Identity Crisis #2

As I wait [impatiently/anxiously] for my agent to pass judgement over the latest revision of book #2, my newest project is struggling to be born. Like Yeats' "rough beast," this one seems both elusive and menacing, but inescapably exciting because is quite the departure from my previous work.

First, it is not historical. This one just needs to happen here and now. But does that mean that I am a fraud? My niche seems to be the historical ghosty fiction, but this particular project is screaming from a different place. Inspired by someone near and dear to me, it is also a rather bold experiment both for me and my potential readers. This MC is not your average clairvoyant. She has a few other exceptionalities that will remain a secret for now.

Second, it is far more character driven than anything I have written before. Of course, now I find myself wondering what the hell is the plot, but I'm pulling on my tall boots and wading in. I have to admit I'm a little scared. How much plotting do I really need to do before I jump in and just start writing? I made a royal mess of my first go round of the last novel, but I think I have ironed out some of its worst faults. But this new project has many, many layers. More complex characters. Delicate issues.

Third, I'm going to attempt a first-person narrative. There is really no other choice. We need to be inside the MC's head for this one and live inside her skin. Can I do it?

In light of all these innovations, I'm wondering if I am in the midst of another identity crisis. My confidence has been shaky many times...well, pretty much always. There is part of me who had sort of branded herself as the historical ghost fiction chick, but can I just be a writer? I'm still swinging the big ghost stick, but it has a very different place and purpose this time around. Is that wrong? Is it doable?

I guess the only way to find out is to take the leap. Let's hope my boots are tall enough and I don't spring a leak...and that this crazy beast won't jump up and bite me in the ass, either...

Shrinking the Cosmos, a Writer's Guide to the World

That may be a big title for a small idea, but the notion hit me today as I sat munching on my salad and reading Inside Out and Back Again. I realized how differently I see the world now that I am an active writer. Sure, I'm a grown-up too, full of wisdom and introspection (ha!),  but I'm not sure I would take the time to consider the world in the same way if I weren't a writer, no matter what my age.

Of course, I started as a reader. A lover of stories. An explorer of histories. A scientist on a quest. I can't help it. Every day I catch myself examining the smallest bits of the world around me and asking why and why not and what does it all mean? A snippet of conversation overheard at Burger King suddenly becomes a momentous revelation that must be celebrated...somewhere. Out of nowhere, that stupid thing I did in 5th grade makes sense all these years later. As expansive as the universe seems, there is a reason you can find the word microcosm in the dictionary.

I might be taking a little writing break at the café. Some kid walks in dressed like an oompa loompa or a pro wrestler or a Sid Vicious wannabe. Rather than retreat to my comfort zone and chalk it up to drug addiction or mental illness, I ask myself questions like: What did he eat for breakfast? What frightens him the most? What does it feel like to wear that?  What is the last thing his father said to him? Has he ever saved a life? Or lost a life? How many times has he lost his keys in the last month?

The deeper I am buried in a writing project, the more powerful these moments are. The more open I become to the unexpected simply because it is so...human. That is easy to forget. In this time of convenience foods and mass production and social media overload, the truly human has been homogenized and processed out of our curiosity and replaced with a simple like or #epicfail in our minds and then we move on. Life has become so conspicuous. We laugh and watch it go viral, never considering where it came from in the first place. At least it seems that way for many people I've met.

Sure, the whole public persona thing is nothing new, but it has become a much more concerted effort in the modern world. If we really look hard, listen closely, lay our hands on long enough to feel what wriggles beneath the surface, we can know life. Honest to God, painful, joyful, twisted life. As a writer, I always want to know and feel more. I want to understand why and see where that connects to my own experience or what it tells me about the universe.

Marlo Thomas, I hear ya...free to be you and me...right on. But what's behind the performance of you and me?  Always more. Much more. The writer in me will keep asking. She will always put it under the microscope and look for what she knows and then look at what she doesn't know.

And wouldn't it be awesome if our kids did that a little more? So often their cruelty comes from fear of the unknown. The unknown is not what lies in the other kid, either.

Creative Urges

We are all familiar with the basic biological urges:  hunger, thirst, sex drive, etc.  As a writer, I wonder how many people feel that same sort of inescapable drive towards creative endeavors.  We all need to eat, but some people have an overwhelming need to satisfy not just the need for sustenance to keep the body functioning, but the need to satisfy the spiritual desire for a savory experience.  It is not enough to simply put food in their mouths.  Eating must be an event.  They are not complete without a sensual taste experience.

I think creativity can act just like that sort of hunger.  It was my son who got me thinking about this.  He is one of those kids who has many talents and will eventually be paralyzed by the number of choices he has until he finally breaks through and chooses one talent to pursue.  All of his talents are traditionally creative.  Music, art, writing.  I see that same sort of restlessness that I had at his age.  The difference is, he is embracing the journey and reveling in the exploration, while I worried about making the wrong choice and being mediocre at everything rather than really talented at one thing.  I so admire him for that.

