Last Saturday I had the privilege of serving on a panel with my fellow “DDDs” (April Lurie, Shana Burg, Margo Rabb, and Varian Johnson) entitled Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About YA Books … But Were Afraid to Ask.  Adding to the honor was the fact that our moderator was none other than the award-winning and much beloved Austin-based author Sarah Bird.

During the hour we touched on such topics as how we got started, why we write for teens, the differences between YA and adult fiction, and the frustration we feel when some people insinuate that YA novels are “lesser” literature.

I’m lousy at judging crowd size, but I was told it was around 100 – including several under the age of 18.  A great mix of booklovers, aspiring writers, teens, educators, and the simply curious.  After the panel we had the opportunity to meet people and sign books.  I’m still amazed when someone comes up to me at an event and tells me they loved my book – and they’re not a cousin!  Before I was published, I was always too shy to go up to authors and tell them how much I enjoyed their work.  But now that I know how good it feels to hear such things, I do it every chance I get.  It’s not just validation.  It’s like … you’ve given birth to these stories and let them out into the world … and they never call.  It’s wonderful to hear people praise these things you hold so dear.

I opted to dress up for a change in order to feel smart and professional.  My “author costume” consisted of a teal dress and silver sandals (if I were to wear what I typically have on while writing it would be yoga pants and tank top – both coffee stained).  I was going for simple and classy, but when Cynthia Leitich Smith saw me, she exclaimed “My my!  Will we be turning letters on Wheel of Fortune later?” which cracked me up.  It’s amazing how friends react whenever they see me with makeup on and my hair brushed.  Perhaps I should be less of a grunge in real life.

Margo, who is always effortlessly fashionable, looked adorable in a black and white dress and the most amazing red wedges.  Even Sarah had her hold them up for all to see.  Here we were being all literary and we sidestepped into talk about Marc Jacobs shoe wear.  Love it!  This was the first time I’d seen Margo since I’d read her book, and I had to fight the urge to bombard her with questions.  The story was so masterful and moving – and because I knew it was based on personal experience, I kept picturing her as the protagonist.  It broke my heart and made me want to protect this 15-year-old version of Margo forever. 

Margo might make me feel like a protective slob, but it’s Varian who makes me feel lazy.  Dude works over 50 hours a week at his engineering job, writes brilliant novels in his spare time, AND STILL finds time to finish up his MFA studies (*sounds of crowd roaring*).  He officially graduates in July, but I do believe the hard work is done.  We must now refer to him as Dude Master.  Or Master Dude.

Shana always cracks me up.  The lady is so brilliant and yet so self-deprecating.  She was the one with the bright idea for the panel.  She was the one who had the insight and guts to ask Sarah to moderate.  She has an amazing, multi award-winning novel out there and the first thing she says when it’s her turn on the panel is, “Okay, so I just want to say that I’m allergic to mangoes …”  Apparently she was concerned because her eyes were still a bit puffy after an unfortunate tropical fruit incident.  But I couldn’t tell – honest!  To me she just looked a little sleepy.

April was also recovering from a health issue.  Poor dear was getting over laryngitis, which made her sound husky.  So basically she was her same beautiful, wise self – only with a sexy Demi Moore voice.  During the panel she referred to her background as a nurse and mentioned that she has never met another nurse-turned-YA-author.  I find that fascinating.  Not only does April have her medical career experiences to draw on, but she has four brilliant kids.  No wonder her stories are so funny, so unique, and so emotionally real.

The panel went very well – due in large part to our multitalented moderator.  I’m still in awe over Sarah.  Her novel Alamo House came out when I was 18 years old and living in a women’s cooperative at UT.  It was a pivotal read for me.  I loved her voice and completely understood the characters – hell, I was practically living the book as I read it!  Since then I have followed her career closely.  Whenever I meet someone I admire, I’m always shocked that they aren’t supernatural diva-like creatures.  I don’t know why, but I am.  Sarah is so unpretentious.  So witty and engaging and quick to laugh.  Our panel was in the best hands.  And I’m so glad I’d calmed down enough from geeking out over Sarah that I could speak during it.

Big kudos also goes to the Book People people: Mandy, Emily, Alison, Meghan, Madeline and the gang.  They do so much for the literary community – writers and readers.  That store is one of the reasons I love my city so.  In fact, I should probably have my advance money converted into an account there … such much of it ends up there anyway.

Big hugs to pals who came out to cheer us on! The ones I’ve known and loved for a while; the ones I’d only conversed with electronically and finally had the honor of seeing in person; and the ones I met that very day.  Especially our teen supporters.

It was so wonderful to unshackle myself from the computer and go have fun for a while.  Now I can return to my cave, inspired and refueled.

When my son was born, I tried to teach him everyone’s name.  Over and over I’d point to the faces in family photos and ask “Who’s that?”  He’d recognize all the grandparents and call them by name, but for some reason, whenever I gestured to my sister’s smiling mug, he’d reply, “Baby.”  I kept working with him on it, saying “Look, it’s A-man-da, A-MAN-DAH,” but apparently I stressed the “d” in the last syllable too much because he then took to calling her “Doo-Doo.”  (Said Sis: “I think I liked ‘Baby’ better.”)

Luckily “Doo-Doo” soon became “Nah-Nah” and then “Aunt Amanda.”  (Or as Toddler Boy would pronounce it, “Aunt Meenda.”)

