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I wanted a brilliant book to start the new year with and I’ve unearthed real treasure with How to Find Gold by Viviane Schwarz (@vivschwarz), out later this week in the UK.

Anna is a girl with an inspirational can-do attitude. She decides she wants to find gold with her friend (a crocodile) and refuses to be put off or to give up, simply because the task might be risky or hard to achieve.

Issues which might seem like problems to some are acknowledged by young Anna, but they never put her off her stride. Instead, her positive take on life, her ability to see opportunities rather than obstacles and the power of her imagination enable her and Crocodile to have tremendous fun looking for (and indeed finding) gold, even if (or partly because?) it is dangerous and difficult.

Together the friends search high and low, sailing the seven seas and facing terrible monsters before finding a chest full of treasure in a sunken wreck. But having found the treasure do they keep it? What is more valuable to them? Piles of gold to have and to hold or the wonderful experiences they’ve shared by together being brave, hopeful and believing in themselves?

In some regards, this outstanding picture book echoes Amazing Grace by Mary Hoffman and Caroline Binch, both conveying an inspiring message that anything is possible if you allow yourself to really go after your dreams. Both also happen to feature black girls, though in neither instance is this what the books are about. Their messages are much more universal – about having fun, about self-belief, about letting your imagination take flight to fruition.

Schwarz’s tale is full of humour, both in her words and imagery. The looks of determination and delight on Anna’s face, the unassuming dead-pan delivery of her decisions, her friend’s (mostly) calm absorption of Anna’s apparent impetuosity – all will make you smile.

Schwarz also uses colour brilliantly to intensify the adventure these two undertake. Monochrome real life is contrasted with a richly vibrant hunt for treasure.

Courageous, joyous and imaginative, Anna is a hero to enliven us all. This funny manifesto for adventuring with friends, for embracing challenges, for not giving up on looking for gold, whatever form it takes for you is outstanding. I can’t think of a better way to start my reading year, or yours.

Of course we were chomping at the bit for our own treasure hunt having read How to Find Gold but first we had to ensure there were plenty of gold coins to find in amongst the hoard of jewels.

We took inspiration from our box of coins from around the world, choosing those with designs on them which we especially liked.

We then placed these coins under gold confectionery wrappers (thin golden tin foil) in order to transfer their designs to the foil.

We also designed our own coins, using golden embossing paper and kebab sticks.

Next up we melted lots of chocolate and dropped dollops onto the foil (flipped over, so the gold side was face down).

An hour or two in the fridge later and we had our first glimpse at how our hoard of golden dubloons was coming along…

All that was left was to wrap the edges of the foil around the hardened chocolate to complete our chocolate coins and amass our amazing pile of gold:

Making our own treasure was definitely as much fun as finding it!

Whilst making money we listened to:

Treasure Chest by The Dreamtree Shakers

Don’t bring me gold by Funky Mama

And a favourite of mine – Treasures by Seasick Steve

Other activities which might work well alongside reading How to Find Gold include:

Creating your own treasure maps. CBeebies has a video tutorial that’s a good starting point if you’ve never used an old teabag before, and for some starter ideas about what to put on your map, this collection of treasure maps on Pinterest might spark your imagination.

Making chests to store your treasure in. Free Kids Crafts shows you how to turn an old shoe box into a pirate’s treasure chest, but there are lots more ideas (including edible ones!) on this pinterest board.

Bringing your own crocodile friend to life. Krokotak shows you how to make very handsome paper alligator, which I think it is perfectly all right to reconsider as a crocodile

Being brave enough to try doing something difficult or risky. This is a tricky one of course. But the kids and I have talked about what we could try that is a bit tricky, a bit dangerous but which might be quite an adventure and we’ve agreed that this weekend we’re going to try jumping off the high diving boards at the swimming pool for the first time!

If you liked this post you might like these other posts by me:

The Story of Money written by Martin Jenkins, illustrated by Satoshi Kitamura plus how we used coins to learn some geography

Sam & Dave Dig a Hole by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Jon Klassen plus how we dug for treasure in our own back garden

The Pirates Next Door by Jonny Duddle plus how I created a treasure hunt for my kids which helped them learn to read a map of our local neighbourhood

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Disclosure: I was sent a free review copy of this book by the publisher.

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These halloween books, or, perhaps, more aptly labeled as books perfect for Halloween, do an excellent job of evoking the Halloween spirit ... Read the rest of this post

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When you’re already giggling just eleven words into a story, you know you’re on to a very good thing.

And so it is with the delicious child- cake-eating-troll-quest to save a lost little sister that is Grumbug! by Adam Stower (@Adam_Stower).

Dolly, blissfully unaware of any danger that might be lurking out there, has wandered off. We have to keep our fingers crossed that she hasn’t ended up at the home of the “biggest, meanest, grumpiest and greenest troll of them all“, the troll which has all others quaking in their boots: GRUMBUG!

Determined to find her, and in the sure belief that anything can be sorted out with a jolly nice slice of cake, big brother Oliver and his old (blue) friend Troll set of to bring her back home.

