[fiction, instead of lies]

Happy August! I’m looking up from the world of juggling writing projects and trying to convince myself that researching in dull academic volumes for historical fiction definitely means myriad cups of tea under fleece blankets — but not necessarily myriad cookies. I see I need to pack up a box and visit the neighbors, quickly.

Other than the recipe for these pretty little faux Oreos (yummy, but Oreos aren’t quite this sweet. Shall cut the sugar down again for the next batch), you know what makes me happy about the picture below? The fact that the plate and the cup almost match. One is melamine, and was cheaply and recently purchased, the other was (also cheaply — c’mon, people, you know me) purchased when we first moved here, and is by a well-known designer… and yet, they go together. Serendipity!

For everyone who says that YA bloggers are categorically unable to write incisive, intelligent, negative reviews, please think again, and check out The Book Smugglers. Intelligent bloggers – with strong opinions they’re not afraid to share, eliciting lively conversation. And their blog header is just adorable. Go, Smugglers.

When I was a kid, we had chickens. I had no idea they could swim, but it’s so hot in parts of China this week that some of them have decided that’s a great idea. And should it surprise me that in the UK — home of Very Bizarre Festivals and things like cheese rolling — that there are hen races? No, it should not. And yet: I remain somewhat baffled and amused.

All righty, then. Back to my tea and cookies. Oh, and my “research.”

Way back in January (because I am, if nothing else, completely on top of all trends and kidlitosphere conversations) quilting author and blogger Kyra blogged about who actually wins the Coretta Scott King Awards. It was an interesting bunch of statics, and a good post, and it reminded me of an observation I made about the CSK winners this year — all of them were awards for historical fiction.

Someone mentioned that historical fiction is always what wins — and I’d have to suspend comment on that until I could see some type of statistical compilation that backed that up. But I did remember wondering if that’s just the pool the CSK jury had to dip into, or if there’s a preference by the ALA juries and committees to award portrayals of African American history over other topics. Anyway – just an idle thought that I’ll look more into, when I have time. When I am not writing three books at once.

(WHY am I doing that? Because… it’s summer, the light [please note I did not say the sun - we're having the worst gray overcast weather] still comes up at 4 a.m., and I am overflowing with twitchy, nervous energy — usually at two or three a.m., but energy nonetheless. We’ll see if it’s coherent energy, or just the blathering sort.)

Via Tor.com, Prolific paranormal/true crime/vampire writer L.A. Banks scares herself. (Is it wrong of me to snicker loudly at that?) I’d scare myself, too, if I wrote what she writes, in a darkened house, at 3 a.m…. L.A. Banks is one of the very few REALLY successful writers of color in the SFF community, and while she doesn’t write YA fiction… I’m hoping she might someday.

Meanwhile, art continues to flourish in my neighborhood. These are two of a series of toothy computer monitors and TV sets, just down at the corner — in the “back” yard of the same crescent I’m in. And I have no idea why there’s always art in that corner, but it’s usually Banksy-esque and always thought-provoking. This one is a cross between the Little Shop of Horrors Audrey, Jr. plant and those 70′s “Kill Your Television!” bumper stickers.

Intrepid librarian Jennifer at Now Taking Requests, passed this picture of some WAC’s of the 6888th Postal Battalion along to me, which she took at the America at War exhibit at the Museum of American History. Thank you, Jennifer! This is a truly awesome picture, and one of the rare ones. It’s obviously posed — people who actually work don’t stand around beaming at each other, usually — but it’s still so great of a find. Especially cool is the example of their uniforms; check out the sand-colored, belted “utility” outfit, in which the WACs worked in when it was cold – which it was, most of the time, in England. I wish I had made it to that exhibit. Oh, well. Next time!

After a busy morning, a few of the usual suspects met for lunch in the food court above the exhibit hall. Kelly Fineman, Tricia Stohr-Hunt, Laura Purdie Salas and Tech Boy scarpered off to find out if anything was good, while I dropped my bags and sucked down as much water as I could. To my surprise, Kelly came back with Laurie Halse Anderson in tow. (Kelly is friend with just everyone, which makes attending a convention with her awesome.) She sat down and proceeded to chat with us about anything and everything, and in the course of that desultory conversation, she passed along some good advice.

