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The blog of children's book author Anika Denise, it contains author news and events as well as reading lists and craft suggestions for kids.
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By: Anika Denise,
Blog: Anika Denise - Children's Book Author
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, Baking Day At Grandma's
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, children's books
, Little Hands
, Story Hour Kit
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I ask a lot of my kids.
I ask them to read manuscripts and give me feedback. I ply them (and their friends) with questions about the age-appropriateness of certain (sometimes embarrassing) grade school behaviors. I make them stop what they're doing and quickly write down a story idea when I'm elbow-deep in potting soil or cooking dinner (or in the shower) and can't jot it down myself.
They put up with all of it, as I imagine most offspring of children's book writers do—and I'm grateful.
Recently though, I asked more of them than ever. "Um, girls how do you feel about standing in a hot kitchen in the middle of summer for four hours while three strangers make you crack and egg nine times in a row?"
Well of course, I didn't say it like that.
It was more like, "Guess what?! You get to be on YouTube! Eating cake!"
As it happened, the experience was much closer to the latter than the former. With the help of a brilliant group of filmmakers—writer/ producer/director Leigh Medeiros
, cinematographer JJ Rok,
and sound tech Tebello Rose
—we created a little piece of art, for our little piece of art.Baking Day at Grandma's
is a very personal story. It's based on memories of my Grandma Rose, as well as the baking traditions my mom began with our girls. The art is inspired by the Adirondack region of New York, specifically Lake George, where I spent summers (and quite a few winters weeks) as a child. Each spread contains a nod to our families—Grandma Bear's cabin, touches of her furniture, the cookbook, the victrola—all come from the people and places we love. It's a love letter to our family, and a celebration I hope many readers and families will enjoy. As we set out to make the book trailer, we hoped to capture the personal nature of the book, to let readers know that like Grandma Rosie's chocolate cake—the book was made with love.
When the day of the shoot came, I felt confident in our concept. Like any gifted documentarian, Leigh had spent a great deal of time getting to know my story. She'd browsed old photos with me, and listened as I recounted memories of baking with my grandma. She hadn't wanted to over-script it. Sure, we had a shot list and some talking points, but the real gems were going to be found in the unscripted moments, we decided.
If I had one concern going into the day, it was about the kids. Would they freeze up? Look at the camera too much? Get grumpy? Especially my little one. She's three and generally well behaved, but...well... she's three
Both Leigh and JJ did a wonderful job making the kids (and all of us) feel comfortable. When I asked for some direction before we began, Leigh smiled and said to me, "Just bake a cake, and don't worry about us." I wasn't sure it would be possible, with the lights and the big boom mic and the camera pointing at us, but to my amazement, once the measuring and the mixing began, we did
sort of forget about the camera. I was a mom, baking with my kids. It was fun! And messy.
Flour dusted every surface; there were egg shells in the sink and splatters of chocolate cake batter on our aprons. It was the the real deal, not the scrubbed up version. (Ok, I admit, I cleaned my house for two days before the crew arrived, but the baking scene was authentic.)
The kids did great! And most importantly, they enjoyed it. Now, in addition to a lovely book trailer, I have a little time capsule to help me remember the sounds, spills, giggles, bloopers and joy of baking with my girls.
It's really a pleasure to get to share this heartfelt collaboration with the you. Thanks for cheering us on, spreading the word, and making the homestretch of this book's journey to publication so delicious! I'll say thank you in every way I can think of, including offering free baking day recipe cards and gift tags if you'd like to host your own baking day at home, or make a special treat with grandparents for Grandparent's Day
on September 7th.
For bookstores, libraries, classrooms and home-schoolers, I'll soon be adding a downloadable story hour kit to my website
, which includes a Baking Day at Grandma's
song (!!!) composed and recorded by my talented friends at Little Hands
, reading prompts, activities, posters, crafts, snack suggestions—everything you'll need to get kids, reading, dancing, singing and connecting with the book.
For bloggers, I'll have an extra-special Baking Day at Grandma's
giveaway (to be revealed soon)!
I hope you'll stay tuned as we cook (and bake) up new goodies and giveaways! (One great way to keep up to date and connected is to join my new mailing list.)
Until then, happy reading and baking! Here's a peek at the book trailer. . .
I read that when Kate DiCamillo got the call that she'd won the 2014 Newbery Medal for her middle grade novel, Flora and Ulysses
, she cried; and said jokingly through her tears, "But, it's about a squirrel!"
I know how she felt. Well. . . sort of.
This was maybe not quite
on the level of a Newbery Medal, but for me, as a writer and mom, it was a huge honor to receive the email telling me my story was chosen to be a part of Listen To Your Mother.
And a similar phrase went through my mind. But it's about a fish,
I thought. They want me to read my story about a dead goldfish?
To borrow my castmate Daphnee Renfrow's
word. . . Really?
I'd watched several of the videos of last year's perfomers in cities across the country. These women wrote raw and from the heart. They wrote about losing their mothers, losing their children, illness, addiction, heartbreak, redemption. Powerful stuff.
I had tried, after seeing their brilliant performances, to write about my mom, gone not quite three years, to cancer. My mother: a beautiful, intelligent woman, who stepped into the role of "Grammie" to my three daughters with the same grace, strength and humor she'd shown raising me. I couldn't do it. She's a part of me, and everything I write, but to write and read aloud a piece about
her and what she meant to me, and deliver it to a crowded auditorium of people? I wasn't ready.
The only requirements for a Listen To Your Mother
essay are that your piece be original, not yet published, and on the theme of motherhood. You needn't be a mom to participate, but your piece must reflect something to do with motherhood.
So, I wrote a funny little story about a pet fish. Because that's the essence of my journey through motherhood: the follies. Moments big and small. I hoped it wouldn't seem too silly or insignificant.
On the night of the show, I stood on stage with a group of fabulous women who, in a very short time, became friends, bonded by the Listen To Your Mother
experience. And I told my story.
I realized that it wasn't insignificant. It was authentic. People seemed to like it. I was proud of myself, and of the whole cast. I'd shown my two older daughters that I was funny—and brave.
I didn't write an essay about my mother, but I did something I know she'd be proud of. And for now, that's enough.
By: Anika Denise,
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, Baking Day At Grandma's
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Any writer who has been through the launch of a new book will tell you, the process can be all-consuming. Sometimes it feels as though it's impossible to write and market your writing at the same time. Whether you're a well-known author on book tour with a top tier release, or a newly published writer managing the logistics of marketing mostly on your own, it takes tremendous effort and energy to send a new book out into the world.