Later, when the Boy was three or four years old, he loved to play this game we made up called “Favorites.”  Basically it was a series of questions I would ask him, such as “Who’s your favorite friend to play with?”  “What’s your favorite toy?”  “What’s your favorite song?”  “What’s your favorite story/ game/ thing to do outside/ food/ drink” … etc.  One rainy day we played it for several long minutes until I finally ran out of things to ask him.  I’d covered everything from animals to clothes to rooms in the house.  So I announced the game was over and thanked him for playing.   “No!” he said.  “We’re not done!  You didn’t say, ‘Who’s your favorite mama?’”  Awww, I thought.  How sweet.  “Okay.  Who’s your favorite mama?” I asked.  He thought for a moment and then replied, “Aunt Amanda!”

My Sis has a special way with kids.  She’s a middle school teacher – the kind that all the students love and respect.  And whenever we all get together for visits or the holidays, she is much more fun than I am.  She often shows up with candy or books or a video for the Girl and Boy, and she delights in their stories about recent goings on, often relating them later to her classes.

This past weekend she came for a visit and, as per usual, brought goodies  – which shows how selfless she is since it was her birthday weekend.  The kids made her cards and when she opened the envelope from the Boy she found a homemade cartoon and … a $5 bill.

We laughed good at that one.

So here’s to my kids’ favorite mama.  Happy Birthday, Sis!  Try not to spend that cash all in one place.

I am doing laundry.  This is one of the few chores I don’t mind doing.  I find there is a certain Zen to it.  And because I’m not a very tidy or graceful person, I get to relive the moments of the past few days as I pre-treat.  Today I have found Sharpie marks on my sleeve, a splotch of red wine on my jeans, and even a couple of minor bloodstains on the hem of my blouse.  Hmm.  I must have gone to TLA!

Allow me to recap via my smudges:

Sharpie stains -- I had a fantastic signing on Thursday.  I sat in the author aisle with the adorable Kelly, Random House publicist extraordinaire, and met so many wonderful llibrarians, educators, authors and book lovers.  Hearing things like “There’s a waiting list for your book” and having my own lines quoted back to me is the best validation ever.  Writing can be such a solitary and sometimes lonely pursuit.  I do it because I love the stories -- period.  But even though I don’t constantly crave attention, getting positive feedback is such an unexpected and powerful ego boost.  I found myself tearing up at times.  (Luckily I’d thought to wear waterproof mascara or there’d be more stains.)

Blood -- The counter where I was signing books had an exposed staple and every time I leaned forward, a tiny metal hook would pierce my skin.  I was so hyped I didn’t even notice it.  Then after my signing I joined up with fellow Austin author Chris Barton to explore the exhibits and went ... “Ow.”  That’s when I noticed a tiny trickle of blood along my arm.  Big thanks to Emily, Adrienne and wonder-editor Jim Thomas at the Random House booth for pulling out the first aid kit.  Just the fact that they HAD a first aid kit makes me think stuff like this must happen all the time.  No pain no gain when it comes to TLA.

Red Wine -- I had the honor of clinking glasses with many charming librarians and fellow authors during my stay in Houston.  In addition to the discussions on books, school visits and the industry in general, we also touched on the following topics:  Irish castles, boots, spirituality, Latin verbs, hairstyles, R-rated comedy, phone etiquette, and 70s dance music (a cohort even broke into a rather good rendition of “Jive Talkin'”).

There are so many wonderful aspects to TLA.  It is, of course, a business conference.  I make connections with so many amazing people that often lead to paid appearances, panel discussions, and other collaborations.  But is also part vacation, part group therapy, and part star-gazing.  I can’t possibly name all the fabulous people I met or even select high points of the trip.  Every moment seemed to have some magic.

Thank you Houston librarians and SCBWI-ers such as Diandra Mae for doing such a fantastic job!

Thank you Lone Star Committee. Your support of my book means so much to me I can’t express it in words.  So glad I got to meet you!

Thank you Random House for the incredible dinner and for taking such good care of me.  You guys rock!  (Literally!  No Jive Talkin’!)

Thank you Readergirl Divas Lorie Ann Grover, Justina Chen Headley, and Dia Calhoun for being so gracious.

Thank you Justine Larbalastier and Scott Westerfeld for the champagne and amazing conversation.  (My sides still hurt from laughing.)

Thank you Cynthia Leitich Smith, Greg Leitich Smith, Brian Anderson, Jessica Lee Anderson, Don Tate, Michelle Beebower, Kate Slaten, Celeste Putska, Gillian Redfearn, and Chris Barton for making me so proud to be from Austin.

Thank you Coert Vorhees for the delicious Beck’s Prime lunch and for being so dang fascinating.

And thanks especially to the lovely Margo Rabb, my slumber party pal, and Varian Johnson, my handsome coachman.

Can’t wait until next year!

 … is some very entertaining coverage of a lunch meeting I attended with Shana Burg, Varian Johnson, April Lurie, and Margo Rabb.

Together we are the DDD – a group of nutty but harmless (as well as fun) local creatives.  These wonderful people support and encourage me.  They keep me strong.  They make me better, stronger, faster.  (*Cue theme song.*)

Check it out online! 

Here’s the article:

http://www.statesman.com/life/content/life/stories/books/02/28/0228delacorte.html

And click here for the blog post on us by the writer of the article, Jeff Salamon.

Needless to say, I am "D"-lirious with joy!

 Well, it’s official.  My son is taller than I am.  It’s only by a smidgeon, but the smidgeon exists.  And he is overjoyed at this development.

 I keep reminding him that I’m still in charge.  Even when he’s a foot taller and can bench press my weight.  But things are different.

I’m having to get used to a lot of new things regarding the Boy.  Things like:

n      Girls calling up and asking for him.

n      Being unable to tell his laundry apart from Hubby’s laundry.

n      Seeing a tall figure out of the corner of my eye – or hearing weighty footsteps – and doing a double take when I realize it’s my son walking past, not Hubby.

n      Making an adult wisecrack (no – not x-rated; I mean abstract and intellectual, or one of my –ahem– stellar puns) and hear him genuinely laugh in response.

