I originally posted this in October, 2008. It’s nice to come across old writing and think, okay, not terrible. I still agree with myself.
—-
“When I am writing, I think of myself as a writer. But when I am illustrating, I think of myself as an illustrator. I think, though, that I try to create situations with my writing that will be fun to illustrate. The writer in me tries to please the illustrator.” — Bernard Waber.
Bernard Waber floats just under the top shelf of all-time great children’s authors and illustrators — you don’t hear his name much these days, when people list influences — but I suspect he’s under-appreciated. Certainly he’s written some great books, most notably Ira Sleeps Over and The House on East Eighty-Eighth Street., the first of many books starring Lyle the Crocodile. (Waber also has a knack for titles: A Lion Named Shirley Williamson is one of my favorites.)
I interviewed Bernard Waber in the early 1990’s. We spoke again a couple of years after that. I had hoped he could contribute to a book project, but we got sidelined when my son, Nicholas, was diagnosed with leukemia at age twenty-six months. Work just stopped for a while. Bernard understood, of course, and sent Nick a stuffed crocodile, some books, and a lovely handwritten note.
You don’t forget things like that.
So, yes, there’s bias here, an affection that goes beyond books. When I spoke with Bernard Waber more than 15 years ago — and I’m happy to report he is still going strong at age 84 [edit: 87 now!] — his intelligence shined through. He spoke about his craft with clarity and immodesty, as clear and refreshing as cool water. An innate goodness courses through his books. And his stories, no matter how humorous — how sly, dry, and understated — often contain real sensitivity. He writes from the heart.
“The nice thing about humor,” Waber told me, “is that after you have an idea that you think is humorous, there is always another side that’s sad and complicated. Those are the things you discover after you start writing.”
Ira Sleeps Over finds Waber at his best, capturing the inner angst of a childhood dilemma: the first sleepover. Ira is invited to sleep at his friend Reggie’s house — but he has never slept without Tah Tah, his Teddy Bear. Can Ira risk the embarrassment? With staccato dialogue, Waber deftly explores Ira’s confusing, conflcting emotions. In addition, the dynamic with the older sister rings so true. Because somehow Waberknows. He remembers.
His 2002 book, Courage, in which various characters enc
When you are an author, and if you are lucky, kids send you letters. Some are formulaic, an assignment; others go deeper and seem more genuine. And some letters chip away at your heart — and you try to answer the best way you know how.
I won’t share the full letter here, or my reply. But read this . . .
By: James Preller,
on 5/17/2012
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I like it when the letters include artwork.
I replied:
Dear Andrew,
Hey, thanks for your typed letter, the terrific drawing, and a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Well played, young man!
I’m glad you liked The Case of the Haunted Scarecrow. It has one of my favorite moments in it, when Mila figures the suspect might have printed his name in the shirt. After all, moms and dads do that for kids all the time when they go to camp. So Jigsaw checks the shirt and says, “We’re looking for a kid named Eddie Bauer.”
For blog readers, here’s the scene where Mila and Jigsaw investigate the mysterious scarecrow . . .
Mila fumbled with the shirt collar. “My father’s a neat freak,” Mila jabbered. “He organizes everything. He even writes my name in the back of all my clothes.”
Mila smiled. “Look,” she said.
I craned my neck to read the label. “We’re looking for a kid named Eddie Bauer.”
“That’s the clothing label!” Mila said. “Read the other name.”
I read the name that was printed on the marker: Buzzy Lennon.
I looked up into the trees. There were hardly any leaves left. The sky was crisp and bright. Halloween was next week, then Thanksgiving, then the frozen days and nights of winter. I turned to the front door of the sad, old, silent house. “Let’s see if the doorbell works,” I said.
The door slowly opened with an eerie squeak. Mrs. Rigby’s small, red-rimmed eyes blinked in the sun.
“Yes, what is it?” she asked.
I got the name of the old lady who lived alone in the house from a song by The Beatles: “Eleanor Rigby.”
