How to use this Page

I want to tell you a quick story, with permission from who told it to me, of the unexpected ways books connect us. A few years ago I did a photographic essay of men and boys reading Princess Academy to illustrate that, yes, this does happen and yes, it is okay for heaven's sake. One of the participants is this man, who I've known for years:

He is a family man. He has many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren and is hands-on involved in their lives in an active, loving manner. He's a treasure. A few years ago one of his grandchildren gave up her two precious children for adoption. As is often the case, even though it was for the best, it was still very hard for the whole family.

The two kids, a brother and sister, joined a loving family. And not knowing that their birth grandparents knew me, they apparently became fans of my books. One day the grandson is reading through my past blog posts and sees the above picture. He recognizes "Papa." And so the boy has his mother take a picture of him reading Princess Academy in the same manner, recreating the photo. His adoptive mother sends the picture to his birth mother, who shows the birth grandparents. And today, with tears, they showed it to me.

Elizabeth Bird (librarian, author, blogger) asked me to contribute to her upcoming anthology FUNNY GIRL. For the announcement, she wanted me to write a sentence or two about being funny and being a girl and a writer or whatever, and yeah, I got carried away. Here’s the stuff I sent her that was obv too long for her announcement article.

While there are moments of humor in my first two books (Goose Girl & Enna Burning), no one would rightly call these comedies. When I was writing Princess Academy, I remember going to NYC for something and having a meeting with my editor and publicist. They'd read an early draft of Princess Academy. They both said, "We've been talking about how funny you are in person but how that doesn't come out in your books. Is there room for humor in this book? Is Miri funny?" And I thought, well, yeah, she is. She would totally use humor to defuse tension. So why hadn't I written that? The truth is I think I'd bought into the idea that "girls aren't funny." I heard that hundreds of times growing up. And again as adults, with regards to movies especially: "women aren't funny." I'd swallowed the party line without realizing it. But I was beginning to question it. Are we really not funny? Not as funny as the guys? Or do people assume we're not so don't notice when we are? The answer is clearly yes since I’m hysterical.

Ten of my twenty published books could be considered comedies, and yet I've never heard myself referred to as a comedic writer. TEN BOOKS. Never been invited on a humor book panel (those are for man writers). And the books that I co-write with my husband (Rapunzel's Revenge, Princess in Black) people always assume the funny parts are his. Hundreds of times people have pointed out parts that made them laugh and then asked, "Did Dean write that?" And most of the time, I had. Make no mistake, he is very funny and witty and clever. Too.

Here's a little story. Fifteen years ago when Dean and I were getting married, we made a wedding website. One night at a get together with our old group of friends:

Mike: "Dean, I loved your wedding website. It was really funny. I kept laughing out loud."
Me: "Well, you know, he built the site but I wrote the content."
Mike: nods "You typed it?"
Me: "I wrote it."
Mike: "You typed it up for him?"
Me: "No. I wrote it."
Mike: "You helped him write it?"
Me: "No, I came up with the words and put them together in sentences and wrote them down."
He was still so stumped. It took several more exchanges for him to get it. Later he returned.
Mike: "I guess I've just always thought of Dean as the writer."
Me: "I just received my MFA in Creative Writing."
He returned later yet again.
Mike: "I guess with couples, we're used to just thinking that one of them is the funny one."
Me: "You and I were in an improv comedy troupe together."

Mike is a wonderful human being and open-minded and a feminist and we're still very close. And believe me, he's been teased about this mercilessly by all of us for over a decade. But this is how deep the "girls aren't funny" idea runs. Even when presented with direct evidence, so many people can't see it! They keep seeing what they've been taught to believe.

So why does it matter? Why do kids need to see/hear/read women being funny? And hear adults acknowledging that they are funny? Because stereotypes shut down possibilities. The "class clown" is a boy. The actually truly funny girls in class are just "obnoxious" or "attention-seekers." Boys who are funny are encouraged, laughed, cheered. Girls who are funny are told to behave, shush, sit down. Comedy is a gift to humanity. How sad and pointless life would be without good laughs. We need to see girls being funny, encourage them to develop their sense of humor, reward them for the cleverness and intelligence it takes to make jokes. They'll be happier, more fulfilled human beings. And so will we. The more comedy the better!

You may remember my ‘Awesome Author Interview with Adam Wallace’ from last year (if not, click the link!). Adam Wallace has had heaps of books published over the last 10 years, including the totally gross chapter book series ‘Better Out Than In’ and ‘Better Out Than In Number Twos’, the frightening ‘Pete McGee’ trilogy, the […]

There's an old story I've heard retold many times. The Christmas oranges. Does everyone know it? An orphanage, Christmas, unjust mistress. Every Christmas the poor orphans get one precious orange. It's what they look forward to most, and spend all Christmas day smelling it, holding it, savoring and anticipating sometimes for days before peeling and at last eating it. One Christmas, an orphan is denied his orange as punishment for a mild infraction (in some tellings, he sneaks out of bed at night to peek at the Christmas tree). Christmas morning, since he didn't get an orange, the other orphans peel their orange early instead of savoring it and each give him one slice of their orange. It's a sweet story of mercy, kindness, and empathy.

