Procrastination, fear and celebration of poetry

It's amazing how easy it is to rationalize procrastinating. I just popped into the market to buy some milk, and met Mrs. Ellis. She got me to throw trash into the barrel and reset the top, all the while telling me about how she was from Russia, and practiced medicine in Germany during WWII. She finished up by commanding me to go inside and get a broom and sweep up all the fallen flower petals, as the staff clearly wasn't taking care of the place.

1) What a character.
2) When I'm old, I want to be as annoying and charming and opinionated and independent as she is. Forget just wearing purple. I'm going for the full Monte.

We've started a blog with the Vermont College faculty. Here's my first post on fear (and inspiration) of poetry. I know if Lee Bennett Hopkins sees this post I'm going to catch hell, but he's busy with his own wicked facebook postings.....

Izumi Shikibu poem spreads the old-fashioned way

Many years ago I ran across this poem -- I don't even remember where. I was so taken with it, I copied it onto a scrap of paper and taped it to the wall where I could see it from my desk.

A few years ago Jenna Ross (reporter for the Star Tribune and friend of our son Will) stayed at our house. Taken with the quote, she jotted it down. Just recently she was taking a printmaking class and made this gorgeous print:


I love this way a poem from a thousand years ago found its way into her hands and heart.

Beautiful Toni Morrison quote

Toni Morrison grew up in a family where reading was considered sacred, with enormous power attached to it.

"If you can read, they can't cheat you; if you can't read, they can defeat you."

At the launch of the Free Speech Leadership Council in NYC last week, with thanks to Shelf Awareness.

And while I'm on quotes, here's another that has been sticking in my head for months: Last winter I spoke on an NCTE panel with Marc Aronson, Tanya Stone and Tanya Bolden, chaired by Teri Lesesne. Tanya Bolden said if she'd been able to read about African Americans in books when she was a kid, she would have been "shed of shame" earlier.

What a perfect phrase.

Jon Muth, The Stonecutter

Here's a wonderful video. Take a couple minutes to watch this, and you'll feel like you've been sitting quietly, taking a few slow, deep breaths and letting the busyness of the world slip away. I love the simplicity of how the video has been shot in black and white, like an old movie. Thanks to artist Katherine Tillotson for the link.

Obama Inauguration Day at UC Berkeley's Sproul Plaza

In 1962 my mother kept us all out of school and we walked up to the UC Berkeley Memorial Stadium to hear President Kennedy speak. I was ten, and we sat on the wooden benches under the open sky with his voice ricocheting from the loudspeakers. I don't remember what he said, but I remember he was laid on my heart like a patch that day, a man who made people laugh and cheer when he spoke. A man important enough that my shy and reclusive mother would brave crowds to make sure we saw him.

Since then, my heart has been patched and repatched, in love and in anger and sorrow, often within sight of the campus, inside the surging sounds from the carillon bells. I went to school at UC Berkeley, was tear-gassed in Sproul Plaza, graduated as the first student with a degree in Women's Studies. My husband Tom and I had our night-before wedding party at the Faculty Club, with our family gathered to celebrate us. I still frequently walk to campus, my library card in hand, loving the smell of the halls, the echoing sound of chairs scraping back from study tables, the quiet rustling of paper as people turn pages and scribble and type and sigh.

This morning Tom and I headed for Sproul Plaza to watch Obama's inauguration under a wide open sky. The lovely circle of completion: another president who can inspire us like we haven't had since JFK, another president already laid on my heart, just like on so many other American hearts. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of us gathered together to cheer and weep and dare to hope he can guide our weary, crashing world to a better place.

Oh Lord, What a Morning. The sun clears the building as Michelle walks out.

Obama speaks.


Everyone listens, and this man stands and sings the Star Spangled Banner, start to finish.

As things wound down and the crowd began to drift away, this woman, Lady Liberty, remained perfectly still and watched until Bush took off in the helicopter. Then she turned quietly and walked away, witness to the moment.

Selma Alabama and Obama's unsung heros

This week I've been in Alabama interviewing people who were children and young adults on the 1965 civil rights march for the vote. These people are some of the unsung heros Obama praised in his presidential acceptance speech ("and on a bridge in Selma..."). They marched and sang and were beaten and jailed. Released, they went out and marched again. Their courage provided the news coverage to outrage Americans and give President Johnson the power to get the Voting Rights Act through Congress.

On Tuesday November 4th I was in Selma. It was a historic day to be waiting to hear the outcome of our election. People excited, anxious, hopeful.

Getting out the vote, in the original get-out-the-vote town.

At eight pm I joined a silent candlelit vigil walking across the Pettus Bridge. Faces beautiful in the flickering candlelight. We gathered at the foot of the bridge in a circle, moving in together as Amelia Boynton, in her 90's, walked to the center to share her memories. On the original Bloody Sunday march in 1965 she was struck down by the sheriff's posse and lay by the side of the road in a swirling mist of tear gas.

