Oh, readers. Happy New Year. You are such a devoted crowd. I raise my cup of coffee to you. Thank you for your unending support and readership. (except for you damn hackers who post in languages I don't even have a keyboard for, attached to links that I'm not old enough to see...may lightning strike your evil computers) 2012 was a tough year for me professionally. Who am I kidding? I was a VOLUNTEER in 2012. Okay, I made a little money, but just enough to cover my expenses like printer cartridges (and I buy them recycled). In many ways, 2012 was the year I received the most encouragement, the most leads, the most initial interest in my work, so it translated into the biggest gap between expectation and reality. Which was painful. But I'm not here to whine. Oh, no, I am not. I am here to share the love. At this very moment, I am in my little office in my backyard. It was once part of an old carriage house, later an art studio (yes, I hope some of those muses stayed behind), then a storage shed, then a room with a beer refrigerator, then an Odyssey of the Mind practice space, then finally, my office. I LOVE my office. It has Tiffany blue walls, a hideous (but bargain purchase) shiny black electric fireplace, lots of bookcases and inspirational quotes on the walls. It houses fabulous illustrator art and lots of manuscripts. Some on the brink of chiminea time and some of the brink of brilliance. But that is beside the point. I am in my office. It is about 41 degrees outside and about 43 inside (thank goodness for the electric fireplace- ha ha). It will be about 70 by the time I'm ready to get the kids from school, so I'm still working on my timing of all this...anyway, my fingers are cold and chapped and kind of purple. I am wearing a down coat and a wool hat. My nose is icy. My coffee grows cold immediately. If I want to use my printer or copy machine, I have to turn everything else off in the office (lights, fireplace, etc.) or I will blow the fuse. I can't bring any food in here at all, or mice will find me (and not the kind from Enchanted who clean up when I sing--these mice just stand there, twitching their nose, being cute, which totally saves their lives). At any rate, my point is this. I come in here every day. And it's not for the fancy digs. Or the big money. Or the great accolades from Publisher's Weekly. Not for the letters from my fans. Not for the steady work. Because if you've been paying attention, I don't have any of those things. I come here because I love my work. I feel called to write, to create to pull words together in a magical way. I love it. When I have a good writing day, ALL is right in the world (see how I resisted using a pun there? Oh, how I wanted to....). When I don't write, things are a little off until I do. So that is reason enough for me to press on. Will I ever sell another manuscript? another short story for a magazine? Will I ever win a contest? Or hold ARCs of my book in my hands? I honestly don't know. I want to. I hope so. But I have to admit, that even if I never get any of those things, writing will have given me plenty. My characters have given me insight and vision and direction that I would never have known without them. My stories have purged my tears and shown me the light. I've been places I never would have gone, imagined scenarios that get me trembling with fear, and renewed my hope in mankind. Because art is truly working hand in hand with God. The glimpses and breakthroughs and working from the perspective of a child is simply a celebration of all creation. All that is LIVING is celebrated in a book. So instead of calling myself a writer, perhaps I should call myself a LIVER. (a chicken liver when I don't submit) Because I only truly experience things when I round them up with my pen. Or I should call myself a CELEBRATOR. Because I am seized with joy and satisfaction all over again when I write of the triumph of a character who was once downtrodden and without hope. Or maybe I will call myself a FAN because as I write, I find beauty and preciousness and golden places in everything. Everything. And I know that I could only do that with God's divine hand because the human inclination is darker, tinged with fear, and I am never afraid when I am in my Tiffany blue box, shivering with cold and excitement, typing away on my keyboard with some letters nearly smudged off. (s,e,a--I will remember that when I am on wheel of fortune) I didn't tell you this before, but in my absence from you in the month of December, I was debating, praying, wondering, pondering...is it time for me to abandon this 'hobby'? I am now without an agent, without representation in this big cold world of publishing. I am back to square one. Starting over in many ways. My manuscripts losing in a fiction contest where I placed in years past. Requested manuscripts rejected. Celebrity author bumping my manuscripts right out of the acquisition and marketing meeting. Is it time for me to return to the classroom or take on a new career altogether? Can my work here possibly be of any importance to the world, and if it isn't, am I selfish to keep doing it? I prayed for a sign, a signal, anything that would encourage me in one direction or the other. Then, I barely paid attention. Because I didn't want to know if the answer was for me to move on. I wasn't ready. And then I was. For about two weeks, I was completely comfortable with the idea of quitting. I hadn't even told my writing partner, but I was 90% sure this was it for me. In the midst, I even agreed to go to a conference with her to promote her book, to support her success (because truly, it is almost like my own in my degree to excitement and pride). But then yesterday came. And my writing partner wanted my goals for the new year. She wanted my assessment of last year's goals. And it was easier to sit down and go through it than to break the news. So I did. And I wrote. And I assessed. And I looked at all the progress I made last year (yes, I actually had a great year despite the fact that no one really noticed). And I fell in love with my office all over again. I found a tear in my eye for my favorite protagonist whose story I have been agonizing over for years. And I realized that I hold a lot of power in my pen. The world needs lovely, hopeful, encouraging, exciting, game-changing stories. For children. And I love to write them. Who's to say it can't be me that brings these stories? Who's to say I can't be the one who makes it? What makes me think I'm less selfish for squandering my talent and desire if I quit? Perhaps, I've been given a mountain of resistance, so I can climb it and see the view from the top. So here I go. Hoping and dreaming again. Looking at a new year of working my bahonkas off, but knowing I am called to do it. For whatever reason. THAT remains to be seen. For now, I am grateful for my Tiffany blue office, my own personal field of dreams, and the way each day of writing shaves the hard edges off my own character. It's humbling. It yields compassion. It teaches me the value of working. It makes me appreciate the ultimate creator when I settle in to create another day. I am grateful for the children I love, the whole joy of childhood that inspires great literature. And I pray to be worthy. To bring something to the table. And the words of dear Emily Dickinson come to me. "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul--and sings the tunes without the words--and never stops at all." Hope--don't fail me now.