Only it often falls a little flat for me because of the mild infraction part. What if the orphan had done something bolder? Worse? The story would be even more powerful for me if the other children still had empathy. Mercy.

If even in stories we don't allow characters to really mess up and yet love them anyway, are we capable in life?

I've always rankled at the term "Innocent victim." What does it actually mean? As if the only victims that count are those who are innocent of any wrong doing. Which would include babies and just about no one else, I think. I've heard this term a lot lately. And what I hear disturbs me.

When a police officer shot Michael Brown, focus was put on his shoplifting. The New York Times wrote that he was "no angel." When Eric Garner was choked to death, focus was put on his previous crime of selling untaxed cigarettes. When Tamir Rice was shot (a 12 year old boy, alone at a park with a toy gun, no one in immediate danger if the gun had been real, the police shooting and killing him within 2 seconds of arriving), the local media seemed to flail a bit. Aren't all children innocent? So instead they reported on the past crimes of his parents, as if that had anything to do with why police shot him that day in the park.

Rape victims still are blamed for what they wore, if they'd been drinking, if they'd gone with someone they didn't know well, if they'd gone with someone they did know and so should have known better, if they were in the "wrong" side of town, if they were sex workers, if they lied about any part of it to the police, if they were overly flirtatious, examining their decisions, finding fault, finding reasons to prove that they aren't "innocent" victims.

If the law only protects those who are innocent, we are all doomed.

We want to believe that when horrible things happen to people, that they somehow deserved it. They weren't completely innocent, so it's okay in a way. That makes us feel safer. We can believe that we are innocent, so those things can't happen to us.

But there are no innocent victims. We all of us make mistakes. And in this country, we don't believe in death as punishment for selling loose cigarettes. We don't believe in rape as punishment for getting drunk.

I know there is so much to debate in the things I'm bringing up. I do not want to get into here the vast problems in our legal system. And this is not a general condemnation of our police force. Remember who ran into the burning buildings on 9/11. The purpose of this post is to focus on this one simple idea. There are no innocent victims. I hope we stop trying to make anyone live up to that impossible standard. I hope we value all human life, even those who have made mistakes.

About thirteen years ago, I was on a work trip with several colleagues when we heard the news of police shooting an unarmed Black man (one of many such incidents in this country's history). The four of us (all white women) talked about this. Three of us felt sick by it and confused too, which I think is a sign of our privilege. Feeling confused and surprised by evidence of racism is the luxury of those who don't have to deal with it every day. The fourth woman, who I liked and admired generally, said something I haven't been able to forget: "Well, maybe the police had learned through experience that men who look like him usually have guns."

We all stopped walking and looked at her. She couldn't be saying what we thought she was saying, could she?

She went to clarify. She didn't hold the police officers at fault. After all, if in their experience Black men carried guns, then naturally they would assume this one had a gun, and so shooting him was in self defense.

"But he didn't have a gun," I said, in case she'd missed that part somehow. "He was afraid and running away from police, afraid they would shoot him, which they did. Even though he didn't have a gun."

"But he might have," she insisted. "They didn't know. Plus he shouldn't have been running. He should have just surrendered."

By her own logic, I wanted to add, perhaps then he had reason to be afraid the police would shoot an unarmed Black man, even if he surrendered. Perhaps his experience had taught him that that was likely.

We tried to point out to her that this is what the problem is with stereotypes. Even in the extremely unlikely scenario that every single Black man these white police officers had ever met had been carrying a gun and intended to use it to kill cops, this one wasn't. He should have been treated as an individual, as a human being, not by what others who looked like him had done in the past. He was killed for the color of his skin, not for his actions. That is the danger of stereotypes. That's what racism is.

She could not understand. She couldn't grasp what we were trying to explain. She could only see the situation from a single point-of-view. I don't want to paint the other three of us as heroes. I'm sure we are all spectacularly ignorant about a great number of things. But in this one instance, for whatever reason, we could see something that this other woman simply could not.

I wonder about this woman. I wonder if she only ever had friends who looked like her. I wonder if she'd ever read a book with a Black protagonist and learned to identify with him or her. I wonder if learning to recognize the pervasive racism in this country would have so upset the way she understood the world that she just couldn't manage it. If it was scary for her. If ignorance was a security blanket that she, as a white person, could afford to cling to.

I'm reminded of her a lot this week. People are reacting to the news from Ferguson in vastly different ways. One of those ways is, "It's not about race. Why do people have to make everything about race?" If someone were to say, "It's obvious that racism is a real and huge issue, but in this case, carefully examining the evidence, I don't think it applies here," I could respect that. I'd disagree with you, but I'd respect that. But to claim "there is no racism" is alarmingly blind and willfully ignorant.