But I continue to field these deep-seated urges to create.  I wish I could sing well.  I have these emotions and ideas that I just want to embrace through song...but I'm not very good at singing.  I ache to paint, to immerse myself in color and shape it into something that reveals some great truth...but I'm not that great at painting or drawing.  I long to satisfy my eye for composition and the hidden magic behind the ordinary flotsam we see all around us...but so far, I'm an amateur at photography.

In all of this is a gut-level, inescapable urge to feel something so deeply that it takes a part of you with it when you finally release it into the wild.  But it takes confidence to be able to reach that pinnacle.  It takes talent.  It takes great risk.  Perhaps its like the adrenalin junkies who base jump or skydive.  That urge cannot be satisfied unless you risk it all and lay it all out there, good or bad. I had to sound so cliché, but it is liberating.

Comedians are often good at that.  Imagine how terrifying that must be, because humor is a very personal and spiritual phenomenon.  You lay out truths (sometimes half-truths) and ask us to laugh at ourselves and at you.  I imagine it must be addictive.  And cathartic.

Maybe that's it.  All these creative pursuits allow us to free something that has been held captive for far too long.  Simple words cannot go far enough or even approach the truth of it.  It takes more than words set together in a straight line. It takes a medium that dares us to dig down to the roots of it all. To mess it all up, fill it with emotion, and spread it all around.

I know, I know...this post is rambling a bit.  But I guess that is just where my urge has taken me.  It's not a perfectly constructed plate of food—apologies to Tom and Padma—nor a flawlessly executed work of art. It's easy to forget that even the most talented creative types have a process. I hope that someday I can hone my writing into that creative expression that fills my soul and truly satisfies.  Even if it only satisfies me.

RIP Steve Jobs: 1955-2011

Today, the internet is flooded with tributes to Steve Jobs, who passed away last night.  When I heard the news I wanted to cry as if I had lost a close friend.  There are several reasons why the news hit me this way, but I'll name three:

• Steve Jobs was a pioneer who defined the world I lived in precisely at the time of my "awakening."  I was among the first students who learned about computers on an Apple back in the late 1970's, when the Apple had just opened the door to personal computing for everyday people.  In college, the little Mac brought the world of computing into my dorm room and eventually made my old electric typewriter, dropped and busted by a "friend" during senior finals, obsolete.  I was exactly the audience who grew with the company, who saw a true pioneer, a genius, define the way people interacted with computers.  He personalized them with an uncanny intuition for how people think.  Not just smart people...all people.  "Visionary" almost seems too hackneyed to describe his gifts.

• I would not be the writer/teacher I am today.  While some people may still prefer to grab a pen and a legal pad and write out their manuscripts in long-hand, I simply could not function without my MacBook Pro.  A pen or pencil could never keep up with my mind when it comes to writing down my stories and ideas.  The computer keyboard at least lets me stumble through the mistakes or type stream-of-consciousness in a way that lets me put it all together with ease later.  My Mac is far more forgiving than a legal pad...and far more durable as well as versatile. Because of my "insanely good" Mac, I have an online community that keeps me sane and never lets me give up. I have a tool that has supported and inspired my creativity both in my writing and in my teaching.  

• My faith in people, in the world, in the wonder that is life would be missing something without Toy Story, Monsters Inc., Wall-E, UP, and all the wonderful Pixar films that owe so much to Steve Jobs.  All due respect and a standing ovation to the writers, but the realization of their vision, what so many of us writers dream of, comes largely from the tools that Steve Jobs offered. For my kids and myself, the simplest emotions still have immeasurable magic. 

As I awakened to my own potential gifts and set my feet on a road with no one particular destination, the Mac, the iPod, the iPhone, it has all been there over the years to give me direction. Technology that was more than useful, more than personal.  It was art. And as I discovered the beauties of parenthood and pondered the simplest questions only to realize they are the hardest to answer, Pixar showed me a lifetime of wisdom in less than 90 minutes.  Like so many others of my generation and younger, I can't help but wonder, will it ever be the same?

Thank you, Steve Jobs, and Godspeed...

The YA Show Down

If you missed it, go now and listen to today's broadcast of Radio Times from WHYY. The debate over Meghan Cox Gurdon's assault on dark YA literature continues and I must give a standing "O" to Maureen Johnson and to Madeleine Kemper for their eloquent, informed, and well articulated response.

Let's just set aside the fact that there is a lot of wonderful YA lit out there this is funny and smart and full of hope.  As for round 1 of #YAshowdown, a few points stand out to me as I thumb through the highlights in my brain:

Let's start with an attitude.  Not only is Ms. Gurdon's tone condescending to the writing community, but to teenagers as well.  Teens get talked down to enough without literature taking the elitist stand that it knows best and will present a carefully prescribed view of their world no matter what the teenager is going through.  Her cloying remarks to Cheryl Rainfield were quite telling.  "I'm filled with pity...however, your book could be...extremely disturbing to children...who haven't encountered the phenomenon of cutting." I certainly hope what she went through disturbs people.  Cheryl wrote the book in hopes of letting kids know they aren't alone, that healing is possible, that their world is real rather than the sugar-coated bubble-gum culture Ms. Gurdon grew up in.  Don't condescend to kids.  Don't dismiss their experiences.  Don't belittle their response.

