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In January, in My John And Tom (Part 2), I shared a bit about what made Adams and Jefferson so different. In this third and final segment on Those Rebels, John and Tom, I wanted to share a bit about the themes that brought them together—and drive the narrative: commitment and compromise.

The whole time I’ve worked on the book, our current Congress has been…stalled. (OK, I must admit I debated which word to use here—there are so many to choose from! I read recently that the majority of Americans would prefer to have the current members of Congress replaced by names drawn randomly from the phone book.)

The state of today’s Congress is the perfect backdrop to appreciate all that the Continental Congress achieved.

Those Rebels, John and Tom is an example of when Congress worked. It’s a timely reminder of how our government can and should work: not perfectly, not always easily, but always with our elected officials working together to move the country forward.

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By: Barbara Kerley, on 2/8/2012
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags:  American Revolution, author visits, biographies, Barbara Kerley, Add a tag

I was all set to post the third installment of my FoundingFathersPalooza—an exploration into how I conceived, researched, and wrote Those Rebels, John and Tom, my book about Adams and Jefferson. And I’ll post the final installment next month.

But something wonderful happened a few days ago that fits in so nicely, I couldn’t resist talking about it. You see, in a couple of weeks, I get to meet John and Tom.

In person.

I’ll be participating in the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum’s “Presidents’ Day Family Festival” at the JFK Library in Boston, on February 21st.

And John and Tom are going to be there!

OK, technically, John Adams will be played by Thomas Macy and Thomas Jefferson will be played by Bill Barker – but take a look at the links. Don’t they look fabulous?! Both men are real history buffs and I know will do Adams and Jefferson proud.

We’ve been doing a bit of emailing, setting things up. Under the signature line for Thomas Macy’s emails are the quotes:

"Querulous, bald, blind, crippled, toothless Adams."
- Benjamin Franklin Bache
"I'm not crippled." - John Adams

And Bill Barker signs his emails:

Yr' hm'bl sr'vt,
Thos. Jefferson

I think this is going to be fun…

I am geeky excited. For someone who spent over a year working on the book, this is the next best thing to a time machine.

If you will be in Boston on Feb 21st, please join us, won’t you?

7 Comments on My John and Tom (Part Almost 3), last added: 2/9/2012

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Deborah Heiligman said, on 2/9/2012 4:32:00 AM

Wish I could come!

Jim Murphy said, on 2/9/2012 6:20:00 AM

Sounds like great fun. When my then six grader son (and I)went to Gettysburg on a class trip, their teacher arranged for them to meet an Ab Lincoln look alike who stayed in character the whole time and knew his Civil War history. It was freaky cool. Have a good time with John and Tom (though I suspect Tom might be more of the partier).

Susan Kuklin said, on 2/9/2012 6:44:00 AM

That sounds like so much fun! I'm going to tell my Boston relatives ASAP!

Sandy Brehl said, on 2/9/2012 6:46:00 AM

If you get a time machine, can I have a place machine? The Star-Trekkie kind that could zap me to the event? let me know if you have one and i'll be there.
I've had locals who are history/character buffs visit my class and they impact is incredible on the kids. Talk about history coming alive.
Enjoy!

Barbara Kerley said, on 2/9/2012 8:41:00 AM

Thanks, all! The whole day sounds very cool -- I'm looking forward to it.

Jim, not sure about your speculation -- I think John was fond of his wine AND had quite a sense of humor. If I had the chance to sit down with either for and evening of talk, he is the one I would choose.

Susan Kuklin said, on 2/9/2012 9:57:00 AM

I choose Tom. Remember when JFK told Nobel Prize winners at a White House banquet: "At no time in the history of mankind has so much intellect been gathered in this building—save when Thomas Jefferson dined alone?"

Yeah, Tom's the man!

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By: Barbara Kerley, on 12/8/2011
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags:  Barbara Kerley, inspiration, American Revolution, biographies, Add a tag

I thought I’d do something a little different for the next few months, and spend a bit more time talking about a single project: where I got the idea, how I developed it, and what I hoped the story would accomplish. A beginning-middle-end, if you will.

It wasn’t hard to choose the topic, as my latest book is a story I’ve been waiting most of my life to tell.

So today, I’m beginning the first of a three-part discussion of my latest book. But first, let me introduce my dear friends, John and Tom.

I was first drawn to the story of Adams and Jefferson because I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC. My father worked at the State Department, and so I think I was more aware of government than a kid living somewhere else might have been. I went in to DC and saw places like the Capitol and the National Mall pretty often.

