Rudolf Nureyev once said, "Any artist is the bringer of light." It's a good thing for me that there are many different kinds of artists. In a family of musicians and artists and writers, it was pretty apparent when I was about five that drawing wasn't to be my destiny.
I'm sure my cousin, Jon Kiphart (second from the left), will be thrilled to see my creative interpretation of him doing "jazz hands".
My mother was an incredibly talented artist, and she always appreciated and celebrated anything my brothers and I created. I just found some of my writing my mom saved from the fall of 1968 and the summer of 1969. So much was changing in the world, but not in my corner of it.
I hated keeping that diary. My teacher made us all do it, and even then, I would rather have been off by myself making up my own stuff, rather than sticking to the nonfiction details of the day. The Vietnam war was in full swing and the Civil Rights movement was Front Page news, but I was writing about making "dezines" and flowers and seeing a film ... and some girl named Jeanne who was bugging me while I was trying to write and read my "Happy Hollisters" library book. (I've never been one to confront someone or make waves, so per usual, I got back at Jeanne in print.)
On a personal note, my Aunt, Patricia Kiphart, died on May 4. She was the first one on the left in my drawing at the beginning of this post and, in case that didn't quite capture her good side, she's the first person on the left in the photograph below.
Twelve-year-old Emily Kassing from Dallas, Texas is the kind of person you don't hear about everyday. After reading Also Known as Harper, she got to thinking about the issue of homelessness. She wrote to tell me that she had discovered that there were 5,600 homeless men, women, and children in her own community! This affected her so deeply, that she felt that she needed to do something, and that "everybody needs to help make homelessness go away."
So Emily did just that. She conducted a coat drive for homeless people in her city. Emily impressed me so much, that I felt like others needed to hear about her! She and her parents kindly agreed to an interview on The Backstory.
Please tell us a little about your project.
EMILY: I sent out letters to everyone in my neighborhood ( I just stuck letters and a garbage bag in 300 mailboxes) to let them know I was trying to help give encouragement to the homeless in my community. I mentioned that I read your book and was inspired to try to help...because of reading "Harper." I invited them to collect coats and put them on their front porch a few days later and I would collect the bags .
A week later I went and collected all the white trash bags I saw. My goal was to collect 100 coats. I collected 97!
I donated them to the Homeless Shelter in Dallas, called the Stewpot. I really think all the children who are homeless, along with their parents, would love the coats: especially this winter.
My family and I had a complete tour of the Stewpot and learned all about the homeless services they offer and just how big and sad the situation is.
2 Comments on Homelessness is in Your Own Backyard, last added: 5/6/2012
I have always loved my quirky students the most. Most first graders have a mind of their own, anyway, but the bold, brazen ones hold a special place in my heart.
I love the grand announcements they make. Some of them are so good at this, that you can almost hear the fanfare of a full orchestra building behind them. One of my favorites was from a class long ago from a girl I'll call Scout, because she had the spunkiness of Scout Finch.
"I'm getting a new sister," Scout announced.
She was an only child, and this was definitely exciting news. The class started to gather around her.
"We're adopting her," she went on.
"That's wonderful!" I said. "Is she a baby, or is she an older child?"
She looked thoughtful, as if she was searching for the right answer. "She's two. Her parents were in a car accident."
At this point, I was trying to keep the tears from coming, and there was a blanket of hush over the crowd. Scout truly had the floor.
"How sad!" I said. "Did you know her family?"
She nodded. "They were our friends."
I searched for the right thing to say. "Well, she's so lucky to have you."
She smiled, definitely pleased with how her announcement had been received.
Her mother came by to pick her up for an appointment that afternoon.
"Congratulations!" I said.
Scout's mother had a puzzled look on her face, as she stooped to tie her shoe.
"On your adoption!" I said.
More puzzled looks. "We're not adopting ..." Her voice trailed off, as she slowly turned toward Scout.
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I'm still basking in my geeky writer joy well over two weeks after attending the annual SCBWI conference in New York.
Everyone takes away a little something different from the award-winning authors, publishers, agents, and people who appreciate all-that-is-the-written-and-illustrated-word.
I have attended many a conference, small and gargantuan, over the past years. At each one, I've gotten tidbits to take away with me; to mull over and to incorporate or apply to my own writing.