Until we all choose to see and try to understand the racism around us and in us, nothing is going to change. And we so desperately need change. So desperately the need aches. It stings. And for some, it kills.

I don't have time to blog today but really want to stick with my goal of blogging every Monday. Doing some research for a presentation on graphic novels Dean and I are giving to teachers this week and I found this old bit Nathan Hale did from our launch of Calamity Jack nearly 5 years ago. Go see his cover reveal for his new Hazardous Tale graphic novel!

Also on tour last week, Nate, Dean and I were in the basement of the Texas state capitol, standing in the hallway talking for 5 minutes. The entire time Mike Farrell (BJ from MASH) was standing three feet away from us and neither of them noticed. I played it so cool. But BJ! From MASH! (I've seen every episode. Nate was too young, Dean too occupied with science ficiton)

In June, Tasha Robinson wrote an interesting piece "We're Losing All Our Strong Female Characters to Trinity Syndrome." In it she points out something that has bothered many of us for years, how a movie will often introduce an amazing, interesting, capable female character (often the only one in the story) only to do nothing with her. After her amazing introduction, she becomes a prop, just to aid the guy along his protagonisty quest and/or be his reward at the end.

Examples she gives:

the eponymous Trinity (the Matrix)

Valka (How to Train Your Dragon 2) - ugh, this one DROVE ME CRAZY. The way the script treated her was appalling. Honestly I'm so surprised in the years it takes to produce an animated movie, no one spoke up and said, isn't this bothering anyone else?

WyldStyle (Lego Movie) - drove me nutso. She was so cool at first! And once again reduced to ineffectual character who exists solely to be a protagonist reward

Tauriel (The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug)

Other examples that have stood out to me include Thandie Newton's character in Mission Impossible 2 (a textbook example really), Zoe Saldana in the new Star Treks, Mako Mori in Pacific Rim, Fiona in Shrek, all the females in The Lion King...really there are a ton of examples, and you'd be hard pressed to find a single movie where the reverse was true with a male character.

(to contrast, the Thor and Captain America movies have been great with female characters. Though Pixar is quite bad with their female:male character rations and almost always fail the Bechdel test, Elasticgirl is an example of a female character who doesn't succumb to Trinity Syndrome.)

I bring this up now because I was listening to Script Notes, a podcast about screenwrting by John August and Craig Mazin. I adore these guys and this podcast. They are terrific. They did a segment a couple of months ago talking about this report, and while they agreed largely with Tasha Robinson, they took issue with her interpretation of Wyldstyle from The Lego Movie. I wish I had a transcript to quote from, but in essence, they said criticism of Wyldstyle falling into Trinity syndrome wasn't fair because that was the whole point of the story. The movie was parodying The Matrix. It was done with a wink and a nod and so was fair game.

The Matrix starts off with Trinity, whose action wowed audiences in a way we hadn't experienced for many a year. She blew our minds, she was so fabulous and deadly. And yet as the story progresses, we learn the real hero will be "The One," and amazing and talented and experienced as she is, Trinity, for some reason, isn't "The One." Instead it's this white guy nerd. Why? We don't know. That's just how this world (our world too) works.

Wyldstyle's character vocalizes her reaction to this. Why isn't she The Special? Why this nerdy average guy and not her, who has been preparing and training and working hard for years? We don't know. That's just how it goes. And eventually she just accepts it, stops doing amazing things, and goes along with the story. (note: I otherwise enjoyed The Lego Movie, but disappointment in Wyldstyle's character kept me from fully loving it)

Tigress in Kung Fu Panda is essentially the same character as Wyldstyle (though serious instead of comedic): the most capable, most prepared, most talented, but for some reason not "chosen" and instead is present to support the seemingly infantile, ridiculous, unprepared but wide-eyed optimistic guy achieve his greatness.

What I wish August and Mazin had pointed out, though, was: isn't that a shame? Isn't it a shame that this awesome female character didn't get a chance to be the hero or even be significant to the second half of the movie? The filmmakers chose to parody a movie that surely none of the young audience would get instead of just letting Wyldstyle be her awesome self. They had a chance to make a character be different, to let a female character in an action movie be significant, powerful, as well as funny, and instead parroted the same kind of thing we've been seeing for decades. For me, the parody fell flat. I would rather have seen and rather my kids had seen Wyldstyle be to the Special what The Winter Soldier's Black Widow was to Captain America. I'd rather she had the chance to fully be her awesome self than fall back on a parody the target audience won't get anyway.

And by extension, I'd rather all girls got to be their awesome selves than be told by movies, again and again and again and again, that they should hold back, be lesser, tone down, hide their skills, step out of the spotlight, don't intimidate the guy, let him be the hero.

I’ve been busy! Visiting schools, writing books… looking forward to sharing pictures soon from my next book, BY MOUSE & FROG, to be published by Viking in April, 2015.

