Two Fish in the Same Pond…Finally!

….Fish lovers that is. Specifically Norman the Fish lovers me and Noah Z. Jones the Amazing, who illustrated Not Norman, A Goldfish Story. We met up for the 1st time at St. George’s Pre-school in La Canada, California on Wednesday. How? In some wonderful cosmic collision Rebecca Grose, of SoCal Public Relations,

just happened to reach out to Flintridge Books in La Canada when she was scheduling events to celebrate my new picture book, Your Mommy Was Just Like You, and, fellow Vermont College grad Catherine Linka

just happens to be the Children’s Book Buyer for Flintridge Books (which is now is a brand spankin’ new, bigger and better location right on the corner of Foothill and Angeles Crest)

, and Noah’s son Eli just happens to be attend pre-school at St. Georges—what are the chances of that!

Noah, who is quite famous and successful nowadays as creator of the Disney animated series, Fish Hooks took time that morning to pop over to St. George’s for a visit. What a surprise! What a treat! Noah is just as silly and fun and clever in real live as I imagined him to be when he brought to life our funny flippin’ and floppin’ fish character Norman!

Noah and I had never met. Never even talked on the phone before. Never even e-mailed until after Not Norman was released in 2005. (Which is pretty normal in the picture book creating process.) Still, it is kind of weird if you think about it….wouldn’t it make sense for the illustrator and author to chat? Or meet? But that’s not how it’s usually done. The idea is that the author might muck up the illustrator’s creative process by imposing his or her vision over the artist’s. I must admit, judging by the wonderful, surprising art in picture books—especially mine!—the system works!

Our editor, Sarah,  kept telling me how much fun Noah was and how nice Noah was and and and…and finally I got to see for myself! Noah brought his easel, giant paper and markers along when he came to surprise me. And so together we entertained the preschoolers with the story of how Not Norman came to life. For a few hours on Wednesday it was the Noah and Kelly Show: while I talked and read, Noah drew silly, funny sketches. The kid’s heads were bobbing back and forth faster than fans at Wimbledon!

Noah and I had a blast! We’re hoping this is the beginning of more fishy fun! (Hint, hint, Sarah...)

Mis-Connection

I’m writing from the Singapore Airlines lounge in Singapore where I’m sitting, enjoying a snack, and taking it easy for the first time in days. You know how it is before a big trip? All the planning. The packing. The worrying over what needs to get done before the trip, for the trip? It can make you crazy… This is the only excuse I have for racing into Jakarta’s lux megamall, Grand Indonesia, a couple of days ago, without my PHONE.  (Don’t laugh. I know what you’re thinking: Big deal, will it hurt to go a few hours without being connected via phone?)

Not having my phone wouldn’t have bothered me one little bit—if it weren’t for Aan. I don’t drive in Jakarta, Aan does. Over the years, he and I have developed an efficient drop-off/pick-up system. It works like this: Aan drives me to a mall or shop entrance. We both note the place and agree where we will meet up. Then Aan drives off and I go about my business. When I’m finished with whatever I’m doing, I give him a call and he picks me up. Simple—except if I forget my phone…

I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my phone until I was ready to go and began digging around in my humongous purse for it. I knew instantly it was In the car. I’d been checking my e-mail as we drove and must have left it on the seat. My only hope was that someone called me and Aan heard the phone ring and realized I’d left it. Or, that he’d spotted it on my seat. If not, he’d never realize I was phoneless and come looking. Instead he would sit wherever he was, waiting and waiting and waiting for my call.

I scurried back to our appointed meeting place and looked around. No familiar, most common of all-silver mini-vans hanging about. Might he be inside watching for me?. If he realized I didn’t have my phone, he might come inside to wait an watch for me. It was air-conditioned… Alas, there was nary a a slight, big-eyed, spikey-haired Aan in sight.

Not everyone in Jakarta uses our system. Some use the tried and true Car Call method. Established long before hand phones became common, Car Call is exactly that. When a patron is ready to be picked up, he or she goes to the Car Call desk and tells the attendant the driver’s name and place of employment. For instance, if I were to call Aan, I would say. “Aan, dari BP” (“dari” means from or with) and the attendant calls that out over the loud speakers, which sounds in the garage, and soon he’d drive up to fetch me.

Unfortunately, using the Car Call is not our system. It’s not many drivers favorite system as it means the driver has to park in the garage, within ear shot of the speakers. He can’t eat, or smoke, or hang with friends. And worse, he might have to stay in the dreaded underground garage. Dreaded because several Jakarta hotel bombings ago, drivers were trapped underground in a garage. Aan does not like those cursed garages.