Let's talk about the "fun-house mirror" aspect of YA lit, as Ms. Gurdon referred to it. Adolescence is one big fun-house mirror where the world is trying to come into focus, but is drawn askew by so many influences.  Emotions are bigger, problems are scarier, no matter what the cold reality in relative terms gives you.  YA lit recognizes that and doesn't criticize young people or tell them that they are blowing things out of proportion.  It gives them a safe place to explore those emotions.

And the last caller who said, "The job of the writer is to teach the reader...."  As Paul Acampora tweeted, "NO. NO. NO. NO. The job or the writer is to tell the truth."  Good books do have a clear and consistent moral compass, but that does not mean that their primary purpose is to instruct, no matter what Alexander Pope thought. There are truths that ring hard and clear to teenagers even if adults are afraid of them.  We want to protect our kids from the truths of this world as long as possible (and believe me, I do). BUT, kids will go looking for those truths and I am glad there are YA writers out there who will offer it.  Those kids can see through the Newspeak and the propaganda.  Give them more credit and be a part of that journey rather than a bystander.  Read with them.  Talk to them.  


It should not need to be said, but "correlation" does not mean "cause and effect."  Don't assume that if a kid reads a book about cutting, she'll go out and cut herself.  Ask why she picked up that book in the first place.  Something drew her there.  Our world isn't perfect.  It isn't always funny.  It isn't always nice.  It doesn't even make sense half the time, especially to a teenager who is still trying to discover who she is and what kind of power she wields in the great big world.  Explore it with her.

Embracing the Human Condition

Since June 4th, the blogosphere and twitterverse have been teeming with authors and teens in arms against Meghan Cox Gurdon's "review" of YA fiction in the WSJ.  Her piece is rife with manipulative little tidbits from concerned mothers who worry that fiction will encourage deviant or self-destructive behavior in their impressionable children.  Gurdon takes a paper-thin view and paints it with a broad brush.

A large part of the outcry against her article has responded to Gurdon's argument that "books focusing on pathologies help normalize them and, in the case of self-harm, may even spread their plausibility and likelihood to young people who might otherwise never have imagined such extreme measures."  Yes, it's the old the book made me do it ruse.  Several authors spoke out about the lunacy of this assertion, none so eloquently as Sherman Alexie.  The primary point of his response is the cathartic, re-affirming value of dark YA literature that offers kids in dire situations a sense of salvation.  "They read because they live in an often-terrible world. They read because they believe, despite the callow protestations of certain adults, that books-especially the dark and dangerous ones-will save them."


Grace Troxel echoes that sentiment in her blog and defends dark YA literature for its ability to "contextualize" the difficult issues that teens already face and often feel they are fighting alone.  She further argues that these novels create a dialogue where for years there has been none.  And it's that very lack of dialogue that is most dangerous to our children.  


Still others, like Becky Levine, stand up against the ridiculous suggestion that the industry is trying to "bulldoze coarseness and misery" into the lives of our teens while a swarm of tweeters exclaim "#yasaves" and continue to slap back Gurdon's elitist "gatekeeping censorship" disguised as the ever-popular and totally condescending concern for the greater good.  I won't get into the question of parental guidance here, but suffice it to say I am an involved parent.


For the most part, much of the conversation I have read so far has focused on the value of YA to change the lives of teenagers who have experienced the worst of this world or the ability YA literature has to contextualize situations and start a dialogue for disenfranchised or marginalized adolescents.  All of this is valid and important.  But there is an even more crucial idea under attack here:  The human condition.  Sherman Alexie touches on it:

When some cultural critics fret about the “ever-more-appalling” YA books, they aren’t trying to protect African-American teens forced to walk through metal detectors on their way into school. Or Mexican-American teens enduring the culturally schizophrenic life of being American citizens and the children of illegal immigrants. Or Native American teens growing up on Third World reservations. Or poor white kids trying to survive the meth-hazed trailer parks. They aren’t trying to protect the poor from poverty. Or victims from rapists.

No, they are simply trying to protect their privileged notions of what literature is and should be. They are trying to protect privileged children. Or the seemingly privileged.

I think about my own son, a white, middle-class teenager who has faced some upheaval and disappointment along with the typical angst of adolescence, but nothing like addiction, rape, poverty, or mental illness.  Does that mean he should never read anything that deals with such harsh subjects? What do books like Speak or The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian or Scars have to offer my son?  The same thing that the Harry Potter books or the Percy Jackson series or any number of zombie books that he has read offers.  A look at the human condition.  We are flawed.  We have fears.  We make mistakes.  We get betrayed and hurt and life gets messy.  And some kids have been subjected to as many horrors as adults, perhaps even more.  But we pick ourselves up from whatever our circumstance and choose how to respond.  The majority of kids (a hopeful estimation) may never know such dire circumstances as those in some of the books they read, but for most kids (even the privileged), adolescence feels like a battleground where the choices they make have far more complex and far-reaching consequences and reinforcements don't always arrive on time. At least they can go through the paces and explore those questions through the pages of a book where the monsters are only ink and shadows and the kids are ultimately heroes.  