For my first two picture books, I didn't really do much for the launches. Both times I had small children at home—for the second book I was pregnant and my mom was very sick—so, beyond a book signing at my local bookstore attended by mostly close friends and family, the books went into the world quietly, despite some lovely reviews.
This time around is different. While I do still have little kids at home, the youngest of whom is only three, I am a more experienced parent, far better at multitasking and juggling work tasks with mom tasks. And with the help of my publicist at Penguin, and the incomparable marketing guru Kirsten Cappy of Curious City
, I have a plan
. A full-fledged marketing plan complete with book trailer, blog tour, giveaways, story hour kits, social media campaign, launch party, holiday tie-ins... heck, I even started my own hashtag (#BakingDay).
I explained this to a family member recently, who very candidly (and not unkindly) asked, "Do you think it's worth it?" Translated, this person was asking, will all the work and investment amount to significantly more book sales? And the honest answer to that question is, "I don't know, yet." I believe it will. But I can't say for sure until the book is out there and our promotions get rolling. And even then, some books pick up steam over time vs. having breakthrough sales out of the gate.
The question made me ponder the small miracle of getting a book published—one picture book's path to publication. Books have hurdles (many!) before they reach store and library shelves. First, you, author-person, must get an inspired idea. That idea then needs to morph to paper in first draft form. You re-read it, revise it, put it aside and re-read and revise again (multiple times). Perhaps at this point, you share it with your critique group. You absorb their feedback and revise again.
Then, if you have an agent and feel it's in good shape to share, you send it along. (You wait, wait, wait.) Your agent likes it! (Huzzah!) She sends it to a handful of editors. (You wait, wait, wait some more.) The editor likes it! (Huzzah, again!) But hold on, the editor must take into an editorial meeting.
And here's where it really gets perilous.
Your little manuscript is read aloud and discussed at a roundtable of editors, editorial assistants, art directors, marketing and sales. (Eeeps!) If the group doesn't like it, or it's too similar to something they've already acquired, it gets passed over.
(Insert more waiting, here.) They like it! Eureka!
Think your story is home free? Not necessarily. It then goes to an acquisitions meeting (yet more waiting) where the final vote is made to acquire your book and offer you a contract. (Shoo.)
The good news is, books surmount these hurdles every day at publishing houses all over the world. But it's still
a miraculous moment when someone offers to publish your story.
Think of all the hard work your little book did to get here!
That's what I've been doing as I approach the launch of Baking Day At Grandma's.
It's like a baby—my book baby—and I want to give it the very best chance to thrive in the marketplace, and all the love and support it deserves.
So, is it worth it?Definitely.
By: Anika Denise,
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, After the Woods
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, Betsy Devany
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, Kim Savage
, Mary Jane Begin
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Today, I join the blog tour where writers answer questions about their process. I was invited by my friend and colleague, author Betsy Devany. Betsy's debut picture book is forthcoming from Christy Ottaviano Books at Henry Holt in 2016. Read Betsy's wonderful post on her writing process here.
What am I working on?
Right now, I'm revising two picture book manuscripts: one about an unconventional chicken, the other about a middle child who celebrates all the reasons why (contrary to popular opinion) middle is the best.
I'm also in the first draft stages of a middle grade fantasy novel involving a boardwalk, magic and time-travel, as well as a contemporary piece about a young biracial girl. So, I'm all over the map as far as what I'm working on—and I like it that way.
How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I'd say my picture books have a classic feel. I'm especially fond of bouncy read-alouds and frequently collaborate with my husband, Christopher Denise
, an artist whose influences include Ernest Shepard, NC Wyeth, Edmund Dulac and Beatrix Potter—so I'd like to think our books have a timelessness that readers respond to. Baking Day At Grandma's,
our forthcoming picture book, very much fits that description. We try to create inviting worlds readers want to jump right into—
whether it's a cozy bear cabin in the woods, a bustling kitchen full of pigs, or the softly lit bedroom of a little girl and her imaginary yellow elephant.
|From Baking Day At Grandma's (Philomel, 2014)|
Copyright, 2014 Christopher Denise
I'm also deeply interested in writing books with diverse main characters. It was very important to me that Bella, in Bella And Stella Come Home, look like our children, who are multi-ethnic.
|From Bella and Stella Come Home (Philomel, 2010)|
Copyright, 2010 Christopher Denise
Why do I write what I do?
I suppose I'm drawn to what I loved as a child. Mother Goose and Dr. Seuss had a hold on my heart and still do. When I read them today, it's my mother's voice I hear in my head. She was a brilliant reader. Her inflection drew me in. Our nightly ritual of reading books together honed my ear for rhythm, rhyme and dialogue—all of which come fairly naturally to me as a writer.
How does my individual writing process work?
I have three children ages 3, 9 and 12, and I work as an events-planner for my local bookstore, so my writing time is very limited, and very precious. I try—not always successfully—to write at least five days a week. I realized a few years ago that it's helpful for me to have several projects brewing, particularly on the picture book side. Picture books are extremely hard to write well, and out of hundreds of ideas, only a few will rise to the top. So, I spend a great deal of time exploring them. I often have as many as ten to fifteen picture book drafts in various stages of development. This helps keep things fresh and interesting, and increases my chances of hitting on an idea that will resonate with my agent, with editors, and with readers.
Novel-writing, on the other hand, requires a singular focus—which is probably why it has been such a slow process for me. I'm more accustomed to writing and revising as I go, and I've had to retrain my brain to get the messy first draft down without constantly stopping to edit. I'm learning to be brave, and quiet my inner perfectionist. I often begin without an outline and write a scene or two as a manner of finding my way into the piece. Then I back up and create a rough summary or synopsis, so that I can see the plot and story arc more clearly, and can jump ahead if I get stuck.
And now, I shall pass the torch to two lovely and talented authors: Kim Savage and Mary Jane Begin.Mary Jane Begin
is an award-winning author and illustrator and an instructor at Lynda.com.
Her books include My Little Pony: Under The Sparkling Sea,
(Little, Brown 2013) Little Mouse's Painting, Before I Go to Sleep, A Mouse Told His Mother,
retellings of the Sorcerer's Apprentice,
and Willow Buds
, tales inspired by Wind in the Willows
. In addition to writing, illustrating and teaching Foundations of Color
for Lynda.com, Mary Jane is a professor of illustration at Rhode Island School of Design. She lives near the sparkling waters of Narragansett Bay, in Rhode Island, with her family. To learn more about Mary Jane's books, illustration, workshops and Lynda.com courses, visit her website.
Kim Savage writes YA Psychological Thrillers. Her debut novel AFTER THE WOODS comes out in 2015 with Farrar, Straus and Giroux/MacMillan. She is currently at work on her second novel for FSG, and is represented by Sara Crowe. Kim lives in a town west of Boston with her wickedly funny husband and their three children, each of whom beg to appear in one of her books. They shouldn’t.
