Picture Book Writers--Do You Dare
I just received word (from one of my favorite blogs: Writing On The Sidewalk) that NaPiBoWriWee, National Picture Book Writing Week spearheaded by Paula Yoo begins today, Sunday, May 1st. and I'm inspired and challenged to put pen to paper. I'm going to spend the next week playing with picture book stories. Be Warned: Every memory of every childhood/childlike moment is possible fodder. Anyway, the Royal Wedding is over so what else have I/you/we got to do?
Sunday begins National Picture Book Writing Week, NaPiBoWriWee for short. The goal is to write 7 picture books in 7 days.
Here are the basic rules:
1. Midnight May 1st to 11:59 p.m. May 7th: Write 7 separate and complete picture books.
2. You are NOT allowed to write the same picture book in 7 variations. Each book must be complete and separate.
3. No minimum word count, just be sure that each book must has a clear beginning, middle and end.
4. You are allowed to brainstorm and research book topics before May 1st. Outlines are acceptable. First draft writing is NOT. Do NOT write your books before May 1st – only brainstorming, taking notes, and outlining are allowed.
5. You are NOT allowed to write a single word of your draft until midnight May 1st.
6. There is NO minimum word count required.
7. If you plan to blog about your NaPiBoWriWee journey, please include a link to:http://paulayoo.com/
8. Please comment on the soon-to-debut NaPiBoWriWee WordPress blog or email Paula at paula at paulayoo dot com and she will include your name in the prize drawing. Several winners will be chosen from random. Winners will receive an autographed copy of Paula’s books “SHINING STAR: THE ANNA MAY WONG STORY” (Lee & Low Books 2009) and “SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIXTEEN SECONDS: THE SAMMY LEE STORY” (Lee & Low ’05), along with items from the NapiBoWriWee Store and a couple of surprise autographed book prizes from special guest authors!
9. This is NOT a writing contest. Think ofNaPiBoWriWee as a writing support group where we can cheer each other on. So please do NOT send Paula your manuscripts.
10. If you plan on attending the national Society of Children Book Writers & Illustrators (http://scbwi.org/) conference in August, let Paula know and she’ll arrange for an informal gathering during the conference so you can meet in person and celebrate NaPiBoWriWee!
For more information about prizes, tips and tricks for NaPiBoWriWee be sure to check out the official site. So warm up those computers and get in touch with your inner child because this is truly a challenge.
One Day, Out Of The Blue...
For most of us, our days are routine: we get up, do our work, live our lives and make plans with the expectation that tomorrow will bring pretty much what we expect it will. And then one day things are going along exactly as expected and WHAM out of the blue something happens that completely changes everything.Sometimes, like today, that something literally falls right out of the sky. Today began as one of those unscripted, unstructured, nothing but lunch planned days. My favorite kind. I had taken a break from the heap of picture books I’d pulled off my shelves over coffee this morning, and was standing at the dining room table going through the mail when I glanced up to see Rusnati, my housekeeper, running full stop toward the house from the back of the garden.
Rusnati is short, just over 4 feet tall and round. (Think “Weebles” those roly playskool people and their hard-plastic town and garage and houses?-my kids loved them.) Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down. They don’t run either.
I stood , flabbergasted at the sight of Rusnati running. Wow! could she run! But why? There had to be something--something bad to get her running so fast. Then I freaked and ran to meet her.
“Warjo!” she panted, pointing back to the corner of the yard. “Warjo @#$#@$ (something I couldn’t understand or translate but that sounded like “potong” which means cut and something about his arm.
I looked where she was pointing. Warjo, our pool man, was face up on the ground beneath the mango tree with his head in the ginger stalks. My heart busted into the High School “fight” theme. No blood, I willed, not wanting to see his arm cut off. Him bleeding out in our yard.
Rusnati was sort of pulling me toward him, as a kid does a mother. Who resigned and made me the mom? I wanted to ask. I wanted to pull back like another kid would. Instead I prayed: Please don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. And no blood. Please no blood.
I didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see what I might see. I do not enjoy horror movies.
Warjo heard me call him and tried to raise himself up, or tried to raise his hand. But his hand didn’t come up, only his head and shoulder did. The arm dangled.
"Rusak, munkin" Rusnati said. Maybe broken.
Maybe???
I wracked my brain for for recollections of hospital dramas. I so wanted to channel McHero.
“Don’t more!” I ordered. Quickly adding the smidge of Indonesian I could muster. “Tunguh,” wait.
Warjo waited…not much else he could do. And so did everyone else. Rusnati, Aan, Rohemon, the security guards, they all probably had as much, if not more, medical experience than I did and they were waiting for me to give orders.
It was my house, my garden, my tree Warjo had fallen from. My problem to solve. So I barked orders (not consisely or in any specific language, it was more jestures mixed with jibberish). We tied Warjo's upper body in a sarong and 4 guys pulled/pushed him to a sitting position. Sweat rained down his face and chest. His eyes were wild. They asked if he could walk. Got him to his feet. Warjo tried a step but his body just quivered like jelly. So they carried him to the car and settled him in.
Turns out Warjo’s arm was broken clean through. A ragged, jagged break that requires surgery and immobilization. He was checked into the hospital and will be operated on tomorrow, a pin inserted to set the bone, several months recovery, bills, loss of work--not to mention what the fall may have done to his guts, back, him...
We called his family while waiting for treatment.Warjo’s wife and only son came. Shortly after, in ones and twos, others arrived—friends, family, neighbors—until Warjo had about 15 visitors. He's not alone. But, what now?
With the crack of a branch, this bright blue day, which started out so like so many others has changed Warjo’s life, and his families, an ours too. One hopes it’s only a temporary change. What if it isn’t?
What about when our out of the blue day arrives?
It's Re-Birthday: Plant something!
Earth Day is April 22nd. The brainchild of U.S. Senator Gaylord Nelson (D-Wisconsin), Earth Day was designed to inspire awareness and appreciation for Earth’s environment. It began as an environmental teach-in in 1970 and is now recognized as "teach Earth day" celebrated in many countries every year. "According to Senator Nelson, the moniker "Earth Day" was "an obvious and logical name" suggested by "a number of people" in the fall of 1969, including, he writes, both "a friend of mine who had been in the field of public relations" and "a New York advertising executive," Julian Koenig. April 22 was Koenig's birthday and according to Nelson, as "Earth Day" rhymed with "birthday," the idea came to him easily.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth_Day).
Julian Koenig, one of the most infamous Madison Avenue Mad Men, was inducted into The copywriters Hall of Fame in 1966. According to research uncovered by my son, Max, Koenig was the ad guy responsible for the rhyming Burma Shave signs posted on the road and painted onto barns that once ran along Route 66, entertaining travelers while spouting the virtues of a nice, close Burma Shave. These early, amusing, ads have since been replaced by not-so amusing, definitely not scenic billboards--roadside trash. (To think, Earth Day's daddy started the trend.)
So, because April 22nd happened to be Koenig’s birthday, and “earth day rhymes with birthday” and April 22nd became officially known as Earth Day. And maybe because everyone present was imbibing heavily (as, according to the TV series, Mad Men did in those days), and caught up as they were in the excitement of it all, no one bothered to check if April 22nd was already taken. It was taken… April 22nd is, and has been since 1875, National Arbor Day in the United States.
Arbor Day was the brainchild of J. Sterling Morton, ex-Governor of Nebraska. After noticing how the forests were being chopped down, Morton decided to do something about it, so he declared a “Tree Planting Holiday.” He, like my daughter Lexi, like Koenig, must have been of the mind that birthday’s should be holidays because he had also chosen his own birthday, April 22nd, for Arbor Day. That first Arbor Day was held in Nebraska on April 22, 1872.
