MAX said "YES!" to Children's Choices

What inspires: Children choosing to read and what!Maybe because his namesake starred in the story, my son Max chose WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE for bedtime reading so many times we can all recite it by heart... Maurice Sendak, the author/illustrator/creator responsible for that story and for bringing to light the truth of good story--that good doesn't mean "goody-good"-but rather means honest, true, sometimes messy and naughty and irreverent, died today, at age 83, after suffering a stroke.

A 'Wild Rumpus' with Maurice Sendak

Fitting that the Children's Choice Awards honorees were anything but "goody-goods."  SE Hinton, author of THE OUTSIDERS, was there. So was Jake Gantos-- convicted felon whose not ashamed to write or talk about it--who said he literally picked a "life-changing" copy of THE OUTSIDERS up off the street.. Man of the evening was another dark horse:  DIARY OF A WHIMPY KID'S creator Jeff Kinney, he made a point of saying how 4 years ago he was unknown and unpublished--definitely not "Whimpy" now! (Surely Sendak was there in spirit, cheering with the lot of them.)

"This year’s Impact Award went to Justin Tuck, defensive end for the New York Giants, for his contributions to children's literacy. Tuck and his wife founded an organization called R.U.S.H. for Literacy, which encourages children to Read, Understand, Succeed and Hope. Tuck recalled how hard his parents worked to put food on the table for the family, and how as a child he never got to travel anywhere. “My mom always told me, ‘You want to go somewhere, pick up a book.’ ”--excerpted from Publisher's Weekly

Norman Flips over Science Fair 2012

  Lulu M. Stevens Elem's in Houston celebrated Earth Day  with a rockin' Science Fair!

Mother Earth shared Not Norman, A Goldfish Story with the kiddles. (But, Norman really really wanted to sneak over to the Mealy worm table!) And dang, wouldn't he look cool with blinged-up goggles!

To enjoy the show, click here: Science Festival Show 2012 Not Norman

Time Warp

Okay, so I’ve only been in Trinidad a week, but I was in the States first, have been for the last six weeks, in fact. You’d think I’d be used to the time change by now, but…  After seven years of living on the other side of the world, I’ve grown accustomed to my yesterday being your today and my today being your tomorrow. I’m used to phone chats held over my wake-up coffee and your night-night toddies. It became the way the days begin. And after a time, mid-day took on the same feel the wee small hours of the morning used to have. On mornings I was home, I could chat as long as needed as the folks on the other end were in relax mode . I’d wake to an email inbox stuffed with notes, sent while I slept. I could read and respond at my leisure because no one was in their US office waiting on a reply from me—they were snug in their beds. There was usually no reason to make business calls to the U.S. during business hours—unless I wanted to hear the recording suggest I “call back during regular business hours."  My business hours were set by the stars, so to speak.

Rare were the immediate response dings of incoming email. (When they came, most where automated out-of-office or undeliverable replies). Pleasant surprises came as human-generated notes from friends burning the late night oil pinged hello. And even more rarely, old-fashioned calls. While phone calls in the night, were previously preceded by fumbling for the phone in the dark and answered with a thundering heart. Answered from the other side of the world in today’s tomorrow, meant theses calls were at best welcome interruptions, at worst met with a clear head.

Those days are gone I realized yesterday when my formerly, leisurely, mid-afternoon email session took on the feel of a tennis match with responses whizzing back almost instantaneously. The volley was so intense, at one point I broke out in a sweat—and it wasn’t caused by the 90-some percent humidity. Who needs to work out when you’ve got a real-time email rally with intermittent interference from evening/early morning Skype calls beeping in from the future to keep going?

As most things do, it calls to mind a song: Three Days…Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow: “And it does no good to wish these days would end/cause these three days start over again”…

Tomorrow? (Or is it tonight? Or yesterday?)

Doing the Time Warp, Again…

Happy Birthday to the YA that Started it All—!

What Inspires: A Great Story with a Happy Ever After... S.E. Hinton, “Susie” to those who know her, was a student in Tulsa, Oklahoma’s Will Rodgers High School when she wrote The Outsiders, first published in 1967 by Viking Press. Wikipedia  says, “The story was based on a friend of Hinton's who was jumped for being a "Greaser," which upset her so much she went home that day and started writing the book.”

