Do you have an Ikigai?

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

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

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

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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

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

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!

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...

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.