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As many writers have pointed out, sticking to a routine and writing every day at a set time and letting yourself just write makes you more apt to come into contact with your inner self, your unconscious self.
In the spirit of the holidays, is your self--as it is set out on the page--a spare, seemingly unloved, basic Christmas tree with a few lights and fewer ornaments? Or are you one of those Christmas tree loaded with colorful blinking lights and enough ornaments to have sent Charlie Brown's petite Christmas tree into a state of shock? Or do you find yourself to be a cross-section of both, depending on the day or time of day?
For me, I find that I tend to edit as I write, ending up with a basic tree with a few ornaments. Fortunately, I think my inner editor replaces my inner critic. Generally, I spend time formulating in my head and then getting the idea on the page, but often I hesitate over the keys, contemplating the word before I press each letter. Thinking twice as I begin a sentence, visualizing where it will take me.
I had a professor who, if I remember correctly, characterized fiction writers in two groups based on drafts' needs: putter-inners and taker-outers. I'm a putter-inner. I write the bare bones and need to put-in more, decorating each bough with more ornaments or tinsel as I review each draft. Frequently, when I end up with a spare tree of a fiction piece, I sometimes envy the taker-outers. Although they need to take out, their tree is lushly decorated.
So, are you a putter-inner or a taker-outer?

Elizabeth King Humphrey is a writer and creativity coach. Besides contributing to AOL's ParentDish, she blogs at The Write Elizabeth, delving into creativity in everyday places. She is looking forward to sharing the Peanuts' Christmas special with her kids, as well as the Heat Miser song.

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Here's a sneak peek at the rough art cover for Ellie McDoodle: Best Friends Fur-Ever:

I am thrilled -- what a cool cover! Not much pink on it, that's a good thing. ;) I have a lot of readers who are boys.
The parrot in the book is an African Grey, not a macaw, so the colors of the bird will change.
And the layout will change a little -- the bird won't be weighing down her shoulder anymore.
You'll see. :) It'll be in stores next summer. Amazon says August 3; they know more about that than I do!
Watch this blog for sketches to be uploaded in the coming weeks. I'm very excited about this book. Fans of the series will love it, I am sure.

Last Thursday I sat on the couch and stroked the fur of my beloved elderly miniature poodle, Willie, and told him it was okay to go if he felt it was his time. He died peacefully at 1pm. We didn't even get a chance to call the vet for euthanasia; they were closed for the day. I felt lucky that he died so beautifully, lucky I was with him and that he wasn't in terrible pain.
I did not feel lucky that he died.
We raised him from a tiny puppy, took him everywhere, taught him an assortment of silly tricks, gave him bad haircuts and incomplete trims. He was cute and very puppy-like in appearance, even as a little old man. And he was my shadow.
I knew I was going to miss him with an ache that wouldn't soon ease. I buried him with heart-shaped rocks.

Two days later by an odd combination of events, we found ourselves at the local animal control shelter, not to find a replacement, but just to observe life. We could have been anywhere else that day. We could have left the shelter early. We could have taken home the big old dogs we befriended there, convinced it was the right next path for our lives' journeys.
But we were there at closing, at the right time to see an old van pull up, and a sad young man bring out a big bin. I knew it was puppies or kittens in the bin. I thought, what kind of person brings a whole litter to a shelter? How irresponsible.
I actively avoided the drama, but it sucked me in: My 12 year old daughter was trapped inside the now-locked shelter, and the keys were with the animal control officers who were talking to the guy with the bin.
And since I saw prison inmates helping in the shelter, I wanted my Emily out of there as soon as possible.
The officers let Emily out of the building.
I let myself relax, then, enough to hear the man's story.
He's unemployed (so's my husband, and the guy across the street, and a few of our good friends, and a few relatives... Here in Michigan it's a common start to a story).
He lost his house. He and his family (wife, two teens with Down's Syndrome -- and that's another story in itself, but to me it said, here's a family with compassion and mercy) were moving to a relative's house for a while. They couldn't bring the dogs.

He found good homes for 3 puppies and the two parent dogs. Mom: full-blooded American pit bull terrier. Dad: half small Rottie, half big chihuahua.
In the bin: EIGHT puppies, age 7 weeks.

The Humane Society sent him away -- too many pups.
Animal Control was closed til Tuesday.
They asked me to foster the pups just til Tuesday. It didn't take long to say yes.
I promised the man we would find excellent (stable, appropriate) homes for the puppies. I turned down his offer of $25 for food until Tuesday.