Find Kim at http://kimsavage.me
Take it away, Mary Jane and Kim! I look forward to reading about your writing process next week.
An Unremarkable Square of Dirt
by Anika Denise (Copyright, 2014)
The first days in my garden remind me of my mother. On Mother's Day, we'd plant the flower bed at the front of her house--a small, unremarkable square of dirt just to the right of her front door; but to us, it seemed a grand garden. It was the first place she'd lived after moving out of New York, and it had a flower bed that needed flowers.
Busy hands allow my mind to wander. As I sift through soil with my fingers, I remember a conversation we had when I was seven years old. "Mom, what will I be when I grow up--will I be a mom with lots of kids, or a lady who goes to work every day like you?" I asked. I think you'll do it all," was her answer.
I wish she'd told me it would not be always be a perfect balance.
I pull weeds from between the iris bulbs and listen to sound of my breathing. Now my mind travels to when my first daughter was born, red-faced and howling, tiny fists clenched. I remember how she didn't stop crying for three months. And how tired I was. I remember how often I fell short of doing it all.
I rake the bed, evening the soil, and and part a tiny space to place the plants.
I am wiser now, after child number three. I know that all
is a fantasy, and it's okay to settle for some
I wonder, Am I doing a good job? Does she think I'm a good mom?
And then I remember the unremarkable square of dirt by my mother's front door, and how now, in this moment, there is a flower bed that need flowers.I'll be joining a cast of thirteen remarkable women this Saturday, May 10th, at the RISD Auditorium for Listen To Your Mother, Providence. Tickets for the show can be purchased online here. If you are in the area, I hope you'll come.
By: Anika Denise,
Blog: Anika Denise - Children's Book Author
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Tips of the Trade
, Ame Dyckman
, Carlyn Beccia
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, KM Walton
, Mary Jane Begin
, Monster Trucks! SCBWI Winter Conference 2014
, Nancy Inteli
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Last weekend, I attended my first SCBWI national conference with my talented author-illustrator pal, Mary Jane Begin.
It was a whirlwind of fun, inspiration, fabulous meals and networking—and it's taken me three days to gather myself to post about it. I've been looking at photos, reading over notes, filing through the many business cards I picked up along the way, and letting it all sink in.
Although I'm not exactly a newbie to publishing—and Mary Jane is a veteran with many books and awards to her name—neither of us had been to the New York conference before, for a variety of reasons, including deadlines, kids, writing and teaching.
So, we were excited. I couldn't wait to be in New York to meet some of the children's book folks I'd been chatting with for The Little Crooked Cottage
and on Twitter,
and to spend an entire weekend focused on all things kidlit.
I knew that I had the perfect partner for the trip in Mary Jane. She's whip-smart, game for anything, never gets rattled and loves to laugh. She also has a more esoteric quality I like to call flow
. She's a magnet for positive people and serendipitous moments. And she loves dark chocolate. That's my kind of travel-buddy.
|Skipping through Grand Central|
When we arrived at Grand Central, we spotted a few familiar faces right away and immediately felt the energy of the conference. There's something visceral about being with your creative tribe, and I felt it the moment we walked into the hotel lobby.
Of course, our first
priority upon arrival was food. We went in search of a sushi restaurant about twenty blocks from the hotel. Friday afternoon was chilly and drizzly, but that didn't dampen our spirits or our desire to walk the city, so we set out on foot. A few paces before our destination, we spotted a charming little restaurant on the corner, and remarked on how cozy it looked.
|Tiny trattoria tucked in beneath the Queensboro Bridge|
This was fortunate, because the sushi spot we'd chosen didn't open for another two hours. Whoopsie!
That's the thing about New York—when one restaurant door closes, another adorable one with tall windows and little twinkling lights opens. We sat and enjoyed a delicious meal, and raised a glass to the great weekend ahead.
|Happy MJ with vino. Saluté!|
|Dining under the twinkly lights|
Jane and I were not faculty or part of the illustration portfolios, so we weren't able to attend the Friday evening VIP cocktail party; however, after entertaining brief giggle-worthy notions about various ways to crash the festivities, we settled on the lounge upstairs, which had a stunning floor-to-ceiling view of 42nd street towards Park Avenue.
|View of 42nd and Park|
Fortunately, not long later, some VIP's came to us; including, to my delight, my editor at Harper Children's, Nancy Inteli. Nancy recently acquired my new picture book, Monster Trucks!
(Summer, 2016). It was lovely to be able to meet Nancy person and give her a thank you hug!
|Nancy Inteli, Editorial Director, Harper Collins Children's Books |
After a fun night and another great meal at The Smith Midtown.
|Two words: creamed kale. Heaven.|
|You can't tell in this pic,|
but we're doing the happy food dance.
...and a brief stop here.
.. we called it a night.
Saturday morning, we were up and at 'em early (miraculously).
|Badges, notebooks, coffee: check! (Ok, we look a little sleepy. )|
All the presentations for the weekend followed the theme of Seven Essentials. Jack Gantos
(Newbery award-winner for Dead End In Norvelt
) was up first with a keynote titled, "How everything I learned about fiction and nonfiction in picture books, poetry, short stories, novellas, or, angst, dialog, a hundred drafts, and good luck all end up in the crown jewel of literature: THE NOVEL."
That title speaks to Jack's electric personality. He's all spitfire and energy and humor and talent. He spoke about finding habits that work for you, content and structure, focused rewrites, connecting the dots with theme, and adding emotional depth to your stories.
Beyond his very helpful pointers, I think what came through was his passion and commitment to telling stories in all forms, as well as a joy an irreverence one can't help but love.
It was a fabulous kick-off to the keynotes.
After a morning of enlightening discussions, including a fascinating panel on The Future of Authorship,
and breakout sessions in the afternoon, Mary Jane and I decided to seek a little inspiration outside the conference halls and head over to the NYPL to see Leonard Marcus'
s exhibit at the New York Public Library: The ABC of it: Why Children's Books Matter
The weather had turned springlike in Manhattan and as much as we were enjoying the talks, we needed some air—and some art.
Library Way, which cuts directly to the front entrance of the NYPL, is paved with quotes from literature. I snapped a few shots of my favorites.
The exhibit itself was similarly paved in riches. Expertly curated and gloriously designed, it was the perfect end-note on a roundly inspiring day.
We arrived back to the hotel feeling glad we hadn't missed the opportunity to see the exhibit, but barely able to catch our breath before the cocktail party—which was a blur of fun connections, old friends and new faces.
