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Kei Miller.  The Last Warner Woman.  Minneapolis: Coffee House Press, 2012.          272 pages. Note:  Contains some swearing and a few explicit moments of sex. Having followed the Insatiable Booksluts reviews, I’d been wanting to read more independent press literature, so I browsed throughtheir publisher links.  On the Coffee House Press site, I found [...]

Summer means a slower pace. Summer means longer days to spend with family and friends. Summer means more extra time to fall into a good book and write about the world around us.… Read More →

Book: Dust Girl
Author: Sarah Zettel
Published: June 26, 2012
Source: Review copy from publisher, via NetGalley

It's not easy being half-black and half-white, or living in a dying little Kansas town during the Dust Bowl, or watching your mother's ludicrous faith that your father will return, when you've never seen him in all your thirteen years. But somehow Callie's doing all of that. And life isn't about to get any easier, because she's just discovered that her father was not only a black man, but a fairy as well, prince of the Midnight People. And as the princess and last heir to the throne, she's the top of everyone's list . . . and not in a good way.

But Callie's got weapons she never dreamed of, and if she masters them fast, she may just make it out alive. Callie's got to find her mother, she's got to find her father. But before all of that, she's got to find herself.

I've been hearing good things about this book. The premise intrigued me. A story set in Depression era America, woven together with Americanized fairy lore? Possible mashup heaven. Then I read it and oh yeah, definite mashup heaven. From the moment Callie realizes that the strange new guests at her mama's hotel are really giant locusts in disguise to the moment that the long black train pulls up on a Kansas City sidewalk, this was a wild and wonderful ride.

But what really knocks this book out of the park for me is the way that history and fairy lore weave together. For every wish granted, for every mythical monster that strolls on the stage, there's something equally strange but true to anchor it. Callie's first attempt at magic calls forth a huge dust storm. They get caught in the middle of a rabbit drive, trying to escape from a murderous zombie. The climax of the novel is set during a dance marathon, (with the band led by none other than Count Basie). The effect is that for everything that human beings have dreamed up, human reality has produced something stranger.

Wild and weird, rich and textured, this is a freaking amazing book. And I want more.

Music, particularly the folk music of the Depression, plays an enormously important role in this novel. So here's a treat for you:

I know there are many of us out there: librarians that “gleeked” out when Chris Colfer’s name was announced as one of the authors to present at the 2012 Annual ALA Conference in Anaheim.  I know because I was one of them.

Librarians love Chris Colfer.  Why you may ask?  Because he loves libraries and writes children’s books.  In fact, it had been a dream of his to write “The Land of Stories” since he was ten years old.  How sweet is that?  Let’s face it, celebrities have a lot of choices after they achieve stardom.  They can design their own clothing line.  Have a fragrance named after them.  Star in their own reality TV show.  I think it’s safe to say that most of them, especially at the tender age of 22, would not decide to contribute to the world of kid lit and pen a novel–let alone a trilogy.  Chris Colfer is not your average celebrity.

He was truly everything a librarian would want in a presenter–eloquent, witty, and inspirational.  We laughed when he read through emails he exchanged with his illustrator exposing Chris’ hysterically high attention to detail. “Can the word ‘of’ in ‘The Land of Stories’ be lowered 3 millimeters so that the title is more horizontal and less arced?” (He used a real ruler…)  There were cheers from the audience when Chris suggested that Ryan Murphy cast the McKinley High School librarian to look more like Megan Fox, rather than the stereotypical librarian that currently is on the show.  And I know many librarians sitting in the audience tweeted when he said, “I hate the word bullying.  Let’s just call it like it is.  Harassment.”  Props, Chris.  Mad props.

Those of us lucky enough to attend the program each got our own ARC of his first book, set to be released on July 17.  We also got to see projected on screen a hand-drawn picture of the map of The Land of Stories as imagined by ten-year-old Chris himself…complete with a sai sword spinning Rapunzel.  After his program, he offered the floor to questions from the audience.  When asked “Would you prefer to win a book award for your writing, or an Oscar, Tony, or Emmy for your acting?” Chris replied “I’m not greedy, I’ll take any award they decide to give me.”  Well, Chris, I’m sure there will be many more awards in your future.  You are a force to be reckoned with, and in this librarian’s humble opinion, one of the most talented celebrities in Hollywood today.

Written by Renee, a very gleeful librarian

It appears William Joyce's The Leaf Men has experienced an interesting journey to the big screen including a title change. It now called Epic.

Lovely trailer!

Plein-air painting on the sidewalks of midtown Manhattan is a baptism by fire. You're jostled by the crowds, hustled by street people, choked by diesel fumes, and deafened by sirens. Shadows from the high rises sweep rapidly across any scene you choose.


(Link to video) On Thursday, Jeanette and I joined our friend Garin Baker to paint New York City's landmark Grand Central Terminal. Garin's summer intern, Sean Oswald, visiting from Ohio, accompanied us on the expedition.



Here is my oil painting (left) next to Garin's on the right. This is the second painting that Garin completed within the four hours that we allowed ourselves. The video finishes with a sketch that I did of a passenger on the train. More on that tomorrow. 