Katie (age 20) and Emily were thrilled. My husband Charlie... not so excited.
But we did it.
It was an exhausting mix of sleeplessness, cooperation, and cramming our brains with Puppy 101 information from the Monks of New Skete (that's how I'd raised Willie), and Wikipedia, and an Animal Planet dvd.
Many times I felt like Octomom, torn in 8 directions.

I swear, puppies are liquid. Not that they pee a lot (they do) but that they disperse and spread like only a liquid can. This idea came to me at 3:30am as I tried to corral them enough to not lose them to the dark bushes and any hiding predators (we have hawks in the woods behind us), but not so much that they were inhibited about 'doing their business.'
Frantic that we might have 8 puppies forever, I put a note on my Facebook page. Friends came immediately, and some eventually adopted puppies from us. One of my fondest memories is of a bunch of neighbors and my kids and me (and Charlie) on the lawn with the puppies, giving them love and reporting on potty accomplishments and comparing each pup's personality and physical traits.
It was so sweet, and it took me right back to when our across-the-street neighbors had newborn puppies 6 years ago and they let then-6 Emily gently hold them that very day they were born.

As of yesterday, we've found homes for every wonderful pup:
Othello went home with Mary the first night.
Lady MacBeth became Bella, at Tyson, Beth's and Sydney's house. And we've seen her twice since. Yesterday she nearly licked my chin off. I'm convinced she remembered me.
Feisty Helena went home with Diane and Steven, dear friends who swore they were only coming over to help pet the puppies. I'll see her a lot. :) (She likely has a new name too, a comics-related one, because her big dog companion there is named Squee)
Henry became Zeus after going home yesterday with Michelle after a neighborhood picnic. He was perfectly behaved there and lots of people fell in love with him. I teared up kissing his forehead goodbye. If that adoption doesn't work out, I have another lady waiting to take him.
Tybalt will become Zeus also (!) next week on Friday, when he goes home with Heather. It's not yet a good time for them to take him.
Rosalind, Rozzie, is up north vacationing with my son and his wife. She will live here until they find an apartment that allows pets (or negotiate with the current landlord).
Boots Tewksbury is Katie's now, and he will live here until she moves out, maybe this fall. (She's taking a break from college)
Clarence is ours. He's the right combination of spirit and docile, intellect and playfulness, for Charlie, Emily and me.

Those are all Shakespearean names -- did you notice? It all started with a hamster named Hamlet.
I'll probably still tell my funny Willie story in my author events at libraries -- kids always laugh on cue. I won't tell them Willie is gone now. I don't want to cry at author events.
But, maybe soon I will have funny puppy stories to tell, too.

The vet gave us tips on avoiding aggression, and he answered a million questions, and he gave them their first shots.
The neighbor kids come to play a few times a day.
We still have to get up in the middle of the night. Charlie's become an active participant in their care -- he handles the morning shift. I am grateful to have Emily and Katie around -- they're experts in the puppies' care too. Katie's teaching them to sit. I think they've caught on. I also think they've gone backwards, a little, on potty training. (argh)
We aren't looking for new puppy homes anymore -- we're all set.

I looked in the mirror a couple days ago and noticed I was smiling.
The sadness of losing Willie won't evaporate, but I feel very lucky to have had, for one day, the distraction of eight new puppies to love. (the next day it was 7, two days later it was 5, today 4...) But, really, as losing Willie taught me, I'll always have those puppies to love, even if they're in new, far-away homes.

And now, I have to get back to revisions for Ellie McDoodle: Best Friends Fur-Ever, due in stores in 2010. If you see Shakespearean names in the finished book, you'll know why.

(No photos of the pups - my digital camera broke last year. No drawings uploaded yet - I've been in survival mode. At some point I'll upload some)

Today another writer asked me, "Has your life changed since becoming a published author?"

My answer: Oh, yes.

I go to bookstores and libraries about as often as I used to (once a week or so), but now I usually look for my book on the shelf.
If they have it I offer to sign it.
If they don't, I show them my copy and give them the elevator pitch: explain how it's often compared to Diary of a Wimpy Kid (a book almost everyone knows), and how it appeals to both reluctant and avid readers, boys and girls alike. Usually they say they'll check it out online.