Oliver seems utterly oblivious to the ominous signs that are all too obvious to us readers and listeners as we follow Dolly’s tracks further and further from safety. And just as the tension has been ratcheted up as far as we can take it… a gloriously theatrical page-turn has us all relishing in the relief, laughing as we realise we’ve been holding our breath.

But then comes a twist in the tale that makes for a particularly enjoyable readaloud (especially if you love a bit of acting it out or making silly voices) before we all find out whether or not cake really can save the day.

Grumbug!‘s encouraging message that bravery and kindness are able to solve all sorts of problems is delivered with bags of humour, in text, in pictures and in the interplay between the two of them, making this a book which remains a delight to read time and time again. (In fact, once you know all the surprises, they become even more enjoyable.) Then there are the little details which might only come to you after several readings; Check the endpapers for clues as to what you could find…

Delightful characterization, an upbeat take on life and – yes – plenty of cake make this a marvellously happy read, despite the looks of anxiety on the book’s front cover. I loved Troll and the Oliver enormously, and this second book with the same characters is a worthy successor. Here’s hoping Oliver and Troll with be back for a third outing to make us giggle and fill us with delight.

As I would so very much enjoy reading this book to a classroom of kids I wanted to come up with an activity which could be replicated fairly easily for 30 or so kids to join in with. I designed a simple mask (ideally to print onto card), which can be customised for either Troll or Grumbug.

You can download the mask (A4, pdf) here.

A bit of paint, some glue, tissuepaper and a few pipecleaners later…

…and here we have Troll…

And here we have GRUMBUG!

And here we have Dolly and Oliver and one ENORMOUS cake. Has Grumbug eaten that slice of cake or is he going to gobble up the kids?

Whilst making our masks we listened to:

Raised By Trolls by Key Wilde & Mr Clarke

Grieg’s March of the Trolls

Hello Dolly performed by Louis Armstrong

Other activities which would go well with reading Grumbug! include:

Creating a cafe role play area.

Making a chef’s hat

Creating your own family or class’s cake recipe book, packed with favourites contributed by everyone. You could even use it to fundraise so you could invite Adam Stower to visit your school!

If you liked this post you might like these others of mine:

Making animal masks for a ball

A wolf mask for a very funny story by former Children’s Laureate Michael Rosen

Cat masks and hair bands and a book review in rhyme

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Disclosure: I received a free review copy of this book from the publisher.

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The Little Parrot and the Angel's Tears is a powerful allegory of overcoming insignificance.

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Are you ever too old for a picture book?

Walk into a bookshop, and you’ll rarely find a picture book on the shelves labelled 5-8, 9-12 or Teenage/Young Adult (the age bandings used in the most widespread chain of bookshops in the UK), implicitly telling buyers that picture books are only for those under 5.

But what if you have a picture book about Descartes’s philosophical statement “Je pense donc je suis” or to put it another way “Cogito Ergo Sum”?

A book which not only explores learning to listen to yourself, to trust your own instincts but also what it feels like when you think you have failed and how to fight against the dark thoughts that then crowd in.

Gosh, if only we all knew everything we needed to know about these issues by the time we were five! Wouldn’t life be much simpler?

I am Henry Finch written by Alexis Deacon and illustrated by Viviane Schwarz is a new picture book which makes readers and listeners think about every one of these big concepts and more. It’s about being brave, about being independent, about feeling secure enough to not follow the crowd (though also being happy to be part of a community).

It’s also about totally adorable little birds and one terribly monstrous beast who wants to eat them all up.

Henry is just one of a huge flock of finches. They make a racket all day long, doing the same as each other over and again but one day Henry starts thinking for himself. He starts to have his own dreams, his own vision of who he could be, independent from the community he’s grown up in.

Alexis Deacon has written (although not specifically about Henry Finch):

“It seems to me that if every character in your story is entirely on message and engaged with the world you have created it can be very off-putting for the reader. I find that I am drawn to stories where not every character follows the grain: Reluctant characters, perverse characters, selfish characters, irreverent characters. They are often the catalysts for action too.”

And Henry Finch does indeed go against the grain, doing things differently to those around him, daring to be different. But he’s not selfish. In fact, his ability to think for himself gives him the courage to tackle the monster who threatens his family and friends.

Danger, doubt and darkness beset Henry, but he survives and shares what he has learned with his fellow finches, sparking a cascade of individual ideas and wishes as they each set off to explore the world, though not before reassuring each other that “We will come back“; the finches are thinking for themselves, but individuality doesn’t have to lead to the destruction of their community.

Deacon’s story is full of food for thought, opportunities for discussion and debate, whether you’re 4 or 40 or more. The meaty issues explored never become overwhelming, not least because Viviane Schwarz’s illustrations bring so much humour, delight and simplicity into the story.

The use of fingerprints to illustrate a narrative about what it means to be an individual is a stroke of genius; is there a more powerful symbol of individual human identity than the imprint left by the small ridges on the tips of our fingers? They also bring massive child appeal; mucky fingerprints on walls and furniture are unavoidable aspects of life with children, and so there is nothing like these marks to proudly proclaim, “Hey, I’m here, me, this child, and I can make a mark on the world around me!”.