Check out this wonderful photo taken by Rene Johnston of the Toronto Star:

http://www.thestar.com/fpLarge/photo/530676

We listened, quiet and hushed. Suddenly someone called out: "Obama's taken Pennsylvania!" People yelled and cheered and wept and we clambered back across the bridge, noisy and relieved and joyous.

David Macaulay and color fest at the San Fracisco Public Library

David Macaulay spoke at the San Francisco Public Library last night about putting together his book, The Way We Work. He showed us his process of doing the book -- sketch after sketch after sketch. Amazing to see how he thinks and draws. He loves looking at each body system every way he can -- from underneath, above, outside, inside. Astonishing. Going over the hand and all the finger joints he said, "what a very clever contraption we are." Indeed.

Here he is talking with a young fan. I just loved her skirt and the way she was standing as she talked with him.

There is an exhibit up of Robert Sabuda's original artwork for his picture books. If you live anywhere in the Bay Area, do yourself a favor and go see it. The details of his work and the materials he uses are incredible. They are the kind of images you want to reach right through the glass and run your fingertips over.


And upstairs outside the children's room was another beautiful exhibit, this one French illustrator Olivier Tallec. The evening turned into a color fest for me. Thanks to all the librarians at SFPL for the talk and the exhibitions.

autumn

I love how the light shifts in the fall. I took this photo a mile from my cabin. I'd just driven down the dirt road to Highway One, where the land meets the water and the sky.Day ends as the sun slips into the water, night comes. Summer ends, autumn pauses, slides into winter. Crisp air, light so rich you can scoop up handfuls and pour it inside you.

How is Writing a Book Like Falling In Love?

Every writer I know does completely unique work. But the weird part is... the process is so similar. In my on-line reading/writing/illustrating group, we've been having a good round of dark humor over the fickleness of the muse -- when this angelic creature doesn't hover over us, glitter and inspiration drifting down from her gently beating wings, we get pissed off. We get whiney, annoyed, demanding. We want to drag her out of the sky, sit her down (hard) and force her to dictate! her! inspiring! words! I'm betting we aren't the easiest people to live with when we're in muse-strangling mode.

Here's Libba Bray, with her totally unique take on the oh-so-painfully-similar process writers go through. It'll either give you shivers of recognition, or make you laugh so hard you snort coffee up your nose, like Editorial Ass. Or both.

Dinner party

Last-minute dinner parties are my favorite. Throw together some people and food and let the party happen. For a couple of months I've been wanting to meet Casey Scieszka, who moved here recently from Mali (and before that China), but having Kerry Madden in town put the fire under me and I jumped on my e-mail for some quick invites. Gathered up Lissa Rovetch, Julie Downing and her husband Scott Slotterback , Julie Romeis and Mary Colgan.

Here's Casey, Julie D., Julie R., and Scott.

We stood around in the kitchen eating hors d'oeuvres, finally moved to the table, ate and laughed and laughed some more. Of course, we authors begged Julie R and Mary, both editors at Chronicle Books, for stories about slush piles, and the funny things people sent in with their stories. Casey had a few good stories too, as she spent a summer internship cleaning out a slush pile, returning original art. Kiss of death? A cover letter insisting grandchildren/children/students/people on the street loved this story. Funny objects? glitter, chocolate, and our favorite, a six pack of beer.

The two Julie's, Scott, Lissa and my husband Tom.
Mary and Kerry.
Julie Downing brought a copy of her new book, No Hugs Till Saturday. Special book for me, as she borrowed/swiped my son Felix's name for her main character. (Our Felix showed up for the party, but I missed getting a shot of him! Says he doesn't look a thing like the dragon Felix.) Lissa Rovetch brought her new book, There Was a Man Who Loved a Rat: and Other Vile Little Poems. Hysterically funny poems written by her mother, with Lissa's wonderfully wacky illustrations. And Casey had just sold a book to Roaring Brook. Kerry dancing with joy after getting her biography on Harper Lee in to Viking. Plenty to celebrate all around!

A super smart, funny, lovely group of people. Both Julie R. and Lissa are starting regular gathering of children's writers and illustrators in the Bay Area. I'll keep you posted with the places and dates-- there are so many talented people here!

And last photo, late in the night -- guests gone home, dishes done. Shhh and good night.

Do you believe in magic?

I have a big old cactus in a pot in my garden. Every couple years it does this amazing thing. It did it today, when our hot and sweltering afternoon cooled to a delicious, balmy evening.

Here it is this afternoon, and a few hours later.

You want to know what this has to do with writing? Everything. Just for a moment, to feel how wonderful it is to be alive, breathe in a bit of beauty, and breathe out love and thanks.