It is a hard lesson to learn that the world is not a warm lap and tender kisses and sunshine all around, but adolescence is for finding yourself as well as learning how to deal with the realities of this world. My son is not about to go cut himself or smoke crack because he read about it in a book, no matter how devastated he was by recent personal events.  But he may understand a classmate's behavior a little more. He may develop a stronger sense of relativity and compassion.  He may find a strength he never knew before.  He will have an even better sense of what it means to be human.  And he will choose what he becomes.  


While I would like to protect my children from all the ugliness in the world, I would do them far more harm if I pretended it didn't exist.  

Thoughts on the Impact of eBooks

With the rise in sales of eBooks and the constantly evolving market for eReaders, the question has arisen whether the effect of technology will drive the printed book to extinction.  I've posted about this before (Clouds in my Coffee) and I can't say I have any better answers, but it did make me wonder what the effect of audio books has been over the years and whether that looked as ominous as eBooks when it all started.  Granted, they each hit slightly different market motivations, but what is the correlation?

My husband listens to a lot of audio books simply because it allows him to read more than he would otherwise.  He listens while he's mowing the lawn, taking a shower, driving, and other less convenient places for paper books.  He still buys paper books, especially those he wants to read again or keep as a resource.  But for fun, popular fiction, he often goes the audio book route.  Ultimately, I doubt he would ever really subscribe to the whole eBook deal simply because it would just be another way to read a paper book...involving hands and eyes.

So, why choose eBooks over paper?  For the most part, I think people choose it for the weight factor, as well as convenience.  Why lug around 60 pounds of literature when you can have your entire library at your finger tips for just  8.5 ounces?  I know that's one reason so many agents and editors glommed on to the Kindle way back when.  Are there other reasons?

Audio books certainly have their niche and they have provided literature for a wider audience who might not otherwise read paper books at all.  They have also generated additional revenues for the publishing business.  Will eBooks find that same kind of well-defined niche or will they supplant the printed word altogether?

I would love to know how many writers have an eReader, how many are thinking of getting one, and how many refuse to be traitors to tradition.

What are your thoughts on the issue? Please feel free to comment in detail.

Fear and Loathing

I just read a writer-friend's post on The Abyss of Suckitude and she has nailed some things right on the head.  Maybe it's the artistic temperament, but I think we all go through some version of what she describes.  It got me thinking about this last year of writing...and not writing...and why I've been in such a funk.  I'm working on my third YA novel, now, and each one has been a different experience.

My first story was in many ways a catharsis for me.  It was a taking back of things in my childhood that had been so rudely stolen by the dysfunction of my family.  I know.  There is dysfunction in all families. But trust me when I say mine is pretty royally screwed up.  So, I took things from my MC and forced her to grow up and confront her own guilt and longing.  Catharsis.  (not necessarily "writing") I don't know if I'll ever publish it, but I will treasure it.

My second novel was a journey.  I learned where my writing could go and gained more confidence in it. I crafted and molded and dug deep.  I met characters who refuse to leave me even now, refuse to be quiet while I try to move on.  They are still waiting for their day in the sun.  I have to believe they will find it when they are truly ready.  Or at least, when the world is ready for them.

Novel #3 is a whole new experience.  In some ways, I'm afraid of it.  I have big plans for it...maybe too big.  That is part of the problem.  What if I choke?  What if in the end, I truly deeply suck?  There is only so long I can blame the upheaval that has been the last three years of my life for hindering my writing.  Now I need to take charge and make it happen.  What if I can't do it?  There are people I don't want to disappoint, including me.  What if I only think I can write? Am I kidding myself?  If that kind of doubt isn't enough, the next step is to pick apart my draft and search for every fault just so I can beat myself in the head with it.  How many good writers do that? I have almost managed to convince myself that all good writers to that.

But somewhere deep down, there is this odd little person who thinks she can really write.  Who believes she has some fascinating stories to tell.  And behind that funny little person is a host of characters all waiting to be heard.  Waiting to be discovered.  Waiting to change someone's life, even if it just means they live in someone else's head (or heart) for a short time.

I've taken my share of rejection and handled it.  I don't blame my crappy childhood for my adult failures (mostly). If anything, I might have to give thanks for it.  The store of emotions and experiences I have to play with is vast and oh so interesting.  I've learned to kick myself harder than anyone else can just to stay ahead of things and that's not always bad.  What doesn't kill us makes us better writers, right?

And then I find those bits of gold that remind me why I write.  Those same gilded clubs I beat myself with are what make me a writer.  They are voices that won't be silenced.  The moments of crystalline brilliance that I cannot be afraid to own.  The little morsels of humanity that force us into a kind of intimacy with ourselves that only books can bring—both in the writing and in the reading.

