach that weaves elements of the first book into the opening chapters of the new one, while also introducing new conflict and hinting at events to come. Since those chapters set the tone for the rest of the book, I really wanted them to be right. It was a relief to be able to share my work in progress with my editor—a huge advantage to being under contract versus being an aspiring author out there all alone! She assured me that I was on the right path and helped me feel confident in the decisions I’ve made so far.

While I'm busy working on this book, marketing efforts have begun for Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl. I was thrilled to see it listed in the “New Books for Spring” section of Publisher’s Weekly, the industry "bible" sent to thousands of publishers, libraries, bookstores and writers. I was asked to write a feature page about the book for my publisher’s quarterly magazine, Life & Soul. That comes out in March. They are working on a promotional video for the book, as well as a video interview with me, to post on their site and on youtube. And they are arranging for some radio and podcast interviews as well.

I’m sure I’d be nervous if I had time to think about all this, but right now it’s taking all the concentration I can

muster to produce a sequel I’m proud of. I’m pushing through, scene by scene, chapter by chapter, resisting the urge to make every word perfect before I can move on. I know that my strength as a writer is in the revision process. I’m much better at polishing than at producing from scratch. So all this first draft has to do is exist—I can come back later to sprinkle on a little magic fairy dust.

Still Sipping Soup

It’s been over a year since “Pedal Power” appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Empty Nesters, but the story continues to impact my life in a positive way. Last year I made a presentation and signed books at our local Woman's Expo, and now I’ve been invited to sign some for a local bookseller at a similar event in March. Recently a support group called “Empty Nest Moms” published the blog post I wrote as a follow-up to "Pedal Power" in their online magazine. I’m really thrilled that my musings on a topic so close to my heart continues to resonate with people!

Heard a Good Book Lately?

2010-01-26T20:19:00.062-05:00

There was a magic in words
greater than the conjurer's art.
- Jack London

Although I've discovered many pleasures in country living, commuting is not one of them. On a good day it takes 30 minutes to drive to my office downtown—longer when school buses, freight trains, crummy weather and construction zones get in the way.

I know that by some standards that isn’t bad, but for me it’s an hour a day of frustration and monotony. I can’t relax or daydream or work on a manuscript in my head, because I’m supposed to be, you know, paying attention to driving (something I wish my fellow commuters would do a little more of). I tried distracting myself with morning radio but couldn't take the incessant chatter or commercials. Besides, it can be pretty depressing starting the day with what passes for “news” sometimes.

Since I'm still iPod-less (and yes, I'm aware that it's the 21st century, thank you) I've had to rely on my CD collection. That was fine for a while, but there’s a limit to how many times even I can sing along to Carole King’s Tapestry album.

Then one day I asked a coworker and fellow commuter how she coped with her long drive every day. “Actually, I look forward to it,” she told me. “It’s the only chance I get all day to read.” If those cartoon lightbulbs over people’s heads were real, mine would have clicked on instantly, lighting up the whole city block.

Books! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. When the kids were young, we owned a few book/audiotape sets. I would pop a tape into the car’s cassette player, hand them the book, and they would “read” along, the little ding on the soundtrack telling them when it was time to turn the page. I remember that Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad series and Disney books based on movies like The Fox and the Hound were particular favorites.

When we’d go on an occasional long trip (Michigan —> Florida = 24 hours in the car, bleh) I always stopped by the library first to check out a few more audiobooks for the kids. I even tried it myself once or twice, since I’m one of those unfortunate people who gets queasy reading in the car. But back then, a full-length novel came in a giant plastic box with some 25 cassettes. Kind of clunky, to say the least, and a lot to keep track of when you were on vacation with three little kids.

In the years since then, I’ve driven roughly 3.26 million miles, but they were mostly with kids in tow—my kids, the kids in the carpool, the kids on the soccer team, the kids in the school play. I listened to whatever they were listening to, which evolved from Disney movie soundtracks to Hootie and the Blowfish, The Smashing Pumpkins, No Doubt, Matchbox 20. When I did happen to find myself alone in the car, I would usually just enjoy the peace and quiet.

But now, out of the chauffeur business and alone in the car for an hour a day, I’ve discovered that audiobooks are the perfect way to fill the empty spaces. Some of the first ones I tried were in the Harry Potter series, read by the brilliant Jim Dale. He must be some kind of wizard himself, because he sprinkled those books with magic, capturing the nuances of every character with just his amazing voice. I found out later that he won two Grammy Awards for his work on those books—I’m surprised it wasn’t more.