Laurie mentioned that when she first wrote Speak, everyone thought, “Ooh, awesome. We can expect more of the same.” Well, if you’re a L.H.A. fan, you know what came next — the riveting, can’t-put-it-down-ugh-gross Fever, 1793. Her publishing house — after all the praise and awards heaped on Speak — was not thrilled. First a gripping YA novel, and now a kind of middle grade novel that has the phrase “Bring out your dead” in it? The publishers could just not see it. Fever was repeatedly rejected, and Laurie had to change houses in order to have it see the light of day.

And of course, once Fever debuted, I’m sure her original publishing house must have been kicking themselves, as it was a critical and commercial success, and it’s been turned into a stage play, I understand. But the real point is that Laurie learned it was easier for publishers to “get” her if she divided her work — her straight YA novels go to one publisher, and her MG historical fiction goes to another. (The Zoe picture book she describes as “pure silliness,” and it doesn’t exactly fall into any category, but who knows? Maybe she’ll write another and start a new grouping.) Thus the publishers don’t feel like they have to worry about whatever novel follows a spectacular hit like Speak. Laurie’s “brand,” or what have you, is safe, at each publishing house.

As my editor has passed on two novels now, since MARE’S WAR, and has indicated that they need to be of a certain “caliber” in order to follow Mare’s path, I’m wondering at the wisdom of continuing to pitch things to her which are not specifically a.) historical b.) stories which include grandmas c.) stories about a single character who faces specific odds and achieves, in her own way. I am very much aware that people love, love, LOVED Mare, and while I enjoy writing historical fiction, I’d like to write all kinds of things — frankly whatever bubbles up in my brain. I don’t like the idea of branding — although the ladies at Shrinking Violets came up with a good discussion on it recently — and realize that maybe there’s another “home” for my novels which include dual protagonists, siblings, guys, and, um, aliens. (Okay, no aliens. Yet.) I’d like to bounce this off my agent, and see what he thinks.

Right then. Back to battling jet lag (it’s a lot harder coming back five hours than coming back eight, for some reason. Travel in the winter is easier.) and considering how to get back to work.

…and have much to say, but not much in terms of internet connection. Post-ALA Convention, I’m on a little Virginia vacation. I’ve visited the enigmatic Jama (long-a, kids: say, Jayma) Rattigan of Alphabet Soup, and now am pestering my dear friend Charlotte of Charlotte’s Library. We’re hanging out in downtown D.C., seeing the sights, visiting the museums, and discovering the East Coast.

Pictures, and further dispatches to resume this weekend.

< this is a rant >

There’s a stack of these on the hall table in the foyer of our building. They are ugly, and I was tempted to throw the whole stack away. I very much hate how advertising skews things by gender — and how many fitness and weight loss ads are slanted toward women. Women have historically been characterized as “the fairer sex,” or “the weaker sex,” as if there’s some kind of rule which states that we must be both vacuously attractive and unable to manage without external validation – and in these modern times, we know that’s just a lie. In spite of what we know, like clockwork, every January and every June the ad campaigns ramp up on radio and TV. It’s time to make New Year’s resolutions and promise to be more beautiful! or It’s summertime, and time to show off our bodies! It’s as if it’s all up to us to both beautify the world and to satisfy its insatiable need to commodify us. It’s demeaning and depressing, and makes me grumpy.

< / end rant>

The ALA Countdown is beginning! In just a few weeks, I’ll be sweltering in warmth and humidity, but more importantly meeting friends and fellow authors, poets, and illustrators whom I’ve only had a meeting of the minds with online.

Having never been to any conferences other than literary things I’ve either been part of giving or had to attend for a class, this is going to be a big deal for me. I am looking forward to seeing the exhibits and the museums in the Capitol, and also to finding a quiet place to step out of the stream of humanity and just observe. I’ll be taking plenty of pictures and reporting back on all of my adventures!

But before the Conference, we have houseguests! Our first guests in this flat will be friends of my parents, which means a.) wild house cleaning, b.) actual menu planning, and c.) that as soon as I finish this post, I will be back to writing as hard and fast as I can – because I’m going to lose three days to swanning around museums and tea shops and castles. I just hope it ceases to rain while our guests are here, and that all the stairs in this country don’t do them in!

Here & There: This month Paper Tigers has a fun little spotlight on play, with a great piece from the author of Retro Active: Skip, Hop and You Don’t Stop (Games We Played) , by Tom O’Leary. They also asked a bunch of other authors (and me) to join the fun and reminisce about our childhoods, which is a little funny to me, because I feel like I’m just getting started on the whole “play” thing. Anyway, it’s good fun. Check it out.

Right, then. Back to work.