So I'm going to kick my fear and self-loathing in the butt and write a stunning YA novel.  You know that saying:  Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.  ~Ambrose Redmoon


I think I have found just enough in my writing to make that judgement.

Thank You.

This summer, Ghost Daughter attended a fabulous American Girl Summer Camp at Darton College.  As they learned about Kit and what life was like during wartime, they thought a lot about the service men and women who are protecting not only our freedom, but that of others around the globe.  To learn more about money, the girls put up a lemonade stand and used the money to put together CARE packages for some troops stationed in Afghanistan.

Not too long ago, we received a lovely surprise in the mail.  Warrant Officer Phillip Kelliher and his troops were so touched by the girls' notes and cards and thoughtful gifts that they dedicated a mission to the girls and sent along the flag they had flown over that mission as well as a certificate the named the date of the mission and its dedication to the girls.  The flag and the original certificate will be displayed in the Office of Continuing Education at Darton.

Reading the personal note from CW4 Kelliher touched both me and Ghost Daughter so much and inspired us to do a little something more.  It's not much, but Ghost Daughter wanted it to be personal and hand-made, so I knitted a couple of little soldiers to send CW4 Kelliher.  Perhaps I'll make some more.  I just know that whenever I think of him and his troops, I wish I could hug each and everyone of them and send them a little piece of home.

I have met a girl who truly knows the value of what these troops are doing.  A young woman who had to be smuggled out of Afghanistan before her mother's traitorous act of educating her daughters got them all killed.  She started her senior year (at a high school where I once taught) labeled simply as "home-schooled" and soared to the top of the class.  Other students were upset that based on only one semester, this stranger uprooted a classmate from the top 10.  It wasn't until the Senior Honors dinner that these fortunate young people learned what they really had.

Each student took a turn to stand up and introduce their special guest at the dinner.  Some of them brought teachers, some brought family friends.  This young woman brought her savior.  When her turn came, she stood and told a cynical public how her mother had hidden her and her sister away and educated them in secret because to do so openly could mean death.  That everyday, her mother had risked her own life to give her children a better one.  That this man, her dear honored guest, had risked his life to smuggle them out of the country just so they could be free to learn and live.  This is what an education meant to her.  Something worth dying for.

So for all those men and women who serve, thank you.  Forget all the political diatribes and posturing.  Think of those who lay their lives on the line everyday to protect our lives and our freedom.

Clouds in my Coffee...

Sing it, Carly —"You're so vain..."

The last few weeks have brought a hailstorm of controversy regarding ebooks and the future of traditional publishing, and more than a few writers, publishers, and agents weighed in with their take on the situation. And of course Steve Jobs had to add his inadvertent 2 cents by releasing a shiny new iPad stacked with a whole now ebook eden called the iBook Store. Worries about the whole digital takeover are nothing new, but they do seem to be gaining affirmation daily. We can talk about this as a revolution, an evolution, an opportunity, an awakening—whatever it takes to put a positive spin on things (not that a positive spin is wrong). But there are a host of old-timers who will cling to their paper-, cloth-, or leather-bound books until the cyber-police pry them from their cold, dead hands. But I'm not going to ask if the death knell for traditional books has been sounded. I'm not going to speculate on how long our dear pile of tangible pages has left in this world. It's all just a matter of time and technology anyway. No, what is pressing hard on my guts right now is more than books;  it's the atmosphere, the community, the metaphysical vibe that sustains my cultural angst. That's right, I'm talking about the fate of the physical bookstore/café.

What's all the kerfuffle? I think Scott Westerfield offered a brilliant summary of the the whole Amazon/MacMillan clash in his blog. Frankly, I'm behind MacMillan on this one, and not just because I'm a writer. It's not about panic or unfair wages at the moment, it's about the future. And who isn't looking towards the future, especially now?

Which brings me to my main point: the future of my beloved local literary community, aka the bookstore.  Anyone who knows me knows what a rough year 2009 was.  You also know that I have moved to the "armpit of the South" where the word culture refers to that crust of black mold in your bathroom drain and nothing more.  When I was in Pennsylvania, I relished my hours at my  local Barnes & Nobles or  Borders Book Store.  These were meccas, holy places of meditation and inspiration, not to mention 15 million-calorie coffee drinks.  Some days I would just go and peruse the shelves, whether I bought anything or not.  Just being among books, surrounding by them, steeped in their hot-of-the-press scent somehow brought both a sense of peace and a powerful invigoration. I'd park myself on the floor next to the YA book stacks and pluck a few things off the shelf and pore over them for a couple of hours.  Ahhhh...at least once in a while I can drive the hour and a half to Tallahassee to partake.

Often I would meet friends there where we would scour the "new in paperback" shelves or check out the latest toys for bibliophiles.  We'd grab a cup of hot frothy liquid sin and gab about whatever topic floated up out of the stacks around us.  Sometimes it was personal trials, sometimes it was questions about writing.  The best part was the eavesdropping.  Oh, admit it.  Everybody does it.  We'd catch a snippet of a conversation and couldn't help but get caught up in the topic ourselves.  Or maybe it was research for my latest book.  A character study, perhaps.  There was plenty to grab hold of and love in that atmosphere.  