Hinton was 15 when she started writing the book, 16 when she finished. According to Tulsa lore or my recollection of Hinton’s story, she either showed the manuscript to her teacher who sent it to an agent friend, or to a friend’s mom who was an agent or had a friend who was an agent, or? However it came about, Hinton was a freshman at Tulsa University when The Outsiders was published. Wikipedia maintains “Hinton was 18”, but I don’t think that’s true. I recall her telling the audience at a Tulsa Library event that she wasn’t yet 18 when the book came out so she had to have an adult companion accompany her to New York for publicity events (Maybe her sister?)

Here’s what I know is true--Our six degrees of separation connection:

• I lived in Tulsa, too.
• “Susie” used to ride horses with my next door neighbor, Nancy.
• She frequented a restaurant I worked at while struggling to become a writer.
• I was so in awe of her that my hands shook when I set her soup bowl before her. I used to linger near her table hoping to catch snippets of “book talk” but never did. ( I did hear about her horses, though.)
• And once upon a time, I owned a car used in the movie version of the book: a white, 72 Mercedes with blue leather interior (which seems a bit odd considering the movie was set in 1965), and something was wrong with the transmission so the car couldn't reverse, but still...

Who's Been Driving in My Car?

I loved driving in that car, wondering if maybe one of those hot, young stars to be—Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Matt Dillon, Tom Cruise, Patrick Swayze (bears repeating), Ralph Macchio—rode in my car. I can't count the times I watched the movie hoping to see my car, but every-dang-time got so caught up in the story I forgot to look... But I digress.

Here’s what I remember S. E. Hinton, creator of The Outsiders, the book which launched the creation of a new genre of books: Young Adult Fiction, telling attendees at various Tulsa writing events. These snippets  sustain me as a writer and inspire me as a storyteller:

• Little Susie was petrified to write that second book. So reluctant was she that her husband, then boyfriend, bribed her to write by refusing to take her out on dates until she’d written her requisite 2 pages per day. If needed, he’d sit and wait until she finished them.
• She doesn’t write with a theme or message, doesn’t plant symbols in her stories, doesn’t do anything but try to “tell a damn good story.” And never knows that her books have themes or embedded symbols or deep truths until readers write and tell her what they are.
• She so completely immerses herself in the characters she’s writing about that she is completely miserable while writing, so much so that when her son was young, she had to stop writing YA for a time because it was wrecking havoc with her home life.
•  She is rumored to have had a "fling" with one of those wild, hot boys who may or may not have ridden in my Mercedes...

  

Imagine! Some 45 years later more than 14 million copies of that Tulsa Sister who tried-to-and-did's debut novel, The Outsiders, have been sold, and an estimated 500,000 copies continue to sell each year.

If you want to purchase your own autographed copy of the anniversary edition of The Outsiders or That Was Then, This is Now, here's your chance! S.E. Hinton is signing books for one day only, May 8, 2012,  at Books of Wonder in the Big Apple. Here’s the ordering info: http://www.booksofwonder.com/prodinfo.asp?number=135834

Stay Gold!

*Want to know what Little Susie looked like back when? Hinton plays a cameo role as a nurse in France Ford Coppola’s movie of the film.  Hey, Pony Boy???

One Way to Meet the Neighbors

My first day in our new Trinidad apartment. I promised myself to take it easy, lay low, just hang out and get acclimated. It has been six weeks since I’d left Jakarta, since I’d fully unpacked and been on my own.  I had no intention of meeting anyone, or even leaving the apartment…none.

Last night, Curtis picked me and my mound of luggage up at the airport in our new rental car. It was his first long drive on the wrong side of the road, in an unfamiliar city (and only got lost once.)

I turned on the music, opened the drapes and doors so I could look out at the ocean and enjoy the non-existent breeze. it was muggy and hot. And began puttering. A few hours later, a sudden tropical storm validated my decision to stay inside. So I pressed on with the unpacking and checking email.

An advantage to living higher up is I could see out, but no one could see in and I could feel easy about leaving the doors open. A disadvantage is not being able to step outside to shake a rug or, in my case, shake out my suitcase. Undaunted, I hoisted the bag over the balcony and began shaking.

I should have checked the bag better. Along with the crumbs and grit I tossed out the lock.  I heard it clink against the ground.

I considered just leaving the lock there. No one would know it was mine, would then? It could have been from any of the many stories above me, couldn’t it? Or fallen from someone’s pocket. After all, doesn’t everyone walk around with luggage locks in their pockets?

That lock glinted up at me like a guilty secret, niggling & nudging. I finally gave in, pulled on clothes, wet down my hair, found my shoes and the ring of keys Curtis had made a point of showing me last night and set out on my first foray into La Rivera.