In Malcolm Gladwell's fascinating book, THE OUTLIERS, he talks about the idea of 10,000 hours. There are no overnight successes in the masters of any field. Gladwell asserts that all of the 'greats', spent at least 10,000 hours mastering their craft. 10,000 hours. In this day of texting, faxing, emailing and same-day delivery in Manhattan, the concept of 10,000 hours is impossible to fathom. Really? 10,000 hours? There must be a shortcut. If I want to master something, I must invest 10,000 hours? Well, actually, the 10,000 hours seems to be the amount of time invested before these folks were 'discovered' or 'published' or played on the radio. 10,000 hours is only the beginning. So WHY would anyone invest 10,000 hours in anything? Truly! That's a LOT of time! As my brother once told me about the years I've spent working on my writing, "You could have been a surgeon by now." But here's the thing, the 10,000 hours are kind of like Freshman English at a big university, it weeds out the ones who aren't meant to be there. We all have a calling, a place in the world, so to speak. A HUGE part of life is finding that place, but then we must work to be the best we can be in this place. Because--and this is critical--we are NEEDED in that place. I always tell teen-agers when I work with them on their writing, if YOU don't tell your story, WHO WILL? No one can tell your story except you, and the world needs great stories, well told. The art of storytelling is valuable, necessary, and helpful to our culture. Believe it or not, I was enormously inspired by JUSTIN BIEBER in his radio interview with Oprah. He said, "God blessed me with this talent. It would be selfish for me to waste it or use my platform for anything but good." YESSSS. God doesn't bless us with immediate success or random lightning bolts of luck. We are all part of a master plan, and we must do our part. We're not just placeholders, though. It's not like those people who hold the places in the parade line-up for Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Once we find our place, we must then pursue it with all our hearts. Live our calling. Otherwise, our life will just feel like a lot of work (and on the outside, it will just look like a lot of work). Don't we all want to rise above that? When I think about it like that, 10,000 hours doesn't seem like so much. I mean, at the end of the day, 10,000 hours will pass, won't they? I might as well be good, even excellent, at something. And you might as well be, too, right? So let us go forth into our Tuesday, today, ready to make a big dent in those 10,000 hours. Or maybe you're putting gravy on TOP of those 10,000 hours, or maybe you're investing your hours with uncertainty, a few hours into this category, a few hours into that category...I can identify! Just MOVE FORWARD and watch for signs and signals and the rush that proves you're IN THE GROOVE. Athletes call it their 'sweet spot', and you know when you are there. Whether you are a writer, a painter, a teacher, a doctor, a grocery store teller, a laborer, find your sweet spot. Imagine if we were all in our sweet spots, in our callings, pursuing and achieving our 10,000 hours...wouldn't the world be a dramatically different place? Let it be said that it began with us--the artists, the dreamers, the advocates for children and lovely stories...every day, more sweet young faces turn to us for leadership. Let us lead with joy.

Let's face it. We all get discouraged. Especially writers. Sometimes I think writers might be the most discouraged of us all, but then I think, THAT'S RIDICULOUS, we just hear about writer discouragement more because, well, they are WRITING about it. I read a quote this morning that inspired me in the warped way you become inspired by the fact that others suffer, too. "In spite of everything I shall rise again; I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing." Vincent Van Gogh One of the things that struck me about this quote is how harmful discouragement can be. As Mr. Van Gogh mentions, in his discouragement, he "PUT DOWN HIS PENCIL!" Yikes! When we put down the pencil, we always lose. Always. Imagine how many great artists (whether writers, painters, or other types of artists) DID put down their pencil. What a different world it would be if artists learned to address discouragement. I received a bummer of a rejection letter this week. The funny thing is, it wasn't for anything big, not a book or even a full magazine spread, but just some ideas for a new segment in a magazine. I had spoken with the editor personally and face-to-face. I had taken pages of notes. I spent weeks on the work (even though added up, the five subs were probably less than 250 words). It was fun. The results were fantastic, IMHO. I really felt great about it. But BAM. She didn't want ANY of them, and barely a note explaining why. OUCH. It wasn't like I'd put all my hope and dreams into this project, I'm working on much bigger things, but the fact that I'd read it SO WRONG really bothered me. And made me wonder, for the millionth time, SHOULD I PUT DOWN MY PENCIL? But I'm ten years in, and I'm ALL IN. I did not put down my pencil, but I might as well have. It got under my skin until I realized what I was doing to myself. What is discouragement, anyway? It is simply perspective. I CHOSE to react to that situation with discouragement (which is truly the AP version of disappointment, for you newbies out there). I should have merely been disappointed, then moved on to the next thing. I have a lot of projects going that NEED my attention, my focus, my energy, my creativity, my spirit. DISCOURAGEMENT doesn't need any of those things, but that day, I gave that damn DISCOURAGEMENT my focus, my energy, my creativity, and my spirit. How dare I? I am made of sterner stuff. Wallowing in self-pity is not an acceptable pastime. See, when I channel my energy, my focus, my creativity, and my attention toward a painting or a poem or a manuscript, it gets BETTER. The project comes closer to birth, grows nearer to claiming its rightful spot in the world, it approaches THAT WHICH IT WAS INTENDED TO BE. These projects NEED me. I am the worker bee with the great honor of transmitting the divine message through art. No one else can do what I must do, so I must do it. If I don't product this piece, it will never come to life. Ever. But discouragement? Sadly, it will live on no matter what I do. Did I make it stronger for a day? Oh, yes, I did, and shame on me. Next time, I will say, "Thank you, wrong tree, for the feedback. Now excuse me while I bark elsewhere." And bark I will. With a renewed energy and spirit because THIS MANUSCRIPT is still bathed in a huge bubble of hope. I dare not pop that bubble with my own self-doubt and misplaced insecurities about a piece of writing that had nothing to do with it. What if I were a plumber, and I thought I fixed a toilet, but the customer called to tell me that it was, in fact, still broken. I was already on the way to fix a washing machine, but screw it! I give up! I couldn't even fix a stinking toilet. The washing machine is bigger, I will probably ruin it, too. I will just go home and eat a bag of cheese puffs. A professional doesn't quit or give up or stop because of setbacks. In some weird way, people like plumbers and doctors DEPEND on setbacks. They are needed because of setbacks. If writing flowed out flawlessly, the world wouldn't need me or any other writer. The beauty and the satisfaction is in the process, the trial and error, the learning from that trial and error, and realizing that sometimes you might need a brand new toilet. So while I loved the rejected work, I will not toss it. As a matter of fact, one of them gave me an interesting picture book idea...so who knows? Perhaps, that rejection will allow the idea to live an even bigger life than I thought. Or maybe it just taught me about DISCOURAGEMENT. I love that scene in PRETTY WOMAN, when Julia Roberts, as the prostitute, says, "I say who, I say when, I say who..." We all need to know that we are in some kind of control. And we ARE always in control of how we react to something like discouragement. For example, I was in a little car accident this week. I car hit me, I hit the car in front of me. The guy who hit me, took off. I stopped to check on the car of the person in front of me. She screamed obscenities at me, broadening my vocabulary in a way I hadn't previously thought possible. (Talk about functional shifts? Profanity must have more functional shifts than any other area of the English language--English majors, weigh in). She didn't even notice that the other guy had hit me. She didn't care. She was just mad at me. Obviously I hit her because he hit me, but I just nodded along as she had her crazy rant. I could have let her have it, but she seemed a bit unstable, possibly on drugs and driving a stolen vehicle from a bank robbery (which is the only thing that could explain the extreme reaction of being bumped while sitting at a stop light with not a scratch on your car). I CHOSE to be agreeable, and thus, possibly, saved my life. (or at least an hour of my life) It's not so different from a reaction to a set-back in life. I can be thankful for the lesson and move on, or waste time resisting it and be miserable. So like Julia Roberts, "I choose who, I choose when, I choose who..." Like her prostitute character, I may not have much control over some situations, but I can control how I respond. DISCOURAGEMENT---you're going down.