Sometimes audiobooks are enhanced because the author actually narrates them. This is especially true for nonfiction. Steve Martin’s autobiography, Born Standing Up, is a great example. Hearing him read the comedy bits sprinkled through the book is like performance art. And the serious parts seem even more poignant when you hear them in his own voice. Tom Brokaw also did a great job with Boom!, his collection of opinions and anecdotes about the 1960s.

Hearing stories told in authentic accents is another bonus of audiobooks. The Irish readers who narrate Maeve Binchy’s books have made me love them even more. Her words sound so much richer, sweeter and funnier than the way I hear them in my American head. Another example is the popular novel The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. Set during World War II, the story is comprised entirely of letters the characters send to each other. Hearing them read in different voices and accents adds to the authenticity, bringing a cast of dozens to believable life.

Not all books are well-suited for audio, of course. I remember my dad struggling with The DaVinci Code because the audio version couldn't show him the puzzles and anagrams he was supposed to be figuring out. Highly illustrated books like those in Jeff Kinney's wonderful Diary of a Wimpy Kid series would never work, either. And certainly I've run across books that would have benefitted from a more talented voice actor.

But now I’m addicted. I sometimes arrive at work right in the middle of an exciting scene, only to have to wait in suspense all day until it’s time to drive home. And it makes me crazy when I get in the car and realize I don’t have a book to listen to. Then it's time to jump online and browse the library’s catalog to see what's available on CD (much more compact—heh—and user friendly than the old cassettes).

Now the CDs themselves are about to make way for the newest format—eAudiobooks. These electronic files are downloaded directly from an online store to a computer or MP3. The library has them, too—you download them and after the three-week “lending period,” they disappear from your computer. I don’t get how they do that, but it’s cool! In fact, it may just be the motivation that finally gets me to buy an iPod.

New Year, New Words

2010-01-09T14:36:00.037-05:00

For last year's words belong
to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make
a beginning.

~T.S. Eliot

I’ve been completely AWOL from this blog since Thanksgiving, and here we are already a week into 2010. Winter is firmly entrenched, keeping me mostly indoors but providing a beautiful landscape by way of apology. I took this picture from the pole barn, looking into the backyard. I love how the red house and berries stand out against the bright snow.

But before any more time slips away, I first want to send out best wishes to all of you for much happiness in the new year. It means so much to me that you are reading these posts and following my writing journey. The path I’m on is sure to take some unexpected turns, and I feel blessed to have such good company along the way.

Following a joyous (and extended) Christmas season, I’m happy to be back at work on my projects. The most exciting news I have to share is that the cover art for Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl has been completed. With my publisher's permission, I'm thrilled to be debuting it here.

The illustrations for both the front and back covers were created by artist Wayne Alfano. I expected them to be computer-generated, so was surprised to learn that they are actually full-size oil paintings. I’m just delighted with how he has captured the personalities of Anna Mei and her friends. He also included some specific details that are important in the story, such as a science experiment in the background and a sketchbook that helps illuminate the "cartoon girl" part of the title. The back cover includes a second illustration, plus a few more graphic elements pulled right from the story. What a thrill to see all of this brought to life on a piece of paper I can hold in my hands!

It's also been fascinating to learn details about the design process—how and why certain colors were chosen, how the design ties in with the Marketing Department’s promotional plans, how important it is that the art works both as a full-size book cover and as a thumbnail image. It’s very gratifying—and humbling—to know that so much care and attention is being taken with these details.

In anticipation of Anna Mei’s debut in a few months, I now have an official Author Page at Amazon.com. As soon as the book is available, the cover will be added to the ones already there. In March, I hope to add this one from Chicken Soup for the Soul. I should hear a final decision about that sometime next month. And in August, Celebrate the Season!, including my story called "O Holy Night," will be available from Pauline Books.

So much to look forward to! But in the meantime comes the hard work of facing down the blank screen, of breathing new life into the characters I created so that their story can continue in the next book. For inspiration, it would be hard to beat this picture of them staring down from the bulletin board above my computer, encouraging me to give it my best shot.

'Tis (Not Quite) the Season

2009-12-06T23:30:00.066-05:00

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

2009-11-12T23:57:00.044-05:00

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

2009-11-01T19:03:00.020-05:00

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

2009-10-06T21:21:00.013-04:00

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

2009-09-11T12:54:00.051-04:00

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

2009-08-26T21:42:00.062-04:00

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

2009-08-09T21:28:00.046-04:00

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

2009-07-12T22:56:00.038-04:00

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!

