Welcome to Ramble Street

If you lose your way...

2011-10-15T14:04:00.005-04:00

I got my notes from my editor regarding my next book, Piney Moon. They were sent by email and were written on MS Word, but they might as well been written with one of those bright, glowy pens. They were filled with great comments and good, hard questions. As a writer, it's the kind of stuff that lights you up, points you in the right direction and makes you want to dive back into your own story. Before her notes, I was worried about this one. I felt like I was losing my way.

Last night, when my niece Andrea called to fill me in about her wedding plans, I ended up telling her about my editor's notes and about my losing-my-way fears. She reminded me about one of our "special days". When she was growing up, that's what we called the days we spent together.

When she was 10 and I was in my early twenties, we decided to take a drive from her house in central Jersey to Seaside Heights (aka the Jersey Shore). We were so busy talking and singing and laughing that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I'm not from New Jersey and they were country roads -- and there were no street signs. Of course, we got lost. Since it was before the days of smart phones and Google maps and GPS systems, we had to stop and ask directions many times.

The directions weren't always easy to follow. "Make a left at the yellow pick-up truck", said one gas station attendant, "but make sure it's the one that's parked underneath the crooked tree..."
I nodded, pretending I understood. Soon I noticed that the gas station attendant wasn't even looking at me. I turned around and saw Andrea holding a purple sparkle pen, writing everything he said in her Hello Kitty notepad.

Thanks to the 10-year old, we found our way to Seaside. It was an afternoon in early spring. The Snookiless boardwalk was crowded just enough to make you think you were someplace special. At the first arcade game, we won a giant basket filled with toys and candy. We moved onto a different game and won again. This time, it was a huge stuffed animal. Our wining streak lasted. Stuffed animals, gift baskets, toys-- that day, we won it all.

On the way back to the car, we stopped at a palm reader (I'm a sucker for psychics). Honestly, I don't remember anything she said to me, but when it was Andrea's turn, I held my breath. Not that I necessarily believe in the veracity of boardwalk palm readers, but still, Andrea was just a kid. What if she was a scam artist? What if she said something bad? This could get uncomfortable.

As soon as she told Andrea that she'd someday have a great job and an excellent education, I exhaled. Then she stared at my niece's palm and made that 'tsk tsk' sound. "Finding your true love will take a long time," she sighed. "Many many blind dates."

Years later, Andrea and I still marvel at our luck at the boardwalk games, and we've laughed at the "many many blind dates" comment over and over again throughout Andrea's dating years.

There probably should be some tie in here between losing your way in writing and losing your way on the road, and I wish I could say something clever about being fearless in both circumstances. But since both of them still make me nervous, I'm not sure I can draw that conclusion. However, if you do manage to get lost in either writing or driving, I have one piece of advice: Travel with someone who knows enough to bring a sparkle pen.

Hurricane Irene, Evacuation and a Reading List

2011-08-26T13:37:00.000-04:00

A hundred steps from my house is the Barnegat Bay. There's a lagoon (NJ terminology for a large canal) across the street. On the next street, there's another. I'm surrounded by water and way too close to the bay to ignore the warnings. So I'm leaving my home and heading inland.
It will be my first evacuation.
I'm taking the necessities-my favorite scented soap, my hair straightener and a giant bag of York Peppermint Patties.
But I'm also thinking about what I'm going to read.
All my life reading has been a way to escape. And I can't think of a better way to get through a difficult weekend than a getting lost in a good story.
Here's my reading list for the storm:
Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos
Beauty Queens by Libba Bray
I haven't decided on my middle grade books yet. I so wish that Paul Acampora's Rachel Spinelli Punched Me in The Face was out this week. That first chapter I read on his blog tugged at me. It comes out next week so I'll have to wait.
I still need to get some middle grades.
What book would you take with you to read during your evacuation?

Learning Little Hawk's Way of Storytelling: Interview with Frank Cipriani

2011-07-29T08:12:00.001-04:00

Frank Cipriani is a writer, an amateur ethnobotanist, primitive survival enthusiast and a professional educator. I met him at the library where I work. He mentioned he was working on a book proposal about one of my favorite things, storytelling. Frank had to opportunity to learn about storytelling from Kenneth Little Hawk, the renowned Mi’Kmaw First Nation storyteller and was collaborating with Little Hawk and his wife, Beverly Miller.

His book Learning Little Hawks Way of Storytelling by Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller as taught to Frank Domenico Cipriani was released this summer.

By the way, this book was blurbed by one of my childhood idols, folk singer, Pete Seeger. Here’s what Pete Seeger said. “What Little Hawk has to teach is exactly what America has to learn.”

Frank stopped by Ramble Street for an interview so let’s meet him.

Welcome Frank. So how’d this book come about? How’d you meet Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller?

At my local library, I was teaching a survival camp for kids. My friend, Barbara, suggested that we teach storytelling as well. She had seen Little Hawk and suggested I go see him. I did. He's unforgettable. I had seen other storytellers before, but he was astounding.

Little Hawk is a Mi'kmaw/Mohawk storyteller. His Mi’kmaw people still live in Nova Scotia, although his great-grandmother left the tribe to settle in Mohawk country. He was educated in the traditions of both his people by his grandparents, and he was named by them. Little Hawk has traveled the world telling stories in Europe, Africa, Australia and, of course, North America. He’s performed at the White House, Lincoln Center and the Museum of Natural History and was featured in the Ken Burns’ documentaries, The West and Lewis and Clark.

How is this book different than other books on storytelling?

It’s a book that teaches storytelling by telling stories. I haven't seen another book that does this. Many books tell specific stories, even Native American ones, but I don't know of another how-to book on storytelling that is actually a story in itself.

This book has a very interesting byline. It’s by Kenneth Little Hawk and Beverly Miller as taught to Frank Domenico Cipriani. Why “as taught to” instead of the usual “as told to”?

‘As told to’ doesn’t make sense for this book. It implies dictation. Look over the book. Much of that sort of language is missing.

Traditionally, native people would not ‘tell’ people to do things. They would “invite” them. So, we needed a word for my role in the collaboration that reflected that invitation to share. My job was to take the lessons I learned from Beverly and Little Hawk over the years and create a story arc consistent with their teaching. The book is my interpretation and research, but all of it is based on their instruction.

So what was the process like?

Little Hawk and Beverly have this wonderful air about them. You feel transported when you're with them. I would try something, storytelling-wise, and they would tell me stories back. Through that I would learn. I did follow the trail, the life of this story. Little Hawk and Beverly's wonderful place, the stews that Beverly would cook, Little Hawk's home, it all has this feel of being in the world that should be, a world which is harmonious with the ancestors, with nature, with our own true selves.

Sure, we used cars to get to the hut, sure, we had some modern conveniences, but both at our hut site in the woods and at Little Hawk's home, that feeling of respect and reverence was always prevalent. I thought of writing in a more conventional sense, but the story really flowed "through Spirit", as Little Hawk would say.

Wait. You learned how to tell stories from a world-renowned Native American storyteller in a hut in New Jersey? Where?

We built a wonderful hut in a park in our town. We made a deal with the town, that if we created programs for kids on the land, they would not sell the land to developers. Over the years, it’s been a site for many interesting native gatherings, storytellings, and even religious services. One day, we had the Chief of the Mountain Band Tsalagi, the Keeper of the Flame for the Lenape, and numerous other dignitaries there. After they spoke, the kids at the hut served them meals prepared at the fire. The Keeper of the Flame told me that ‘For the first time in my life, I feel like I am really home.’ It was a great honor.

What an unusual opportunity. Sorry for interruption, Frank. Please tell us more about the experience.

Grandfather Little Hawk has the ability to carry people with him to that perfect place, where nature is balanced and humans have lived the same way for ten thousand years, in harmony with their surroundings.

So I learned from him, lived a whole life, and wrote down what I observed. I think that it's true that he took me on a spiritual journey to that place. Then Little Hawk and Beverly suggested corrections to the language I used to "translate" the experience. For instance, in an early version of the book, I say that "Dancing Rain told the little children to sit in their older siblings' laps". That may be what I saw, but the truth is that Dancing Rain invited the children to sit. It was simply not a part of the culture to tell people what to do.

Because it is not traditional to tell people what to do, the only way to instruct is by example and storytelling. Instruction is in the first person, or the third person, never in the second. So for instance, Beverly never said to me, "Use props to illustrate this point". Instead, she’d say, "Once, when Little Hawk's audience was a little too quiet, I handed him a conch shell to blow." This is the traditional way to teach, by offering a story of a time when something was learned, or a problem was solved. It implies that the listener has a choice.

So now that you learned the art of storytelling, have you tried it?

At my first book signing, I was very nervous. Before that, I never told a story in public. It went very well, we sold many books and I got invited back. So, I guess the book really does work.

I’m still in the process of reading this book. I’m learning a lot. Thanks so much for visiting Ramble Street, Frank. Come back again soon.

By the way, Frank Cipriani is an interesting guy. Here's what I found out about him that he was too modest to mention.

He has two published two books in Spanish.
Became involved in Primitive Survival, started a nonprofit organization that took children on 200-plus mile walkabouts, planted over 3,000 trees
Is the official Spanish translator for Little Hawk's stories
Homeschooled his children for eighteen years Lives near the Jersey shore with his family of ten.
Writes a weekly column for a paper in Bangladesh
Was recognized by the State of New Jersey as the county's volunteer of the year in 2009
Has won several awards for Childrens' Empowerment.

Book related websites:

To buy the book

Learning Little Hawk's Way of Storytelling Facebook page
Kenneth Little Hawk's website

Inspired by a Teacher and The Simpsons

2011-05-23T09:17:00.003-04:00

Working full time and writing is hard. A few weeks ago, I met someone who is so dedicated to his craft that even though he has a day job he spends six hours a day writing on weekdays and longer on weekends.

His day job: New Jersey middle school student. His age: 12.

I met Chris P on his twelfth birthday. (I met his mom too, who confirmed the amount of hours he spends churning out stories). I was so inspired by Chris that I wanted you all to meet him. Plus when he becomes a famous author, I can say that I gave him his very first interview. Fortunately he agreed to stop by Ramble Street and answer a few questions.

So please welcome 12-year-old writing prodigy, Chris P.

Hi Chris, so how’d you get started writing?

I love to write. I can throw my emotions into my stories, and just have fun with it. When I first decided to write a novel, I started at 8 pages a day. In language art classes, I hated to brainstorm. I always just started writing whatever came to mind on a subject.

My fifth grade teacher always made me write more than everyone else, because she knew I had potential. If she said one page for everyone, it was two pages for me. I would write and write, and if it wasn’t better than the last, I had to redo it. Then I wanted to write a novel.

How many hours do you write a day? And tell me a little bit about your writing process.

I write at least six hours a day. If I write less than six in one day, I write more the next. I feel that if I break my routine, I’d be hurting myself, because I’d wind up with writing less and less each day. So I write on a strict schedule.

If my friends want to be in the novel, I pick the first three friends who ask. I wound up adding my friends Abby, Nick and Jess. They supported me the whole way. When I ask them, they give me ideas about what I should do.

Ha! I put the names of my friends into my stories too.

Your mom mentioned that you’ve already sent in your first manuscript to some publishers. How’s your submission process going?

I’ve sent manuscripts to two large publishing companies. They both rejected me. It felt bad at first, but I know that some of the best authors get rejected plenty of times. Someone told JK Rowlings that she wouldn’t make money off of children’s books. Harry Potter is a best seller!

Where do you get your inspiration?

Two things inspired me to write a novel. One was an episode of The Simpsons where Marge decides to write a novel and it gets published.

The other was my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Mulrane. It was like she could see the futures of her students.

I’ve never seen that Simpsons episode, but I have been lucky enough to meet teachers like Mrs. Mulrane.

What authors inspire you?

One is Rick Riordan, who has written two book series in three years. The other is Eoin Colfer who has written lots of books and is still going. I can’t wait for Rich Riordan’s new book!

What type of stories do you write?

I mostly like to write "Sword and Sorcery" stories, because fantasy and mythology have always fascinated me. I love the idea of magic, alchemy and armies storming castles. I love to read fantasy books because it’s like a movie of magic and warriors and castles right in your head. I think writing is the best of the arts.

Thanks again for stopping by Ramble Street, Chris. Keep writing!

Sunrise over Barnegat Bay

2011-03-04T07:08:00.002-05:00

I am convinced that my dog believes my husband's name is He Who Must Not Be Awakened. If she has to go out in the early morning or the middle of the night, she cries and whimpers at me. This morning at 5 am, that's exactly what happened. I woke up without having slept away the stress and tension of the past few days. My dog, Chi, didn't seem to care. She nudged me down the stairs and ignored my grumbles.
But... I opened up the front door and I saw the sunrise. I even walked down the street to take a picture -- and I did this pre-coffee.
The picture is dark, but if you look carefully you can see the sea grass in the front, the Barnegat Bay in the middle. And way up at the top, there's a morning star.
Current status: Me: Awake and drinking copious amounts of caffeine.
Chi: Sound asleep.

How Bad Childhood Memories Creep into Your Fiction

2011-02-26T16:49:00.009-05:00

I'm working on a scene for my w.i.p. where my main character has to dance on stage. It doesn't go well for her. And the scene didn't go well for me either. While I was writing, I kept getting interrupted by my own stage traumas. It made me go straight to the photo albums.
The picture above was taken before my very first dance recital. Even at age 5, I knew I could never pull off that flashy one shoulder look, but there's more about that dress that you need to know. It's not actually a dress. It's shorts with a skirt over it.
My dance group consisted of me and two other 5-year-old girls. We were called the "Blue Eye Shadows". At the end of our dance, we were supposed to lift up our skirts to reveal a giant eye on the other side of the costume.
Dance lessons were okay. Dance recitals were another story. I was and still am an introvert, but I've always been a tall introvert, which means that when it comes to being on stage, guess who they put in the middle.
We were half way through our big dance number when it happened. Instead of step step shuffle turn, I stepped turned shuffled stepped. The two other Blue Eye Shadows followed my lead. We lost the beat. All three of us went in different directions. One turned. The other hopped. I shuffled.
A voice boomed over the music. It barked out orders. "Step! Hop! Step!" Our teacher Miss Corrine, the one who came up with the make up themed dance recital, had grabbed a microphone. Even though she was behind the curtain, we could see her standing in the corner of the stage. She was not amused. We ended our dance and forgot to lift up our skirts to show the big blue-eye-shadowed eyes.
At the end of the night, we all had to go back on stage and sit there while Miss Corrine addressed the audience. Again, the Blue Eye Shadows were in the ones in the middle. After she was done with her little speech, Miss Corrine called the names of each dance group one by one and gave them presents. The boxes were beautifully wrapped. They were all different shapes and sizes. Ronnie, the Dancing Eye Pencil who took private lessons and tapped around the stage with great pizazz, got the biggest gift. I wish I could remember the names of the other dancing groups of cosmetics that Miss Corrine called up to the stage that night. The Lip Sticks? The Powder Puffs? The Cuticle Removers?
She never called our name. The recital ended and the Blue Eye Shadows were the only ones who didn't get presents.
Our group broke up after that. We went our separate ways.The next year, I had a new dance school and a new teacher. But that blue-eye-shadowed memory stayed with me. I never got over my fear of dance recitals.
And now I'm writing a scene and putting my main character through a very similar experience. Somehow no matter what the story is about, I always manage to slip in my own memories. I wonder if other writers do this too.

By the way, the little boy in the picture is my brother, Robert. He always hated wearing that red suit. But that is his story to tell.

My dog, Chi and the Golden Kite Honor (A Three Second Video)

2011-01-21T10:36:00.005-05:00

Here's Chi taking a look at the Golden Kite Honor plaque. It came in the mail a few weeks ago, but my camera broke so this is the first chance I have at taking a pic. Both Chi and I agree, it's a very pretty plaque. I love the boldness of the blue and Chi seems to love it too. And of course, I'm thrilled to have this honor.

Now I'm a Leo...

2011-01-15T10:35:00.004-05:00

I'm a Virgo. And I'm good with that. Virgos are helpful, practical and quiet. They analyze everything. A lot of writers are Virgos. The kidlit world is filled with them -- Jack Prelutsky, Roald Dahl, Mildred Taylor and Karen Hesse to name a few. I even share the same birthday with Leo Tolstoy.

Virgos like to write. I'm a writer. They also have a quest for knowledge and love of research that makes them well-suited for a careers as librarians. I'm a librarian too. I fit into the Virgo mold. Oh sure, there are some traits that I don't have. My organizational skills are not what they're supposed to be. But I'm comfortable with who the stars say I am.

Until this week, when there was an announcement...

According to the Minnesota Planetarium Society, the moon's gravitational pull has changed the alignment of the stars and planets. In the past 2000 years, things have shifted. Zodiac signs are off by as much as a month. And instead of twelve signs, there are thirteen.

Now, instead of being a Virgo, I am a Leo.

A Leo??!!! There's nothing about me that's a Leo. Leos are bold, confident, and natural leaders. My younger brother, Robert, is a Leo. Or at least he was...Now he is a Cancer.

When we were growing up, someone gave us plaques with our zodiac signs on it. Each plaque listed traits associated with that sign. We had them in our rooms for years. I hung mine over my bed. Every night I read it. Virgos like to do research. They enjoy writing.

Now, I'm wondering, did I become a writer/librarian because of some astrological destiny or was it because of those words I repeated over and over again?

What if I was the one who was given the Leo plaque and the words "bold, confident, outgoing" hung over my bed? And every night, I read those words.

As soon as I heard about the astrological shift, I looked at the Leo traits and dismissed them. My reaction was not unique. The news reports were filled with people shrugging off their new identities. Even if you don't buy into astrology, everyone thinks of themselves as having certain characteristics. And not having others. In an attempt to define who we are, we often think of ourselves as a certain type of person.
Trying out new characteristics is kind of fun. It's nice to have something (like the Minnesota Planetarium Society) shake things up a bit.

Maybe I will be a Leo today. And "outgoing and confident" will be part of my new identity. If I repeat it over and over again, who knows what will happen?

We all know that words are powerful. Maybe they're as powerful as the planets and the stars.

The New Year

2011-01-01T13:32:00.000-05:00

For 2010 I wimped out and came up with a bunch of resolutions I was sure to keep. For 2011, I'm going to add a few more..perhaps throw in some that might take a little work.

