I was cleaning out a drawer yesterday. If I had to name my favorite household task, I'd say, "Rearranging closets and drawers." You get to throw out or donate stuff (I'm not the pack rat type), you see what you've got, and you can make new arrangements. Oh, and if you can't fit everything into your fridge, give me a call. I'll make it fit! Even my mother has surrendered her skepticism.

Well, a year or so ago, I was asked to lead an online discussion on the topic of writing fears. For one reason or another the workshop didn't happen, and in the aforementioned drawer I found my notes. They contain this quote from Art and Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland:

"The function of the overwhelming majority of your artwork is simply to teach you how to make the small fraction of your artwork that soars."

Wow. Impactful way to break the news that your first novel, and very likely your second, third, or even more, won't sell. And shouldn't. This is always a hard point to raise with students, and I do so with relatively few. It would be unnecessarily discouraging to those who are still having struggles with basic craft and are not ready to think about marketing.

Yet, this quote helps put several writing fears into perspective. "It's not working!" Maybe it isn't, but producing quantity will teach you. "The story is better in my head than on the page!" Vision is always ahead of execution. This is normal. You're producing quantity. You'll begin to close this gap somewhat, but it can't be completely closed. "It's too revealing!" But now you're getting somewhere. You're getting close to taking flight. Maybe you'll even soar.

There are lots of other fears. One of the more fascinating to me is the fear of putting your potential at risk. It's easier to have potential than it is to risk acting on that potential and finding out you can't live up to it. Of course, if you're defining "can't live up to it" as "I produce a lot of work that stinks," see the Art and Fear quote. Another fascinating fear is the fear of making the final push to make a book all it can be. You're so "almost there," but you drag your feet on a final revision. I've seen this in action. Perhaps it's related to the fear of risking potential. Or the fear that this, too, will not be a piece that soars.

Your thoughts? Your fear? If you dare, share it here! :)

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The first thing I noticed about this lovely middle-grade book was its trend. Along with Nest, by Esther Ehrlich, Nightingale's Nest by Nikki Loftin, Under the Egg, by Laura Marx Fitzgerald, and others (but the foregoing three are ones I've read), this is about a child who either has a striking affinity for birds, might actually be part bird, or more than likely is a bird. This novel does a wonderful job of letting you know right from the start that you can expect fantasy. The first line reads: "Nashville and his family lived in a house perched in the branches of the largest pecan tree in the village of Goosepimple."

We learn early on that Nashville wasn't exactly born to his parents. He was hatched from the egg of a Nashville warbler that spilled from a nest outside his parents' window, and from the start he looked like a boy with a beak and feathers on his head in place of hair. Despite a sweet, supportive home with his parents and his younger sister, who came long in the usual way, Nashville wants most of all to have wings. He knows he belongs in the sky, he wants to fly, and the plot has to do with how he finds the way.

There are a lot of heartwarming moments. For example, though Nashville is teased at school sometimes, and tries to blend in (in one scene, he goes to the barber and has his feathers buzzed off), he also receives some touching acceptance and the beginnings of friendship from the boy he's afraid will be his nemesis. And there are humorous moments. Nashville volunteers at the local pet shop, and when he hatches a scheme to let the birds sample flying by tying them all to strings and holding them like a bunch of balloons, he causes a public sensation and is told by the store owner, "Nashville, you are absolutely, irrefutably, indubitably FIRED." There are more lovely lines, and here's a favorite: "At some point during the night, summer had left town, had packed a suitcase full of fireflies and swimming holes, and whistled on down the road."

The omniscient point of view is just right for this fantasy with a classic feel, and may remind more than one reader of Kate DiCamillo. While the message of being who you were born to be is a bit obvious, and I thought the POV faltered in a spot or two, overall this is a winner. Definitely recommended.

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Normally, I've quoted writers I agree with often, even virtually always. Let's change that up a bit today. Mark Twain is a guy I often find entertaining, and I think one of his strengths is the good job he does of communicating that human nature stays the same, even across a couple of centuries. Here are some goodies:

• To succeed in life you need two things: ignorance and confidence.
• The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up.
• Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.
• You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.
• If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
• Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.
• My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.

