Egregiousness Abounding in the Filthy City

O, waily, waily…for woe is the state of the English language from one end of my fair state to the next. Or at least from the middle to the far end. Yes, friends, Romans, compatriots — it’s time once again for that annoying English major tribute, the Most Egregious Misuse, Report!

Yesterday’s M.E.M. was spotted on Highway 101, near Gilroy. It was a professionally done sign for a fruit/veg stand that sold cherries and garlic — apparently an unbeatable combination. (Ew.) The sign read, Fresh Cherries: Get ‘um now.

Um?
So, apparently ‘them’ is now spelled thum?

I won’t dwell on that, lest I am accused yet again of unfair umbrage against cherry growers — and anyway, it it today’s M.E.M. that gives my heart the most joy. This one I found only an hour ago… at Her Britannic Majesty’s Government Consular Enquiries section, on Wilshire Blvd.. Yes. You read that correctly. In the inner offices of the King’s English, there is a sign:

Courier’s, please dial 2937 for entry.

Hah! Colonist that I am, I know how to use an apostrophe.

Kidding aside, I am thrilled to have been “dear”ed and “love”d all day by the staff at the UK Visa office here in L.A. (imagine if that happened at, say, the DMV!?), and I am done, done, done with all that paperwork (for the moment)! Now after my second shower of the day (Ah, Los Angeles — it coats the skin and clogs the pores to be sure you don’t forget where you are), I am ready to sit down and get to work on finishing up what we’re doing for tomorrow’s SCBWI presentation on blogging the kidlitosphere. ‘Having Our Say’ is the title of our presentation, and we honestly plan to do so! So many of you have blogged intelligently about not only YA books, but the publishing process, their authors, and you have recommended great titles for all kinds of populations. We are proud (and okay – I am a little nervous) to represent you. Maybe next year, YOU can represent the rest of us.

And now, to work!

Graphic Novels… more graphic than usual?

Our girl Gina from AmoXcalli was at ComicCon, which got me thinking about all things graphic. Okay, actually, when I read yesterday that um… an “adult” (obviously, I’m not a big enough grown-up for THAT one) film star has been hired to star in her own comic, I sort of … felt it was a badly tagged on ‘PS’ to the whole ComicCon vibe. Admittedly, graphic novels have been sort of a “Hmm” subject for me because of the whole idea of comic books — perfect bodies (someone’s dream of perfect, routinely delving deeply into the territory of ‘ridiculous’) clad in spandex; no one flawed, fat or ugly except for bad guys or victims; objectification of women as victims or buxom-n-brainless – with a disturbing helplessness, etc, etc,. I was really glad that we covered graphic novels with the Cybils; they really can be a useful (for teaching), viable and very fun thing for teens, and I was privileged to enjoy some of the Cybil-nominated graphic novels when AF was finished with them — but some of what I’ve seen in the mainstream from some pretty big-name graphic novel/comic book companies is really… really… sexist.

Interestingly, others are speaking up about this topic of women in graphic novels. Take a look at this fascinating article — and follow the links, which will reveal even more thought-provoking, strange and amusing bizarreness than I even realized. I look forward to reading more in the series.


Sigh. Remember Winnie from The Wonder Years? Just another reason why she’s still totally cooler than me.

Intelligent conversation continues over at Alkelda’s. I think I like the Mars idea very, very, VERY much. And frankly? There’s almost no such thing as taking a story “too seriously.” I agree…

Via Shaken & Stirred, we present the PLAIN Janes Riot Grrrl Graphic Novel Tribute Quiz!

badge

Which PLAIN Jane Are You?

Brain Jayne

You’re the brain of your BFF operation, but don’t feel cornered into being just a smarty pants – you’ve got way more to offer the world (and your crush!).

Take This Quiz More Quizzes

I hope there’s more from Brain Jayne in the next issue – I actually really liked her and her quiet ideas!

Literally two seconds —

–but this is so funny I have to post it (even as the shippers are driving TOWARD the house, and Himself is still actually… um…working. (But isn’t this what husbands are for? *Ahem*) — yes, I have been snarky about The Dangerous Book for Boys. Oh, but unless you are a “naice young country gell” you might well be sarcastic about The Digested Read’s take on The Great Big Glorious Book for Girls. Ohhh, the snark, the delicious, hooting-out-loud, probably waking the neighbors snark. Do NOT sip your tea whilst reading. (‘Whilst.’ Love that word.)

All right. To work, to work…

Caught and Questioned

I’ve been caught in the headlights by the Impossible Duo; expect to hear from the more artistic half of OUR duo next week. Meanwhile, it’s back to the boxes — for one more day! The shipper comes to crate up everything on Tuesday… after that, I will get serious about pulling together my SCBWI presentation materials (No worries, panel team mates!). Though the living room is a sea of boxes, the plugs still work – if I can’t read, I can listen to books on CD.