I appreciate your idea for a different ending. And you are right, that would have been smart. Too bad that Buzzy was so lazy -– he’d rather cheat than do an honest day’s work.
It was nice hearing from you. Keep on reading those books!
Your friend,
By: James Preller,
on 6/7/2012
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Here’s one from Connecticut, asking about one of my favorite books in the Jigsaw Jones series (which, once again, seems to be out of print).
I’m grateful to all the classroom teachers and librarians who have helped keep these books alive for young readers, long after my has publisher lost interest. Even so, I still get letters almost every day from children to whom these books are new, and beloved. Thank you!
To be honest, that’s part of what I’m doing here. Not only sharing answers to fan mail, but also this: trying to document something I did — this thing I made — that has come and perhaps gone. Because even though time marches on, and so on and so forth, I am sad to see these books go.
I replied:
Dear Justin:
I’m glad you read The Case of the Bear Scare. It’s one of my favorites.
I loosely modeled the character of Lightning Lou after a real person, the great Steve Irwan, known on television as “The “Crocodile Hunter.”
Lighting Lou’s visit to Jigsaw’s school inadvertently inspires a new mystery.
Steve Irwan was Australian, full of life and funny expressions. He used to be very popular, but he died tragically while filming his television show, pierced in the heart by a venomous stingray. It was sad when he died, just a few years after Bear Scare came out.
I had to learn a lot about bears to write that book. I read books and, finally, picked up the phone and called an expert. He was a nice man, named Lou Berchielli, and he was the one who told me that roaming bears will often eat from bird feeders. Ah-ha, I thought. Now I had an idea for an important clue in my story.
By: James Preller,
on 6/8/2012
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My editor said, “Here’s to many more lists recommending Bystander.”
My agent said, “Huzzah!”
And I chanted, “Show me the money, show me the money, show me . . .”
I mean, er, “Well, goodness, this is certainly an honor.”
Click here for the full, annotated list, featuring categories that range from “Core Curriculum” (Little Women, The Time Machine, The Phantom Tollbooth) to “Anti-Bullying/Tolerance” (Bystander) to Social Studies (Amelia Lost, Chains) to Sci-Fi (The Maze Runner) to ALL SORTS OF OTHER STUFF.
Seriously, why make me work so hard? Get off my back and jump, instead, on the above link.
One title that captured my interest . . . Scrawl, by Mark Shulman.
It came with this annotation: “Enter the mind of a bully by reading his journal.”
Cool cover, don’t you think? Color me curious. I’m going to buy it right now.
I should have written this post a month ago. My apologies for that, dear dwindling Nation of Readers.
I’m taking a break this summer. Have been, actually.
The honest truth: I have this nagging sense that it’s a net-positive (hee-hee, clever that) to get off the grid for a while.
The good news: I’ve been writing books! I have three new books coming out next summer, the launch of a new series plus a picture book, and I’m very excited about the new directions I’m taking. Or is it . . . the new places that my writing is taking me?
(Who’s driving this bus anyway?)
As a writer, I’m trying to learn new things, open up, free my imagination, let go a little bit more, let impossible things happen. See that picture up top? That’s how I want writing to feel. So I’m loosening my grip on realism. But mostly: I’ve made an effort to get back to basics, focus on writing, focus on doing my job, and letting some of the self-promotion stuff fall away, that whole semi-sickening business of James Preller, commodity/product. I think writers live in dangerous times, the lure of Twitter and Facebook and Pinterest and Distraction in general. So much time away from what’s essential.
That said: I’ve done this blog for four years and it’s been a great outlet for me, I’ve loved it, and it’s been a great way for me to connect with Specifically You.
I just needed a break, I guess. Obviously, I’m struggling with these issues. Can’t explain myself to myself, much let you.
But: It’s still summer, and I won’t be blogging for the next few weeks! There, said it.
Thanks for stopping by. Much appreciated.