I really like how Schwarz sometimes brings her real life community into her artwork. In her graphic novel The Sleepwalkers there are crowd scenes filled with real people she knows, and in I am Henry Finch, she’s included fingerprints from friends as well as her own. The joy she’s had in creating these images can be seen in the hugely expressive faces and wings of the finches, and that seeped into us: we just had to make our own flock of finches using the same technique.

We started out with inkpads, paper and lots of messy fingerprints…

…but soon we were experimenting with other sorts of prints too…

Then we added beaks and wings…

And soon we had our very own chattering of finches:

One or two elephants interloped! (these were made from prints using the side of our fists – click here to see what Viv Schwarz created with similar prints)

These finches were born from toe-prints, whilst the beasts were heel-prints:

They just kept on coming, causing havoc, and just getting on with doing their own thing.

Whilst fingerprinting and making our own flock of birds we listened to:

Fingerprints by I Am Kloot

All Around the World or the Myth of Fingerprints by Paul Simon with Los Lobos

Fingerprints by Patsy Cline

Other activities which could work well alongside reading I am Henry Finch include:

Going to hear Alexis talk about this book at Discover (in London) on March 8.

Making up your own body organs, from watercolour blobs. You’ll see both why this is relevant and how you could do it if you check out this post from Viviane Schwarz.

Learning how to dust for fingerprints, using these helpful (teacher/technician/student) notes from Creative Chemistry.

I’ve more philosophy in the form of illustrated books coming up soon on the blog, with offerings from the Netherlands and Spain. What are your favourite picture books which deal with the big issues in life?

Disclosure: I received a free review copy of I am Henry Finch from the publishers.

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Panic began as so many things do in Carp, a poor town of twelve thousand people in the middle of nowhere: because it was summer, and there was nothing else to do.

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I just did something that was not objectively scary at all. No rational person would think so.

Yet for me it was slightly terrifying. I’ve been putting it off for years because I knew it would scare me.

But I’m not into being limited by my fears, so today I did the thing.

And the whole time, I repeated a line in my head that I heard last weekend in a movie called The Internship, written by and starring Vince Vaughn. It was a sweet and funny film and I ended up watching it twice over two days. Obviously I recommend it.

The plot of the movie revolves around Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson entering a summer internship program at Google. When they first arrive on campus, they’re a little lost, and Vince suggests they ask for directions from the person in this car going by. Only there’s no one in the car. It’s self-driving.

For a brief moment, both men stand there in shock. But then Vince turns to Owen, slaps him on the back, and says, “It’s only scary because it’s new.”

And isn’t that true? About so many of the things we’re afraid of? Until we’ve done it once and can see what it’s about, we put it off and fear it and avoid it. At least I do.

Or at least I did. I’m actively working to let go of that habit.

So thanks, Vince. I needed that. I needed it over and over this morning on a loop inside my head.

Maybe some of you out there could use it, too. Because maybe this is the summer you do whatever that thing is for you.

Be brave! It’s the most fun way to be!

And remember, you can always decide to do the thing now and schedule your fear for sometime later when it’s more convenient.

Come on, gang. Let’s do this.

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Here are the categories I’m dealing with lately: planning a new backpacking adventure. Planning a new book series. Planning another new series in a whole new genre. Which right now equals about 15 new books. I’m not even kidding.

And this morning it was starting to feel a little . . . daunting. As in, Can’t do any of them, just have to sit here and think about what I want to do.

That kind of stupor that could easily go on for days.

But I’m going to approach it a different way this time. Because recently I heard a great talk from outdoor adventurer (and mother and wife and owner of my favorite outdoor store Summit Hut) Dana Davis.

Dana has hiked up Mount Rainier. That right there qualifies her as badass. But she’s accomplished many other physical feats, and is currently training for her first Ironman triathlon, even though as she tells it she has bad knees, bad ankles, can’t run, isn’t so hot at either biking or swimming (I can’t remember which)–clearly not ideal when you’re going to be doing all three for miles and miles in one day.

But somehow that sounds fun to Dana.

And that fun is infectious. While it’s possible that some of the people in the crowd the other night might have thought to themselves, “Dang! I’m going to Ironman it, too!” I have the feeling they reacted the same way I did, which was to take Dana’s lessons about training for something hard and think about how we might apply them to some of the upcoming challenges in our own lives.

I think my favorite piece of her advice was this: Embrace the suck. Recognize that somewhere along the way you’re going to have to deal with a certain amount of discomfort, pain, and unhappiness. But if you recognize that ahead of time, really reconcile yourself to it, then when it shows up you can calmly tell yourself, “Yep, here it is. I knew it was coming. Here’s the suck. Let’s keep going.”

What’s “the suck” for me? There are times in every single backpacking trip when it’s as if I turn to myself and ask, “Did you really think this was fun? Are you really doing this on purpose?” Because mountains are high, trails are long, lightning storms scare the crap out of me, mosquitos bite, dogs roll in human feces (don’t get me started on people not properly disposing of their turds), and things just plain go wrong. That is the nature of outdoor adventures. Of any adventure, really.

I see it with my book adventures, too. When I set out to write something new, I know the time will come when my hands will feel like claws from typing for so many hours at a time, my brain will feel completely exhausted and empty, and yet the drill sergeant in me will try to force me to keep going even though all I really want to do is take the day off and watch Pixar movies. There’s a reason why The Incredibles exists. It is there to restore the worn-out brains of adults all over the world.