I made my way down the hall, down the stairs and into the lobby. There was a woman at the front desk and a worker in the front hall, which smelled strongly of vinegar.  I skittered past them with my face averted, pretending I knew exactly where I was going and was in a big hurry to get there. I stepped out the front door and marched off. But  to where?

Our balcony, as do all the others, faces the water. The entry and parking lot faced the opposite direction. I walked a bit in one direction, then the other, hoping to find an entry to the water-side of the building. But there didn’t appear to be one. So I did an about face, returned to the entry and pulled the door…

Locked.

I tried one key, then another, and the other. None fit.

Now what? Had Curtis forgotten to tell me how to get back into the building once the door clicked closed during his key lecture? Or had I forgotten to listen?

I could walk to the store and go shopping for a few hours—4 or 5 or however long it would be before Curtis came home…

However there were a few flaws in that plan: I didn’t have any money.

Or a phone.

I was dressed in scruffies (at least I’d thought twice about slipping downstairs in my nightgown)  and hadn’t even bothered to brush my teeth.

And the lock was still outside on the patio beneath ours.

So I took a deep breath and knocked. And knocked. And jiggled the door handle. And peered in through the glass like a homeless waif seeking shelter.

Finally a woman took pity on me and opened the door a crack. There was no way she was letting me in without an explanation. So I introduced myself and explained my situation. The woman gave me a tight-lipped smile and explained how the key pad worked, then pulled the door closed without letting me through.

She stood on the inside watching through the glass while I tried it myself. She as watching for that green “approved” light to come on. (I have no doubt she would have left me standing out there all day, all night, all tomorrow if that green “approved” light hadn’t come on.)

Fortunately, I passed the test and pushed open the door. Her smile widened and she introduced herself as “Marilyn” then graciously showed me through the foyer to the pool door and explained how those locks worked, too.

After that, all I had to do was make my way around to the back side of the building, counting balconies—which all looked the same—until I came to mine (I recognized it because the door was open).

The door to the apartment directly below ours was open, too. A man was hunched over pulling weeds in the yard—a few feet from the lock which was feet from the open door. I smiled, mumbled “hello” and skittered past him to scoop up the lock. Suitcase crumbs, like confetti, littered the patio around the lock.  It wouldn’t have been so noticeable if the rest of the patio hadn’t been conspicuously debris-free. Had the man been out here when I dumped the suitcase? Had he seen the crumbs rain down like Chicken Little’s sky falling?

I now know 2 people in the building: One who may forever refer to me as the loony lady in 2c with questionable breath, and the other who may never go through his door again without an umbrella to protect him from falling litter.

How's that for the 1st day.

Hard At Work, Waiting

What Inspires: Kindred Spirits"Oftentimes writing can feel overwhelmingly lonely, a fool's errand," Daniel Alarcon wrote in THE SECRET MIRACLE; THE NOVELIST'S HANDBOOK. (Alarcon was one of the writers included in The New Yorker's "20 under 40" list).

"It's gratifying to be reminded that at any given moment, there are thousands of others, working in hundreds of languages all over the world, engaged in much the same pursuit. They, like all of us, have good days, bad days, and days where it is more useful to sit quietly and read, let the writing wait."

Superman is onto Something...

What Inspires: Random Reading Opportunities Phone booths are all but obsolete...Page turners are being replaced by electronic scroll bars...Libraries are being cut as callously as carbs from the At kin's Diet. Still, book lovers find a way...

A  while back I read how the kitsch red British phone booths were being tossed into the Public Works refuse lots and left to rot. Until, that is, book starved folks in rural areas began turning them into lending libraries. I wondered how it came about: Did someone desperate to make a call, maybe in need of roadside assistance, race into a phone booth, dial and dash. And  in his/her haste leave behind a pocket novel, which was picked up some days later by a passer-bye who picked it up and read it. Then, a good read later, returned it, along with a few of his/her pre-read selections, to the phone booth. Maybe even called a friend to tell them of this brilliant deposit/depository and thus the phone-booth turned honor-system lending library--a "free" library in the truest sense--was born. No matter how it started, the craze caught on and now red British phone booths are being refurbished and redeposited as libraries.