We were watching the evening news discuss the new presidential pooch yesterday and the Boy said, “I think they should name the dog ‘Clinton.’ That way they can say there’s another Clinton in the White House.”

I laughed good at that one – pleasantly surprised at his cleverness and his grasp of current political tides.

A couple of weeks ago the Boy had a birthday.  We were recovering from (and then were soon hit with another) cold and/or flu virus in the house, so I didn’t get around to crafting a birthday post.  But needless to say I was drowning in nostalgia.

It’s rather masochistic of me, but on my kiddos' birthdays I tend to get out the scrapbooks and photo albums – or watch old video footage.  Then I laugh and sob simultaneously like some rubber room escapee. 

The Boy has pretty much outgrown toys, so we gave him tickets to Spamalot for his birthday.  Gone, too, are the themed slumber parties with superhero cakes and pin-the-blank-on-the-blank games.  So this year he and a couple of good friends descended on a pizza and arcade wonderland for several hours.

Occasionally I feel stuck in time.  I still find myself stopping to look at “Yu-Gi-Oh”-stamped playthings while cruising through Target.  Or heading towards the kids’ shoe section instead of the men’s.  All for a boy who isn’t around anymore.

The Oscar telecast is like my late-winter Christmas.  I look forward to it every year.  There’s a huge build-up, anticipation, planning, and then the inevitable anti-climax.  “It’s over?  Darn.  Now what do I look forward to?”

I’m blessed to have a friend who always invites me to her house for a viewing party.  Every year Selene outdoes herself.  We nosh on excellent food, drink, make predictions, and, of course, snark.  I’m not a snarky person, but I can easily call up my inner envy-disguised-as-cynicism when it comes to obscenely rich, ridiculously beautiful people who take themselves way too seriously.

I tend to (and I’m certain I’m not alone in this) put on a  “I’m way too self-actualized to live that kind of life” front, while giddily scanning the red carpet fashions and aching for a chance to share a table with Kate Winslet or Robert Downey Jr.

This year was no different.  I took notes, cried a little, and mocked a lot while munching on Selene’s Oscar themed munchies:

Mini cheeseburgers (Frost/Nixon)

Samosas and naan bread (Slumdog Millionaire)

Stuffed “button” mushrooms and ’20’s-style champagne punch (Benjamin Button)

Bratwurst und mustard und strudel (The Reader)

Cream pie and 1970’s-style veggie tray (Milk)

Here’s my altar-wine (Doubt) fueled report:

The Fashion

The trends:  Single shoulder gowns were all the rage.  So were shiny, reflective fabrics that allowed you to check your makeup by simply staring at your lap.

My favorites?  Loved Kate Winslet (even though she did have Lego-hair), Taraji P. Henson (the next “it” girl?), Viola Davis (perfectly put-together), Meryl Streep (pure elegance in both dress and demeanor), Melissa Leo (that dress would have made me look like a stretched penny, but on her it was stunning), and Alicia Keys (she growed up all graceful and stylish-like, didn’t she?).  For the men?  I liked how Josh Brolin, John Legend, and Robert Downey Jr. cleaned up.  And Daniel Craig should either wear a tux or go shirtless.  Always.

I really can’t snark too badly on the fashion this year.  I mean, it’s a damn shame about that mini explosion that left Miley Cyrus’s dress all singed and in tatters.  And did Jessica Beil have a baby?  Because only a sleep-deprived new mom would forgot to take that burp cloth off of her dress.  Plus, I’m sure Vanessa Hudgens couldn’t help it that a small swarm of death head moths attached itself to her bodice.

Also, I’m starting to like Tilda Swinton’s (non)sense of style.  She of the rucksack-over-Morticia-Adams’ skirt ensemble.  The lady has amazing bone structure and the build of a supermodel.  She could be as willowy and chic as Nicole Kidman or Cate Blanchett, but she refuses.  Hey, someone has to take up Cher’s Bob Mackie, rhinestone-studded mantle.

I’m sure Sophia Loren will get dumped on by the critics.  But who cares?  Once you attain legend status in Hollywood, after years of squeezing into uncomfy gowns and shoes and hairstyles, you should obtain the right to dress as you damn well please.  In fact, you should get a laminated license that says so – along with a get-off-the-worst-dressed-list-free card.

[“Knit”-Picky Note to Philip Seymour Hoffman:  you ain’t on that list yet, bro.  You will be.  But you need to put in some more time.  So hold off on the ski wear at awards shows ….’kay?]

The Pre-Show

Let us give thanks for this new era of hope and change.  Bush is gone!  I’m not talking politics here …. I mean Billy Bush is gone – that hyper-annoying ambusher of celebrities everywhere.  I hope he was exiled to Elba.  Finally we would have intelligence and thoughtfulness during the red carpet arrivals!

Yeah … not so much.

Mickey Rooney being referred to as “Mickey Rourke” …. Director Stephen Daldry being referred to as “Roger Daltry” …. Hard hitting questions like “Are you going to hug Brad Pitt tonight?”

Here’s a thought:  Can we just see people arrive and pose?  NOTHING is learned by those micro-interviews.  It is simply a chance for D-listers to kiss up and for celebs to make sure their designers get a shout-out.  The questions are always so cottony and dim-witted.  The stars will only gush about the movie they’re nominated for – even if they hated every second of making it and took a chainsaw to a voodoo doll of the director.  And the attempts at humorous banter make me squeal in pain and horror.  Sometimes I have to leave the room.