So here goes...

1. It's time to buy a new camera. If you looked back to my last year's New Year's blog post, you'll notice the exact same adorable picture of my dog, Chi. My camera broke and I'm going to buy a new one. Yep. It's lame. I'm going for the low hanging fruit here. But you gotta start somewhere and the next two resolutions are harder.

2. This year I'm going to finish things I start. For example, I'm actually going to apply the anti-wrinkle cream. Having an vast assortment of fancy jars jammed into a cabinet is not enough. According to the manufacturer's instructions, for it have even have the slimmest chance of working you actually have to put the stuff on your face.

And the same thing with all those green leafy vegetables. You don't get any points for going to the store, selecting the perfect greens, carting them home, stuffing them into your refrigerator, and then leaving them to turn limp, soggy and yucky. You should! You really should! Just like you should get points for sitting in front of the TV and watching an exercise video (even if you are shoving popcorn into your mouth and curled up in a blanket). But alas...that is not the way. You actually have to eat the veggies and do the exercise.

They say the last miles of a marathon are the most grueling. Those final steps are the hardest to take. Look, I'm not promising that I won't get blanketed up to watch another tai chi/martial arts video or find yet another unopened jar of some outrageously expensive magical face cream or discover some moldy gray green thing in the back of my refrigerator that began life as a lettuce leaf (if the last part of this sentence went into the too much information category, I apologize), but 2011 is the time to do more of the hard stuff and take those final steps.

3. I'm a tea-drinking librarian who writes middle grade books and reads a lot. Sometimes, I'm way too attached to my comfort zone. It's time to chase down some fears. Meet new people. Have new experiences. Be reckless. (FYI, my definition of reckless is pretty tame, but it's a start). Besides, I learned the hard way that playing it safe doesn't keep bad things from happening. It can, however, keep you far away from your dreams. Successful people take chances. Creative people take chances too.

If you're making resolutions, good luck with them. Have a happy, healthy 2011

The storm of 2010

2010-12-27T11:12:00.000-05:00

We have snow! According to the local paper, there's about 2 feet of the white stuff out there.

It's no longer falling from the sky, but the wind is blowing, causing some major drifts.

My neighbor is stranded. Seems the snow took a liking to her pretty yellow house and now she's surrounded by 6 feet of it. Fortunately she's not the type to panic, has tons of supplies and we will make sure she can get out. And even though the snow plows have been by a few times, the snow keeps blowing right back into the street.

I'm waiting for my feet to thaw before I go back out again. The deck has about 5 foot drifts and we're trying to shovel out a path so the dog can get into the back yard. Judging from her whines and whimpers, we'd better hurry.

This wasn't the only storm in December. There was a storm of good news:

From the Dec 16, 2010 issue of PW Children's Bookshelf:

Nancy Mercado at Roaring Brook Press acquired North American rights to Piney Moon, a second middle-grade novel by Nan Marino, author of Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me, In her new book, an 11-year-old musical prodigy freezes on stage on America's most popular televised talent contest and seeks refuge in the New Jersey Pinelands, where his friendship with a local girl and their search for a mythical song lead to a journey of hope and healing. Rosemary Stimola of Stimola Literary Studio brokered the deal for fall 2012 publication.

And the same day, a plaque came from the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators for the Golden Kite Honor Award for Neil Armstrong is My Uncle. I'll post a picture as soon as my camera decides to cooperate. (Seems my camera didn't like blustery weather and refuses to work right now.) The plaque is a perfect shade of blue -- trendy and fun yet it makes a statement. I could be slightly biased but I think it is the most beautiful plaque ever.

I Found My Tree

2010-11-19T00:49:00.007-05:00

During a television interview Barbara Walters once asked Katharine Hepburn the infamous question "If you were a tree, what kind you be?" It immediately became fodder for comedians everywhere and spawned an entire industry of Barbara Walters imitators. But it didn't end there. People took the question quite seriously. I even know someone who was asked about her inner tree at a job interview. (Here's some trivia: the great KH answered it by saying she wanted to be an oak, because they were "strong and pretty".)

There's no bad answer. Oaks are strong. Willows are graceful. Pine trees are majestic.You can't go wrong with any of them.

I've never given this question much consideration. But yesterday while I was driving to work, I saw a tree in one of those parking lot gardens next to the local WaWa convenience store and thought "that is so totally me."

There it was, all decked out in its fall color, a beautiful orange red, totally oblivious to the fact that in this part of the country all of the other trees had done this weeks ago. Oh sure, there are a few stubborn leaves clinging to some branches, but that flurry of color is over. All those reds, golds, yellows and oranges have come and gone.

I think there's a hot, sticky day in August when everything changes. Even though it's 101 degrees outside and you're busy planning a picnic at the beach, there's something in the air that makes you want to move on. You start saying things like, "Summer will be over soon." The trees feel it too. If you listen, you can hear them nod.

Except of course for that tree in front of the WaWa. Somehow it didn't get the message. So now while the other trees are going into their slumber mode, this one has its red dress on and is ready to party. And next spring when they're all showing off their pretty yellow buds, WaWa tree will hold tight to its silvery winter look.

And that's the way it will remain. The other trees will move on, slipping into different seasons as fast as a runway model changes outfits. And my tree will always be a few leaf changes behind.

Don't feel sorry for it, though. It will find its own rhythm. Some of us just like to linger.

photo by Petr Kratochv

Are we who we once were?

2010-11-07T08:26:00.001-05:00

In grad school I met a scholar who told me that he could predict a person's academic and social success by their kindergarten interview. "It only takes a few minutes. We ask the five-year-old questions, evaluate their problem-solving skills and rank them. We can tell how well they'll do in life by how well they do on our test."

We were having a conversation before a class so it's not like I had a lot of time to probe, but I did manage to ask a few questions.

"So how do you know what happens to them?"

"We follow them through school. We interview them again in high school."

"Only a few kids, right? Maybe it's just the children you're interviewing?"

"It's a huge, multi-year study."

"And there are no surprises? No one does better or worse than expected?"

He folded his arms. "Sorry. It's a pretty good indicator."

I didn't pay much attention in class that day. Instead, I spent my time trying to get my head around what this study meant. Are we destined to be that person we were at the age of five for the rest of our lives?

That thought depresses me. I hate thinking that who we are is predetermined by some genetic roll of the dice or some early environmental factors that we have absolutely no control over. If that study is true, then it doesn't give much hope in our ability to change and shape our own lives. And what does it say about the literature we read and about the books we write?

Is that why we're drawn to stories? Because book characters make discoveries about themselves and the world around them and have the ability to grow and change while we are destined to be the person we always were? If that's the case, then it redefines the word "fiction" in a whole new way.

The reason I've been thinking about this stuff is because thanks to Facebook, I've been reconnecting with old friends. I'm happy to say they prove that study wrong. Sure, there are things about them that remind me of the teenagers (or children) they once were. And with some, I bet if we met again in person, we'd have that wonderful feeling of thinking that no time passed at all. Have you ever had met an old friend and picked up the conversation exactly where you left off all those years ago?

But I can see changes too. So forget the stupid studies. Of course, people grow and change in surprising ways.

And yet, it has me thinking. How much of that five-year-old is left inside us? And how much have we left behind?

Sometimes in life, you get a chance at a do-over

2010-10-30T15:57:00.004-04:00

I had a friend (I'm calling her Robin) in elementary school. Our families knew each other so we used to play together when we young. We stayed friends in high school, but after graduation we lost touch.
Things happened faster for Robin than they did for me. When I was still in college, she sent me a letter. She had that kind of handwriting you could identify immediately. Big curvy letters. I knew it was from her before I even looked at the return address.
The letter was filled with good news. She moved away, found someone special and had a little baby. A boy. I remember how she gushed about her newborn son. It was one of those really happy letters, and you just don't get those often enough.
Babies are big events. I thought it would nice to send a little gift so I didn't write back immediately. I meant to go the mall and buy a present. I meant to send a card. But I had finals and papers. And a busy college life. And somehow it slipped by.
Days passed. Then weeks. I started to feel embarrassed. I remember putting the letter at the back of my desk so I couldn't see her handwriting, thinking I'll get to it soon. Months went by. And then it felt like it was too late. I put the letter in a box and went on with my life. I graduated from college, went to grad school, got married, moved many times, became a librarian, got a book published (coincidentally, getting letters and writing people back play a really big part in my book, too).
Robin went on with her life, too.
A decade or two flew by and the world changed. We have different ways of getting in touch. Yeah. I'm sure by now you figured out that Robin contacted me. Thanks to Facebook, she found me through a mutual friend.
Of course, now we're Facebook friends. I saw Robin's photos. There were a few of her standing next to a young man. Was that the little baby she wrote about?
All those missed years...All because of that unsent letter.
She emailed me. So I got another chance to write her back. I didn't begin my email this way, but I wanted to start it with.. "I really meant to write..." This time, I didn't hesitate. I wrote her back immediately.
Sometimes life (and Facebook) gives you a second chance.

Backing Out of a Hasty Facebook Post

2010-10-23T12:49:00.002-04:00

So after months of not posting on Facebook, I posted this last Sunday:

Nan Marino has a feeling something important is going to happen today. It's not like I'm expecting news or anything. I don't know if the event will be a good one or bad one. But I could tell from the way the sun came up this morning, today feels like it's anything but ordinary.

I don't know why I said it. It was probably because (thanks to my dog, Chi) I was up way before dawn. So I saw the morning stars, watched the sun come up over the bay and drank the perfect cup of coffee. Caffeine-laced sunrises always make me giddy.

Now, I'm feeling foolish, like I should be making some big announcment: I won the lottery. Discovered a rare and extremely valuable historical relic hidden in the back of an old picture frame. Achieved enlightenment. But my Sunday was very ordinary.

Here are some of the exciting highlights:

*I was so busy writing that I forgot I was toasting some bread in the oven. Ate the edible parts. Gave the burnt parts to the dog.

*Decided I loved what I wrote. I loved my characters. Loved being inside their heads.

*Found a good song on Youtube.

*Wrote more. And reread. Hated every word. My characters were not living up to their potential. I told them it's over. There were other ideas..other stories..other characters..it was time. Then I decided it wasn't them, it was me. They were fine. My writing was swill.

*Caught up with an old friend. Drank way too much coffee.

*Spent some time outside with the dog and began to miss my w.i.p.. I went back in and reread. Found some good parts. Even found some parts that made me laugh. And the swill could be fixed. Made up with my characters. We're friends again.

*Reminded myself that my relationships with my w.i.p.s are always complicated.

*Got a gift from my husband for no reason, a beaded bracelet he found at the bookstore.

*Cooked some dinner. Didn't burn it much and went back to writing.

It was pretty dull, right? And plain and ordinary. And I hope next Sunday is exactly like it.

Note: We seem to be getting a lot of rainbows lately. This one was taken about a week ago.

How to use poetry to solve tricky domestic disputes

2010-10-09T11:14:00.000-04:00

I enjoy poems. When I was a teen, my friends and I memorized ones by Frost, Whitman, and Browning (wish I still knew them now). Recently I can't stop reading the works of Hafiz and Rumi. And thanks to a poet/library customer, who gently pointed out to me that many great poems have been written by people who are not dead, I've discovered some wonderful contemporary ones written by actual living people.

I've always known that the rhythm and beauty of poetry can heal you and bring peace to your soul. But what I didn't know is that it can also be used to solve domestic disputes.

Here's a hypothetical situation: Let's say you've been married for many years and your normally considerate spouse has a habit of leaving empty milk cartons in the refrigerator. And imagine for a moment that this bothers you because before you shop, you look in the refrig and see one (and sometimes two) milk cartons and think you're good for the entire week. So when you go to the supermarket (which you hate to do) you don't buy milk. And you never notice that you're out of it until very early in the morning when you need it for your cup of coffee. Imagine also that over the years, you've had many many conversations about empty milk cartons and offending spouse promises to do better but usually within the week, he slips back to his old habits.

How to solve this problem: Forget meaningful conversations. Save them for other issues. And of course, nagging doesn't work (however, in this current hypothetical situation, the spouse who does the shopping would be completely unaware of that fact because she never nags).

A heartfelt and well-placed poem could solve the domestic crisis.

Here's how to do it:

Go for high drama and purple prose: You're in a crisis. This is not the time for restraint. Begin poem with lines like: "My heart is like the milk container in the refrigerator. Empty."

Forget rhyme, meter, rhythm: Ha! All that stuff is not necessary for effective dispute resolution. If your spouse cringes when he reads it, it will be more memorable. This poem should be intentionally horrendous. "Help build a marriage bridge by making sure milk is in the refrig". Yes. That line shows you exactly how far you have to go for the poem to work.

Have it stand out: Remember, it's all about presentation. Try not to type the poem in a conventional font on regular paper. Poems should be handwritten, scribbled, and barely legible. Neon-colored sticky paper works well for the marital-dispute poetry genre. If you happen to have a crayon or magic marker in a color so bright it is not known in nature, use it.

Put the poem in the center of the dispute: Get that poem right in the middle of the action. In the example above, the poem would be placed in the refrigerator and taped on the milk carton.

So next time you find yourself in a crisis, try mediation through poetry. Who knows, you might even get a scribbled and barely-legible poem written back to you *speaking hypothetically, of course*

[Hey teachers and school librarians, have you noticed the brand new "For teachers" section of my web page? Tracey Graham, teacher extraordinaire, created a very fun literature unit for Neil Armstrong is My Uncle. Check it out.]

Milk container clip art licensed from the Clip Art Gallery on DiscoverySchool.com and created by artist Mark A Hicks.

Wishes and Book Characters

2010-09-24T12:04:00.007-04:00

Way back in the last millennium, I went to my first writer's conference. It was a looong time ago (maybe 15 years), but I remember it, especially the "first book" panel discussion. As an unpublished writer and newbie, listening to the journeys of other writers was inspiring. But mostly I remember sitting in the crowded room wishing. And dreaming. And hoping that one day, I'd get to talk about my own first book.
So tomorrow, my wish comes true. I'm on a panel called "First Crop: Planting an Idea, Harvesting a Book" with YA author Jennifer R Hubbard (The Secret Year) and PB author Jeannine Norris (Tonight, You Are My Baby). Btw, we're part of a really fun group of authors/illustrators called the KidLit Authors Club
It's time for true confessions. I've never been to Philadelphia. Why, yes, I do live closer to that city than I do to any other city in the USA. As a long time New Yorker I still have that mentality that "the city" means NYC. In my defense, I have friends and family in the NYC area. (It's a paltry defense, but it's all I have)
Yeah. I'm jumping up and down again. I'm really excited about the weekend.
But here's the other thing. My book characters in my w.i.p. have decided to start talking to me. Finally!! And I'm experiencing that wonderful feeling of being torn between real life and my writing life.
It happens when I'm in the middle of a story. No matter what's going on in my real life, I find myself pulled into another world.
When you write, how do you leave your characters behind?
It's hard for me. Even when I'm having a dream-come-true moment, I can't let them go. Besides thinking about what they'd do in their own world, I start wondering what my characters would think if they were in mine. Would they like the library where I work? My favorite view of the Barnegat Bay? And what would they think of Philadelphia?
I guess I'll find out the Philly answer soon. It's time to get all of us into the car and hit the road.

Debut Author Laura Toffler-Corrie Comes to Ramble Street

2010-09-17T08:24:00.003-04:00

This week debut author Laura Toffler-Corrie stopped by Ramble Street. Laura is the author of the very funny middle grade book The Life and Opinions of Amy Finawitz (Roaring Brook Press, 2010)

Here’s the publisher’s blurb:

“Told in wry emails and brilliant little one-act plays, this laugh-out-loud debut novel offers quirky characters, a whimsical tour around New York City, and an appealing story about what it means to be a good friend.”

And here’s what Newbery Honor Winning Author Patricia Reilly Giff says:

“Amy Finawitz pops right off the page! Her opinions and wry observations made me laugh out loud and her lively adventures are both surprising and captivating. This is certainly an author to watch. I loved Amy, and I bet you will too.”

This book is extremely funny. It has great heart (and a really fun mystery too).

Laura and I have a lot in common. We both grew up on the south shore of Long Island, our birthdays are only days apart (and we’re the same age) and our debut novels are published by Roaring Brook (which means we got to work with the same amazing editor, Nancy Mercado).

So Laura, welcome to Ramble Street. Let’s start the interview.

I don’t normally laugh out loud when I read. But I did when I read AMY FINAWITZ. So let’s get to the question I’m wondering most about. How do you write such great comedy? Any tips for writers?

"Well, comedy is a funny thing (sorry, couldn’t resist). I’m not sure that you can be taught to write humorously. I think it’s a sensibility, how you naturally perceive the world. I’ve always loved what’s absurd or ironic. I do think, though, that you can learn from other writers, Dickens, J.D Salinger, Woody Allen and Vonnegut to name a few, who do it well. I guess my tip is to not try too hard and to create fully realized characters and situations, otherwise humor can seem flat or ‘jokey.’"

What was it like when you got the editorial letter? Did you enjoy the editorial process?

"At first, getting the editorial letter was exhilarating! I was so happy to have sold my book and anxious to get working with my editor, and yours, the fabulous and insightful Nancy Mercado. Then the scary part set in. How do I incorporate someone else’s vision with mine? Can I make the book better? Will Nancy be happy with my work? I quickly discovered that working with her was an inspiring interaction. Ultimately, it was exciting to see my book develop into everything I wanted it to be."

I had the same feelings and fears. By the way,“inspiring interaction” is a great way to describe working with Nancy Mercado.

I loved the places in NYC that Amy, Beryl and Miss Sophia visited. I can't believe I grew up so close to Queens and didn't know about Houdini's grave. How did you come up with such interesting places for your characters to travel to? Have you visited Houdini's grave?

"Because the first few drafts of AMY were more focused on a scavenger hunt around New York to search for clues to solve a historical mystery, I spent a lot of time thinking up cool places for Amy to go. I think I actually even googled ‘cool places in and around N.Y.’ Honestly, I can’t recall what led me to Houdini in the first place, but as I started researching his life and death and discovered the secret message to his wife from beyond the grave, I became determined to make him a small part of the story. Having a Houdini’s graveyard scene in AMY was too awesome to pass up though. Actually, my agent, editor and I did an abbreviated ‘Footsteps of Amy’tour around NY, including Houdini‘s grave. Check it out here "

The tour looks like great fun. Now I have so many new places to put on my “to visit” list.