I turned sixteen the summer of the country’s bicentennial, and I remember going downtown: it seemed like there were a gazillion tourists and even more of those sidewalk stands selling little American flags and patriotic t-shirts.

But even before then, I was tuned in to celebrating America’s independence, and that was because my mom and dad were big musical theater buffs. They had a whole cabinet full of Broadway recordings, and they listened to them almost every night. The musical “1776” was one of their favorites.

“1776” is the often funny and often quite moving story of the Continental Congress as they grappled with the enormous question of whether to remain a British colony or to declare independence—committing treason in the process.

The musical premiered on Broadway in 1969, and I think my parents must have bought the record shortly thereafter—when I was about ten years old. Many nights at bedtime *it* was the album I’d ask my dad to put on in the living room downstairs, so I could listen to it upstairs. I fell asleep listening to John urging Congress to “Vote YES” and to Tom wooing his wife on the violin.

I fell in love with the musical “1776.” It was my first glimpse that history could be just as exciting and engaging as any novel or movie.

So, in a sense, I grew up with John and Tom, and it’s not surprising that one day I would tell *my* version of their lives: Those Rebels, John and Tom.

Next month, I share a bit about researching and writing the book.

2 Comments on My John and Tom (Part 1), last added: 12/8/2011

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Myra Zarnowski said, on 12/8/2011 9:39:00 AM

Thank you so much for sharing the details about how you began writing your latest book. This is such useful information for us teachers. We desperately want real stories about how authors work. I am anxious for your next post.

Barbara Kerley said, on 12/8/2011 9:46:00 AM

Thanks, Myra! I'm never sure what to post and how useful it might be. But I know when I go hear authors talk, I'm always interested to hear their personal connection to the book they've written :)

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By: Barbara Kerley, on 11/10/2011
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags:  music, guest bloggers, Barbara Kerley, Add a tag

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By: Barbara Kerley, on 9/15/2011
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags:  Barbara Kerley, writing, Add a tag

Today’s post will be short and sweet—as I write this, I’m gearing up to take a research trip (more on that in a future post), and I have a lot to get done.

But actually, “short and sweet” is the perfect theme for the post, itself. And that’s because I got a very needed reminder, this summer, of the downside of going on.

I’ve been working for months on a new picture book biography (hence, the research trip). A few weeks back, I finally had enough of a draft written to bring to my critique group.

My critique group is small—Nancy Coffelt, Elizabeth Rusch, Ruth Tenzer Feldman, and me—but we are mighty. Not everyone can attend every time, but even if there are only two of us sitting at the table, we seem to hone in on what needs to be said, and I leave very grateful for my little group.

At one such meeting last summer, I brought my new draft. Not even a whole draft, actually. Just the opening of the book. Boy, did it need work. It seemed to go on and on for two pages before the story started. And in a picture book, that is a huge problem.

I needed to establish just who my historical figure was before the action really started, so readers would care about the outcome, but it seemed to be taking forever. And even beyond the problems with the opening, it seemed like I was doing an awful lot of talking for one little book.

And then I got the help I needed: two gentle reminders from my critique group.

Nancy looked at the bogged-down text and asked, “Can’t some of this be shown in the art?”

Liz looked at a dense cluster of paragraphs and said, “You know, all this information could be shown in a silent spread.”

Oh yeah. I’d forgotten: a picture book is a marriage of text and illustrations, and my words only carry half the story.

In an early draft, all those words may need to be there, to help me get the story down on the page so I can see what I have. But I’m grateful to have a smart critique group to remind me that revising can fix almost any problem--and that, for picture books at least, short is sweet.

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By: Barbara Kerley, on 7/13/2011
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
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By: Barbara Kerley, on 6/16/2011
Blog: I.N.K.: Interesting Non fiction for Kids (Login to Add to MyJacketFlap)
JacketFlap tags:  writing, research, Barbara Kerley, Add a tag

We’re getting ready to move again—no, not from Portland (we just got here, practically!), just from our itty-bitty downtown condo to a sweet, little (but a little big bigger) house across the river, in a neighborhood of antique stores, coffee shops, and a very lively branch of the Multnomah County Library. (Every time I go by, the place is hopping.)

We’re doing all those little repairs that one never seems to get around to for oneself (as in sheesh, why didn’t we fix that while we were living here to enjoy it???); we’re collecting boxes; the movers are scheduled.