It was great to meet Ame Dyckman
(Ezra Jack Keats Award-winning author of Tea Party Rules
) and Drew Daywalt (
New York Times bestselling author of The Day The Crayons Quit)
in person, after becoming friends in the Twitterverse, and featuring them both on The Little Crooked Cottage.
|Ame Dyckman, Drew Daywalt and moi. |
Another unexpected treat was bumping into talented YA author, KM Walton.
I met Kate years ago, before her first novel published, at the home of good friends. Since then, Kate has published two novels: Cracked (2012)
and Empty (2013),
with another title, The Lies We Tell,
in 2015. It was lovely to be able to reconnect after cheering Kate's successes from afar. Keep an eye on KM Walton. She's one to watch.
|Striking a pose with KM Walton|
But my favorite moment of all came on Sunday. Kate Messner
delivered the best, I mean it, the best
speech I have ever heard at an SCBWI event. Her keynote on The Spectacular Power of Failure
was inspiring, moving and full of hope.
Who among us hasn't faced the fear of failure in our work? Kate encouraged us to take a moment to celebrate each of our successes, large and small, instead of automatically moving the bar before we've had the chance to appreciate our accomplishments.
She turned the entire notion of failure on its ear by putting it in perspective. "You can't have brave without scared," she said quoting Linda Urban'
s novel Hound Dog True
. We learn from failing, and reevaluating and trying again."
She encouraged us all to "live our creative lives bravely," and to do the same by our characters. "Let them be flawed, let them fail, and let them survive."
Kate ended the speech by reading a poem.What Happened to Your Book Todayby Kate Messner (Copyright 2011) Somewhere, a child laughedon that page where you made a joke.Somewhere, she wiped away a tear,Just when you thought she might. Somewhere, your book was passedfrom one hand to another in a hallwaybusy with clanging lockers,with whispered words,“You have got to read this.”And a scribbled note:O.M.G. SO good.Give it back when ur done. It’s looking a little more love-worn lately,rougher around the edges than it did on release day.There are dog eared pages and Gatorade stains.Someone smeared maple syrup on the coverbecause she read all through breakfast.Pages 125 and 126 are stuck fast with peanut butterBecause Chapter 10 was even more deliciousthan lunch. Somewhere, tiny hands held up your bookAnd a little voice begged, “Again!”Somewhere, the answer came,A grown-up sigh…and a smile…And the fourteenth read-aloud of the morning.That same book. Again.Your book. Somewhere, a kid who has never read a whole book on his own(Really. Not even one.)picked up yours and turned a page.And then another.And then one more.And it was pretty cool, turns out.He brought it back – huge smile on his face –(and I mean huge)And asked for another one.And he read that, too. Somewhere, a teenager who thought she was aloneOpened your pages and discovered she’s not.And somewhere, somebody who thought about giving upwill keep on trying,
keep on hoping.Because of that book you wrote. Somewhere tonight – listen closely and you’ll hear–A child will turn the last page of that book,That book you wrote,and sigh.Can you hear it?It’s the sound of a story being held closeRight before a young voice says,“It feels like this was written just for me.” And it was.
I don't have a photo to share of this moment because a.) I was blubbering and wiping my nose, and b.) I was on my feet, clapping and joining in the standing ovation that Kate received for her uplifting, heartfelt and encouraging words.
I looked to my left, at my friend Jane who was teary-eyed and clapping, too, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing.This is why we do what we do.
Kate summed it up beautifully.
Even without all the rest—which was magical—that one reminder was worth the trip.
When my first child was a baby, I remember the pediatrician saying to me that I should not be afraid of letting her take a long nap. Like any new mom, I worried about keeping her on a schedule. Eat, play, sleep, repeat
was the conventional wisdom of the day. But sometimes she slept right through the next feeding time. Should I wake her up? What if she sleeps so long that she doesn't sleep at night?
Then the doctor said something to me that really helped: "Sleep begets sleep."
And he was right. On the days she took long luxurious naps, she tended to sleep through the night.
As I embarked on my first PiBoIdMo
(Picture Book Idea Month), I realized that creativity works much the same way. The more energy I put towards it, the more it flows. Ideas beget ideas!
I should know this. I should believe this. But somehow, I sort of... didn't.
On day 1, it felt forced, like I had to try a little too hard to squeeze out one measly, puny idea. My inner worry-wart piped right up. If the first idea is this hard, how will I possibly come up with twenty-nine more?!?
But then something I wrote in my notebook sparked the seed of another idea, and then I had two or three more after that. And the next day I was reaching for that notebook all day long. Eureka! This works.
Sure, not every idea is a keeper. Most aren't. But so what? Even if they are just roundabout, mixed up ways to a decent idea, then they are worthy.Phew.
I guess I never really realized it, but until now, I sort of believed in the Magic Muse. Somedays she shines her light on you, other days--not so much. The knowledge that I have the ability to turn on the tap of ideas and get it flowing is empowering. (And a relief.)
So thank you, Tara Lazar! And thank you to all of you PiBoIdMo-ers who are scribbling and blogging and cheering each other on. Inspiration begets inspiration! And you guys are super-inspiring.
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think I hear the mail...
by Anika Denise
Recently, I wrote a post over at The Little Crooked Cottage on self-doubt and the creative process.
It was an honest post, complete with an unflattering photo. But hey, I work in my jammies most days, so why pretend?
I wrote the piece because self-doubt happens, and I wrote it to help others (and myself...)
SNAP OUT OF IT! And move beyond it... to inspiration.
One of the ways I do this is by reading books I call the BYHWO's, or the "Break Your Heart Wide Open" books.
Reading them is a little like kidlit therapy. They're the books you can't stop thinking about. Perhaps they've made you cry. They're soulful, honest, heart-wrenching, hopeful books that change you in some way after having read them.
I thought it would be fun to share a few of the current titles on my BYHWO list, and hear which books would make yours. This is by no means a complete accounting. That would take all day and would veer into the other scourge of the freelance writer: procrastination.
The following are just a few books I've read (or reread) recently that broke my heart wide open, and left me feeling grateful that these stories -- and the writers who wrote them -- exist in the world.
The One And Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate
Wonder by RJ Palacio
One for The Murphys by Lynda Mullaly Hunt
See You At Harry's by Jo Knowles
Nowhere Girl by A.J. Paquette
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo
The Magician's Elephant by by Kate DiCamillo
A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness
Because of Mr. Terupt by Rob Buyea
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green The Beginning of Everything by Robyn Schneider
Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai
The Underneath By Kathi Appelt
Esperanza Rising by Pam Muñoz Ryan
I seem to have taken up a new tradition of writing a reflective post just after back-to-school. Last year's post was: My Summer of Laughter and Forgetting.