I’ll be honest here. I’m at a point that I reach a couple of times every year, where I’m swamped with fan mail, overwhelmed, and feel nothing but guilt. When I hear writers talk about how much they love fan mail, I often think, “Yeah, but.”
I’d yell at my staff of minions but I don’t have a staff to yell at.
But then there are letters like the one below. I’ve changed the names and deleted some details in the interest of privacy.
Hello!
My name is S and I teach 8th grade language arts in a middle school. I am writing to you because I wanted to share a video with you. This past year I had a very special young man in my class, Billy Jones. Billy is autistic. Billy is actually the oldest of three children in his family. His siblings are also autistic. Billy has wonderful parents who encourage him in all aspects of his life. Billy enjoys reading and LOVES to read mysteries! When my regular ed students were choosing books to read, Billy was searching for a mystery. He decided to read your Jigsaw Jones #6: The Case of the Mummy Mystery. Billy loved it!
For his book project, we decided to actually re-create the mystery (the best we could) here at school. So, with the help of his aide, as well as his classmates, our principal (the mummy), and other teachers, Billy had the opportunity to re-create The Case of the Mummy Mystery. I wanted to take this time to send it to you, in hopes you will enjoy it as much as we have.
Thank you for your time. Enjoy!
I replied:
Dear S:
Thank you so much for sharing that video. It was beautiful to see how so many different people in your school came together in support of Billy’s creative efforts. There’s love in that little video, and I felt it.
And for the record: Any principal who dresses as a mummy to assist someone’s class project, well, that’s my kind of guy!
A few years back I had the opportunity to work with a special education class as a visiting author, and together we created our own picture books. I returned to that magical classroom many times, and it was always the highlight of my week. Surely one of the most memorable and rewarding experiences in my career. The books we made were modest, simple, and a huge success. Like Billy’s, our books featured photographs throughout.
When complete, we gathered together for a little celebration. All the authors and me. Those bright, beautiful children, surrounded by a dedicated group of kind teachers, eating cupcakes and celebrating their achievements. I shed a few tears that day, even though I tried to hold back the waterworks.
Thank you for the important work you do. And thanks for sharing that video. Please pass along an address and I’ll send Billy a few signed books by way of appreciation.
By: James Preller,
on 6/15/2011
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Dad was the father of seven children, a veteran of World War II who served in the Pacific. After the war, he graduated from Boston University in two and half years, because why in the world would anybody want to waste another minute in school. There was a life to be lived, a brass ring to grab, things to do. Let’s get on with it.
It was a different time, a different generation.
Dad settled with my mother on Long Island, became an insurance man, started having kids rapid fire in the Catholic fashion, built a business. I was the youngest in the family, the baby. On rare weekend days I’d tag along when my father needed to pop into his rented office on Wantagh Avenue for an hour or two. We never specialized in father-and-son type stuff, whatever that was, and I’m sure the word bonding did not apply to relationships back in those days, only glue, but I do recall those trips to his office. Dad’s place of business offered that most wondrous of commodities, office supplies — electric typewriters, staplers, a copier, boxes of paper clips and, best of all, tracing paper.
I marveled at its magical properties. Dad didn’t part with his supply easily, that stuff cost money, so I was thrilled and grateful whenever he brought a stack home. Those are nice memories for me, a lifetime away. I sometimes wonder: Whatever happened to that kid? That boy with the tracing paper? Where’d he go?
From around that time, somewhere in the mid 60’s, another memory presses forward for attention. One spring morning we set off together — in the hazy gauze of memory, just me and dad — to a farm somewhere. Because dad knew a guy, a customer who had a stable and a few horses. He possessed, in others words, shit to spare. And the price was right.
I must have been about five or six years old at the time, no older. We got to the farm, out east on Long Island probably, and I stood around while my father chatted with the owner of the place. Maybe I looked into the stable, fearfully eyed the horses. Did I want to feed one of them an apple? No, I did not. I was shy, watchful and quiet. Eventually my dad keyed open the car truck, borrowed a shovel, and filled it to the brim with horse manure. I stood by, mystified, awestruck. Trunk full, steam rising, we headed back home, where I watched my father spread the still semi-moist shit around the front lawn. It was good for the grass, he explained. Nature’s fertilizer.
