McGraw & Mug Shots


Mug shots. Probably not the nicest way of saying it. But …okay. I said it anyway. Mug shots: those senior portraits.

I mock because I love, but I’m not doing it.

No, I have to …think about it. But Jay (and Robin!) of the Disco-ing Mermaids have once again thrown down the peer pressure, so the rest of us must assemble our high school geekesque selves and post our senior pictures. Betsy Bird has shown us the way, as has Sara — looking wholesome and sweet (why, yes, like granola, Sara!), and really, Jay and his bad boy guitar and Robin with her fluffy hair are adorable. I stole my friend Dan’s sweater for my senior picture, and it LOOKS like it. Plus, my chin is all weird. SO, no, I’m not posting mine, although I just looked at them this weekend. *shudders.*

Okay.
Now, I …I… MotherReader, can you hear me? I’m going to have to get out the BACA stamp and put on my kickers. What IS IT with these autumn titles!? And Doret, his HEAD IS ON THE COVER.

“It’s something that as a father you kind of have to sacrifice what you want to do, because boys do what you want to do. If I want to go to the farm and shoot guns or ride four-wheelers in the mud when it’s 40 degrees … the girls aren’t really interested in doing that,” he said.

But McGraw said he’s found that his daughters like coming along while he does simple, everyday stuff, like running to the grocery store or stopping by the office.

Tim McGraw, talking about his daughters and his children’s book: My Little Girl.

Perhaps it would have been better if he’d put in My Stereotypically Simple Little Girl. Or, maybe, just.. you know, The Little Woman.

*mumbles, kicks dirt, says bad things under breath*

Tami Lewis Brown and Liz Gallagher are exploring horror at the Tollbooth. And Cynthia L. Smith is being interviewed on GottaWrite Girl. Check her out.

Monday's Mug of Linkosity

New books in the world today: first, Bay Area SCBWI member Deborah Underwood is the ghost writer on Whoopi Goldberg’s new children’s book (!), Sugar Plum Ballerinas. Doret@ Happy Nappy Bookseller gives it a vote of confidence — surprise, surprise. Apparently, this is NOT a BACA Book (though if you’re in need of some real snark on the topic the Guardian can still make you laugh). Props to Deborah Underwood!

The 2008 Cybils Nominees are all wrapped and packaged and ready for reading. Take a zip through the list, which is thoughtfully broken down by genre, and get ready to do some holiday shopping! It’s definitely going to be a book year in our family; I just found out my wee nephew calls spiders “Kill-its” (thanks to his paranoid and beastly father) and so I shall be forced to buy him a book that displays spiders in a positive role, uses their actual name, counts their legs, etc., until he graduates to Charlotte’s Web and learns of arachnid fabulosity himself. (Since he’s 14 months old, we have a ways to go.)

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was proclaimed 60 years ago, in 1948, by the United Nations General Assembly at the end of World War II, and if you’ve never looked at it, please take a minute to do so! You’ll note that it has a lot of … words in it. Honestly, they’re good words and gorgeous words, and words that will make you put your hand on your heart and close your eyes and dream hard of a better world. But, there’s also a lot of “whereas”-es and “thereins” and that kind of thing in it. Enter We Are All Born Free a lovely children’s edition of the UK version of the declaration (spelled with more u’s), illustrated by the bright lights of children’s literature here, the sale of which will benefit Amnesty International.

This beautiful little volume came out the first of October and I WISH I’d recommended for the Cybils! Since I didn’t, I’m going to flog it here. Go and page through it online and tell me it’s not something that would be really amazing for not necessarily just small children, but bigger ones, who need to know the awesomeness of the dream that was held for the world, once upon a time, before things got messy… What a great, tangible reminder of a way to get back on track, and what a good personal reminder about individual freedoms, and that basically, not even your parents have the right to force you to do things — nor do you have the right to force others. Everyone should know their rights, and relish the right to be left alone, and politely demand from their governments what is due to each.

Ooh, new vampire book from Marcus Sedgewick. I’m still traumatized from the first book of his I read; I may have to wait until summer to read this one.

I’m used to finding the odd (and in the case of The Slidy Diner VERY odd) Random Illustrator Features over at the 7-Imps, but was pleasantly surprised to discover this illustrator interview with Nicole Tadgell over at Big A, little a. No Mush Today is a book by Sally Derby from Lee & Low, and it’s adorable and colorful and full of disgust for squishy hot cereal and squishy, stuffed-toy-stealing baby brothers. (I completely relate to this book as I am still smarting from the theft of a particularly cute lamb toy by my… *cough* a perfidious baby I know. Who is now, like, seventeen. But I digress.) Nicole is a fabulous, lively illustrator, and I love that there are pictures of her working — I can never get enough of seeing regular people at their desks, doing their thing.

And speaking of regular people at their desks, procrastinating, that’s it for me. Happy Monday.

Monday’s Mug of Linkosity

New books in the world today: first, Bay Area SCBWI member Deborah Underwood is the ghost writer on Whoopi Goldberg’s new children’s book (!), Sugar Plum Ballerinas. Doret@ Happy Nappy Bookseller gives it a vote of confidence — surprise, surprise. Apparently, this is NOT a BACA Book (though if you’re in need of some real snark on the topic the Guardian can still make you laugh). Props to Deborah Underwood!