The Show

Okay, I have to start by saying I love Hugh Jackman.  He’s so immensely talented and congenial and absurdly handsome.  But I wasn’t sold on the whole Tony Awards approach.  It didn’t feel so much like the Oscars as it did a Vegas musical revue on the Academy Awards.

I liked the opener when Jackman essentially “sweded” the Oscars.  That was kinda cute.  And that boy sure sings purty.  But that should have been it.  Why order up Beyonce and do a medley of songs from past films – movies that have NOTHING TO DO with the ones being honored that night?  Did we learn nothing from the whole Rob Lowe/ Snow White debacle?

I make this gripe every year, but here it goes again:  Enough with the montages!  Was there an agreement to have 81 for the 81^st Oscars?  A four-hour show doesn’t need filler!  We know the difference between a comedy, musical, and action flick.  Mmm 'kay?

I also didn’t like the “mentor”-style way of handing out the acting awards.  Trotting out past winners to gush over the nominees seems noble and sweet.  But it stretched it out too long.  These nominees are under enough stress already.  Poor Anne Hathaway was shaking.  And cutie-pie Amy Adams looked like she might shriek and run out into traffic.

Plus … isn’t it stratified enough?  You didn’t see five past winners of Film Editing come out and gush over the new nominees.  The poor technical winners already get played off the stage, are denied red carpet butt-kissing, don’t get invited to post-Oscar parties, and are omitted from “winner” montages (unless they happened to die in the past year).  Do we have to slobber even more on the celebrities?

The set was nice, but I didn’t really get it.  I mean, I understood that they were paying homage to the Busby Berkeley musicals of yore.  The floor was lovely and the crystal beaded drapes were pretty (although from afar it looked exactly like those tinsel icicles we used to fling onto our Christmas trees – and those would have been much cheaper … just sayin’).  But what was with the fuse boxes and ductwork showing?  Were they truly cutting their budget?  Or did they construct a partially “deconstructed” stage as part of the look?  Riddle me that, Batman.

Most annoying of all was the multi-screened effect they would occasionally use.  It was unnerving to see an animated panda below someone giving a touching, tearful acceptance speech.

How senseless to have all those unneeded musical numbers and then collapse the best song nominees into one chaotic, charmless medley.  And why were there only three nominated songs?   Mind you, I realize it’s usually slim pickings when it comes to honoring movie songs.  This isn’t the Grammys – but still.  Springsteen was overlooked, after he expressly wrote a song for the Wrestler for free! 

Random Bests

Best acceptance speech:  Dustin Lance Black.  He had me tearing up the minute I saw his choked-up baby face.  Once he started talking, the sobbing officially commenced.

Funniest moment:  Tina Fey and Steve Martin.  Steve Martin and Tina Fey.  Can they co-host next year?  Please?

Best new show idea:  Not being too quick to play long-winded winners off.  Finally they seem to be easing up on that.

Overall

I’m an MTV kid, but even I thought the direction was way too spazzy this year.  The show was over-presented, overly scripted, and took forever to be over.  We all knew Slumdog would be crowned Best in Show, but did we have to wait till Thursday to see it?

It was the “meh” Oscars.  The “nice try, guys” Oscars.  Every year they promise to stir things up, and they don’t.  What the show creators don’t realize is that it’s the unplanned moments that liven things up.  Hyperventilating winners blurting out random stuff …. mess-ups by presenters or performers …. an in-the-moment remark by a host (“You know, I think it just got a little easier out here for a pimp.”)  There was hardly any of that this year.  It was as tightly controlled as Hanna Schmitz.  It was Nixon’s interview before the confession.  It was Benjamin Button: old stuff swaddled in new wetness-controlled Pampers.

But still I watch.

My Girl is having a birthday today.  Man oh man.  The thing about kids is that they grow up.  They are physical reminders of the time passing by.

It’s not so much that I lament getting older – it’s realizing that the babies and toddlers and preschoolers I loved so dearly are gone. 

I truly love the long-legged girl before me, but I also miss the Tweety bird that used to hide behind my legs.  The tiny gal with big cheeks, big blue eyes, and a little tuft of blonde hair at the top of her head.  Where is she?

At the same time, I realize I must appreciate Present-Day Girl for she, too, will be gone before I know it. 

Present-Day Girl loves animals so desperately, she cries at the thought of one in peril.  She adores the cat across the street, but was very angry with him yesterday for catching a bird.  She sobs every time she watches “Snoopy Come Home.”  And all through this past Christmas, she kept asking what Santa was doing to protect the polar bears.  After all, he lives right there next to them, doesn’t he?

Present-Day Girl loves music and singing.  Hubby loves to play a little game with her – without her knowledge.  While she plays or does her homework he will start singing a song aloud, but purposefully stop after a line or two of verse.  Then PDG will pick it right up and continue with it.

At times I see fleeting glimpses of the tot she used to be.  And at times I think I can catch peeps of the young woman she will become.  But not too fast – please.

One afternoon last fall she came over to me and said, “Mom, do you want to know where I hid my pot?”

I froze up from the sudden surge of cardiac activity.  “Uh … yeah.  Please tell me,” I finally replied. 

She took me over to the antique desk in the living room and pointed to the small clay urn she made in art class.  “You told me to put it someplace safe,” she explained.  “So I’m hiding it right there.”

That’s my girl.  Happy.  Imaginative.  Big-hearted.  This is the child who, for her birthday party, decided to collected non-perishable food for a local food pantry instead of gifts.  The child who started crying when she heard Josh Groban crooning during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (“Is that man sad?” she asked).  The child who would pick up the lizards her mom is too scared to touch and used to go with her older brother to keep him “safe” when he was afraid to go into the back rooms after dark.