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...as opposed to resolutions. I'm sure I must have been a teenager when I figured out that most New Year's resolutions were little more than whims of a moment. Wishful thinking. Statements that began with "This year, I'd really like to..." and ended right there, with little more thought to them, let alone any action taken, or a few weeks of success at best before old habits kicked in again. Although I love the sense of starting over that accompanies January 1, the day after Labor Day, and sometimes birthdays, I find that most resolutions -- real resolves to do something, or change something -- are not primarily motivated by the calendar.

Recently, I've seen people settle on *words* to keep in mind for the coming year. Single words like Focus, Patience, Joy, Simplify, Begin, Finish, Persevere, Faith, and even No (for those who need to practice pursuing their own calling instead of constantly letting themselves be talked into staffing someone else's) have been chosen as watchwords for a year. Although I've been just as remiss in choosing a word for an entire year as I have been in making resolutions (and neither neglect bothers me a whit), I am interested in the idea of words for seasons of life, words that sum up where we are right now and where we need to go.

Have you chosen watchwords or bywords for yourself in recent years (or felt chosen by a word, almost the way a writer is sometimes chosen by the story)? Do you have a word for 2015?

Happy New Year!

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I hope the real stable was as cozy as this looks. I love how even the animals seem hushed and attentive. When I think that even birds and baby chicks, as well as donkeys, sheep, and goats, were privileged to witness the birth of Christ, it's a reminder that no creature on earth can be dismissed as insignificant. We have no idea what destiny may be assigned to such as these.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

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Nola, age 12, has been friends with the three Swift boys for her entire life. In fact, they live in the other half of the duplex. Brian, the oldest, is sensitive and kind. Kevin, the youngest, is constantly talking. And Canaan, the middle brother, is Nola's age, and he has always stood up for her.

Then one day, Mr. Swift gets in his car and drives away. He's left his family, without even a goodbye. Ironically, Nola saw him go, waved to him, and received a wave back, which, as she says, was more of a goodbye than the boys got.

And the Swifts fall apart. Kevin, who we find out blames himself because the last thing his father had told him to do was quit talking, goes mute. Brian tries to run the household for a while after their mother sinks into depression, but it's too much for him and in effect he runs away from home, staying first with one friend and then another. And Canaan takes up with the mean boys. Far from sticking up for Nola, he's now one of her tormentors.

Nola tries to support the boys, but succeeds only with Brian, and then only temporarily. She also tries to find their father -- mostly because she wants everything to go back to normal, which is no doubt realistic -- and actually does locate him living with another woman in the next town over. But Nola's life is changing, too. Her mom is remarrying, and the couple's plan to buy a house means Nola will have to move out of the duplex. And are the boys there for her? No, they are not.

My favorite aspect of the book is the characters. I liked Nola, the boys, her mom, the new stepdad, and Nola's other friends, Felicia and Teddy. We become disillusioned with Canaan, which I think is inevitable and probably the author's intent, not only because of how he's treating Nola, but because we come to suspect that Canaan's past bad-mouthing of Teddy was completely undeserved. In fact, now that Nola is less tied to Canaan, she is less dependent on his opinions and more able to stand up for herself.

The cover is a bit "cuter" than the novel itself, and does not portray Nola's slight overweight, which is often referred to in the story. (But as one of my editors once said, "That's marketing for you!") And it's possible that Nola understands everything just a bit too neatly at the end, although the plot threads are by no means tied up in a perfect bow. Recommended.

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My weekly post got away on me this week. But, on both my editing job and my own writing, I've been

 I'll be back next Thursday, though. I read another book to share with you. Till then, have a great one. :)

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Oh, my. This is a simply beautiful book. Books written in verse aren't for everyone, but I tend to like them because the emotion is concentrated and the language precise. I didn't say "verse novels," because this isn't a novel. It's a memoir.