© photo by Dickerson Photography

[trigger warning]

[for mature readers, please get your parent or guardian's approval to read if you're under 14]

Some recent events prompted me to look back on last year's discussions about rape culture and consent, and a followup post. Several people commented anonymously about a related matter that I think is really important. I'm going to repost some of those comments here. Some cultures and religions advocate for celilbacy before marriage. I completely respect and support those who make that choice, but there is the misconseption that celibacy=silence, that the decision to not have sex outside of marriage means one cannot even talk about sex outside of marriage. And often the taboo of communicating about sex extends into a marriage. This silence leads to misinformation, misunderstanding, and a sometimes crippling separation between spouses.

I personally want to advocate for parents having long, varied, open conversations with their children, both sons and daughters, about sex, consent, what it's about, how to communicate, how to listen to your partner, how sex is about the pleasure of your partner and when your partner is enjoying it, your own pleasure increases. And I'd also like to advocate for couples who are having problems to please open up that line of communication. Please go see a counselor together. It's not too late. There should be no stigma about seeing a marriage counselor. Marriage is weird! How on earth can two people maintain that close of a relationship over years and years when both are changing? We all need some outside, non-judgemental help sometimes.

Someone's Wife:

I promised to post every Monday this year and I'd been doing so well, but I kinda burned myself out in July doing the weekday posts. Summer is so wonderful! I love having the kids home! But at the same time, I have the kids home. Their presence makes it harder to get my work done. Summer is glorious and yet killer on word count.

This past week my spare attention has been absorbed in what's going on in Ferguson. Last Thursday I felt a disconnect between what the media was reporting and what the people on the grown were reporting through twitter, so I storified Antonio French's account. Feeling distant and helpless, all I feel I can do is help signal boost what people of Ferguson are saying. I'm frequently on twitter if you are too.

I've also been closely following the Amazon-Hachette news. As you may know, the two are in negotiations for new terms, and because Hachette hasn't been relenting to changes Amazon wants, it in turn is not stocking Hachette titles. My Ever After High books are published by Little, Brown, a division of Hachette. Authors are caught in the middle of this feud and many are hurting a lot. A Wonderlandiful World (my third Ever After High book) publishes a week from tomorrow. Amazon won't sell preorders of it. As Amazon accounts for 40-50% of book sales, their choice not to sell certain books is significant. I hope people who normally shop from Amazon exclusively will use this opportunity to support bookstores who are stocking these titles. This article links to an email Amazon sent to many of its customers as well as Hachette president's response.

I promise to have marvelous things to say here next week. And going forward there will be much book news and hopefully plenty of good discussions. Stay tuned!

In a recent post about diversity, I wrote: "No one is truly able-bodied: we have missing limbs or chronic illnesses or mental illnesses or even glasses or allergies or freckles or fat or some way our bodies or minds aren’t exactly like some impossible transcendent ideal."

I understand why some mistook this piece of my post. I dropped that in there without enough explanation, so please allow me.

Growing up, I viewed the world as two separate groups: the Normal people and the Handicapped people (that's the word used in my childhood). The Handicapped people were blind or deaf or in a wheelchair. And I wasn't. And I felt bad for them and determined I would never bully any Handicapped children if I ever met any, (though I never did--or at least, I thought I didn't).

As I grow older, I see such a fallacy in that way of thinking. I understand why our language has terms like "able-bodied" or "whole-bodied" and "disabled," etc., but I find that dichotomy isn't really truthful. Disability/Able-bodiedness isn't an either/or situation. It's a continuum.

Is it as difficult for a myopic person who must wear glasses to navigate the world as a person who is blind? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Is it as difficult for a person who is fair-skinned and must wear sunscreen and hats whenever in the sun to navigate the world as a person who has xeroderma pigmentosum? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Is it as difficult for a person with a bad knee who must wear a brace and hesitates on stairs as someone who is paralyzed from the waist down? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Our world is designed for the able-bodied and it's a mark of an empathetic civilization when we try to accommodate all abilities.

I'm not trying to diminish the difficulties and challenges people with disabilities face. But I am trying to normalize the idea of disabilities because they are normal. Some disabilities are undoubtedly more life-changing than others. But I think it might be healthy for everyone, even those who are considered whole-or-able-bodied, to recognize that they're on the continuum too. We all are. We all have challenges that separate us from an impossible ideal of physical and mental health. Recognizing that can help us to not just sympathize with those who have more physical or mental challenges than us us but actually get closer to true empathy. And an increase of empathy only makes the world better.

Once we get rid of the either/or way of thinking, then possibilities open up wider. A child with a disability won't feel as Other (because really, aren't we all disabled some way?) A person without a disability won't feel uncomfortable around someone who has one because aren't we all in some way? Readers who are considered "able-bodied" won't have a hard time relating to a character who is disabled because, again, aren't we all?