Apparently, warm weather in Scotland is for the birds. Specifically, the black-faced gulls, the moorhens, the swallows and the swifts.

In the course of seeing wild animals from around the world – rhinos, lions, elephants and the like — walking around a park and otherwise enjoying the balmy weather on the weekend, I was seriously accosted by:

a.) a goose,

b.) a kestrel,

c.) a peacock,

d.) a duck, and

e.) a seagull

…at one point or another at the safari park where we went this weekend. All I can blame it on is that it was a broiling 78°F, and it seemed that everyone in Alba was outside, half naked, and grilling something.

I think the birds were somewhat resentful of this.

I tried to explain that I was a vegetarian.

It did me no good.

The kestrel was allegedly only doing its job, entertaining the crowd at a bird of prey show. It swooped through the crowd, leaving nervous shrieks in its wake, as it neatly skimmed the heads of many of us, zipping and banking and doubling back like a teensy stealth missile with a deadly hooked beak and talons. We were all bent double with our hands over our heads by the time it decided to return to its perch. The little bugger. Must’ve had its Wheaties that morning. (Or the bleeding equivalent.)

The peacock I’d mistaken for a wad of feathers and twigs in the top of a tree. I figured it was a faraway nest… until it moved. And moved again. And then fell fluttered, in the worst parody of flight I’ve ever seen, out of the tree and landed a little way away from me. And proceeded to stalk toward me. With intent.

It was… a bit unnerving. I always thought peacocks were scared of people. Apparently not.

The duck and the gull had the mistaken idea I was interested in feeding them. I explained that wasn’t going to happen. The goose was the only one that insisted.

I actually scared off the goose for a few seconds, because I mistook it for a duck.

I must explain: Ducks are occasionally… obnoxious. How many times have I seen small siblings and other children overwhelmed at the marina back home, when feeding ducks, by a sudden bum rush of all the ducks in the pond, plus seagulls? We all got used to shoo-ing them, and I was confident as I loudly berated the pair of large white birds stalking our picnic table. I ignored the sideways looks the one closest was giving me. “GO,” I told it. “YOU ARE BEING RUDE.” It backed up a single step.

I felt like I’d achieved some measure of success, and sat down and ate my lunch, keeping a wary eye out, and occasionally reinforcing my message with a brisk, “SHOO.” And then, the ducks came waddling out of the river. And I had a basis for comparison. (Yeah, yeah, I know we had ducks when I was a kid. That was a long time ago… and I seriously just wanted it to go away so I could eat. I admit to not really paying attention…) I realized that either the white “duck” must be the largest duck on the planet, or….

Geese, according to D., and my vet friend Jess, are generally evil, and will chase you, hiss, and “bite.” Jess dislikes Canadian geese, and D. was chased at the age of five by the regular barnyard variety. I’ve not had a bad experience with geese, but having heard so many horror stories, I would have been careful, if I’d bothered to look at the bird closely.

It worked out, though — I was aggressive and verbal, and the goose clearly thought I was insane.

Works for me.

*I have ZERO idea what that bird with the orange beak might be. Moorhens have orange beaks, but they look hennish. This thing does not. I therefore must conclude it is just another bird who was stalking me, trying to get mentioned in my blog.

YES.

To any of the following questions, you have now received your answer:

1. Are you still alive?
2. Are you ever coming back?
3. Are you still working on your revision?
4. Are you still getting random ideas for your SF story in the middle of your revision?
5. Had you heard about Justine Larbalestier’s repetitive motion injury?
6. So, does that mean you’re getting out of your chair at times to get exercise?
7. Are you still slightly panicked about your Google Video chat with Oakwood School’s 6th grade Language Arts class?
8. Did you see that great Darcy Pattison thing about how to do lighting for your vid chat?
9. Are you already panicked about what you’re wearing to ALA?
10. Are you still having nightmares about the speech?
11. Have you heard from The Taskmaster lately? Did she remind you not to slack off?
12. Do you still love your job?

Yes, yes, yes.

March appearances look like they’ll continue to be a bit sparse, seeing as I somehow agreed to write an essay for the Hunger Mountain Journal and begin editing my church’s newsletter again, am doing long-distance book chats, still revising and writing and still getting all kinds of squirrelly new ideas for new books that I don’t need quite right now, and I’m trying to finish baby hats and baby blankets in my copious free time since everyone on the planet seems to be popping out a bairn, and I’ve fallen behind.

The essay I’m writing? Is on depictions of race on young adult book covers. I read this, and felt slightly ill.