The bookstore has always been a favorite date spot for me and Ghost Hunk as well.  Sometimes we would get a babysitter and head out for dinner and a movie, but inevitably dinner would run too long and we would miss the early showing.  If we had enough energy (and cash for the babysitter), we would just catch the later flick and spend the time in between at the bookstore.  Sometimes, the bookstore WAS the date.  We would wonder around together at first, sharing jacketflap blurbs and wishlists.  Then we would wander off into our own favorite nooks and get lost for a while.  Me in the YA section or the Paranormal stacks, Ghost hunk in the Graphic Novels or the Cultural Studies section.  When one of us found something exciting or had a sudden breakthrough, we would weave in and out of the shelves and bewildered or bemused patrons until we found the other and share our epiphany.  Ah...bonding over books.  Now that's a date!  I, more often than Ghost Hunk, would wonder around with an armful of books, vainly wishing I could buy them all, but one by one they found their place back on the shelf and the two of us would leave feeling wistful and refreshed.

My kids have been raised on four main literary food groups:  Picture books, Middle Grade, YA, and of course...creative bookstore merchandise.  I took them to story times where they cut their teeth on the likes of Eric Carle or Laura Numeroff or  Sandra Boynton (those are the ragged, spit-covered copies stuffed in the back—just warning you).  I've watched them graduate from mouthing chunky board books with their toothless little gums to recommending their favorite reads to hapless strangers in the book store as well as to their friends.  They learned patience and reverence for literature.  And we bonded, mother and child, teacher and student, philosopher and apprentice.

Yes, books are the key, but the house is where they live and where we thrive.  While I, like so many others, am captivated by the iPad and it's shiny new iBook store, I am also aware that a new model for the literary world is on the horizon.  And it is not necessarily a bad thing.  It's just inevitable change.  But is the romance of the book world, the sense of community, the awe-inspiring temple to ideas that is the physical book store on its way to extinction?  I don't know.  Perhaps the cyber café will take its place—vast palaces of caffeine and WiFi connections where people will gather and download ebooks.  It just seems so antiseptic, so isolated.  Will my tea and coffee taste the same in cyberspace?

A brave new world, indeed...

Anticipation...

Yes, strains of Carly Simon are beating against my brain right now... in fact, most of the time, lately.

Let me tell you, it is nothing like a fine wine and it definitely does not mellow with age. I thought it was bad when I finished my first book and sent out those initial queries, but I can hardly stand it these days. Sure, I'm hard at work on my next YA masterpiece, but it's also comforting to know that writers aren't the only ones who suffer through this process. Check out Agent Nathan Bransford's quandary. (of course, for some reason, when I read the title of his post, Tom Petty temporarily shoves Carly aside for strains of Waiting is the Hardest Part...)

I don't know about others, but in my case, the evolution of my particular mania is somewhat perplexing to a logical brain and frankly, the obsession is reaching epic proportions.

In the beginning...(cue the music)...I posted my little missive, dressed in its finest and tattooed with the perfect postage, in the box outside my door and immediately started fantasizing about the arrival of a shiny new contract...quickly followed by the inescapable Newbery or Printz or a plethora other book prizes, then the image of my tapping out one awesome book after another. Oh, and yes, my ravenous fingers were groping the mailbox the very next day...and the next...and the next... Mail and I definitely have a love/hate relationship. Even when I lived abroad, I hoped against hope for something exciting in the post. It never came.

So then the question arose in my spastic brain, "will it be a letter? or a contract in the mail? or a phone call?" (email hadn't quite overrun the universe, yet) No matter what, I could never unchain myself from my completely irrational faith in the postal option. (To this day, I still haven't managed that!)

Of course now it is a digital universe and email is far more the standard. So I have another mania to occupy my days. How many times do you check your email? If I could, I'd hook myself up to it like an IV drip! And holy crap! Don't forget to check the spam filter!

When it came to getting my agent, it was email...at least for the introductions. Yes, the agent search can be as sphincter-clenching as the pursuit of the publishing contract...perhaps even more because you want to build a long-lasting relationship that will weather any publishing storm. After a lot of research, I would email a query. Then I would get a request for a partial or, in most cases, a full manuscript. (I was onto something!). And then there it was. AN EMAIL! Not an offer, mind you, but a request for a phone conversation. Perfect! Then it was the phone conversation...and then the offer. Followed by some end-zone dancing, spiking of pillows, a few squeals, and finally...breath. And the thing that made it great was that the phone call told me that this was a perfect match. We got each other. We shared the vision. We wanted the same things.