In a few days I’ll be posting Dana’s full list for psyching yourself up and preparing for something big, but for now I just wanted to whet your appetite for the whole thing.

Until then, you might want to reread a few earlier posts (that’s right, to psyche yourself up for the next big post. See how it works?):

How To Know When It’s Time To Make a Change In Your Life

Becoming the Possible You

The 100 Things You Keep Meaning To Do

Deciding To Worry About That Tomorrow

Stay tuned!

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I found this through Upworthy.com–a great site I highly recommend.

Last week it was what was possible as an 80-year-old. Today we’re going quite a bit younger:

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In the Overending (the second book in the Wood Cow chronicles), author Rick Johnson continues his story of an intricately detailed world where danger and mystery lurk.

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You’ll just have to trust me that there’s a story behind this. Mine isn’t as interesting as the one that taught me this lesson:

One of my favorite women adventurers is Helen Thayer. She’s a New Zealander by birth, now living in Washington State, and I first heard of her when I read her book Polar Dream.  Here’s the description:

In 1988, at the age of 50, Helen Thayer became the first woman in the world to travel on foot to the magnetic North Pole, one of the world’s most remote and dangerous regions. Her only companion was Charlie, her loyal husky, who was integral to her survival. Polar Dream is the story of their heroic trek and extraordinary relationship as they faced polar bears, unimaginable cold, and a storm that destroyed most of their supplies and food.

So yeah, super burly. I’ve referenced that adventure in a few books of mine–Doggirl and Parallelogram 3: Seize the Parallel–because I remain so thoroughly inspired and impressed by what Ms. Thayer accomplished despite the incredible danger and hardships. And that wasn’t her only big adventure. She and her husband and the dog from Polar Dream lived among wolves for a year (see her book Three Among the Wolves) and later, when she was in her 60s and her husband was in his 70s, they both trekked across the Gobi Desert, just the two of them and a few camels (see Walking the Gobi: A 1600 Mile Trek Across a Desert of Hope and Despair). You can understand why she’s a hero of mine.

And one of her lessons that has always stuck with me is the one about being too polite.

Here’s the situation: On her last morning in civilization before Helen set off for the magnetic North Pole, the Inuit villagers who had graciously hosted her the night before took their hospitality one step further by helping Helen pack up her sled for the journey. Helen had a particular packing system in mind, but she didn’t have the heart to tell the villagers she didn’t want their help. They were so happy and enthusiastic about it, she didn’t want to hurt their feelings. So she just smiled and said thank you as she watched them stuff her gear and clothing every which way into various pockets and pouches. She figured she’d fix it all later once she was alone in camp that night.

Big mistake.

Because when she finally stopped skiing across the ice that first night and began setting up her camp, she could feel the cold beginning to affect her fingers. She understood the dangers of frostbite. She needed to put on her pair of heavy, insulated mittens, but where were they? As she frantically searched for them, she could feel the dry cold and the wind chill of minus 100 quickly taking their toll. By the time she finally found the mittens, her fingers already felt like hard wooden blocks. The damage was done.

When she woke up the next morning, her hands were swollen and covered with blisters. And they felt incredibly, horribly painful. They stayed that way for the whole first week, making everything so much harder: lighting her stove, dressing herself, setting up and breaking down her camp–anything that required manual dexterity and ended up leaving her fingers throbbing with agonizing pain.

All because she’d been afraid to say, “No. No, thank you. I need to do this myself.”

What’s amazing is you’d think someone as brave as Helen Thayer would have no trouble telling people no. But it just shows you hard it can be sometimes to retrain ourselves to do what might seem impolite.

Years ago I saw an Oprah episode where she interviewed Gavin de Becker, the guy who wrote The Gift of Fear. Does anybody else remember that episode? He talked about how predators sometimes test their prey by insisting on “helping.” “Oh, here, let me bring this to your car. You dropped this, I’ll just bring it upstairs for you.” And when you say, “No,” the predator still insists. Because he’s testing whether he can dominate you.

De Becker and Oprah discussed how it wasn’t just dangerous criminals doing that, it could also be friends or family members. De Becker said, “Anyone who won’t hear your ‘no’ is trying to control you.” When you think of it that way, you can probably see it all around you: in your bossy co-worker, your critical mother-in-law, even your well-meaning sister or friend. Here you are taking a stand and actually using your “no,” and the person refuses to accept it.

Annoying, and, as de Becker points out, also potentially dangerous. People practice on us. We need to practice, too.

This is all a way of saying the same thing someone once told me: “It’s only fair if it’s fair to you, too.” How’s that again? You get a vote. If it’s nice for someone else, is it also nice for you? Or are you going to end up exhausted/broke/angry/resentful/out of time to watch your favorite show if you do “just this one more” favor?

Don’t get me wrong–it feels good to be nice. No doubt about it. But it feels less good to always be the one giving and giving, while your own store of personal energy and good will feels like it’s slowly draining away. Then, if you’re like me, one day it’s finally enough, and the answer for everybody is “No, no, and NO,” even if a few of those would have been yesses if they’d caught you on a better day. And maybe that grumpy, surly no-ness lasts for a lot longer than you meant it to–*cough* three years–and you realize when you come out of it that you could have had a much easier life and been much happier if you’d only moderated your yesses one by one instead of letting them all pile up in such an unbalanced way.