It was about my first fragile attempt at putting the pieces back together after losing my mom. It was apt, and it was honest. Reading it now, I wade in the emotions of that time and emerge on the other side, feeling stronger than I did then; just a little bit more at peace with what happened.
Sadly, the summer of 2013 came on the heels of another loss for our family. A heartbreakingly similar one. My aunt, my mom's sister--whom I loved dearly--passed away in June, after a long illness. I know I'm not alone in my big, close-knit extended family when I say, we are all feeling a measure of shock that this could happen again, and so soon. But it did.
My aunt's services were different than my mom's. Ever the nonconformist, my mother had requested a party, not a memorial. (There was a band.) My aunt's took place at my childhood church. They were more traditional, but no less beautiful.
The evening of the wake was gray and drizzling. The weather seemed to reflect our heavy hearts. And then, when calling hours were over, we stepped outside. The rain had stopped. The pavement was slick and glistening. I turned my face to the sky. And there it was--a rainbow--stretched wide across the sky just above us.
Days earlier, only hours after my aunt had passed, a friend emailed me a picture of a huge rainbow over the lake where she'd lived. And here it was again.
Now, I understand rainbows are naturally occurring (and not all that uncommon) weather phenomena. But you simply can't
look up at the sky, feeling as bereft as we all did, to glimpse the most exquisite rainbow you've ever seen, and not wonder if there's a message in it.
Divine--or not, I chose to see it as an affirmation of the belief my aunt held until the end--that she was blessed, that we are all blessed, and that we should feel grateful for all the the good and the love that surrounds us.
This summer I saw more rainbows than I can count. It seemed after each rain, there one was. Friends saw them, too. Many a morning I'd wake up with a picture waiting in my inbox of a rainbow they'd seen the evening before, or on their morning walk.
I feel like a My Little Pony
character when I say: it was a rainbow-filled summer.
So much so, that I began to ask, "Where's the rainbow?" after each storm. And not just the literal storms, but the metaphorical ones, too. Late in the summer, my husband faced some professional challenges that kept him up more than a few nights.
Amidst the worry and weight of it all, I asked, "Where's the rainbow?" A few days later, there it was. In the form of a newer better solution that has made him happier and more successful.
Now, when darker moments happen, I wait for the splash of color in the sky. I remember that the truest gift is having the mind, body and spirit to weather the storm--and move forward.
[G Love playing at the Beachcomber in Wellfleet, MA this summer. I turned to my friend and said, "I hope he does Rainbow." A moment later I heard the chords to the lead-in for the song. ]
The first submission in my call for silly poems is in! I love the simple silliness of this delightful ode to a tiny crumb.Ode to a Crumb
A crumb is so cool!
People eat them
and sweep them up
and throw them in the trash
and they live -
in your sandwich!
- Adam, from Texas, age 5
Keep the submissions coming! One young poet (selected at random) will receive a signed copy of PIGS LOVE POTATOES and BELLA AND STELLA COME HOME!
Submission deadline: May15th.
My favorite poems as a child were the silly ones. I loved all the classic Mother Goose rhymes and poured over books by Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein.
I even tried writing my own funny rhymes, filling notebooks with silly verses and scribbles--a few of which my mom was kind enough to rescue from the attic and save for me.
Here is one I found recently in a notebook from when I was about 10-years-old.
I thought it would be fun to share - in honor of National Poetry Month - a silly poem from the very earliest days of my writing career.
I looked into my jellybeans
a jellybean that wasn’t smooth
~by Anika (Aldamuy) Denise circa 1983.
Do you have a favorite funny poem? Or better yet, can you try writing a funny poem of your own? Try it, and then ask your grown-ups if it's ok to send it to me to be posted on this blog. And remember, the sillier, the better! :)
I don't often write blog posts in the aftermath of tragedies.
I guess it's because at times like these, words fail me, and I'm sensitive to the pain and grief of those directly affected. While I'm truly grateful for the reflection and comfort offered by others, I'm wary of feeding into what can sometimes feel like a collective appetite for sensationalism.
Also, I tend to cocoon with my family in the wake of tragic events. I turn off television and social media and hold my children close. When my husband and I discuss what's happened, we do so in hushed whispers after the kids have gone to bed. We do this to protect them. To keep them safe.
But this morning, when I turned on my computer and saw on a good friend's Facebook feed that she was asking for prayers for their dear friends, The Richard family, who lost their 8-year-old son in yesterday's Boston Marathon bombing, I was unable to hide my grief.
I had heard yesterday that a young boy was among the causalities, and like all of us in New England and around the country, I felt a mix of shock, anger and despair for the city of the Boston and the victims of this terrible act. When anyone is harmed in an event like this, it's heartbreaking, but there is an acute and singular anguish when it's a child.
Then, when I read my friend's post, I realized I had met this family, years ago, at our friends' wedding. Suddenly, it all became even more immediate, and terrible, and the emotions that I'd been hiding from my kids came spilling out.
I called my friend. She lives in Texas, now. She was doing what I was, what so many of us as parents do, putting on a strong, reassuring face for her kids while sneaking into the bedroom to catch bits of news, to cry--and to grieve. I told her I remembered her friends from their wedding. She told me a bit more about them. What remarkable, beautiful people they are, beloved in their community, civic-minded and actively doing all they can to improve their town and make it a better, safer place to live.
She told me how helpless she felt being far away. She and her husband are longtime Bostonians but work has brought them west. Her voice tight and thick, she said, "This is my city."
I remember feeling the same way after 9/11--wanting to be back in the place where I grew up, to do something, anything that would make me feel less helpless. I feel it again, now.
I wished I could say something to ease her pain, but all I could do was tell her I love her, and that she and her friends were in my prayers.
When I hung up the phone, I thought about the Richards. I remember the conversation we had at the wedding because we were doing what all new parents do when out for a blissful night of freedom without kids: talking about our kids. Like us, they had a baby at home. Like us, they were learning to balance having a new family with work, marriage, etc. Like us, they would go on to have two more children and build a life in a tight-knit New England community.
They are just like us.
I imagined the countless ways, big and small, they made sure to keep their children safe. I saw them buckling their babies into safety seats and holding the back of the bicycle to keep it steady; dolling out veggies on the plate and keeping a bedside vigil when one had a bad cough or a fever. I saw the look of heart-wrenched worry that first day they watched their kids go off to school after Newtown. Imagined them fingers crossed at their son's game, hoping he'd get a hit, or score a goal.
Like us, I know they did everything within their power every day, to keep their children safe.
My kids saw me crying. I told them what happened. Then I reassured them, as best as I could, that things would be ok. I told them the stories of the heroes of yesterday. How the people of Boston came together to help each other. I told them what I know to be true--that the city will heal, and I asked them to pray for the Richards, and all the families affected by the tragedy.