So...it has become kind of a joke how LONG I spend on each picture book manuscript. I am fully three years into the one I am *trying* to finish this week (for the umteenth time). It's such a hard process to explain because many times my critique partner has said she likes it, it's ready, etc., but it just didn't feel exactly right. It is amazing that one can spend three years thinking about 400 words. But I can and I am and I did and I have MANY TIMES. Of course, it isn't the only manuscript I've been working on. These past three years have seen probably a hundred manuscripts, but certain ones rise to the top and demand more attention--like this one. Now that I am toward the end of the process (am I?), I have taken to agonizing over one line. ONE LINE. It is a repetitive line, but it is one line all the same. All week long, I have chanted this line, I have walked to this line, I have sung it, played it on the piano, and even twirled to it. I LOVE this character, and she deserves for it to be right. Here's the thing: I know I am annoying the hell out of everyone in my world. From my writing partner to my kids to my husband who have heard so many versions of this story, they feel like the MC is a part of the family. An annoying part of the family. A part of the family who Mom obsesses over! And I get that, I do. But it doesn't annoy me. I enjoy it. I love the process. I love to make language sing. It is delightful and fun and inspiring and creative, and every day I truly love my character more than I did the day before. But TODAY is the day I get that line. TODAY is the day I write twenty more options and commit, COMMIT, to one. Maybe I should do what Jerry Spinelli suggests, take my character out for a hamburger and interview her. Ask her what SHE wants it to say. Then listen for the answer. I've done that. Or maybe I should change the rest of the story to suit the first line that is rhythmically and lyrically perfect but not as pertinent to the story as I would like. Or maybe I should follow another writing expert's advice, and lop off the first line. Just take it away. Or perhaps that stubborn little girl, that darling little hellion of a protag, will stamp her feet one more time, and the line will fall from the heavens. Or maybe I should paint her. Painting always gets my brain focused on the character, gets me drawn in to the story in a creative, all-encompassing manner. Perhaps, I will do all these things, come up with nothing, and then take a shower. It will come to me in the shower, yes, in all its perfection. My brain will know that the line is SO PERFECT, I could never possibly forget it (since I don't have a pen in the shower). I will celebrate with a deep conditioner, and by the time the 3 minutes are up, the line will be gone. NO, NO. It won't happen that way. I will take a pen in the shower. Or set it on the edge of the tub anyway. Or jump out immediately. I mean, I have slept the last three nights with a pen and notebook beside me in bed. Did I mention how much my husband loves this process? If only, the perfect line will come..... But here's the cool part. The perfect line WILL come because it always does. Because this cool, creative process always works. That's why I love this work, this job, this creative life of mine. P.S. I'll keep you POSTED (pun intended) on the progress of my line.

Ahhhh...a finished manuscript, especially a novel, is a weighty accomplishment. I mean, you sat in a chair for months, maybe years, maybe even decades, and finished a first draft. Then, you edited for more months, years, and maybe even decades until you had a polished manuscript. FINAL draft is a phrase I hate to use because for me, nothing is FINAL. As long as I am still alive, I can find something to change or update or strengthen. The key for me is making myself STOP at the right time. But I digress. When I finished my first novel and then my second, I wanted so badly to DO something with those finished manuscripts. They were brilliant, insightful, and, well, FINISHED. Didn't that count for something? We all know that less than 1% of people who begin a novel will finish it, and dammit, I finished a half dozen at least. Early on, I rushed to DO something with these manuscripts. Surely, this or that agent or this or that editor was waiting for exactly what I had in my fat stack of pages (yes, this was before digital submissions). Sometimes, I would carry the manuscript around in my bag with me for days, not showing anyone, of course, but just to feel the heft of my accomplishment. It was a physical reminder that I had COMPLETED IT. IT. The great American middle grade novel. (or YA, depending...) I have a similar excitement about picture books, but somehow the small word count gives a bit less satisfaction with the whole printing out and carrying around thing. ANYWAY, my early novels were largely ignored short of very nice personal rejections, which, at the time, I didn't even know were significant. My first novel generated only one form rejection, and I, of course, just assumed that person 'didn't get it'. Now, I know that manuscript was a great FIRST novel, but not a publishable first novel. At least not by my standards now. I am now very grateful that early novel didn't appear on the shelves anywhere. I wasn't ready. My work wasn't ready. And once it's out there, IT'S OUT THERE. So yes, I occasionally think about all the finished novels that lie unpublished in my office. I see a kernel of an idea, a value, a great character, SOMETHING in all of them, but they are just not good enough. Often people will ask me, did you ever DO anything with that story about the builderer or the hurricane or the illegal immigrant teen-ager or the Latin freak middle schooler? I want to say, um, yes, I DID SOMETHING with it. I freaking wrote it and revised it and learned a great deal from the experience. It was a lesson. Maybe someday I will rework some of them for publication, but for the most part, these stories remain a part of my writing past. They each represent a different part of my learning curve. But even I have to admit that as I wrote each one, I NEVER imagined it lying unread. NEVER. Or I wouldn't have, couldn't have finished. So often I talk to seasoned writers and ask them, "Which book was it? What #?" They always know what I mean. Jerry Spinelli swears by #7. "7 is the one," he said. Linda Sue Park says you must write a million words before you can write an excellent novel, so depending on the number of rewrites, a million words could be ten novels or less. For my friend, Jody, whose amazing first novel, THIN SPACE, debuts September 2013, it was #6 (because she's advanced). I don't really know where I am because I've written a number of chapter books that aren't novel length, but three of them probably make one novel, so that puts me at 8-10. Not to mention the hundreds of picture book manuscripts. So the point of this blog is this: You HAVE to write everything as if you are preparing it for publication. We, as writers, must insist on excellence in all our endeavors or what is the point? Why would we practice mediocrity? Because truly, all these unpublished works are practice. Everything I'ver ever written will play a role in whatever novel I publish first. It TOOK EVERYTHING I WROTE UP TO THAT MOMENT to create that piece. Just as, I believe, God prepares you for your places in life with all the events that lead up to them. God prepares writers for THE BIG ONE with all the lessons we learn in those we 'do nothing with'. Except the 'nothing' we did with them were absolutely crucial in two ways: 1. We didn't insist on putting out a mediocre novel just for the sake of seeing our names in print. (Sorry, but that's the crux of self-publishing for most people) 2. We waited patiently (for the most part) to do the work, learn the lessons, get the experience, acquire knowledge, and improve our craft. 3. We worked very, very hard in every aspect of the business. 4. We took a LOT of hits, hard hits, hits that many people never get back up from. (But we did!) 5. We passed it on. We encouraged others, networked, critiqued, referred, taught, recommended books, and other things that contributed to the writing community as a whole. All lessons that we learned from those 'nothing' novels. 6. We eventually wrote the zinger, the one that made all the others worthwhile (or at least we will). So press on, dear writer friends. Fret not about your shelf full of manuscripts--unread and unpublished. They are your friends, your teachers, your gifts. They are rungs in the track, and they must be in place in order for your train to come roaring into town. SO WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A FINISHED MANUSCRIPT? You THANK it.