So, editors...now it's your turn. Make this little red-head dance like a Tazmanian Devil all around her house. I know you've had my manuscript for what, 2 weeks? I know that you saw that email come through. You know, the one with the amazing title and the pitch packet that you couldn't put down? Yeah...You've got the manuscript loaded on your kindle and can't put it down... You've read it twice already because you adore it, right? You're just stuck on whether to offer a basic contract or a multi-book deal...right? Am I right?

To answer Nathan's question...that's what I do when I'm waiting for a response on a submission.

Go stark, raving mad.

Science Fiction and the Art of Being Human

Any visitor to my humble writing space would see that my bookshelves are crowded with an eclectic assortment of literary adventures. Ursula LeGuin, George Orwell, Rita Mae Brown, Debora Crombie, Isaac Asimov, Nadine Gordimer, Eoin Colfer, Donna Jo Napoli (just to name a few). It’s one wild party. But no matter how varied the genres, one thing these writers have in common is the ability to craft a phenomenal human story. When it comes to science fiction, however, novice writers often forget to do what science fiction does so well: ask the big questions. Sure an exciting and innovative plot is an essential hook, but the ultimate driving force of any book is its humanity.

The trap for beginning sci-fi/fantasy writers is the urge to get so caught up in creating cool gadgets, provocative character names, and mysterious places that they lose that sense of humanness that transforms not only the narrative, but the reader as well. I’ve read a small share of early drafts and even published pieces that fall short, and the primary flaw is that lack of a truly human story. Many writers portray huge events and complicated plots, but they end up meaningless unless there is a real and relevant human cost.

Let's start with some basic questions:

• Character

One of the first questions you should ask is do we care about the characters? Are they rich enough, real enough, flawed enough for us to actually care what happens to them? If they are cardboard cut-outs, cliché stock characters, then they will have no resonance with the reader. Even if your characters are robots or aliens, they must have emotional depth to reach the human audience. And believe me, they can. (Take a look at Helen Fox's MG book, Eager for an idea of how one robot can answer this question.)

• Setting

Whether it’s futuristic or otherworldly, the setting must connect to the human story. At the same time, it needs to be an organic part of the narrative. If it takes too much effort to explain it, the setting loses its impact and becomes detached from the crux of the story. Treat it as another character that brings this world into sharper focus. What does it contribute to the conflict? What does it tell us about the characters and what they need? How does the MC’s view of the setting change through the course of the story?

• Conflict

What kind of conflict fuels your narrative? Sci-Fi landscapes offer a lot of potential battlegrounds, literal and figurative, but how does it connect to what it means to be human? There is the crux of it all. What does it mean to be human? The further your narrative travels beyond what is the known world, the more diligently the writer must seek to answer that question.  

• The Big Questions

What is the human cost? The stakes must be high and they must be relevant. The MC should grow through the narrative as well, even if he loses. This is something that good science fiction does so very well. It asks the big questions and pulls the audience, heart and head, into the discussion.

I'll close this brief treatise with a recommendation.  If you have not seen DISTRICT 9, you must. This film has set the gold standard for our time. Some people may wish to bill it as a science fiction movie and others as an action movie. It is neither. It is a human story.

Pushing Through the Fear

Today, I was reminded of a very basic fact of life—we all have fears. It began last Thursday when my sweet 8-year-old daughter faced one of her greatest fears, and I actually had to stand behind her and throw her smack into the thick of it. Literally. Our goal for this summer: to learn how to swim, face in the water and all. Living in a northern clime (until recently), our access to a pool has been limited by a number of factors, so we never really had the opportunity to follow through on those early lessons we took 2 years ago. Until we met Duster.

On our way to Duster's house, I kept hearing, "I don't think I'm ready yet, Mama. I'm just not ready. What if I'm not ready?" And when the time came to confront the little demon, Ghost Daughter drew on her gift of imagination to concoct a host of excuses why she couldn't stick her face in the water. "I'm too tire. No, really! See the bags under my eyes, Mama? Look at the bags!" Of course she had tried others, like "I'm too hungry" or "My eyes hurt" or "I have to go pee!" But Duster knew that wall intimately, having taught most of the population of Albany under the age of 50 how to swim over the years.

And yes, I stood there dumbly as this wizened kid-whisperer dunked my screaming child under the water over and over. I said nothing when my darling daughter cried out, "I'm afraid!" and Duster calmly told her that she was going to help her break through that wall of fear. Yes, I actually threw my own child into the deep end of the pool despite her collapsing in a soggy pile on the concrete and pleading with me not to. And yes, I held my wee little one as she vomited after a several triumphant treks across the pool with her head under water, only to beam up at me with her little, pale face full of pride.

There is no coaxing here. No polite chat or tender conversation about how she must learn to swim for her own safety and fun. It's one of those moments, those come-to-Jesus, life-changing moments. And that girl kicked butt! She couldn't sleep that night, she was so excited that she actually did it. She really swam under water! She knocked that wall down!

Well...maybe she knocked a few bricks out, but it's a start.

