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The old refrain: we’ve seen this before and we’ll see it again.

Some disturbed individual buys a bunch of guns and murders a bunch of people. The media falls in love with the story. We endure some rounds of punditry. A few people change their minds on the issues of gun control and mental healthcare, but most of us stand firm in our opinions. Then, after a few days, we move on, until another wayward soul takes some shots at another awful legacy and we all say, “we’ve seen this before and we’ll see it again.”

I rarely address current events on this blog. I almost never mention my politics. But I feel the need to address the issue of guns and gun violence. Don’t worry, I’m not here with boatloads of links and statistics and I don’t think I’m qualified to offer viable solutions. I’m only going to talk about how this issue relates to my life and my writing.

I’ve never owned a real gun, or even fired one. Although I lived a free-range childhood that involved plenty of squirt, rubber dart, and cap guns, my parents didn’t allow firearms in the house. Even BB guns were off limits. If I wanted to shoot an air rifle, I had to arrange a clandestine meeting in the woods with a friend who owned a pump-action Daisy. During one such meeting, I ended up with a welt on my cheek, the result of poor safety precautions and an opportunistic ricochet. “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid,” indeed.

Six or seven years later, when I was studying in London, a lone Englishman at a party full of Americans approached me and asked how many of us were carrying guns. I laughed at the absurdity of his question, but he wasn’t joking. Not only did he believe that all Americans owned and carried guns, he also assumed that we did so when we traveled.

A year after that, on New Year’s Eve, I was in a nearly empty pizza parlor on Bleecker Street when a group of teens in puffy coats entered. They didn’t attempt to order. They just stood amid the tables, eyeing up the cashier. When one teen unzipped his coat, I saw a pistol tucked in his waistband. The cashier knew what was about to happen; he placed his hands flat on the counter and didn’t budge. After a tense minute or two, one of the teens finally said, “not worth it,” and they walked out.

A few years later, in rural upstate New York, I attended a 4th of July party. In lieu of fireworks, the host pulled an Uzi from his impressive gun cabinet and proceeded to shoot a few dozen rounds into the air. I don’t know if he was the legal owner of that Uzi, but I doubt it. I left the party shortly after the entertainment.

Guns haven’t played much of a role in my life of late, except when it comes to my writing. These days, I write books about kids. Because my books are about kids, they’re sold to kids. In my books, some of the characters wield and shoot guns. Those characters are all kids.

During the editorial stages, I have been asked to remove plenty of swearing and kissing from my books. It’s a business decision more than an artistic one. Certain libraries and book-buyers refuse to buy anything in the middle-grade market (i.e. fare for ages 9–12) that features a few hells and a little frenching. And yet, I have never been asked to edit out a gun or an incident of gun violence, even when a 12-year-old character is the perpetrator of that violence. The powers-that-be are okay with all that.

Should they be okay with all that, though? I don’t know. I hope they should be, as long as I’m doing my job as an author, which I believe is to provide an engrossing story with compelling characters whose motivations are relatable a

To Any Reader - Robert Louis Stevenson. Click READ MORE. As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear, he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.

By Denis Sampson

“Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road.” It is one of the most celebrated of all fictional beginnings, evoking the essence and tradition of narrative itself, telling a first story to a child, and at the same time the beginning of a very sophisticated kind of biographical fiction, the childhood and youth of an artist. Joyce’s self-portrait in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man absorbed and reinforced a Romantic tradition that assumes the artist’s life is determined by childhood and inevitably grows out of those earliest experiences. It was Baudelaire who proclaimed that “genius is the power to recover childhood” so it is hardly surprising that the shape of the artist’s life is so often set down chronologically, as if it is uniquely and inescapably defined by its starting point and its familial contexts.

Literary biographers, and often the memoirs of artists, have usually reinforced this pattern. Richard Ellmann begins his justly acclaimed biography of Joyce with a chapter entitled “The Family Before Joyce” and comments: “Stephen Dedalus said the family was a net which he would fly past, but James Joyce chose rather to entangle himself and his works in it.” Ellmann takes his cue, then, from Joyce, but it is not only Romantic paradigms and the artists themselves that influenced the shape of literary biography in the twentieth century; perhaps even more important were psychological paradigms, and the idea that biography is a branch of history played a part.