Arbor Day was traditionally considered a “school childrens' holiday” because it was primarily observed in schools. Students wrote poems, drew pictures, sang tree songs and….planted trees. Fancy that! Arbor Day is held all over the world at different times of the year, depending when the best tree planting time is in that region. If you’d like to read more about Arbor Day check out my book: Arbor Day, Children’s Press, 2003. (Move over, Julian, I can be a Mad Woman.)
After a time, because we Americans love to standardize our holidays, National Arbor Day was moved to the last Friday in April. And then along came Earth Day and, as often happens in our modern world, Arbor Day: a simple, quiet holiday dedicated to gentler pursuits: songs, drawings, poems, gardening, has been usurped by the more commercial, more political, Earth Day.
Today, on April 22nd, 2010, in honor of the 135 anniversary of National Arbor Day and the 30th Anniversary of Earth Day I’d like to propose a change:
Let’s go back to the source of both Arbor Day and Earth Day. Whether they were aware of it or not, J. Sterling Morton and Julian Koenig were onto something: April 22nd is a day for new beginnings. So I propose we change the name of the holiday to Re-Birthday!
Happy Re-Birthday! Revive, Replenish, Restore: Plant Something!
Hurrah for TLA
TLA, the Texas Library Association Annual Conference (April 12-15th this year) was a book-lover's candy store. All manner of publishers exhibited their new, award-winning and forthcoming books, e-books, audio-books and everything related. For childrens lit folks it's like a huge 3-day party...
Jamie Lee Curtis gave the welcome address on Tuesday morning. She signed books for an hour afterwards...250 people waited in line to get her autograph. I would have gladly stood in for her. If only she'd let me know, I would have worn my red neckerchief, too.
So many Texas authors are coming into their own. It's great fun to see them signing in the author's area--with lines of fans waiting!
Bettina
Two of my VCFA classmates Erin Moulton and Sherry Shahan (both Unreliable Narrators) had new books this season. The arrival of Erin's debut novel, FLUTTER about sisters, adventure and their quest for a miracle is especially thrilling as I had read an earlier draft of the book...I sort of feel like a proud auntie. I read my hot-off-the-press copy on the plane and have only one complaint: IT ENDED...
Sherry's novel in verse PURPLE DAZE , set during 1968 Vietnam tumultuous times, eluded me. I'll have to order my copy. Just as well, maybe as my bags were stuffed full.
Cynthia Leitich Smith's signing line would around and down and up the aisle--fans couldn't wait to get their paws on Blessed!
Not to be outdone, the Texas chapters of SCBWI hosted a booth to promote children's authors and illustrators.
The booth served as a magnate for all of us--a perfect meet and greet spot. SCBWI-Austin went all out to create a welcoming booth!
So now, with my creative and social batteries charged--and my suitcases overstuffed with books--I'm on my way home to Jakarta. I have a lot of work to do before next year. Before hand Jamie Lee Curtis and I need to have a little chat. We need to work at coordinating our outfits or...next time someone mistakes me for her I'll say "yes". I wonder: does anyone ever ask her if she is me?
Nesting-Just A Little Bit
Knickknacks, doodads, mementos, comforts…baggage. Call it what you will, we all have it. Some, like me, have more of it than most. I’m notorious for toting around extra baggage. (Yes, Doc, and all that may imply.) If you doubt it, consider this, I’ve just returned home (after, in my defense, what anyone would call a lengthy trip) with 2 checked duffels, 2 checked boxes, 2 carry-ons and my huge purse. (Of course I had to pay for extra baggage.) And the first thing I did when I arrived home was wander around looking at all my stuff. A few weeks ago, I had occasion to experience a few days of life without stuff. We finally took possession of our new home in Westhampton Beach. A home that although we had to chip off a large part of our rock for, we have not seen for more than 1 hour, tops, in the 6 months it took us to buy. A home for which, although we will now doll out monthly payments, we don’t expect to see for at least 6 more months.