The 2008 Cybils Nominees are all wrapped and packaged and ready for reading. Take a zip through the list, which is thoughtfully broken down by genre, and get ready to do some holiday shopping! It’s definitely going to be a book year in our family; I just found out my wee nephew calls spiders “Kill-its” (thanks to his paranoid and beastly father) and so I shall be forced to buy him a book that displays spiders in a positive role, uses their actual name, counts their legs, etc., until he graduates to Charlotte’s Web and learns of arachnid fabulosity himself. (Since he’s 14 months old, we have a ways to go.)

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was proclaimed 60 years ago, in 1948, by the United Nations General Assembly at the end of World War II, and if you’ve never looked at it, please take a minute to do so! You’ll note that it has a lot of … words in it. Honestly, they’re good words and gorgeous words, and words that will make you put your hand on your heart and close your eyes and dream hard of a better world. But, there’s also a lot of “whereas”-es and “thereins” and that kind of thing in it. Enter We Are All Born Free a lovely children’s edition of the UK version of the declaration (spelled with more u’s), illustrated by the bright lights of children’s literature here, the sale of which will benefit Amnesty International.

This beautiful little volume came out the first of October and I WISH I’d recommended for the Cybils! Since I didn’t, I’m going to flog it here. Go and page through it online and tell me it’s not something that would be really amazing for not necessarily just small children, but bigger ones, who need to know the awesomeness of the dream that was held for the world, once upon a time, before things got messy… What a great, tangible reminder of a way to get back on track, and what a good personal reminder about individual freedoms, and that basically, not even your parents have the right to force you to do things — nor do you have the right to force others. Everyone should know their rights, and relish the right to be left alone, and politely demand from their governments what is due to each.

Ooh, new vampire book from Marcus Sedgewick. I’m still traumatized from the first book of his I read; I may have to wait until summer to read this one.

I’m used to finding the odd (and in the case of The Slidy Diner VERY odd) Random Illustrator Features over at the 7-Imps, but was pleasantly surprised to discover this illustrator interview with Nicole Tadgell over at Big A, little a. No Mush Today is a book by Sally Derby from Lee & Low, and it’s adorable and colorful and full of disgust for squishy hot cereal and squishy, stuffed-toy-stealing baby brothers. (I completely relate to this book as I am still smarting from the theft of a particularly cute lamb toy by my… *cough* a perfidious baby I know. Who is now, like, seventeen. But I digress.) Nicole is a fabulous, lively illustrator, and I love that there are pictures of her working — I can never get enough of seeing regular people at their desks, doing their thing.

And speaking of regular people at their desks, procrastinating, that’s it for me. Happy Monday.

Binging on Purging and Other Thoughts

It strikes me as odd that I so loathe to gather encumbrances, yet it takes so long for me to be able to throw things away.


In the living room, which is now rather cramped with the contents of the closet that holds the boiler, is a large cardboard box, filled with… paper. Purging the files is a lengthy task, and the horror with which I greet the things that have traveled overseas with me cannot be feigned.

I really should have …packed better. Purged sooner. Left some of the past behind.

For instance: WHY do I have, in a file, the letter from Teresa Og when she “broke up with me” in high school? Good grief, she came out two years later, so that particularly bitter little mystery has been solved for some time. Why do I still have letters from Bill S., where he moaned about how he hated college and he didn’t know how to “take” the things I said to him? He’s been out of school and with someone for at least as long as I have been. Why do I have my autograph book from the sixth grade with sly messages from Karin about the apologies she owed me — which she never gave — and notes I wrote to myself from my imaginary mascots?

I won’t examine too closely why I have saved so many funeral programs, so many holiday cards; both temporary greetings from a moment that has passed; both essentially valueless, once the moment is gone. Dead is dead, and it’s only December a few days out of three hundred or so.

I won’t take too long thinking of the many who have died.

Why is so much of memory wrapped up in razorblades and pipe bombs? Why did Zeus put all that crap in a jar for Pandora to find?


The sun is already not really into …rising, per se. Once I’m finally released from the gentle tyranny of Dr. Christodoulou and can go to the gym, it’s going to be HELL. It’s too dark to be stumbling through the streets to overlit warehouses full of chipper skinny people and bewildering equipment. The fact that no one here has heard of an elliptical machine has had sort of a chilling effect on my desire to go anyway (and no, it’s not a just a cross-country ski machine, Dr. Christodoulou. Trust me on this…) — gym equipment is always bizarre anyway, but bizarre in a country full of things I don’t understand could be humiliating. I’ll probably have to stick to the treadmill. Which is fine. It’s not like I can do any running anywhere else; leaping over pools of vomit isn’t exactly helpful to one’s stride (although here it could be an Olympic qualifier).

Unbelievably, it’s almost November again.

Not at all unbelievably, my mind is not consumed with National Novel Writing Month; I think if we can all get safely to November 5th without anyone or anything being blown up, hacked apart, and otherwise deranged and howling for blood in the streets, I can then begin again to focus on a creative life.It’s sort of horrifying to see just how narrow one’s focus becomes when one is trying to just survive. We have to plug our ears and sing “La, la, la,” so loudly just to maintain our sanity in crisis that there’s nothing left when it comes to creativity.

And without creativity, what the hell is the point? If we all think that our little two-bit jobs where we clock in and clock out are our real careers, we’ll all want to pull up the covers and never get out of bed again. There has to be something more.

I don’t exactly see the world becoming more calm, the nation becoming more sane, and all sinking ships suddenly buoying to lightness again in the coming months and weeks, so I’m going to have to figure out how to cope… fingers in ears leaves me only listening to my accelerating heartbeat.