2009-06-14T20:36:00.083-04:00

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

2009-06-02T11:32:00.016-04:00

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

2009-05-19T11:48:00.046-04:00

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

2009-05-04T18:43:00.028-04:00

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

2009-04-14T18:40:00.076-04:00

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.

Inspiration

2009-04-03T21:55:00.028-04:00

Since I posted the news last week about selling my book manuscript, people have been asking me for details about the story. What is the book about…and what exactly does that title mean, anyway?

Anna Mei, Cartoon Girl is about a girl named—you guessed it—Anna Mei. Adopted from China as a baby, she has lived in Rochester, New York, for ten years. She’s had a comfortable life with loving parents, and has never wondered about her heritage or how the life she has taken for granted came to be.

But just as Anna Mei is about to enter 5th grade, something unthinkable happens—her parents decide to move to Michigan. That means being a new kid at school. And with the spotlight shining brightly on her, Anna Mei worries that she sticks out like a sore thumb—she's new, she’s Chinese, she’s adopted, and as one of her classmates points out, she doesn’t even "match" her own family.

“Cartoon Girl” is a play on words, since “Anna Mei” sounds like “anime,” a style of Japanese animation. When someone calls her that, she takes it as an insult and vows to distance herself from everything that makes her unique. This doesn’t make her happy but does help her feel like she's fitting in. Then a school assignment forces her to face the questions she’s been avoiding: is she “Anna,” an American girl named after her Swedish grandmother, or is she “Mei Li,” the daughter of an unknown Chinese woman who gave her up long ago? Figuring out the answers ultimately helps Anna Mei come to a better understanding of who she is and what really matters to her.

My inspiration for Anna Mei came from a picture of my brother's family. He and his wife live in upstate New York and had recently adopted their second child from China. I looked at the two tall, blond, athletic parents, cradling their tiny, dark-haired daughters in their arms. It was a beautiful family portrait, but I started to wonder—what would it be like to be a child in a family that didn’t “match”?

From that germ of an idea, a 25,000-word story grew. I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to share it with all of you, along with some 10-year-olds who may already be wondering about how they're going to fit in.

"Anna Mei" Finds a Home

2009-03-27T17:45:00.035-04:00

I have exciting news to share today, and although it’s something I have imagined and worked toward for a long time, I still feel unbelievably lucky to be saying this: I have been offered a contract for my first children’s chapter book.

Anna Mei: Cartoon Girl will be published in April 2010 by Pauline Books & Media.

The chain of events that led to this moment began when two of my stories, previously published in PBM's My Friend magazine, were chosen to appear in their anthology called Friend2Friend, coming out in June. An editor I had worked with during that process recently emailed to tell me that PBM was planning to launch a new line of novels for ages 8-11, and asked if I had anything to submit that might fit that description.

As a matter of fact, I did. Anna Mei: Cartoon Girl is a mid-grade chapter book I wrote several years ago to enter in a contest. Though I had gotten some positive feedback from a freelance editor (thanks, Peggy!) and a prominent children’s book editor, I’d never submitted it for publication. But I pulled it out of the desk drawer and sent the first few chapters. The editor wrote back immediately: “I really, really like this manuscript…I’m dying to read the rest of it!”

It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I got to work immediately, polishing and revising. I felt nervous about sending Anna Mei, my 10-year-old protagonist, out into the world alone. Finally I said a little prayer, hit the send key, and vowed to try not to think about it—over the years I’ve learned how slowly things move in the publishing world. But the response came back right away—she loved the book and was sharing it with the other children’s editor.

After that things continued to move quickly—it went to the Editorial Board for approval, then on to the full Acquisitions team. That same day I got the response every writer dreams of hearing: “The Acquisitions team loves Anna Mei… Our publisher has authorized me to offer you a contract.” The whole process took less than three weeks. The most gratifying part for me is knowing that these publishing professionals, who make it their mission to enrich children’s lives by offering high-quality, wholesome reading material, “love the book” and want to attach their names to it.