I tried Car Call anyway, hoping, with little hope, that Grand Indonesian was one of those places where Aan likes to park near the speakers. And I waited.

I tried Car Call again. And I waited…and waited.

And while I waited, I didn’t just wait, I came up with a plan. I could ask someone to borrow his or her phone and call Curtis at work and ask him to call Aan. Or I could call Rusnati at home and ask her to call Aan. Or, if I knew Aan’s number, I could call him myself.

I was mustering up enough words to ask one of the mall employees if I could use  precious phone minutes for an emergency (how do you say "emergency" in Bahasa Indonesia?And should I pretend to be sick or dying) our lovely, silver mini-van drove up. Yeah, Aan!

The van door was barely closed behind me when Aan started in on how I had forgotten my phone. How it had rung almost as soon as I’d left. How he had been back and forth looking for me, worrying about me... How he had gone into the mall asking employees if they had seen a tall, hair-less white lady in tan pants wandering around…How he'd given the Car Call attendant my description and told them to call me if they saw someone fitting my description. (I’m sure if he’d had a photo he would have shown around it ala every cop program ever aired, or made copies and posted them.)  It was a though I were a teen, being lectured by my adult. Blah, blah, blah….

Back home, Aan did the most “Dad” thing of all. He handed me a small piece of paper torn from his notebook. “Keep this in your purse,” he instructed. On the paper, in tiny, tidy letters, were written his name and phone number.

I felt like a kid, a silly kid, true. But also like a well-cared for kid.

I promise, Dad/Aan, I’ll never leave home without it!

Been Playing Hooky

Happy New Year! I’m starting 2011 with an “Unexcused Absence.” I took the holidays off and gave myself a real holiday from all forms of non-personal communication. For the past month I tried to avoided my computer, phones, mail….and focus on here and now.

And dang if it didn’t feel just like it did when I used to play hooky from school: an intoxicating blend of guilt and pleasure.

It wasn’t easy. E-mail is especially hard for me to ignore. I really had to work at not check in often. Let’s say I sort of managed (only because for much of the holidays I did not have access to the internet.) In the end, I give myself a C-. (I flunked business e-mail). Now I’m getting those where- the-heck-are-you-and-why-haven’t-you-responded-and-did-you-fall-off-the-edge-of-the-world notes.

I ended the holidays at a Creativity Energizer Retreat with my writing bud, Marty. Each January, we sequester ourselves with piles of new books, favorite snacks and libations, and a few problem manuscripts. We set a schedule for the days and stick to it. It’s amazing how revitalizing it is. It was especially so this year as both of us began the retreat feeling as though we hadn’t a fresh idea in our heads and should quit writing all together. We ended refreshed and overflowing with creative promise. Wooooo!

Prior to the retreat, we met with a fellow writer, Kathy Duval to discuss New Year’s Goals (notice I didn’t say resolutions? I resolved not to resolve this year.) “Write It Down, Make it Happen” Kathy said, explaining how every year she and her family write down personal Dreams/Hopes/Desires they have for themselves and put them away. The following New Year’s they pull out the prior year’s notes and see how many they had achieved.

Kathy’s family is not alone in doing this. Google the phrase: “write it down, make it happen and you’ll find scads of stories. There’s even a book detailing the process. If you are so inclined to read it, here’s the Amazon link.

Today, the GGs, my creativity group, are holding our gathering of 2011. To kick off the New Year, we are going to Write it Down/Make it Happen! Why don’t you join us?

Write it Down, Make it Happen!

Supplies:

• 5 small pieces of paper
• colorful pens,
• your personal Dreams/Hopes/Desires (Note: personal—this is for you!,
• a small colorful box, envelope or sachel to use as a Dream Keeper.

Directions:

Close your eyes and take a few minutes to think about what you want, what you really really want to happen in your life. Do not censor yourself. Do not limit yourself. Be honest! Dream big!

Cull your Dreams/Hopes/Desires to a short list of 5.

Do not share them with anyone! Do not talk about them!

Write each of these 5 Dreams/Desires/Hopes on separate pieces of paper.

Reread each, fold it, and put it away in your Dream Keeper.

Secure your Dream Keeper in a safe place (remember where you put it so you can retrieve it next year.)

That’s how you do it! Now get busy

Watch out 2011! We Have Arrived!