One of my favorite parts of your book was learning about the immigrant Anna. Her story is so intriguing. I don't want to give anything away here, but did this happen in history?

"The historical mystery in the book is true. I was breezing through an article about Jews in American history and came across this three line blurb about it. I was shocked that I’d never heard the story before. So, even though, Anna is fictional, this odd piece of American history seemed like the perfect element to weave into her story."

What's the best writing advice you ever received?

"‘Success leaves clues,’ is one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever heard just generally. When I started trying to emulate the habits and philosophies of writers who I admired, basic concepts surfaced, like write everyday, stay focused, persevere in an intelligent way."

It was just announced that you have a second book coming out. Congratulations! Can you tell us about it?

"The working title is THE ACCIDENTAL SAINTHOOD OF JENNA BLOOM, which I really like and am thinking will probably stick. It’s a humorous YA and the easiest way to describe it would be to quote Publisher’s Weekly which says, ‘a comedy of errors about an awkward teen who becomes the unlikely object of her guardian angel's affection, much to the calamity of the town musical, the dismay of all the popular girls and the demon who has it in for her.’

It was acquired by Nancy Mercado at Roaring Brook and I’m very excited to be working with her again. You could say that I’m just excited in general and looking forward to diving into the book. Right now, it’s scheduled for release in the spring of 2012."

Thanks for stopping by Ramble Street, Laura. To find out more about Laura’s book and to read her very entertaining blog, visit her at www.lauratoffler-corrie.com

Big Birthdays

2010-09-09T07:44:00.007-04:00

It's 4:48 in the morning and today is my birthday. I can't believe I'm writing this. I'm not the type of person who mentions that sort of thing. There have been years where if it weren't for my friends and family I would have forgotten about the day completely. And all that attention makes me run the other way.
When I was growing up, my mom would offer to make homemade frosted cupcakes for me to bring to school. Every year I refused. What if the teacher didn't celebrate birthdays or the kids in the class didn't like homemade cupcakes? Come to think of it, in all my years of school that never happened, but September was always the beginning of a new year, and you just never knew.
So maybe the reason I mentioned my birthday is because I'm still in that pre-coffee sleepy state. But it's also a big one, and those always make you feel more contemplative and perhaps a bit more brave.
I've got no major plans for the next decade. Okay, I have a few but I'm not talking about them. I try not to take them too seriously. Plans can scatter. Something as simple as a phone call can change everything. Sometimes that call can bring what you've only dreamed about and other times...well...oh heck, it's my birthday so I'm not going talk about the other times. But let's just say the past decade had a few major twists and turns.
I'm not sure if there really is such a thing as birthday wisdom, but there should be. What's the point of growing older if you haven't learned something? So please forgive and indulge my philosophical ramblings, but you only have big birthdays once every decade so I promise not to do this again until the next one.
Let's talk about your day for a moment. I bet it's going to be busy. I bet it's filled with projects, meetings, chores, a to-do list the size of the state of Texas, lots of unfinished business and then there's that front door that slams shut and you keep telling your husband that it's really bad feng shui and you don't know how to fix it (okay, maybe everyone doesn't have the front door issue). But there's a good chance that some part of your body hurts and you're dealing with a few aches and pains. And I bet there's something that you want to buy that you can't afford. And that there's something you want to do, but you don't have the time to do it.
And that is the good stuff. Really.
Some day it's not going to be like this.
I don't want to cue the scary music here. I mean this in a good way. Change isn't bad. Oh sure. There are going to be some major bumps, but your life could take wonderful turns. Amazing things will happen to you (and to me too). But for better or for worse, there will be a time when your life is very different than the one you have now. So enjoy this day.
I could never have imagined all the twists and turns that my life has taken. And when I was younger, I could never have imagined being where I am. But I'm glad I'm here.

Breaking the Rules

2010-08-21T21:00:00.001-04:00

That's my dog, Chi, on the couch. She's a rule breaker extraordinaire. Every day, she tests her rules and every day, she gets away with something. I can almost see her thought process "Sure, I'm not supposed to drink the tea or eat the cookies Nan left on the coffee table, but she's probably not that hungry since she walked away and I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing just this once."
For Chi, the rules are always negotiable. And at least once a day, she gets away with breaking them.
I understand rules. Heck, when it comes to Chi, I'm the one who makes them (my husband, not so much).
Of course, in writing there are rules too. I want to know what they are. I want editors, agents, and other writers to talk about them at conferences, blog about them, tweet about them. I want to know what draws them into a story and what drives them crazy.
But rules are fun to break. And I love it when writers break them.

Below are some writing rules (ones I've read about, heard at conferences or found on the web) and some great examples of how to break them.

RULE: Don't start your story with an onomatopoetic word.
RULE BREAKER: Pam Bachorz "Candor"
First line in her great book:
"CA-CHUNK, CA-CHUNK, CA-CHUNK. The sound drifts through my bedroom window. Pokes through my homework haze."

RULE: Avoid use of flashbacks.
RULE BREAKER: Gayle Forman "If I Stay"
As she lies in a coma, seventeen-year-old Mia must make a choice between life and death. The story is told in a series of flashbacks. It is gripping and beautiful.

RULE: Never start with your character waking up. I had a list of books I've read that started with the mc waking up, but seemed to have lost it. So I went onto the kidderlit random first line generator to find these. (If you don't know this site, it generates first lines to pb/mg/ya books. It's addictive.)
RULE BREAKER: Eve Bunting "The Banshee"
First line:
"I'm half asleep when I hear her wailing."
RULE BREAKER: Kristen Tracy "Camille McPhee Fell Under the Bus"
First line:
"When I woke up and kicked the covers off, I moved my legs back and forth like a superpowered scissors."

RULE: A first line should get the reader right into the action.
RULE BREAKER: Lucy Maud Montgomery "Anne of Green Gables"
The first sentence is 148 words long. It's not about Anne at all. Here's a link if you want to read it.   It's not really fair to hold this book to contemporary rules and standards since it's over a hundred years old. But I adore this book. And I get a kick out of the long opening line so it's always worth mentioning.

When I find my misplaced list of rule breakers, I'll post some more. So how do you feel about breaking the rules and do you notice when other writers do it?

A Road Not Taken

2010-07-19T10:05:00.002-04:00

A poem that always leaves me puzzled is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. Most people know it by its most famous line "I took the road less traveled by". When I first heard the poem in high school, my English teacher said it was about a celebration of individualism, of going your own way, forging your own path, etc etc. But I never bought into that explanation.
The poem seems simple enough. The first stanza puts us right in the middle of the woods with a hiker who comes to a fork in the path. A decision has to be made about which road to take. That part I understand.
But what I don't get is the narrator's voice. I never know exactly what tone to take when I read it (which makes reciting it out loud very difficult). It starts out factual, but then it runs the range of emotions. Sometimes the voice seems gloomy. Other times it’s optimistic. Other times it seems cagey and sly. Every time I read it, I get another feeling.
And then there’s that last stanza which talks about a future regret. What do you do with the line "I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence…?" Go ahead. Place the back of your hand on your forehead and say that line out loud. It's almost melodramatic, and Mr. Frost is not known for melodrama.
A few months ago, I did a little research. Here's what I found. When someone asked Robert Frost about this poem, he said, "You have to be careful of that one. It's a tricky poem. Very tricky."
Some scholars believe Frost wrote this poem in the persona of his friend Edward Thomas. Frost and Thomas took frequent walks in the woods and Thomas would always wonder about the other paths. Now the voice starts to make a little bit of sense. Instead of it being Robert Frost’s typical voice, he’s writing in a way that gently pokes fun of his wistful friend. BTW, I can totally relate to Edward Thomas when it comes to wondering about those other roads. Playing the "what if" game is one of my favorite pastimes.
Okay, let's get back to that path. The narrator looks down one road but then takes the other “because it was grassy and wanted wear” so we assume he took that road less traveled. But then in the very next line he claims that when it comes to travelers the paths are pretty much equal: “Though as for that, the passing there/Had worn them really about the same”.
Some scholars suggest that in those lines Frost is talking about his own decision to become a poet. Maybe he’s saying the world is filled with poets. Writers like to think that their decision to write is unique but anyone whose ever been acquainted with a slush pile will tell you that there are a lot of us out there.
So he’s taking a path that’s well worn. Then why does he sigh? And why does he know he’s going to sigh? For me, this poem always comes back to those last lines and the sigh that the narrator has planned for the future. Is it one of regret? Of satisfaction? Or is he still making fun of his friend?
I can’t decide.
There’s a reason I’m thinking about this poem. I’m at a point where I have to make some decisions for the characters in my w.i.p. And I’m having a hard time.
I know. I know. Writers are supposed to write and eventually our characters will let us know how to shape the story. But honestly, sometimes I have to step in and make a few decisions. First person vs. third? Where and how the story begins. Right now, my main character is telling me every detail of his life including his earliest memories. At some point I’m going to have to say to him, “Dude, that’s not going into this story”.
So when you’re writing and you come to that proverbial fork in the road, how do you make your decisions? How do you know it’s the right path? Heck, how do you know you're making the right decisions in your non-writing life too?

BOOK GIVE AWAY: I’m so thrilled to be a guest blogger on Ellen Potter’s and Anne Mazer’s creativity blog this week. Their book SPILLING INK is one of my new favorite books on writing. SPILLING INK is written for kids, and children will love it. But it’s a great book for writers too. Both Ellen and Anne are very forthcoming about their own writing process. I love this book for its great practical advice and for its honesty.

Hop on over and make a comment on the blog post, and you’re automatically entered into the contest to win a copy of SPILLING INK.

Why I write middle grade: It started with an apple

2010-07-03T11:28:00.006-04:00

Down the block from where I grew up, there was an old house with a beautiful garden. Unlike the other homes in Massapequa, this one had a chain link fence surrounding the front lawn. I'm not sure exactly how high it was but when you're in third grade and about 4 feet tall, the fence appeared insurmountable.

On each side of the walkway leading up to the house, there was an apple tree.

Now my memory could be playing tricks on me, but that year, there was this apple that appeared fully grown the moment the tree blossomed and stayed on that tree until it dropped its leaves in late fall.

Every afternoon, my friend and I would walk by that apple. (For privacy reasons, I'm changing my friend's name and calling her Eve).

"It's going to be gone. It's too perfect not to pick," Eve would say when we rounded the corner before we reached the house.
But the apple was still there.

"They don't want it. Otherwise they would have eaten it by now."

Eve agreed. "If someone doesn't pick it soon, it will fall to the ground and rot".

But it never did.

Oh sure, there were other apples on that tree. But none of them captured our attention like this perfectly formed, brilliant red, amazingly round thing of beauty.

"Maybe we could knock on the door and ask them if they'd give it to us," Eve suggested. But the gate was always locked. So we'd slow down, stop to tie our shoes and linger, hoping to find someone outside. There was never anyone around (which is a funny thing since gardens like this don't happen by themselves. Somebody had to be tending to it).

We talked about what that apple would taste like. We even talked about hopping the fence, climbing that tree and picking it.

"It would have to be me," I'd say. "I'm a better climber." But that fence was high and that tree wasn't an easy one to climb.

Every day we'd come up with a new scheme, but we never picked that apple. Eve wasn't the type of girl to do it, and I was too afraid I'd get caught.

Looking back, I wish I had.

Yes, I know. I'm talking about trespassing and theft so I'm not exactly proud of my wishful thinking.

Here's the thing: If my friend and I were book characters, the story would have ended differently.

Those two girls would have gotten to that apple, and whatever the consequences, it would have been an adventure.

That's one of the wonderful things about middle grade novels. It allows readers to go exploring and do things they normally wouldn't do.

If you ask me why I write middle grade, I'd tell you how important books are to people that age and how important they were to me when I was young. I'd also wax poetic about how so many MG books are beautifully written, talk about character arcs and themes, and ramble on and on about my favorites.

But maybe there's another answer. Maybe the real reason I write middle grade stories is because someplace deep inside me, there's a third grade girl reaching for an apple.

Two Types of Writers or Two Types of People?

2010-06-20T11:09:00.006-04:00

Almost every day, here's how my work morning begins:
Before I run into the library, I look down to make sure I'm wearing shoes. I check to make sure I'm wearing socks. I give myself an extra point in my shoes and socks match. If it's seasonally appropriate and I'm wearing sandals, I make sure I'm not wearing socks.
I take a quick look at my shirt to see if it sort of goes with my pants. Then, I feel the lobes of my ears to see if I'm wearing earrings. All the while, I'm wondering if everything that should be in my bag (my laptop, cell phone, etc) is really there.
This tells you three things about me.
1. I have a hard time getting out of the house in the morning
2. I'd be a great candidate for that fashion show "What Not To Wear"
3. I'm not a planner.
Once, when I told a friend about my morning routine, she suggested that I decide what I was wearing the night before. She told me that on Sunday nights, she picks out her clothes for the entire week.
And there you have the great divide: My friend is a planner. And I am not.
If you're reading this and you're a planner, you're nodding at the good common sense of her plan. If you're like me, you're wondering how this works. After all, what if on Thursday morning, instead of that happy-looking turquoise number you picked out, you feel the need to dress completely in black?
There are planners everywhere. You can spot them instantly. They're the ones with the big orders in the supermarkets,the parents of preschoolers who are sitting at the playground wondering about college, and the friends who pull out their BlackBerries to make arrangements for your next lunch date.
You can also tell the non planners. We're the ones who see these things..and slowly back away.
Writers are often asked if they're plotters or pantsers (Pantsers refers to those who write "by the seat of their pants".) Personally I prefer the term "meanderer" but either way, you get the idea. It's not hard to guess which camp I fall into.
Here's my question. Is your writing process a manifestation of your personality?
If you're a planner in life, then are you a planner in writing? And if you prefer to take things as they come in everyday existence, then is that how you create a novel? Is it possible to be one thing in life and another as a writer?
...and is there such a thing as middle ground?

ADDITIONAL COMMENT: A friend (who is a planner) read this and said that it was clearly skewed. For the record, I am in awe of people who can plan and wish I could be more like them...at least, some of the time.

What do you remember about your favorite books?

2010-06-08T16:20:00.001-04:00

Last week, I listened to the audio version of Jacqueline Woodson's Feathers. I loved it. I loved the language, how the words fell into my living room and wrapped themselves around me, and I loved the warm, soft feeling of the story. And the images... The scene where Sean and Frannie are sitting at the window and Sean talks about his bridge will stay with me forever. As will Frannie's struggle to find hope. And I had to listen to the part where they described the color yellow over and over again.

It's the feelings about a book that stay with me. The plot will fade. It always does. Even with cliff-hanger stories like Suzanne Collin's The Hunger Games, there are huge chunks of plot that I won't remember. I loved the edge-of-your-seat twists and turns in that story, and there are unforgettable scenes in that book. But what I remember most are the feelings I had while reading it. Anxiety. Tension. Surprise. I remember falling asleep at 3am and waking up at 6, determined to finish it and not really caring if the house fell down around me until I did.

Sometimes I think I'm having one of those senior moments, but it's always been like this. Books are like my other memories. I remember images, characters (or in real life, people) and how I felt during the experience. I wonder if I'm alone.

How about you? What do you remember most about your favorite stories?

And the winners are...

2010-05-29T11:21:00.003-04:00

I had so much fun this week. Thanks to everyone who joined in the contest and who promised to howl at the full moon (you kept your promise, right?). I'm glad the moon finally came out that night here in NJ. It was touch and go for a while. The photo above is the moon over NYC taken by my amazing editor, Nancy Mercado. She arroooed too!

If you haven't seen this post from the fabulous Mike Jung, here he is, howling at the moon. (I'm so touched that he thought to make this video. It's wonderful. Please go take a look). I only know Mike virtually but he is a fun, friendly guy. Follow him on twitter. Friend him on Facebook. He'll make you laugh. (I'm telling you this because I believe it, but also because I'm going to have to give Mike some bad news soon...some very bad news).

So here's how we chose. I indulged my occasional Luddite tendencies and did this in a very low tech way. I printed out the blog post comments, cut and folded each comment till it was the same size, put them all into a box, shook the box (a lot), and then let my librarian friends pick the winners.

The librarians picked two names, one for each of the big prizes (one name was quite a surprise and we had a conversation about that too... but more about that later).
After they were done, the librarians wanted to pick some more:
Librarian 1: What kind of a celebration is it if only two people win?
Librarian 2: Do you have anything else you can give away?
Me: Um, I suppose I have an extra hard cover book & a CD audio & an MP3 CD version.
Librarian 2: And didn't you get some soft cover books from when your book was part of the Scholastic Book Club?
Librarian 1: And wouldn't it be fun to throw in a Slinky?

Who am I to argue with a group of librarians? (btw, what do you call a group of librarians? A shelf? A catalog? Is there a name for a bunch of librarians? okay.. I digress..)

Here are the winners:

SCBWI One Year's Membership: Serenissima

Hard Cover Book: Stephanie J Blake
CD Audio version: salarsen
MP3 CD: Thea Miller Ryan
Scholastic Paperback Version: Suzanne
Scholastic Paperback Version: Dana
Scholastic Paperback Version: kcharman
Scholastic Paperback Version: Deb
Scholastic Paperback Version: Rosa
Slinky: Llehn

Did you notice I didn't mention the Neil Armstrong is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me Gift Package yet?
The winner is:
Susanjsteward
( Mike, take a deep breath here. To fill everyone in, it seems that Susanjsteward and Mike Jung have a friendly competition going on. It is friendly, right? There was a little tough talk on the blog and on twitter. And frankly with all the entries, I'm surprised at this too. Mike, if you look at this in the right context, it's kind of humorous. Of all the people who could have won, it went to your arch rival. That's kind of funny. Right?)

I can't change what the librarians picked (and I wouldn't want to because of course I'm happy for Susan -- as I am for all of the winners).
I did mention the rivalry to the librarians. And with all due respect to Susan, when a person risks getting mugged to create a moon howling video, you have to feel a little bad that his major competitor won. They thought I should send a hard cover book to Mike Jung for his extreme support in the birthday bash contest. After all, it's the first video for Neil Armstrong is My Uncle... Are you seeing a pattern here? Librarians like to give away free things. But who am I to argue with the librarians?

To all the winners, congratulations. Please send me your contact info. My email is on the right.