Ah....fall. I LOVE fall. From football to leaf raking, it's all perfection to me. I love the back to school routine, the excitement of new teachers, the intrigue of a new football season, and the feeling of a new beginning. Most of my life, I have either been a student who begins a new every fall or a teacher who, well, begins a new every fall, or a mom who participates in the whole new beginning fall thing. So I don't care what happens on the supposed "New Year's Eve" with the resolutions and whatnot, September is truly my new year. And to tell the truth, it takes until about now, the last week in September, for us to be truly enmeshed in the new schedule. Enmeshed in a new schedule is a beautiful thing for me because that's when I settle into a truly excellent writing routine. New beginnings call for inspiration, and while I read craft books on a regular basis (books on writing technique not, say, origami), NOTHING inspires like reading a great, world-changing new book written for children. Here are a few inspirational, incredible books to jump start your fall. ***WONDER by R.J. Palacio. This book is a MG must-read for all human beings, not just children. It is the inspiring story of a young person with a severe facial deformity who attends school for the first time. ***CROWN OF EMBERS by (and amazing and brilliant) Rae Carson. This book is the sequel to THE GIRL OF FIRE AND THORNS. I have become wary of series that disappoint after a remarkable first book, but this isn't one of them. The second book is every bit as good, and I can't wait for the third. THE GIRL OF FIRE AND THORNS makes my list of top five books I've read THIS YEAR (and maybe top ten of decade). Multi-layered, thought-provoking, riveting, romantic...it has it all! YA but recommended for all. No sex, drugs or rock and roll. ***USEFUL FOOLS by C.A. Schmidt. I met the author of this book back in June, and for some ridiculous reason, I only just read the book a few weeks ago. It was stunning. Set in Peru during the early 90s (I would guess, somewhere in there) when Peru was torn by the violence of the Senderistas. This violent period would take the life of some 70,000 Peruvians. This fictional account brings to life a boy's rise to manhood amidst these confusing and horrifying circumstances. The author did a brilliant job of pulling me into Alonso's story and the story of Peru, all at once. I learned an enormous amount about the conflict, yet it all flowed naturally with Alonso's story. I would highly recommend this book, not just for a great read, but if I were still teaching History or Social Studies, it is one of the very best examples of readable, appealing historical fiction for young people. I highly recommend it for use in the classroom. These three books could not be more different, but they inspired me in different ways. My writing partner and I sometimes say a book is so good, we're nearly depressed. Like, how can I possibly WRITE after reading something that AMAZING. The world doesn't need another book after that one. Like, we should pause the universe until everyone has read a book like WONDER, CROWN OF EMBERS or USEFUL FOOLS. But like sleep begets sleep, I think good writing begets good writing. The better we feed our young readers, the more their appetite grows for GOOD writing. So let's all buckle down and give the children some more good writing. Once you've read these books, of course. Have a great week.

I recently attended a terrific picture book workshop with the lovely author, Deborah Underwood. She is probably best known for THE QUIET BOOK, THE LOUD BOOK, and the soon to come THE CHRISTMAS QUIET BOOK. She also has a ton of other things cooking, and I can't wait to see the final results. But for NOW, let's talk about THE QUIET BOOK. THE QUIET BOOK is a charming, quiet picture book (that used to be a bad thing, but now it's award-winning!) that describes all the different kinds of quiet. The illustrations by Renata Liwska are so sweet and expressive, the perfect complement to Ms. Underwood's understated prose. Though the book's pages read as a series of quiet phrases like "Swimming underwater quiet" (don't you LOVE that?), the book has a definite arc and cycle to its story. My teacher self adores all the possibilities to use this book with all ages for writing activities, discussions, and the power of choosing the exact right word. My mother self loves the many stories to be found in the beautiful illustrations, the emotion-packed quiets, and the talking points on every page. But my writing self can't stop marveling at the sheer perfection of THE QUIET BOOK as a reading experience. It is an excellent example of the picture book as an art form. The combination of words and illustrations take the entire experience to a level that must have exceeded the expectations of everyone on the project. When reflecting on my own writing, THE QUiET BOOK offers an example of how less can really be more in a manuscript. Check out THE QUIET BOOK, THE LOUD BOOK, and look for THE QUIET CHRISTMAS BOOK by Deborah Underwood. You can thank me later. Happy Reading.

I am in many writing groups and on a number of listservs, and the debate between self-published and published writers is starting to sound a little bit like the debate between working and stay-at-home moms-hostile and defensive.  And perhaps that is because writing a book is a bit like having a baby.  And self-publishing could be compared to homeschooling--some people do it very well and for good reasons, and some people not so well.  Anyone who has ever taught school has seen the horror of a 'homeschooled' kid merge into the classroom environment woefully behind academically and socially, and it is so heartbreaking, so unnecessary that it strikes a chord, makes an impression.  However, there is a huge number of awesome, prepared homeschooled children (more than ever) who merge with great levels of success.  And that number grows every day.

Twenty years ago, when I first began teaching (yikes! it was actually MORE than 20 years ago, but we'll leave it at twenty), every single homeschool kid who came to our middle school fell into the 'neglect' category.  Truly, these children were sooo behind, and I even taught an 8th grader who had been homeschooled her entire school career, and she had already had two children with the driver of her church van.  I mean, yikes.  Now that was in my region, in my experience, but I still think it is very different now.   Today, the homeschool population is DRAMATICALLY DIFFERENT.  Here, there and everywhere.   Nearly all of the recent homeschooled children I have encountered lately are quite excellent students.   As a result, the stereotype of homeschooling is completely different than it used to be, and in the best possible way.

Perhaps, self-publishing will evolve similarly.  Perhaps, in twenty years the majority of self-published authors will be quite excellent, as well.  If that happens, then the self-publishing stigma, the stereotype, will change, too.  We hear a lot of debates and criticisms about self-published books and the quality of them.  The fact that anyone can easily download a book that you can purchase for your e-reader has complicated issues even more.  People pay for a 'book', and it is often tricky to tell whether it is self-published or not, simply from the downloading feature.  I understand that people are upset when they pay good money for a book full of mistakes or horribly written.  Of course, there are some exceptions, some very, very good exceptions, but unfortunately not as many.  Thus, the stigma.

Many authors are irate that people are selling these e-books in direct competition with books published by a reputable publishing house.  Authors spend years with editors perfecting their manuscripts in order to give the very best to the readers.  They strive for excellence.  They work hard to make the story the best it can be.  But I look at it a little differently.  It makes me sad.

Twenty years ago, I would be so frustrated with a thirteen-year-old who came to school for the first time and couldn't read, didn't know multiplication tables, and had little concept of libraries, research and  classroom discussions.  Why?  Because it was a waste of great potential.  These children hadn't had the chance to be the best student they could be, they had missed great pockets of learning and social development and the joy of discovering knowledge for themselves.  Sure, they could catch up, and most of them did, but you couldn't help but wonder...what if?