MIND YOUR STUFF!

The song goes: It's that time year, when the world falls in love. The words in my version are slightly different: It’s that time of year when...I FALL APART! Seems I’m not the only one. The number of items left behind in airports during the holidays is about 1000 times higher than during the rest of the year. How do I know? Because the gals in the Continental Airlines Lost and Found at the Houston airport (hidden behind baggage carousel #7) told me when I stopped in looking for my laptop.

I don’t usually use my computer on planes, but I was fast approaching an article deadline (it was due that day)  and I needed to make some final revisions before submitting it. So, I took it out of its happy green case, stowed my bag in the overhead and carried the little black, blends-right-in-with-the-floor laptop with me to my seat. It was a bumpy ride from Denver but I pushed through and made the revisions—brilliant ones, if I say so myself—and got the article and photos all ready to send. Tres satisfied, I stowed my trusty laptop it in the back-of –the-seat pouch and pulled out my book.

However, when landing time came around, the flight attendant informed us that back-of-the-seat pouch was not an “FAA approved laptop storage bin….”

Fast forward a day, a zillion frantic phone calls, a lot of hand wringing, head bashing,  and more phone calls to the next night: As I waited at the Continental Baggage Claim desk to see if my laptop was the one found on the flight I had taken, but tagged with Bernard Something or other’s name,  two baggage handlers came in pushing wheelchairs heaped with  more lost and found items.

“How many more days til Christmas?” someone called out. They all laughed and someone else remarked, “We are going to get buried in stuff before the holidays are over.”

Seems the holidays are the major lost item times--and the closer it gets to Christmas and New Years, the more the mounds of lost items grows. Good news: over 90% of lost items are turned in, the Lost and Found folks told me. But not everyone claims them. “You should see all the laptops, Nintendos, cameras, phones, books, coats, we are holding,” the agent said. I was hoping my laptop was among them while trying not to get my hopes up too high. It hadn’t been the best of evenings…

On the way to the airport—my friend, Joy, rode with me—we’d had to pull over to let a fire truck zoom past.  A little ways farther up the highway, something happened and everyone in our lane had to slam on the brakes. You know the squealing, screeching, honking, veering out of the lane kind of forced stops that make you  scrunch your shoulders and listen for the crash? Fortunately, no crash followed, but when we started back up the car was abnormally loud. Just as we reached the exit from I45 to the Beltway 8 the reason for the noise became apparent: we blew a tire. We were riding on the rim. This was 9:30 at night, in not the best part of town (is under an overpass ever good?) I pulled on the emergency flashers and we inched the car to a lighted parking lot ahead.

The parking lot turned out to be that of a way-too-popular- with- the- wild-bunch sports bar in a strip center with a lingerie shop named “Candy’s.” Guys were drag racing motorcycles, burning rubber, blaring bass with trunks vibrating.  In limp two middle-age crazies in a giant, gold, Chrysler “pimp mobile.”

Joy and I are not namby-pamby’s. I’ve changed a tire. I knew how. We knew how to muscle the suitcase out of the trunk, and our bags of holiday shopping, and to tuck our purses in the back seat and lock the doors. “And put our phones in our pockets, just to be sure.” What we didn’t know was how to use the new-fangled jack, or where the heck the lug nut taker-offer was.

But…we were right in front of a tire store (with the garage bays open.) I went in to beg the tire center guys to help us. Reluctantly one followed me out to “see” what was going on. From the way he was barely walking, it was clear he really didn’t want to play “good Samaritan.”

While I was in begging the tire guys, Joy flagged down a young black guy. He was already working at the jack when  tire store reject and I arrived. Soon, the young guy was joined by another (his brother, we found out when we complimented them on their willingness to help.) In less than 15 minutes they had our tire changed, the old one stowed, and our luggage back in the car. "Your Mama would be proud," we told them, "we sure would be if our boys behaved the same." We slipped them a Christmas thank you. (We had to call them back to thank them as they took off as soon as the job was done.) But we noticed later, from their giant smiles, they were happy to have our “thanks.”

But a changed flat and a returned lap top are not necessarily the same thing. Could I get lucky twice? I hoped and waited and hoped. The lost and found handler was smiling as big as I was when I turned on my little black ASUS and the familiar “Kelly B” password square popped up.

Laptop and  flat tire in toe, we zipped over to the rental car office, exchanged our car for another one—and a delightful girl there, with bright eyes and a happy giggle, helped us transfer our stuff to the new, identical gold Chrysler, and away we went.

