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Andy Warhol’s allotment of fame came in two installments for me this fall. My latest book, Jeannette Rankin: Political Pioneer has gotten nice attention this year: several notable lists, two awards, and one finalist. Who knew when I began writing it several years ago that this would be the year of the political woman? Not I.

The Children’s Literature Council of Southern California’s award ceremony was preceded by a scrumptious brunch at the Bowers Museum of Art in Santa Ana. Masks and sculptures from Oceania lined the room; a wall of window looked out onto an Asian-themed garden. Then we processed to an auditorium where authors and illustrators of various genres gave five-minute award acceptance speeches, mine for an Inspiring Work of Nonfiction.

As a member of this congenial group of librarians and authors for the last decade or so, I’d harbored a secret wish to win their award – and now I had done it. I’ve been a public speaker for decades. I’m at ease speaking to kids in schools, college students in classrooms, the general public in all sorts of venues. But this was different. I surprised myself by getting choked up as I spoke to my peers who were honoring me and my work.

Five minutes and it was over.

Two weeks later, the Simon Wiesenthal Center/Museum of Tolerance gave me the first Once Upon A World Award for young adult literature. (Their picture book award is thirteen years old, won this year by Ellie Crowe for Surfer of the Century: The Life of Duke Kahanamoku.) This was an afternoon event, open to the public and filled with winning-book-related events. Children made campaign buttons in an art activity room. (Jeannette Rankin was our first Congresswoman.) A storyteller narrated some of Rankin’s life in another room filled with beanbag chairs.


At the ceremony itself I did a ten-minute monologue as Rankin, wearing period hats. Then came the award and photo-op (no choking-up this time,) followed by a reception [see recipe below] and signing, then a dinner party at the elegant home of the award’s sponsor. And my book now wears a gold seal.


5 minutes + 10 minutes = my 15 minutes

Between those two events, I traveled to Missoula (Rankin’s hometown) for the Montana Festival of the Book, a fun-filled two-day event featuring talks, panel discussions, readings, and signings by 140 authors, mostly Montanans who knew each other. Film screenings, art exhibits, and a poetry slam provided entertainment in the evenings. I spoke on two panels with biographers, novelists, and librarians – and paid a school visit to students who, unlike most kids, had already heard of Rankin, a Montana heroine. All that and gorgeous autumn weather -- golden glowing cottonwoods and larch trees -- made for a memorable weekend. (Hanging out with my son, who lives there, was an added bonus.)

I love talking about books. I love being surrounded by other writers and I was happy to be just one of 140 in Montana. But every once in a while I do like that dollop of icing on the cake – see below – when I and my books are the center of attention.

Recipe for Literary Icing
The folks at the Museum of Tolerance created a Jeannette Rankin edible book cover cake! Here’s how they told me you do it:
1) Scan the book cover.
2) Print it onto a sheet of edible rice paper (with edible food coloring.)
3) Lay carefully over a large sheet cake.
4) Eat!

I love to read nonfiction – history, biography, environmental essays, memoirs, kid’s books, adult books – and I love to write nonfiction. But last fall I hit a wall.

Before I started writing for children back in the early 90s I wrote nonfiction (art reviews and features and travel features mostly.) I wrote scripts (nonfiction) for interactive educational multimedia programs. Since then I’ve written nonfiction for early and middle grades and I've loved it all.

So what happened last fall? I had just returned from six weeks in Italy and France: singing in Italian cathedrals, basking on Lake Como, bicycling from Geneva to Nice, lolling on the Riviera. Now I love my hometown, Los Angeles, and I love my work. So when jet lag had faded I surveyed my hard drive. I saw several works in progress, and one I was especially eager to complete. But, for the first time in my life….. I didn’t want to write. I was afraid even to think the phrase wr***r’s bl*ck. Or maybe I just wanted to go back and sit by the Mediterranean, sipping cappuccino and eating croissants still warm from a French oven.

At first I didn’t worry: I had heaps of business to take care of. I traveled to Washington DC for the National Book Festival where my latest book, Jeannette Rankin: Political Pioneer, was featured at the Montana State booth. Back home again, nothing had changed. I dared to think the words wr***r’s bl**k and felt worse. My editor wanted another biography from me. I had an idea or two, but nothing stirred the heart. I read my works in progress. Yawn. I slogged through a revision or two. Then I panicked. Was I finished as a writer? Was I doomed to return to Italy and eke out my days drinking cappuccino by Lake Como? (Ha!)

Three months into spinning-through-denial-slogging-and-anxiety, I attended a guided meditation. I lightly floated “my work” into the cosmos and got a reply: “Focus.” I knew just what it meant: work on one genre, rather than skipping from picture book fiction to biographies to middle grade novels – as I have done for years. Furthermore I knew where to focus: biography. I did have those drafts, I did have an editor wanting more.

Now, epiphanies are common as dirt – just like story ideas. Less common are completed stories and epiphanies made manifest. But this one worked for me. With “focus” lighting the way, I finished one biography, began a second, found a third subject while researching the second, and stumbled across a fourth subject while on a field trip for the third.

So what was my problem? Why the writer’s block? Back to the meditation evening. Jotting down thoughts of my experience, I dared put into words what I didn’t like to admit: I have been a slave to status. Just as children’s writers are the proles of the literary world – “anyone can do it!” – with literary novelists as reigning monarchs, my feudal world of children’s literature was ruled by Baron and Baroness Novelists, surrounded by picture book author courtiers. Below stairs in the scullery, lived the – wince – nonfiction writers. None of this was rational, mind you. I know nonfiction to be just as gorgeous – and difficult – as fiction. But my neuroses dwell not in reason’s realm. Anyway, coughing up my dirty secret allowed me to see that it was – to misquote Mr. Scrooge -- just "a bit of undigested beef.” (And I’m a vegetarian!)

I’m happy to report that while I still long for croissants warm from a French oven, I am working again, neither scullery maid nor duchess, but a (mostly) contented scribbler – writing biographies, telling the best stories I can.

Besides, I’m off to Paris in April, thanks to a winning raffle ticket. More about that next month.

I've got a little work to do, so if you would kindly bookmark your place, I'll be back shortly.

Some fun bookmarks:

If'n Books + Marks (Love the one that says: "My life is much more complex than this character's.")

Mirage Bookmark ( Who knew there was an Exhibition of Bookmarks? I'm fond of this one and this one.)

And if you've ever wished to be Amy March, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Jane Austin, or Anne Shirley...or leave a calling card just like them...pay a visit to Small Meadow Press. They have just the perfect thing for you. (And you must give me one if we ever meet!)

I love Firefox. Have I mentioned that I love Firefox? I was browsing the add-ons this morning and found some good, good stuff. 1-Click Weather, for example: a handly little extension that puts current-weather icons in the status bar at...