Since I was in the neighborhood and homeless for a week, I decided to mosey out to Westhampton Beach and get a feel for the place. Wander around the grounds at leisure. Snoop in the attic and cupboards. Try out the plumbing. In short, to assert squatter’s right. So, I tossed my baggage into the back of a rental car and headed down from New York.
My friend, Katie drove with me.
On the way, we stopped at Target to power shop--stock up on necessaries: aka "stuff". Curtis and I had bought a bed from the previous owner. Katie and I bought stuff - bedding, towels, a lamp, picnic dishes and breakfast food - to go with it.
William Morris is credited with having said “Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” Add "comfy" to that list. And with regards to packing, substitute “luggage” for “homes.”
Beauty being in the eye of the beholder, this adage can be stretch to justify about anything.
A few days into the week, after Katie had gone, all alone in that big empty house with the wind blowing outside and rain coming down sideways, I was struck with a bone-deep need for something sweet. I rummaged around inside my baggage and finally unearthed a Cup of Gold from the Dollar Store. Who knows how old, torn, crumpled wrapper, lint, and all, it looked more like a cow pie than a treat. But dang if that nutty chocolate mallow-centered cup wasn’t beautiful and useful.
That’s the thing of it: you can never be sure that something won’t come in handy someday…
2 Lies, 1 Truth, and a Dare from an April Fool
2 Lies and I Truth: 1. It’s bright and sunny in NYC today
2. I’m watching Kathie Lee and Hoda
3. I’m working on a brilliant new story so don’t bother me
Truth and confession: I’m watching Kathie Lee and Hoda. My defense is the 2 lies. When I planned this trip to NYC, I fully expected spring to have sprung, instead it’s grey, cold, and …. Anyway, and it’s really not my fault that I’m watching morning TV. I’d never turn it on myself…honest. It’s Lexi’s fault. She left the TV on when she went to work and I am now hooked into morning shows. Morning TV is not really the time suck some say it is, either. It’s informative. So far I’ve watched Prince William and his grannie, the Queen, tour his Sea Rescue Station; learned there are only 28 days to the Royal Wedding and that William is not planning to wear a ring; watched 3 “spring” recipes being prepared—poached sea bass, tomato basil pasta and strawberry shortcake (which woke my tummy and sent me looking for food, which led to my finding the new jar of organic peanut butter, which I stirred during the next 30 minutes of programing-thus making productive use of my TV time) ; and watched a teen boy invite girl to the prom by whooing her with this sure-fire entreatment: “Um, yeah, Brit-Crystal-Tiff, get down here.”
As is so often the case, in the midst of all the fun and foolishness, I heard something that just might make the difference. Hoda and Kathie Lee dubbed this: Try-day Friday.
Try Day Friday. It has a nice ring to it. It got my pea brain humming. Got me searching for the remote control. Got me to put down the spoon and pick up my laptop.
Why not set Friday aside as a day to Try? Try something new. Try something scary. Try—without worrying about being silly or stupid or foolish or wrong. And what better day to try something than April 1st, 2011, the officially designated day of foolishness.
Call me an April Fool, but…I’m designating this my first official Try-Day!
Join me…If you dare…
YOUR MOMMY WAS JUST LIKE YOU has arrived!
My new picture book, YOUR MOMMY WAS JUST LIKE YOU, illustrated by David Walker is here! The companion to last year's YOUR DADDY WAS JUST LIKE YOU. This one's for you Lexi!
Cape Argus Pick-N-Pay Cycle Tour
Feeling has returned to my left palm and I can finally sit again, without pain, so, a few days late, I’m writing about the big race. In case you are wondering how it turned out, forgive me for making you wait. The night before the big race, as dedicated cyclists do, we gorged on pasta. Adrenalin levels were high at our table of 9. Six of us because we were riding the next day: 3 (excited): Charles, his brother Dave & son Vaughan (veterans of the race); 3 (nervous) Caitlin, Charles and Shona’s daughter, a first-timer along with Curtis and me. During dinner, Shona (The best spectator, cheering section, supporter in the whole world), her sis-in-law, Les, and Caitlin’s roomie and family friend, Claire, the rooting section, plotted where they’d watch us from and how they’d get there.