Laurie Halse Anderson live chat

Authors and hoping-soon-to-be-published-authors-- want to see a pro in action? The most awesome and forthright Laurie Halse Anderson will be chatting live on the MySpace readergirlz forum this Thursday, June 19th. For those of you who love to read YA literature, Laurie is inspiring when she talks about why and what she writes and her hopes for youth today. Check this out!

<http://groups.myspace.com/readergirlz>
<http://www.readergirlz.com/issue.html>

The chat will start at 6 PM PST/9 PM EST and last for about an hour. We're featuring her book PROM but the discussion goes in every direction. To whet your appetites, here are a few things we've found out about Laurie:

On your nightstand: Flashlight, notebook, pen (all for middle of the night ideas) and my inhaler.

Favorite drink while you write: Tea or coffee

Favorite bookstore: River's End Bookstore, Oswego, NY

Favorite library: Mexico Public Library, Mexico, NY

Pet: Kezzie (my German Shepherd)

Place to write: The loft of our house

Inspiration: My readers

Dream book tour: One that includes Paris, Edinburgh, and Tokyo

Author-buddies: Sarah Dessen, Chris Crutcher, Holly Black

Cure for writer's block: Run 5 miles

Favorite outfit: Jeans and hoodie sweatshirt, sneakers

Long-hand or laptop? Laptop

Stilettos or Uggs? Uggs!!!

Author idol: Francesca Lia Block

Next up: Chains (Fall 2008), Wintergirls (Spring 2009)

New Mexico desert and my friend Dyanna Taylor

When I was at Ghost Ranch in the New Mexico desert for Kindling Words West I couldn't get over the sky and clouds. I keep leaving my little room where I was supposed to be writing to see what was happening in the wide open sky. Here's a few of the photos I took:

Day breaks full of light.


Cool quiet day smelling of wet, promising rain.

Day folding up.


Night comes, the desert at rest.

And after the wonderful sky-filled week, I went to visit my friend Dyanna who lives in the prickly cactus and tumble weeds of the desert outside Santa Fe in a house with windows that stretch floor to ceiling. She's a cinematographer (and excellent still photographer) and lives and breathes the desert light. She had just returned from a week-long shoot on Alzheimer's and was about to head out again, so I was lucky our times clicked.

New East Asian library open at UC Berkeley

The new and beautiful East Asian Library has opened on UC Berkeley's campus. I'm really looking forward to going to see it. They have a huge number of very, very, very old books, and now access to them will be easier. It's a great acknowledgment of our place here on the Pacific Rim.

For my book, John Lennon: All I Want is the Truth, I did research at this library a couple of years ago, when it was small and cramped and had a lovely smell of old books and dust. I couldn't find my way around the shelves at all -- nothing was in English -- but with help of the librarians I was able to request an old issue of Bungei Shunju magazine from the depths of storage. Yoko Ono had written a wonderful article in the magazine about herself and her art work. I had it translated by a Japanese woman, Kyoko K. Bischof, and found it a very revealing self-portrait of Yoko. Which was great, as so much about John Lennon and Yoko is half truths, or out and out untruths that have been repeated over and over again. Love those primary sources!

And much older than Yoko's article, here is a poem I have over my desk by Izumi Shikibu.

In this world
love has no color-
but how deeply
my body
is stained by yours.

Sunset

I love it when the light begins to intensify as the sun goes down. Colors deepen, distances seem to compress. Then, when it is truly dusky, I can have a rush of feeling very melancholy. There is some pause, some loss in the air. I think there's some English or Scottish word for this. The gloaming?

But tonight as I was bringing in wood for the stove, the sky lit up and my melancholy disappeared in the blaze. To celebrate, I sat down and wrote for four hours.

How do you do this novel writing? Laurie Halse Anderson and Neil Gaiman

Now that I'm working on a novel, I'm racked with insecurities. Can I do it? How do you do it? How do other people do it?

I find other writers' blogs very comforting. Laurie Halse Anderson recently left a character writhing on the cutting room floor, and found her novel is better off for it.

Here's her answer to a query asking if it was hard:

"The different parts of the writing process feel like different countries to me. The etiquette and customs of one country is extremely different from the next. In the early drafts, I include everything that falls into my head and I love it all. I could never cut out a character at that stage. When I get to later drafts, that changes. The only thing that matters is what works best for the story. if I fall in love a character and she doesn't work in the story, she's gets cut. I can always send her flowers, take her to the movies, or go out for coffee with her. But if she isn't a vital thread in the fabric of the story, out she goes."

Neil Gaiman took a huge, anxious leap away from home to get a grip on his novel, then returned with something (pages? confidence?), to home and garden shed and family, and finished.