I think most writer/bookworm types are naturally drawn to a book about how a writer grows. To view the writing through a wider lens, it's about a girl finding her voice and her purpose. It's also about encouragement: I as a reader find myself a bit breathless at the fact that Jacqueline Woodson said, and told herself, that she wanted to be a writer from a very young age, and she did it. Oh, how she did it. And to broaden the scope even more, it's very much about the African-American experience in the days of the struggle for civil rights and beyond.

There are surprising bits, such as Woodson's upbringing as a Jehovah's Witness, and gut-punching bits, such as her younger brother lying in bed at night, eating paint chips off the walls. There are arresting lines, such as "Even Salome intrigues us, her wish for a man's head / on a platter -- who could want this and live / to tell the story of that wanting?" and lines that raise ire, such as her mother's warning concerning storytelling: "If you lie, one day you'll steal." As a matter of fact, I don't reject that statement in general; I think lying is a form of stealing; it's theft of the truth. But the claim, even by writers (about which I have ranted in the past), that storytelling is lies just makes me all kinds of crazy. Tell that to Jesus or to Nathan the prophet.

Although I'd like to know what Jackie's siblings did with their lives as well, we don't find that out. However, the book cries out for photos and that cry is answered; they're included in the back.

There aren't many books, when it comes right down to it, that should become required reading; this is one of them. Highly, highly, highly recommended.

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May your lives be fruitful and your baskets overflow. Happy Thanksgiving, all.

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I had the pleasure and privilege of being on the panel with these lovely ladies just this past Saturday, November 15. Here we are:

Oops! Looks like I colored outside the lines a little there. But this way you can see us better.

We met in a lovely old building with lots of dark wood that houses Harmony Cafe in Appleton, WI. And the event was just what it sounds like: Attendees asked questions about working with agents and editors, and we shared our experiences. Researching, querying, revising, publicizing, deciding when a book is ready to query, when you should or shouldn't do an R&R (revise and resubmit), subsidiary rights -- all these and more were covered. Lunch was included, during which there was plenty of friendly chat; it's amazing how talkative a roomful of introverts can actually be. It would have been great to be able to stay longer and share more, which I guess is very much a sign of a successful event. A good time was had by all!

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Today, let's welcome Bish Denham and let her tell us about her newest release, A Lizard's Tail. If you're like me, you love the look in that lizard's eye! And here's Bish, to tell us all about him.

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Once again, tomorrow is Thursday, it's late, and I have to admit that life has just plowed me under for now. I'm taking a blog break this week and next week. But please do join me back here on November 13, because there's going to be a guest poster, and you'll want to find out who it is! Until then, be well, my friends.

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I usually schedule my posts. I'm scheduling this one, too. Except I'm doing so at 10pm the night before, because I just remembered *tomorrow is Thursday*. Or, as you read this, today is Thursday.

I'm busy writing, editing, teaching, SCBWI-ing, prepping for Election Day (I'm a pollworker), getting ready to host a grandchild this weekend (aack! Groceries needed!), and planning an upcoming short vacay to Indiana. I am not, frankly, reading much right now. But that's another thing I must do: line up some books for the vacay. My daughter-in-law and I always build reading time into the visits. Really, we're all reading something or other at some time or other, and the girls will ask for stories before bed. I can picture those cozy book-and-ice-cream evenings already.

I'm writing this now -- it's kind of like being up late to do homework -- because just a little while ago I finished a big scene in my novel. I feel accomplished! But then I realized there's a problem. I want "tomorrow" in the book to be Sunday, and...you guessed it, "tomorrow" is *Thursday*. I'll have to figure out what to do about that.

But now, I'm going upstairs to make that grocery list. Because I need the food by Friday morning, and *tomorrow is Thursday*.

Happy Thursday, everyone.

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Naomi, eleven years old in 1972, loves birds so much that she's called "Chirp" by everyone who knows her. She shares a love of dancing with her mother, while her older sister, Rachel, relates better to their psychiatrist father's penchant for counseling, which he does even within their family, often with gently humorous results. At least, at first.