The Party's Over: and How I Learned to Howl at the Moon.

2010-05-28T09:42:00.001-04:00

I never howled at the moon before. Not really.
Oh sure, to celebrate my book's release, I tried my best to channel my main character (or her best friend) and I went outside and I arroooed. It was hardly what you'd expect. At their best, they were the quiet, respectable, "arrooos" of a person who is way too worried about what the neighbors would think.
I was there the day my librarian friends did a podcast. While they were able to celebrate my book by howling in a spirited, carefree way, I sat there, watching. When they arroooed, I mouthed the word. I can't help it. There are still too many times when I'm shy and quiet.
But last night, I had the contest. And so many people promised to howl at the moon. My editor tweeted about it. Blueboarder, Vijaya Bodach, blogged about it. Heck, Mike Jung promised to take a video,
There was a rainstorm. They're not fun events here. My dog, Chi, barks at every single flash of lightning. There's nothing more stressful than watching your German Shepherd-sized dog freak out at a storm. But it ended, and even though I couldn't see the moon, I went outside..and I arroooed. A tiny whimpy arrooo.
At least I could say I did it.
I went inside, wondering why that was the best I could muster. It's not even like I have neighbors around. I live on a street filled with summer cottages. While this weekend, the summer people will come out in droves, last night the only people around was my eighty-year-old neighbor (and she would be totally cool about this).
I waited.
I checked twitter.
I tried to read.
I went outside one last time.
The sky was brighter, especially this one spot. I couldn't see anything because of the house next door. So I ran upstairs and looked out the window.
The moon was framed with clouds.
After the storm, it was wonderful to see. Perfect. Peaceful. Reassuring. I love the moon.
I howled.
It was loud.
And the next time, it was louder.
They sounded so real my dog ran up the stairs and stood by my side.
So for the first time in my life, I arroooed.
Thanks to everyone who joined me.

My librarian friends will be randomly picking the contest winners today. I'll post the results tonight.

Having some problems with the computer tonight. Will post in the morning. Sorry for the delay.

Neil Armstrong is My Uncle..Birthday Bash and Giveaway!

2010-05-21T13:57:00.004-04:00

My book is a year old this month! Time to party! The first year after a debut book launch is something to celebrate. It’s time for a giveaway:

Giveaway #1: Neil Armstrong is My Uncle... is a Society for Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators 2010 Golden Kite Honor Recipient. As part of that honor, I received a year’s membership to the association. But wait! I already am a member and expected to pay my way. (Frankly, it’s the best money I’ve ever spent). So I’m offering a one year’s membership to the SCBWI to another writer.

The first year I joined, some friends gave me a year's membership as a present. I can’t imagine a better gift. I’m certain I would have never been published if I hadn’t joined the SCBWI. It’s time to pay it forward and pass this on.

Giveaway #2: For those of you who are readers, kickball players, space enthusiasts, chocolate lovers, devotees of the 1960s or fans of Massapequa, there’s a Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle... gift basket --complete with a signed book, a slinky, tootsie rolls, a mini-kickball, a faux-Olympic medal, assorted book-related goodies, and some chocolates from Massapequa’s own Krisch’s Candy Store. Here’s my blog post on the walking tour in Massapequa if you want to see a picture of the amazing chocolates inside this store.

To enter this contest, you don’t have to post to Goodreads, blog, Tweet or anything (although.. you know.. no one’s stopping you from spreading the word). All you have to do is promise to howl at the next full moon (it’s something that happens in the story).
If you’re not sure how to do it, here’s a clip of my librarian friends saying “Arrooo!”
The next full moon is next Thursday, May 27, 2010. Winners will be chosen randomly on May 28th. Place a comment below. Make sure it’s not anonymous, of course. Let me know that you’re going to “arrooo” at that moon and you’re in the raffle. If you’re shy like me, you can ‘arrooo’ quietly. If you’re a writer (or thinking about writing) and want to also be included in the SCBWI one year membership giveaway, also include “SCBWI” in your comment.

What I Learned at the NJ Young Author’s Conference.

2010-05-10T14:22:00.006-04:00

The New Jersey Young Authors Conference is a chance for elementary school students (aka the “young authors”) to talk with us, um, older authors. This year, I was thrilled that I was invited to participate.

Since my presentation was for young writers, I came up with ten rules for writing and had the first letter of each rule spell out the expression “work it out”. A friend reminded me that I had come up with an “acrostic” device. Cool. Right? I was all set to try it out.

The room was crowded -- packed with fourth graders and their parents. But I was ready. I had my props ( slinkies, a kickball, a July 20, 1969 newspaper) and of course, I had my trusty PowerPoint presentation.

Sometimes when I get nervous, I forget words (admittedly, not a good trait for either a writer or a speaker). The moment my school librarian host introduces me, the word “acrostic” slips away.

I wonder what will happen when I get to the “Work it Out” part of my presentation, and I try to recall as many multi-syllabic “a” words as I can.

Agnostic. Anagrammatic. Achromatic.

The intro is over. It's my turn. I begin talking about my book. But I’m thinking…

Acoustic. Acetic.

I’m talking about the importance of stories now.

Anastatic. Anachronistic. Acrobatic.

It’s time to move into the “Rules for Writing”. When “Work It Out” comes up on the PowerPoint, my librarian host writes it lengthwise on easel paper (for the student to fill in the rules).

I am out of “a” words. There’s nothing left in my brain. So I decide to ask the audience.

“Does anyone know the word for when the first letters in each line form a word or message?”

I look at the parents for help. Some shrug. A few look away. I look at the fourth graders. About a dozen hands shoot up. “Acrostic” they say in unison.

“That’s it!” I say, and I feel saved. I’m able to move on with the rest of my talk.

That day, I learned what I already knew. That fourth graders are smart, interested in writing and know some pretty fancy words.

Earth Day Quotes

2010-04-19T22:02:00.006-04:00

Here are some quotes to celebrate Earth Day!

"A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in." -- Greek proverb

"Earth laughs in flower."-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"No occupation is so delightful to me as the culture of the earth, and no culture comparable to that of the garden."-- Thomas Jefferson

"What is a weed? A weed is a plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered." -- Emerson

"He who plants a tree, plants a hope."

"Flowers are the sweetest things God ever made, and forgot to put a soul into."-- Henry Beecher

“A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.” -- Walt Whitman

”Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, “I’m going to snow. If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that’s tough. I am going to snow anyway.” --Maya Angelou

“I will be the gladdest thing under the sun. I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.” –Edna St. Vincent Milay

“You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.” –Desiderata

“To sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon the verdant green hills is the most perfect refreshment.” – Jane Austin

“When one tugs at a single thing in nature; he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” – John Muir

Want to win a wonderful book and get $40 dollars in donated in your name to an organization that plants trees? Head on over to Alison Formento's blog. She’s giving away a copy of her new book, This Tree Counts! It’s a perfect book for celebrating Earth Day. To enter, all you have to do is tell her the name of your favorite tree. She'll also donate $40 to American Forests in the winner's name.

Who do you write for?

2010-04-08T13:19:00.002-04:00

The answer seems obvious. Whether you write middle grades, YAs or picture books, you’re aiming for a very specific demographic. But when you’re writing, do you think “hey, this book will amuse and delight ten-year-olds everywhere”, or do you write with a specific person in mind?

In his book On Writing, Stephen King said that he believed that “every novelist has a single ideal reader; that at various points during the composition of a story, the writer is thinking ‘I wonder what he/she will think when he/she reads this part?’” King went on to say that his ‘ideal reader’ is his wife, Tabitha. That is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever read. He wrote all those scary creepy stories for the love of his life.

It makes me feel a little guilty. My husband is supportive of my writing in a million different ways. He was the first person to ever call me an author (and that was after I wrote the first sentence of my first story.) But he doesn’t share my passion for middle grade books and he doesn’t read many of them. And I feel that having a basic understanding of the genre in which you are writing is a non-negotiable prerequisite for an ‘ideal reader’. So while my husband will celebrate my accomplishments, build me up when I’m anxious and listen to me read the same paragraph over and over again, he’s not the person I have in mind when I write.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote her latest book, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, for twenty-seven women. After coming to the conclusion that she could never satisfy the millions of readers of her best seller Eat, Pray, Love, she narrowed it down her small circle of female friends. She even named them in her forward. Sure, whittling it down from millions to 27 is a huge feat, but I can’t imagine writing while thinking about 27 of my nearest and dearest friends. It would be hard to keep them all in my head. Besides, they all have such definite personalities. I wonder, at what point, my loved-ones would start to argue about the direction to take the story. Would they come to a consensus about a single sentence? Twenty-seven is way too many. For me, it needs to be one.

I have trusted readers whose opinions I cherish. Sometimes it’s a writing buddy, other times it’s my school librarian friend who has read every single piece of drivel I’ve ever written (if that’s not a definition of true friendship, I don’t know what is), other times it’s my nephew (he’s grown now, but he was a boy when I started writing).

For my work-in-progress, my ideal reader is a person I will never see again.
I met her on the release day for Neil Armstrong is my Uncle. I spent the day at a school visit celebrating with 4th and 5th graders. It was quite a party. Ice Cream. Cards. Banners. When the day was done, I sat in the classroom alone waiting for the teacher (aka my sister) to do an errand somewhere in the school. I was so tired I put my head on the desk. When I picked it up, a 5th grader was standing in front of me.

I’d met so many children that day that I couldn’t remember her name. I know she told it to me more than once. I was too embarrassed to ask. I wondered how long she’d been standing there.
“What’s your next book about?” she asked.
I decided to be cagey. “What do you think it should be about?”

It was the question she was waiting for. She talked about two of the characters in my book. She wondered what happened to one of them. And she talked about friendship. She even gave me ideas for plots and themes. Then she put her hands on her hips. “And that,” she said, “is the story you should write next.”

Before I could ask her a single question she raced for the door.
While my w.i.p. has different characters than the ones she suggested, I keep her themes in mind. I still think about how confidently she spoke and how quickly she got to what was important. And when I write, I think of her. And I wish I could remember her name.

How the Food Network is Messing Up My Internal Editor

2010-03-31T22:24:00.006-04:00

There’s a show called Chopped on the Food Network. Four up-and-coming chefs compete for $10,000 by cooking a three-course meal. In the beginning of each course, the chefs open up a basket of ingredients. They have 30 minutes to use all the ingredients in a single dish. The basket is always filled with a crazy combination of food like strawberries, turkey and gummy bears or coconut, calamari and doughnuts. Yet somehow the chefs manage to take the odd combo and create a flavorful dish.
Three celebrity chef judges make comments while they cook (and of course they judge their work at the end). After each course one of the chefs is chopped from the competition (It’s not as gruesome as it sounds. There are no knives involved. Instead, they uncover a tray. The chef whose dish is on the tray is asked to leave. Tim Allen, the host, says “You’ve been chopped.”).
It’s amazing how a really nice incentive (a chance to show off their talents to the TV viewing world not to mention the ten grand), a tight deadline (they have 30 minutes) and a very odd framework (those weird mystery ingredients) inspires them to come up with some pretty fancy meals. I’m not sure exactly, but there’s some sort of inspirational recipe hidden in this incentive/deadline/framework mixture. Get it right and you can cook up all sorts of creative things (Sorry for the bad puns).
I’m not thrilled with the judges. Sure, it’s a competition. Three get chopped. One can win. But they rarely say nice things. And they could. When a chef is able to combine tofu, blueberries and oysters and yet still remain true to his Caribbean roots, they could say something positive. Or how about a “hey, good job” when a chef makes the 30 minute deadline even after she messes up her first attempt and has to prepare the whole dish over again.
Instead they make comments like, “Look at him! He’s walking away from the calamari! It will turn to rubber if it’s overcooked!” “This plate is a mess. Did you see these drips on the side?” or my favorite nasty comment that one particular judge is fond of saying after the tasting “This food is not pleasing to me. I’m finding it inedible.”
I watch this show so much that now when I cook, I imagine the Chopped judges doing a commentary.
“Look at how uneven those pepper slices are.”
“Doesn’t she know how to plate a dish? This food is a mess.”
And even though I know that this is taking conversations I have with myself to an amazing new level, sometimes I answer back.
“It’s 8:00pm on a Wednesday night. I’m making real food. And we are not eating popcorn for dinner.”
Recently I’ve begun to hear the Chopped voices when I write. “This sentence is a mess. Did you see these dangling modifiers?” or “This paragraph is not pleasing to me. I’m finding it unreadable.”
Great. So now my internal editor sounds like the one of the judges on Chopped.
It’s time to turn off the TV or, at the very least, it’s time to watch a new show. Does anyone know what time Paula Deen is on?

Do you have an Ikigai?

2010-03-21T13:35:00.003-04:00

About a week ago my co-worker (and librarian extraordinaire) Kathy found this post-it note on her computer.
"Do you know what it means?" she asked.
I looked at the letters and tried to think of every possibility. Was it an abbreviation? A clue? Some new library jargon? (that was my best guess, because the good people who come up with library-type terminology are always thinking of new exciting phrases)
I shrugged.
"Did you notice who put this here?" she asked.
And even though my desk is a mere six feet away from Kathy's, I was clueless.
So Kathy turned to Meg, who is six feet away from her on the other side.
Meg, an endless source of knowledge when it comes to interesting random things, knew right away. "Ikigai. That's a Japanese word for "life's passion" or "the reason for existing". Finding your ikigai is a journey, but a rewarding search that leads to lifelong satisfaction."
"And do we know who wrote this?" I asked.
Meg shook her head.
For Kathy's sake, I hoped that the person who put the note on her pc didn't mean it as another task for her "to do" list. This one would be a major project and she's already got her hands full.
Perhaps it was a note from a library patron. Maybe someone needed help finding their ikigai. (After a few years of fielding questions at the reference desk, nothing would surprise me).
We still don't know who put it on Kathy's desk or why, but it got me thinking. Do I have an ikigai?
We did a little research and found some interesting facts. A recent seven-year study of tens of thousands of Japanese adults showed that those who said they had a ikigai significantly outlived those who did not. It seems that having a life's purpose is essential to our well-being. That sounds like a decent reason to continue the search.
So...
I tried to think of what mine would be. At first, I thought about the people I love. Hey, this ikigai stuff is a no brainer. There's nothing more important than having satisfying relationships. We all want that. But I think the need to build connections with others is one of the traits that makes us human. Since it's a common desire for all people (or most people), can it be an ikigai? There's no reason for a lifelong search if it's the same thing for everyone. We can tell small children, put it into the fifth grade curriculum (and then add it into the tenth grade just to reinforce it). Your life's purpose is your relationships. We could do worse, but maybe we need to dig deeper. We all interact with each other in our own unique way. Maybe it has to do with how we see the world? Perhaps it's also something more.
I thought about writing. I've given writing a lot of thought since I've been published. (It seems I enjoy having a philosophical crisis with every major milestone). Is the act of writing enough? Do I need to get published? Is it a simply a creative outlet? Yes, I feel a deep desire to write. I hope to be published again. No matter what my publishing future holds, I can't imagine not writing. But is it my ikigai?
I'm also a librarian. There's so much about being a librarian that I love -- seeking out information, being a literacy advocate, doing research, helping people, etc. But if this is my ikigai, then why do I feel compelled to write?
A few days ago, I thought I found the answer. I tasted this amazing homemade caramel topped with the perfect amount of coarse sea salt. One mouthful and I decided my life's purpose would travel the world in search of salty sweet caramel treats. I had found my ikigai. But I wondered if that would get old after a few years (oh but what a sweet few years).
I'm still searching for my ikigai. There are times when I think it will remain illusive, but then there are other moments when I can't help thinking..I'm getting close.

(btw, if you already found your ikigai, let me know)

The Day I Let My Dog Jump On the Bed

2010-03-13T09:54:00.009-05:00

The only place in the entire house where my dog, Chi, is not allowed is on my bed. Of course, that means it's her favorite spot.
I can always tell she's been there. She has a special way of rearranging the pillows. She dumps the pretty decorative ones on the floor. (My husband's not fond of those either).
Chi doesn't even try to hide her behavior. If I find her on the bed, she stays put until I tell her to leave. When she jumps down, she makes it clear she's not happy. Her protests are always the same. She paces and shakes her collar. She sighs. She tosses her head up in the air and says "rooo rooo rooo".
A few days ago, I'm sitting on the bed reading, when she jumps up. Instead of going through our usual routine, I very softly say "just this once". I even pet her to let her know I'm serious.
While I go back to my book, she curls up on the corner of the bed, staring at me. I read a few chapters, trying to ignore her watching my every move.
The moment my stretched out leg accidentally touches her, she jumps off the bed and starts her protests.
"That's not what happened," I tell her. "I didn't chase you. You were able to stay this time."
She begins to pace.
"You're creating this situation. You decided it was going to go bad before it did." I pat her spot, inviting her back. "It's okay. Really."
She's too busy doing her head toss to listen.
"That's why you were staring at me. You were expecting the worst. It didn't have to be this way. You could have stayed."
She answers with a deep and strangely human-sounding sigh.
There's no way she's getting back on that bed.
Poor Chi. She made up her mind about how things were going to be, and was unable to accept change -- even when it was a positive one.
Sometimes, I'm like that too. I think we all are. We assume a certain outcome based on what's happened in the past.
Old patterns are hard to break. But if we expect the same end result, it will happen over and over again. Chi inspired me. I'm going to try to release old expectations and see what the future will bring. Who knows, maybe I'll end up in a place I never expected to be.

Neil Armstrong is My Uncle is an Honor Recipient of a Golden Kite Award

2010-03-02T07:29:00.000-05:00

Years ago when I first started to write, two friends got together and gave me a year's membership to the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. I'm not sure, but I think I cried. This was an I-believe-in-you-and-in-your-dreams gift, and gifts like that always make me cry.

The SCBWI opened up a world to me. Through it, I found my first critique group (and my next one), learned about writing and the book industry; was inspired; met writing buddies (many turned into great friends); became part of a wonderful community of writers and illustrators; realized that I wasn't the only one who wanted to be an author; learned that it's really hard to write a book and even harder to get it published; discovered that it's not impossible.

Last night, I got a call from Sara Rutenberg, the SCBWI Golden Kite Award coordinator, saying that Neil Armstrong is My Uncle was a 2010 honor recipient. How wonderful to receive an acknowledgment from an organization that means so much to so many writers and illustrators. (A note to Sara: sorry for rambling incoherently and for not being able to put two sentences together during our phone conversation.)