It's the same way with many self-published books.  I have read a number of self-published books that saddened me in just the same way.  They were pretty good, surprisingly good, in some circumstances.  But I have yet to read one that was the best book it could be.  Sadly, many of these books, with editorial input, could have been excellent.  They could have given great insight and groundbreaking perspective. They could have been award winners!  They could have been on library shelves for years--changing the lives of child after child.  Instead, they settled somewhere around mediocrity or worse.  Spelling errors, horrible grammar, and ill-placed or unfinished plot points abound.  Repetition of  the author's 'favorite' words can drive a reader crazy.   In short, most of these books look like a writer's first draft or early manuscript.  Like a child who never learns to read, these books have little chance in the world.  

I see that more and more self-published authors are turning to professional editors and hiring them to edit their work before it goes public.  That trend will undoubtedly shift the quality and then the perception of self-published books.  Like homeschooling, twenty years will likely give us a MUCH different perspective.  At least I hope it will.  I see so many middle schoolers with kindles and other e-readers, and I cringe at the knowledge that they could easily download a crappy self-published book (or two or three) and be turned off of reading.  Also, an important advantage to reading (especially as a young person) is the brain subconsciously learns a great deal about the mechanics of the English language, spelling and story structure.  For goodness sakes, we want these young brains to learn the CORRECT mechanics and spelling.

Now I know I sound like a crotchety old woman here, but this issue is a serious one.  Writers, take yourself seriously.  Do the work.  There are no shortcuts.  Take the time to get better, improve your work, learn from editors, strive for excellence.  Our common goal should be to create the best possible pieces of literature for our children.  Just as publishers and editors have worked in previous generations to turn out the most outstanding work they can find.  Behind every excellent, award-winning book is a great author AND a gifted editor.  It takes more than one set of eyes to bring a story to its full potential.  So take the time to give your book the chance to be great.   The children deserve it, don't you think?

Can you ever forgive me?  I've never been absent from my blog for SO LONG, and I am sorry.  I have missed blogging, and I have especially missed you all.  Thank you for the kind notes, and even the slightly sarcastic ones (no, I have not broken both hands-you're hilarious), because I know some of you have missed me, too.  

Have you ever gotten out of the routine of something, and it is SO HARD to resume?  It's like a corner of your house that becomes a wreck, which then attracts more mess, and you just close the door, so you don't have to think about it?  It's SO overwhelming to approach something that you've been away from for a while.

When I write a manuscript, whether a novel or a short story, I finish my first draft, and then I put it in a drawer for 4-6 weeks.  I don't read it or think about it or anything.  I work on completely different projects, but inside, I'm DYING to go back to it.  I keep thinking of all these new ways of approaching the old problems, ways to make it better, and I get more and more curious about how it reads all together.  It's exciting, and I CAN'T WAIT.

Then, after I edit it, I put it in a drawer again.  For 4-6 weeks.  Only this time, I'm not so excited to go back to it.  This time, editing=WORK.   The major remaining edits are things I obviously couldn't figure out the FIRST time, or the things I should have changed, but didn't.  Then, when I FINALLY go back to it, it is never as painful as I imagined, and it is always fun and exciting to see it all take shape.  

SO here I am.  Finally back on my blog.  I have read so many FABULOUS books this summer that I don't even know where to start!  Today, I am going to organize a way to approach all these awesome books.  I think I may do a big YA book blog, a big MG book blog, etc.  I will present the best and most exciting of the bunch.  3/4 of my kids are in school, and all of them will be in school on Monday, SOOOO...I'm ready to jump back in with both feet and make up for lost time.  My next blog will debut a new blog routine that I hope will work for this year.  Remember, I mark my years in 'school years' because that's how we roll in a house with four kids.  

I read two AMAZING books this summer--both of them different than the kind of books I usually talk about, so I thought they'd be a good way to start off today.  Soon, we will be knee-deep in children's lit, so let's just take a day to look at some titles on the 'other side' of the fence.  While I rarely blog about books of this nature, I read a lot of parenting and books about education.  I have a special interest in the adolescent and developmental research in this genre (as my graduate research told).  I don't think I've ever read two such GREAT books in this field, especially back to back.  Parents and educators, put your hands on BOTH of these books RIGHT AWAY.  They are now required reading for anyone who cares about young people.  

The first book I read is called NURTURE SHOCK:  New Thinking About Children by Po Bronson &Ashley Merryman.   Here's something you should know about me.  I LOVE studies, especially longitudinal studies, so skip ahead if that bores you.  This book has TONS of good and valuable information and despite all the studies, it is highly readable.  The chapters covered the correct use of praise, sleep issues, race conversations, lying, early (way too early) competitive educational practices, siblings, teen rebellion, social issues, and language skills.  The sleep chapter alone is worth buying the book, but I would strongly encourage reading the whole thing (even if you skip some of the disaggregation of stats).  It will help you understand yourself as a parent and why some of your instincts about scheduling, overprogramming, and hyper-competitiveness are CORRECT, and you are right to resist some of these things for the sake of your child's growth and development.  You will hear a lot about this book if you haven't already.

The second book, and the most amazing book I have read in this genre for years, is TEACH YOUR CHILDREN WELL:  Parenting for Authentic Success by Madeline Levine, PhD.  Not only have I read this book, but I have highlighted, marked pages, quoted it constantly, re-read and used it as my go-to decision-making guide all summer long (which has been full of hard decisions, by the way, including my oldest child going away to school for the first time).  Dr. Levine not only points out potential problems in our culture's way of 'raising' young students, she gives tons of examples and frameworks for alternatives.  Many books will tell you what's WRONG with things, but she really shows you how to do things differently.  And most importantly, she clearly shows WHY.  This book is about raising great adults---not just superstar kids, which is the current trend.  Unfortunately, superstar kids do not always translate into high-functioning, problem-solving, confident adults.  Our goal should be equipping our children for their joyful, confident, healthy adulthood, and if we lose sight of that, the risks are great.  READ THIS BOOK.  If you think it will make you feel bad about some things your kids deal with, it will, a little bit, but it will give you clear guidance for offsetting these things.  I hope every parent in America reads this book, and together, we can shift the climate for our young people.  For me?  It shifted the climate of my own home.  And DEFINITELY for the better.  I cannot recommend this book strongly enough.  Kudos to Dr. Levine (whose THE PRICE OF PRIVILEGE is also a classic and must-read for parents who worry that too much is, well, too much).  TEACH YOUR CHILDREN WELL is a truly interesting read, the kind of can't-put-down appeal that usually applies only to fiction.  (In my world, anyway)

So...as you can see, I've spent my summer as a neurotic parents.  Two of my four children are attending a new school this year.  One of my four children is away at school for the first time.  I have two high schoolers, one middle schoolers, and one upper elementary school student, so we are smack dab in the middle of these issues.  I can't tell you what a blessing these books have been for me.  They've been like a sedative in the middle of all the crazy pressure of high school academics and college preparation.  