My older brothers and sisters recall those times with profound mortification. Imagine the embarrassment they felt, the acute stabbing horror, especially those of a certain age, when the opinion of one’s peers meant only everything. I can’t say this plainly enough: My brothers hated it w
By: James Preller,
on 6/23/2011
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This is a warning, folks. On June 30th at 7:00 PM a rugged band of children’s and YA authors will be gathering at the Barnes & Noble bookstore at Colonie Center in Colonie, NY.
That’s right, it’s time for the Summer Reading Kickoff Bookfair Spectacular . . . celebrating (wait for it) the Dolly Parton Imagination Library! Because when it comes to Dolly, the first two things anyone thinks of are reading and, erm, I forget the second thing.
So, hey, let’s put the focus on reading this summer. Bring your young readers to pick up their free Barnes & Noble Summer Reading Journal to earn a FREE BOOK and the chance to WIN A NOOK COLOR. Authors will be standing by — sitting, hopefully, on cushy chairs, under a tasteful arrangement of palm fronds — happy to autograph books. Any books.
Check out this list of authors I think will be there . . .
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Julia DeVillers * Aimee Ferris * Rose Kent * Jackie Morse Kessler
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Sarah Darer Littman * Eric Luper * James Preller * Jennifer Roy
And so it comes after all that waiting, the book cover. Via jpg these days, that’s how you get the first glimpse of it, clicking on a file attached to an email.
And it comes with caveats, apologies, explanations, assurances. The idea is not to get too literal (and they say this to writers, the most literal of all).
You wrote the book what seems a lifetime ago. Revised it, revised it again, and again, to the point where you’ve moved past it. You’ve gone from loving it to sick of it to almost forgetting what it’s about anyway. Curious, you might even read it again one day.
In the meantime, an art director, Rich Deas, reads the manuscript, searching for ideas, hoping images will come unbidden. It’s an opening-up process, where all possibilities are invited, explored, played with, ridiculed, winnowed down. Meetings are taken, editors opine, directions are discussed and discarded. The sales folks has their say and everybody listens because, lest you forget, we’re all in the business of selling books. As the author, you’re out of the loop. A million miles away. It’s time for other people to do their jobs, time for their talents to shine.
You cross your fingers and hope.
All preamble: Today I received an electronic file for the cover of my first Young Adult novel, Before You Go, to be published in Spring, 2012. What you see here, please understand, is a rough version. My editor, (the fabulous) Liz Szabla, told me, more or less, ‘It’s too this, it’s too that, and possibly not enough of something else. The type isn’t final — we’re still thinking about the type — none of it is final — but don’t you love it? We all love it. Rich is still tweaking it. He wants to make changes, I’m not sure what. He’s tweaking right now. I can practically hear the tweaking going on across the hall. You know Rich. He sees it all in his head. Tell me what you think. Don’t you love it?”
Here it is, folks. The first glance at the art director’s first draft, the rough cover treatment for my new book.
Some days it really is fun to be an author. Yes, Liz, I do love it.
I wonder what the final will look like.
Cover content and updated design at JamesPreller.com
Here’s one from Matthew . . .
Hello Mr. Preller. First of all, I love your books. I was wondering what inspired you to write your awesome books? How old were you when you began writing? I like the Jigsaw Jones series the best. My favorite is The Case of the Million Dollar Mystery. With a million dollars on the line, I was so nervous the case wouldn’t be solved in time. I love books that keep me turning the pages just to see what happens, and this was definitely one of them. Thanks for taking the time to read this and thanks for writing such great books!
Matthew
I replied . . .
Matthew,
Thanks for your kind letter. It means a lot to me when readers take the time to reach out. It’s funny. As authors, we write in solitude, alone in a silent room. Reading is also a silent, solitary act. Yet somehow we communicate across those shared solitudes. You and me, together. Amazing.