Below is a copy of the announcement listing the winners and honor recipients.

Monday, March 01, 2010

The Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators is pleased to announce the winners and honorees of the 2010 Golden Kite Awards (for books published in the 2009 calendar year.) The Golden Kite Award is the only award presented to children’s book authors and artists by their peers.

Golden Kite Award Winners

	Fiction SEA OF THE DEAD by Julia Durango Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
	Nonfiction ASHLEY BRYAN: WORDS TO MY LIFE'S SONG by Ashley Bryan Atheneum Books for Young Readers (Simon & Schuster)
	Picture Book Text THE LONGEST NIGHT by Marion Dane Bauer, illustrated by Ted Lewin Holiday House
	Picture Book Illustration GRACIAS THANKS Illustrated by John Parra, written by Pat Mora Lee & Low Books

Golden Kite Honor Recipients

	Fiction NEIL ARMSTRONG IS MY UNCLE by Nan Marino Roaring Book Press
	Nonfiction ERNEST HEMINGWAY: A WRITER'S LIFE by Catherine Reef Clarion Books (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)
	Picture Book Text BELLA & BEAN by Rebecca Kai Dotlich, illustrated by Aileen Leijten Atheneum Books for Young Readers (Simon & Schuster)
	Picture Book Illustration BAD NEWS FOR OUTLAWS Illustrated by R. Gregory Christie, written by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson Carolrhoda Books

Here's the link to the SCBWI announcement For more information on all SCBWI awards and grants, please visit the Awards & Grants section of our website.

In Search of the Muse

2010-02-28T10:21:00.000-05:00

A twitter conversation started by Carrie Ryan prompted a bunch of writers to blog (and tweet) about their muse. I can't help adding in my two cents. The subject fascinates me. For years, I've been on a quest to find out exactly where these spurts of creativity come from. I've read books, collected anecdotes, and searched out academic studies.
So far, all I have are questions: Do we all possess the ability to have those creative moments? Do they come from a higher power or are we simply tuning into our own alpha brainwaves? Do we cultivate them through playfulness or discipline? Why can some people tap into them so easily while others struggle?
I've never labeled it a muse, but I've had my moments of insight. I'm working on a story and BLAMMO! -- an idea comes out of nowhere. Suddenly I can't type fast enough. There's something addictive about watching your words pour out onto a page. I'd give up barefoot walks on the beach and even chocolate (yes, I mean the bittersweet kind with the candied ginger) before I'd give up those moments.
It doesn't happen often. To tell the truth, those times are few and far between. It's not like I sit around and wait for inspiration. If you want to get a book finished, you have to write. Most of the time, I take it word by word and page by page. Of course I have those days where I'd rather be watching a rerun of Househunters on HGTV than fixing that plot hole in chapter thirteen, but that comes with the territory. Writing is hard work. It's filled with challenges. Facing those challenges is part of the adventure.
But every time I open up my word processor, I wonder if this will be the day where I'll have one of those moments.
Hey, a writer can dream...

Magnet Poetry Addictions

2010-02-18T06:04:00.000-05:00

My name is Nan Marino, and I am a magnet poetry addict.
They say admitting it is the first step--although it's an addiction I'm not ready to give up.
Those little square words are splattered all over my refrigerator. There are no artful arrangements. Some words are upside down. Some are clumped together. It's a mess. But I love the carelessness, the playfulness, and I can live with the chaos.
One of my favorite things about the magnet words is the font. I'm told that its called Coronet and was designed to "combine old fashioned charm with modern typographic sensibilities." *sigh*

It's fun to word gather. Pick the ones you like and then see if you can turn the jumble into a thought.

Sometimes you don't have all the words you need. Two choices here: Either figure out another way to say it or buy another box of words.

I love seeing the actual physical words in front of me. There's something about the way the each individual word is presented that makes even the most humble word special. I've noticed that seeing the physical word makes me put combinations together that I normally wouldn't. It makes me look at words differently.

Hey Chicago Public Library! Thanks!

2010-02-15T11:43:00.000-05:00

The Chicago Public Library published their Best of the Best 2010: Best Books for Great Kids list yesterday. Neil Armstrong is My Uncle... is on it! I'm thrilled! I'm a public librarian too so being on a list that's compiled by other librarians means the world to me. Thank you Chicago Public Library!

Picture: Valentine's Day rose from my husband

The First Time I Fell In Love...

2010-02-06T17:37:00.000-05:00

I was ten.
Oh sure, there were times before that when I thought it was the real thing. There was that flirtation in kindergarten with a character named Sam (but he was such a fussy eater). And there were a few brief dalliances in second and third grade. To be honest, I hardly remember their names.
Don't think for a moment that my tender age meant it wouldn't last forever. Years later (okay, let's be honest and say decades later) I still think about it. The real thing happened in fourth grade. It was the first time I ever fell in love... with a book (and a book character).
Lucy Maud Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables was my first love.
It happened fast, before Anne Shirley walked on the roof, or met her best friend, Diana, or got called "carrots" by Gilbert Bylthe. The moment she said the words "Anne with an e" and wished her name was Cordelia, I was hooked. It seems she had me at hello. (btw, I know I'm not the only one. If you love this book, I bet you fell for it at the "Anne with an e" part too.)
I remember other moments: how she thought it would be perfectly fine to spend a moonlit night sleeping in a cherry tree and how thrilled she was to drive under a canopy of flowering trees and how she gave everything a better name (I still rename things. I'm not sure if I picked it up from this story or if it's something Anne and I always had in common).
I only read the book once. It never occurred to me to read it again, and I never moved on to the rest of the Anne books either. In my ten-year-old mind, this was a perfect moment. Why ruin it with repetition and destroy a wonderful memory?
But yesterday, I was in a perfect moment/memory destroying mood. I wondered if the decades blurred the imperfections or if I'd fall in love all over again. So for the first time since I was ten, I read the first three chapters.
Here's what I learned:
Anne Shirley doesn't even appear in chapter one. (Hmm. So does the first chapter build suspense for the big meeting or should Lucy M. Montgomery have moved into the action faster?). The first sentence is 137 words long, not exactly the short, attention-grabbing hook we look for nowadays. Of course, the book is over a hundred years old. Perhaps in 1908, lengthy opening sentences were the norm. But that first line still grabbed me. In those scant 137 words, I knew all about the neighbor, Rachel Lynde (aka, the nosiest person in town).
And Anne? When she finally shows up in chapter two, she steals my heart all over again. I was amazed at how much I remembered. As soon as we meet her, she talks about that wild cherry tree: "...it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think?" And she calls the "the long canopy of snowy fragrant blooms" the first thing she ever saw "that couldn't be improved upon by imagination" and renames Barry's Pond the "lake of shining waters". And of course, she talks about her name "Anne with an e" (which I agree is so much more 'distinguished' than Ann.)
I wish I could congratulate myself for having extraordinary powers of retention. The truth is that my mind is often sieve-like. Remarkably important pieces of information often pass through my brain, unnoticed by my memory. But Anne of Green Gables isn't locked into my mind. It's etched into my heart. And when something touches your heart, you remember.

Who gets more out of a school vist? Students or the Author?

2010-01-31T08:58:00.000-05:00

I have to confess. A school visit makes me nervous. The butterflies start weeks before the actual event. And on the day of the visit, I'm filled with the jitters.
On Friday, I drove my jittery self up north for a visit with some 5th grade classes. (btw, "north" is Jersey talk for the northern part of the state. In NJ, the actual north/south border is a subject of great debate and even the subject of a movie documentary.)
It had the makings of a great day.The drive up was fine. No traffic. First time in ages that my GPS and I didn't argue about how to get there (okay, there was that tiny spat about that one turn in the beginning of the drive, but I did it my way and we made up after that).
My jitters were gone the moment I walked into the school. What a wonderful greeting from the 5th graders. Smiling faces. Hand made cards. It couldn't have been better.
The presentation went well. There was a minor blip. Sometime toward the end, I got a ton of blue ink on my face and looked like I was auditioning to be an extra in the movie, Braveheart. (If you've never used a Smartboard, watch out for the blue markers). I cleaned up.
After my talk, the students had a writing assignment. I walked around the classrooms while they asked questions. Good ones. About conflict and plot and characters and voice.
When that was done, I met with quite a few students for a one-on-one conference.
Each child had about five to ten minutes to talk about his/her work.
"I'd like some advice on how to engage the reader," asked one girl.
"This is the sentence I'm most proud of," said a boy.
Another girl showed me about four or five pages of a short story. "You came up with this idea and did this in that half hour you had to write?" I asked. She nodded.
I hope the students learned something from my visit, because I sure did.
After hearing them talk so enthusiastically about their writing, I learned that fifth graders are fearless. They're not afraid to pour their hearts out onto a piece of paper.
As a writer, I owe them the same thing back.

The B.E.M Awards (Best Epicurean Moments) in YA/MG Literature

2010-01-23T10:15:00.000-05:00

There needs to be an award that combines two of my favorite things: food and YA/MG literature. I love it when book characters cook..or eat..or when food is mentioned for any reason.

Here's my list of Best Epicurean Moments in the YA/MG books of 2009:

Best Budding Chef: Eleanor "Groovy" Robinson in The Year the Swallows Came Early by Kathryn Fitzmaurice. I love Groovy and her passion for food. I hope she gets to go to cooking school one day. Her recipe for chocolate-covered strawberries is in the back of the book.

Best "Worst" Chef: With dishes like spaghetti omelets and spam manicotti, Roy McGuire's Dad in Mudville by Kurtis Scaletta could easily be a contestant on the Food Network's new show, "The Worst Cooks in America". His crazy concoctions remind me of my own father's recipes. When my dad cooked, everything was boiled and had a bunch of secret ingredients which always included onions, vinegar and strawberry jam. (Full disclosure: I think I've had a spaghetti omelet and it was pretty good. Roy's Dad should have added in some scallions and a little soy sauce).

Best descriptions of food: Oh sure. There's adventure, romance and a little magic in Cindy Pon's YA fantasy novel Silver Phoenix. But my favorite parts are the mouthwatering descriptions of food that are stirred into this story. Don't read Silver Phoenix when you're hungry. And if there was ever a fantasy YA novel that needed a companion cookbook, it's this one.

Best "worst" meal: In C. Lee McKenzie's YA novel, Sliding on the Edge, 16 yr-old Shawna Stone is forced to make do with a dinner of ketchup soup, straight out the little packets.

Best cry over food: The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo. When Peter Augustus Duchene cried in his soup, I cried too.

Best use of Oreo Cookies: No cookie defines childhood better than an Oreo (although those mint chocolate Girl Scout cookies are a close second). Hands down, the best use of Oreo cookies is in Ellen Potter's book, Slob. There's an Oreo mystery, and I love the Oreo on the cover.

Best book to inspire food cravings: Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell In Love by Lauren Tarshis. I wish I could be in the kitchen while Vikram Adwani prepares a meal. After reading this book, I craved curry for a week. (It happened after reading Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree, too.)

Best Mention of Food in a Title: Soul Enchilada by David Macinnis Gill. The book is as fun and as clever as the title.

Big Dreams? Or Little Ones?

2010-01-10T18:20:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I got my hands on a copy of Storyworks magazine. I wrote a story called “Silver Dollar Dreams” for the January issue. There are incredible illustrations by Kyle Stone (which I are so amazing I can’t stop staring at them). I got to work with Lauren Tarshis, the editor of Storyworks (the very same Lauren Tarshis who created Emma-Jean Lazarus, one of the most memorable characters in children’s literature. Lauren’s books Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree and Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell in Love are among my all time favorites).

My story is about a ten-year old boy who has a dream. Two actually. A big impossible one which he calls a “buried treasure dream” (winning the lottery would be an example of a big dream) and smaller, easier to attain ones, he calls a “silver dollar dreams.”

Storyworks is a magazine for schools, so there’s a teacher’s edition that has some questions about the story. One of the questions for students to answer is "Which is more important? Silver dollar dreams or buried treasure ones."

I ask my husband while we’re chopping vegetables. Fortunately I don’t have to explain the silver dollar/buried treasure dream concept to him since he’s ~~been forced to listen to/read/make suggestions about every single version/variation/word change/comma placement~~ already read the story.

His answer is immediate. “Small dreams, because they’re possible to attain.”

I hand him an onion. “But don’t you think that the big dreams give you some context for the little dreams. Big dreams provide a blueprint for..

My husband interrupts... “a blueprint for the disappointments and failures in your life.” He laughs as he says it… but still.

We chop silently until carrot time. (We’re making soup) I tell him that impossible dreams fill people with hope and give them a chance to see themselves in a whole new light.

“Give me an example,” he says.

“Okay, when you were a little kid, didn’t you dream of being Superman?” It’s more like an accusation than a question. I happen to know that he was one of those kids who jumped off furniture wearing a beach towel as a cape.

“My point, exactly,” he says. “When was the last time you saw me run faster than a speeding bullet or leap over a tall building in a single bound? It’s kind of disappointing that it didn’t happen.”

“Come on. It was fun to be Superman.” I hand him a celery stalk. “By dreaming about Superman, maybe that child learns he wants to save the world. He could grow up to be a cop or firefighter.”

“Isn’t it better to dream about being a firefighter? Then that child would have reached his dream”

Frankly I’m surprised with his answers (and suspect that if I asked him another time, they might be different). This is the man whose boyhood dreams of becoming an astronaut inspired me to set my debut novel during the week of the first moonwalk. So I remind him of this fact. I also remind him about how often he says that this single historic event taught an entire generation to dream big.

He asks me if we need more celery. Then he adds, “Perhaps big dreams are good for society.”

“But not for the individual?” I ask.

He shrugs.

I’ve seen the StarTrek movie where Spock dies in order to save everyone else so I know what he’s talking about. But I’m not buying it. “If you met a boy who said he dreamed of being Superman, would you tell him not to do it? That it’s never going to happen so he should modify his dream and lower his expectations?”

“How old is the boy?”

“Six.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Of course not.” Before I could shake the parsley at him and say “I told you so,” he adds, “but what would you say to a sixteen-year-old who had that same dream? Wouldn’t you tell him to consider a plan B?”

He got me. If a sixteen-year-old told me he wanted to be Superman, I’d probably go all librarian on him and start pulling out a few of those Ferguson Career Guides and suggest he think of something else.

So at what age are you expected to temper your dreams? Are children the only ones allowed to have big impossible ones? As adults don’t we get some too? Maybe there is a fine line between this-dream-is-a-little-out-there to let’s-get-you-some-professional-help-because-your-dreams-are-crazy. But people beat the odds all time. They win lotteries. They have miraculous recoveries. They do something that others said could never be done. Their giant dreams come true.

I have tons of small dreams. But I have some really big ones also. And I know there’s a good chance they might never happen. But I can’t imagine a life without big impossible dreams. And I can’t imagine a world without people who dream them.

New Year's Resolutions I'll Keep

2010-01-03T12:10:00.000-05:00

(A version of this was posted yesterday on the AuthorsNow website, but I wanted to post this here since I think resolutions are important and also because I wanted to put up another picture of my dog in her New Year's hat. )

This year, I’m trying something different. Instead of setting goals that will be forgotten by March, I’m making ones I’m certain I’ll keep.

Here’s my list of can’t fail resolutions:

I will eat more chocolate.

And potato chips. And cinnamon candies. And tons of other foods I use for celebrations. I hope there are a lot of them. On days when nothing special happens, I will make up my own reasons for merriment. Meeting a writing goal. Getting a decent haircut. Not hitting that terminally long red light on my way to work. I will celebrate ordinary events, and I will eat accordingly (for those of you think I’ve gone off the nutritional deep end, I’m looking into a juicer. There has to be a special event that calls for a kale/spinach/parsley cocktail.)

I will get lost.

I live in New Jersey, a land of meandering roads with street signs that will point you toward your destination…eventually. I have ventured off the Garden State Parkway and found myself unable to get back. My GPS is equally perplexed by the NJ road system. When it fails, I am left to wander. With writing too, my plot will turn in unexpected ways. My characters will do something new, and I will lose my sense of direction.

Sometimes I intentionally take the wrong turn. If I’m lucky I’ll find a beach or a place to get a bucket of blueberries. I enjoy getting lost. It’s what happens when you leave the familiar behind and venture into something new. And new places mean new possibilities.

I will take on too much.

In 2010, I’m going to finish my work-in-progress, work full-time as a librarian, go on class/library visits for my debut book, spend time with family and friends, possibly buy a house and probably deal with an occasional crisis or two. Like everyone else, I’m juggling a lot. Oh sure. I’ll drop a few balls this year. Something will come crashing down. It’s one of the consequences of having a busy (and full) life. But except for that occasional crisis, there’s not a thing here I’d give up.

I will feel guilty.

There will be times when those unanswered emails, unfinished projects, and all the things I should have/could have/would have done better if only I had more time will keep me awake at night. But I know my guilt comes from doing too much (my choice) or perhaps from eating too much chocolate (my choice again) so I will try to let myself off the hook.

I will find some quiet time.

Somewhere in the chaos, I’ll find a moment to take a few deep breaths, glance up at the moon or stare out at the bay (and also go late night channel surfing and play way too many games of Spider Solitaire).

I will read a book that takes my breath away.

It’s happened every year since I started reading so it’s pretty much guaranteed. I never know which book it will be or why. A single sentence. An idea. The book as a whole. Perhaps it will make me see the world in a whole new way or maybe something familiar will be so well articulated that it will make me wonder why I never noticed it before. Everything I know about writing and storytelling will be challenged. I will hold that book in my hands, and I will feel grateful.

Happy New Year!

2009: A Look Back

2010-01-01T09:09:00.000-05:00

New Year's Eve is a mixed bag. I never know how I'm going to feel when the clock strikes twelve. It all depends on what happened the year before. Most years, the event is one of quiet celebration. It's a time to reflect and enjoy. Of course, like everyone else, I've had my share of clunker years, the ones so filled with worry or sorrow that they make you want to sprint toward midnight so you can start over. But every once in a while, there's a really good one, a year filled with celebration and joy and dreams coming true. 2009 was one of those years.