I will soon announce a new blog schedule (doot doo doo! the trumpet sounds). I hope you will enjoy a bit more structure in this neck of the woods.  

And, because of so much demand over the past few months, I know it's been a LONG TIME, but I will close with some 
Redneck Parenting Tips:
1.  Secretly hide a $20 in each of your kids' bookbags.  When they call in tears that they've lost their lunch, forgotten money for field trip, tennis t-shirt, etc., tell them where to find it.
2.  Also secretly hide $20 in your house somewhere, so if your teen is home alone and gets invited to a movie or something (and they're not old enough to go to the bank alone or it is the week-end), you have the goods.  
3.  We have learned that the only thing anyone ever looks for in the morning is socks, so we ask the kids to lay out their socks the night before.  Sounds silly, but you'd be surprised how much time it saves.
4.  We have math computer games (multiplication tables, fractions, etc.) tied to television time.  For ex, 15 minutes of Algebring It On = 15 minutes of a television show or movie.
5.  When you are driving a carpool, say little or nothing.  Not just because you might embarrass your kid ( ha ha), but because when you are quiet, the kids really do forget you are there, and you learn a LOT if you listen.
6.  Put older kids in charge of aspects of younger kids' learning.  When your 6th grader helps your 3rd grader with multiplication tables, it reinforces his knowledge, as well, and builds his confidence.  Remember, teaching is the highest form of learning. You don't OWN the information until you have taught it to someone else.  
7.  Love 'em up.  Don't forget to be grateful for every minute with your sweet kiddos.

Now have a terrific day!  

I have always been a voracious reader.  Always.  When every book in the house had been read (whether it was my house, a relative's house, a neighbor's house, etc.), I turned to cereal boxes, soup cans, and even medicine bottles.  I was always on the prowl for new reading material.  If the Kindle had been invented back then, I would probably be in rehab for holding up liquor stores to buy new books...okay, maybe not that bad.  At any rate, I read a lot of strange things as a child--business books of my dad's (Zig Ziglar, anyone?), Erma Bombeck books of my mom's, cookbooks (I still love to read cookbooks), and medical guides.  It's fair to say that I probably read more nonfiction than fiction, so when I got my hands on some fiction, I was thrilled.  Now it sounds like I was deprived of books, I WAS NOT.  We went to the library all the time, and I checked out the max.  But I have been an insomniac since birth, so I think I just have had more hours for reading in the day than your average person.  One summer, when an elderly family friend offered me free access to the bookshelves in her daughter's room (now grown and gone), I was thrilled, beyond thrilled, to discover the complete set of BOBBSEY TWINS books by Laura Lee Hope.  I LOVED these books.  I read them over and over and over and over again.  (Do kids still do that?  My kids don't, but I used to re-read books ALL THE TIME.)  As recently as last month, I pointed out some tropical plants on our trip to Bermuda, and my husband asked, "How do you know all those trees and plants?"
And I replied, "From a trip I took with the Bobbsey Twins."
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So I returned to school that year and told everyone that my favorite author was Laura Lee Hope.  For years, I re-read those books and pronounced my love for Laura Lee Hope.  All I knew was that this amazing woman had written these books about a simpler time and place where parents stayed married and siblings were companions and their cook made them dinner.  Of course, I didn't understand some of the sexual politics of the era, but it seemed great to me.  Laura Lee Hope, in my mind, had figured out what ever children's writer knows today---for the best story, get rid of the parents.  I was also impressed with the vast number of books she had written and published.  When Tasha Tudor came to visit my school, I told her how I loved Laura Lee Hope and the Bobbsey Twins books.  To this day, I remember how she laughed and laughed and said she knew the books well.  She asked me how I was old enough to know those books, and I explained.  I figured that was why she had laughed.
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Only last night, LAST NIGHT, did I learn the truth about Laura Lee Hope.  Keep in mind, I did not grow up in the era of internet or authors as celebrities.  I knew nothing about Laura Lee Hope except the brief blurb on the Bobbsey Twins books (and yes, the picture).  I imagined her a delightful elderly woman who loved children and re-told the stories of her childhood adventures.  I pictured her living in Florida (???) in a fabulous house surrounded by mangroves and hibiscus (like in one of the Bobbsey Twin books) with a sturdy wooden walkway out to the water.  I imagined that she wrote outside in a gazebo (yes, another Bobbsey Twin book involved a gazebo) while her cook (yes, in the books) brought her lemon ices.   I imagined that her neighborhood was oddly full of twins---children paired up and playing wonderful games that inspired her, and kept Laura Lee Hope running for her typewriter.   And when I decided to be a writer, THIS was the kind of writer I wanted to be.  I mean, what could be better?  And I recall telling all this to Tasha Tudor, who, you will remember, laughed.  Not in a mean way.  It didn't bother me at all, but something about it stuck with me.  Like I knew, even then, that there was something more that she was laughing at, something grown-

In the past 24 hours, I have dropped off three of my kids at camp.  The eldest will be a CILT (Counselor in Leadership Training--yes, for those of you who loved MEATBALLS, we taught her the song, "I am a CIT so piteous...the kids are brats, the food is hideous, etc. LOVE Bill Murray), #2 daughter is a Senior Camper, and #3 child (#1 son) is a camper.  They are all at either Camp Seafarer (girls) and Camp Seagull (boys).  My youngest son went to Camp Seagull last year, LOVED it, but he wanted to 'take a break' this year.  However, there was a quivering lip at drop off today, so all the way home he talked about, "Next year..."  ANYWAY, I digress.  I dropped 75% of my children at camp today, and I felt great about it.  You know why?  Camp has been one of the most amazing and valuable experiences of their lives.  If I had to cut every extra curricular, every single thing my kids do except one thing, I would definitely keep camp.  It has had that much of an influence on their lives.  I am a huge camp advocate because I have seen how good it is for them.  And it also helps that Camp Seagull and Camp Seafarer are AWESOME.
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Every year, they are SO excited to go and see their friends from previous years.  They count down the days, the talk all year long about missing their camp friends, and then they have these darling, tearful reunions.  They love, love, love their camp friends.  You know why?  Because they HAVE to.  They learn how to work it out because they live together in a cabin with a dozen strangers and they learn to work it out.  They practice and master compassion and empathy and tolerance.  They become a kind of a family.  (and yes, those amazing 'family skills' come home with them)  They become self-sufficient.  They solve their own problems, day in and day out, or suffer the consequences.  They set goals, and rely on themselves, and only themselves, to achieve these goals.  They keep their area neat and clean.  They keep up with their stuff.  They manage their time.  They write wonderful letters home.  (Hilarious, but wonderful)  They try new things.  They spread their wings in ways you'd never have guessed.  (Archery, really?  And you're a MASTER PADDLER?  What is that, anyway?)   They make hard choices.  (I had to give up my free time for a week to take the motorboating license class, but now I can take a boat out whenever I want!)  And they see the rewards of these hard choices.  They screw up.  (not enough sunscreen, ouch, or putting crocs too close to shore and they wash away with the tide...)  And they learn lessons.  They are supervised like crazy, but by young, cool teen-agers who are uber-responsible but super-cool.  And yet they have lots of freedom but within very specific parameters.  The girls are allowed to shave their legs once a week (I LOVE THIS) for the dance.  Otherwise, primping isn't part of their routine.  They settle into themselves.   They have no cell phones, computers, internet, television...They find themselves without all the noise of technology.  They come into their own.  They find their place in the tribe.  My son comes home with nearly all clean shirts because the boys hardly wear shirts the whole time.  They are wild, prowling creatures who explore in swimsuits from dawn til dusk.  The first time my son went to camp, he cried on the way home when his sisters bugged him.  "You just don't understand," he sniffed, "how awesome life is with only boys."  And I can't begin to imagine.  I only know the results.
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Yes, summer camp is expensive.  It takes a chunk out of our family time in the summer.  I miss them like crazy.  Packing for it is a beast. (not to mention the laundry when they get home!)  But it is soooo worth it.  They come home more confident, mature, and responsible