See where I’m going with this?

As my best friend sometimes has to remind us both, “We don’t have to act nice, we are nice.” And if you look closely at your own behavior, you can see the times when you’re just performing–wanting to appear nice–as opposed to genuinely wanting to do something out of love or friendship or simple human kindness. There is a difference. One of them drains you, the other fills you up. It’s very noticeable once you really start looking at it.

Sometimes you need to work the problem backwards. How will you feel afterward if you say no here versus yes? Forget how hard it might feel in the moment to tell someone no–think about how you want to feel afterward. If you really, really want to go home tonight and slip into something slouchy and treat yourself to an evening of quiet and Call the Midwife, then why are you saying yes to anything else? Don’t you get a vote, too? Don’t you ever get the yes?

Or, like I’m doing today, you work out a balance: ten nice things for other people, ten nice things for yourself. That seems like the best recipe for me lately to be able to handle all of my obligations cheerfully. I know at the end of a long stream of yesses today I’ll get to sit down and binge watch season 2 of The Mindy Project.

Now that’s my kind of balance.

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Set in Tehran, Iran, this quite original tale is a reminder that story themes are universal. At times it has the feel of Cinderella with a cultural twist. Other times, it is reminiscent of Charles Perrault’s tale of the kindly sister and the bad-tempered sister, whose deeds have different outcomes.

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Two posts about fear and worry in the past few weeks? Yeah, you bet. Because I’ve been skiing for the past few weeks, and that always reactivates all the fear cells in my body and makes me think about my safety in ways I don’t normally have to in my everyday life.

I like the ground. I like dirt. I love to run and hike and backpack–all at my own bodily speed.

But when you’re at the mercy of gravity and two slick planks speeding over slippery snow, that’s not normal. Even Olympic downhill racers will tell you so.

The problem is, I love it. Love leaving my southwest desert town where it’s already in the mid-80s (sorry, east-coasters) and going to the mountains where it’s still winter. Love being out in the snowy wilderness with husband and dogs, cross-country skiing for hours at a time while our year-old black Labrador, Moose, rolls in every snowbank he can find and the older Lab, Bear, trots along beside us hoping he won’t have to run too much because really, this is fun and all, but isn’t it time for a nap?

So to reconcile those two things, I’ve had to adopt the Worry About That Tomorrow schedule.

It’s something I read about years ago, and thought was ridiculous–until I tried it.

The idea is to schedule your worry. Decide, “Okay, at 3:00 PM every Thursday, I’m going to sit down for an hour and really cut loose. Remind myself of everything I’ve been afraid of all week–maybe even keep a list of worries for just that reason–and then sit down and go through each of them and really feel the fear. No shame, no holds barred. Steep in it. Go.”

Sure, some weeks by the time Thursday afternoon came around I was already over the anxiety I’d felt about something on Monday. But there were also times when I really looked forward to giving myself permission to flip out if I wanted to. It feels good to be your own best friend and say, “Okay, let’s hear it. Tell me everything.”

Once I got used to putting off fear until a specific day of the week, I learned to extend it for weeks at a time. And eventually to months. Here’s what I’m talking about:

It was the beginning of summer. Sweltering hot (see March temperature above and add 30 degrees to it). I was reading Outside Magazine and came across an article about outdoor summer adventures in Iceland.

Ice-land. YESSSSS.

Luckily, I have the kind of husband who, when I send him an e-mail asking, “Want to go to Iceland in a few weeks?” writes back succinctly, “Sure.”

So I started planning and reserving, and put together an awesome adventure trip. One that included staying on an Icelandic horse farm for a week, then kayaking in the North Atlantic, then backpacking on this very remote, rugged, isolated spot of land.

And to do all that, we’d have to (1) ride on big horses, (2) ride in small boats, and (3) ride in small planes. All of which have a history of activating my fear cells.

But I really wanted to do it. Really wanted the adventure, all those experiences, and especially really wanted to get the heck out of the hell temperatures we were experiencing.

So I just scheduled my fears. Picked a date on the calendar that was a few days after our trip was over, and made myself the solemn promise that I would completely freak out then about all of the dangers I had to face.

And I’m telling you, it worked.

Every time my heart started to beat a little faster during the trip, I’d remind myself, “Not now. Later.” And because I was so used to keeping my promise about fully feeling the fear at scheduled times, I knew that promise was real. So I immediately settled down.

We did crazy things for those two and a half weeks. Scary, dangerous things that I didn’t even know we’d be doing when I planned the trip. And I was completely serene about all of them.

And ever since then, because of that, I know I can flip the switch on and off. That was a really important experiment for me. And it’s a skill I’ve taught friends and family, and a lot of them have had similar successes.  It’s doable, people, I promise you. You can put your fears under your own control. I urge you to try the experiment for yourself.

I’ve also learned to apply it to my writing life. I always have dual reactions when a new book of mine comes out. On the one hand, I’m all, “Look! I made this for you! I hope you all read it and love it!” But there’s an equally strong part of me that says, “No! Don’t read that! It’s full of my feelings and opinions! It’s too personal! Look away!”

