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Many ideas for posts have been percolating recently, but while I get those together, why don’t you check out what I’ve been doing in other places around the intertubes?

First off, I’m participating this week in Write On Con, a FREE online conference that began today and ends Thursday. Today, the first vlog I ever did went up, featuring me, editor Molly O’Neill, and agent Holly Root. We busted some publishing myths. And looked longingly at cookies in front of us on the table. I was also a panelist in a live chat with agents Elana Roth and Kathleen Ortiz and publicist Paul Samuelson.

I also have been doing a lot of urban exploring this summer, largely because I have a Key to the City. And I blogged about that over on the Greenwillow blog last week, so you can read more about it and see lots of pictures there!

And I’ve been editing some things. Things that knock my socks off. Like maybe this and this. And some others that aren’t yet linkable, but just you wait and see!

I’m embarrassed how neglectful I’ve been to this blog, lately. But I have good excuses, I swear!

I was acquiring a new sister:

High-five for wedding success!

And then one of my best friends got married, too:

All the Dickinson alumni at Deb's wedding!

Other exciting things were happening, too, though. Like Leah Cypess’s debut novel, Mistwood, was published.

And so was Jody Feldman’s second novel, The Seventh Level.

And I was busy at work on some fantastic novels that you’ll be able to read in 2011. (Or maybe later this fall, if you’re lucky enough to get an ARC.) I’ll be telling you more about those at a later date.

Happy summer!

Yesterday on my run, I listened to last week’s episode of This American Life. It’s called “Save the Day,” and the last act is about the Life Raft Debate at a university in Alabama–basically, the students gather once a year, and professors from various disciplines must convince them that, if they were all on a life raft when the world had been obliterated as we know it, their discipline is the one to save. And it had become more about showmanship than good argument over the years. Until the Devil’s Advocate a few years ago–the person who’s job is to say the student shouldn’t save any of the disciplines–pointed out this fact, and told the students they deserved better. They deserved good arguments, not to be coddled or simply entertained. And he pointed out, too, that a good argument doesn’t have to be boring–it can be funny and entertaining but also engaging on an intellectual level.

It reminded me of a moment in The West Wing when President Bartlet says that if nothing else, they will raise the level of public discourse in the country.

Not to get too political, but this is one of the big reasons I voted for Obama. Because he made good arguments. He didn’t pander, didn’t talk down, and didn’t rely on easy catchphrases and showmanship. I felt that he wanted to engage our minds, he wanted us to think, to form our opinions, regardless of whether we agreed with him or not.

I started to think about this blog post right after listening to This American Life yesterday morning, and it seems particularly timely given tonight’s health care debate.

I think however much we all want to be entertained, we also thirst for a good argument, for the debates, the statements, the information that makes us think. And I can tie it all back into books for children and teens, too. (Of course!) One of the reasons I love working on books for young people is that they have that hunger to know and understand things. A good book opens the world and challenges even while it entertains. It doesn’t talk down, but talks to its audience. It holds that audience in high regard. A good book gives everything, and I think that as a result, all of us and our world give everything back in return. We become engaged with ourselves and with each other.

My Heart Is like a Zoo by Michael Hall.

Or, for something a little more on the silly side, check out:

Of course I’ve been thinking about new year’s resolutions. It’s that time, after all, however cliche it might be. I like beginnings, and I like choice. We have this whole new thing that we get to choose how to begin, how to fill . . . well, not to be too Hallmark card-y, but how to live.

A lot of the resolutions that have been bouncing around in my head are personal and uninteresting to anyone who isn’t me. And some are resolutions that I realize I make every year. Not necessarily because I fail to keep them in the previous year, but because I like to remind myself to keep going with them. Nothing’s ever really finished. One of those is not to shy away from making eye contact with people I walk by. (Unless they’re obviously crazy people, clearly.) The other is to continue to work on balancing my friends, my work, my family, and my alone time in a way that makes me feel that I’m doing my best by everyone.

But this year I’m also resolving to make time for some of the books that I own and really, really, really want to read, but haven’t yet. So here’s the list. I wonder how I’ll do!

-The Children’s Book by A. S. Byatt

-Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

-Marcelo and the Real World by Francisco X. Stork

-Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier (I promise, Angie, this is the year!)

-Bonk by Mary Roach

-Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (if I wait much longer, I think the shelf life of this one might expire)

-The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai

-Jacob Have I Love by Katherine Paterson

-Ulysses by James Joyce (I read this one nearly 10 years ago in college, and am curious to see how a second time might go.)

I’m about to be a little cheesy.

There’s a book that I read every year, either at first snowfall or over Christmas. And since we had that little blizzard on Saturday, it’s time for . . . Winter Dreams, Christmas Love by Mary Francis Shura. It has a heart with “romance” in it on the spine. Cheesy, right? But I just kind of love it, because actually, the story is not as sappy as you’d imagine.

This book was, I think, one of my last Scholastic book club purchases in the seventh grade. (Yes, I continued to order books long after it was cool. I don’t understand how people could resist the siren call of those paper fliers!) Come on, what 12-year-old girl is going to pass this cover up? Right?