A child who teaches me things every single day.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!  I love you!

Okay, so I'm way late with this year’s Thanksgiving post.  It wasn’t entirely my fault.  I spent several days at my parents’ house where there was no internet.  So it was great fun a la 1994. 

For those of you new to my ramblings, each year I do an alphabetical list of things I am thankful for.  I do not repeat, so consider it an update of one master list.  In it I include new discoveries, as well as things I might have accidentally left off in previous Thanksgiving posts.

So without further ado, here are a few of my favorite things, the 2008 edition:

A— AAWW, ALA, Austin, Austin City Limits

B— Blue Bell ice cream, Bob Spitz's Beatles Bio, blog buddies, Book People, Burn After Reading, BBC, boots

C— critique group pals, Cynsations, the Cybils, comics, cartoons, Coca-Cola, crickets, curry, chipotle, Costco, the Colbert Report

D— Delacorte Dames & Dude, Dexter, dark chocolate, The Dark Knight, Dickens

E—email, eggplant parmesan, Epcot

F— the Fratellis, Facebook friends, front porches, fireflies

G— goofiness, grass-covered hills, a good Grenache

H— habaneros, hoodies, Henry James, and Harper Lee

I— Iberia, iPods, Indian and Italian food

J— John Adams (the man, the book, and the miniseries), jambalaya, Junot Diaz

K— kumquats, KUT, KOOP, KGSR, karaoke-ing with the kiddoes, Kipling

L— life, love, laughter, Little Deli's Veggie Sandwich, Lloyd on Entourage, lakes, live music, "The Lounge Show," letters from friends, librarians, and the Lone Star Book List

M— Mad Men, Macadamia Nut Crusted Mahi-Mahi, moonlight

N— niece/nephew on the way, night sky, New England clam chowder

O— Obama, OZZYPROD, omelets

P— panel pals, patios, puns, Paul Newman, and pork piccata

Q— quiet evenings at home, quantities of quiche

R— rain, "Radio Lab," romance

S— SXSW, Suffer Fools Gladly, sunsets

T— Texas Book Festival, TLA, True Blood, texting

U—Ustream's "puppycam" and U.S.A!  U.S.A!  U.S.A!

V— vintage clothes, vinaigrette,

W— Wasabi, warm weather, Winnie-the-Pooh

X-treme fun, x-perts, "Reviewer X"

Y— YALSA, Young at Heart, yellowfin tuna

Z— Ziggy Stardust, Z-bars

Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Party At BookPeople Thursday, Nov. 13

Celebrating Austin SCBWI & Books for Children and Young Adults

6:30 Lots of Yummy Snacks & Social Time

7:00 Holiday Reading of A Pirate’s Night Before Christmas

                        By Philip Yates (in full costume)

7:00 Panels Featuring:

Greg Leitich Smith, Philip Yates, Don Tate, Emma Virjan, Lila Guzman, Shana Burg, P.J. Hoover, Helen Hemphill, & Jo Whittemore

8:00 Drawing for Door Prizes & Author Visits for Schools

The following authors and illustrators have donated books and other goodies as door prizes:

Cynthia Leitich Smith          Greg Leitich Smith

Brian Yansky                         Frances Hill Yansky

Jennifer Ziegler                  P.J. Hoover

Emma Virjan                         Lindsey Lane

8:15 Young Adult Panel featuring:

Jennifer Ziegler, Cynthia Leitich Smith, April Lurie, Brian Yansky, Varian Johnson, and Margo Rabb.

J Be There or Be Geometric !

This week four writer friends and I have made the pages of Publisher’s Weekly!  Check out the article by Edward Nawotka and the photo by my very talented photobug friend Julie Carolan:

http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6611855.html?nid=2788

One of the best parts about my job is getting to socialize with book people.  Writers, illustrators, booksellers, avid readers … we are all from the same planet.  We speak the same language.  Our species is quite tame.  Just wave around a new hardcover release and we’ll run right up, tails wagging.

Occasionally our kind gets together for an awesome party.  This was the scene last night at the lovely home of Cynthia Leitich Smith.

Allow me to introduce you to the pack:

Can you guess who this is?  No, not Reba McEntire.  Not Lucy Ricardo with a sexy, Grease-style makeover.  It’s….

Our hostess, Cynthia, looking luscious (or should I say Tantalizing?) in a red wig and vamp attire!  Cynthia was the belle of the ball.

Speaking of balls …. See these round red numbers?

They are caramel apples homemade by …

the multitalented Shana Burg (on the right)!  (“You better eat one!” she said.)  Shown here with the amazing Mark Mitchell (left) and equally awesome Margo Rabb (middle).

Great showing by the Class of 2k8 …

Here we have Jody Feldman (left -- author of The Gollywhopper Games) and P.J. Hoover (right -- author of the very-soon-to-be-released The Emerald Tablet).

Even some famous characters showed up like Bunnicula …

a.k.a. Alison Dellenbaugh.  (“I had the hardest time finding the right ears,” she said.  “Everyone one had the kind with bows for the Playboy bunnies.”)  As you can see, Mark really got around.

Unlike me!  Somehow I missed out visiting with the following fabulous people:

Jo Whittemore

Helen Hemphill

Lila Guzman (holding her new book on George Lopez!)

Needless to say, a fantastic time was had by all.  Where else but in a roomful of somewhat soused literati can you trade barbs and trade bards, toast the debates and debate toasts, discuss books and book discussions? 

A big thank you to Cyn and her handsome hubby Super Greg for the wonderful evening!  You guys really put the “allies” in “socialize.”   (Er … you have to say that aloud for it to work.  I think I had too much wine last night ....)