When I was young, I used to make little comic books and sell them to the folks in my neighborhood. But in truth, I didn’t get serious about writing until college. That’s when I gradually came to love books, love reading; it fit my personality. And at a certain point, I decided to try it for myself. Why not?
The curious thing is, I’m shy about certain things. I never want to embarrass myself. For example, I never had the courage to act in a school play; I never dove off the high diving board in the town pool, worried that I might belly flop in front of so many people. Public dancing? Scary. But writing was something I could do by myself, in perfect safety. I could write and not share it with anyone. There was no one to laugh at me. So as writers, you and I can try new things, take new risks, without the worry of what others might think. Eventually, when you are ready (and not a moment before!), you might share your writing with a trusted friend or adult. Somehow that process worked for me, the boy who was always a little tooconcerned about what other people might think.
My best,
JP
By: James Preller,
on 9/30/2011
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To be clear up front, we are talking the 1976 original with Tatum O’Neil, Walter Matthau, etc.
By the way, a shout out to the names of these characters: Amanda Whurlitzer, Coach Morris Buttermaker, Ogilvie, Engelberg, Jimmy Feldman, Rudi Stein, Tanner Boyle, Ahmad Abdul Rahim, Kelly Leak and Timmy Lupus. The names seem perfect to me now, especially when heard through the muttering lips of Coach Buttermaker, “Listen, Lupus, you didn’t come into this life just to sit around on a dugout bench, did ya? Now get your ass out there and do the best you can.”
I’ve watched it several times, most recently about seven years ago. Great movie, though the language might startle you with its profanity and ethnic slurs. Pretty harsh by today’s politically-correct standards. The through-line of the movie moves inexorably toward the big, championship game. We’ve seen the Bears come together, struggle and lose, then learn to win, and now the stage is set for the film’s dramatic conclusion: The Big Game. We’ve seen this setup countless times.
The first time I saw it, the game’s ending surprised me. It came down to a close play at home plate, the scrappy Bears about to tie it with two outs in the last inning . . . the baserunner slides, the catcher applies the tag, the dust rises . . . “Out!” the umpire calls.
Game over. The Bears lose.
What? Really?
For years I’ve marveled (and appreciated) that decision by screenwriter Bill Lancaster and director Michael Ritchie. They didn’t allow the Bears to win the big game. Nope, they lost it. Because, when you think about it, winning was never actually the point to this story, not in a satire about Little League competition. But still, the Bears lost; it was shocking. Partly because you almost never see that in books and movies, for all sorts of reasons.
I might be more sensitized to endings than ever before, since I’ve been frequently queried about the ending to Bystander. I came across some of my early notes on the book that made it clear that I fully understood that my original ending lacked drama, it just didn’t hit it out of the park. I sensed that some readers might want more, particularly when considering their heightened feelings about fairness, justice. So I cooked up an alternative, a more satisfying ending, more complicated and conflict-oriented, and arrived at something pretty cool where the bad guy got it in the end. Not bad, way better from a purely dramatic point of view, but it didn’t satisfy me — because it didn’t ring true. Not to life as I knew it. So I reinstated my original ending, the one where life goes on without trumpets or tidy bows, unicorns and rainbows.
I don’t know what made me think of The Bad News
By: James Preller,
on 10/31/2011
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Just a reminder for those of you in the area . . .
Special thanks to the Hudson City School District Arts & Humanities Fund and the Berkshire Taconic Community Foundation for making this debut performance possible. I’m honored, surprised, and eager to see it — and wondering where this endeavor might take us before we’re through. Maybe to a school near you?
By: James Preller,
on 12/9/2011
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Maybe the worst part of writing a series is the nagging sense that, after ten books or so, nobody really notices if the books are any good or not. Especially not your publisher. Your editor cares, for sure, but everyone else . . . shrug. The sum of your work gets reduced down to a number, the notion of “quality” gets subsumed by “quantity” — and the book is as good as its sales figures. I know, I know: Real World 101. But still.