Happy Monday!!

See? Even non-YA people agree…

Taking a short breather from the land of tape and double walled cardboard:

Another writer friend, Valshamerlyn in Ireland has thought up a good plan to help spread the word about children’s …books. Not movies that pretend not even to be related to books.

I just want to look at screenwriters and say “SEE!? It’s not just the YA crowd who’s protesting here. The Clamor is Rising. Listen to us!!”


Ann M. Martin said she’d NEVER write another book of The Babysitter’s Club after the series ended in 2000. NPR reports on what Ms. Martin is up to now — and they include a neat excerpt from her newest work!


Alkelda’s asking some good questions about culture vulturing. Do we have the right to make every story part of our own? Where does one draw the line?

All right, break’s over. Back to the boxes.

Last Post from the Desk

Well, the desk.
It is going to be dismantled and flat-packed and put on a ship.
It is a computer desk, but it is cherry wood and black metal, and altogether too gorgeous to sell, and it has been mine for the last ten years, and I can’t part with it. So, seeing as it looks like the freecycling and the donations and the sales have paid off — and we have less stuff that we expected (!!! How often does that happen? I still don’t quite believe it – and I fully expect that… stuff is somewhere quietly mating in a corner and will produce prolific and oddly shaped offspring quite shortly), the desk can come too. So I will be wrapping it and padding it and crossing my fingers against additional scratches, and then it will go. And I will be posting from… the lovely bamboo floor. (Ow.)

This bright and early Sunday morning, don’t miss the return of Eisha and learn the phrase ‘Special Forces Moving Co.’ Do you not want the special forces to come for your next move? I imagine people parachuting from the sky, rappelling down the edges of our roof, landing in groups of four, immediately wrapping, crating, taping, and sanitizing things, wearing mirrored sunglasses, communicating with hand motions, sharp nods, and little bursts of static…

Okay. Too little sleep. Obviously.
And I’ve dallied long enough. The screwdriver calls.

Ficktion Friday: Feylit

“This is so lame,” Mad groaned. “Why can’t people figure out this isn’t some random character re-enactment weekend? I mean, hello – renaissance. Medieval times. Get a clue already!”

It was supposed to be a Renaissance Faire, but as usual, there were the requisite number of Trekkies in Wookie costumes, Hogwarths uniforms, busty wench types, old guys with long hair and motorcycle jackets carrying hooded birds of prey, and middle-aged women wearing a surfeit of smudged eyeliner and filmy, trailing shawls. It was hot, dusty, and crowded, and the afternoon was wearing on toward evening. Perri wondered for the nth time she had wasted a Sunday at the RenFaire when she could have been at home, away from her cousin Maddalena’s scything tongue, not having to hear anyone nasally say ‘Prithee’ and ‘milady’ every five minutes, or try and sell her flat, warm beer in a scrotum-shaped tankard. It had been Mad’s stupid idea to come to the RenFaire and “meet people,” in the first place.

“And where are the freakin’ guys? I mean, real guys, not these chess freaks.” Mad glared around the gaming area. “All the hot ones are running around after the Court and their ‘fairy’ prince. I swear, they deliberately leave the ugly ones running the booths.”

“Maddalena,” Perri winced, as a woman wearing thigh-high boots and a filmy shawl glared in their direction, “could you be a little quieter? I’m not in the mood to run from Lady Goth over there.”

“Well, she’s the one who should be running. She’s wearing a WONDER WOMAN costume, for heaven’s sakes,” Mad continued her harangue, completely oblivious to the attention she was drawing. “And it’s July. Hello? Try October for that?”

“So, do you want to just go?” Perri asked desperately, trying to stopper Mad’s acidic tongue. “We can still catch the 1:45 show at The Raven if we leave right now, and Mom can pick us up.”

“No.” Maddalena sounded wounded. “Athena said we should come today – there’s a parade or something in half an hour. She promised it would be cool. She promised it would change my life. After we see what’s so great, then we’ll go.”

“Okay,” Perri sighed, knowing it was useless to argue. Athena was Maddalena’s best friend, and no matter what stupid idea she had, Mad thought it was cool. “Let’s …watch a jousting match or something, okay? Just ‘til Athena gets here…”

They watched a match or two, and Mad made a point of pointing out the fake armor on the horse, and how the lady next to them wasn’t really in period dress (“I mean, only the very rich had those wimples,”) and she had tales of the middle ages and how the ‘Ring Around the Rosy’ was a song about the plague, and how people died, wreathed in garlic, pox-pustules, and stench. It was Mad’s usually cheerful turn of conversation. Perri’s stomach did slow rotations over a gruesome descriptions of the horses killed in jousting matches while Mad hopped into the line for the churros (“What the hell is this? Were there churros in medieval times?”). Perri stood alone, bleakly, listlessly watching the crowd. Athena had promised Mad that the parade was right at sundown; Perri wondered if she could take her cousin’s company for that long.

