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What a busy month this’s been! A lot of projects on the plate and…

Such an amazing weekend attending the SCBWI Winter Conference here in NYC. Full of inspiring keynote speakers like Jules Feiffer, R.L Stein, Dan Yaccarino, Sara Zarr…the list goes on but I won’t.

The whole weekend was filled with such an amazing rush of energy! I’ve never felt so much comfort and support from such an overwhelming amount of people (over 1100 attendees!). I can’t wait until the L.A Conference this summer! I’m totally hooked.

Managed to take some pictures and videos along the way, I’ll try and post some of my fave videos later this week!

More updates later. Happy Monday for now!!

More than 200 children’s book writers and illustrators (aspiring and professional) converged on a little Unitarian church just north of Austin for the 2010 Destination Publication SCBWI conference January 30.

Poet Liz Garton Scanlon and Illustrator Marla Frazee talk about their many months of collaboration with each other and Beach Lane Books V.P. and publisher Allyn Johnston.

Guests and speakers arrived from Texas and everywhere for a day of inspiring presentations and professional critiques of manuscripts and portfolios.

“The most expensive people, all of those those who were trained by the great editors Ursula Nordstrom and Margaret McElderry are gone,” agent and former editor Mark McVeigh said in his rivetting keynote,  “Defending Your Muse.”

Still children’s publishing is  “not an industry in ruins, but in transition,” he continued.  He spoke about the emerging digital media and mobile media (Kindle, iPhone, etc.) marketplace.  But he kept returning to the sovereignty of language, individual creativity — and the Emily Dickinson poem he keeps in his wallet.  You can read  Mark’s recapping of his time with us in Austin and see the full text of the Dickinsin poem  on his agency blog here.

Later in the day, Curtis Brown agent Nathan Bransford elicited a gasp or two with his comment that he sees 15,000 to 20,000 submissions a year and might take  four to five clients per year from that pile. Yet his presentation, like Mark’s,  hit inspiring notes.  He refers to the Austin conference and much more in his  blog

Liz reads one of Marla's e-mails

“Designing the ‘page-turns’ is the most important thing,” asserted two-time Caldecott Honor illustrator Marla Frazee in an extraordinary presentation on the the picture book creation process.

“Use the page turn in the narrative when you want the mood to shift and your images to really stand out,” she continued.

“Save diagonals for the most dramatic parts of your story. They’re like exclamation marks!”

Marla demonstrated how she filled the imagery for  All the World (2010 Caldecott Honor book penned by Austin poet Liz Garton Scanlon) with imagery from her own life  — landscapes of the central California coast, 

Wednesday: I flew into New York City Wednesday and thought it would be great to take the bus and subway the whole week. Kristie told me that my first transfer from a bus to a subway train would be in Harlem. She said, "Don't be scared." Usually, if someone has to point out that you shouldn't be scared, then it means there's a reason you might be scared. She said I should just act like I knew what I was doing and I'd be fine. Sure, no problem.

I thought I shouldn't show my laptop bag in Harlem, so I stuck it into my big bag which made it weigh about 60 pounds. I also had a carry-on. On the bus I was commanded to take my bags to the rear. I sat in the last seat before a set of stairs at the back of the bus. The bus driver looked in her mirror at me and commanded again, "Luggage to the REAR of the bus." She meant up the stairs with my 60# bulky bag and carry-on. I started to push my bag up the first step and the bus took off. I know the driver was laughing as she watched me stumble into a pole. I tried again to push the bag up and she slammed on her brakes and pulled over. More stumbling around by me. A nice man reached down and pulled my big bag up for me to the seats at the top of the stairs. Thanks nice man. When we got into Harlem I watched for my stop. As we pulled away from one stop, I noticed that it said 125th St Station. Oops. I was supposed to get off at 125th St Station. I jumped up and pulled my huge bag down the stairs. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM. I asked no one in particular, "Was that the 125th St Station?" Now, one thing you have know about the subway and buses in New York, you don't talk to anyone. You don't look at anyone. So here I am with lots of luggage wanting to act like I know what I'm doing, but instead asking the whole bus, "Was that my stop?" A lady dressed in her Sunday best turned and asked, "Honey, which 125th St Station do you want?" Uh, I don't know. I didn't know there was more than one. I pulled out my directions (not a good way to look like you know what you're doing) and told her I needed to transfer to the 2 Train and she told me I still had 3 stops. So, I turned around and dragged the huge bag back up the stairs. Ugh.

When I got off at the correct 125th St Station, I was standing in the middle of a block in Harlem. Hmmm... where's the subway? I looked around trying to look I knew what I was doing, but obviously not succeeding. Finally, I asked a couple girls where the subway was. They asked me, "You wanna go uptown or downtown?" Again, I didn't know how to answer. "Well, south? Downtown, perhaps?" The girls pointed me around the corner to the subway stairs. Yes, stairs with heavy bags. I've taken subways and trams in other large cities and I remember them being handicapped accessible, but nope, not this one. It was two flights of stairs down into a scary, dark, damp, dirty, rat-infested subway station. Yes, I saw a big rat on the rails. There was also a woman who was obviously on drugs ranting and raving as she paced up and down waiting for the train. At one point, a man sitting on a bench muttered, "Crack addict" as she passed, and they got into a shouting match about crack. Relieved when the train pulled up. When I got off at my stop near Kristie's apartment, I realized I had three flights of stairs to pull my bags up. Ugh. One step at a time I got up the first flight. I stopped to a take a rest and a man coming up behind me offered to carry my bag up the next flight. I don't think he realized how heavy it would be. He wasn't much bigger than me. So for the third flight of stairs he suggested I carry the front and he would carry the back.