[Note:  This is a slightly edited version of a guest essay I did for a teen book review blog.  I feel it makes a good follow-up to my previous post.]

I love books. Chances are if you are reading this, you also love books. Not everyone does, however.

It always amazes me when I meet a smart, curious, interesting person and at some point in the conversation hear them confess, “I don’t read.” Some will make excuses, such as “I don’t have time” or “I have to read so much at work/school that I don’t feel like doing it for fun.” Still, this baffles me. How can someone never have time for a good book?

I’ve also met several adults who’ve confessed that they didn’t enjoy reading until later in life. Why? I wonder. What turned you off to it when you were younger? After all, there are books to meet everyone’s preferences. There are free books you can check out at a local building. Books are lightweight, portable, and easy to use (open, read page, turn page, repeat last two steps…).

To me, there’s no real reason why every single literate person can’t enjoy reading. It’s like … learning to fly and then using the skill to flutter from building ledge to building ledge instead of soaring high into the skies.

After talking to these latecomer bookworms I discovered that most of them had a rocky first relationship with reading. Unlike me, they didn’t start out with warm, cozy associations with books. They didn’t get giddy at the sight of stuffed library shelves or towering stacks of hardbacks. They didn’t find the smell of printed paper intoxicating. Instead, reading was met with a sense of obligation and dread.

Too often books are presented to young people not as glimpses into wonderful worlds, but as … well … green vegetables. “Read this,” a teacher/parent/friend will say, “because it’s good for you.”

As a former English teacher, I can understand that mindset. Books are very powerful. They can explore difficult themes such as racism, oppression, abuse, disability, class struggle, and suicide in a safe way. They can bring history alive. I’m convinced that books can, and have, saved people. But at the same time, I feel it’s wrong to treat books as medicine.

I don’t pretend to have answers here. Maybe classic novels should be introduced as simply good stories rather than weighty examples of a particular historical period, genre, or theme. Maybe schools should (and most do) provide a wide variety of reading material – including graphic novels, comics, manga, etc.

I do think that young people need to develop their own personal relationship with reading. They need to be given opportunities to explore different genres and mediums, simply for the joy of it – without any worries as to reading level or literary merit. And we should be careful not to make great books sound like brussels sprouts.

Even now I sometimes hear friends say they “ought to” or “should” read a particular buzzed-about book, rather than they “want to” or are “dying to” (a phrase I overuse). Or I’ll see a pal reading a paperback romance at the pool and she gets sheepish and embarrassed about it. I even know someone who quit a book club because the novel she suggested was deemed “too lightweight and funny.”

So I ask you, O Great Book Lovers of the Internet: What’s your relationship with reading?  Do you see it as a hobby?  A mental workout?  A necessary, life-giving function?

Do you ever try to force yourself to read a book because it’s considered “important”?

Have you ever felt judged for reading something “light” or “different” or just plain “wrong”?

Please share your thoughts and experiences. In the meantime, I wish everyone happy book bonding. May your reading take you to new heights. Stretch those wings! Soar and explore!

And enjoy!

Banned Book Week officially starts this weekend (see cool, flashing icon below), so I’ve been thinking about this topic a lot lately.  Basically my stance is simple:  I am against book banning.  I am for free expression – in art, print media, electronic media, and speech.

However, I must say … there is a phrase that makes me cringe.  It is frequently tossed around, usually by highly respected people, and yet it draws unnecessary lines, reinforces unfair stereotypes and, often, imposes one powerful person’s will on others.

I’m talking, of course, about the term “literary merit.”

It sounds scholarly and noble, but let’s face it:  the idea is vague.  The definition of a worthy literary work has changed quite a bit from 400, 200, and even 50 years ago.  Plays were once deemed low-brow.  Several novels that we consider classics today were thought of as schlock when first published.  And at one time comic books and graphic novels were almost universally regarded as pulp; whereas now they are the subjects of serious literary study and are often referred to as the mythology of our modern culture.

Thus, I can’t help thinking that “literary merit” is simply “cultural preference” going by another name – with a vague, underlying aroma of censorship.  After all, who decides which works have literary merit and which do not?  Who is qualified to judge? 

I ran into this phrase quite a bit while I was an English teacher.  There were coworkers who objected to my allowing my students to read magazines or Goosebumps novels or the latest Neil Gaiman during my Free Read Friday.  Their argument?  “Young people should be reading books of literary merit.”

I understood their opinion.  Of course I would have done a constant happy dance if my class of early teens suddenly wanted to read Shakespeare or Cervantes all day long.  But I was a realist.  Many of my students weren’t ready to take these on – either academically or emotionally.  Most considered such works to be daunting, boring, and unrelated to their lives.  I could have tried to counter each of these points, but who was I to tell them what they should be reading on “Free” Read Day?

Besides, there were some literary masterpieces already built in to the curriculum, such as To Kill a Mockingbird and The Diary of Anne Frank, so they were getting exposure to a few classics.  I did my best to make them feel connected to those works.  What they chose to read for themselves, I felt strongly, was both out of my hands and none of my business.

As an educator (and now as a parent) I’ve had to ask myself, what is my overriding goal?  To promote great literary works, even if it means reaching only a few select students and turning off/frustrating the rest?  Or to have all of my students going through life reading – reading something – on a regular basis?

Gertrude Stein has said, “To write is to write is to write ….”  I would echo that with “A story is a story is a story ….”

And in my view, any story that connects directly with a reader’s heart has merit.

So last week was interesting.  I learned quite a lot. 

For example, I learned that the old disco standard “Boogie Fever” is really really hard to get out of your head.  I also learned that I’ve retained a surprising amount of lyrics to “Boogie Fever” considering it hasn’t had regular airplay since my childhood.