I travel more now -- visited 23 schools in March alone. I have stayed in very nice hotels I couldn't have otherwise managed. Hunted for Petoskey stones, learned more about the Underground Railroad, flew my family to Manhattan. I love mixing travel, art, books and kids. There's nothing better.

I used to wonder if I'd ever find where I fit into the big publishing world.
Now I have a better idea of my strengths and weaknesses.

I used to wonder when I will be financially solvent, when I will pay my bills without worry, when I will be able to buy whatever I want, within reason.
Now I know... it'll be a while.

I used to wonder what it would be like to do author presentations in big, fancy libraries with famous names on them, to compare books with famous authors and illustrators, to walk into a bookstore unnoticed and spy on a person buying my book off the shelf.
Now I know. It's fabulous. It's amazingly wonderful. It's better than I thought it would be.

I used to marvel at how Real Authors put together word after word, sentence after sentence, metaphor after brainstorm, on and on, to a completed book and a sequel and a series. I thought they were brilliant -- that they had a magic muse that spoke into their pens and typewriters.
Now I know:
It's with thoughtfulness, hard work, B.I.C. (body in chair, I tell kids at my school events), writing when your brain won't produce anything great, pushing yourself through rejection, through fallow times, through melancholy and depression, through anxiety and panic, through uncreative lulls.
It's with faith that when it's finished, the book will be worth reading, even though there are many times before then that it seems impossible.

I used to think that when I got published my insecurities would end.
Now I know they merely shifted. I still worry about whether the next book will sell. I still write down every idea for a new book, scrabbling to get it down before it escapes me, and I wonder if it'll ever see real, typeset words on real paper between real paper-over-board covers.

Once in exasperation my agent said, in a crowd, "Yes, Ruth, you're my favorite." I felt mortified -- flashback to my childhood: were the others going to beat me up for garnering probably-temporary favor? -- and I felt embarrassed -- of course she was being facetious, wasn't I perceptive enough to pick up on that? -- and I felt exhilarated -- maybe she really meant it, just a little!
I guess I haven't grown much since I pushed my brothers and sisters out of the way so I could have alone time (alone nanoseconds) with Mom.

I used to think learning was a curve, starting low, climbing, then falling, with a finite end. Now I see that it never ends -- and in fact the amount of stuff to learn is an ever-growing mountain.
The more I know about writing and illustration and books, the more I want to know about writing and illustration and books -- and the more I realize I don't know.

My editor said a few years ago that we want Ellie McDoodle to steadily climb the charts, not to shoot to the top right away.
I didn't understand why, then.
Now I do.
Each stage of this publishing life has meant an adjustment for me. I don't know how I would have handled it if it had happened big and quick.
I'd sure like to find out how I will handle it, when Ellie gets to the top. :)
(meaning, I hope it gets there!)
I love where it's at right now, too.

Are you a writer? Keep at it. B.I.C. It's worth the effort and the pain.

This article gives the details on a February 28 report in Ap­plied Cog­ni­tive Psy­chol­o­gy about a study on the value of doodling: Test subjects giv­en a doo­dling task while lis­ten­ing to a dull phone mes­sage had im­proved re­call over non-doo­dling subjects -- and we're talking about a 29% improvement.
Doodle! It makes you retain information better! (I knew it all along)
I loved the teachers in my high school who understood that doodling helped my retention of information. They let me doodle during class and I was grateful -- it was a big motivator for me, to get even more work done.
I let kids doodle during my author presentations. After almost every session, there are a few kids who run up to show me how they've covered nearly every inch of the paper. Invariably, they're expanding on something I said -- and it doesn't appear at all to me that they're drawing instead of listening.
They're drawing while listening.
Like I do.
Kids are so smart -- they're learning early what it took me years to figure out (and what it took science decades more to prove).

This month I signed (and added a sketch or two to) more than 1000 books. Final count is about 1345. In one month. Wow!

By tomorrow, my last school event in March,
I will have visited 23 schools: St. Clare of Montefalco in Grosse Pointe Park; Cedar Street Elementary, Steele St. Elementary, and North Aurelius Elementary in Mason; Flanders, Beechview, William Grace, Lanigan, Highmeadow, Forest, Kenbrook, Wood Creek, Gill, Hillside, Wooddale, Longacre and Eagle in Farmington; Bath Elementary in Bath; Madison Elementary in Dearborn Heights; Wexford, Forest View and Willow in Lansing; and, tomorrow, Cherry Creek Elementary in Lowell.
Plus 1 conference (MRA in Grand Rapids), 1 library (Farmington Public Library), and 1 bookstore (Barnes & Noble in East Lansing).
I made connections with many wonderful librarians and teachers and a few booksellers.