In the past couple of weeks, I have read two excellent novels.  Both of these books have teen-age protagonists.  Both of these books are coming-of-age books that deal with the struggles of growing up and that awkward place between adolescents and young adulthood.  Both books are published by Random House (LOVE).  However, both of these books are published by ADULT imprints.  Isn't that interesting?   So the recommendations I've read and received on both of these books have been largely from the adult arena.  Yet these books are both entirely YA in nature.  I would never have categorized either one of them as adult.
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The first book I read, THE AGE OF MIRACLES by Karen Thompson Walker, is a stunning dystopian story of the end of the world.  On weeks like this one, with daily record-breaking temperatures, it seems like it is in the not-so-distant future.  The earth slows down, the days get longer, the nights get longer, the birds begin to fall from the sky, and our dear protagonist has a crush.  Yes, even as the world comes to an end, adolescent angst lives on.  The first two lines of the novel, "We didn't notice it right away.  We couldn't feel it." could describe the slowing of the earth or the beginning of adolescence, and so goes this lovely story.  The protag comes of age as the earth deteriorates.  The characters have new beginnings even as the end of the earth is, quite literally, on the horizon.  I feel sure young people everywhere will find their way to THE AGE OF MIRACLES even though it is published as an 'adult' novel.  It is too perfect to slip through the cracks, and the good news is, this story will find adults, as well.  It has something for everyone.  I highly recommend THE AGE OF MIRACLES, whether you are on the brink of adolescence or, well, the end of the world.
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The second book I read, TELL THE WOLVES I'M HOME by Carol Rifka Brunt was also published as an adult novel, but, again, the protagonist is a young person.  June adores her Uncle Finn, who dies of AIDS early in the story.  June is devastated.  Then, she discovers that there are things about him she didn't know, things her mother hid, including his partner.  June's mother hates the man who 'killed her uncle' and so June finds out about him accidentally.  As she pines for the loss of her uncle, she honors his memory by caring for his lover, Toby, who has no other family.   Her jealous older sister, Greta, and busy working parents (accountants in tax season, conveniently minimizing their role in the story) have no idea that June is stealing away afternoons with Toby until things come to a frightening climax one stormy night.   TELL THE WOLVES I'M HOME is a beautiful, touching story about a compassionate young lady who sees what is really important in the world in spite of her parents' judgement.  Even has she gets in big trouble, infuriates her sister, and dismisses kids her own age, you will cheer for sweet June as she follows her heart and acts with great courage and character.  I LOVED this story, and I highly recommend it.
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So here are two books narrated by young people by marketed to adults.  Not exclusively to adults, mind you, and I am certain that teen-agers will read both these books.  So is this a trend to widen the YA/MG market?  Are the adult booksellers trying to get a piece of the lucrative YA pie?  Or are we simply blessing more people with these wonderful stories?   Read the books yourself, and tell me what you think.

SO last night was my 25th high school reunion.  I moved to a new school my junior year of high school, and so spent my last two years in my own special high school hell.  New girl, new school, new town...not feeling real committed because it's only two years...you can imagine.  I know, I know, high school is hell for almost everyone, and really, it could have been a lot worse, but let's just say there aren't too many 'glory days' to relive.  However, in those two years, I met my husband and some of the greatest friends I've ever had in my life.  I also had the greatest teacher of my life, Mrs. Hines, who is STILL at Cary High School.   So why go to the reunion, you might ask?  (Same thing I asked myself repeatedly this week...)  But the answer was clear--to see some really special people that I haven't laid eyes on in a decade or more, AND to see people I only see at reunions.

I met two of my dearest friends in the parking lot, and we headed for the building together (leaving my poor husband behind to park the car in 100 degree weather).  As we approached the glass doors, I said, "We're in the wrong place.  Look at all these old people."  And for a minute, I GENUINELY thought we were in the wrong place.  These people were WAY older than us.  WAY older.  They were responsible adults with jobs and kids and oops--that's me, too.  How and when did that happen?  When you reunite with old friends, for a short time, you are that young person again, you go back to that place, and like some freaky wrinkle in quantum physics, you are simultaneously that young person from your past who looks at your current self and says, "What the hell?"

So all night, I was this curious combination of that old high school girl (who hoped none of our parents would find out we were there DRINKING together) who confessed crushes and admirations and remembered things I hadn't thought about in years (like the time my friend rolled her own head up in her car window, and when that same friend and I were late for school because we hit a bird, and we were so torn up about it, we just couldn't go into the school building, and which boys were perverts and self-absorbed jerks and which guys would be worth knowing for a long, long time).  It's fantastic when you see you were a pretty good judge of character all those years ago.  Many of the 'golden people' are unrecognizable in the crowd, not in a bad way, but the people who really stand out are the folks whose good character now shines through.  It's really satisfying to drive home after a reunion like that and know that even in a tough high school situation, I managed to find some of the nicest people in the world and somehow, luckily,  persuade them to be my friends.

I wanted to come home last night and write, write, write.  I was flooded with memories and crazy stories and assumptions and ideas that put me back in that teen-age place.  Then, a talented friend, RUSSELL COREY, gave me a copy of his book I Want My MTV which was based on his journals in high school.  My husband and I read the first dozen or so pages of it (so far--can't wait to finish)  and laughed so hard because it's dead on, that teen-age feeling is strangely so universal, yet you are convinced you are the ONLY ONE worried about your hair or whatever.  It reminded me of what I loved about teaching 8th graders.  They were pure, unfiltered humanity.  What they did and said was as close to basic, untrained, human instincts as you can get, and it was flat out hilarious.  Why?  Because it's true.  The amazing writer, Jerry Spinelli, once said in a workshop on writing humor:  True is funny.   And he was right.  True is funny because it resonates.  True is familiar.  You have BEEN THERE (or maybe you are STILL THERE).  You get it.