But mainly, over the course of the week, I learned that I’m part of a long line of very stubborn people.

Here’s a recap:

Tuesday

Hurricane Ike is heading toward Texas.  At this point it appears the storm will hit the coast only 30-odd miles from my parents’ new abode.

“At least they’ll make it out of town before it hits,” I console myself, remembering that they’ll be flying out to California early Friday morning in order to attend my cousin’s wedding.  In fact, the plan was for them to crash at my house Thursday night since they were leaving via the Austin airport.

I then commence deep-cleaning the house so that my parents won’t be assaulted by the usual mess.  And so that they’ll think they brought me up all responsible-like.  When I go to the grocery store, I see people loading up on bread and drinking water.  It seems a little paranoid to me.  Still, not wanting to be the dufus who could have stockpiled provisions and didn’t, I buy two gallons of water and an extra loaf of bread.

Wednesday

I call my folks to see if they are boarding up windows and making other hurricane preparations before leaving. 

Mom answers the phone.  “I’ll be there midday tomorrow,” she informs me. 

“Great,” I reply.  “Is Dad coming later?”

She sighs.  “No.  Your father has decided to stay.”

I commence freaking.  “Why?  Is he crazy?” I screech.  “What about California?  What does he think he’s going to be able to do?”  Mom tells me to ask him myself – which I do.

Dad keeps saying he’ll be fine.  He wants to stick around and keep an eye on things.  He canceled his flight ticket because he knows he’ll be so worried about the storm, he wouldn’t make good company.  He also says I shouldn’t worry.  The house is far enough inland, and he knows how to take care of himself.  Besides, all their new neighbors are staying behind, too.

“What are you saying?” I ask. “That this is peer pressure?”

Dad keeps assuring me that he has thought this through and that he’ll be fine.  He then passes the phone to Mom.

“See what I mean?” she says.  “His mind is made up.”  She tells me that she’s resigned to going on the trip alone and that she’ll see me tomorrow.

The freaking continues after I hang up.  What should I do?  Should I drive down there and make him leave?  How could I even do that without darting him in the neck? 

What I really need, I decide, is back-up.  So I call my brother and tell him all about it, hoping that maybe he can get through to Dad – man to man.

Needless to say, Dad doesn’t take to being lectured by his son.  I’d been hoping Bro would turn into his super-duper, award-winning salesman-self -- all smooth and level-headed with his persuasion.  Instead, his argument is just slightly less shrill than mine.  “What do you think you’re going to do?” he asks Dad.  “Stop looters?  You don’t even own a gun!  Are you gonna hit them over the head with a fishing pole?”

Dad refuses to take anymore phone calls that night.

Thursday

Mom arrives at my house.  She is her ultra calm self.  (I swear she hoarded all those genes.  I didn’t get any passed down to me.)  “He’s going to do what he’s going to do,” she says.  “I can’t let it ruin my plans.”

I consider calling my sister, but decide not to.  If there’s anyone in the family who can shriek louder than me, it’s Sis.  Besides, as a middle school teacher, she’s dealing with enough stress.

Meanwhile Hurricane Ike keeps veering to the East …

Friday

Mom makes her plane. 

Overnight Ike continued to churn eastward.  Its new path takes it right toward Galveston and Houston – where Bro lives.

Midday I get a cell phone call from my sister-in-law.  She’s headed toward Austin with the kids and the dog, but Bro refused to leave!  Thirty hours after scolding my dad for making the same decision!

Today

Dad didn’t even get a raindrop as the storm passed into Texas.  Bro is without power, and their neighborhood lost many trees (one falling across his driveway), but otherwise he is fine.

My heart goes out to those who truly suffered from the storm.  I’m trying to figure out a way to send them all this drinking water I bought – and anything else they can use.

Let’s hope we all learned something last week.

Ran across this nifty clip on a recent search.  I'm not sure who is behind it or whom to thank, but I'm very impressed!  And flattered!

Summer is drawing to a close.  Although I dread going back to the grind (i.e., having to wake up early, pack lunches, etc.) I am looking forward to the safety and comfort of routine.  And I’m so ready for the weather to change.

Lately it’s been so hot, one cannot think straight.  It makes one tired, crabby, parched, and perpetually slick with sweat.  This is not the Southern heat of romance novels and epic movies.  We are not fanning ourselves on porches, sipping lemonade and complaining in our lilting accents about how our azaleas are wilting.  This is convection oven heat.  Brains-boiling-inside-your-skull heat.  Temperature levels that can be used by defense lawyers in homicide cases.

I myself have had a few fleeting, murderous thoughts of late, yet, thankfully, was too sluggish to act on the impulses.  But enough about my kids.

*rim shot*

Seriously folks, those of you who have elementary-aged children (or older) probably know what I’m talking about.  Those of you who don’t … would you like a couple?

In addition to having to endure triple-digit temperatures, I’m dealing with that horrible wind-down stage of summer.  It is too close to the start of school for us to go on a trip without creating new stress.  Nor can we begin any lengthy creative projects.  The local pool has ceased to be interesting.  Toys and games no longer hold any fascination.  New books have been read and discarded.  And, as I mentioned, it’s too dang hot to do much of anything – except complain.  Or pick, pick, pick on your sibling.  If things don’t change soon Hubby might come home one day to find me huddled in a corner, rocking and boinging my lower lip.

I actually googled stress-release the other day and one site’s first recommendation was a do-it-yourself sauna.  (Obviously these people do not live in Central Texas.)