Early on, Chirp's mom is diagnosed with MS. She can't dance anymore, and with this loss her mental health declines even faster than her bodily health, to the point where she is eventually hospitalized for depression. At this point, I must say that my involvement in the book lay more with the mother than the MC. Because I imagined losing writing the way the mother lost dancing, and even though I know I could not make writing my identity the way the mother made dancing hers, it would still be hard at times not to do exactly that. On top of this, having a therapist husband didn't spare the mother at all, or even really help her any.

As Chirp goes through the absence of her mother, the acting out of her sister, and the misunderstanding of her well-meaning father who doesn't really get her, she becomes friends with Joey, a somewhat sketchy neighbor boy who in the opening scene is throwing rocks at poles. Joey has problems of his own at home, and the personal pain each one carries makes their friendship fragile, in part because Joey understands Chirp's situation from the start whereas she's mainly blind to his. The 1970s details were a pleasant trip back in time for me, but also a jolting reminder that back then issues such as child abuse and mental illness were both swept under the rug and less gently treated. One example of this is the matter-of-fact way that Chirp refers to her mother's place of confinement as the nuthouse.

This is a beautiful book, well written and with affecting emotions. While I don't really want to issue spoilers, I feel some obligation to point out that the book gets a lot harder, sadder, and darker before the story's through, and it could be a bit too much for a very sensitive middle-grader. Other than that, though, this is highly recommended.

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Last week, I said I'd post next about my writing retreat. That place that's a little more "civilized" than the wi-fi-less getaways some of my friends prefer. Last spring, my friend Anne and I found The Audubon Inn in Mayville, WI, and after our second stay there just this past week, I think it's become our permanent semi-annual retreat spot for several reasons. First, it's about as equidistant between our homes as you can get -- about an hour's drive for each of us. Second, and highly important, we got great discounts for weeknight stays through Living Social. Third, it's lovely, every room has its own whirlpool, the staff members are friendly and accommodating, there are wonderful eateries in the area and in the inn itself, every room has its own whirlpool, there are writing desks with Tiffany lamps, there's wi-fi, and every room has its own whirlpool! Here it is:

Toward the left, by the tree, you can see the sign that says NOLA. This is a New Orleans themed restaurant where we ate once for a meal and twice for dessert, and it was great. (The other two nights of our three-night stay we ate Chinese and Italian.) My windows on the second floor, right side, overlooked the side street, as did Anne's. I did nothing but write, sleep, whirlpool, and throw my clock away except for meeting Anne for dinner at our chosen hour. Anne took a walk, too. Next time, which will probably, hopefully, be in spring, I will do the same, unless the winds of spring are too raw for my indoor-girl sensibilities.

The immersion benefits have carried over. I'm determined to recreate retreat conditions at home whenever I get the chance, and October looks pretty favorable. At this point I should probably pause and sing my husband's praises. This retreating business doesn't work only because we're empty-nesters; it's also that he strikes the most wonderful balance between attentiveness and self-sufficiency, and cheerfully does more than his share of household tasks. He and our sons have an event planned for this weekend, and I'm actually going to have two days and two nights to myself, so I sense another retreat coming on. Still, longing for another return to the Audubon come spring.

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I was tagged for this by my friend Vijaya Bodach, who, as she says, has powers of persuasion. And besides, this means getting to talk writing, so why not?

1. What are you working on?

Middle-grade fiction, in general. A MG contemporary literary mystery, in particular.

2. How does your work differ from others of its genre?

Oh boy. Possibly by breaking too many rules. I may come across as basically just a nice girl, but at any given moment I'm probably pushing the envelope, and a rule or two are probably being broken. :)

3. Why do you write what you do?

Good grief, even for someone who likes to ruminate at length, these questions are tough. I can give answer-fragments. Part of it is that my inner 12-year-old is very much alive and well, but she'd like to do a better job of being 12 this time around. Part of it, I'm sure, is that I'm dredging up from my spirit dilemmas and themes that I find important. Part of it is that I love and respect the power and the far reach of truly great MG fiction. And part of it is just mysterious: I do because I do because I do.