So this morning, as I am still a bit affected by the big time we had last night ,

One of the best blogs I follow is the blog of Janet Reid, Literary Agent.  This morning on her blog, she posted a picture of people standing on the side of a mountain surveying all the lost homes and damage from the fires in Colorado.  Then, she included a link to Toni McGee's blog.  He writes about the need for writers in times of trouble.  Rarely, do I link to other blogposts, but this post was so powerful, I knew you would want to see it.  Now go read it.  NOW.  (Then come back)

Toni McGee's amazing blog post about the need for writers in time of trouble

This post made me think about the struggles we experience in life and how books can be so many things to us, as adults.  But of course, my thoughts then immediately jumped to children and their need for books.  Good books.  Books full of hope and courageous protagonists who bring themselves out of crazy, messed up, sometimes adult-created problems.  So I'm going to pay tribute to Toni McGee and all those children this morning.  It will pale in comparison, but it needs to be done.

There's a young boy playing with Legos in his room.  Or at least he's pretending to.  Outside his door, a war rages between his parents.  Horrible screaming and shouting and name-calling and words he shouldn't have to hear for years.  Then, like it always does, it escalates to loud bumps and thumps, crying, screaming, as the sound of his father beating his mother echoes through their small apartment.  He quietly locks his door.  Sometimes this works, and sometimes it doesn't.  It depends.  The screaming is mostly in his head now.  His mother is likely unconscious and his father is probably prowling around with more life in his fists.  When the front door slams, the boy sighs with relief, even though he knows it is only temporary.  He puts away his Legos, pulls out a book and begins to read.  He loses himself in the story, the magic, this place where good reigns over evil, where hope thrives, and the protagonist never stops until he has righted the wrongs of the world.  That's a place he likes to imagine, to read about, so that one day he'll know how to create a world for himself that's different from this one.    Write for that boy.

There's a teen-age girl, crying in her room.  Her boyfriend pressured her all the time, until she finally gave in.  Not to sex, what he really wanted, but she threw him a bone, something to buy her time until she knew what to do.  She sent him a picture of herself, scantily clad, from her phone.  Except he forwarded it to half the world.  Now creepy boys she's never even met are calling, texting, commenting on her facebook page.  Girls are calling her horrible names.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, she knew it then and knows it now.  But she had no idea just how big.  And now she wants to die.  Her parents are out for the night.  Her mother has a cabinet full of sleeping pills, and she knows where the key to her dad's gun cabinet is.  How to do it.   Then, she remembers a book.  A book where the protagonist was in a worse situation than her, way worse, and she didn't lie down and die.  She fought back.  She turned things around.  She made a new and better life for herself because she decided to.  The girl searched her book case through the tears, pulling and scattering books until she finds the one she wants.  Tomorrow, she thinks.  Maybe I'll do it tomorrow.  But first, I want to revisit my old friend, the protagonist, and see someone who's situation is worse than mine.  Let me leave my sorry world in another way, by visiting hers.  And maybe, just maybe, I'll see a glimmer of hope.  Write for that teen-age girl.

Sometimes I get frustrated with rejections and the state of t

Good morning, Nags Head!  It is a beautiful, spectacular morning on the outer banks.  Cool and sunny and clear as can be after a raging storm last night.  I can't remember when we've had a storm like that, but it was as beautiful in its fierceness as today's 70 degree sunny stunner.  God is awesome in his lessons like that.  I had kind of a yucky day yesterday, then I awoke this morning to a fresh, new world. --spiritually and physically.  YES!  Sure, there's a 'time to mourn', but now it's 'time to dance'.  Time to hit the ground running again, and I can think of no better way to do it, then to celebrate all the things I am feeling grateful for.

This morning, I am feeling super grateful for the following:
1.  Honey Nut Cheerios in the house with a giant cup of coffee.  Small pleasures, but special all the same.
2. The awesome storm we had last night!  Man, did she ever blow!  It was fantastic, and now the world has this dewy fresh greenness about it that can only come from a storm.
3.  The beauty and inspiration of metaphors in life...call me a big ol' cornball, but I am inspired by such observations.
4.  The SCBWI Mid-Atlantic chapter.  I made great new friends and had a lovely retreat week-end with a sub-group of this group.
5.  Wendy Loggia of Random House who went above and beyond her professional requirements for this week-end.  She was kind and helpful and generous with her advice.
6. Tracy Barrett, historical writer extraordinaire.  Amazing, professional, hard-working writer with a great sense of humor--also quick to share from her huge vat of wisdom and experience.
7. My best writing buddy, Jody Casella, who keeps my fingers on the keyboard and my heart in the story.
8.  My understanding and patient husband.
9. My thoughtful, compassionate, independent children who show me courage and resilience.
10.  Healthy extended family.
11.  I'm starting to feel like this could go on all day, my mail person who never fails me, the radio dj who is always there when I turn it on, the check-out girl at Dollar Tree who doesn't say a word when I purchase a ten pack of Snickers and it's not even Halloween, and so on....but I have to stop somewhere, right?
12.  GREAT new books!  There's a wealth of new summer books out and begging to be read.  They can change your life if you let them.  I will be talking about these books right here very soon.  A few to get you started.  CODE NAME VERITY by Elizabeth E. Wein, KEEP HOLDING ON by Susane Colasanti, and THE SCORPIO RACES by Maggie Stiefvater (not so new, but if you haven't read it, you MUST).  All three of these titles are special and amazing in their own way, so check them out.

Embrace the magic of summer, dear friends.  Whether you are 'out of school' or not, take a different summer perspective of whatever it is you do.  Be open to new and exciting developments, impulsive and spontaneous road trips, and enjoy the simple delights of summer tomatoes and wildflowers beside the highway.  Whatever your age, you need a summer of the heart.  Embrace it.

Write on, read on and do it all with style.  And remember, sometimes it takes a storm to bring you a greener,  lusher world.

So....I just arrived at the conference.  I am so excited.  I am such a nerd like that.  I can't wait to learn and grow and be challenged and hear the speakers and meet new people.  When I go to a conference like this, I always kind of sit down and think, "These are my people.  I love these people.  Book people.  I get these people, and these people get me."  Now maybe that's a bit presumptuous, but that's how I feel anyway. I can talk about my favorite books with the confidence that someone here has read every one of them!  I can admit how hard I work on my writing, how many hours (and years) I've invested with a huge drawer full of rejection letters to prove it.  I can say out loud, "I am not giving up," and every writer knows that the only reason I say that is because I do, from time to time, consider giving up.    But that's okay.  I am myself here.  No pretensions.

While I am sad to miss a summer week-end with my family, I am thrilled for the opportunity to spend a week-end in retreat, in pursuit, in concentration for the cause of writing.  I am grateful for everyone who made it possible.

It is exciting to think that I will be a different person Monday than I am today.  I will have experiences this week-end that will impact me as a writer, as a reader, as a member of SCBWI.  I return home to work with a new enthusiasm and respect for the work.  I will resume my projects encouraged, refreshed, and renewed.

My blog might even get better.

So for now, I will sign off.  I'm going to catch a quick nap before things get rolling, if I'm not too excited to sleep.  And don't worry, I will give you the scoop later.  So perhaps you can be a little encouraged and inspired, as well.