This year had a very common thread for me. The thread was simple, but it spoke volumes. It was basically, be kind to each other. Support your peeps. You are all in this thing together. When you break it all down, we all have the same hopes, dreams, fears, and insecurities. Prop up your fellow illustrators and writers -- whether it be with just a kind word of encouragement, or a positive comment on a blog post.
Writing and illustrating can be a lonely process. Hang together and support each other.
And now ... the answers to the last Trivia Tuesday questions. (See previous post for pictures, etc.!)
1. Who is the awesome author/SCBWI Team Blogger/cupcake aficionado on the right?
This past weekend was the "Lucky 13th" Annual SCBWI New York Winter Conference, so my questions for Trivia Tuesday, all have to do with Kidlit! And just for the fun of it, I will remove my "No Googling"rule today. Tomorrow I'll post the answers, with links!
1. Who is the awesome author/SCBWI Team Blogger/cupcake aficionado on the right?
2. Identify the author of the upcoming, One For the Murphys.
3. Name the Texas Sweetheart on the left
(there was a hidden clue in there!).
4. Name the illustrator/painter in this amazing retro photo:
"Wow!" said BadBreathBusinessManNextToMeOnAirplane. "I've never seen anyone do a crossword that fast in my life! We haven't even taken off and you're almost finished!"
I nodded, trying to convey an expression of both humble thanks and uppity wisdom, quickly trying to cover up any part of the page that might say "People Magazine" on it.
That's right. I can finish the People Crossword puzzle in about seven minutes or less --even if there's an unknown rapper as the double-big-money word. (Five minutes, if the d-b-m is an aging soap star, game show host, or cheesy singer from the seventies or eighties.)
My brother, Tim, has this skill, too. We got it from our mother, a charter subscriber to People. She would punish us mercilessly if we did the crossword before her--extra tongue lashings if we did it in pen AND got the word wrong.
Anyway ... I digress. This is Trivia Tuesday, and my questions today have double (possibly, triple) value to you, the answerer. Not only will you have the possible satisfaction of getting these correct, you may also be able to use these in a future People crossword --or even a USA Today crossword.
Remember the NO-GOOGLING rule.
1. What was the name of Erica Kane's high school sweetheart on All My Children?
2. Name the host of Hollywood Squares.
3. How many choices were behind the wall on The Dating Game?
4. What was the name of the Brady Bunch's dog?
5. Who were the only two members of the Partridge Family who actually sang?
Bonus: On what day was Jennifer Tompkins born?
My friend, illustrator and storyteller extraordinaire, Mary Jo Scott, had no idea at the time, but she was handing me a National Book Award winner, and a Newbery Honor book. I'll read anything MJ recommends, so when she showed me INSIDE OUT AND BACK AGAIN by Thanhha Lai last summer, I went home and devoured it in one sitting.
The story and the writing are beautiful and poignant, but Thanhha Lai went so much further with her story. She pulled off what only the best of storytellers are able to do and made me (a middle-class, American-raised, mostly caucasian girl) identify with her main character, a Vietnamese refugee.
Maybe "identify" isn't really the best choice of words. The author made me remember my friend from high school, also a Vietnamese refugee. People treated her as if she was stupid and as if she didn't exist, because of her broken English and her second-hand clothing. But she ended up in my Physics class as my lab partner. I was working my tail off, trying to figure out the lab, and I so ignorantly discounted everything my lab partner was trying to contribute. She must have been getting frustrated, because I couldn't understand what she was trying to say. But she remained patient and polite.
It turned out that I was going about things completely wrong. Thank goodness I finally let her help me, because she truly saved us from failing the lab assignment. I can vividly remember our eyes meeting during that moment of realization! We couldn't stop laughing and we became friends after that. I still have the doll she gave me from Vietnam.
Oh, and it turned out she had lived in a French-speaking country briefly, after she fled Vietnam. So she was translating everything from Vietnamese --into French --and then into English.
Thanhha Lai: Congratulations on your well-deserved awards. And thank you for reminding us to read the beautifully written pages, and not just glance quickly at the cover.
First, the answers!
1. Where did Darrin and Samantha Stevens live? (1 point each for city and state; 5 bonus points for actual street address!)
Darrin and Samantha lived at 1164 Morning Glory Circle, in Westport, Connecticut.