Even though we culled through our belongings 1½ years ago, when we first moved from California to Oregon, and got rid of tons, I am still looking around now to see what we are holding onto that we really don’t want/need anymore.

Some stuff is easy to get rid of. A book I read and don’t plan to read again? Sure, no problem. Off it goes to the Friends of the Library booksale. Other stuff is harder to let go of, however: a gorgeous sweater that I have only worn a few times because it is too fussy to clean easily? Hmmm. I think it will be making the move with me.

Trying to decide what to get rid of and what to hang onto has even leaked into my writing life—literally. I have multiple files of partially-explored book ideas. And I’ve been going through them all, asking myself: keep or let go?

It’s been interesting to look back over these ideas, some that were generated over fifteen years ago, at the start of my career. I can recall the enthusiasm with which I dove right in, reading and collecting information. But for each of these projects, at some point, I hit a roadblock. And I set the idea aside, to think. And then didn’t pick it back up. These are the ideas that have accumulated in my drawer full of files.

The roadblock, in most cases, is whether the idea works as a picture book—the genre I’ve been exploring for most of my writing career.

For some ideas in my files, I’ve come to understand, there’s not enough there there to warrant a 32-page book. These ideas could successfully be turned into nonfiction articles, however, which often run as tight as 400 words and are enhanced by perhaps two or three illustrations.

Conversely, for other ideas in my files, I now see that there is too much there to cram into a picture book. These topics are too complex, too nuanced, too layered to be told in a 32-page illustrated book. And, most likely, they are not ideas that would interest the six-year-old who would pick the book up. These ideas would be better served in a middle-grade or young-adult nonfiction format, with multiple chapters to explore the idea in depth.

And finally, even for the ideas with just the right amount of there, there is still the issue of illustration potential. The lovely beginning-middle-end structure that works so well for the picture book format still needs a story that can be enhanced by a variety of compelling visual images—and for some of my fledgling ideas, that variety it lacking. They may be stories that could be told, but not necessarily stories that can truly be illustrated.

A drawer full of stalled ideas might seem like a failure of sorts, but I see it as an accomplishment. By exploring these ideas and trying to write them as picture books, I’ve learned a lot about what works for that genre, and what doesn’t. Learning how a dozen (or more!) ideas don’t work has helped me shape the ones that do.

So what am I keeping? The ideas that, after all these years, still speak to me. I do write articles on occasion, so the modest ones may still find a home; and I might one day decide to tackle a longer work.

And what am I letting go? The ideas for which I no longer have any passion. They deserve—and will be better served—by authors who do. And letting them go allows me to move, focused and energized, into

I got the nicest email the other day from a group of kids in Illinois who’d been reading my books in school. They sent questions. (And pictures! That was a treat for me to see all those smiling faces!) These kids are serious about wanting to write; they’re analyzing books they like and writing authors for advice.

One of the questions they asked was what writing exercises I’d recommend for young writers like them, and what kind of exercises I enjoyed doing.

I wrote back:

“I think one of the best things you can do as a writer is to REread other people’s books. When you read a book you like, read it again and look at how the author accomplished whatever it is s/he did so well. Satisfying ending? Well, how did s/he set that up? Exciting story? Well, what details or plot twists did s/he include? Characters you really care about? Well, how did s/he do that, specifically?”

I learned this tip years ago when I heard the wonderful author Nancy Farmer speak at a conference. She said when she was teaching herself how to write, she would read the same book three times. The first time she read it, she was so caught up in the story that she really couldn’t see how the author made it work so well. But by the third reading, she was able to step back, analyze what was going on, and learn from it.

I’ve been thinking about this advice every time I sink into the book I’m currently reading (or perhaps I should say, REreading). It’s a nonfiction book for adults called Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin.

The book is a fascinating look at the 2008 presidential race, and there is a lot a writer of narrative nonfiction can learn by rereading passages. (Be forewarned, however, if this kind of thing bothers you, or if you recommend books to teens: in spite of the measured, polite, authoritative stance the candidates strive to maintain during public events, in private, key players from both parties swear enough to make a sailor blush.)

Narrative nonfiction is all about telling a story, developing characters, and, for longer works especially, creating scenes, much as a novelist might—with the added caveat that everything laid down on the page must be true.