4. How does your writing process work? 

When an idea starts, I'm usually scribbling on a legal pad. When there's enough there that it looks like the thing has legs, I get it a three-ring notebook. That's like the commitment stage. I say to it, "You are henceforth a novel." I have sections labeled Characters, Plot, Research, Revision, Setting, Themes, Titles, and any other headings that might apply. This becomes the book's bible. I make notes in each section as the book comes together, in whatever order things come. I spend a lot of time working out the backstory and logic framework: How things got this way and exactly how they hold together. I find a floor plan for any important buildings, sketch maps, make calendars, and at the point where I really feel like I want to start writing, I don't hold back. I start.

I have a sense of the plot when I start, but I never outline fully. That ends up being too much like a pattern I have to follow. I love Larry Brooks's Story Engineering, and I fill out his four-box plot structure on a sheet of 11x17 paper as I write the first draft. So the outline doesn't precede the first draft; it grows alongside it. I loathe index cards.

I do research any and every time a question comes up. Some writers leave holes and come back to those spots later; not me. I find I might learn something that makes or breaks the whole scene, or the whole plot. Better to learn that now. This means that when I go on a writing retreat, I need an internet connection. I have friends whose major purpose for going on a writing retreat is to get offline. For them, a remote cabin with no wi-fi works. I need just a tad more civilization.

Tune in next week, and I'll show you what that "civilization" looks like!

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This is a realistic MG novel about math and writing. How could I not read it?

Gregory is a middle child. Not only that, he's the middle child math-hater in a family of math lovers. Really, math eaters, breathers, and sleepers, if you're looking at Gregory's father and his older brother Owen, who both won the famed "City Math" competition in their day, and who spend almost all of their time in an attic study devoted completely to math. Mom, whose feet are a bit more on terra firma, is an accountant. (Not the same thing, but to anybody who hates math, it probably is.) Kay, Gregory's younger sister, is just wicked smart, period.

Gregory loves to write, which he has not dared breathe a word of to anyone except his best friend, Kelly, who shares that love and who wants him to go to Author Camp with her in the summer. Especially since Kelly and her mom are moving away after the school year ends in a few short weeks and they won't see each other much anymore. Gregory promises they will go. Except he hasn't asked his parents, and he can't do that because they'll say no due to his current failing math score. In fact, his parents are going to make him go to Math is Magic Camp if he can't get his grade up. Continuing to fib to his parents about his love for math, because he can't bear to baldly state that he doesn't fit into his family, he recklessly declares that he's going to enter City Math himself.

In short, the key to Gregory's getting through all this is that he makes up a form of poetry he calls "Fibs." The poems contain 6 lines, a total of 20 syllables, and each line has a number of syllables equal to the first six Fibonacci Numbers: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. (In the Fibonacci Sequence, each number is equal to the sum of the previous two.) The Fibs begin each chapter and are sprinkled throughout, besides, and are delightful.

Gregory's math teacher is a really good character, and Gregory does have to work for his grade. However, I have this underlying feeling that, despite the great things that happen in the personal study program they devise, Gregory is really leaving 6th grade not knowing what he needs to know. And I'm not sure his teacher, in real life, wouldn't have to face some backlash. Kay, the younger sister, has some wildly precocious dialogue that I had to take with a grain of salt, and I found it odd that the reason for Kelly's move, when her mom already owns a thriving dessert restaurant right here, isn't explained.

But I loved the emphasis on math that won't bog a non-math reader down, the true kid appeal (these are genuine MG problems and stakes), and I loved this: Studies have shown that boys fall into one of four categories -- they're good at math, writing, both, or neither. Girls, however, fall into three categories -- they're good at writing, both, or neither. What this means is that if a girl is good at math, she's good at language, too. When I first read this research, I thought back through years and years of experience in math classes, and realized my experience fit the statement. Girls who had math talent also had language talent. Gregory is good at language/writing and not math. Kelly is good at both. Kay is good at both. Had the girls been good at math only, I wouldn't have been convinced by them. But for me, all three kids passed the test. :)

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Grammar Girl says she regularly gets questions about the differences between till, until, and 'til, and how to use them.