At any rate, common sense seems to endorse this way of beginning and contributes to the expectation that a biography should begin at birth and also sketch the genetic or historical inheritance. We observe people around us growing into adulthood and away from or towards the patterns of behaviour they have known in their childhood.  Recollection is always affecting, especially childhood memories, in conversation or in reading. Yet it is selective recollection, and we do not really remember chronologically.In the second half of a lifespan, especially, as we move further away from childhood and may no longer have parents alive, we become aware of many other ways of finding order in a life. We realize, for instance, that there are many beginnings and endings, or phases that seem to break away from, or repeat, earlier patterns.

If we ask when a writing life begins, it may make more sense to focus less on chronology or childhood and more on the moment that allows us to map the beginning of significant accomplishment. For instance, both Proust and Beckett spent fifteen years dithering before they really began the work on which their fame rests; the work that came before would be forgotten without that new beginning. It was in 1909, when Proust composed the essays in Contre Sainte Beuve, that he really discovered the focus and energy that allowed him to begin A la recherche du temps perdu. The five years that followed the end of World War II gave Beckett The Trilogy, Waiting for Godot, and other work of a new stylistic beginning. It might even be said that he began again about the age of forty and that this was the true beginning of his work. Conrad’s decision to write in English may be the decisive moment in his career.

In the end, and in the beginning, it is how people gather tog

Thanks to the OPEN A BOOK blog for using my "Dreambeast" poem to get people thinking big for 2012!

I thought it was time to post a photograph. Since I happened on this old photo of my daughter I thought I’d share. I always liked this photo, daughter aside but also because it has a freshness I like. Now that I look at it nearly two decades later I still like it for that reason.

I remember my first 35 mm camera. A friend I meet in France noticed I liked photography and introduced me to the real world of camera formats by letting me use his inexpensive fixed lens 35mm. Upon returning to the states I bought a Pentax K1000, a real workhorse which I took this with. You’ve probably heard others say the same but I have to say it too…I miss the format compared to digital.

Anyone with children will know the ‘why?’ stage. The child discovers that this tiny word can make an adult talk and talk and talk. The child receives undivided attention because the adult loves to show how much he knows.

‘Isn’t the blossom beautiful?’

‘Why.’

‘It’s beautiful so it attracts bees.’

‘Why?’

‘To help make more trees, and more blossom.’

‘Why?’

‘So that...er...would you like some Gummy Bears?’

It goes on forever. The child isn’t really listening, she’s just enjoying the attention, the love that’s being devoted to her.

‘Why?’

Because adults love to explain. Adults want to be able to show they understand and that everything is explicable.

‘Why?’

Because adults fear that not knowing means they are stupid. Or that the child will feel rejected. Adults just love to fill silence with sound.

‘Why?’

Shut up. I don’t know.

Take the recent riots. How many different explanations did we hear? Left wingers giving left wing explanations (cuts; no jobs; the breakdown of the state). Right wingers giving right wing explanations (bad parenting; nanny state; the breakdown of the family). I am sure many of these views could have been given even before the event.

Question: If there was a riot next week what would be the causes?

The right wingers and the left wingers have already made up their minds. The event itself doesn’t have any relevance.

Young children imagine all adults will give similar answers, that the reasons for something happening are easy for us grown ups to understand. The world is black and white. Up until around the age of seven or eight, if you ask a child whether it is wrong to steal a loaf of bread to feed a starving family, almost every one will give a categorical ‘yes’. It is wrong to steal. Of course it is.

This is one good very reason for giving children a diet of fiction. Children get to hear inside the heads of other people, even if they aren’t real. These imaginary people can hold views that real people may have. And slowly, a child begins to realise that two characters versions of the same event may be very, very different.