My husband bought me a gorgeous bouquet of spring flowers to mark the occasion. I told him how blessed I feel to have been offered this opportunity. Then we talked about luck, and about the old adage that luck = preparation + opportunity. He pointed out that I had prepared by working at my writing, building up a resume and credibility, researching markets that fit my style and sensibility, and creating a website to promote my work. I had challenged myself by attempting a novel-length manuscript and finishing it. And when an opportunity came along, I was ready. So I guess he’s right that this success was earned...but I’m pretty sure that little prayer I whispered didn’t hurt, either.

More Magic

2009-03-06T15:42:00.042-05:00

In my last post I wrote about the long-lasting effects reading has on kids, and about the kinds of books I was personally drawn to. Here are a few more thoughts on that subject…

A watershed moment in my reading life was discovering Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, around age 12. I suddenly found a new role model in Jo March, the feisty young woman who wanted to be an author, and who, long before the word feminism was coined, wouldn’t let anyone put her in her place. I loved the whole March family, but also Alcott’s descriptions of Civil War-era New England, with its formal parlors and musty garrets, its wild apple orchards and shaded dovecotes. It somehow seemed homespun and exotic, both at the same time.

And I was at least a little bit in love with Theodore “Laurie” Lawrence, whom Jo could only love like a brother. For a long time I thought she was crazy to turn him down for the stodgy old professor. Eventually, though, I understood that the professor was a better match for Jo. He was the one who truly understood her and who encouraged her passion for writing. “You must write from the depths of your soul!” he tells her, when she has gotten bogged down writing trashy stories about things she doesn’t care about. And listen to his beautiful declaration of love: “Your heart understood mine. In the depth of the fragrant night, I listened with ravished soul to your beloved voice.” No wonder Jo felt she had found her soulmate!

Another author I loved, for completely different reasons, was the peerless Dr. Seuss. I remember reading And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street to my younger brother approximately 3,758 times. Years later, I was thrilled to do the same with my sons. I read The Happy Birthday Book to each of them on their birthdays—it was as much a part of the celebration as cake and ice cream. The Sleep Book is pure genius as a bedtime story, and you’ll find no better lesson about how to handle the challenges life throws at you than in I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew.

Reading books to my boys gave me a chance not only to revisit some of my favorites but to discover wonderful new work as well. Matthew loved Hatchet and other Gary Paulsen adventure stories, along with Matt Christopher’s many sports series. Paul liked the humorous stuff, like Audrey and Don Woods’ King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub, and the gentle but hilarious Henry Huggins/Ribsy books by Beverly Cleary. David’s first favorite was Sendak’s classic Where the Wild Things Are; he went on to read lots of fantasy stories, eventually devouring the Redwall series by Brian Jacques and Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings.

So did their reading play a role in developing their identities and personalities? Matthew still loves sports and is never happier than when he's hiking in the mountains. Paul is an animal lover with a unique sense of humor. And David's favorite genre is still fantasy; in fact, he writes in that genre, too. So judging from their grown-up personalities, I have absolutely no doubt that reading shaped their futures, just as it did for me and as it will for their children. And that’s the true magic of children’s books.

The Magic of Reading

2009-02-26T20:32:00.026-05:00

One reason I decided to write for children was my lifelong love affair with children’s books. There’s a line in the movie You’ve Got Mail (yes, I have it on DVD—doesn't everyone?) that really rings true for me. Children's bookstore owner Kathleen Kelly describes how she felt as a little girl, watching her mother at work: “It wasn't just that she was selling books, it was that she was helping people become whoever they were going to turn out to be. Because when you read a book as a child, it becomes part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your life does.”

I grew up loving books. For me, there was no feeling more satisfying than coming home from the library with a big stack of books and all the time in the world to read them. Although I also liked to run around outside playing baseball and Kick the Can and Red Rover, Red Rover with the neighborhood kids, there was a side of me that was drawn to the more private thrills of watching a story unfold on a page, moment by moment, scene by scene.

My earliest reading memories involve fairy tales, both the happy kind (Cinderella—how I coveted her floaty blue ballgown!) and the scary kind (The Brothers Grimm—best read on a bright summer afternoon rather than under the covers at night). I was fascinated by these temporary visits to magical worlds, so different from life in peaceful, middle-class suburbia. And if things ever got too dicey, I could always close the book and go back outside for a while.

Like many kids, I was drawn to series books. I think it’s because, once I got to know a character, I liked to stick with him or her through each subsequent adventure. I’m still pretty much like that. When I’m reading I like to feel that I truly know these people, at least for a while. I guess that explains my fondess for seres like The Wizard of Oz, Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, The Bobbsey Twins and Little House on the Prarie.