And it’s exactly the right story for a shy 12-year-old, too. Ellen is a normal 14-year-old girl just starting high school, and she falls hard for Michael, the guy–a junior–that every girl falls for. We follow her for three years as she deals with high school and her unrequited crush. Of course, at the end, Ellen finds out that Michael had fallen just as hard for her, and they get together. It warms your mushy heart, doesn’t it? Discovering the boy you’ve been crushing on does, in fact, like you back just as much is what everyone wants in high school (or, let’s face it, far beyond high school).

But Ellen’s crush isn’t easy on her. It actually sucks pretty bad. When I was in seventh grade, the YA section of our Waldenbooks was filled with mostly Christopher Pike and R. L. Stine or really, really cheesy romances. So despite the cheeserific title, Winter Dreams, Christmas Love seemed refreshingly real. After realizing she loves Michael, Ellen thinks, “She’d seen a lot of movies, read a lot of romances. She had thought love was supposed to be stars in your eyes and joy that made you feel like dancing. She didn’t feel like dancing. Her chest ached and she felt cold. She clasped her arms across her chest and held her breath to keep from crying. If love hurt this much, she didn’t want any part of it.” Love is the exact opposite of rainbows and unicorns for Ellen, and it’s the first book I read back then that showed it that way.

There are flaws in the book, to be sure. The characters often sound oddly old-fashioned for something written in the ’90s. The chronology of the scenes doesn’t always totally fit. But neither of those stuck out to me the first few times I read it back in the day; it’s something that I’ve only noticed because of my repeated yearly reading. When I was 12, I was caught up in Ellen’s struggle. She also has wonderful friends–which has always been a draw for me in a story–and a warm family. And her crush on Michael develops into a lovely friendship, too, despite the way the unrequited love hurts her. “They were friends who loved each other,” it says at the end, “and they had all the time in the world to see what came of that.”

Yeah, it still gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.


You can see some of the inside and buy it right over here. And you probably should, since it is witty and wise.

So. I’ve had Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence” playing continuously in my head since last Thursday.* (Thanks, Vampire Diaries.) In pondering why it’s so catchy, I realized that the refrain has something in common with another song that often gets stuck in my head, “Ultimatum” by The Long Winters.

Now, I know that the main reason these songs are earworms** has to do with the music. But both also involve the idea of reaching and holding.

Ultimatum:
My arms miss you
My hands miss you.

Enjoy the Silence:
All I ever wanted,
all I ever needed,
Is here, in my arms.

Maybe this also has something to do with why they stick in my head. The concept of reaching out and holding and connecting. It’s such an important part of life. And is it perhaps also why book jackets with images of hands are so compelling and appealing?

Or is that a crazy theory?

——

* There may also have been some secret apartment singing and dancing involved.
**I hate the word earworms. I can’t believe I used it.

One of my favorite books is Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. I’ve read it many times, but the first time, I borrowed it from a friend in the third grade. She had a hardcover edition that was oversized. The cover shows us Mary in a yellow coat looking over her shoulder while pulling back a wall of ivy. I remember resting it on my lap while I read it. It had heft and weight and smelled of paper and ink and a little of my friend’s house. Even now, though I don’t have a copy of that exact edition, it’s part of how the story lives in my mind whenever I think of it or reread it.

And I thought of that reading experience this weekend after walking through some of the exhibits at the Morgan Library. The museum has a fantastic, if small, exhibit on Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, which includes original art and handwritten original manuscripts. (Undeniably amazing.) But it also has a Gutenberg Bible, letters and original manuscript pages from the likes of Dickens, Eliot, and Hemingway, and a number of illuminated prayer books and bibles. At the end of the summer, I also went to an illuminated manuscript exhibit at the Met which blew my mind a little bit.

Standing in front of a book that’s a thousand years old–a thousand years old–with an eReader and a blackberry in my bag made my brain want to implode. That’s a millenia of ways to read all within a few square feet. And those centuries-old books are so full of craft. People spent years and years perfecting their skills to make those books. The calligraphy, the artwork, the bookbinding, papermaking . . . it’s a work of art. One that you can tell a person, or many people, put care and attention and love into. All books are works of art, even today. Care goes into the choosing of typeface, the layout, design, presentation. Every single detail is taken into account.

The lack of physical presence is one of my worries about ebooks. And that’s not to say that I don’t like ebooks, or digital books, or whatever is currently developing. I think it’s exciting and interesting and part of the future of reading. But have we figured out the craft of creating them yet? Right now, they seem more about convenience and availability, not design or art. A good story is a good story no matter how it’s presented, but a good package makes the reading experience even better. None of the digital readers are what I’d call beautiful yet. (Ok, maybe the iPhone is the exception here.) But I think we’ll get there, so that reading a digital book has the same physical presence, evokes the same sensory memory that reading The Secret Garden–and so many other books–has always had for me.

I read Neil Gaiman’s Newbery acceptance speech (in the latest Horn Book) over lunch today, and, as Newbery acceptances always do, it made me a little teary. In a good, “wow I’m so overcome with happiness that books mean so much to people and we get to give medals to writers” way.

And this bit from the very end hits poignantly on the sentiment that makes me feel sure that, however much publishing and books may change with the advances of technology, they’ll always be needed.

“We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort.
And that is why we write.”

curiouser & curiouser

Where You Can Find Me

Northern Ohio SCBWI Annual Conference
September 10-11, 2010


Eastern PA SCBWI Fall Conference
September 25, 2010


Western Washington SCBWI Annual Conference
April 2011

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Every book changes your life: a haphazard collection of quotations that strike me in my reading

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