I say: ????? And when exactly did this "'til" thing come about?

'Til is apparently in the process of becoming accepted (shudder), but it is a totally unnecessary word. I think I know what happened: somewhere along the line people began to assume that "till" (as they heard it pronounced, not necessarily as they spelled it) was an abbreviation for "until," and they couldn't figure out why you wouldn't spell that as 'til. But till and until are actually separate words that are synonymous. Yes, till is a noun meaning cash register and a verb meaning to work the ground (lesser known, it's also a noun meaning a glacial drift or a stiff clay), but its #1 function and definition in my dictionary is as a preposition meaning "up to the time of; before; until." Of the two words, till is actually older. Until came later. 'Til came, well, way, way later, and, I believe, under mistaken circumstances. We don't need it. We already have the one-syllable form till, which is not an abbreviation.

The Associated Press Stylebook recommends till or until, but not 'til. Bryan A. Garner, of LawProse calls 'til a "little virus," and his quotes of several other usage guides includes this: "'Til is a variant spelling used by those who think (incorrectly) that till is a clipped form."

I'm pretty open to changes in the English language. I'll go pretty far with verbing nouns, and I think "they" and "them" will become standard singular pronouns for a person of unknown gender within my lifetime. But 'til -- nah. It's going to be a long time till I can go there.

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Someday, I'm getting a book cover this blue. Just saying.

Twelve-year-old Circa Monroe lives with her parents in a home whose most important room is Studio Monroe, where Mom runs her portrait photography business out of one half and Dad does his photo restoration work out of the other. Circa has a knack for intricate Photoshopping just as her dad does, and she had learned many techniques from him. But most important of all to Circa is the special file called "Shopt," consisting of just-for-fun Photoshopping weirdness and Dad's fun little stories to go along with the fantastical pictures. In creating this cozy, artsy, family atmosphere, Amber McRee Turner wastes no time at all making me want to live in Studio Monroe right now.

But that, as we know, is the status quo, and the status quo must change. When Dad heads out into a threatening tornado to deliver a restored photo to a particularly unpleasant family's reunion party, the worst happens. The tornado strikes the reunion site, and Dad is killed. Mom, whose depression and possible agoraphobia have been pretty well controlled by meds and the balance provided by Dad's presence, loses some of her functionality. This year, I have read no end of novels that are about dead parents and/or dysfunctional moms. I tossed some aside because it was just so much of the same that I was truly astonished. Not Circa Now. For one thing, the writing and turns of phrase are truly fresh. For another, the author makes me love the characters in the beginning, as "whole" selves, so that I care when they begin to falter. For yet another, the mother doesn't devolve so completely that she and Circa reverse roles. Besides all this, there is the mystery boy who appears at Studio Monroe out of nowhere, calling himself Miles and having lost his memory. And when random items that have been Shopt into photos start appearing or vanishing in real life -- e.g., a bird's nest appears in the tree outside Circa's window when Shopt into a picture, and a blemish falls off her friend's face when Shopt out of a portrait -- Circa has to wonder if maybe the reason they can't find Miles's home, and Miles can't find his memories, is that he doesn't have any -- because he himself was Shopt into existence.

Color me hooked.

This is one of those books where, even amid sad things happening, you want to be part of the characters' world. Add the good writing, the mystery, the light magical realism aspect, and the interspersed Shopt photos with attached stories (and the whole originality of that), and this book comes out a winner. Highly recommended.

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My long-time critique group has celebrated a lot of books over the years. Just a week ago we did it again, when Mary (second from right) brought her new book to our group meeting. Mary's Go Round is a self-published collection of all the short stories she has worked on since...well, since we've been a group. The physical book and its design are absolutely gorgeous, and it's filled with all of Mary's shiny, polished stories. With the release of this book, she has crossed a major item off her bucket list.