At this point I'm sweaty in my heavy wool coat and turtleneck and New York City, which is supposed to be cold in February, is a record-breaking 68 degrees! I walked three blocks uphill and - yay- finally arrived at Kristie's apartment!

Later in the afternoon, I dropped off a portfolio at Simon and Schuster. Then I stayed up late talking with Kristie and her two roommates. They're fun and hilarious girls.

My eldest child is counting down the moments until she is a third grader. Literally. She woke me up at 5:45 am today. No sleeping in for me, thank you. Although, I was given the courtesy of a quick shake and an urgently whispered, "Mom," in my ear. Nothing but the best from this sweet child of mine.

My eldest was never one to sleep in. Not even as a wee baby. No delightful three hour naps...myths I decided...even if my friends were the ones Luck smiled upon. I would have been satisfied with the customary two hour naps, but lo and behold, my eldest was one of those twenty minute to an hour long nappers. Oh, yeah.

Ferber. Room darkening shades. Co-sleeping. And more. Tried it all. Nothing worked. Seems my eldest just doesn't need much sleep. Yay, me.

But what she traded in for sleep was much more precious to her. Life's experience beckoned to my eldest, sweeping her away in a myriad of sights, smells and tastes. What's not to love about a babbling baby, determined to reach for a colorful pile of toys beyond her grasp? When her parents are asleep? And the toys are across the room from her crib? Or a child who wakes up her daddy to steal some private biking and breakfast time before her siblings wake up? Or a child who has trouble sleeping because she can taste a win for the next day's swim meet? Or a child who wakes up early every morning so she can get ready to seize the day?

I admit, I was anxious for today. The first day of school was my dangling carrot of hope, helping me survive some of the most brutal days of unrelenting whining from three children with nothing exciting to do. This hope was what got me out of bed this morning, rather than grabbing a few extra Zzzz's. The first day of school. The first day of school. The first day of school. Yes!

My third grader and first grader wanted me to drive them to school this morning. Too many school jitters flew into their thoughts. What if I don't know where my class is? What if I miss my bus? What if my sister isn't on the bus? What if I have no friends? What if nobody wants to sit with me at lunch?

They checked their crisp backpacks, making sure all their school supplies and lunches were in place, then climbed into the car, jousling and nudging each other, smoothing out their clothes and hair. Silence during the five minute car ride. No smiles. Nothing.

As we meandered over to the school yard, eldest one's face brightens. Her best friend shrieked out her name, and ran over. Each one hugged the other for dear life. Then, they disappeared into the crowd. No goodbye. No kisses. Nothing.

Abandoned by her sister, first grader clutched my hand. We ventured closer. And an angelic face appeared. A friend. Unlike the older girls, first grader and her friend stayed right by my side as we found their class line. I got my hug and kiss from my little one. Happy first grader. Happy mom. For a moment. Because in the back of my mind, I felt sadness because my third grader went off to conquer her day. Without me.

It just so happened that I had to pass third grader's class line. Really. And there's eldest and her best friend, chattering and heading up the line. Ready to seize the day. I stayed at the fringe of crowd, unsure of whether third grader wanted me to be there, but willing her to notice me. Was I ever thrilled when eldest and her best friend ran over and gave me hugs.

Even though I was waiting for this first day of school, I must admit, I shed a few tears. In my car. At home. It's quite the bittersweet moment for me. My girls are growing up. Waiting to experience life, and at times, impatient to grow up.

I'm not a poet, but I couldn't help but write this original poem. If I can't be there with my kids, every step of the way, I might as well bless them. This is dedicated to my incredible children, and yours.

This week's Poetry Friday entry is an original. I promise it will be my last laptop-related post.*

Requiem for a Laptop

Brilliant white words dance
across a bright blue screen.
Memory and dump torment
like the pointy fingers of fairies,
plucking and thieving from
the heart of my mind.
Taking with them:
--syllabi and lectures
--overwrought research articles
--letters of recommendation
(long departed students, beware!)
--conference papers heavy in
their rhetorical cases
--three novels and the skeletons
of four more
--the audio files of children,
the fairies don’t care.
They’re beautiful, but cruel
as they knit their crowns resplendent
with the bits and bobs of
my Soulless P.C. Leaving me,
lumpen and pale, with
a mute carcass and
the Black Screen of Death.

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* I finally received a replacement laptop. Status of my harddrive is unknown.

Over the next few days, I'll be catching up on e-mail, posting a review or two, and rounding up the weekend reviews. Thank you all for your patience!

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Becky at Farm School is on this week's roundup. Head on over and leave your links!