Our bodies and minds are so magnificent. So diverse. So unique.

In the same way, white and non-white is another really weird dichotomy. E.g., in the US so many of us are mixes of many different nationalities, ethnicities, religions, genetics. The idea of pertaining to a single race is getting blurrier and blurrier. In a few decades people will look back and find the whole "white" vs. "not-white" idea really weird.

What do you think? Is this line of thinking disrespectful? Is it even possible to change how we think about disabilities? How can we change our language to get rid of that dichotomy? What have I not considered here? I absolutely don't want the last word on this nor do I think I have all the answers. This is something I think about and would love to hear your thoughts too.

I just read through some accumulated emails that go to my public account, and quite a few said some variant of "I will no longer read your books if you don't answer my email." Some said it nicely (thank you, sweeties). Some were, frankly my darlings, quite rude. Like, shockingly rude and demanding.

A few years ago, I had a choice. I could 1. answer all my emails or 2. write more books. I chose books. I know that disappoints you and I'm sorry. I don't like disappointing people. But it is not appropriate to threaten and bully people into getting what you want. I generally ignore negative emails. I rarely am able to respond to any emails, negative or otherwise. But there were enough of these type of emails I thought the issue warranted an explanation in a blog post.

I am not accessible. I cannot be your penpal. I cannot be your writing mentor. Email and twitter and blogs and Facebook and tumblr do not paint an accurate portrait of life. I am not sitting on my computer all day, available to communicate with you. I am cleaning the house and reading to my kids and physically pulling my twins apart so they don't scratch out each other's eyeballs and throwing something together for dinner and shoveling the clutter into the corners and paying bills and putting away the groceries and doing my taxes and helping my kids with their homework and running over to see a neighbor and cleaning up a spill and taking my kids to the doctor and sweeping up broken glass and washing the sheets and putting all the books my kids pulled off the shelves back on and tweezing out slivers and putting on bandaids and generally doing what a mother with four young children does. A few hours each weekday I get to write books. And a few times a day I can briefly check twitter, etc., and my email, though I always have far more than I can read right then let alone answer so they pile up. I am not wealthy. I do not have a personal assistant. I do not have a housekeeper or full time nanny or personal shopper or whatever rich people have. I am a working mother. I don't expect my younger readers to understand completely what that means, but please believe me when I tell you part of what it means is that there are so so so many things I would like to do that I simply cannot, and answering your email is one of those. You are not the only one writing to me. I either have to answer everyone or no one. If answering the emails and editing the stories and responding personally to the questions of every one of my readers is the price of having readers then I give up. I can't do it. I can only do two things. I choose: 1. be a mom/wife, and 2. write books. I can't be everything else that you want me to be. All I can do is be the author of some books that you might like, and if reading those books isn't enough for you, then I'm not your girl.

If you hear an edge to my voice, please believe it is not anger or offense. It is simply overwelmedness. I am overwhelmed. To be fair, I do state right there on my website above my email address that I won't be able to respond. A simpler solution would be to shut down my public account permanently. But I keep it because sometimes I get the most delicious emails, like the ones I've been getting from parents of kids who read Ever After High and said, "They never read a book before but they read this one straight through!" What joy! I get to forward those on to my editors and others who share in that joy and know that our hard work is finding a home. So I don't want to shut it down.

Maybe instead what I need to shut down is all this darn caring. I do care if I offend people. If I disappoint people. If they feel a connection to me through my books and feel personally betrayed by me that I can't complete that connection. I wish I could not care what people think. But if I didn't, maybe I wouldn't have the sensitivity to be a writer? To channel characters and care, too, what they think and feel? I don't know the answer.

Except this. I cannot change my email and fan interaction policy. And I cannot stop writing. So we are at an impasse, my darlings. I hope you have real people in your real lives who can hear your thoughts, be your friends, support and comfort you, read your marvelous words, and love you. Go to them. I'll be over here, out of sight, pulling out splinters and shoveling legos, silently cheering you on.

I’m proud to be a member of the Nerdy Book Club. You may be too, and not even know it…

To see the rest of this banner and its band of readers, head on over to the club’s brand-new site! I’m truly honored that my artwork now greets the enthusiastic, generous, and openhearted readers who congregate there.

© Deborah Freedman 2014

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, y'all! Lots of stuff going down in 2014. As a last look at 2013, here's some tweets (and some slightly-longer-than-tweets) I wrote about our family over the past year. May your own year be as abundant in toddler toots.

THE HUSBAND AND ME

Setting up a nativity set.
Me: I can't find baby Jesus.
The Husband: Have you looked in your heart?

Friend: There is no "i" in team.
The Husband: But there is a great deal of meat.

Me (sick): My body's telling me that I really need to rest.
The Husband: My body's telling me that I need to go see a movie.