Folks in Clinton, New York caught onto the Phone Booth-turned-Library trend with "America's Littlest Library" http://www.libraryjournal.com/lj/home/891988-264/town_of_clinton_ny_opens.html.csp

I've noticed how phone booths in the U.S are similarly disappearing; In other countries, too. They are disappearing so quickly that at the brand-new Jakarta airport terminal they installed the phone stations but never even bothered with the phones...instead the kiosks are and seem destined to remain un-phoned. Sad how phone booths in the UK become libraries while U.S. phone booths have become toilets... what's that say? (I digress...)

But not all of them! NYC Architect, John Locke, is refurbishing phone booths for use as libraries. He's designed a shelving unit that fits inside the phone booth casing easily.

Then a note about the newest wave in libraries flew across my screen and bouyed my spirits:  Birdhouse Libraries. These lending libraries mounted on poles look more like marten houses. But they are definitely not for the birds. A  not-for-profit organization called "Little Free Library" http://www.littlefreelibrary.org/ has taken it upon itself :

• To promote literacy and the love of reading by building free book exchanges worldwide.

• To build a sense of community as we share skills, creativity and wisdom across generations.
• To build more than 2,510 libraries around the world--more than Andrew Carnegie!

By setting up these road-sized lending libraries all over the place. The website shares lots of examples of these Book Houses. There are even directions how to build your own. Why not build one and mount it in your own front yard.Phone Booths . Birdhouse Libraries.Say, maybe--with the state of the postal service--mailbox libraries are next?

Marilyn Rang the Bell! and NED is My New Favorite Name

There are few things as satisfying as reaching the best ending to a story. There's that awe moment followed by a smile...and the smile lingers! As those of you who have been following my blog know, my sis-in-law Marilyn was diagnosed with breast cancer last September. (Read Nov. 11 blog posting, "Helping Hearts.") I could use up all my words describing what "treatment" entailed (and still not get it right) nor do I want to. That's not what this is about.

This day is for rejoicing, for celebrating, for breathing a long-overdue awe and for smiling.

I'll let Marilyn tell you her news, her way! (excerpted from e-mail note, Mar. 13, 2012 entitled "10 Days After")

Hi Everyone!

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your love, support, humor, and so very much more. I've made it through my last chemo treatment and the hardest days that follow chemo. I feel good, am able to get out, drive, swim, take restorative yoga classes, and then rest as needed. My mind has more energy than my body so I have to watch what I think I can do versus what I actually should/can do.

I've never been a  big fan of "losing" an hour each spring, but this year the gaining light matches my coming out from under the cloud of the last 6 months of cancer treatment. Like the light, the dawning that the chemo is behind is coming slowly as I absorb the reality. I saw one of the oncologists this morning, not my primary one, to get the needed results of blood work at the 10 day mark after Taxotere chemotherapy. It's the point  when the blood counts can be at their lowest. All were in great shape. The way any meeting with an oncologist starts is with side effect:  "Is it normal that all my teeth feel like they have cavities?" "What should I do about this red rash on the top of my  hand?"  "Still have tingling in fingertips and some pain." I forgot to ask, "Do you think these fingernails are going to fall off?" (Losing fingernails sometimes occurs with Taxol and Taxotere.) Not that any of these side effects are big concerns, the tingly/numb fingers are the worst of them. It's kind of interesting to see what happens.

When I happened to review the list, the brutal mental/emotional testing made more sense. By this last treatment, the emotional part was much, much better. I think it being the last treatment helped in a couple of ways that I wasn't aware of before. First, I wasn't having to unconsciously conserve my energy for the treatments coming. There was a certain amount of steeling myself for the long run that I wasn't aware of. Second, again unconsciously, I was always wondering how long the various side effects were going to last, if they would increase in intensity or be long standing: sores in mouth, nausea, diarrhea, fever, pain, numbness, etc. (I list these here for a look into the experience of chemo.) There is a term "the new normal" that is batted around a lot, meaning there will be side effects that will stay with you after treatment that weren't there before. One new normal is the numbness on my underarm after surgery on my lymph nodes. It feels like I'm putting deodorant on over clothing. I'm very fortunate. There are many, many side effects that I don't have.

I asked the doctor today what I should call my present state --post cancer, cured, what? He said that I was "no evidence of disease" (NED) and that my breast cancer has been "treated."

"NED" is what I think I'll throw around at cocktail parties. The drugs that I'm taking now, one he called a heat seeking missile, significantly reduce the chance of cancer returning.

At the cancer center, when a patient finishes the final chemo treatment, she/he gets to ring a bell. I was a little shy about doing it, but it was very satisfying once I did.

NED...the name has a lovely ring to it!