"I don't know what I'm going to write next," said Mary. "But I'll have to write something. You don't want me to leave you, do you?"

"No," the rest of us said, shaking our heads as one.

"Well, then I'll have to come up with something," she said. "What about family stories?"

"Yes!" we chorused.

So, we'll have to see what Mary has for us next time. Here we are, holding our autographed copies and our bubbly. Congratulations, Mary.

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I'm back from the MWW -- Midwest Writers Workshop -- held last weekend at Ball State University in Muncie, IN. I simply had the best time imaginable. I met my agent in person. It was just so spectacular that I don't even know what to say. (Except, "I want to do it again! Preferably now!") Let me say this: If you can meet your agent, do it.

Things I learned:

• This conference has been going on since 1973! 
• Divergent author Veronica Roth found her agent there in 2009.
• Faculty over the years has included Jessamyn West, Madeleine L'Engle, Stella Pevsner, Marion Dane Bauer, Clive Cussler, Lawrence Block, Lois Duncan, William Zinsser, Joyce Carol Oates, and Robert Newton Peck, to name only a few.
• I am definitely no longer the complete pantser I once was. My favorite session was called "How to Write a Novel in 7 Steps," in which mystery writer Jess Lourey shared how she writes 60K-word novels in three months in her spare time. 
• In another session, on setting, William Kent Krueger asked everyone to nail a description of their hometown in a sentence of less than ten words. He said, "Think about everything you don't have to say because you've said one thing really well." His example was a motel room with a dripping air conditioner and moldy carpet underneath it. You've got that room pegged, don't you? Here's what I jotted down about my childhood town: "Paper mill sludge perfumes the river that splits it." (Yes, this was before the first Earth Day. :)) 

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That's Midwest Writer's Workshop, and it's being held July 24-26, at Ball State University in Muncie, IN. This is a large, annual conference with a fine faculty of authors, agents, and editors -- and this year, MY agent will be there! A link to the whole scoop is here.

The conference also happens to be not far from my son's home -- so, yeah, everything aligned for me to go. :) I'll share some tidbits next week!

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It's the Depression, and Lizzie Hawkins's father has taught her to always be tough and never accept charity. The thing is, Lizzie's father wasn't so tough himself: After losing his job, he's taken off and abandoned his family. Her father's abandonment has in turn caused her mother's, only in a different form. Lizzie's mother is now completely catatonic.

Lizzie feeds the two of them by fishing and tending the vegetable garden. She puts her mom to bed at night and gets her up in the morning. She does the laundry (which procedure is described in detail) and fixes her mom cups of tea. She has always been a top student (another demand of her father's). But now her heavy responsibilities mean her grades are slipping, to the delight of her nemesis, a thoroughly mean girl named Erin Sawyer whose family has recently moved to Alabama from Georgia. Erin wants to be top dog above all else, and, among other unreasonable demands, continually harangues Lizzie to pull out of an essay contest they have both entered.

Lizzie is not completely likable, and that might be a stumbling block for some readers. Specifically, she is quite self-centered, and when her friend Ben confronts her about it, we root for him. But not only does the author keep many readers (judging by the love this book has gotten) rooting for Lizzie in spite of her rather blatant faults, but she manages, in first-person narration, to convey that Lizzie is a somewhat unreliable narrator. The characterization, setting, and writing itself are nicely done.

We keep hearing that the Depression era has been overdone in historical fiction, yet here it is again. I would probably read any number of Depression-era novels, and apparently I have lots of company. Minor quibbles: This is yet another mother/child role-reversal story, and I'm honestly full-up on those. Erin is allowed to be much brattier in front of adults than I believe a child of that era could have gotten away with. And I just didn't buy the name Erin. For an obviously Irish character that might have been okay, but Erin was a popular name in the 1970s and '80s, not in 1917, the approximate year of the MC's birth. But as I said, minor quibbles. This is highly recommended.

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