I hope that is enough to keep them safe.
Yesterday I found one of those "belly bands" in my closet from when I was pregnant.
For those who don't know, the purpose of a belly band is to be able to stay in your "skinny jeans" a little longer while accommodating your ever-expanding waistline.
It's a genius invention.
The problem is, when I pulled the belly band from my drawer, a horrifying thought ran through my head: "Maybe I should keep this. It could be useful."
Oh, no, I didn't! (Oh, yes, I did.)
That's when I realized I need to get back on a plan of daily exercise--STAT! I've also been woefully lax about sticking to a regular writing routine. I blame the holidays--and cheese--for my recent slacking, but the holidays are over. Time to lose the excuses. And the muffin top.
Then I had an idea! Why not combine my two goals into one big challenge with a silly name and declare it publicly on Facebook?
Brutal. But brilliant!
Since I don't want to start, then fall short and get discouraged, I'm making the challenge manageable.
I hereby pledge to writing two pages (if it's more, GREAT, but at least two) and "wogging" two miles a day, for the next two months. ("Wog" is a term my friend made up which means you jog a little, then walk a little to catch your breath. It's perfect for out-of-shape runners like myself, who need to start slow. I'm hoping after a few weeks, I'll be be more jog--less wog.)
If any of you out there who want to join my 2-A-Day-Write-Wog Challenge then go ahead and make the pledge (keeps you honest) in the comments section of this blog or on Facebook.
We can post updates on our progress and cheer each other on! Illustrators, filmmakers, crafters, knitters and artists of all kinds are welcome! Please feel free to join in and customize your "2-A-Day" however you'd like. (Two small drawings? Two sketches for a new pottery design? Whatever works.)
Good luck and "wog on!"-Anika
At the dawn of 2012, my husband and I stood at the edge of one of our favorite places on earth - Lake George, NY - and made our new year's "resolutions." Except they weren't resolutions, exactly. We both wrote down three things we felt were holding us back in 2011, and three desires for 2012 on pieces of paper. Then we struck a match, burned them one by one, and watched as the ashes caught the wind and disappeared into the lake.
It was a nice ritual. A moment of peaceful reflection after what had been a difficult, tumultuous year. I liked this better than making traditional resolutions which are inevitably broken by the end of February. Because whenever I get resolute about anything, the universe tends to throw me a curve. As if to say, "Not so fast. I bet you weren't expecting THIS!"
And 2012 had its share of the unexpected.
A writing project derailed and then got back on track in a new and ultimately wonderful way.
After losing my Mom to cancer in 2011, her sister (my aunt, who supported us all throughout her illness) began her own battle with a rare and aggressive cancer.
My best friend since we were five years old was also diagnosed with cancer and is undergoing treatments.
I left a job, then wound up coming back to it only to appreciate and enjoy it more than ever.
A conversation with a writer friend of mine sparked a writer's critique group with three phenomenally talented children's book authors whose counsel (and friendship) has been a gift.
Despite the highs and lows, as I look back on 2012, what I feel most is gratitude. My children are thriving. My family is happy. My husband and I still make each other laugh and even go on dates occasionally. I've met generous inspiring writers who are are invigorating my own writing and showing me that having a toddler and a successful writing career is indeed possible.
And although Chris and I both still struggle with some of the emotions and self-preceptions we sent up as embers into the crisp Adirondack air one year ago -- and some of the desires we scribbled on our bits of paper have yet to come to fruition -- we are steadily moving toward them, together.
If I make one "resolution" this year it will be to remember to count my many blessings every day of 2013, particularly in the context of recent events like Hurricane Sandy and the tragedy in Newtown, CT.
In this one goal, I am most certainly and wholly resolute.
Recently I embarked on a monthlong social media "fasting" experiment in order to focus more on writing. The following are my somewhat surprising, slightly alarming findings and observations:
1. I am something of a procrastination virtuoso.
When deprived of my distraction of choice, I simply invent a new one to take its place. Examples: Wandering the aisles at BJ's Wholesale Club; purging my paperback collection; offering to host a pre-holiday direct sales natural foods party for a friend.
2. I have comically bad timing. November was National Picture Book Month. I am a picture book author. Enough said.
3. After 13 years of marriage, my husband and I would definitely lose The Newlywed Game were we asked to play today. I know this because despite multiple attempts to guess the Facebook password he reset and kept secret from me, I couldn't hack, I mean log
into my account.
4. People who quit Facebook gain an average of 5 lbs. And by people, I mean...me.
5. Some moments are harder to let pass than others without posting about them on Facebook or Twitter. Examples: My Uncle Dave leading the family in a rendition of "Let There Be Peace On Earth" before Thanksgiving dinner; Christina Aguilera's pink afro on The Voice.
6.Without Facebook you have to remember people's birthdays. And send a card.7. Robbed of social media's barrage of election commentary, snarky political banter and ludicrous aggrandizing nonsense—I had absolutely no idea who to vote for. (Just kidding!)
8. My kids like me more when I'm not checking the twitter feed on my phone in the middle of a conversation.
9. I like me more when I'm not checking the twitter feed on my phone during a conversation.10. Social media is great—in moderation. And it's at its best when used as a forum/community to lift-up, cheer-up, help, serve, give, laugh, share, illuminate, inspire, and occasionally... procrastinate. ;)
Maybe it's because November is National Novel Writing Month,
a.k.a "Na-no-wri-mo," or maybe it's that we are nearing the end of 2012 and I'm revisiting the professional goals I set for myself at the start of the year, but I'm feeling the need to limit (in the precious few hours of the day that I designate for work) my distractions.
And the winner for the most distraction-causing, time-sucking, manuscript-thwarting activity?
You guessed it: Facebook. Not just Facebook, but all social media: Twitter, Pinterest, Linkdin,Tumblr, Instagram and on and on.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not making a statement, here. I'm a proud consumer of social media. I dig it! Truly! I love connecting with friends and family on Facebook; love reading my Twitter feed during a debate; love hearing news from colleagues about new books and exciting projects. It's awesome, especially for a stay-at-home-part-time-writing-mother-of-three like me.
But sometimes, I love it too
much. And on days when I'm in the throes of a full-on fit of procrastination--social media is an enabler.
So, I'm declaring the month of November: "No-mo-so-me" (No More Social Media) for me. Hopefully, this break will accomplish what's intended, which is to refocus my time and creative energy, make me more introspective with my work, and more productive, overall.
I've asked my husband to change my passwords and keep them in a sealed envelope in his studio, so that I won't be tempted to sneak a peek when the going gets tough. (Yep, had to get drastic.)