Here's a bit from a recent blog of his, answering the question of how he writes:

"The truth is, as the truth about so much is in writing, that there are no rules, and even a writer who normally does things one way doesn't have to be consistent. You do what produces pages. You keep moving forward. If I'm really stuck on a scene I'll sometimes skip to the next scene I DO know how to write, and often by the end, the solution to the one I was stuck on is obvious, or I can't even remember why it was a problem." Check out Neil Gaiman's blog for more.

Helpful. Comforting. How we all twitch around and get mental space for some parts of the writing and listen and imagine and then get ruthless and use a different part of our brain to rewrite and then send off what we've done to our trusty editors and sit on pins and needles till we hear what is good and what is rotten and we make the changes we can make and send it back again and try to forget all those wonderful characters we spent so much time with. We take to hanging out in cafes without a stricken look on our faces and go to yoga and see friends who probably though we'd died or been incarcerated and pay our ignored, overdue bills.

And then? Start the whole damn thing over again.

Curl up with The Gathering by Anne Enright and your heart will fly wide open

I just finished reading The Gathering after seeing a podcast of Anne Enright giving a talk at Barnes and Noble's New York store. She looked so.... normal, for lack of a better word. Kind. Thoughtful. Clearly smart. Poised.

Then I plunged into her book. It's the kind of book that lays you wide open. I spent the day yesterday reading in front of a hot fire while outside it stormed and rained and the wind blew in great, gasping, smoky breaths through the cracks around my windows and doors.

The Gathering is one of those books that ten people would have ten different takes on what it means, because it's so rich. For me, it was how to love and tolerate and truly see the family you're born into, as well as the one you make. It's about seeing them all clearly, and letting them be, and not flinching away from the truth of them all. And stepping truly and deeply into the life you've made for yourself.

Day before yesterday I went to the ophthalmologist. The woman who dilated my eyes was chatty. "Sure hope it doesn't rain this weekend!" she said. "My son's birthday. Everyone's coming over. We won't all fit in the house."

"Who's everyone?" I asked, trying not to squirm as the drops hit my eyes.

"My husband's one of twelve kids. The whole family's coming. 120 people."

I thought of her while I sat in front of my cozy fire and it stormed outside. I thought of her as I read about Veronica and Liam and their ten other brothers and sisters.

And I thought about my own life, and my ninety year old parents and my four brothers and sisters, and my husband and his five brothers and sisters. Once we all had open faces and ruddy cheeks and tangled hair and huge noisy birthday parties and unknown, promising futures. And how we've had some good luck and some bad luck and worked hard and had a few ruddy faced, tangled-hair kids ourselves. And I felt incredibly sad and grateful and joyful, all at the same time.

A good book will do that to you.

Sherman Alexie

Last summer and fall I had the privilege of heading the National Book Award for Young People. As I've posted before, we agonized once we got to about twenty titles: how to cut down further? We debated hard, cast secret ballots and eventually had our five finalists. I feel a special connection with those books, a kind of pride that we recognized how brilliant they all are.

We finally chose Sheman Alexie's book, The True Diary of a Part Time Indian as THE ONE. He's reaping the rewards of his deserved success with the book right now, on tour to high schools acorss the country. He's written a beautiful piece about his tour for Publisher's Weekly.

The guy can sure write.

snow and ice and blooming plum trees

I know most of you are freezing cold. Really, really cold. Snow in New York City. Laurie Halse Anderson's sweat is frozen to her post-jogging face. Neil Gaiman's in diamond dust snow in Minnesota. My son Will, also in MN, would probably be in diamond dust snow as well except that he's a lab rat and never gets out.

So I'll share with you two wonderful pictures by the amazing illustrator Katherine Tillotson. These are from her neighborhood in San Francisco. She says: "The street is brick paved and lined with blossoming plum trees on both sides. If I time my walks just right I can walk through drifting pink petals and hear the wind chimes in back yard. It is very magical."

Enjoy. Lift your face up and feel the rays. Smell the delicious flowery dusty smell.

Davis Scholars Program and my awesome niece Kim Pope

I had a long conversation with my niece, the amazing Kim Pope last night. She's actually my niece-in-law, but I claim her straight up as niece, she's so cool. She works at Westminster School where her husband teaches. (He's totally cool too, but this is about her, not him.)

Her job? Davis Scholars Program Coordinator. They've got two pilot programs going on --—one domestic and one international—that award need-based scholarships to really motivated, smart kids from 1) America (first in family to attend college) and 2) anywhere in the world. Kim's recently gone to Budapest and Prague. Heads soon to Lakota reservation (where poverty is as bad as any third world nation), Ghana and Vietnam. She's looking for two kids for next year to come to their boarding school on a full scholarship. Kids who do well get supported through college.

This fills me up with hope. Lots of hope. I love to see people and programs that knit the world together instead of tearing it apart or blowing it up.

Thank you Kim, thank you Davis Scholars people. Hats off to you and your awesome work.