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I am doing the exercises in a very cool fashion drawing book, Fashion Design Drawing Course by Caroline Tatham & Julian Seaman. The exercise asks that you “draw your wardrobe” and ten later, make combinations of the garments from your wardrobe. Here’s the pieces I picked.

color combos

Can you name the cake creations? (from my new activity book in progress)

yum…bakery

Jessica has been in a baking mood. I don’t bake, but I do draw food!

Before I became ultra-weird and acquired a profession as an animal communicator, I illustrated my first book, Cooking Art, Gryphon House Inc. I had so much fun drawing all the foods for the book. I discovered I am not much a cook, but very good at drawing food. This was our kitchen way back when!

Naptime: 4th nap of the day.

Cool, the zine now has its own page here. Check it out.

That Roger Sutton says the darndest things.

Such as:

"While noting the exceptions of James Patterson on the one hand and William Mayne on the other, children's books tend to be easier and thus potentially "fun" for adults in a way they tend not to be for children, an incongruence librarians need to remember, not dissolve. Whatever whoever chooses to read is their business, of course, but adults whose taste in recreational reading ends with the YA novel need to grow up."

The last sentence has really got people chatting. I especially like what Liz B over at A Chair, A Fireplace and A Tea Cozy has to say about THAT. (http://yzocaet.blogspot.com/2008/03/oh-grow-up.html)

Well, as a writer as well as a (mostly) grown-up, I agree that it's important to read a wide variety of literature. But I don't think I'd tell people who prefer to stick with a certain genre that they have to grow up. :-) One needs only to look at the current state of standardized education to see that there are far too many grown-ups who need to remember what it's like to be a child.

What really struck me, however, is the statement that comes before. "...children's books tend to be easier and thus potentially "fun" for adults in a way they tend not to be for children."

Are children’s books really fun for adults in a way they tend not to be for children? Picture books: hell yeah. No doubt. Authors and illustrators often put in humorous bits with references young kids might not get but are hilarious to adult readers.

But does this logic really work with books for older children and teens? Interesting to ponder. Heck if I see the difference. If I was a child, I just might take offense. Heck, if I was a children's book writer I might take offense. Oh wait...

Do you think adults REALLY choose to read books for children because they're "easier" and thus potentially more fun? I have a hard time believing this is the reason. Sure some students MIGHT sign up for a children's lit class making this assumption, but ooh-boy are they in for a surprise! Children's lit classes are HARD HARD HARD work. I have seen Cathryn Mercier and Megan Lambert's syllabi. Yo. Roll up your sleeves.

Well, whatever the case, RS has created a great discussion once again! (You can read said discussion here: http://www.hbook.com/blog/2008/03/yet-another-g-word.html)

LJ friends: Why do YOU choose books for children and young adults for your recreational reading? Do you think you get something out of these books that children don't? What is it? (Remember, I'm not talking about reading these books to improve your own craft, I'm talking about reading them for the pleasure of it.) Inquiring minds want to know!

Moleskin sketch. Yes, moleskin. I bought a new one--plain paper. We are beginning to bond. Today our electric went out on the whole street! I was meaning to work on the computer but had to throw the plans out the window. Instead, I sketched. And I feel so much better for it! Creative juices are flowing. Yummmmm.

Just when you think you've survived the worst... BOOM. You get slammed with a nasty review. And by nasty, I mean in all honesty I do not think I've read a more cruel one in my life.

Some of you got some frantic e-mails over the weekend about it and I'm sorry. I guess I just got caught in that initial punched in the eye flailing blindly for help moment. Thanks for helping me see again.

It's amazing to me how snarky and cruel some reviewers can be, and what some editors of review journals let reviewers get away with. It makes me really, well, it makes me very sad.

It's also amazing how much one person, a stranger no less, can totally throw you for a loop. And by loop I mean a downward spiral into a pit of despair. I went from feeling ecstatic about my revision that I just finished to feeling like a total failure. It's the worst!

I know I should take the wise advice of friends regarding NOT blogging about bad reviews. It's best to ignore them and just hope they're never seen. And pray that if you wait long enough they will just go away. And that really is what I plan to do... right after this post. ;-)

The thing is, since most of the people who read my journal are writers, some of you are bound to have had, or worry about having, a similar slam. So I just want to say, HUGS to all of us and we'll all survive. We can't make everyone love our work. We can't expect everyone to get us. It's OK if someone hates our writing. It really is! And it's OK to cry and feel bad about it for a little bit.