As children begin to explore the territory of what makes us the people we are then they can begin to understand that others may be inflexible, or are not even prepared to listen to evidence before coming to conclusions, that sometimes judgements are clouded by temperament, character or emotion.

It’s a giddy experience, the dawning realisation that there may be fewer certainties in the world.

Why?

It just is. Now go to bed.

Picture book author Tony Johnston has over 125 books for children in her repertoire! She was kind enough to speak at the 2011 Southern California SCBWI Writer’s Day and share her immense knowledge and insight. This was one of the most heartfelt talks I’ve ever been too. Johnston is passionate and moved by her responsibility as a writer.

The following notes were taken during her talk:

"Giant" by N.C.Wyeth

Where Do You Find Inspiration?

• “Keep alive to everything.” – N. C. Wyeth
• Bumble through life at the ready.
• “If I keep alive to everything, a story will find me.” –Tony Johnston
• “I have not exhausted the ground I stand on.” – N. C. Wyeth (on why he doesn’t need to paint the alps. There is plenty to see and explore where he lives.)
• Notice things more and more. Inspiration doesn’t always come from an emotional core.
• The LA Times is a great place to find stories.

 Let the Feelings Catch You:

• “Be caught by feelings.”
• “Words from the heart, enter the heart.” (Saying in the Torah ??)
• Sentimentality is the cheapest lie.
• You don’t have to include significance and meaning to have a heartfelt moment in your book.
• Make ‘em laugh, but do it honestly.
• Heartfelt silliness is also an emotion.
• When writing about difficult subjects (like racism) remember that children don’t flinch. It is the grownups that flinch.

On Writing Picture Books:

• Keep it simple.
• “How difficult it is to be simple.” – Vincent Van Gogh
• Writing simply does not mean words must be short and easy. It should be the words that belong.
• “The difference between the right word and almost the right word can be the difference between the lightning and a lightning bug.” – Mark Twain
• Don’t slip into Cinderella’s Syndrome. Don’t try to fit a story into something that doesn’t fit. The glass shoe is the shape/structure of your story, if you try to force it, it will break.” Johnston’s example of this was a picture book that was really a novel, but she didn’t realize it till an editor pointed it out to her.
• Find the right form for your story.
• Listen to your editor.
• Don’t sentimentalize or trivialize.
• The process for every book is different.

The Essence of Childhood:

• Great picture books deal with the essence of childhood. Essence is the spirit, the pith, the heart of a story.
• The language of essences is clean, like an arrow, straightforward.
• “To the memory nothing is ever truly lost.” –Eudora Welty
• You must get back to the place where it hurts.
• “No tears in the writer. No tears in the reader.” –Robert Frost

Be Bold When You Write:

• Don’t play it safe. Writing is about risk taking!
• Writing is about sharing yourself.
• “Don’t hold anything back. Don’t hold anything for the next
  2 Comments on Nuts and Bolts and Chocolate, last added: 5/31/2011
  Display Comments
  Melora Bell said, on 5/31/2011 9:44:00 AM
  

  I’m very impressed by the great words/advice of Tony Johnston. She seems to have it all figured out and is so successful. Nice post!

  Laura said, on 5/31/2011 9:46:00 AM
  

  Oops. That was me not “Melora” (my penname). I pushed the submit button too fast.

  Add a Comment

Above is a vis dev story beat for A Fish Story. For those of you not familiar with the terminology “vis dev” is short for visual development. A “story beat” is an important part of the story…one that “drives the characters”.  These are all terms in “previs” which is short for pre-visualization.

My daughter said the drawing reminded her of the “original Cinderella story. You know, the Chinese folktale?” I never heard of this.

Back to the photos I found when I was back in Seattle recently... Here's one of my all-time best days at school that I can remember as a kid. It was first grade, and our class was making a big papier-mâché elephant for the school auction. We didn't finish painting it grey before recess break, so I begged the teacher to be allowed to stay in the classroom to work on it while the other kids were outside. And she said yes! On the first day of school, I had got myself quite badly and memorably bullied at recess, and I was horribly scared of the other kids. So being able to stay and paint by myself in the classroom - paint something VERY BIG! - had me in a state of complete bliss. I was so proud of that elephant.