If you need to get in touch between November 1st and November 30th, send me an email
, give a call, write a postcard, send up a flare or knock on my door (if you're in the area and aren't a stalker).
Until then, to all my friends, tweeps and compadres in cyberspace... wish me luck! I'll see you on December 1st!
One note: I will
make a teeny tiny exception to go on Goodreads to vote for some of the talented authors I've met this year who are nominated in the "Goodreads Readers' Choice Awards," and that activity feeds into my Facebook page. Other than that, though, the goal is cold turkey!
Ok, I better go so that I can get my fill of all the Facebook pics of your kids/ pets in silly costumes before midnight!
Laughter is good medicine.
This summer I had regular and hefty doses of it.
Last year on July 8, I was at my mom's hospital bed saying my final goodbye. The months that followed were a blur. I faced the daily struggle of balancing my own grief with my responsibilities as a wife and mother. My daughters measured their own emotional states by the tenor of my moods. The more short tempered or despondent I was, the more anxious and untethered they became. They looked to me to provide solid ground beneath their feet, after a loss that rocked their world.
It was up to me to make them feel safe. And some days, I just wasn't up to the task.
When we arrived at the one-year anniversary of my mother's death, I confronted varying emotions: Disbelief that a whole year had passed, profound sadness, but also a pull to come out of the dark. Watching someone you love go through a protracted illness, seeing their suffering, is a trauma. It takes time to actually want
to heal. Perhaps it was the influence of my Jewish friends, whose faith ritualizes a year of mourning, but at the one-year mark, I felt the first stirrings of that desire.
To do it would take a mix of forgetting, and remembering. Trauma stays with you. You have flashbacks. The images aren't pretty. The only way I could think of dulling their sharp edges was to seek pleasure. Grieving people sometimes shun enjoyable activities because they're depressed, and because they feel detached and maybe even a little guilty doing them. I knew for me to begin to heal, I was going to have to lose the guilt—and invite joy.
I needed to remember my mother's words. She told us in a letter she wrote before she died, that the best way to honor her
life, was to savor the sweetness of ours.
I began planning our summer days with that simple purpose. Find joy. Savor it. Laugh.
As a result my family and I had the summer of our lives. We visited the places and the people we love. We read books. We didn't rush anywhere.
We said no to things we didn't want to do and yes to things we did. We cooked our favorite meals and ate them together. We told jokes at the table. We took long walks on the beach and looked up at the stars.
In early August, I spent a weekend in Maine at a writing retreat where I met a group of amazingly talented and generous women. We picked blueberries, enjoyed a lobster dinner al fresco, and yes, even did a little writing. On numerous occasions that weekend we laughed so hard, we cried.
Each of those moments was an offering and a prayer of gratitude to my wise and beautiful mother.
My year of mourning is over. My summer of laughter and forgetting has allowed me to remember what's important.
I enjoy naming characters, but I'm hardly scientific about it.
I know writers who've given more thought to naming their characters than their first born. They do exhaustive research, try out several variations, and go back and forth with their critique groups to find just the right moniker.
And this is wise, because a character's name is extremely important. It's the first impression, a clue to his or her personality.
But I just don't seem to do it that way.
For me, it's a gut thing. My characters' names just happen. If it wasn't such a cliche, I'd be tempted to say they name themselves. (It really does feel like that sometimes.)
Perhaps it's because I tend to take a Dickensian approach. Oftentimes, my characters will have names that embody who they are and what they do: A mouse named Tibbles for instance, or a hare called Mr. Fops.
Sometimes the connections are more nebulous, but nonetheless, when I hit on the perfect name, issues of its appropriateness to time period and genre seem to fall into place.
Conversely, if I'm struggling, I know there's more work to be done in fleshing that character out. It's actually a fine litmus test for character development.
If you're looking for more (reliable, instructional, scientific) information on naming characters, I found this fabulous four-part series from "The Prairie Wind," Newsletter of the Illinois chapter of SCBWI.
"La sangre llama," said my father as my baby daughter bounced contentedly on his lap. Typically, she'd be a little strange with someone she doesn't see regularly scooping her up out of my arms and whisking her away, but she wasn't. Her eyes were taking him in, moving over his bearded face in that intense way of hers, when she popped the chubby thumb from her mouth, and a sweet smile spread across her cherubic face.
La sangre llama. It means: "The blood calls."
It was something my Titi Rosie first said seven years ago when she and my father visited us from Florida. My middle daughter Isabel was still a baby, and despite having just met my dad for the first time (and battling her first bouts of stranger anxiety), she snuggled up on his lap like he'd been rocking her to sleep every night.
Now, I'm someone who values the family we choose as much as the one we are are born into. I come from divorced parents who remarried, have a large extended family, and several friends who are as dear to me as blood relatives. I know very well that the bond of blood relation is not all there is to it.
I feel fortunate for all of my familial relationships, including ones that have been made through marriage, or the long history of friendship.
But in the case of my dad, who lives far away, I'm so grateful the blood calls, and that despite the distance and the long months between visits, my children are drawn to their Pop-pop like magnets.
As I spend time with my dad, his wife, my sister and brother, and all my relatives here in Florida this vacation, I fall into the relaxed rhythm of family... and my soul feels restored.
|My Pop, with my youngest daughter Esmé|
After a lovely vacation week visiting my family in the southeast, this is the official start of what I'm calling my "full-time-part-time" writing career.
I'll admit, day one (yesterday) consisted of not so much writing, but more desk-clearing and laundry. Still, it was a good first step.
This morning, as the cursor on my screen blinked in anticipation, I felt the first real wave of panic hit me since making this decision. All the usual fears invaded my brain: What if I get a massive case of writer's block? What if writing during nap-time and evenings isn't enough? What is no one pays to me to write a single word EVER AGAIN!?
Typically, when in the throes of a good "career freak out," I head out for a walk. I'm not great at meditating in stillness, but a brisk walk often helps me quiet my mind. This morning I had two problems: First, the baby was napping, hence me, "butt-in-chair" in front of my computer. Second, it's pouring rain and chilly here in Barrington today, and I needed to be distracted -- not drenched.
So, feeling a tad desperate, I decided on another type of movement meditation: My kids' Just Dance game for X-Box 360.
I know very few people over the age of 17 who look cool doing Just Dance or any of those Wii or X-Box dance games, and I assure you, I am no exception. But this was an emergency.
So, I pulled the drapes, cranked up the volume, and just... danced. Until all I was thinking about was how to a master a move that no one looks good doing who isn't in a boy band.
I let go. And laughed at myself. And when the music stopped, and I realized I'd bested my high score in "Shake Your Groove Thing," I felt better.
