I Spy A NaNoWriMo-er

She's pulling her hair.
She's wondering why.
She's banging her head against the cafe table.
She's been sitting in front of her computer for two hours, and all she ordered was a small coffee.
"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" asks the waitress, with a barely concealed snarl.
"Yes, I do want something else," says the NaNoWriMoer. "I want it to be over."
She leans over her keys.
She types some words.
She counts the words.
She realizes they are not enough.
They will never be enough. Not by November 30. Impossible.
She orders a mocha, hoping that will placate the waitress.
And help her come up with more words.
She wonders if she can find a way to write on Thanksgiving.
Or the day after Thanksgiving.
She wonders why they didn't pick a month with 31 days.

NaNoWriMo, Here I Come!

Ready or Not.

Mostly Not.

Here's what I'm feeling about NaNoWriMo
(National Novel Writing Month)

1. 50,000 words in one month? What?
2. That's like a million picture books. Or something.
3. If I make it to 50,000 words (the linguistic equivalent of one million picture books) it'll be a mess.
4. A big unedited mess.
5. Then what?


I've been thinking about taking on the NaNoWriMo challenge for awhile. And this character from a novel that's been in my head awhile is hinting very heavily that he's ready to come out. Breathing in my ear, actually.

But his story breaks my heart.

Picture books are nice. They don't break my heart.

Too late. I already signed up.

Did you?

Culture Schmulture

On Sunday, my husband and I brought our daughter to hear this UNCA concert. What a lovely idea!

But then the squirming started. I'd brought papers and markers along to draw the musicians (like mommy!) Her and her little friend drew doggies and superheros instead and made each other giggle. Shhhh!

The friend had a very squeaky seat, especially if you rocked it back and forth just so, which no amount of shushing could stop.

Then my daughter started whining.

"I'm hungry, mom!"

Shhh! (frantic pointing at the numerous serious musicians)

"But I'm really hungry, mom!"

Shhh! (point, point)

"Why did we have to come here? It's so boring!"

(shocking, I know)

What's wrong with today's seven-year-olds, I have to wonder. Don't they know culture when they see it? :)

It was hard not to feel disappointed that my daughter wasn't a perfect angel during the concert. Unlike the time I took her to the ballet when she was six months old (she cooed adorably for awhile, then fell asleep)

All she wanted to do when we got home was play 'Avatar: the last airbender' with her friend. They were both the Avatar. And neither one was hungry after I threw together a quick dinner. What's wrong with these kids, anyway?

Hey, anyone want to play Avatar with me?

A Hole Is To Dig

With all the buzz about that darn NYTimes article on the demise of the picture book and the great rebuttals-- (http://www.philnel.com/2010/10/08/picture-book-is-dead/ )

I decided I too shall rebut.

Because I love picture books. I adore picture books. I lurve them.

So I thought I'd post this fabulous Maurice Sendak illustration from Ruth Krauss' A Hole Is To Dig. One of the all-time great picture books, in my estimation. And it doesn't even have a narrative arc!

Subtitled "A First Book of First Definitions," the author thanks some kindergarten children, who I assume provided the amazing text. Words like 'A face is something to have on the front of your head' and 'The sun is to tell you when it's every day' and 'Cats are so you can have kittens'

Had to be written by kids. I just don't know any adults who are that perceptive. So let your kid be a kid and let your kid use her wonderful visual thinking to understand the concept of story and let your kid read picture books! As long as they want to, even when they're all growed up.

Because, like the final page of A Hole is To Dig says, "A book is to look at."

Self-Portrait at 30

Going through a forgotten portfolio, I came upon this painting. What I remembered was working on it for many months, and then showing it to my (not very pleasant) housemate at the time. She looked at it and didn't say a thing.

So I figured it wasn't any good. And I didn't even like her!

Now I find it and say, 'wow!' I guess I need to learn not to listen to unpleasant people. Why has it taken me so long to figure this out?

Think of all the people in your life (including your inner critic) who in so many ways tell you it's no good and might as well give up. Now take a big eraser and erase them all!

Then find a critique group (or other supportive people) who want to consider what's good about what you're doing (and help you figure out what needs to be changed.) Surround yourself with people who believe in you and want you to succeed. And when you find them... or if you found them already.. give them a big hug.

Because we do need to believe in ourselves. But it's also great to have other people who do, too. (thank you, Secret Gardeners!)

My Hands Won't Keep Still

I was lucky enough to attend the SCBWI Carolinas conference this weekend-- with some of my fellow Secret Gardeners! (you know who you are)

Of course I drew some of the presenters--
pictured here (roughly sketched):
Alan Gratz, wonderful (local!) author
Liz Waniewski, Senior Editor, Dial Books
-- also awesome and sweet!
Alvina Ling, Senior Editor,
Little, Brown Books
-- so funny and smart (and prettier than my sketch!)

I would have drawn the talented and fun Elizabeth Dulemba or the charming and handsome Laurent Linn, Art Director at Simon & Schuster, BUT they kept showing us these fascinating images, so I had to keep my gaze upward...

BUT during the other presentations, sketching seemed unavoidable. Like crossing and uncrossing my legs. My hands seem to want to keep moving. It's almost annoying. And I worried about being distracting (or annoying) to other attendees.
(at least I stopped rattling my candy wrapper when you told me to, Donna!)

I don't want to be a compulsive person (she says, rolling and unrolling a scrap of paper) but maybe crazy-hands is part of being an artist. (horrors!)

hey, at least I'm not robbing banks.

How do you direct your crazy energy (when you're not at your computer/in your studio) Were you the one with the candy wrapper sitting right behind me? Don't worry; I understand.

apologies for not doing that linking thing w/ everyone's name-- can someone tell me how to? You definitely should check out Alan Gratz's great books!

Roald Dahl's Birthday!

was this past Monday. (I believe he would've been 94.)

And a peculiar thing happened, which led to another peculiar thing, which led to the most peculiar thing of all.

The first peculiar thing was our most wonderful indie bookstore, Malaprops, hosted a Roald Dahl event: local authors were invited to read from James and The Giant Peach.

My daughter was in afterschool, and for a second I thought, 'Well, I guess I'm not going, then,' but the next second I realized how much I wanted to hear James and The Giant Peach. So I went.

The next peculiar thing was that while I was greatly enjoying all the local authors' renditions of James and The Giant Peach (and drawing them and sorry I didn't get their names, but that wasn't the point, really) our most wonderful Asheville bookseller, Caroline Green, approached me and whispered something in my ear.

One of the authors hadn't shown up. Would I like to read James and The Giant Peach?

Would I?! And practically become one of those legendary local Asheville authors right then and there?

The next peculiar thing was I overcame my aversion to standing at a podium before even a small and book-loving group of people and got up and read. The final peculiar thing was looking at the audience and registering the dearth of children. And realizing we love Roald Dahl because we love him, not because we know he makes our children happy.

Because we love great books. And that's who we are. That's why we were there, at Malaprops Bookstore, listening to each other read about cabbage-faced aunts, giant snarky centipedes and Cloud Men.

Thanks, Caroline. And thank you, Roald Dahl. And Happy Birthday!