So here I go.

WAAHHHHHH!!

Ah. Better.

:-)

But we can't let these things hurt us too long. We've got to clean the wound, slap a unicorn band-aid on it, and get on with getting on.

We've got to write the stories we have to write, no matter how controversial or hard to read. We have to write what's true to us. We have to be brave.

Somewhere there is a kid or a grown-up out there who needs to read your story. Who will be changed because of it. Who will feel less guilty or ashamed or less alone because of it. And that is worth the occasional sting of the other someone who won't get you, or will feel offended by your story for whatever reason.

I'm so grateful to have this community for support and love and reassurance.

lindsey_leavitt, special thanks to you for your uncanny good timing. Your e-mail this morning reminded me what it's all about. :)

xo

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Monday Morning Warm-Up:

Last week at my prison meeting Katie suggested this prompt: "As I walk down..."

The women came up with some incredible descriptions. Kevin, the editor I work with, wrote about walking down the sidewalk in the evening, holding his girlfriend's hand. I wrote about walking down to the wood shed through the snow. And the women wrote about walking to chow hall, walking into and out of trouble, and walking on. It was really cool. I hope you'll try it! And share here or on your own blog. :-)

When I hear about panties getting bunched in the children’s literature community, I take notice! So, I went in search of this article about the ill effects of masses of people reading the same book at the same time.

Say what?

WHAT???

And I quote:

Perhaps submerging the world in an orgy of marketing hysteria doesn't encourage the kind of contemplation, independence and solitude that real engagement with books demands -- and rewards. Consider that, with the release of each new volume, Rowling's readers have been driven not only into greater fits of enthusiasm but into more precise synchronization with one another. Through a marvel of modern publishing, advertising and distribution, millions of people will receive or buy "The Deathly Hallows" on a single day. There's something thrilling about that sort of unity, except that it has almost nothing to do with the unique pleasures of reading a novel: that increasingly rare opportunity to step out of sync with the world, to experience something intimate and private, the sense that you and an author are conspiring for a few hours to experience a place by yourselves -- without a movie version or a set of action figures. Through no fault of Rowling's, Potter mania nonetheless trains children and adults to expect the roar of the coliseum, a mass-media experience that no other novel can possibly provide.

You know, when I’m snuggling up to my son to read HP, we are in a world by ourselves. I’m not thinking about the fact that anyone else is reading the book. It has never even occurred to me. Sure, I’ve had thoughts such as: Wow, it’s pretty amazing that J.K. Rowling has sold a kagillion books and tons of people, adults and children alike, who may not read much, or have become convinced (or been told by well-meaning reading specialists) they “can’t read big books,” are reading 700+ pages in a matter of days. Devouring them. Demanding more. That's pretty dang cool. But I never thought about those things while I was reading the actual books. Never once.

I think what’s so magical about the HP books is that touchable silence that follows the pre-publication hysteria, when the books have at last fallen into all those eager hands. Go to a reading marathon hosted by your local amazing children’s or YA librarian. See a group of kids all in their favorite spots, reading. Reading for hours. Getting shushed when they cheer or groan out loud without meaning to because they have been carried away by a book that somehow managed to so completely submerge them in its world they forgot, for a time, that this one exists. Do you think they are aware that the kid in the corner is reading the same thing? I don’t. And even if they do, what’s so bad about that? How’s it different from a book group who reads the same book so they can discuss it? Share their thoughts about it? Find new ways to enjoy or question bits and pieces? Make them think??

Did Oprah’s million member book club make Toni Morrison's books any less literary?

But back to our reading marathon. When it ends, watch the kids slowly close their books. Watch them stretch and yawn and find their way back into “reality.” Then, listen to the quiet murmurs as they share how far they got and begin to discuss. Watch how they get all excited about certain scenes. Watch how they squeal “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me! I didn’t get that far yet!” How they care with a passion about what will happen next—and want to experience it on their own. Watch the magic of what a good book—yeah, a GOOD BOOK—can do.

We’ve gone from headline news about grown-ups getting into fist-fights over the last Tickle-Me-Elmo on the shelf at Christmastime, to kids partying in the streets with their parents at midnight, waiting until the magic hour to buy a book they’ve been looking forward to for two years so they can at last find out if, indeed, they should have trusted Snape, and to learn if their beloved characters will survive the final year at a magical place (admit it) we all wish really existed.

Why, Mr. Charles, is that such a bad thing?