This kind of reading had its pitfalls, though, for a reader as sentimental as I was. After all, once Dorothy returns to Kansas, she never reunites with the old gang from Oz again. In These Happy Golden Years, Laura Ingalls moves away from her little house, breaking up the family that had been through so much together. I could get pretty emotional going through these kinds of changes with my beloved characters.

In retrospect, maybe my childhood reading experiences were early lessons in the art of understanding that change is inevitable, and that no matter how tightly you hold on to things, they are already changing. It's a lesson I still struggle with.

More about kids’ books next time…

A Moment in the Spotlight

2009-02-14T11:43:00.065-05:00

The date had been circled on my calendar for months. On
Feb. 7, 2009, I was scheduled to appear onstage in a large exhibit hall, talking about my story in the newly-published Chicken Soup for the Soul: Empty Nesters. While I appreciated the opportunity to particiate in the expo, I was struggling with how to approach the topic. How could I make my personal story interesting to strangers? And more importantly, how was I going to manage getting up in front of a big crowd to talk about… well, me?

I mulled over these questions for weeks, which is a fancy way of saying I procrastinated. I kept myself busy with much more important projects, like cleaning my closet and choosing a new paint color for the master bathroom. I've always found that my house is never cleaner than when I'm trying to avoid a deadline! Finally, just a few days before the show, I sat down to organize my thoughts into a 15-minute presentation. It covered the process from reading a submission call for stories, to finding inspiration in an old family photo, to learning my story had been selected. I also scanned in some photos for a simple PowerPoint slideshow, hoping I might find courage in having some familiar mementos with me.

On Saturday morning my husband helped me pack up my stuff, including a stack of books, some bookmarks with my website address on them, and—because I figured I needed all the help I could get generating traffic—a supply of wrapped chocolates. We set up at the assigned booth and watched the crowd start to build. My friend Donna joined us; she had come to lend moral support and to man the booth while I was onstage. And my friend Mark brought his camcorder so that my out-of-state parents and sons wouldn't have to miss it.

When it was my turn on stage I took a deep breath and started. I used my script for reference but tried to keep my eyes mostly on the audience. Two women in the front row smiled every time I glanced their way. I'm sure they have no idea how much that helped me—thanks, ladies! Scanning the crowd I saw friends and coworkers who all knew my story but had come out to support me. The psychological boost I got just from seeing their faces was incredible. And when I heard people laugh—in all the right places—I knew I would get through it.

Fifteen minutes later I was back at the booth, where a few people were actually waiting to buy books and get them signed (a one-minute clip appears below). Over the next hour I heard a lot of other women’s personal stories of being—or anticipating being—empty nesters. I could whole-heartedly recommend the book to them, which I had found to be funny and sad, touching and inspiring. I knew they would, too.

Later when people asked me how it went, I replied honestly that it all seemed to pass in a blur. Mostly I remember feeling grateful that my story seemed to resonate with people, and that for a little while, it created a connection between us. In fact, "grateful" pretty sums up my feelings about the whole experience: I'm grateful to my friends, who took the time to come and encourage me; to my boss, who set up the presentation and encouraged me to do it; to my parents and sons, who all called to wish me luck; and especially to my husband, who has been on the journey with me from the beginning. Having them here to share this experience is like not only enjoying the ice cream, but having a big (chocolate-covered) cherry on top.

Book signing at the Women's Expo, Feb. 7, 2009

"I Got You, Babe"

2009-02-01T20:59:00.025-05:00

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day, one of those “holidays” that gets a special red square on the calendar but isn’t celebrated much—at least, outside of Puxatawny, PA, where it’s a nice boost for the local economy. Still, it comes at a time when people who live in wintry states are ready to grasp at any flimsy straw that has the word “spring” somehow attached to it.

Of course, here in Michigan, an “early spring” would mean no snow on the ground when Easter arrives in mid-April. We would do cartwheels of joy if the groundhog could promise us spring in only six more weeks. By that point we would eagerly trade a few hundred gallons of our Great Lakes just to see a daffodil poking up through the snow. And this winter has seemed particularly long and harsh, starting before Thanksgiving and keeping us firmly in its icy grip ever since.