Garin Baker Fine Art
Sean Oswald teacher interview

When I think of refresh I think of cold lemonade and watermelon on a warm day. Although it is warm here it is nothing like what many others are coping with. I wish cooler refreshing times ahead for all of you.
This image is watercolor on board.

If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard “Show, Don’t Tell’ a million times. It’s one of those maxims you can’t escape. But I’m going to stick my neck out and declare…

I think that advice has led to a lot of really terrible writing.

Before you come at me with your sharpest pitchfork, let me explain my madness. I do believe, in many ways, it is good and useful and wise to ‘show’ things. There is a time and place for the camera pan, the action shot, the external focus. But a novel is not a screenplay. A movie is a string of external cues–visuals and sound–that tells a story. The viewer relies on these cues to make sense of the plot and all its underpinnings–the internal, intangibles such as emotion and theme.

The novel is an entirely different medium. A novel conjures a singular experience, not just through external description (what a camera can capture), but also by internal perception (the heart and soul an ordinary telephoto zoom can’t record). In a novel, there’s a lens that trumps all.

The human lens.

The fictive stream of consciousness. The thingamathink that pulls us under the skin of a character. The internal processor that that recalls events and interprets every moment of action in the context of a character’s deepest hopes, dreams, memories and fears.

Yet...motivated by well-intentioned advice, so many writers neglect this lens and start out writing novels like screenplays. They try to live by ‘show’ alone–moving characters here and there on a stage, describing everything in objective, surface-level terms the way a wide-angle camera shot would. This cheats the reader and sentences them to a parade of colorless, cliched gestures and descriptions.

John’s eyes widened in anxiety. Mary’s heart hammered. Glen’s jaw clenched. Raul’s brow quirked. Anna’s lips curled in a smirk. Neville clenched his fists at his sides. Snakes slithered in Jonah’s stomach.

Ugh. These gestures and reactions are all generic. They illuminate nothing about character, personality, conflict or plot. As Francine Prose so aptly writes in Reading Like a Writer, “they are not descriptions of an individual’s very particular response to a particular event, but rather a shorthand for common psychic states.”

Meaningless shorthand. Yes. But darn it, they show and don’t tell. And that’s the rule, right?

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

I am nothing more than an puny, unpublished, unknown Writer/Librarian/Beatle-Maniac, but I will not recant. I will not! Because writing fiction is a form of storyTELLING. I agree with Joshua Henkin when he calls ‘Show, Don’t Tell’ the ‘great lie of writing workshops.‘ I say go ahead and slip under that murderer’s/ballerina’s/magician’s/vampire’s skin, tap into that stream of consciousness and TELL that story, infusing

archiemcphee:

While many of us tend to spend our lunch breaks chatting with friends and coworkers, messing about with our smartphones, or maybe even reading a book, artist and high school teacher Gregory Euclide uses his 25-minute lunch breaks to makes beautiful, short-lived paintings with Sumi ink on dry erase boards. It began as a form of stress relief as well as a personal challenge and demonstration for his students. The results are simply wonderful. We love it when people turn mundane situations into awesome artistic outlets. 

Visit Neatorama to read an interview with Gregory Euclide about his marvelous white board artwork.

If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard “Show, Don’t Tell’ a million times. It’s one of those maxims you can’t escape. But I’m going to stick my neck out and declare…

I think that advice has led to a lot of really terrible writing.

Before you come at me with your sharpest pitchfork, let me explain my madness. I do believe, in many ways, it is good and useful and wise to ‘show’ things. There is a time and place for the camera pan, the action shot, the external focus. But a novel is not a screenplay. A movie is a string of external cues–visuals and sound–that tells a story. The viewer relies on these cues to make sense of the plot and all its underpinnings–the internal, intangibles such as emotion and theme.

The novel is an entirely different medium. A novel conjures a singular experience, not just through external description (what a camera can capture), but also by internal perception (the heart and soul an ordinary telephoto zoom can’t record). In a novel, there’s a lens that trumps all.

The human lens.

The fictive stream of consciousness. The thingamathink that pulls us under the skin of a character. The internal processor that that recalls events and interprets every moment of action in the context of a character’s deepest hopes, dreams, memories and fears.

Yet...motivated by well-intentioned advice, so many writers neglect this lens and start out writing novels like screenplays. They try to live by ‘show’ alone–moving characters here and there on a stage, describing everything in objective, surface-level terms the way a wide-angle camera shot would. This cheats the reader and sentences them to a parade of colorless, cliched gestures and descriptions.

John’s eyes widened in anxiety. Mary’s heart hammered. Glen’s jaw clenched. Raul’s brow quirked. Anna’s lips curled in a smirk. Neville clenched his fists at his sides. Snakes slithered in Jonah’s stomach.

Ugh. These gestures and reactions are all generic. They illuminate nothing about character, personality, conflict or plot. As Francine Prose so aptly writes in Reading Like a Writer, “they are not descriptions of an individual’s very particular response to a particular event, but rather a shorthand for common psychic states.”