All narrative nonfiction books are a balancing act: you have to work in enough exposition for the story to make sense, but you have to keep the story moving forward. Game Change is a great big sweeping tale with enough characters to populate a 19th century Russian novel. So one of the challenges Heilemann and Halperin face is how to quickly introduce (yet another) character in a way that is engaging and memorable, so that they can get back to telling the story.

Here, for example, is our introduction to Republican candidate Mitt Romney:

“Romney was the guy on whom much of the smart Beltway money had been betting from the start. His résumé was impressive: former CEO of Bain and Company and founder of Bain Capital; savior of the blighted 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics; one-term governor of Massachusetts. His pedigree was glittering: his father, George, had been a governor of Michigan and a presidential candidate, too. His personal life was impeccable: he had married his high school sweetheart, Ann, with whom he had had five strapping sons. He was well spoken and terrific looking, with blindingly white choppers, a chiseled jaw, and a helmet of glassy dark hair.”

There is much to admire in this paragraph. Note the tremendous amount of information we learn about Romney in just a few short sentences: his viability in comparison to the other candidates; his relevant work experience, background, and personal life; and, as is all too important in an election, his physical presence.

And yet, in spite of the sheer weight of all that information, we are engaged

by Barbara Kerley   illustrated by Edwin Fotheringham   In an everything-old-is-new-again twist we get a biographical picture book portrait of Samuel Langhorne Clemens from a fresh pair of eyes... his daughter's.   "According to Susy, people were... well, just plain wrong about her papa."  And so begins both the story of and about Mark Twain's oldest daughter's attempt to capture the man she

I’m done. I’m done. Or in moments of giddiness, to paraphrase Pooh, dum-diddly-um-dum done. Only this time, I mean it.

You’d think you could only be “done” once, right? But I have found over the years that you get done with a book—the same book—many times before it’s really done—and it’s important to acknowledge (and, whenever possible, celebrate and take strength from) each one of those “dones”:

There’s huge-relief done when you finish the first draft. You’ve managed to choose a viable topic, get your editor and agent on board, wade through the research, cull the nugget of a story, and then build and build until there really is a story—a real story with a beginning, middle and end. The story has a beating heart. It still needs work, and lots of it, but it is its own self: cohesive, coherent, ready and able to withstand all the intervention to come.

Huge-relief done is major. It deserves a three-day weekend, dinner out, multiple emails with multiple exclamation points. It merits a movie with popcorn and no skimping on the butter—because think about what you’ve accomplished. You’ve taken a sentence, sometimes even just a phrase or word, and turned it into the equivalent of a living, breathing organism. You did it. You’re done.

Only, of course, you’re not done. Not done at all. (And this is a lesson most writers I know have had to learn from painful experience: no matter how shiny your first draft is, you are nowhere near being done with the book.)

Still, it’s important to mark the occasion with a suitable level of relief (huge) and excitement (immense), because until that first draft is done, you are never completely sure that your idea will work. So yay, it does. And that is great.

The next stage is nod-in-satisfaction done (which quickly morphs—but more on that in a minute) when you take the first draft through your critique group, sometimes more than once, filtering through their comments to pull out the useful ones—the ones the meld with your own vision for the book—and apply them to the manuscript.

Again, more reason to celebrate: you’ve taken your little draft through the first round of criticism and addressed your critics’ concerns to your satisfaction. A satisfied nod is certainly in order, after all that. (And maybe, another three-day weekend.)

But nod-in-satisfaction done quickly morphs into holding-your-breath done, because now it’s time to send it to your editor. And no matter how well you’ve pleased yourself and your critique group, from a practical/business/real-world standpoint, your editor is truly the one you must please. You hold your breath because you hope that s/he will like it, and also because you know that even if your editor does like it, you are not done. Not even close. And so you hold your breath, waiting to hear just how much is still left to do.

I always like this stage of a book because at least for this part I’ve got company for the hard slog. I have emailed my editor and said, ‘I’m stuck. Help me.’ And she does. Then there are the other times that she says, ‘Yes, this is a problem but I know you’ll figure it out.’ But she says it with such kindness and conviction that I can half-convince myself she is right.

So you work and work and work, and pretty soon you are sorta-almost-if-you-are-a-flexible-thinker done. Because once you and your editor have created a draft that is strong enough to send to the illustrator, to send to the copy editor, to present to the book designer who will lay the text down on the pages of the book, you really are sort of done except when you need to tinker and tweak to make it all come together.

Which leads to you being fingers-crossed done, which is when your editor sends the text plus illustrations to the fact checker, to make sure everything is accurate. And the fact checker always finds so