My mother saved these; here are some of my very first figure drawings.



And a bit later, here's a landscape I drew of Cannon Beach, on the Oregon coast.



And much older, here's a painting I made as a teenager. I though it was terribly cool, and now I can see just how amusingly of its time it looks.

Jet-lag and catching up means it's taken me a week and a half to blog this, but here it is, my Stumptown blog post!



My family used to go every year to the Oregon on holiday (Cannon Beach, to be specific - here's a photo. Cannon Beach was where a lot of the outdoor scenes of The Goonies was filmed.) Since it's our old vacation place, I've always thought of Oregon as my favourite state.



As I flew over from MoCCA festival in New York City, I drew this mini comic on the plane to Seattle and roped my parents into helping me put it together. Which I'm glad I did, as it turned out to be my best-selling item! (Apologies if you already read it in an earlier post.



There's been A LOT going on in Portland since I emigrated to Britain. It has a thriving arts and comics scene; in fact, such a scene that there's now a whole TV show called Portlandia that parodies the city 'where young people go to retire', 'all the hot girls wear glasses' and 'you can put a bird on something and call it art'. Portland residents have very mixed reactions about the series, it does hit a bit close to the bone (and particularly annoying if your art career involves a lot of birds.) But I love this clip. The '90s are how I remember America, so it's ALL STILL THERE... in Portland! Ha ha...


YouTube link



YouTube link

I was trying to think of things to draw in Seattle when I was trying out encaustic wax painting with my sister, so... yeah. The bird. I think in Britain right now it's unicorns, possibly shifting toward tentacled creatures. There was even a brief period where everyone seemed to put Abraham Lincoln on things.



And here's how it looks if you put three birds at a table. Here I am with my fab table mates, my studio mate Ellen Lindner (ellenlindner) and Cliodhna Lyons (lj user="ztoical">), pronounced 'Kleena'. I sold lots of copies of my new all-ages comic book Vern and Lettuce and generally felt pleased about its US launch.


(Photo by my sister's partner, reporter Mike Lewis)

A big thanks to visitor Linda Wada (who knew of me through British comics creator Garen Ewing), who shot several videos duri

When I was in Seattle, I had a great time going through some old family photo albums and taking quick snapshots of some of them. I noticed a couple themes that emerged. One of them was books; there were loads of photos of people reading to my sister and me. I'm certain that had loads to do with me being an obsessive reader as a kid and teenager, and why I'm making books today. Funnily enough, my sister didn't like reading for a long time, until she discovered Archie comics. Now she reads even more than I do.


Here's my dad, reading to me in the house where my parents still live. Check out Dad's fab trousers!

I think that giving kids access to books and apps is great, but nothing beats getting read to. I still love it. When Stuart and I first got married, we decided we were going to read books to each other. But maybe I have a bad reading voice, or Stuart just likes to be in charge or something, but it quickly morphed into Stuart reading to me. (Which suits me just fine.)


My grandma reading to my sister and me


Stuart and I worked our way through Bill Bryson's Notes from a Small Island, The Wind in the Willows, Rebecca and a couple other books. It's funny how a book can come across differently when someone else reads it. When I read Rebecca (by Daphne du Maurier), I really sympathised with the timid main character, but when Stuart read it, I thought, I'd much rather meet the headstrong, fun-loving first wife, Rebecca.


Dominique, our baby-sitter, reading to us. I can identify the other book, Bedtime for Frances by Russell Hoban and Garth Williams.


Family friend JoAnn Burwell reading to us, with our friend Sarah Knofel. Sarah was much of a bookworm as I was.


My aunt looks on as her friend Marjorie reads to us The Magician and the Petnapping by David McKee. (Here's an interview I did as an adult with David McKee!)


Reading Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends to my grandpa

Oh, and I noticed another theme of our photo albums: I come from a line of people who wear kickin' spectacles. Here's my mother and grandma:

Image via Wikipedia

What’s your favorite and most unusual Easter tradition?