A murmur behind her had Perri turning, searching for the source of the sound.

“I’m sorry?” She turned and saw a tall, thin boy, his face shadowed by his a hank of long, darkish hair, standing behind her. “You said something to me?”

“Don’t eat the food,” he said, turning to face her head-on. His voice was gravelly.

“Don’t – why? Oh, no. Don’t tell me there’s been food poisoning? I should get my cousin…”

His shoulders shifted, and he seemed to shuffle, shrug a little.

“So, what, you’re just saying not to eat?” Perri asked anxiously. “Do you mean all the food? Or just the churros?”

He stood, seeming undecided, and Perri narrowed her eyes a little, studying him. He seemed much more hunched than he ought to be. Perri wondered if she should move away from him, wondered why she was still talking to him, but she didn’t want to get any closer to Mad, who was arguing with the lady at the churro booth about the authenticity of her cooking methods.

“Did you not receive the instructions?” he asked finally. He had an abrupt way of speaking, as if listening to internal voices.

Perri felt her stomach tighten. “Instructions? No,” she worried. “Mad’s the one who got the tickets. Is there something special going on today? Nobody told us we weren’t supposed to eat before the parade. Does something gross happen?”

The boy stood up straighter, and as he unfolded, Perri felt like she had been rabbit punched in the gut. His back straightened, and it seemed that his shoulders were suddenly wide. He loomed over her, and his eyes were an ageless, silvery gray, wide-irised and startlingly clear.

“You are entering the wildwood, and you approach Winter’s realm. No one would think the less of you if you turned back now. Take nothing. Eat nothing. There is still time to turn back safely.”

Perri blinked, gawking, as a thrill of fear ran through her. He …he was… She blinked again, remembering where she was. “Wow. That was pretty good,” she said, feeling chagrined for her moment of speechlessness. “So, how do you make yourself look taller?”

The boy shrugged again, seeming to collapse in on himself. “My Uncle taught me.” He nodded over his shoulder at the tall, long-haired man in kerchief and hoop earrings sporting what looked to be a castoff from the Pirates of the Caribbean costume closet.

Perri nodded politely, hoping Mad didn’t notice the boy’s uncle. “So you guys work the RenFaire year ‘round?”

“Yeah. This one’s better than the one in L.A.”

They nodded awkwardly, and looked out over the crowds of people for a moment. Perri studied him sidelong. He looked normal enough when he wasn’t trying to come off all hulking Medieval Wizard – he was actually kind of scary when he did that. How could anyone stand being around the crazies in the Trek outfits all the time if they weren’t totally weird?

“So, are you going to … I don’t know, do something with your RenFaire skills? I mean, do you think you’re going into drama or something later on? You totally should get into Shakespearean acting. You really have… this …presence thing down. I could totally see you doing something like Macbeth or Richard the Third.”

“Really?” The boy’s grin seemed wofish, far wwider than it should have been. Perri wondered if he was laughing at her in some way. “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

“Hey, who’s this? Wanna churro?” Mad reappeared, temper sweetened with fried sugar and argument.

“Um, this is — ” Perri glanced up at the boy and smiled. “Who– ”

But the boy’s face had closed, and he seemed to loom over them again, standing taller and broader, and somehow colder than any human being ought to be able to stand, standing like an ice cold wall. Once again, his voice was deep and gravelly, and Perri seemed to feel it in the soles of her rubber soled sandals. “Don’t eat the food. Don’t drink the water. Don’t stray from the path, mortal child. And don’t be here when the sun goes down.”

“Oh! That is awesome!” Mad gushed, brushing sugar from her lips. “It’s totally not medieval, but the whole ‘don’t stray from the path’ fits with the stories of the medieval era. I like it! Are you with the Court today?”

The boy gave an exaggeratedly graceful bow, holding out his long arm in a courtly gesture. “Of course.”

Mad applauded. “You know, you’re the only one here who has any kind of acting skill. Where do you go to school?”

Straightening from his bow, the boy’s hand brushed Perri’s, and she …blinked. The world was awash in glitter. Shining gold particles hung and shimmered before her eyes, beings too small to truly see. She put out a hand to steady herself as she lurched, dizzied and dazzled. She exclaimed wordlessly, heard Mad’s agreement.

