Yesterday I launched a project called
Poetry: Spread the Word, and I'm really excited about it. The project needs help to succeed... yet I think it offers a lot for everyone. I'd sure appreciate it if you could
go check it out.
If the project is successful, the big upside on GottaBook is that I'll be posting a lot more of my poetry here all year round. Off the blog, the project will enable me to get into schools and bring poetry to kids (without the schools and teachers having to worry about how to pay me!). And everybody who backs the project gets good stuff, too.
I do hope you'll take a look at
Poetry: Spread the Word, and I'd be really grateful if you could be a part of it - backing the project or spreading the word. Thanks! And I'll see you here tomorrow for the kickoff of 30 Poets/30 Days!
(the image in this post is of my concrete poem called Poetry Love. If you subscribe to my blog and cannot see the picture,
please click here.)
If you haven't read
Crossing Stones yet, you should. If you haven't met Helen Frost yet, you should do that, too. And if you live in Michigan, you can -- and two more YA authors besides.
This Sunday afternoon, Book Beat hosts a triple-author event featuring
Helen Frost,
Amy Huntley, and
Pearl North at the Baldwin Public Library in Birmingham. (I'd be gushing about the other ladies' books too, if only I'd paused my Re-read-a-thon long enough to read them. But if Colleen at Book Beat says they're good, odds are that's all you need to know.)
Wanna chat live with me and almost two dozen YA authors? Get your tushie over to the rgz blog tonight at 9:00 EST.
The rgz alumni roster includes:
Coe Booth, Dia Calhoun, Janet Lee Carey, Cecil Castelucci, Justina Chen, Rachel Cohn, Holly Cupala, Liz Gallagher, Nikki Grimes, Lorie Ann Grover, Ellen Hopkins, Sarah Miller, Mary Pearson, Mitali Perkins, Dana Reinhardt, Laura Resau, Melissa Walker, Ellen Emerson White, Rita Williams-Garcia, Sara Zarr...
Be there!
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Currently re-reading:
Straw Into Gold
by Gary D. Schmidt
If you wake up on Saturday morning and find that it’s wet and miserable, then going to work – or the equivalent of work – isn’t such a duff option. So I headed off to Stratford to spend the day at something called Novel Pitch with a spring in my step. If it had been dry and sunny, the concept (for the words ‘novel pitch’ were little more than that right then) might have been less of a draw.
I was one of a panel of five, and our task was to hear six novels pitched to us by six unpublished writers in the form of extracts and synopses and, gulp, to give immediate feedback. And because it was billed as a spectator sport there had to be an element of competition, so come what may a winner would be chosen – by us and, separately, by the audience.
Well, the whole thing was a bit like reading while balancing on one leg. Not conducive to thoughtful reflection, but certainly a way of keeping the mind active. And there’s nothing to make you concentrate quite like a theatre full of people hanging on your every word.
As a panel I’d say we acquitted ourselves quite honourably. We talked of strong beginnings, nice detail, good characterisation, the benefits of a good title, and the market (though this, we agreed, should be the publisher’s concern, not the writer’s). And we were able to say good things about everything we heard because the standard was undoubtedly high.
And, huddled over lunch, we picked our winner. Arguing loudly and at length was impossible: the winner had to be chosen in the time it took to eat lunch, and the writers were almost within eavesdropping distance. But despite these pressures we kept our cool and did our job.
It was 4 o’clock by the time proceedings were over. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it appeared that the outside world had been enjoying itself after all. But I was quite happy to have spent the day indoors and at the receiving end of some excellent writing. After a working – for which read ‘waking’ – life of being hunched over a thousand manuscripts, of reading head-down, of being alone with my thoughts, what a blessed relief to be participating in a team sport. And it seems it was good for the writers too. Writing is, after all, far lonelier than what I do – at least I have colleagues – and here were six writers given the chance to meet some opinion-spouting readers face to face.
They were an impressive bunch. So well done to Paul Gapper, who we chose as our winner for his sparkling Birth of Stars; well done to Jarred McGinnis, the audience’s thoroughly deserving champion; and well done to the four other brave and talented writers: Funmi Adewale, Jane Hayward, Dawn Rodgers and Mohini Singh. And well done to Annette Brook and the rest of the team at Spread the Word. I’ve never watched Pop Idol, but I’m sure this was just as exciting.
Juliette Mitchell,
Editor, Hamish Hamilton
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I know, I know, I know. All that stuff I said yesterday about not blogging? Forget that for a minute, because....
Today is Annie Sullivan's birthday, and just lookit what appeared in my mailbox:
My very own signed copy, which I proudly ensconced in plastic less than 10 minutes after its arrival. I fell for this book nearly two years ago when Kim gave me the chance to read an early manuscript, and I can't wait to read it all over again. Judging by the way I raced through the intro, though, I should maybe calm the heck down so I can actually see the words. (Although I did manage to focus long enough to pick out my own name on page 270. Heh.) For now, I'm carrying this thing around like a new puppy.
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Currently reading (duh):
Beyond the Miracle Worker
by Kim E. Nielsen
PRIMAVERA
by Mary Jane Beaufrand
Little, Brown
Molto bene! This is exactly the sort of historical fiction I like best -- inspired by art and based on real events. The plot has everything you'd want in an Italian renaissance setting: passion, murder, art, mayhem, the Medici family wreaking vengeance all over the place. Throw in a famous artist (in this case Bottecelli) and I'm done for. With a tight plot, appealing characters, and adept writing, Primavera is just inches shy of a five-star rating as far as I'm concerned. A pinch or two more sparkle in the writing, and I predict Mary Jane Beaufrand will be giving folks like Shannon Hale a run for their money before too long.