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When was the last time you climbed a tree?

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Kinda cool to think that nearly everything in the world started as a spark in someone's head. What will you create with your sparks?

Tell us about the fantastic-futuristic inventions you're planning to unleash on the world when you get older...

The Sparks Question Mark

This week I had the distinct pleasure of visiting two schools in Washington Township, NJ, a charming little community in the northwest corner of the state. According to Wikipedia, Jean Shepherd, author of The Christmas Story, once lived here. I didn’t see any leg lamps in any windows or kids with tongues stuck to poles, so I can’t confirm that fact. But I can confirm that the kids of Port Colden Elementary and Brass Castle Elementary schools are a welcoming and inquisitive bunch, and about the best audience an author could imagine. It was Dr. Seuss’s birthday, otherwise known as Read Across America Day, and the kids were decked out in homemade shirts and hats celebrating the late, great master of Whos, and Yooks, and Sneeches, and Zooks. Too many people complain about how kids have no attention spans. Not so with this crew. They sat quietly and cross-legged in the Auditoria (or perhaps it was a Cafetorium?) and locked eyes with me as I gave a presentation on writing. I could see what they were thinking:

“Entertain us, old man. Tell us something we don’t know, because we are culturally refined and our intellects are not to be trifled with.”

When I finished, they hounded me with brilliant questions. I hope I lived up to their expectations. Don’t believe it? Proof lies in this collection of photos from the kind folks at Lehigh Valley’s Express Times. My favorite question?

“What happens at the end of The Only Ones?”

I informed the young man (probably a junior blogger angling for an unprecedented scoop) that I can’t give out such spoilers, especially since the book doesn’t hit shelves for another six months. But I respect his guts and his willingness to get right to the point. To reward that, I am offering a teaser. The Only Ones ends like this:

…him.”

Intrigued?

I still read PBs like I did when I was a kid (the first time through, I only look at the illustrations, then I go back and read the text). For a long time I thought it was something I probably shouldn’t admit in public, especially to other writers and illustrators in the kidlit world. I was embarrassed. Who wants to admit that they don’t read picture books like an adult?

Then I realized that the way I read picture books is the way that most kids read picture books. Since I’m creating PBs for children, it’s good to remember how to read them like a child. As a kid, I didn’t read the text because I couldn’t read, and because someone else was supposed to read the book to me. It wasn’t my job to read the text. (I realize some kids read at a very young age, but picture books are often read to children at home, at the library, or at school.)

Realizing why I was reading PBs the way I was has made a HUGE impact on the way that I think about writing and illustrating picture books.

So what did I learn?

Writing Picture Books: The text is for the adults to read. I’ve read many articles about the type of language needed for picture books and how every word has to count (all of which is true). It helps me to also remember that adults will be reading the text. They are your audience for the words you choose. You can make them funny, lyrical, concise, emotional, descriptive, thoughtful, or all of the above. Think about what you would want to read to a room full of kids at a library, a child home sick, or two rambunctious four-year-olds that don’t want to go to sleep. Then start writing. Write an adventure that the parents will want to go on with their children (over, and over, and over again, because PBs are repeat reads).

Illustrating Picture Books: The art is for the child to read. If you’ve ever sat with a child and read them a picture book, you know that they really examine the pictures. They’re the first ones to find hidden clues. They’ll flip the pages back and forth to look at a favorite character again and again, without caring that the story isn’t finished yet. This is the audience for the pictures you create. Make the characters interesting, give them emotions that the child can read and relate to, even if they can’t read the words. Make the art colorful, detailed and specific so that a child will fall in love with it, look at it over and over again, and not mistake it for any of the other picture books she reads.

That is why I’m no longer embarrassed to say that I read picture books the same way I did when I was little. Long live childhood; long live picture books

How do you read picture books? I’d love it if you weighed in here or on my Facebook page about how you read PBs becausxe I’m curious to know if I’m the only one that still “reads the art” before reading the text.

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