I am especially grateful to Sue Kalisky of Highmeadow and Lisa Salowich of Wooddale for sharing their room at the Amway Grand Plaza with me. We met in Farmington and they offered to hang out at the MRA. We enjoyed a delightful dinner at a Tapas Restaurant (my first -- can't wait to return!) and an enlightening visit to the new Grand Rapids Art Museum. It would have been difficult to present at the MRA without staying overnight. How kind of them to invite me in.

Nancy Morris of William Grace also extended a kind invitation to tour a little in Portland, Oregon, when I am there for a writer retreat in July-August. I can't wait.

Many thanks to the schools who hosted me. What a fabulous month this has been. Thank you to the students and staff who were so kind to me in my visits, and to the tireless organizers of all the events. I know it's tough bringing in an author for a visit; there's a lot to manage.

I am still smiling about all the fantastic student work in the various schools, the art on the walls, the writing exercises, the creativity shown by both teachers and students. I'm astounded at the brilliance I saw in so many schools.

Special thanks to Denise Gundle-White at Wood Creek for organizing all of my Farmington events as part of their Book Parade.

(Want to host me at your school or library? Details here on my website: http://ruthexpress.com/art/ellie/schoolvisits.html )

On a more personal front, this month I also juggled 2 bridal showers for my beautiful and fun future daughter-in-law, 1 dress fitting for our junior bridesmaid, thankfully no funerals in March (3 in Jan-Feb), helped paint the dining room, hallway and living room, helped my husband through the loss of his job and hopefully gaining of a new one (crossing fingers) and also through the loss of our car, rental of a new one, and -- maybe today -- purchase of a replacement, read my writing buddy Amy Huntley's fantastic new book, The Everafter (I laughed, I cried; I was greatly impressed with the emotion, the voice and the structure), and I wrote and drew a few "Extras" for the Ellie McDoodle: New Kid in School paperback edition which comes out this summer. (And, if you saw any of my presentations this month, you know I also had to do revisions for those "Extras")

Soon to come, more revisions! Yippee! This time for the third Ellie book, Ellie McDoodle: Best Friends Fur-Ever, the first draft of which I finished in record time, right before March began.

My editor's sending me the revisions letter (and if you saw any of my presentations you know that's a thick dark line listing more than 100 items to change) sometime in the next few days.
And if you saw my presentation you know there will be another revisions letter, too, hopefully smaller, arriving in the coming weeks, after I make all the requested changes and redraw every single page for this set of revisions.
And if I am lucky, then the book will be done and it will go to prepress sometime this summer for publication next summer.
It takes a long time and a lot of hard work to create a book.
And to live life which, no matter how tightly I plan it, is always bringing something unforeseen.

Whew.

So why do I do this?
Because I am in love with my job. And with my life.


(from my 2006 NYC sketchbook just after meeting my editor and many of the brilliant people associated with creating the Ellie McDoodle books)

(I'd say charity begins ad hom, and I'd argue it's accurate, but since ad hominem is commonly used for negative, it's better to avoid it here)

My friend Peter Davis wrote this brilliant poem about Neanderthal charity.

My friend Shutta Crum started a wave of charitable contributions by writers for writers, when she offered, in the spirit of Martin Luther King, Jr., Day, to critique three manuscripts for free, and challenged other writers to make a similar contribution to the greater good of our readers.
Quite a few did!
Michigan's SCBWI email group was awash in offers of all kinds -- rhyming picturebook help from Debbie Diesen, magazine/internet help from Patti Richards, non-fiction help from Buffy Silverman, picturebook help from Boni Ashburn, school visit or independent publishing advice from Kevin Kammeraad, novel chapters and query letters crits from Kristin Nitz ... it's heartwarming.
Congratulations to those lucky writers who won the crits, and thank you to the generous writers who offered them.
I hope Shutta's idea spreads beyond Michigan.


Our daughter gave us some Italian cauliflower yesterday. It's the weirdest plant I've seen in ages. This link takes you to the Park Seeds catalog image. It tastes like soft broccoli. I hope Park Seeds will be charitable about letting me post the pic here.
I'd draw it but I'm supposed to be writing a book right now, and that's a pretty complex floret...

Back to work. <3