It reminds me of a friend of mine whose little 3-year-old boy stood with her in the checkout lane at a grocery store, and had his hands down the front of his pants. The customer behind him kept looking at him and smiling, and finally the little boy blurted out, “Stop looking at me!”

Sorry, little dude, but if you’re going to stand in public with your hands down your pants, people are going to look.

That’s right, launching a new book is like standing around with your hands down your pants. You heard it here first.

I definitely had that reaction to my new book THE GOOD LIE coming out last month. I’d been sitting on it for a while, but then when that Woody Allen-Dylan Farrow controversy broke in January of this year, I knew I had some of my own feelings and opinions about the topic that I wanted to share. So I released the book, but definitely felt both “Read it!” and “Don’t read it!” at the same time.

So as with all of my books, I’ve had to pick a date in the future–four months seems about right–when I’m allowed to worry about it. On June 5 I will sit down and have a whole long session about it. But until then, nope, sorry, it’s all just perfectly fine.

Which makes this seem like a good spot to include this button you can push to enter to win a free signed copy of the book later next month. Go ahead. I’m not afraid. How can I be? It’s not even close to June 5 yet.

But I’m telling you, on that day, whew. Look out.

Good luck with your own experiments. Feel free to report back.

 

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I’m a big fan of adventurer Roz Savage, who has rowed across both the Atlantic and the Pacific, by herself, for months at a time in a rowboat. I loved her first book, Rowing the Atlantic: Lessons Learned on the Open Ocean, and highly recommend it if you’re like me and enjoy sitting in a cozy chair, sipping something warm and delicious while reading about someone else doing scary, uncomfortable things. The scary, uncomfortable things I do myself never feel nearly as much fun at the time.

It was Roz’s solo row across the Atlantic that inspired me to write a similar kind of adventure–along with a pretty serious disaster–for Halli and her grandmother Ginny in PARALLELOGRAM, Book 3: Seize the Parallel. Obviously I recommend that book, too.

Roz was recently interviewed by Cloris Kylie, and that led me to this great post by Ms. Kylie about how to know when it’s time to make a change in your life. Having made huge changes in my own life throughout the years–from leaving my career as a trial lawyer to starting my own business to finally becoming a full-time writer just like I always dreamed of doing when I was a little girl–I agree with what she says in her post.

I’m passing it along because some of you might recognize your own situation in some of the items on her list. Just yesterday I had a long brainstorming session with a friend of mine who has decided to leave her current career and start out on something completely new. She, too, is a big adventurer–an outdoor guide, ski instructor, sailor, travel guide, climber, mountain biker, backpacker, former competitive gymnast–but even with all those brave accomplishments to her credit, she still feels a little intimidated by taking such a big leap. But as Cloris Kylie and Roz Savage and so many others understand, when it’s time it’s time, and you just have to do it. Otherwise you’re living someone else’s idea of your life instead of your own.

So brew yourself up something warm and delicious, settle in for a quick read, and enjoy!

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I’m afraid of a nice variety of things:  Sharks.  Going too fast on skis.  Vomiting in public. You know, the usual.

That’s why I enjoyed hearing from this astronaut, Chris Hadfield, about the difference between danger and fear, and some strategies for changing your brain’s habitual reaction to your habitual fears.  It might involve walking through a hundred spider webs, or in my case, pointing my skis downhill a little more often instead of defaulting to the snowplow. I don’t know what to say about the vomiting fear, since I don’t plan on doing it in public more often just to reassure myself it’s okay. Because I’m pretty sure it’s not.

Anyway, here’s a fascinating talk by Astronaut Hadfield that includes some beautiful images of space and earth and a very relaxing tune at the end.  And in between, some very solid ideas about becoming braver.  Enjoy!

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the intimacy it takes to write.

I’ve been re-reading the lectures of Robert Olen Butler and he talks about how honest writing doesn’t come from thinking or ideas, but from feeling and dreaming. This is a difficult concept for many of us because there is a lot to think about when we write. But it’s possible we protect ourselves through that thinking and never really dig deep into the white-hot center of our work.

Butler quotes Akira Kurosawa, who says, “To be an artist means never to avert your eyes.”

There’s two ways I interpret this quote in regards to my writing. The first is to be brave. To face the intimacy it takes to write. I think we write to explore the human condition, but often we don’t want to look at the hard truths that make our characters who they are. Or we don’t want to let our characters move honestly through their worlds. We protect them. In many ways we are protecting ourselves. We avert our eyes, because really looking means facing secrets about ourselves. These can be personal secrets or larger truths about humanity that challenge our beliefs. Writing forces us to look at issues we may not be ready to face.

It’s scary. It takes courage.

My second interpretation of Kurosawa’s quote is about experience. We interact with our world sensually through our bodies: the taste of papaya, the texture of soft gooey fruit, the tremble of a lip in the face of bad news. The writing I love to read (and strive to write) grounds us in our bodies and its interaction with the physical world. To never avert your eyes is to be in the body of your character from moment-to-moment. It means never glazing over the emotion, but being present to feel the world through your character’s skin. It’s easy to analyze when we write and pull back and summarize. The second we step back and look at the character from the outside, discussing emotion rather than allowing a character to sensually feel it, we’ve averted our eyes from the experience and are labeling it. Controlling it. I think we do this because to truly feel something with our character means we must make ourselves vulnerable.