So as part of my continuing “Stories Behind the Story” series, I’d like to put the focus on Jisgaw Jones Super Special #4: The Case of the Santa Claus Mystery. It’s one of my favorites in the series and it’s probably out of print.
When I wrote the book, I really tried to create a great holiday story — a story with value and content that could stand up to any of the Christmas classics. So I decided to tackle a tricky subject: Jigsaw gets hired to prove if Santa is real or not. Now I knew that I had a range of readers with a varying beliefs, and I felt a keen obligation toward them, so I was determined that my book would not spoil it for anyone. In essence, I wrote myself into a box, locked the lid, and like Houdini had to squirm myself out of it.
Here’s an early scene in Jigsaw’s basement office:
Sally Ann’s mood turned serious. She stared hard into my eyes. Her arms were crossed. “I want to meet Santa,” she demanded.
I cracked open my detective journal. “Santa?” I repeated, scribbling down the name. “Last name?”
“Claus,” Sally Ann said.
“Santa . . . Claus,” I wrote.
“That’s the one,” Sally Ann said.
“Big white beard? Wears black books and a red suit? Last seen driving a sleigh led by, let’s see . . .” I flipped through the pages of my journal and pretended to read, “. . . eight flying reindeer?”
Sally Ann didn’t like being teased. She never cracked a smile. Instead, she rummaged inside her pink plastic pocketbook. She pulled out the head of a Barbie doll — that’s it, just the head. Sally Ann frowned and continued poking around. She pulled out some baseball cards, a tissue (used, I suspect), a handful of rocks, beads, a hammer (!), and other assorted junk.
“Here,” she finally said.
Sally Ann smoothed out a dollar bill on my desk.
Illustration by Jamie Smith.
She was serious.
Sally Ann Simms wanted to meet Santa Claus.
And it didn’t seem like she would take no for an answer.
I asked her why.
“We have business to discuss,” she grumbled.
And so the book begins, fueled by the mystery. Along the way, a number of entertaining events occur — including a sly
I’ve heard a lot of positive comments about the “Fan Mail Wednesday” feature, now going on its fourth year. But of late, I haven’t been sharing too many. I’ve been answering mail, doing my duty, just not posting it on the blog. As much as I appreciate the mail, and am grateful for every letter, there can be a sameness to the letters. And my responses strike me as routine, boring.
Other times, a sentence just makes me smile . . .
I replied:
Dear Alex:
Thanks for your great letter, and the SASE, and for — I hope — your patience. I know it took a little too long for my reply. Sorry about that.
Am I a detective or a plain person?
Ah, sadly, I am plain as plain can be, a sorry scoop of vanilla ice cream. A dad, mostly, with three great kids. A husband. A baseball coach, a fan in the stands, a chauffeur, and a lousy cook.
I used to think that writers had to have extraordinary, amazing lives. But I’ve learned that we all have amazing lives — some are quieter than others, of course — but all that matters is how we RESPOND to our lives, our world.
Every day, we should say, at least once . . . WOW.
For a writer, the most important stuff happens between the ears, and in the heart.
My best,
James Preller
An eight-year-old named Jake sent me a nice, long letter about my book, Jigsaw Jones #11: The Case of the Marshmallow Monster. He included this fantastic drawing:
As for the letter . . .
I replied, in part:
In real life, there was once a famous movie director named Alfred Hitchcock. His movies were sooo scary. Everybody loved them — because for some strange reason, people LIKE to be scared. That’s why the kids in my story are eager to hear more, more, more.
So when I needed a man to tell a scary story, I modeled him after a real person, Alfred Hitchcock. In the story, you’ll see that he’s known as “Mr. Hitchcock,” and later on Mr. Jordan calls him “Alfred.”
Computer savvy readers — and I’m assuming you are (savvy, that is) — can click here to learn more insider info about that book.
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