The storm of 2010

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

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?

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

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

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

 

 

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

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.