Spread the word -- this book kicks butt and deserves to do well.
Thanks heaps to Becky for the recommendation.
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Currently reading:
I Am Scout: The Biography of Harper Lee
by Charles J. Shields
While I may not be blogging much here, there is this to tide you over:
Pulse BlogfestThey've got about a gazillion authors set to participate. Some of the folks I'm eager to hear from include
Avi,
Deb Caletti,
Donna Jo Napoli,
Ashley Rhodes-Courter, and
Ellen Wittlinger. Check it out!
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Currently reading:
Greetings from Nowhereby Barbara O'Connor
I'm surfacing momentarily from the German Invasion to make sure you take a minute to check out this 2007 Cybils winners. They've picked out a heap of fine books, including one I nominated myself. (Ok fine, it's not as if it wouldn't have been nominated, but hey, I still got there first!)
As a judge on the YA panel, I'd like to say that I'm thrilled to bitsy little pieces with our choice -- a book I never would have picked up if not for this prize. (No, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Go visit the real live Cybils blog to pay homage yourself.) Many thanks to my co-panelists, the most articulate, reasonable, and agreeable bunch of bookhounds I ever could have hoped for.
No, Miss Spitfire didn't win in the middle grade category. But go look at what did. How can you possibly argue with that little darling? I'll even go so far as to say, "I knew it!" Matter of fact, it's exactly the book I was hoping to lose to. Go sistah, go!
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Currently reading:
Leepike Ridge
by N.D. Wilson
Build me an ark! For the rivers have burst their banks, and we have no eggs. This is serious. Although maybe not as serious as my friend finding half the Evenlode river come to stay at her house (uninvited), and flood water in her kitchen cupboards. She has lived here all her life and cannot remember weather like it. It's as if Old Father Thames and his children have thrown a party which got slightly out of control. Nearby Brize Norton had the most amount of rainfall in recorded history; 4.6 inches. Yesterday it rained and rained and rained some more. It was so bad that the cats called a truce and in a moment of solidarity decided to share the sofa...
It was so bad that today Andy decided to dig up the remainder of his precious potato crops.
which one of these is not a potato, can you guess? 
- was somewhat flooded. This is the Evenlode getting a bit leery after tanking it up all night. The same river which runs near my friends' house and popped in to say hello, without knocking at the door.
(click on picture for full technicolour panoramic experience)
It became apparent that the county's drivers were experiencing a rare experience - not being able to go where they wanted precisely when they wanted. I have this all the time, being a non-driver, and one likes it or, as my old dad used to say, one lumps it. An irate lady in an SUV asked me if I thought it was safe to cross (what do you think lady, the river is pounding over the road, the currents look treacherous, there's already a car stranded in the ditch - hmm...tough call). I replied that no, I didn't think so, not even (I had to add, inwardly grinning) in 'one of those', nodding at her silver tank.In fact, as I returned up the hill and took an alternate route, the roads were full of righteously fuming people raging at the weather gods, clamping their foot on the accelerator to make up for lost time and whizzing past me at more mph than they strictly should have been. I took the path running past the woods, able to nip through minor floods where vehicles were struggling. The ducks at the deserted farm were rejoicing -
- and when we got to our destination...
...the village flock had enrolled in military service and were on parade. Left, right, left right, at the double!
I squelched onwards,past kids in wellies wading gleefully through pools of water, past the postman doing sterling service and passing on news door to door of the local floods - even in the age of the internet, this kind of first hand reporting is vital in our rural area. And so on to the egg place, not as picturesque as the rural idylls I see in certain lifestyle magazines, and all the better for it. It has geraniums, and clematis, a sleepy black labrador and a weather vane. So who cares about the plastic sacks and the baler twine?
It is self service. As long as you have gone through the initiation and people know who you are, you simply stroll across the yard, past the kennel...
...past the friendly doorstop...
...pop in to the outer hall, pick your eggs, and leave your money. A rather old fashioned, quaint form of shopping which relies entirely on honesty and trust. I always go for the ones with muck on, as they've been collected that very morning.
And so we returned through the swampy mire which is Oxfordshire at the moment, with our precious cargo of fresh eggs. Hercules has had to carry many things in his job as my personal chauffeur, and he prefers eggs to dead snakes. Tonight Andy and I will feast on potatos and eggs, and feel thankful that we have been spared the ravages of this bizarre monsoon season. 
Well, Well, Well, Who's that callin'?Well, Well, Well, Hold my hand.Well, Well, Well, Night is a-fallin',Spirit is a-movin' all over this land. Lord told Noah, Build him an ark,Build it out of hickory bark.Old ark a-movin', and the water start to climb,God send a fire, not a flood next time.
(Peter, Paul and Mary, 'Well, Well, Well' which has to be one of my many favourite songs of all time)
What a fabulous project. I am thrilled to support you.
Thanks so much, Lindsey!
Ok I am a supporter. Now I want to send you a poem
I am sending a notice of the project to the other Pen and Inkers
Awesome!!!!!