Here's why:

My debut novel, Neil Armstrong is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me, was published!
And it got some really nice reviews (including two stars) and made the NY Public Library List of 100 Titles for Reading and Sharing!
It was made into an audio book. I got to listen while it happened!
I learned a little about being a published author and celebrated the release of my writing buddy's awesome book.
There was a surprise party.
I interviewed Neil Armstrong's nephew and met Buzz Aldrin and had a Twitter interview with my terrific editor.
Scholastic Books Clubs chose my book to be part of their Arrow book club (see page two of the brochure).
I had a short story published in Storyworks Magazine with incredible illustrations by Kyle M Stone.

It was a whirlwind year of new experiences. It was wonderful having the support of my family and friends. Plus I met so many people (both in person and through blogs, twitter and Facebook) and even made a new friend or two.

If I could, I'd take 2009 and wrap in up in a big red bow. Happy New Year! Hope 2010 is a red bow year for everyone!

The Storm at the Shore

2009-12-19T15:06:00.000-05:00

I took a walk around my neighborhood. Here's what the storm looks like at the Jersey shore.

Yes. I almost did go for a swim..accidentally.

Waiting tables...
The Barnegat Bay.
Note to self: Next time, get the shovel from the shed before the storm starts

I bet you were expecting Santa Claus. This scarecrow should have been put away weeks ago. But I like him so I couldn't do it. I'm going to find him a red hat and let him stay out for the season.

Charlotte Observer lists Neil Armstrong is My Uncle on their "Best Book for Youths" list!

2009-12-14T08:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me was mentioned in The Charlotte Observer in Susie Wilde's article on "Best Books For Youths"!

A Near-Death Experience (Not mine -- but still traumatic)

2009-12-13T10:25:00.000-05:00

I will never understand how my husband can sleep through our dog's pre-dawn I-have-to-go-out barks. It's not like I jump up right away. I pretend I'm asleep, but those barks seem urgent. At 6am on Sunday morning, either the love of my life is still in dreamland or he is giving an award-winning performance.

It's still dark outside when I let out the dog. I'm grumbling as I search for coffee. We are completely out. If I'm going to salvage a moment of this day, there must be caffeine involved.

I throw on a sweatshirt, sweat pants, winter boots, no socks. (Apparently my limited fashion sensibilities don't wake up until there's caffeine either). I weigh my coffee options.

Like any town here, we have a WaWa. For those of you unfamiliar with this mainstay of the Jersey shore, it's a local convenience store known for its coffee and sandwiches. There are more WaWas in these parts than there are mosquitoes on a summer evening. But even in the early hours, it's a busy place, and I am not in the mood for throngs of humanity.

Instead I head to Dunkin Donuts. I buy my ground coffee and of course, I get a cup for the road. After a few sips of caffeine and a conversation with the Dunkin Donuts man (who is completely sympathetic about my sleeping husband/barking dog/no coffee in the house situation) I'm feeling better. I get into the car to drive to a different part of town to watch the sun come up.

So the morning seems to be savable. The coffee is good. I feel completely validated by the understanding Dunkin Donut's man. I decide it's pretty cool that in a town of only 1500 people, there are two places where you can buy coffee at 6am.

I begin to count all the wonderful things that we have doubles of in this town. True, there are no bookstores, which is my personal cultural barometer, but there are three pizza parlors, two places to get a Tarot card reading, and a zillion places to get a tattoo. I'm still counting when I turn down a wooded road.

A rabbit races out in front of me. I hit the brakes.

A lot goes through your head during moments of crisis. First, I am struck by the unfairness of the situation. I can't be a rabbit killer. I'm a vegetarian (okay, well, I eat fish, dairy, eggs and on nights when the stars are not properly aligned, I will nibble on a piece of chicken. But never rabbit. I mean..that's like red meat).

And why this particular little guy? This is no scrawny half-starved creature. This is a furry, round, adorable animal. If they were casting parts for the Easter follies, the rabbit who is now a mere six inches from my front tire would be a shoe in for the starring role. There is no getting around this. I'm about to run over the Easter Bunny. I wonder if I already had.

The Easter Bunny must have made a 90-degree turn under the car. I see him hopping about two feet in front of me. I know it's only a matter of moments before his little round rabbit legs give out and those tires catch up with him.

Finally the car stops. The rabbit makes a run toward the other side of the street. For a moment, human and rabbit stare at each other. I can see his little bunny heart pounding. And mine seems to share the same quick rhythm.

I wait until the bunny is out of sight, far from the road. And I continue on my way. As I'm sipping my coffee watching the sun come up over the bay, I think about the rabbit hiding in the brambles and wonder if he is watching the sunrise too.

The Other Side of The Reference Desk: A Writer Puts on Her Librarian Hat to Learn the Value of a Dollar

2009-12-10T07:07:00.000-05:00

Like all librarians, I have my favorite reference resources. And I'm thrilled when I get a chance to use them.

It's not like I wake up in the mornings wondering if I'll be able to use the Encyclopedia of Associations at work that day, but if someone wants a little info on the Society of Coffee Mill Enthusiasts, you bet I'm hopping to that book with a spring in my step.

Here's another one that sends me to the shelves humming.

The Value of A Dollar:Prices and Incomes in the United States

What is it: The editors of this book say it's about "practical economy: what things cost and how much money people have to buy them". It lists the actual prices of things consumers purchased from the 1700's to the present. It also has info on salaries. But it's so much more than that.

Why writers need to know about this book: It's a wonderful way to see what society was like at different periods in history. If you're not writing historical fiction, take a look at it anyway. This book goes up to present times and will help you find interesting details for your w.i.p.

Here are some samples of what's inside: (source: Value of a Dollar: Prices and Incomes in the United States. Millerton, NY : Grey House Pub., 2004.)

In 1900 the Chicago Tribune advertised for a Sales Agent "we want a few active hustlers in city to sell our new patent reflectors for Welsbach lights; evenings 6 to 9 pm; exclusive terrritory $1.50 to $3.00 a night"

In 1890 "Dr. Williams Pink Pills for Pale People: Miraculous cure" 50 cents

In 1932, you could buy a box of 200 "Kraft; fresh, soft, fluffy, vanilla-flavored marshmallows" for 65 cents

A frying pan in Prince George County Maryland cost 4 shillings in 1797.

And if you want to get an idea of how much an author made in 1834: William McGruffey made $1,000 in royalties for the various McGuffrey texts.

The Other Side of the Reference Desk: A Writer Puts on Her Librarian Hat: Talking about Databases

2009-12-03T08:05:00.000-05:00

I'm wearing both hats this week. In this post, I talk to myself (which happens frequently).

LibrarianNAN: Here's one of my favorite resources. Let's talk about databases...

WriterNAN: YAWN. I hate that word. It's dull...uninspiring. Who wants to search a database when they can search something fun like Yahoo and Google?

LibrarianNAN: It is a boring name. Sometimes, that makes it a hard sell to library customers. I've lobbied for a name change. I think a database should be called "an amazing collection of in-depth information that you can't find through search engines like Yahoo and Google -- and even if you could, it would probably be at those websites where they charge you for info and it would cost you a ton of money -- but you can get this info through your library for free." That's more descriptive, but it's a little hard to fit in the brochures.

WriterNAN: Er..yeah..right. So why do I need to know about these things?

LibrarianNAN: Not everything is available for free on the Internet. There are wonderful gems of info that...

WriterNAN: Wait. I thought you said it was free.

LibrarianNAN: For library users, it's free. Libraries pay major money for these databases. We buy them and make them available for our library customers. But the information isn't free. It's often a collection of books, articles, issues of magazines and journals (in electronic form). That's why you can't find this stuff through regular search engines.

WriterNAN: Free is good. What can I find on a database?

LibrarianNAN: Let's say you're writing a story and you need information about the mating habits of butterflies...

WriterNAN: Ha! I know why you came up with that example. We just finished reading the incredible first story in Laini Taylor's Lips Touch: Three Times. It was wonderful and you're still haunted by it.

LibrarianNAN: If Laini Talylor came into the library and asked about the mating habits of butterflies, I'd suggest the databases Academic Search Premier (for some great scholarly journals on that subject) and also Science Reference Center.

WriterNAN: Hope you'd ask her to sign her book too. Alright. So databases have good info on butterflies, but let's say my main character is an 11 year-old who fixes lawn mowers.

LibrarianNAN: Try the Small Engine Repair Reference Center

WriterNAN: And what if my main character broke an antique flower pot and needs to know how much it would cost to replace it.

LibrarianNAN: The Antique Reference Database has prices for all kinds of antiques. You're still stressed out about the broken coffee cup this morning. Aren't you?

WriterNAN: It was early. I was pre-caffeine.

LibrarianNAN: From language learning to medicine to art to history --there's a database for almost anything. Our library has about 90 different ones. Take a look at our library's website to see the huge variety.

WriterNAN: But only cardholders for your library can use your databases. What if I want to tell my writing buddies about this. They live all over the country.

LibrarianNAN: Because of agreements with database producers, the databases are generally only available to cardholders of the library system. But so many libraries have them. Your writing buddies can check their own library's website to see what databases are available to them or they can ask their librarian.

WriterNAN: And if it's 2am, they can use one of those "Ask a Librarian" services that you talked about.

LibrarianNAN: I like your thinking. It's good to know we're on the same wavelength. The librarians at the 24/7 library services would be happy to help them.

WriterNAN: So are there any secret search strategies that you use when you search databases or is it similar to searching Google.

LibrarianNAN: You can pretty much search them the same way, but we librarians know a few secret tricks.

WriterNAN: Will you show them to me?

LibrarianNAN: Any librarian will show them to you. If you're ever stuck, ask them. But I'll talk about my search strategies in another post.

WriterNAN: Great. And maybe by then, we'll have pulled ourselves together.

(sorry for posting the wednesday post on friday...computer problems)

Remembering the Present

2009-11-27T12:33:00.000-05:00

I have this odd holiday ritual. At some point during the day, I slip away from the festivities, find a quiet place, then close my eyes and try to take in every single detail of the celebration: The people. The voices. The laughter. The music. The food (I pay special attention to the food). Who and where my friends are. The clothes I’m wearing. What my hair looks like (even if it’s a bad hair day). The weather. The conversations. Everything.

Of course, I take in all those joyful moments, but if there are times of stress, I think about that too. Good or bad. Ordinary or remarkable. Whatever is happening during the day, I let it sink inside me.

This year, I noted that seemingly arbitrary sentences caused my older brother to break out in song, that my sister’s homemade gluten-free pizza is getting better and better, that my niece seems like she’s at a great place in her life and that those super cute shoes I found in the back of my closet were way too tight (btw, there’s always a very good reason why you stopped wearing shoes stored in the back of your closet. It’s best not to put them on ever again.)

I’m not sure how this started, but I’ve been doing it ever since I was a child. I wonder if it came from a book I read. Some of my best ideas came from those middle grade books.

After I’m convinced that I’ve taken in every detail, I tell myself to remember. Then I imagine all those holiday images wrapped up and stored somewhere in my mind. I hope I’ll be able to retrieve them in the future. After all, you never know when you’ll need a memory.

(The shrimp in the picture was cooked by my younger brother for one of our holiday celebrations and is definitely worth remembering)

The Other Side of the Reference Desk: A 24/7 Librarian

2009-11-25T10:35:00.000-05:00

It’s 2 am. The house is quiet. You’re busy writing. It’s all good. But by 2:01, you've hit a roadblock. You can’t write another thing because you need a piece of information that will change the course of your w.i.p. Your entire novel rests on your finding this wonderful and interesting little bit of info. (Okay. I know there’s a lot of good NaNoWriMo-type advice which says you should keep writing and deal with the information crisis later. But stay with me on this one).

Suddenly, you need to do a little research. You could hop on Google and wade through tons of sites or ignore all those caveats about wikis and head straight to Wikipedia (if you don’t know about the pros and cons of wiki-info, stay tuned for a future post). Or you can ask a librarian.

That’s right. At 2:01am you can chat with a real live librarian. Many libraries or state library systems have a 24/7 library service that allow you to ask your question and get some help.

I’m one of the hundreds of librarians who participate in a program called QandA NJ, New Jersey’s 24 hour library service. Here’s the inside scoop of how it works. We all have different shifts where we log onto a site and wait for questions. Customers hop onto the site and ask us what they need to know. Then we find answers. We also give quick lessons on how we found the info or offer suggestions for how to find resources if you've got a major research project.

Think about it. Right now as you’re reading this blog post, there’s an army of librarians waiting for your questions.

To find out if your area has a 24/7 library service, go to your library’s webpage or give your local library a call. Below are only some of the 24/7 virtual library services. I'll post more links as I find them.

New Jersey http://www.qandanj.org/
Kentucky http://www.askwhyky.org/
Massachusetts http://www.massanswers.org/
Colorado http://www.askcolorado.org/k12/index.html
California http://www.asknow.org/
Pennsylvania http://www.askherepa.org/
Oregon http://www.oregonlibraries.net/chat
Illinois http://www.glencoe.lib.il.us/QPform2.htm

Next time you have a pressing information need, try asking a 24/7 librarian. (btw, notice my dog, Chi, is sporting a baseball cap that says QandANJ)

Added info: Here's a list of "Ask a Librarian" services in the United States. (Thanks Beth Cackowski of QandANJ for this great list)

The Other Side of the Reference Desk: A Writer Puts on Her Librarian Hat

2009-11-18T15:49:00.001-05:00

So let’s say your main character’s parents own a funeral home and a single engine prop Cessna airplane. They just learned that the body of dearly departed Great Aunt Wilma is 500 miles away. Poor Wilma died while dancing the tango at the Professional Elvis Impersonator’s Convention. Even though the weather looks grim, Mom is going to hop in the plane to bring Aunt Wilma home. (Of course she promises to be back in time for your main character’s big soccer game).

Sound plausible? Well, I have a few questions. First does a body fit into a single prop engine Cessna? Would a mortician fly a plane with an impending storm? Would Aunt Wilma really get one last airplane ride? And would she still be dressed as Elvis?

If someone came into my library with these questions, I’d tell them to contact the Flying Funeral Directors of America. This is an association for licensed airplane pilots who are also in the funeral industry. According to their blurb, the organization enables members “to participate in two activities which are very much a part of their lives: funeral services and aviation.” I suspect that one of the 100 members of this group would have some answers.

I’ve found answers to some of my most challenging reference questions by contacting associations, like the Flying Funeral Directors of America. I’m amazed at how generous people are with their time and knowledge.

There’s an association for everything. They exist for professions, hobbies, fan clubs, medical problems, trades, sports, unions, governments, religious affiliations, ethnic groups, patriotic groups, veteran’s organizations, cultural groups..the list goes on. You can find over 150,000 of them in The Encyclopedia of Associations (Gale Publishing Group, Detroit). This multi-volume treasure is available in many libraries and is a favorite of librarians.

As a writer, I use the Encyclopedia of Associations as a starting point for my research. When I needed to know what jails were like in the Mississippi Delta in 1926, I made a phone call to American Jails Association. In one twenty-minute conversation, I learned about jails in the twenties, about the current size of the jail in my own county and about a sheriff in the 1800’s who believed that his prisoners could exist solely on a diet of tomato juice. I also received a few complementary issues of American Jails magazine. For another story, I needed to know what could make a pet squid sick. A quick email to the American Malacological Society and I had an answer.

Here are a few hints when contacting associations:

*Be respectful of the person’s time. I write down my questions beforehand to try to keep them brief.

*When you call an association, try to get past the receptionist. Introduce yourself, tell him what you’re looking for and ask if there’s someone who can answer a few quick questions.

*If the association specialist doesn’t have the answers, ask for suggestions about where else you can look. A knowledgeable person in an association can often point you in the right direction.

Next time you’re in your library, take a look at the Encyclopedia of Associations. It's a great resource for writers.

Oh and regarding Aunt Wilma, I have one more question. Do they really dance the tango at Elvis Conventions? Let's check with the Association of Elvis Impersonators.

This is the first of a series. Every Wednesday, there will be a post about fun, quirky, useful resources for writers. Look for future posts on databases vs Google (trust me, it's more interesting than it sounds), the invisible web and very cool reference books. Hope you'll check back.

What's In My Writing Space: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

2009-11-10T08:06:00.000-05:00

I have visions of writing in a beautiful, tranquil space. I can see it now. A giant desk.. no wait.. a table, with nothing on it but wisp of a computer (which despite its tiny size has an exceptionally large screen and a perfect keyboard). I'd be surrounded by books I love and all my favorite objects would be perfectly arranged on bookshelves (ones that were lovingly made to fit contours of the room as opposed to the ones made from medium density fiberboard that you put together yourself). The look would be uncluttered, yet comfortable. Calming yet inspiring. And there would be giant windows overlooking... (okay here's where I'm stuck. I can't decided between a view of the ocean, a mountain lake or the Eiffel Tower) but you get the idea...

In real life, my writing space leaves a lot to be desired. True, it does have a certain charm, if you define charm as tiny, cluttered, and completely devoid of any natural light.

Here's what I like and don't like about my current writing space:

THE GOOD: (where I make an attempt at a serene, orderly, inspirational space)

That's my rock collection, which is filled with thoughtful words like "create" "imagine" "believe". The sparkly "Hope" was a gift from a friend. Right by the door, there's a handmade switch plate with more inspirational words on it. (Do boring generic switch plates bother anyone else? There was a time where I'd proselytize about having creative switch plates. I even made my own out of polymer clay. It's a weird quirk but it makes such a difference in the tone of the room.) Other favorite things include two bulletin boards filled with quotes (more words), a bookshelf (made of medium density fiberboard) filled with my favorite books, some bamboo plants, framed song lyrics and a collection of good luck tokens from various cultures. Oh and chocolate.

THE BAD: Disclaimer: There is nothing in my "bad" category that I want to go away. I'm terribly fond of everything here. But that's the problem. I'm too fond of them.

This is a category of writing distractions (albeit beloved writing distractions). They include family members and friends (sometimes I let them into my space), my dog (who lives underneath my chair), the telephone (even now, it's right next to me), the tbr pile (it should never be this close to your desk). Oh sure, I know that everything here is necessary for a healthy balanced life, but sometimes all that health and balance can take a toll on your writing. That's my dog, Chi, and part of the tbr pile. The book on the bottom is Libba Bray's Going Bovine and Chi can't take her eyes off the cow on the spine.