2. What was Darrin Stevens' job?
Darrin (both Darrin #1 and Darrin #2!) worked in advertising. (By the way, did Darrin #2 really think that Samantha wouldn't notice that he and #1 had done a switcheroo on her?)
3. Name Darrin's place of employment. (Bonus point for city and state!)
Darrin worked in Manhattan for McMann and Tate.
4. What Hollywood Squares comedian played one of Samantha's relatives?
Paul Lynde played Samantha's Uncle Arthur.
5. What was forbidden in the Stevens household?
Witchcraft/magic, of all things (!), was forbidden in the Stevens household.
The best thing about putting these trivia questions out there, is that I often end up getting more facts to tuck away in those corners of my brain that should actually be housing more important things. Anyway--got a great add-on to this week's questions from my friend, School Psychologist Extraordinaire, Kristina. Kristina is from none other than the real Westport, CT, and actually lived by the actor who played Darrin's mother on the show. How cool is that? The closest I ever got to a Stevens was through the screen of my TV in my living room in Auburn, Washington.
Now, for you writers out there, on to the Fiction Friday part ...
Over the years, I've often
I had so much fun with last week's questions, I decided to crank out a few more!
A little something for everyone today ... I've decided to do a Bewitched theme this time. It doesn't matter if you caught it first run during prime time, or if you tuned in to Nick at Nite.
But remember ... keep those googling thumbs free! And for those of you hard-core googlers with voice recognition: we will be having none of that. You must search the recesses of your technology-atrophied minds!
1. Where did Darrin and Samantha Stevens live? (1 point each for city and state; 5 bonus points for actual street address!)
2. What was Darrin Stevens' job?
3. Name Darrin's place of employment. (Bonus point for city and state!)
4. What Hollywood Squares comedian played one of Samantha's relatives?
5. What was forbidden in the Stevens household?
Stop by tomorrow for the answers!
We were twins. I knew she had noticed it, too, because she hugged her knees and smiled at me from across the floor.
Both of us. The same. White knee socks with red argyle diamonds. I loved those socks. My mom had bought them for my first day of kindergarten, and it was my first time wearing them.
Her name was Verna, and we knew we were best friends right from that first day at Pioneer Elementary. We sat next to each other any chance we could, and we scooted our rugs together at rest time. I remember she smelled like a combination of my backyard and our laundry basket. When we put our arms side by side, we smiled at how much tanner she was than me.
I was a walker, and an entire group of neighbor kids would make our way home together after morning kindergarten, people peeling off the group, one by one, on the way home. But on that first day of school my mom and my brother, Tim, came with the car to pick me up.
"That's my best friend!" I was so excited to spot Verna, walking all by herself, sticking close to the curb like her mother must have taught her.
She was walking in the opposite direction from my path home, and my mom pulled the station wagon over to offer her a ride.
Tim and I slid over to give her room and I can vividly remember her sitting forward on her seat, telling my mom how to get to her house.
My mom must have been surprised at how far Verna would have had to walk. Her house was all the way under the highway, and when we pulled up to let her out, I could see why her mom couldn't come to pick her up. Her car was in the middle of the front yard and it didn't have all of the wheels on it.
I was so excited to wear those socks again, and I couldn't wait for my mom to wash them. Verna wore hers again right away the very next day. And the next one after that. Finally, mine were ready to wear again, but this time I remember that Verna's looked dirtier than mine. I told my mom this when I got home, and she said that Verna's mom probably didn't have a washing machine. Not everyone on the reservation had running water.
I remember wanting my mom to wash those socks for her in our machine. But something kept me from offering. Even in kindergarten, Verna had a quiet pride about her.
We used to trade sweaters sometimes on the playground. Hers was th
I have a secret confession to make. I love Batman. I always have.
I'm not talking about a secret crush on Adam West or Val Kilmer, or even my old E.R. heartthrob, George Clooney.
I'm talking about the comics and the TV show with the caped crusader, the Batmobile, Gotham City, and of course ... the Bat Cave. Oh how I longed to be a fly on the wall of Wayne Manor.
The show started on this day in 1966, and TV has never been the same for me. Never since have my brother, Tim, and I gone to the lengths we went to for any other TV show. We risked life, limb and reputation for our love of that show.
Even though Batman was my favorite, my brother and I were equal opportunity superheroes, and we also gave Superman and Batgirl some air time in the back yard and in the vacant lot next door.