This was definitely one of those character definers:

One kind of person would dwell on the lost laptop, traffic scare, and flat tire and call it “rotten luck."

Another kind of person would consider the two young guys who stepped up to help a couple of strangers, the returned lap top, that it was a rented car, and  call it “great luck.”

What do you say?

I say: It's that time of year so...MIND YOUR STUFF!

Happy Christmas!

World Premeire of YOUR MOMMY at Caughlin Ranch!

There is nothing, nothing, absolutely, positively nothing as thrilling as sharing a new book with kids! With readers! Thanks to my niece, Grace, I had the chance to do that Friday. Here's Grace--and my brand new book, Your Mommy Was Just Like You (which won't even be in stores until March!)

I'm in Reno visiting my family. My mom and  big brother, Joe, sis-in-law Joanne and my talented, smart and georgeous Grace and her brother Devin (equally talented and smart but more handsome than georgeous) live here. Grace is in the 3rd grade at Caughlin Ranch Elementary. I was thrilled when she invited me to visit her class--and especially happy her teacher, Samantha Fryer, said it was all right!

1st we looked at the globe to see where I had come from to visit!

We talked about writing and illustrating and where story ideas come from--and I shared my famous, never fail trick for thinking of story ideas (Shhhhhh! Don't tell!). Then we read DANCE Y'ALL DANCE and admired Terri Murphy's incredible art!

Next we took a vote on which book to read next. Lots of kids wanted me to read NOT NORMAN, a GOLDFISH STORY, because they were familiar with it. But, in the end they voted for YOUR MOMMY WAS JUST LIKE YOU illustrated by David Walker. And so, for the first time in the history of the world, I read YOUR MOMMY to students!

Afterward, we had had had to read YOUR DADDY WAS JUST LIKE YOU....it was the fair thing to do!

And then, even though we could have gone on reading and talking and asking questions all day, it was time to leave. But, before I left, we had all posed for a group photo! Thank you, Grace, for inviting me to visit your class. Caughlin Ranch is a fantastic school and Mrs. Fryer's 3rd grade class is the best!

Thank you for making me welcome! Write on! Kelly

Yo, Abilene ISD! Vote for Dad and Pop!

Let's hear it for Fathers!!! Dad and Pop is a finalist for the Abilene, Texas, ISD Mockingbird Award!

Tweet your Friends! Sing out loud!

Not Norman Goes E with Nook

Not Norman, A Goldfish Story is moving into the techno world. Our favorite goldfish story has been chosen as one of the first books to be published through Barnes & Noble's NOOK Kids color e-reader. According to the folks at Candlewick Press, “The electronic version will be very true to the physical edition, maintaining the look of the spreads and the feel of the page turns. There won't be any audio, animation, or other enhancements; the only change is that readers will be able to click on the text in order to zoom in and make it easier to read.”

If you’d like to experience Nook books for kids click onto Barnes and Nobles website: Nook Color for Kids. As part of the promotion, for a time NOOK Kids B&N is allowing customers to sample Not Norman, A Goldfish Story "the E-Book" on their computers.

Thanks Giving

I used to think author photographs on book jackets were stony-faced and black and white to make readers think the writers were seriously brilliant, thus implying their work was brilliant and deserved reading. Now, after a few decades spent writing (with varied success) I think those photos are printed in shades of gray because the authors in them are gray—morose—miserable even, because writing is hard. Even humorist, columnist, satirist, Dave Barry, author of more than 30 books and Pulitzer Prize winner in journalism, a guy I imagined spent his days chuckling as he clicked away on his keyboard, finds it hard. The Summer 2010 Author’s Guild Bulletin published a snippet from The New Your Times Magazine interview in which Barry described his writing routine:

“Get Coffee. Stare at screen. Write a bunch of things that aren’t any good. Then comes that moment when I’ll say, ‘That’s still not any good.’”

Am there…do that! Which begs the burning question: If writing is so bloody hard, why do it?

In the same issue of the AG Bulletin, Lisa Grunwald, suspected author of Primary Colors, actual author of The Irresistible Henry House (named the “Best Book of 2010-so far”) answered the question:

“Some days, it’s torture,” she said. “But just that business of writing a good sentence—it’s authentically joyful.”

It’s a joy to devote this day to focusing on what is right in my life, to recognize and give thanks for all I have—including the ability to write, the mind to imagine, the time to dream, and the desire to strive for good sentences, one after another after another…

Happy Thanksgiving!