Robert Olen Butler says: “If I say art doesn’t come from the mind, it comes from the place you dream, you may say, ‘Well, I wake up screaming in the night. I don’t want to go into my dreams, thank you very much. I don’t want to go to the white-hot center; I’ve spent my life staying out of there.”… Here’s the tough part: you have to go down into that deepest, darkest, most roiling, white-hot place … whatever scared the hell out of you down there – and there’s plenty – you have to go in there; down to the deepest part of it, and you can’t flinch, can’t walk away.”

I believe there’s a point in your writing when you will be ready to do this. It’s not something anyone can force on you. It’s your choice. But when you decide to open up and enter this dark place – it will scare you. You might reject it and want to stop writing.

Don’t.

Be fearless. Face the intimacy and bravery your work demands. Don’t avert your eyes. This is the place where your best work will come from.

Photo Credit: Beth Retro Photography, Digital Vision

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the intimacy it takes to write.

I’ve been re-reading the lectures of Robert Olen Butler and he talks about how honest writing doesn’t come from thinking or ideas, but from feeling and dreaming. This is a difficult concept for many of us because there is a lot to think about when we write. But it’s possible we protect ourselves through that thinking and never really dig deep into the white-hot center of our work.

Butler quotes Akira Kurosawa, who says, “To be an artist means never to avert your eyes.”

There’s two ways I interpret this quote in regards to my writing. The first is to be brave. To face the intimacy it takes to write. I think we write to explore the human condition, but often we don’t want to look at the hard truths that make our characters who they are. Or we don’t want to let our characters move honestly through their worlds. We protect them. In many ways we are protecting ourselves. We avert our eyes, because really looking means facing secrets about ourselves. These can be personal secrets or larger truths about humanity that challenge our beliefs. Writing forces us to look at issues we may not be ready to face.

It’s scary. It takes courage.

My second interpretation of Kurosawa’s quote is about experience. We interact with our world sensually through our bodies: the taste of papaya, the texture of soft gooey fruit, the tremble of a lip in the face of bad news. The writing I love to read (and strive to write) grounds us in our bodies and its interaction with the physical world. To never avert your eyes is to be in the body of your character from moment-to-moment. It means never glazing over the emotion, but being present to feel the world through your character’s skin. It’s easy to analyze when we write and pull back and summarize. The second we step back and look at the character from the outside, discussing emotion rather than allowing a character to sensually feel it, we’ve averted our eyes from the experience and are labeling it. Controlling it. I think we do this because to truly feel something with our character means we must make ourselves vulnerable.

Robert Olen Butler says: “If I say art doesn’t come from the mind, it comes from the place you dream, you may say, ‘Well, I wake up screaming in the night. I don’t want to go into my dreams, thank you very much. I don’t want to go to the white-hot center; I’ve spent my life staying out of there.”… Here’s the tough part: you have to go down into that deepest, darkest, most roiling, white-hot place … whatever scared the hell out of you down there – and there’s plenty – you have to go in there; down to the deepest part of it, and you can’t flinch, can’t walk away.”

I believe there’s a point in your writing when you will be ready to do this. It’s not something anyone can force on you. It’s your choice. But when you decide to open up and enter this dark place – it will scare you. You might reject it and want to stop writing.

Don’t.

Be fearless. Face the intimacy and bravery your work demands. Don’t avert your eyes. This is the place where your best work will come from.

Photo Credit: Beth Retro Photography, Digital Vision

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5 Stars
Otter Lee Brave
Rena Cherry Brown
Schiffer Publishing
No. Pages: 48  Ages: 5 to 10
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Lee, a young otter, loses his mother and finds himself in a rescue aquarium where he meets a bully, learns to trust human beings, survives a catastrophe, and, by recalling his mother’s lessons, makes a tough decision that ultimately changes his life.

Lee is a young pup, beginning to learn his way around the bay with his mother as his teacher. He wants to dive deep and bring back clams, impressing his mother, but little Lee think he is too small to dive so deep. His mother tells him,

You don’t have to be big to be brave.

While lying serenely on the water, a dark shadow appears above them. Lee’s mother yells for him to dive to the floor of the bay. Lee dives deep, all the way to the sandy floor. Swimming back to the water’s surface Lee looks for his mother, he cannot find her. She is trapped in a fishing net at the bottom of the bay. Days later, an otter rescue boat picks up Lee and takes him to their aquarium, where he can continue to grow. Without his mother, Lee is an orphan.

At the aquarium, a bully keeps Lee from eating, grabbing away anything within Lee’s reach. This bully, named Brody, taunts Lee in the water. When an earthquake hits the area, the aquarium bursts open, dumping all the otters in the bay. Lee is the only otter born at sea. The others do not know what to do.

Lee tells everyone to link together, but Brody laughs and dives deep into the water. Soon the rescue group has rescued all the otters—except Brody. He never linked up. Lee dives down to the floor looking for Brody and finds him caught under a fishing net. Lee has a tough choice to make. He can ignore Brody and be free of the bully forever, or he can rescue him and be at his mercy once again.

