So how did the Dorothea Lange shoot go?

 Months ago my friend Dyanna Taylor asked if she could shoot interviews with her scholars at my dad's house. On her sixth application --- sixth! -- to NEH she finally got funding for her American Masters film on her grandmother, Dorothea Lange. The crew arrived with an unbelievable amount of stuff, and took over the living room, dining room, kitchen, even my bedroom. Cameras, monitors, sound equipment, black out shades and sheets, huge backdrops.

For days I watched Dyanna interview the scholars. Amazing people like Clair Brown, Sally Stein, Linda Gordon, and Anne Whiston Spirn. Even though my dad's house is huge, once all that equipment was in place, we had a fairly small hidey-hole to do the interviews. Here's Dyanna interviewing, a camera lens over her left shoulder.

Then it was my turn. First, make-up.

 Get wired for sound. 

 Look over notes one last time while Dyanna adjusts the lights.

Keep pencil in hand for whole interview to be able to think clearly. Be serious said Dyanna, and so I was.

Now Dyanna has to go home, head for her next hidey-hole, an editing room. She has to take the interviews, the footage she's shot, the archival photos and interviews and footage she's collected, and make it into an hour and twenty minute documentary.

I'm telling you my writer friends, we have it easy. One little hidey-hole... our writing room... with our papers and books and flights of imagination. Easy street.

Thanks to Paul Marbury and Allyson Feeney for the photos.

Battle of the Books coming....

It's time to rumble.... Battle of the Books time! School Library Journal sponsors this every year. I'm a big fan. It's a great way to see what some of the smartest, hippest writers think of the best books of the year. This year's contest kicks off March 13 with Matt Phelan choosing between two amazing books: Amelia Lost (just won the Golden Kite) vs. Anya's Ghost.

Run out and buy these books or check them out from your library and see what you think. It's a lively, kick-butt contest. Best part? Right at the end everyone can go online and vote one book as "undead," and it has to be put back in the contest!

April and a few things I love about spring

Our pullets are laying their first small brown eggs.
The yolks are deep golden and delicious.


The wild plums in the hills have burst into blossom.


And girls go walking in the lightest of rains.

Teaching at Vermont College, one year in.

I've been teaching at Vermont College of Fine Arts for a year now. I began teaching wondering what it would be like to share some of what I've learned over my years as a writer. I was eager to be involved in an academic community. I mean, let's face it. To be a writer is to be a shut-in. Long hours alone, which I cherish, but sometimes I want to be out there, connecting with other writers.

I've learned to be a better teacher, and better editor of students' work. No big surprise there. Do anything intensely and you get better at it. What I didn't expect is how much I've learned about my own writing process. There are incredible lectures by smart, well-prepared writers, visiting authors who add their amazing lectures, and late nights in the faculty room, which veer between industry gossip, swapping of writing and teaching tips, and a heady, exhausted exhilaration as we make it through the intensity of the ten day residency.

We have a lovely graduation each residency. Here I am beeing the "hooder" for the ceremony, as Mandy Robbins gets her diploma. Thanks to Shelby Hogan for the photo.

Marla Frazee and Libba Bray were our visiting authors this last residency. Both of them were spectacular. Libba whipped up an awesome blog post about her time with us. Here's Libba post, On Gratitude.

We've also got a faculty blog going, Write at Your Own Risk. Here's my most recent post, Tough Love From an Old Poet, on Mary Oliver.

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.....

Vermont College

My first few days home from Vermont were catch-up days. Lots of sleeping, letting things I learned percolate, walks in the hills with my beloved husband and dog, and long, leisurely meals with family and friends. Finally unpacked my suitcase, washed my clothes, and put everything away. Now I'm back to work on my own projects, feeling the press of deadlines, the excitement of using what I learned from other faculty.

We had a terrific ten days at Vermont College. Nonstop learning and laughing. Very little sleep. Somehow Coe Booth talked us into doing a flash mob rendition of Michael Jackson's thriller at the 80's party. I kept my sanity with walks every evening through the neighborhoods. Here's a photo of the old brick armory at dusk. I think someone lives there now.

And a few of my favorite remarks (somewhat paraphrased) from various speakers.

Walter Dean Myers: "We're building America, one child at a time."

Martine Leavitt: "I hope we'll be able to read in heaven, but just in case, make sure you read Cormac McCarthy's The Road before you die." And: "Take your main character's emotional desire and make it plotty."

Marc Aronson: "Illustration is its own story."

Franny Billingsley: "Abstract things are telling. Concrete things are showing."

Until next time, Montpelier, when the snow falls and the trudging outdoors is treacherous and beautiful.

Why people moved to the city

I'm a city dweller, with all the amenities of modern life. We also have a cabin deep in the California redwoods, a mile up a dirt road. Quiet. Peaceful. No city services. So on several of the hottest days of July, we were out gathering firewood for next winter, loading up for the wood burning stove. Even with Tom on a modern, gas powered splitter (and Felix with a sledgehammer and a maul), it took all three generations of us. Sasha and my 93 year old dad pitched wood from the loose pile to the stack, Felix and I made a tidy, geometric pile to over-winter. Penny supervised. Think that looks hard? Here's my father's father, 90 years old, on the woodpile he just split and stacked on his farm in Graton, about 50 miles from our cabin.