The Husband just walked in with a metal bar across his shoulders, swings attached to each end, and a child swinging from each swing. (not the toddlers, the older kids)

On realizing two of our friends are textbook hipsters:
Me: I wonder what we are.
The Husband: probably Affable Weirdos.

Me: I'm going to see the Little, Brown people when I'm in New York.
Husband: Yes, it is a diverse city.
#publishinghumor

I'm so lucky to have the kind of husband who I can email "what would an evil character name a pet rat?" and get 10 excellent names in return.

The Husband's name ideas for an evil rat: Scapula, Scrapple, First Lieutenant Skittery Boo, Holland Oats, Third Try, Bubonick, Marrow, and Steve

Tonight The Husband and I slow-danced, a 2yo on each of our shoulders. Appropriately, the song: "Don't Get Around Much Anymore"

Each evening I make plans to do X,Y, and Z after the kids go to bed. But by the time everyone's down, all I can manage is Zzz...

Me: It is hard, you know, when you love something and work so hard and yet some people hate it.
My dad: Tell 'em to shove it.
#advice

Just wrote about my villain, "She had such beautiful, beautiful pans." I meant "plans," but now want to have her obsessed with pans.

One of the most alarming things about being a parent is realizing our parents must have been faking it too.

One of my favorite things about young children: when we're walking, if I put my hand out, they'll hold it.

No, Mama won't stop cleaning the kitchen to hold you while you're eating a lollipop you stole from your sister's room. That would defeat the reason I pretended not to notice.

My 2yo was just sitting with her butt in the air 6 inches from my face and tooted epically loud. #preciousmoments #childrenareourfuture


THE KIDDOS

9yo yells at 6yo: "Just because I fell asleep for a second means you have to put your foot in my mouth?"

9yo to toddler: "No thanks, I'm not going to eat this chewed up meat you just spit into my hand."

There was a bowed swoop of clouds in the sky. My 9yo said, "look, it's an albino rainbow."

6yo was supposed to be getting into bed. Missing. Finally found her in the dryer. Opened the door. She said "meow"

All the toilet paper rolls in the house mysteriously disappeared. I discovered them stacked in my 6yo's room, used for bowling pins.

My 6yo: I almost didn't recognize you because you look fat in that shirt.
Me: do you mean majestic?
Her: no.

My 6yo making colored glue paintings: "The ones that are mistakes are beautifuler than the real ones!"

My 6yo just gave her plush cat a haircut so the cat would have a hairball to cough up

In my room writing. Kids out there with sitter. Little 6yo hand just pushed a ziploc bag full of water under my door. There are three dandelions inside. I think she's giving me an under-the-door version of a vase of flowers.

My 6yo screams from the other room: "Everybody in the whole wide world knows how to draw a werewolf except me!"

Today my 6-year-old held up a square of rubber and asked, “What is this?”
“A hot pad,” I said.
She scowled at it and then dropped it on the floor. She stood on it and jumped, and scowled again, unsatisfied. She held it up and inspected it, confused.
“You can put the hot pad in the kitchen,” I said, thinking she was wondering what to do with it.
“Oh,” she said, “I thought you said hop-pad.”

My toddlers are a heartwarming example of cooperation. Together, they can pull the freezer drawer open and then toss out all the contents.

2yo holds up knife and fork and slowly advances toward her dad: "Don't be scared, Papa. Don't be scared your face. I saw you soft."

Me: ok we should go
2yo: no we should didn't

My toddlers use screaming like an octopus uses ink.

Toddler friend has arrived to play with my 2yos. They're greeting her with repeated "Hi little poopy head." I'm so proud.

Me: Come here, love.
2yo: I'm not a love!
Me: I call you that because I love you.
2yo *considers*: Ok, I'm a love.

My toddler has turned flailing into a martial art.

2yo, stomping, with hands in fists: "I'm a MAD princess!"

My 2yos have begun giving each other permission to do as they please. "You don't wanna go night-night? It's okay, you don't have to."

On a walk, my 2yo: "Aw, the trees love me."

Me: Don't kick your sister.
2yo: I didn't kick her! I petted her with my feet.

Early this morning, Dinah climbed onto my bed, stuck an adhesive eyeball to my cheek, and said, "Surprise! You are going to school."
Kids invented surreal.

My 3yo started to cry.
Me: What's the matter?
3yo: I toot and it smells really stinky.

My toddler twins, standing in front of the mirror:
"That one's you and that one's me."
"No that one's me and that one's you."

This morning as I got my 3yo out of bed, she declared, "Mama, today I am going to grow bigger."

3yo: "I'm going to turn into a princess now."
Clenches fists, whole body trembles, screams as if in metamorphic pain.

3yo just announced, "Somebody peed in my pants."
Sure enough, they were wet. Who would do such a thing?!

Toddler girls in ballet costumes. Spinning, lurching, stomping. Never have they looked more like little ogres.

Leaving the room, my 3yo said, "I gotta bounce," and then she literally bounced away.