But the best thing about Groundhog Day for me is the excuse to watch the movie. You know the one—it stars Bill Murray as a weatherman trapped inside a time loop, waking up to Sonny and Cher on the radio day after day. Although I’m generally neutral on the subject of Bill Murray movies (I think Scrooged is the only other one I would make it a point to watch), I find him completely sympathetic and charming in this movie. The screenplay is very clever, with its repetition of phrases and scenes that are just different enough from each other to make them seem fresh all the way through. There's a lot of comedy but some poignancy, too, as Murray's character struggles to escape his time prison, sinking into depression until he finally hits bottom (literally!). Watching him evolve from shallow, selfish dude to sincere, sensitive guy-who-gets-the-girl is a real February treat.

So here’s what I recommend for what is bound to be a cold, dark, snowy night on Feb. 2: slip into your flannel PJs, heat up some hot chocolate with marshmallows (use real milk and chocolate, not that powdery instant stuff), and curl up to watch Groundhog Day. It will warm your heart to see that even a curmudgeonly weatherman can find true love. It will give you hope that one day, spring will come. It will be a movie you can watch (here comes the inevitable Groundhog Day joke…ready?) over and over and over again…

Heart and "Soul"

2009-01-29T23:25:00.057-05:00

After seven years of writing and publishing for children, I followed a whim and ended up with my first credit in an adult publication: a story in a Chicken Soup for the Soul collection.

It started with one of those coincidences that at first seems unimportant, but takes on significance later. I’d been putting some family photos in albums, which led to the inevitable hour or two of looking through all the albums, since I’m kind of a sap that way. For some reason, I paused over a picture of my oldest son, Matthew, taken on the day he was learning to ride his bike without training wheels. Although it happened almost 20 years before, I had a weird sensation of being in that exact moment again. I remembered very clearly how it felt to watch him riding down the sidewalk—away from me. I remembered how my initial sense of pride in his accomplishment was quickly doused by the cold-water sensation of “wait a minute—where do you think you’re going?” Holding the picture in my hand, I was back on that sidewalk again, overcome by the feeling that something special and important had just happened, whether I liked it or not.

I had to put the picture away then. Although I had gotten used to the fact that Matthew had grown up and gone off to college 1,500 miles away, I still missed him. I still had moments of nostalgia when I wished I could turn back the clock and enjoy his childhood—and those of his two brothers—all over again.

A few months later, while perusing an online writers’ bulletin board for market news, I came across a message from the Chicken Soup publishers. They were looking for real-life stories for a new book on the topic of empty nesters. How does it feel, they wanted to know, to have your children leave home? I immediately flashed back to the picture. It feels like standing on the sidewalk, watching them ride away from you. Knowing that it’s good and right for them to go, knowing that things will never be the same again.

With my youngest about to graduate from high school and another empty bedroom in my near future, I knew I had something to say about this topic. I did it in a story I called “Just Keep Pedaling.” Though I typically rewrite and revise a story to within an inch of its life, this time I left it pretty close to its original form. I submitted it to the publisher’s website and then, knowing how slowly things move in the freelance writing biz, put it out of my mind. It wasn’t until many months later that I learned they had received over 5,000 submissions, and that against those odds, mine was one of only 101 chosen.

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Empty Nesters came out in Oct. 2008. My story had a new title (“Pedal Power”… hmmmm), but it was a thrill to see it nestled there among the other hundred stories and poems, helping shed light on a bittersweet time in every parent's life. It had come straight from the heart—and I think that's exactly how it ended up in Soul.

Dreams Coming True

2009-01-24T19:45:00.031-05:00

If you go by the definition “one who writes,” I’ve been a writer for a very long time. My original plays have been performed by my childhood friends, by my nieces and nephews, by the local Cub Scouts. I’ve written articles for my high school newspaper, the Parent Council newsletter at my kids' school, the annual report at my workplace. And my silly, sentimental poems have been a regular feature of the Valentine cards I give my husband and kids each year. It all adds up to a lot of writing.

But the day I knew I was an “author” happened in the year 2000. I’d recently started a new job and was still learning the ropes, so when I pulled into the garage that evening I was tired. My youngest son, David, met me at the door, looking as if he were about to burst from excitement. “Mom, you got a phone message! It’s from a lady at a magazine!” My husband saw the incredulous look on my face. “It’s true,” he said. “She wants you to call her back.”

The next day, hands shaking and heart pounding,
I did. Eventually the publisher sent a contract,
and months later, a check. One day, I finally held the magazine in my hands, with my byline inside. But I still count that day, the day of the phone message and the shining light in my son’s eyes, as the one that a lifelong dream had come true—I was a published author.