It’s like having a constant, untreatable fever.  It’s so hot, I get gleeful at the mention of approaching hurricanes.  (Rain!  Breeze!  Change!)  I consider the color and weight of fabrics before I get dressed in the morning.  And I find myself staying up late to take advantage of the semi-coolness and quiet.  According to Facebook’s “online friends” function, I’m not the only one.  At least Austin is cool in the other sense of the word.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I could handle living here from mid-July through mid-September.

Not to worry -- I shall survive.  Please forgive my venting.  If I seem like an extra surly Wicked Witch of the (South-) West, it's only because I'm melting ... melting ... melting ... (hisssss) .....

I am NOT a morning person.  However, I am the type of person who hates to be late and can’t stand the thought of letting anyone down.  Thus, I will get up early if I have to.

In order to arrive at the AAWW workshop on time, I had to arise before dawn.  But here’s the thing …

I didn’t mind at all.

I flew out of bed, eager to get back.  I quickly got dressed and somewhat prettified and even sacrificed my morning cup of coffee to get there as soon as possible (they had some there).  Normally the idea of Jenny driving in the early morning sans caffeine would be enough of an alarm to have APD, DPS, and at least two fire stations on alert.  But I didn’t need it.  My eagerness to get to back to my new friends was the equivalent of two Red Bulls in my system.

Little did everyone know that I had less than four hours’ sleep Thursday – the night before the first day of the workshop.  To nutshell a long story … my oldest, dearest pal came through town on her way back to California from New Orleans.  She and her husband stopped at my house close to 10 p.m. to eat some pasta with homemade pesto, drink some wine, and catch me up on her adventures.  I hadn’t seen her in two years so there was much to discuss.  Around midnight I suggested we turn in and that’s when she sheepishly told me they weren’t staying.  They were behind schedule and (also NOT being morning people) felt it was better to press on to New Mexico rather than crash and get another late start.

So I made them drink coffee.  And then we talked another two hours.  And then we spent an hour saying goodbye.

I thought I’d be pretty out of it the next day – but I wasn’t.  (Well, that’s probably for the others to decide.  But I didn’t feel out of it.)  In fact, I hadn’t felt that focused in a long time.  This extreme motivation lasted the full three days.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was sloshing over with creative energy by the end.  There was a whole Fourth of July fireworks show in my writer brain.

But my body was tired.  Monday, Tuesday, and yesterday were pretty lazy days for me physically.  Alison describes a similar crash in her blog, so apparently I wasn’t the only one.

Thankfully, the mind is still awhirl.  I’ve synthesized the comments I received into a single guide, and used it to tweak my draft and outline.  I worked on some important correspondence.  And I’m enjoying reading everyone’s blogs.

The joy isn’t fading.  I truly think this was a life-changing event for me.  I was altered along with my draft.  Both for the better.

Some random images/inside jokes from the workshop I can’t fully share.  You just had to be there:

Kumquats … kolaches … Shakespeare at a microphone … Pages turning (and pages turning)… Zombies eating cotton candy … “Get rid of the baby” … naked criminals … banana hats … shouts into the darkness … impish uncles … Ritz cracker combos … scary hardware … a white handkerchief … frolicking dolphins … a kiss on a baby’s nose … Ferris wheels … birds nesting on a museum … a grease-stained rag … a closet full of sweatshirts … immortal hearts … broken horses … talking through a mirror … floating ghosts … treading water off the coast … color-coded yearbook photos … a boy running from a courthouse … the power of two syllables … the power of “NO!” … cats in a tree … horses on the roof … mice doing martial arts … Cyn, all sweet and composed, staring at the ceiling and suddenly shouting, “GREG!!!!” … the view of downtown off a 9^th floor balcony … the wind in my face … the power of red wine and a well-timed one-liner … sitting on the stoop a la Sesame Street … comparing ring tones … flipping through new CDs … “Whole Foods has too much food” … crossing a dark parking lot … laughter melding … voices echoing … warm supportive smiles.

And here are some images I can share (even more thanks to Cyn and Greg).  Remember to double-click on the pics to make them bigger and purtier.



Arriving at Greg and Cynthia's lovely home are (from L to R)
 Varian Johnson, Chris Barton, and Helen Hemphill.



Authors gather in the Leitich Smith dining room.  Along the wall in the back, from L to R:  
Tim Crow, Debbie Gonzales, Anne Bustard, and Greg Smith.  In the foreground:  
Mark Mitchell and Mereith Davis.  Behind them you can see Jo Whittemore (on the right) 
and a little bit of Helen Hemphill (left).



Our fabulous pages, Carmen Oliver and Donna Bratton.



The sessions would spark many spirited discussions during the breaks.  
In the foreground you have Mark, Jane Peddicord (in blue), me, and Julie Lake (seated).  
And behind us Anne, April Lurie, and Greg solve all the problems of the world.



Author food.



Shana Burg talks to Varian Johnson.  They are also Delacorte authors.  
Behind Shana you can see the incomparable Philip Yates (blue striped shirt).



On Saturday night we gathered for a party at the beautiful Hemphill home.  
Here Betty X. Davis talks with Mark and Alison Dellenbaugh.



More author food.



I call this one "Nobody puts Anne Bustard in a corner!"
Chris, Anne, and Gene Brenek talk shop.  One of the many
wonderful things about Helen's Austin 9th-floor loft was the view,
which you see a tiny glimpse of here.



The beautiful and brilliant Erin Edwards and Jane Ann.



A better view of the view.  Gene and Anne sit and chat while
Debbie talks to Chris.



The talented and sexy Lindsay Lane and Debby Gonzales.



Back at the beautiful Smith home the next day.  Here's a great
shot of the assembled group.



Sunny day ... Chasing the clouds away ...
Hanging on the stoop are AAWW-thors Brian Anderson, Gene, and P.J. Hoover.