THE UGLY: Also known as clutter and time zappers

We live in cramped quarters so my writing space also doubles as the room where we put things that we don't know what to do with --like an old footstool and various electronic equipment. It also serves as a pc graveyard. All the formerly used pcs are piled (neatly) in the corner ( I don't know why we keep them, but I digress..). It's also where we toss our unread mail, pay bills, store bills, and do laundry.
Plus these time-zapping items seem to find their way into my space --things like slinkies and bubbles and formadehyde free nail polish (current favorite color is walluka watermelon). Oh and don't get me started on spider solitiare.

Things That Scare Me

2009-10-31T14:09:00.000-04:00

Halloween has me thinking about all the things that make me anxious or just sort of creep me out. Once you get going on a list like this, it’s hard to stop.

Here are only a few of the things that scare me:

The ghost story my husband tells about a basement apartment, a neighbor and a dead relative.

Snuggies (especially the new designer leopard prints)

The fact that at 3:00am almost everything on an infomercial seems like a reasonable and practical purchase (including the cellulite remover, the get-rich-through-buying-real-estate-course, and the automatic reloading paint roller when I lived in a rental apartment that I wasn’t allowed to paint.)

The long gasp a baby takes just before he’s about to let out one of those really loud wails.

Melted plastic

The recurring dream that starts out where I’m having lots of fun at a party/ beach/coffee shop/karate dojo and I run into an old college buddy. When he asks me what I’ve done with my life since graduation, all I do is stutter and stammer because I can’t think of a single thing.

The blue computer screen of death (that’s the blue screen that shows up instead of all your icons when your computer is never going to start again)

Another season of reality shows

An empty page. I love to revise. It’s those first drafts that get me.

Lines of people waiting for printouts two minutes before the library closes.

Another really innovative social networking tool that everyone in the world is using that you MUST be on because it is so important that it is going to change the political, social and cultural fabric of our society (of all societies) and perhaps even alter the course of the human evolutionary path. And if you’re not using it, then you will be viewed as a washed-up has been, a cultural anachronism clinging to an obsolete way of life, the same way a broken clamshell clings to the shore just before a wave comes crashing over it and washes it out to sea. And people will make fun of you and mock your luddite values.

Floods

Medical tests

Essays that predict the end of books and libraries (especially when the essayist decides to wax poetic about the above mentioned social networking tool)

Snakes. Oh heck, throw in most creepy crawly things and scampering things too. Small rodents, bugs, reptiles, etc.

Watching the dog go crazy when she hears a scratchy sound in the walls. This is another manifestation of fear of creepy crawling/scampering things. Oh and just so you don’t think I live in rodent-infested squalor, this happened only once and not in the current house. And it was only one mouse.

Traffic

Not having a pile of books on my nightstand to look forward to.

Nature documentaries: They’re either about global demise (pollution, natural disasters etc) or they’re giving you an up close and personal view of the cycle of life. The second I see a tiger eyeing an antelope who has strayed from the herd, I reach for the remote.

That there’s a Miley Cyrus song on the radio right now and I kind of like it.

The enormous amount of fur that my dog leaves all. over. the. place. This fear increases exponentially when I learn that someone is stopping by for a visit.

The dentist’s drill (and I feel bad about this one since I have a really nice dentist).

How really clueless I am about fashion trends. Big shoulder pads in or out? What about tie dye? And at what age should you stop wearing sneakers with sparkles on them?

That I don’t know the name for those metal things that people wear in their stretched out earlobes.

My list could go on and on…Happy Halloween

I Love Lucy...the Elephant

2009-10-25T09:50:00.000-04:00

I went to a trade show in Atlantic City this week so of course I stopped by to visit Lucy the Elephant on my way home. I didn’t know she existed until a few years ago. My husband and I found her on a day we decided to do some sightseeing in our new state. We were driving through Margate, New Jersey about 2 miles south of Atlantic City when we saw her nestled among the houses in this quiet beach town. Six story elephant buildings are hard to miss.

Built in 1881 by 25 year-old Philadelphia real estate developer James Lafferty, Lucy is the nation’s only National Historic Elephant Landmark. It took a million pieces of wood, 12,000 square feet of tin, 200 kegs of nails, and 20 windows to make the 64-foot high structure. Originally this little pachyderm was built to try to get the good people of Atlantic City buy land at the Jersey shore. Today, visitors can climb through her spiral staircase, look through her porthole eyes and enjoy incredible views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Lucy is a survivor. She’s been a real estate office, a restaurant, a summer home and a tavern (which was closed due to prohibition). She was almost burned down by some drunks during her tavern days, came dangerously close to being torn down in the 1970s and has survived countless storms and hurricanes (oh sure a few of them battered her but a little bit of fixing up by the people who love her and she was as good as new). Lucy may also be the only female elephant in the world to have tusks. In nature, tusks are reserved for the boys.

Lucy was built in the Victorian era when over-the-top architecture was fairly common. Still, I wonder how real estate developer James Lafferty made the leap from “what can I do to get visitors from Atlantic City to come a few miles south to buy some land filled with sand dunes and eel grass and only accessible during low tide because of the deep tidal pool” to “I know, I’ll create an elephant structure that is so large that it can be seen from 8 miles out at sea.”

I can’t imagine that everyone was on board with this plan. There had to be a lot of raised eyebrows and funny looks. Maybe even someone like a stuffed-shirt banker, his second cousin (the one he only sees at weddings and funerals) or his old high school chum told him to his face that his idea was crazy. Yet nothing stopped Mr. Lafferty from turning his vision into a reality. He had such faith in his plans that he even applied for a patent—which he was granted in 1882.

I am not normally impressed with zoomorphic wooden sculptures, but I love Lucy. She defies everything that is practical and sensible in this world. I dare you to drive by her and not smile. She is a constant reminder to all of us that even the most outrageous ideas can be turned into something spectacular. Think of Lucy and dream big!

Holly Trees and Letting Go

2009-10-17T13:29:00.000-04:00

Every summer when I was a kid, my family would take the long drive from my New York home to my Great Aunt Lil’s place on the Jersey shore. She lived with my other aunts and uncles in a cottage-style house filled with surprising rooms and quirky spaces. The major attractions were the built-in pool and the pool house where my aunt cooked up amazing summer treats. No one made buttered carrots like Aunt Lil.

In her basement there were shelves filled with books left over from her teaching days. I read them all. Ballet Shoes. The Bobbsey Twins. Anne of Green Gables. On those summer days, I wolfed down stories like I wolfed down her buttered carrots.

Not sure if it’s fate or coincidence, but I now live at the Jersey shore and happen to work about a mile from Aunt Lil’s former house. Sometimes on my lunch hour I drive by.

The land is divided up. The pool is filled in. There’s a garage where Uncle Vinnie’s garden used to be. The pool house is now a rundown all-season home. But the cottage is there. If you look close, there are hints of the old days. A few trees still stand, including the big holly tree that guarded the pool gate.

I’m driving by and I see the new homeowner. Despite my shy nature, I hop out of the car and introduce myself to the woman standing outside. I tell her all about Aunt Lil and the pool and the summers. I try to remember everything I can about the cottage. “They had plastic slipcovers. And the house was immaculate.”

“Well, the house is immaculate now too” she says. “My house is always clean”

“Oh, I’m sure it is. I didn’t mean to imply… I just meant…” After a few more attempts to fix things, I give up. There’s a long pause. Since I am one of those people who feels compelled to say things during moments of uncomfortable silence, I add, “I’m a librarian here in town.”

The woman pulls out her cell phone and dials a number. “My daughter is upstairs,” she tells me. Then she talks into the phone “Remember that overdue book that I told you to return? There’s someone from the library outside who wants to speak to you. You’d better get down here.”

As soon as I see a girl look out from the second story window, I’m flooded with memories. I wonder if she ever spent some quiet time in that tiny walkway on the top floor behind the stairs.

“Been telling her for days that should return the book,” says her mom.

The girl, about 15, comes bounding outside spilling out apologies. “It’s at school. But I’ll return it. I promise.”

I start to explain that I’m not here for that, but her mother cuts me off with one of those looks. So I’m quiet. And I retain my role as the book police. A new career low.

“Would it be okay if I walked over to your holly tree? It was here when there was a pool.”

The woman nods.

As I enter into the yard I hear them behind me.

“What is she looking at the tree for?” asks the girl

“I have no idea,” says her mom.

I block out their conversation and spend a moment with my tree. I touch a leaf, and I expect there to be magic. I thought it would whisper to me of summer days and moonlight swims and buttered carrots. Instead, it gives off the same what-are-you-doing-here feeling as the teen who now believes that librarians come to your door if you have an overdue book.

I have closure now. It’s not the same type of closure I expected when I hopped out of my car and said hello. But I can drive on that road and forget to look at the house. Sometimes you have to move on.

Things I'd Never Thought I'd Say

2009-10-10T07:07:00.001-04:00

There are times when you end up saying things that you never expected to say. I'm not talking about serious moments, philosophical revelations or even those embarrassing gaffes, like when you tell a real estate agent that you're tired of looking at houses with orange shag rugs only to discover that she'd just carpeted her entire first floor in a lovely shaggy tangerine. I mean every day things -- explanations you never thought you'd have to give and words you never expected to come out of you mouth.

Here are a few examples:

Oh look honey, they're finally opening up a supermarket in town. There's going to be a band at the grand opening. Wanna go?

Sorry Chi, we don't have time for any more stories tonight. (Chi is my dog)

Sir, you're not allowed to have open fires of any kind in the business library.

I will not make an illegal U turn. It's not who I am. It's not what I do.

I'm not a suspect. I'm a librarian (said to a policeman who thought I was robbing my own apartment. It's a long story.)

My favorite present this year is my gift card to Home Depot.

Hurray! Congratulations on your new driveway!

This list could go on, but I have to go. There's a conversation in the next room that I want to get in on. They're talking about the 80's group Blondie and wondering if their musical contributions would be different if the lead singer was a brunette.

How Unplanned Vacations Can Send You in the Right Direction

2009-10-03T12:29:00.000-04:00

My favorite vacations are the ones that start with the words “North? South? East? Or West?”

My husband and I used to do this all the time. We’d get into the car, decide on a direction and head toward the open road.

With no plans and no destination, if we wanted to spend the day watching the tides come in on the Bay of Fundy or wandering through the streets of Annapolis or driving for the entire day just to see how far we could go, there was nothing stopping us.

Unplanned vacations are filled with surprises, but they are not for the faint-hearted.

You have to stay flexible. A grouse hunting festival in the middle of the Canadian woods could make it impossible to find a place to sleep. You may have to decide that instead of the spending the weekend communing with nature, it’s time to see the sights and sounds of the city of Moncton, Canada’s “most polite and honest city”.
You have to accept the fact that the planners in the world get the great deals, nicer hotel rooms and often get to stay closer to the place where everyone wants to be. This is especially true if you wander into a tourist area at peak season. It’s best to stay off the beaten path. But that’s where the adventures are anyway.
You have to have faith in the direction you’re going. That means if you’re driving along the Maine coast and you pass your 87^th “no vacancy” sign, you must never say the words, “I told you we should have gone south this time.” At 2:00am on a foggy night, even if you say it in your softest, sweetest voice, it will not be met with good results.

But something happens on these road trips. At some point we know exactly where we want to go. Our destination becomes clear.

My husband, who is a major history buff, says that his favorite days are the ones where we visit museums, old forts or historical towns. And my one of my best vacations was when we went to Prince Edward Island. I remember standing in a souvenir shop, surrounded by Anne Shirley dolls, wondering how we accidentally ended up in a place that I dreamed of visiting ever since someone put that first Anne of Green Gables book into my hands.

I was taking a break from my W.I.P. and going through some scrapbooks today, when I realized that I write like I vacation. I can't do chapter by chapter outlines. I'm in it for the adventure. If I'm not flexible I get in trouble. And with a little luck, eventually, I'll know where I'm going.

Banned Book Week: Quotes from Challenged and Banned Books

2009-10-01T21:13:00.000-04:00

A truly great library contains something in it to offend everyone. ~Jo Godwin

I seem to be collecting quotes from everywhere these days. Here are a few from some of my favorite banned/challenged books:

"Our people made that choice, the choice to go to Sameness. Before my time, before the previous time, back and back and back. We relinquished color when we relinquished sunshine and did away with difference. We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others." Lois Lowry, The Giver

"It is our choices...that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

"I am not nice. I am brilliant. I am famous across this entire country. Nobody wants to tangle with the great Galadriel Hopkins. I am too clever and too hard to manage." Katherine Patterson, The Great Gilly Hopkins.

"The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience." Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird.

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not." Dr Seuss, The Lorax

Looking Back at a Book of Quotes

2009-09-23T07:34:00.000-04:00

Like a lot of writers, I keep a 'quote book' where I scribble down anything that interests me. Inspirational quotes. Lines from books. A silly comment from a friend. Great advice. Something overheard. A part of a poem. etc. A few days ago, I found a quote book I started when I was 17!

When I read it, I looked for patterns. I wondered if my 17 yr-old self and the person I am now have anything in common. Was I drawn to themes that I now write about? I also looked for change and growth. I mean, it would be nice to think that I've learned something over the past few decades.

So here are some quotes that I gathered when I was a senior in high school and my first few years of college (with some commentary):

"It was in the middle of winter, I realized there was in me an invincible summer." A Camus. (Still a favorite! True confession here: I didn't find it by reading Camus. It was in the front of Paula Danzinger's amazing book The Pistachio Prescription.)

"There are only two or three human stories and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened." Willa Cather

"After a time of decay comes the turning point. The powerful light that has been banished returns." I Ching

"My dear, you must try Gestalt therapy" Overheard at a party.

"The more absolute death seems, the more authentic life becomes..." John Fowles (So much for saying I ever had a happy carefree nature)

"The human mind treats a new idea the way the body treats a strange protein; it rejects it." PB Medawar. (I love this quote. Any time I find that I'm resistant to change, I still think about this.)

"This is what happens when you stay friends with people you went to high school with." A high school friend -- it was probably said about 6 months after we graduated. (I'm still friends with many high school pals, including the one who said this.)

"Do I dare disturb the universe" TS Eliot

"We take our favorite mistake and make it over and over again." Favorite philosophy prof (Yep. This one might be true)

"A stone gathers no moss while rolling. It gains a high polish" Fortune cookie.

I Like to Pretend...(What some forty-somethings, an 11 year-old and a youthful 83 year -old have to say about the subject)

2009-09-14T07:51:00.000-04:00

Pretending is different than wishing. It allows you to visit an imaginary place, sample what's there and then head back to your real life.
This weekend I was talking with one of my favorite 11-year-olds about it. Soon, her mom joined in the conversation and then my mom joined in. Then another friend joined in too.
Here's our list of things we like to pretend. See if you can tell which ones are from the 11-year-old, which ones are from my 83-year-old mother and which ones came from the forty-somethings. It's harder than you think.

I like to pretend that...

* I know how to play the piano

* the crumpled-up lottery ticket I found on the bottom of my book bag is a winner

*I'm an exchange student from Spain

* worries are carried off on dandelion seeds

* I'm a professional fashion designer/organic cosmetics maker/perfume maker

* I'm actually a wizard but my parents are anti-magic muggles who denied me my rightful education at Hogwarts, but I discover my true heritage and land a job working at Hogwarts as a groundskeeper with Hagrid and take night classes where I master the most difficult potions and spells and win the undying devotion of Severus Snape.

* there's a famous Hollywood producer reading a certain book right now and thinking "this would be a great movie"

* I'm at a Frank Sinatra concert

* candy really is health food, especially the "Hot Tamales"

*I'm having a cup of tea with my grandmother

* I'm a famous dancer

* I always know which direction I'm going

The Long Way Home

2009-09-07T19:48:00.000-04:00

While Neil Armstrong is My Uncle.. takes place in Massapequa, New York, it was written in New Jersey. That's where I live. One of the best things about the Jersey shore is the sea, of course. I took these pics during the 20 mile drive from work to home. Normally, I travel up and down the Garden State, but when I slow down and take the back roads, here's what I see.

This is Huddy Park, across the street from the library in Toms River. On Wednesdays in the summer they have a farmers market. They also have events like the annual "Wooden Boat Fesitval" and the "Art and Music Festival". Btw, I was standing on this bridge, when I got "the call".

I'm heading south now near Beachwood.

Here's the town of Ocean Gate.The population is about 2000, but I bet it swells to more than that in the summer. For a quiet walk, nothing beats the boardwalk in this town.

I love the eerie feeling of this place. Driving by, all you see are hundreds of these skeletons of electric poles in a marshland. It's a wildlife refuge, but obviously it was something else at one time.

Still moving south, I found a new store called the Hippie House. Wish they were there when I was researching 1969. I'll be searching the place for something to bring to my school visits.

This is the main street in my home town. You know you live in a small town when the local supermarket is described as "the keystone store". But there are lots of cool places here, such as Hope Hypnosis. Hypnotherapist Mary Silvernail has done seminars at our library.

I'm home! If I walk 100 yards from my front door, here's what I see.

Most days, I take the Parkway and hardly notice. But I think I'm gonna take the long way home more often.

Neil Armstrong Is His Uncle. Really.

2009-08-31T07:11:00.000-04:00

I am thrilled and delighted to interview Mike Trude. Mike's mom's sister, Janet Shearon, was Neil Armstrong's wife at the time of the Apollo mission. That makes Mike Neil Armstrong's nephew.

Mike is an accomplished guy. For the past twenty years, he's worked as a marketing specialist at a large university in the midwest. Prior to that, he spent twelve years as a television sports anchor. Mike is happily married and has three children ranging in ages from 8 to 22.

Welcome to Ramble Street, Mike. Glad you could stop by for an interview. Let's start.

Where were you and who were you with on July 20th 1969?

I grew up in Barrington, Illinois, a northwestern suburb of Chicago, and was at home during the Apollo mission. My sister's Sherry and Patty and my brother Jack were all at home. My mom and dad were in Houston and then Florida for the launch. I was 12 years old at the time, enjoying the summer and getting ready to go into eighth grade.

Did you know how dangerous the mission was? What about the rest of your family? Were they excited? Nervous?

We all knew the dangers of the mission and that while the crew might land on the moon, there was no guarantee they would get back to earth. We were all extremely excited about the mission, but also really anxious for Neil and the rest of the crew. No one truly knew if the mission would be successful, and I remember my sisters and me talking the entire week about the dangers.