Picturebook authors get the best snail-mail. A huge thank you to all who send it!

Pumpkin sorceress Laura has done it again! I'm so honored to have been part of her yearly carving extravaganza.

Ooh, a lovely homage to Ever After High. So happy that The Storybook of Legends has been a New York Times bestseller for four weeks now! (Just to clarify, Mattel invented the world, made the dolls, and asked me to write a book, not the other way around. Gotta give credit to the great creative team at Mattel for the concept.)

In celebration of the Austenland movie! Some three months later, it's still in some theaters and moving into the discount theaters. I imagine the DVD will be released in early 2014. It looks to me like it did really well for an indie movie.

Look at this gorgeous symbol from the cover of Dangerous! The date's been moved up, so it releases the first week of March. I'm so excited to share this book with you all.

Thank you for the pumpkins, Laura! And thank you to all the readers who allow me to keep writing and publishing books so that Laura can carve them into pumpkins.

Snail and I are hitting the road, slowly, with our book, The Story of Fish and Snail. Hope to see some of you! Here’s where we’ll be:

September 15 is International Dot Day, when over 1 million teachers and students, inspired by Peter H. Reynolds’ book The Dot, plan to celebrate “teaching and learning with creativity”. This is my mark — see others by some of your favorite authors and illustrators here, at “Celebri-dots“.

Suggested Reading, Picture Books About Art and Imagination: Flyaway Katie by Polly Dunbar, The Paper Princess by Elisa Kleven, I Want to Paint My Bathroom Blue by Ruth Krauss and Maurice Sendak, Jeremy Draws a Monster by Peter McCarty, How to Paint the Portrait of a Bird by Jacques Prevert and Mordicai Gerstein.

And More Picturebooks about Art and Imagination.

THE STORY OF FISH & SNAIL?

Coming from Viking Children’s Books, June 13.

Some of you may remember my dear friend Dawn on Survivor a couple of seasons ago. While I was in England for seven weeks shooting Austenland, she was in the Philippines for seven weeks shooting Survivor. Though we didn't know it at the time. She was super secret.

Well, she's back in this season's Survivor: Caramoan! They're several episodes in, but if you want recaps, I love what Dalton Ross does at EW.

I love watching the show and rooting for a friend, but the most interesting part for me is reading what others (viewers, contestants voted off) say about Dawn. It's cool and it's heartbreaking. And a good reminder to me that what we see on TV isn't the whole story. Dawn is one of the best people I know. She is the first person in the neighborhood to notice a need and go rushing in to help. She genuinely loves and cares about people. She and her awesome husband adopted six awesome kids. She's very intelligent and funny and witty. But from watching a 45-minute show edited for some other purpose, you can't see her whole personality. You get an incomplete and sometimes false picture. This realization has made me less inclined to judge anyone I don't know by what a TV show or article or books shows me. I always wonder, but what's left out?

Of course this isn't only true of those visible in the media, is it? I mean, how well do I really know anyone? A few minutes here or there, edited out of their whole life. I have no right to judge anyone. I can't see their whole picture. I can't understand all that's going on inside their head.

Just my quick musing on a Monday morning amid a crazy book deadline. Time to go get inside my characters' heads...

reposted from Dec 2011:

Dear reader/writer/event organizer,

Thank you for the email/letter/blog comment. I really do care that you reached out to me. You asked so kindly if I would read your manuscript/answer questions for your school project/sign and return your books. Surely I'm no busier than you are. We're all busy. The very least you deserve is a response. But silence followed.

The truth is, it really would be in my best interest to blurb your book/be interviewed on your blog/attend your book event. Publicity is important for any author and you were so kind to think of me. You must think me rude for not responding to your email/Facebook message/tweet. You may have expected more from me. After all, I sound so accessible on my blog/Facebook/interviews. And we have a personal connection since we're from the same place/have a friend in common/both like cheese fries. Surely I'm the kind of person who doesn't get so full of herself she ignores the common reader?

I don't have great excuses, just the usual of kids/books/sloppy brain syndrome. In all sincerity, I feel guilty about my ineptitude at responding to your kindness. Every day. I can't respond to everyone, of course. That would be impossible unless I had a personal assistant/magic time expander/clone. But because you were so awesome with your request, I fully intended to respond to you, and then a baby woke up/I realized I hadn't eaten all day/I plumb forgot. I hope you don't take this personally. You are a noble woman/man/giant ant deserving of real attention. You know what would be awesome? You should go ahead and become a famous writer/entertainer/cheese fry chef and when I ask you for something, you should ignore me! Justice, baby.

Take care, enjoy this snow/rain/sunshine, and I hope one day you can forgive me. I really am sorry.

Cheers/xoxo/sincerely,
Shannon.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year and hello! We're snowed in here and feeling cozy. About to go write for a couple of hours and thought I'd drop a few lines to say what I've got in store in 2013 (since the world isn't ending...yet).