My lesson for the day? Sometimes butt-in-chair isn't going to happen, until you shake off the fears (even if it's only temporary) that are holding you back.
And if a quarter turn and a hip slap is what works... then do it. Just dance.
Another goal in my renewed commitment to "full-time-part-time" writing, is to SEEK HELP. Not in the clinical sense (though I believe any good critique group is one part therapy, one part invaluable counsel, and one part snacks), but more in the way of finding resources that will help me hone my craft and become a better writer.
Recently, my husband gave me the book, "Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories That Resonate," by Brian McDonald. Brian has taught story seminars at PIXAR, DISNEY FEATURE ANIMATION and George Lucas' ILM. He's an award-winning short filmmaker and a sought after speaker from Los Angeles to Wall Street.
His book largely references screenplays, but his advice on the mechanics of story and plot can be applied to all forms of storytelling, including writing a novel.
Here's what it boils downs to, according to McDonald: Seven easy steps to a better story. Come on, that can't be right! If there were seven easy steps, I'd have known about them long before this!
But there are. And yes, in some form, I have known them all along, but I love the way he presents them in his book, so simply and succinctly. He credits the steps as being taught to him by his writing teacher Matt Smith, who learned them from a fellow named Joe Guppy. To Joe Guppy, I say, thank you! And to Brian McDonald: Bravo, for having the sense to put them in a book, and for adding his own sage advice on how to apply them.
1.) Once upon a time
2.) And every day
3.) Until one day
4.) And because of this
5.) And because of this
6.) Until finally
7.) And ever since that day
These are the elements, the "invisible ink," McDonald says are in every story. And he's right. If you can fill in the blanks of your story after each of these steps, then you do, in fact, actually have a story.
He also discusses other important pieces like dialogue, and subplot and tension, but even if you had only his first chapter, only his seven steps, you'd be on the road to becoming a stronger storyteller.
I have been looking at my stories in a new way, thanks to Mr. McDonald.
And I urge any writer, every writer to read it, too.
While getting my two oldest girls off to school this morning, there was much groaning and dragging of feet and "do we have to's?" Usually they head off to school without a fuss. But we've all just come off a lovely holiday weekend. The weather was warm and sunny. We enjoyed the beach at the end of our street. The "big girls" spent a day up in Boston with their Auntie eating gelato in the north end and visiting the aquarium. We gardened a little, and cooked out.
It feels as though summer's already here. And then this morning, they had to get their heads back in the game for THREE MORE WEEKS OF SCHOOL! Even I was dragging my feet and groaning. We're all a little burnt out on the school year, and the taste of summer's freedom was just too sweet.
On my second cup of coffee, I realized I needed to do something to boost morale. It was time for a speech. [Insert eye-roll here.]
"We have 18 more days left a school," I said. "And we could go into these three weeks like we are now, bumming, or we could focus on the things we like about school and try to enjoy some part of each day."
No reaction. They weren't buying it. And in truth, I wasn't yet, either. But I pressed on.
"Come on, what's one thing you do enjoy about school? There has to be one thing for each of you."
"My friends," said Sofia. "Sally and Staci, Anna and Caroline."
"That's right!" I said, excited she was playing along. "And Sally will be away for the summer, so you can look at these days as the fun time you get to spend together before she leaves for vacation."
I was getting somewhere.
"And four-square!" Isabel chimed in "Yeah, I like four-square too," said Sofia. "And I have a really nice class. This is the last time we'll all be together."
"Exactly. So, when you're all outside at recess together, look around, and think about how nice a class it is, and feel glad you're there."
It was my turn: "I'll miss the moment when I get you both to the bus and I can have my coffee in the quiet. I'm going to savor that moment everyday until the end of school."
Now, I was starting to believe my own words. "It's called living in the 'present' and enjoying it."
"Like Kung Fu Panda!" said Isabel. "'Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why they call it the present.'"
(Thank you, Master Ooguay.) "That's it," I said. "You've got it."
There was no more groaning. They packed up their things and headed out the door. I won't exaggerate and say that they were excited, but they were considerably less bumming.
The lesson of staying present, of not resisting what I can't control, is one I learn and relearn again and again. But when I remember it, and live by it, my life, my writing, my family is always better for it.
So, for these last few weeks of the school year, I'm going to take my own advice (and Ooguay's) and find something to enjoy and appreciate in each day. Because as corny and cliché as it sounds...today truly is a gift.
|Group photo with the 2012 LAL State Winners!|
Last night, I had the pleasure to present award certificates and deliver the keynote speech at the Rhode Island Center for the Book's 2012 Letters About Literature
Awards.Letters About Literature
is a national reading and writing program of the Center for the Book in the Library of Congress, presented in partnership with Target and supported locally by RICB.
60,000 young readers from across the country participated, including nearly 800 Rhode Islanders. Students were asked to submit letters describing how an author's work -- novel, non-fiction, poetry -- changed their view of the world or helped them realize something they didn't know about themselves.
With a focus on reader response and reflective writing, one winner and several honorable mentions were chosen in three competition levels, ranging from grades 4 through 12.
I had the chance to read the winning letters beforehand, and heard them read-aloud by the winners at the event. All of the letters had a powerful narrative voice and displayed a talent and wisdom beyond the young writers' years.
It was honor to present the students with their awards, and an inspiration to hear their words. All in all, it was evening I won't soon forget.
Click here to learn more about Letters About Literature
and Rhode Island Center for the Book.
Below is a transcript the address I gave to the students, their families, and members of RICB.Keynote Addressby Anika DeniseRhode Island Center for the Book Annual Meeting and Letters About Literature AwardsWilliams Hall Library, Cranston, Rhode IslandJune 4, 2012
Good evening, everyone. First, I want to say thank you to the Rhode Island Center for the Book for inviting me here to speak to you tonight. It’s an honor and a privilege. Not to mention, great fun to be spend an evening celebrating reading, writing, and the books that inspire us! So thank you, for including me in the festivities. There's even balloons... it's a party!
Second, I’d like to CONGRATULATE all the winners, honorable mentions in the Letters About Literature
It takes courage to submit your words, to participate… to put something of yourself out there into the world to be judged. Writers must do this all the time. And it’s never easy.
But, you did. You wrote something compelling and meaningful, and tonight, you’re being recognized and celebrate
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I'm doing this tomorrow with Chris! http://www.kennedyplaza.org/2012/06/kidoinfo-storytime-art-in-the-park/
Come join us for stories "al fresco" and Art In The Park.
This year's theme is Harold and The Purple Crayon (one of my all time favorites). We'll be reading and drawing the morning away. If you're in the Providence area -- bring a blanket and join us!