I think I still have shoulder scars from the safety pins that held my cape. My mother was constantly missing her best towels and scarves. There are probably still bits of gravel in my knees from jumping off the backyard fence and the picnic table with my cape.
I'm pretty sure that Super 8 footage still exists of some of my brother's flying leaps. We used to beg my dad to run the projector backwards, and there's nothing like a dive from the top of the swing set in slo-mo.
I loved the power and freedom that I felt when I got a good sprint going and my cape snapped in the wind behind me. And I'd still take Batman's utility belt over my cell phone any day.
Now I need to go do some yoga stretches or something. I've got to stop jumping into my Honda like it's the Batmobile. But I'll be back tomorrow. Same bat time. Same bat channel.
I have to say that the answers people gave to the Trivia Questions were probably better than the actual answers--definitely more entertaining! Thank you for playing! I am already hard at work coming up with next week's questions.
Here are the answers:
1. When is David Cassidy's birthday?
April 12
2. Name two possible desserts in a Swanson's TV dinner from the sixties and/or seventies.
Brownie, apple crisp, apple cake cobbler, and I think there was one with cherry cobbler--yum!
3. What was the first of the Nancy Drew books?
THE SECRET OF THE OLD CLOCK
4. From where did Kurt Cobain hail?
Aberdeen, Washington (Same as my dad!)
5. (Bonus): What was the first line of ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET.?
"Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret."
It's true. I have a secret talent. It runs in my family, and it's ... a flair for useless trivia.
I can't remember fifty percent of my shopping list, nor do I remember my kids' names on a consistent basis. But I can remember exactly what was in a Swanson's fried chicken TV dinner, circa 1969.
I've had this ever since I could remember. I could be tearing my hair out, trying to remember an algebraic formula, while quite easily pulling David Cassidy's birthday out of the card catalog of my mind.
It's not a particularly useful trait to have ... unless I happen to get a hankering to overthrow Alex Trebek.
So in honor of my useless talent, I am making this Trivia Tuesday. There are no prizes, other than the distinct satisfaction or discovery that you may also have this admirable hidden talent.
Here goes ... oh wait--no using The Google or other such cheater pants methods. Your answers have to be pulled out of the deep twists and turns of your own brain. You can put your answers in the comment section--but no reading the answers of others before you reply!
1. When is David Cassidy's birthday? (You didn't think I was going to leave that one out, did you?)
2. Name two possible desserts in a Swanson's TV dinner from the sixties and/or seventies.
3. What was the first of the Nancy Drew books?
4. From where did Kurt Cobain hail?
5. (Bonus): What was the first line of ARE YOU THERE GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET.?
And: Get your mouse off the Google button, Cheater McCheatsley. (You know who you are!) I'll post the answers tomorrow.
I didn't really see that ... did I??
It was around 10:30 this morning, and Daughter #2 and I were on our way to church. We were on the freeway when a car came up next to us in the left lane. He was staying right with us, side by side, and he almost seemed too close--as if he was in my personal space. I don't know why, but that's always a little unnerving to me, like when someone steps up too close to you in the grocery store check-out line.
Then I caught something else out of the corner of my eye--a brown bottle that he kept tipping up to his mouth. Was that a beer that he was drinking for breakfast?
Daughter #2 leaned forward to look around me and nodded her head emphatically. "Yep, it looks like it." She whipped out her ever-present cell phone. "Want me to call 9-1-1?"
I've always taught my first graders and my own kids not to tattle. I don't want to hear about it unless someone's bleeding or in danger, I always say.
I also like to give someone the benefit of the doubt. "Maybe it's just a soda that looks like beer," I said.
Daughter #2 nodded, but skeptically this time. "Like a root beer."
"Uh oh." I hung back and let him get ahead of me. "Is he weaving?"
Daughter #2, ever the voice of reason, followed the car with her eyes as it went slowly side to side, from the shoulder and back to the center line. "Looks like it."
As soon as she tapped in the numbers on her phone, I felt a sense of relief.
"Making that call could have saved someone's life, I told her."
Sure, maybe we got a perfectly innocent Sunday morning root beer drinker pulled over, and at the very most, cost him ten minutes of his day. But I was at peace with my tattling.