No new book in 2013. Prepare yourself for a shocker: toddler twins have slowed me down a bit. I outlined my current novel in 2005, finished the first draft in 2009, and hope to finish the final in January 2013, pubbing in early 2014. It's been a doozy of a book. I've cut about 300 pages overall. But I like it! I really, really hope you will too. I've worked SO hard on this. Promise me you will love it? Cross your heart?

Well, I sort of have a new book in 2013. I wrote a short story for the new GUYS READ anthology, edited by the marvelous Jon Scieszka, theme: fantasy and science fiction. I believe that will pub in the fall.

See my events page for stuff. So far:

AUSTENLAND premieres at the Sundance Film Festival January 18.

I'll be speaking at the Family Literacy Symposium in Provo, Utah.

I'll be in La Verne, San Diego, and Los Angeles doing events in February.

Teens, come join me at the Teen Author Boot Camp in March.

In May we'll do our annual fab 1-day writers' workshop Writing for Charity, TBA.

Check here for ongoing news about the AUSTENLAND movie, title and jacket of my new book, some teasers for the first book of THE PRINCESS IN BLACK series (book 1 pubbing fall '14), and other such niceties. Thanks for stopping by squeetus.

I'm so thrilled to announce the release of my Bird Art App for the iPad. It's available from the App Store now - and it's FREE (for a limited time)!

It is a collection of some of my favourite sketches, drawings and paintings, including some of the rough original sketches made prior to the finished artwork. I've been passionate about painting and drawing birds for over 20 years, and this is such an exciting way for me to share some of my pieces with you.

I hope you enjoy taking a look at this other side of my creative life - this app has been a pet project of mine for the past year, made possible by the clever folks at daydreemin, who compiled the images into this lovely format.

Some of you took my post On Hate to say that I don't think we should have any opinions, which would be ironic since it was a very opinion-y post! I definitely think we should have opinions. And discussion. And feelings. And investigation. And disagreement. But can't we have those things without hatred? While writing Palace of Stone I researched and thought a lot about Rhetoric, when discourse is productive, when it isn't, what rules for good discourse are, and where we are today. I feel like we've almost given up on any hope of civil disagreement and discourse, and I don't want to.

The confusion re: my post may just be due to a lack of clarity on my part, but I wonder if some of it is our tendency to link passion and strong emotions to hatred, and that without passion, ie hatred, we can't have opinions. We might think of hatred as a natural extension of a strong opinion, as if our opinion can't be really passionate and powerful without hate.

I'd like to question that assumption and posit, Hey, how can we make this whole life experience a little better for everyone? I think it'd be awesome if we could somehow magically eliminate all hatred in the world, but I don't think any of us were speaking to that lofty and impossible goal. We were looking at our own little lives and what tiny changes we can make to perhaps relieve ourselves of that stealthy brand of hatred.

Anger, indignation, a passion for justice--these emotions are often productive and lead to world changing and improvements. Hate, I think, is quite different. Hate immobilizes. Hate isn't enlightening--it's blinding. Once we hate we can no longer see clearly. People merge together into groups of Other. Any time in history when humans choose to see any group of people as less-than-human, very bad things have happened. Slavery. Genocides. Mass murders. This is dangerous turf. Choosing not to hate doesn't mean excusing atrocities. We can stand up for beliefs without hating those who believe differently; we can fight for justice without hating the offenders; we can protect ourselves and our loved ones from toxic and destructive influences without hating those sources. Or at least, we can try, and I think it's worth trying for. In reality, I don't think hating anyone truly denies them humanity. It only damages our own.

I would argue that hatred has never improved a single moment for a single person on this planet. It's a primal reaction, one that has been scientifically proven to harm, to flood the body with toxins, to damage the heart and mind. When I say "I hate--" I find myself feeling that emotion, and what I once only disliked I begin to loathe. I've written "hate" many times in this post. I'm not seeking to eliminate it from the English language. It's an apt description of a strong emotion. But I am seeking to eliminate it from my own self, even if that's not totally possible. I don't want to feel hatred, and I don't want my kids to be raised believing that hate is okay. Hate breeds hate. It's a very strong word, and it's one I've learned to be careful with. It's improved my life to be more aware of it, careful with it, mindful of the consequences of being too casual with hate.

I have sometimes noticed people bestowing a kind of respect upon hate, as if it's a power, something that makes one better, stronger, more active and intelligent than others. I want to kick the altar built to hate. I want to deny it any majesty and expose it for the deceitful, unproductive, damaging and unquenchable hunger I believe it is. Hatred starts naturally as a knee-jerk reaction. But ongoing hatred we have to nurture in ourselves, we have to choose to hate. I question the benefit of that.

We all have different experiences. This is mine. In the end all we can really do is share our own experiences, listen to others, and try to make the best choices we can, living the lives we've been given. I hope this discussion will be worthwhile. Again, in the comments feel free to agree or disagree, but please do so respectfully.