I shall return. No guarantee whether or not I shall be sane at that time.

Bonne weekend.

Really, where would we be if all of our dreams had come true? No matter how dismayed or angry I am for having found myself in the middle of something unpleasant, I know so many times I would have missed so much if I hadn’t been there. Even the common, everyday things, like having to walk because I missed the bus, can gift me with sighting an ordinary magpie having an extraordinarily iridescent day.

Where would I be right now
If all my dreams had come true?
Deep down i know somehow
I‘d have never seen your face…
This world would be a different place.
Darling there’s no way to know
Which way your heart will go.
- Mason Jennings, Which Way Your Heart Will Go

I <3 Candy - a crazy-fun little store.

I’m back.

Some of you tried to stop by while we were hauling the blog out of the mess of Blogger, and I hope you weren’t too frustrated by not being able to comment! THAT wasn’t supposed to happen. Anyway, I’m blog-supported by WordPress now, so all should be well.

Technical difficulties aside, it’s been a rough couple of days. A person most dear to me passed away, and I remain six thousand miles away. Knowing that he had been ill for four years, I’d said goodbye before, but I was fooled by how well he was when I last saw him in January, and I misunderstood the speed with which cancer can move. His death caught me unprepared — so unprepared that I need to delay acknowledging the immensity of the loss in some parts of my brain. (That may not make sense to you, but …well, it’s how my head works right now.) That I heard on my birthday, and I had the devastating misfortune of finding out on Facebook just didn’t help. [Note to Facebooking People: Please. Social networking is not the place for every topic. It is just not.] So, I’m a little scattered at the moment, but I’m fine – no need for more concern. I’m fine. Thank you.

Kites and mobiles at Big Top, best toy store EVER

We’d planned for our dear person to visit us in Scotland, and for awhile, it looked like it was going to happen. And then last September we realized it would not. So, from time to time, I’ll just be posting a few pictures of the places we would have gone, “had we but world enough, and time.”

Café Andaluz, our special occasion tapas place, for when we feel a need for Mission style furniture and a California vibe.

Meanwhile, the revision continues apace! I have the dubious privilege of being what my editor calls a “clean” writer; I don’t always have major revisions to do. But this time there are some fairly significant changes I have to make in a character, including changing her passion. That’s hard — what we love, what drives us, makes us who we are, so now I am essentially looking at a single character, and rewriting her — which in turn rewrites the way she responds and reacts and relates with family and friends. And this is all because my editor is leery of too many musicians lately in YA fiction. Apparently there’s a violinist in When You Reach Me, which I haven’t yet read, and since it won the Big Dance (aka Newbery) my cellist has to go. Le sigh. But, it’s actually turning out just fine so far. I took away her cello, and gave her a blowtorch.

I am liking that change a lot.

Urquhart Castle ruins — Loch Ness in the background!

I’m also realizing — as I’m supposed to be revising — that science fiction has taken over a remarkable percentage of my brain. I am thinking all the time of things I could use, things I could add — I have two notebooks at my desk full of scribbles (plus the back of the odd envelope) and another one next to my bed. This is a very broad work, and it just goes deeper and gets bigger — And after reading the very brilliant Mr. Elzey’s Building Better Boy Books series, acronym-ed HEAVES, where the ‘s’ stands for SHORT? I am really fighting the temptation to write a Rowling-length (Books 4 thru to the end, anyway) sweeping epic. That’s not really my style, and I do kind of feel strongly about a well-pruned, tightly written …mini-epic. Enough to tell the story well, not enough to make camping (HP joke. Sorry.) seem like a lifetime achievement and make the book cost $30. That’s what I’m going for.

Well, enough talking about work, now off to do some.

Until next time…

Edinburgh, from the castle, on a dark, drear day.

Caution, falling people. Ya think?

Just a quick note before I go back to huddling over the heater…

MARE’S WAR is a 2010 Cooperative Children’s Book Center Choice and also on the 2010 NCTE Notable Children’s Books in the Language Arts List!

YAY!

The CBBC is The Cooperative Children’s Book Center — the examination, study and research library of the School of Education at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. It is even colder in Wisconsin than it is here, and I’m sure the good people of the CBBC cordially invite me to suck it up with all the whining about the weather.

I’m especially excited about the National Council of Teachers of English. Having briefly BEEN one of those people in my previous life, I’m grateful that they felt Mare supported language arts appropriately.

Woot! And now, sorry, Wisconsin, it’s back to the heater.