New Year's Day was packed at the soup kitchen. Not one table was empty. Every time I looked up from the tray of Sloppy Joes in the steam table, the line seemed to get longer. It was cold outside, and a couple of my friends were giving out winter gloves.
I barely had time to pause, and I had to remind myself to make eye contact. My friend, Phyllis, a Dominican Sister, once told me something that is so important relating to human worth and dignity. Many people out on their own, homeless or transient, haven't heard their own name in a long time. I didn't have time to use names or to even stop the line to chat, but I could definitely exchange greetings and make eye contact.
I had stepped back to let someone refill my Sloppy Joes when I saw them. A mother and a father and a little boy of about two. They were dragging over the high chair and the little boy's smile was as wide as his face. He was thrilled to be there. I ran to fill his sippy cup with some milk, wondering how long it had been since he'd had some. Milk is expensive.
One of the people who helps run the soup kitchen was watching from off to the side of the room. Watching with an accusing eye, to make sure I wasn't giving them something extra. Which made me want to give them all the more. We're not supposed to give out any containers, in case someone wants to take something "to go". But it's not my fault if I happen to drop a sheet of foil as I'm passing a table. I can sort of understand the supervisor's jadedness. He's been burned by the desperate few who are looking to take advantage to get ahead. But today I wasn't playing by his rules. Our church had purchased, prepared and served the food, and if I wanted to give out ten Sloppy Joes per customer, I was going to do it.
There is almost always someone out of the crowd who makes me stop short. This time it was a young woman. It looked as if she had arrived alone, and she stood about a half a step back from the silverware and green plastic trays at the beginning of the line. It wasn't so easy to make eye contact with her, because her eyes were veiled with the hazy cloud of her addiction. My husband asked her how many Sloppy Joes she wanted and she took so long to answer, he had to ask again. Her hair was dirty and her hands were shaking as she took her plate.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. Did she have anyone who cared where she slept, and how had her life gotten to where it was?
I looked for her later, but couldn't spot her in the crowded, noisy room. She was still on my mind as I cleaned up and rounded up my family, driving home in my warm car.
Many thanks to
Penny, who made me experience waves of heavy guilt for neglecting The Backstory for so long. Actually, Penny, I have a good excuse ... I was writing millions of words for my latest WorkInProgress. I have been doing my own version of NaNoWriMo, I like to call: WriteAsMuchAsYouPossiblyCanAndAttemptToStayOffOfFacebookAndTwitter.
Getting the work done can be daunting for a lot of reasons. But I have decided that the biggest reason has got to be fear. Not the
DougCleggDeanKoontzStephenKing-imposed kind of fear. I'm talking about the scaredy-pants kind that is much more terrifying, and comes in a variety of shape-shifting forms.
Writer fears tend to multiply because you have time to sit back on your WriterCouch and let those anxieties swirl about and fester. These can develop into bonafide nightmares.
You have to refuse to let these paralyze your writer selves. I will address some of the most common ones.
One of my favorites is Fear
of Becoming the Crazy Cat Lady. That's a very real fear; I know this from personal experience, because I have been called that by various family members. Writing means you are left alone for hours at a time with no human conversation. But this can actually work in your favor. My cat is awesome. He lets me read my WIP out loud to him and he doesn't check his text messages. Sometimes he even sticks around for the whole chapter.
Another common one is fear of never finishing your manuscript, or worse ... only being able to finish it in TwitterSpeak, which basically amounts to pages of disjointed paragraphs of 140 characters or less. Show up to your WriterCouch. Punch the time clock. It'll get done.
Yet another one that is so unbearable to many writers and would-be writers that it is often uttered no louder than a faint whisper: FearThatSomeoneWillStealMyIdea. Sadly, there are those who find plagiarism to be an acceptable form of behavior/sport. But unless there is some really cool X-Files Mind Feed thing going on, and unless you are actually tweeting your 140 character paragraphs, nobody is going to steal your story. And nobody can ever steal your Voice. It's your writer fingerprint. It's impossible. And as far as I know, Milli Vanilli is long gone, or in some abandoned cave somewhere being forced to listen to a continuous loop of one-hit wonders.
So ... put down that People Magazine crossword, open up that laptop, and punch that time card. Write that book. You. Can. Do. It.
What is your biggest writer fear? Put it in the c
Still wishing I was there. :-)
Thanks, Holly! Me too!