Claire made a sign cheering us on.
Before dawn we lined up with our group for the start. Charles and his cousin, Donald, pros (especially after their recent 1700 km ride) were in an earlier group. Vaughn, being local, started an hour later. The rest of us were in the International Group with start times of 7:47 for the AA Group and 7:51 for the BB Group. Dave and I were in the AA group but decided to ride in the BB Group with everyone else: Caitlin, Dave, Dave and Charles’ cousin Robert and his dad, John (76 years old) and Curtis.
Spirits were high at the start line. While waiting, riders chatted and lined-up at the Porta-potty for “nervous pees”.
Up ahead we could hear music and cheering for performing flag girls, etc. But we couldn’t see them. All we could see was the giant sign and a sea of bikes and backs.
At the Starting Gun Shot, we expected the crowd to shoot forward—but no one moved. Cycles in mass do not zoom out the way horses or cars do. We stood there, waiting for the crowd in front to begin cycling.
A kilometer later I crossed the start line. The pedals worked, the crowd spread out. As we rode over the timing mattes, Caitlin and I exchanged grins. We had done it! We were riding in the Argus—the largest individually timed cycle race in the WORLD!!!!
Five minutes later—maybe less—we started on our 1st uphill. A long, steady incline up and over the highway overpass. I hated Charles just then. Hated him for suggesting we ride. Hated him for making it sound like fun! It will be over “just now” I told myself, pushing hard on the pedals. “Just now” is a misleading South African term. “Just now” can either mean a little earlier (little being anything from days before to hours or minutes before) or it can mean a little later (as in minutes, hours or days from now.) “Just now” never means now, this minute, as everyone else in the English speaking world would assume, South Africans say “Now now” for that. As in, I’ll get on with my story now now…
When Charles was riding the charity ride, he told us they began every day by saying, “this is a ride, not a race.” The Argus is a race and everyone we knew was riding it that way. That’s how we started out, too. But after that first long, horrid uphill, while coasting down on the glorious downhill. I fought the urge to pedal, the way everyone around me was doing and enjoy. I was not going to race.
So, I stopped to take photos of the magnificent route.
I stopped to photograph other cyclists. Especially those in costume.
I stopped to photograph the first-aid tent. Two guys with matching injuries sharing stories.
The oldest cyclist in the race, Japie Malan (91), fell on a steep downhill after Chapman’s Peak, and had to be immobilized and helicoptered out. (He’s in the hospital now and doing well.) I stopped for a neck and lower back massage. I expected my legs to hurt. But no, pedaling wasn’t the problem; neither was breathing. I could have pedaled a hundred kilometers more but… What I wasn’t used to was bending over handle bars, clutching the handlebars. And keeping my feet in the stirrups (the little toe on my right foot kept cramping…go figure???)
I stopped to refill my water bottles, to sample BarOne Candy Bars (2 of them), to potty (I won’t show that photo).
I took lots of drive-by photos of the crowds lining the race route. One section before the next to the last hill of the race was lined with pink “breast cancer awareness” balloons and pink-shirted spectators. Families picnicked along the road, barbecuing, toasting, cheering and clapping, with signs and banners, chants and encouragement.
I had a grand time photographing the crowds— and they loved seeing me photographing them—but photo-wise it wasn’t good. Lesson learned: trying to take one-handed photos while pedaling and bumping along the road results in fuzzy photos.
One drive-through photo turned out brilliantly: THE FINISH LINE! I rode in 6 hours and 29 minutes, 111 kilometers after the start!
Curtis rode in an hour later! We were all waiting to cheer him in! We did it!
Would we ride the Argus again?
Curtis didn’t say “no” he said… “Hell, no.”