Meaningless shorthand. Yes. But darn it, they show and don’t tell. And that’s the rule, right?

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

I am nothing more than an puny, unpublished, unknown Writer/Librarian/Beatle-Maniac, but I will not recant. I will not! Because writing fiction is a form of storyTELLING. I agree with Joshua Henkin when he calls ‘Show, Don’t Tell’ the ‘great lie of writing workshops.‘ I say go ahead and slip under that murderer’s/ballerina’s/magician’s/vampire’s skin, tap into that stream of consciousness and TELL that story, infusing every moment that matters with personality and voice.

And if you still aren’t ready to drop your pitchfork, please look at these ‘show vs. tell’ examples before you skewer me:

Showing only (Excerpt altered. All telling parts omitted/edited):

“We just stand there silently. The grimy little station comes into view. The platform’s thick with cameras.
Peeta extends his hand. I look at him. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says. I take his hand, holding on tightly.”

Showing with Physical Gestures: (Excerpt altered. Telling parts omitted/edited and replaced with physical gestures/reaction):

“My stomach twists into knots. We just stand there silently. The grimy little station comes into view. The platform’s thick with cameras. When Peeta extends his hand, my eyes widen. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says, his jaw relaxing. I take his hand, holding on tightly. A shiver of dread runs down my spine.”

Showing and Telling (Excerpt as published, unaltered):

“I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.”

–Suzanne Collins, THE HUNGER GAMES

I think writers need to so show and tell. Still disagree? Did I miss something? Have I forgotten an important point? I’ve braced for impact, so fire away!

If you’re a writer, you’ve probably heard “Show, Don’t Tell’ a million times. It’s one of those maxims you can’t escape. But I’m going to stick my neck out and declare…

I think that advice has led to a lot of really terrible writing.

Before you come at me with your sharpest pitchfork, let me explain my madness. I do believe, in many ways, it is good and useful and wise to ‘show’ things. There is a time and place for the camera pan, the action shot, the external focus. But a novel is not a screenplay. A movie is a string of external cues–visuals and sound–that tells a story. The viewer relies on these cues to make sense of the plot and all its underpinnings–the internal, intangibles such as emotion and theme.

The novel is an entirely different medium. A novel conjures a singular experience, not just through external description (what a camera can capture), but also by internal perception (the heart and soul an ordinary telephoto zoom can’t record). In a novel, there’s a lens that trumps all.

The human lens.

The fictive stream of consciousness. The thingamathink that pulls us under the skin of a character. The internal processor that that recalls events and interprets every moment of action in the context of a character’s deepest hopes, dreams, memories and fears.

Yet...motivated by well-intentioned advice, so many writers neglect this lens and start out writing novels like screenplays. They try to live by ‘show’ alone–moving characters here and there on a stage, describing everything in objective, surface-level terms the way a wide-angle camera shot would. This cheats the reader and sentences them to a parade of colorless, cliched gestures and descriptions.

John’s eyes widened in anxiety. Mary’s heart hammered. Glen’s jaw clenched. Raul’s brow quirked. Anna’s lips curled in a smirk. Neville clenched his fists at his sides. Snakes slithered in Jonah’s stomach.

Ugh. These gestures and reactions are all generic. They illuminate nothing about character, personality, conflict or plot. As Francine Prose so aptly writes in Reading Like a Writer, “they are not descriptions of an individual’s very particular response to a particular event, but rather a shorthand for common psychic states.”

Meaningless shorthand. Yes. But darn it, they show and don’t tell. And that’s the rule, right?

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

I am nothing more than an puny, unpublished, unknown Writer/Librarian/Beatle-Maniac, but I will not recant. I will not! Because writing fiction is a form of storyTELLING. I agree with Joshua Henkin when he calls ‘Show, Don’t Tell’ the ‘great lie of writing workshops.‘ I say go ahead and slip under that murderer’s/ballerina’s/magician’s/vampire’s skin, tap into that stream of consciousness and TELL that story, infusing every moment that matters with personality and voice.

And if you still aren’t ready to drop your pitchfork, please look at these ‘show vs. tell’ examples before you skewer me:

Showing only (Excerpt altered. All telling parts omitted/edited):

“We just stand there silently. The grimy little station comes into view. The platform’s thick with cameras.
Peeta extends his hand. I look at him. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says. I take his hand, holding on tightly.”

Showing with Physical Gestures: (Excerpt altered. Telling parts omitted/edited and replaced with physical gestures/reaction):

“My stomach twists into knots. We just stand there silently. The grimy little station comes into view. The platform’s thick with cameras. When Peeta extends his hand, my eyes widen. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says, his jaw relaxing. I take his hand, holding on tightly. A shiver of dread runs down my spine.”

Showing and Telling (Excerpt as published, unaltered):

“I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. ‘One more time? For the audience?’ he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.”

–Suzanne Collins, THE HUNGER GAMES

I think writers need to so show and tell. Still disagree? Did I miss something? Have I forgotten an important point? I’ve braced for impact, so fire away!