“I know. Wasn’t he a hottie? Where’d he come from? Did you catch his name?”

Perri blinked again, and the effervescence in the air had vanished. The boy was halfway across the field, joining a motley group of similarly dressed medieval types, lining up for some kind of parade or dance. One of them had a pipe, and was miming playing it, dancing and swaying believably.

“Did you see it?” Perri demanded. “Mad, did you see that?

“Huh? Man, this piper’s really good,” her cousin said wonderingly, beginning to sway as she popped the last of her churro into her mouth. “This year’s are the best RenFaire people I have ever seen. And the churro’s are awesome. I’m getting back in line. Want one?”

“I… I think we should go home,” Perri said slowly, looking from Maddalena’s ecstatic, beaming face, shining unfamiliarly with a vacant happiness and with churro grease to the piper, who was dancing now, while playing not a sound.

“Are you kidding? Man, that piper is calling me,” Mad said, and essayed a clumsy, shuffling dance step. “I may not ever go home.”


So. Not one of my best, but I’m about to drop from the packing, so forgive me! This week’s Ficktion snippet was taken by Flickr photographer IguanaJo, and will likely be written on by the usual subjects. Catch the rest at Ficktion.ning.com.

Poetry Friday: A Moment

David Budhill is a hermit, a Zen poet, a playwright, YA author, essayist and lecturer; a musician, a scholar, and a dove in a world of hawks. The little poem of his, “What We Need” is from While We’ve Still Got Feet © Copper Canyon Press. Here’s hoping that you take a moment to dance this weekend — while you’ve still got yours.


What We Need

The Emperor,
his bullies
and henchmen
terrorize the world
every day,

which is why
every day

we need

a little poem
of kindness,

a small song
of peace

a brief moment
of joy.


Check It Out! Poetry Friday is being hosted by MsMac. And don’t miss the loveliness that is the summer poem series, where we all became the poem. Trés cool.

Thursday's Mythic Gem

Colleen of Chasing Ray – still reporting coolness from the boonies — reviews one of my favorite books for this month’s Journal of Mythic Arts. The Journal this month celebrates Mythic Arts for Young Adults, and is a serious don’t miss. Featuring our own Bond girl as well as the writerly Colleen, this issue further includes such writing talent as Neil Gaiman, Holly Black, Terri Windling,Catherynne M. Valente and more. People, this is fabulous stuff — don’t miss it.


A large part of having much younger siblings meant being dragged into the wondrous realm of Thomas the Tank Engine. At nineteen, I loathed him, but the Littles loved him to death, and today I am chagrined and amused to find that he’s more than an over-sold brand name anthropomorphic train. The Guardian reports he’s also great for kids with autism. Wow.


Sadly, bookstores may now be abandoning the idea of comfy seating. Which is a bummer, but honestly – once you’ve had to mop up spilled coffee and drool, I guess plush seating in quiet corners might not seem worth it. I imagine librarians would like to do the same… (Via Galleycat)


Eric Carle says he may have reached the end of the line with his colorful board books. After a long and wonderful career, he believes it’s time to say goodbye. Even though I’m not a picture book person, I (and everyone else) recognize his work on sight. Definitely the end of an era.


Robert Heinlein would have been 100 years old today. What a much cooler world we imagine is possible because of him.

Happy working.

Thursday’s Mythic Gem

Colleen of Chasing Ray – still reporting coolness from the boonies — reviews one of my favorite books for this month’s Journal of Mythic Arts. The Journal this month celebrates Mythic Arts for Young Adults, and is a serious don’t miss. Featuring our own Bond girl as well as the writerly Colleen, this issue further includes such writing talent as Neil Gaiman, Holly Black, Terri Windling,Catherynne M. Valente and more. People, this is fabulous stuff — don’t miss it.


A large part of having much younger siblings meant being dragged into the wondrous realm of Thomas the Tank Engine. At nineteen, I loathed him, but the Littles loved him to death, and today I am chagrined and amused to find that he’s more than an over-sold brand name anthropomorphic train. The Guardian reports he’s also great for kids with autism. Wow.


Sadly, bookstores may now be abandoning the idea of comfy seating. Which is a bummer, but honestly – once you’ve had to mop up spilled coffee and drool, I guess plush seating in quiet corners might not seem worth it. I imagine librarians would like to do the same… (Via Galleycat)


Eric Carle says he may have reached the end of the line with his colorful board books. After a long and wonderful career, he believes it’s time to say goodbye. Even though I’m not a picture book person, I (and everyone else) recognize his work on sight. Definitely the end of an era.


Robert Heinlein would have been 100 years old today. What a much cooler world we imagine is possible because of him.

Happy working.