Were there a lot of reporters at your house that day? Can you tell the story about your brother telling the reporters about his home run?

There is a saying that everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame and the week of the Apollo 11 mission was probably the Trude kids' time. There were Chicago newspaper reporters and photographers at our house every day and television crews and it was really kind of special. After all, we didn't do anything; it was our uncle that was doing the hard work while we were basking in the glory. My brother told one of the reporters that while Neil was landing on the moon, he was playing a little league baseball game and hit a home run to celebrate the landing. While the story makes for good copy, my brother could not hit a home run if you moved the fences in 50 feet. He just wanted to get the attention of the reporters and it worked. To this day, he denies ever saying that to the reporters, but we remember reading it.

So your brother bragged about something that might not have happened. I heard there was a lot of that going around that summer.

Did you ever want to be an astronaut?

I did at one time want to be an astronaut, but when I got into high school and the Apollo Space Mission was dwindling, it did not appear that being an astronaut was going to get you into space any time soon. So that quickly went away to another interest.

Those cuts they made to the space program are frequent topics of conversation here at the Marino house.

Did Neil Armstrong ever talk about the mission?

Neil did talk about the mission when asked questions. It was fascinating to talk to him about it. I remember asking him about the dangers and he said he was prepared for any type of emergency and never felt like things would go wrong at all.

What was Uncle Neil like when you were a kid?

Neil has two boys, Rick and Mark. Rick is my age and Mark is probably three or four years younger so when we got together, it was all baseball and football and anything having to do with sports. Neil would play anything and everything with us. He was a lot of fun and would take the time to play. We did not see him often, probably once or twice a year, but he always managed to take time to do things with the kids.

Playing sports with Neil Armstrong. That is so very cool.

How did you handle having a famous uncle? Did you tell the world or did you keep it quiet?

Having Neil as my uncle was neat. I did not go out of my way to tell people, but if it happened to come up in a conversation, I would mention it. When I married my first wife, I was working at a radio station and getting ready to move into television. My co-workers all knew that Neil was my uncle, and they all wanted to know if he was coming to the wedding. I made the fatal mistake of saying that he was indeed coming, but I didn't want there to be any fuss because it was supposed to be my wedding day. They all said they would behave and foolishly I believed them. At the wedding itself things were fine. There was definite buzz when Neil and his family walked into the church, but everyone behaved.
The reception was a different story. I arrived a little late because of pictures and when I got there, Neil was cornered by one of the DJ's at the radio station. He had a life-sized poster of Neil that he wanted an autograph on. And there were four or five more people behind him with cameras or something for Neil to sign. Neil was very polite and as I walked by I gave an evil glance at the people, but they acted like I did not exist... NEIL ARMSTRONG was right in front of them. Neil was very polite about signing and posing and anything people asked of him. He then came by our head table and whispered to me that he was going to go back to the hotel because he did not want to detract anymore from the reception and our day. I was able to catch up with him later and we had a nice talk.

Please tell us something about your uncle that only his nephew would know.

Neil did not smoke...but he enjoyed an occasional cigar, especially when he was fishing in Eagle River Wisconsin. And there was a time when my mom and Neil went to the grocery store at Barrington. Neil did not go into the store, but he went off on his own. When we finished we met him back at the car and he said he helped a woman with her car. It didn't start and he went under the hood and helped her get her car started.
After they were done, the woman thanked him and said, "You know you look a lot like Neil Armstrong." Neil said to the lady, "I have been told that a lot!" That's the kind of guy he is, very humble and never seeking out attention.

If that woman only knew...

Thanks Mike for taking the time to answer my questions and for giving us the inside scoop on what it's really like to be Neil Armstrong's nephew. Hope you'll stop by Ramble Street again soon.

An Existential Crisis

2009-08-25T09:26:00.000-04:00

Existential crisis number 857 happened a few days ago when I picked up a book in our living room and found this quote from the 14th century poet Hafiz.

If you think that the Truth can be known
from words.
If you think that the Sun and the Ocean
can pass through the tiny opening called the mouth.
O someone should start laughing!
Someone should start wildly laughing --
Now!

My first thought was "No words? Where does that put writers?"
Later that day while we were staring out at the Barnegat Bay, I told my husband about the poem. He told me about a book he was reading by Eckert Tolle and how he talked about something similar. By putting labels on things, you're creating an artificial barrier between the experience of the moment and your inner being. He gestured toward the Barnegat Bay. "Just be. Try taking it in."
I watched my husband stare out at the bay, presumably enjoying the sun, sea and sky in a non-definable way. I decided to give it a shot.
After about three seconds, I found myself searching for a word to describe the deep purple color that only happened with the light of the sun and the darkness of a cloud hit a wave at the exact same time. Suddenly I was flooded with words as I wrestled to define the sea before me. "I can't do it," I confessed. "I'm a writer."
That's what writers do. We define and describe. Until now, I never thought of that as a bad thing. But is it detrimental when it comes to finding your higher self? Is enlightenment wordless?
If it is, I'll pass. I like words too much for that. And I like reading books that define a feeling/thought/place so precisely and so perfectly that it hits you on a gut level. Those are the ones that bring us together by reminding us of the universality of our feelings. Okay, maybe it's not Truth (with a capital T) but stories that find those little truths are the ones that sink deep into our souls.
I've pondered this for a few days now. This morning I had a small epiphany.
The thing that started all of this was a book and the written words of Hafiz. Oh and I did mention that he was, among other things, a poet.
I've started reading more of his poems. They're beautiful, filled with poignant truths.
My favorite line so far. "Good poetry makes the universe reveal a secret."
I have no answers to any of this. And I've decided not to think about it this morning. Instead, I'm going outside to see if I can find that color purple on the bay and if I can give it a name, I'll let you know.

Neil Armstrong is My Uncle Sees the Sights Of Massapequa Park and Massapequa

2009-08-17T06:26:00.001-04:00

I was on Long Island this weekend and thought I'd take my book on a tour. Since the story takes place in the town of Massapequa Park, it's high time that NAIMU sees the sights. Here are pics of NAIMU's visit to the towns of Massapequa and Massapequa Park, New York.

We started by relaxing on a nice patch of grass. Dandelions are hard to find in this town.

This is Park Blvd, the main street in Masssapequa Park on a Sunday afternoon. The local residents call this area "town". It's about a block long with the rail road tracks on one end and the funeral parlor at the other.

On weekends, this bakery is packed. That's because the pastries are incredible. DiMonda's bakery has been in Massapequa Park for decades.

Across the street from the railroad tracks is Gannon's Station Cafe, the inspiration for Canyons, the pub in the story. Gannon's doesn't seemed to have changed much since 1969. Can you see NAIMU on the bench there?
Here's the inside of Gannon's. I asked the customers there if any of them wanted to be in the picture but they all declined.

Yep, that's homemade candy in the counter. Krish's of Massapequa also has homemade ice cream. While it wasn't mentioned in the book, Tamara and the gang on Ramble Street would have saved up their pennies to buy ice cream and candy from this store.

Ending the tour, by chilling out on a Massapequa garage roof. Oh who am I kidding? It's high noon on a 90 degree day. That roof was hot!

This isn't NAIMU's first tour. A few months ago, C. Lee McKenzie, author of the terrific YA novel Sliding on the Edge, took my book on a tour of a California garden. Lee posted the pics on her blog. So if you want to see NAIMU hanging out in a fancy California garden, head over to her blog.

Rock Collections and Writing Superstitions.

2009-08-10T07:22:00.000-04:00

When I was 12, I was on a swim team. Actually I was on a few of them. It was my big extracurricular activity. One November afternoon, after my mom dropped me off at the high school where we practiced, I decided it was time to take a break. Not exactly one of my better ideas. It was a chilly gray day, and there was no place to go to get away from the icy drizzle.
I stayed outside and watched through the chlorine-stained window while my team did their laps. At some point, I picked up a round stone and began scraping it against a cement wall. I was surprised that it was the rock that got marked up, not the building.
I never went inside. I never told anyone what I did. (so it's true confession time here on my blog..um sorry Mom). There was something important to me about that day. Before I got picked up from 'practice', I shoved the rock in my pocket. It was the first in my collection.
Here's my rock collection now. It's filled with memories. The ones with carved words on them ("Create." "Imagine" "Laugh" etc) are gifts from friends and family. The others I found on special days.
And that big sparkly "hope".. that came from my friend, Ann.
I call them my writing rocks. They stay near my desk. Before I send a manuscript out into the world, I print out the first page, and place it on top of the rocks and underneath the word 'hope'. It spends the night there. Yeah I know. It's a silly superstition. But I feel like all those memories and all those people have been my rocks throughout the years (I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the bad pun) and provide a foundation for all my stories. And it never hurts to have a little hope.

Sometimes it takes a while

2009-08-01T16:14:00.000-04:00

When I first started writing, I was looking for a middle grader to read my work- in- progress. My brother volunteered his friend's 12-year-old son, Mark. Perfect. I sent Mark my story and in no time, I got a response. It was a thoughtful, smart, insightful, detailed letter -- I learned a lot from it.
Here he is, my first middle grade reader, standing near my debut novel in an upstate New York bookstore. You might notice he's not exactly a kid anymore. He's a young man who recently graduated from college. (Congrats Mark!) That wip that he read way back when is locked in a drawer someplace, but Mark read the new one and sent me another letter. (Thanks Mark!)
Getting published took a while. A lot of years. A lot of stories.
BTW, while Mark's appearance has changed significantly over the past decade, I can assure you that I look exactly the same as I did ten years ago. Exactly.

One Small Step for Man, One Giant Leap for Mankind

2009-07-20T06:52:00.001-04:00

When I stood outside on that summer night and looked up at the moon, I was disappointed. Somehow, I expected to see Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin (and yes, I thought they'd be waving). Even if they weren't in view, I was certain I'd be able to spot the American flag. After all, it was the only red, white and blue thing up there.
Just so you don't think I was the densest eight-year-old living in the town of Massapequa Park in 1969, I want you to know that I didn't expect to see it with the naked eye. I had binoculars.
I didn't really have to look up at the sky. I only had to look to earth to see what happened. Parents and teachers spoke to us about living on Mars and beyond. We played with space-themed toys, watched the Jetsons, and drank Tang, "like the astronauts". Even though the sixties were turbulent times, one thing was clear: Our futures would be ones with unlimited potential, where we would explore the unknown.
To celebrate the anniversary of that first step, here's a quote from astronaut Eugene Cernan, the last man to walk on the moon:
“The spirit of Apollo is not so much what we did but how and why we did it. Particularly in the period of time we did it, when the country was torn by civil strife, campus unrest, the start of an unpopular war and the president of the United States said after a grand total of 15 minutes of space flight that we’re going to go to the moon. He was asking us to do the impossible. He was asking us to do what most people at the time did not think could be done. That’s the spirit that we have to relay to younger generations. You never know how successful you can be or how good you can be unless you try.”
For the sake of the eight-year-old who tonight looks up at the moon, I hope we go back.

Arrooo!

2009-07-17T18:53:00.001-04:00

There's something empowering about crawling out on the garage roof and howling at the moon. Or maybe it's the word "Arrooo!" Since my book's been published, I've received "arrooo's" in text messages, emails, phone calls, cards, notes, etc. The word seems to take on many meanings, like "hello" "miss you" "cheer up" "congratulations" "don't forget the guacamole"...well..you get the idea.

We talked about it during the recording of the Ocean County Library's podcast on The 40th Anniversary of the First Manned Moon Landing. We were sitting in a room in the Bishop building, formerly the Toms River library. Even though the shelves are now empty, the building has that quintessential old-fashioned library feel. If you've seen the movie "The Amityville Horror", you know what the place looks like. The library scene was filmed there. (By the way, the Hollywood producers did not think the librarians who worked in that building looked enough like librarians to be in the film, so they hired extras from a local retirement community to play the parts.)

After we did the podcast, we celebrated with an Arrooo! Here's what we sounded like.
No need to wait for a full moon if you want to give it a try.

I met Buzz Aldrin and Gave Him a Copy of My Book!

2009-07-03T13:37:00.000-04:00

That's Buzz Aldin at a book signing for his latest book, Magnificent Desolation, in Huntington New York on June 24th. Check out the book in front of him. He's looking at Neil Armstrong is My Uncle!

Buzz Aldrin is my childhood hero. (No surprise there). The man walked on the moon! He also has a Doctorate in Science from MIT and a decorated Korean War veteran, (Distinguished Flying Cross). He earned the name "Dr Rendevous" for devising docking and rendezvous techniques for spacecrafts in earth and lunar orbit. An advocate for continuing space exploration, Buzz founded a few foundations and companies, including a rocket design company, Starcraft Boosters, Inc., the ShareSpace Foundation, a nonprofit devoted "to advancing space education, exploration and affordable space flight experiences for all."

A New Jersey native, he's also an author, scuba diver, and skier. Did I mention he's a hip hop artist? Here's the making of Rocket Experience where Buzz talks about his two passions: space exploration and hip hop.

Even though I live over a hundred miles away, when I found out he was going to be at the Book Revue book store, I had to go. I took a half a day off from the library and headed to Long Island. Traffic was horrendous, even by LI standards. I could have walked across Nassau county faster.

The 5 1/2 hour drive was worth it.

When I sat in the audience waiting for him to talk, (Buzz was caught in the awful traffic too) I spoke with an engineer from Grumman (who worked on the L.E.M), a few school teachers and some Long Island friends.

I was a little nervous waiting for Buzz. There's always the chance that the person you admire is not going to live up to your expectations. But Buzz was wonderful. It was great to hear him speak. There were at least a thousand people there, maybe more. So it's not like Buzz had lots of time to chat with anyone. But he did talk to people while he was signing books, which is pretty remarkable when you've got crowds waiting.

We were pushed through quickly. I gave him a copy of my book and got a signed copy of his. My friend Debbie stepped out of line to take the picture. (Thanks Deb, you rule breaker you. Sorry they made you go toward the end of the line to get your book signed). Seriously though, the Book Revue bookstore knows how to handle crowds. They get all the big names. I love this indie book store.

It was a great night. I almost met a twitter/facebook friend. WriterRoss, who joined us during the Twitter interview was at the same bookstore. I tweeted that I was going be there. She was there too and she even called out my name.

Sorry WriterRoss. It would have been nice to meet you. I hope to meet you sometime soon. And yes, I did hit traffic at 11:30 at night on the Southern State Parkway on the way home. But that's just the way it is on Long Island.

I haven't started Buzz Aldrin's book Magnificent Desolation yet. I think I'm going to wait until July 20, 2009. What a great way to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the first moon walk.

A surprise book launch party at OCL!

2009-06-25T22:53:00.000-04:00

In my library, there's nothing unusual about coming into work on the day of your late shift and finding the back work room empty. It's a busy branch. We're running all over the place. However, it is unusual to have your supervisor say she wants to meet with you in private. I've been there for 2 1/2 years and that's never happened...not even once. So when the head of Info Services said she wanted to speak with me in the back room, I was more than curious. Okay, I admit it. As a chronic worrier, I was stressed.

While I came up with a multitude of possible scenarios about what the meeting was going to be about, a surprise book launch party was not one of them.

Thanks to my supervisor's considerable acting talents and my colleagues' stealth planning, I had no idea it was party time. It's funny how you can be in a total state of shock and yet take in every detail at the same time.

Imagine walking into a room filled with music from the sixties, lots of people, amazing food, the first moon walk video on the TV, a table filled with vintage toys, cut outs of images from the book, Apollo 11 postcards and so much more.

And the food...let's talk about the food. Any morsel mentioned in my book was on that table. Oreo cookies. Apple jacks. We drank Tang! Plus there were tons of old time treats. Remember Pop Rocks! And pop corn.

There was a beautiful home-made cake, shaped like the moon, with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on top of it.

This party was filled with surprises. All those goodies they had on the table, they gave me a gift! So now I have kick balls, a Barbie doll (by the way, this is my very first Barbie) a gigantic Slinky, a coin of the moon walk, ice cream cones filled with bubbles, cards filled with good wishes and wonderful memories.

To all those who came to the party and to everyone who planned it, I never imagined anything like this. I am overwhelmed by your support and enthusiasm. And I am grateful for your friendship. Thank you.

Here are some pictures. I don't have one of the incredible food table. But here's the other table.

These are the cut-outs. Check out the attitude on Barbie.

Here are some of the party goers. The woman standing in the very front is Elaine McConnell, director of the entire library system. She's reading the review from BookPage http://tiny.cc/yAcsN which came out on the same day as the party.

Here's me by the Ramble Street sign. Clearly, I am still in shock. I so love the Ramble Street sign.

My amazing cake.

Neil Armstrong is My Uncle Prize Package

2009-06-20T17:30:00.000-04:00

In case you're wondering what's in that Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle Prize Package that Cynthea Liu is auctioning off to raise money for a Title I school in her home state of Oklahoma, here are the details.

One signed copy of Neil Armstrong is My Uncle and Other Lies Muscle Man McGinty Told Me
A Slinky (not a cheap plastic thing -- a metal one, like the one in the story)
A box of Fizzies (A 1960s favorite. You drop a Fizzie tablet into a glass of water and watch it fizz. The cherry ones are guaranteed to turn your tongue a brilliant magenta. They're also a good source of vitamin C so you get all that fun and good nutrition too).
A coffee mug from the incorporated village of Massapequa Park and an I-Heart-Massapequa-Park pin. (Massapequa Park is the setting for the story and my home town. These are classics. It's not like you can walk into a gift store and buy these -- even in Massapequa.)
A 1960s-style spaced-aged stress-reducing alien toy. (From the box: "watch your troubles melt away when you make the creature's features bulge out of its head!")
A box of Krishes home-made candy. (It wasn't mentioned in the story, but this store was around in 1969. I have no doubt that Tamara, Muscle Man and the rest of the gang from Ramble Street spent many hours here. This candy is famous. One taste of Krishes home-made chocolate and you will wish you grew up in Massapequa Park too.)
Oh and yes, those are tootsie rolls in that photo

There are lots of other goodies being auctioned off at Cynthea's Paris Pan Takes a Dare book launch. Check out the rest of the auction. If you're a writer, bid on a critique from an author, editor or agent. The money raised will go to buy leveled readers for a school in need. As Cynthea says, 'take the dare, show you care.' A whole bunch of kids will be grateful for your kindness.