Otter Lee Brave is a good story for any child who has experienced bullying. Brody is the typical bully, be it an otter or a kid. He is mean to those smaller than he is which helps him with his low self-esteem. Lee is a cute, lovable character kids will adore. Some will even identify with him, others with Brody. Lee does his best to avoid the bully, but eventually must stand up to him. That is a terrifying moment and kids will understand Lee’s thoughts about leaving Brody where he was, trapped under water. The writing is wonderful. Kids will get a story and a primer on otters.

The illustrations are dramatic and help draw you into the story emotionally. The first page sets the scene. Lee is lying on the water and you can feel the waves rocking him gently. When Brody splashes in the bay, the water flies around him. Being in the bay, the illustrations rely on blues and greens, which the illustrator uses deftly to make the water come alive.

Otter Lee Brave is a good book for teachers. Students learn about otters, see them in the bay and at a rescue. Learn facts like a life span that averages ten to twelve years, even though they can live to be twenty-five-years-old. That fact is a great discussion question. I think kids will love Lee’s story.

Otter Lee Brave is a well-written, emotional story with stunning illustrations complimenting it on every page. I immensely enjoyed this picture book. The story combined with the illustrations make Otter Lee Brave a richly told story with drama, emotion, and heart. This is Ms. Brown’s second children’s book, both illustrated by Ms. Maidment. This is sure to be an award-winning book.

There are additional otter facts in the back of the book. Kids could easily use Otter Lee Brave as part of a project or paper on otters.

……………………………..

Otter Lee Brave

Author: Rena Cherry Brown   website
Illustrator: Mikaila Maidment   website
Publisher: Schiffer Publishing   website
Release Date: July 28, 2012
ISBN: 978-0-7643-4155-7
Number of Pages: 48
Ages: 5 to 10
Grades: K to 5
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Filed under: 5stars, Children's Books, Library Donated Books Tagged: bravery, bullied, bullies, children's books, courage, intimidate, picture books, sea otters, self esteem

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I am on somewhat of a vacation, taking my eldest daughter off to college for the first time. What does this have to do with children’s lit, you ask? Well, there are many children’s books that are often given as gifts on these occasions – many are the children who have received copies of Dr. Suess’, Oh, the Places You’ll Go (1990 Random House), upon graduating high school. Perhaps Neil Gaiman’s, Instructions, (2010 Harper Collins), is on your list of timely and apropos graduation gift books as well, or Peter H. Reynolds’, The North Star (2009 Candlewick).

Here’s a new one, however, that may have escaped your notice -

A Place to Call Home

While it is not a story of individual possibility or achievement (it features seven hamster siblings), it is a humorous and touching story of exploration which begins like this,

What is this? 

It is a small, dark hole.
It is also a home. A nice, warm, safe home. The trouble is, if you grow up in a small, dark, hole, even if you start out tiny, there comes a time when you’ve grown too big, and then you to go …

out into the world.

(cue the humor)

From this point, the comical watercolor illustrations feature the hand-lettered, word bubble conversations of the hamsters. Armed with a paper towel tube, two plastic gloves, a faucet, an old boot and a lampshade, the hapless hamsters start out into the wild world - crossing the sea (the dog’s spilled water bowl), the desert (a ripped basement sandbag), and other perils, including the aforementioned dog. The illustrations are so funny, but it is the final double-spread photograph that pulls the book together and gives it a sense of poignancy.

This is a book that one might enjoy for its hilarious artwork or its message of cooperation and bravery; but for me and for my daughter, leaving her small hole and heading out on her own, it’s a perfect fable for a new journey into that great big world.

Now, where are those tissues? (sniff, sniff)

Publishers Weekly review

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In honor of jbknowles blog entry declaring 2010 The Year of the Brave, I've been pondering what it means to be brave. And, to me, it's as simple as this:  Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. (which is the title of an inspiring book, but also a way of life). Or, as my mother liked to say, "You can't hide under the bed because then the bed could collapse on you." Yes, I was raised that way.

There are degrees of bravery, of course, I am not defusing landmines in the desert. Still, there is a certain amount of bravery involved in say pouring your very real emotions into a story that you wrote and then showing it to a loved one. A little more courage to show it to other writers who might criticize critique it. A lot more courage to send it out into the publishing world with the possibility of rejection.

And then there's the bravery involved in being an introvert in an extroverted world. Yes, gasp!, I am an introverted writer. I used to think we were all this way until I attended my first writer's conference and was shocked at the open friendliness of my peers. They were downright chatty. If you met me at a writer's conference, there's a good chance you'll catch me being brave. I'm there, aren't I? Despite my friendly outgoing blog, you may be surprised upon joining me at a lunch table that I will be THE QUIET ONE. You might leave the table and say to yourself,  What was up with that quiet girl? Or, if you're the insecure type, That quiet girl was judging me. Rest assured, I am not judging, merely soaking in your persona for use in a future work of fiction. Kidding! Not really.

In sum, be brave, very brave. And, please, do not hide under the bed. It's just not a smart thing to do. Try the coat closet instead.

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