So, our next lesson was today, and we have two dear friends visiting from Pennsylvania to witness another triumph. And Ghost Daughter was thrilled to show off, at least she thought she was. Last night she woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible headache. After a dose of motrin, she tried to go back to sleep, but the two of us ended up parked on the couch from 3:30 on, watching the final round of the LPGA Evian Masters. Nothing could shake that headache.

The telling question came at breakfast, "Will we have to cancel my swim lesson?" And again at lunch, "Mama, I feel like throwing up...will we have to cancel my lesson?" No matter how great that first triumph, fear is a rascal that will lay a few more bricks in that wall if you let him.

I was a sensitive, loving mama who comforted her child, gave her some Sprite and some kind words...and then drove her to her lesson. When we arrived, she ran into bushes, screaming, "I have to throw up!" Again, I dragged my poor child to the side of the pool. She went in, however grudgingly, but in one turn of the pool, that glow of success was all over her again. And this time it stuck. She had kicked down the wall, pushed through the fear, and found her inner mermaid.

It's easy to get jaded as we grow older and forget the significance of early battles such as these. As adults, no one is going to throw us into the pool. It is entirely up to us, and we may even choose to walk away from some challenges...simply because we are too tired, or too hungry, or we have to pee. Or so we tell ourselves.

But I have that beautiful moment that just leapt up before me today. And so many more to come. And I will push through my own fear...just like that skinny little 8-year-old in the green polka dot bikini.

When Did I Quit My Day Job?

There is a literal answer to that:  When I had my daughter.  However...somewhere in the back of my brain, I've always held on to the notion that I am a teacher.  I love teaching, and it is one thing that I was destined to do.  But is it truly the only thing?  I'm also a writer and in the last few years, I have begun to evolve and find my identity as a YA writer.  Does that mean that I am no longer a teacher?

I was forced to answer that question the other day as Ghost Hunk and I were cleaning out the attic in preparation for the big move.  Like all gifted teachers (that's a joke), I am a maniacal pack-rat.  I have boxes and boxes of curriculum that I designed for gifted kids, AP classes, and academic courses.  I've held on to it all since I quit teaching high school in 2000.  Why?  Because it's me, part of who I am.  It's like all of my writing...I gave birth to it.  I nurtured it, raised it, and sent it to work when the time came.  Now it sits enshrined in its pristine file boxes from OfficeMax in the corners of my attic.  Will I ever have a use for it?  Do I really need to drag it all the way to Georgia?

So here I am again at that nagging question, "Am I a teacher anymore?" Perhaps the more appropriate question is, "Is that mountain of old curriculum necessary to validate one career or even me as a person?"  Of course the answer is "no." I will always be a teacher, even if I never set foot in the classroom again.  But even before I dragged that first yowling sophomore through the pages of LORD OF THE FLIES, I was a writer.  A writer and a passionate reader.  And that is what I remain.    

I guess I walked away from my day job back in 2000, but I quit it yesterday.  Yes, I'm letting it all go.  I really should construct a funeral pyre and send off those piles of brilliance (again, I'm joking) to their just rewards with pomp and ceremony.  But a dumpster will have to do the job for now.  (Don't want the fire marshall throwing me in jail just before the big move!)  

But I will also celebrate.  Waking the dead and celebrating life as a writer.  I am a writer.

The Fall

Last night, the world shifted a bit. Its colors grew sharper, its magic stronger, its capacity for love consuming. As I sat with my 11-year-old son and my beloved husband, I watched the most amazing piece of storytelling unfold in our living room. If you haven't seen THE FALL yet, you must. As a writer, I know of nothing that speaks so perfectly of how our lives are transformed by a story. As a member of the human race, I know of nothing truer than the passion that made this movie possible.

A story is more than words frozen on a page or fallen from the mouth of the storyteller to hang lifeless in the ears of the listener. It is a vibrant, transformative interaction between the writer and the reader, the teller and the listener (and for that matter, the story itself). Once you have read or heard a story, the narrative itself will never be the same. You, the reader, become a part of it, it becomes a part of you, and it is something wholly new. The reader brings meaning as much as the writer, and as Roy discovers in the wonderful movie, a good story feeds the soul—a great one saves it.

This film is so rich with visual beauty, spiritual exploration, and exquisite narrative form. The layers of narrative reach right out of the screen and pull the viewers into the experience just as Alexandria is pulled into Roy's stories. Our hearts break for Roy and for the child. Our desire to save them both and to be saved by their story fills us up in a way that no one could expect.

Tarsem's passion for this tale is evident in every detail. This was the quintessential labor of love. From the vast reaches of endless locations to his joyous unity with the actors to his attention to the most minute details of costume, light, or sound, Tarsem sculpted this story to perfection. The cast was equally devoted and inspired.

Buy THE FALL, watch it with someone you love, open yourself up and drink it in.

I'll say it again: A good story feeds the soul, a great one saves it.

What It's About...

First, a big shout out to Linda Bozzo, who generously opened her home to me this weekend and to Lisa Mullarkey and all the blue boarders for a fabulous party!

As I return from a tremendous Rutgers One-on-One experience, I'm a bit introspective about how I got started on this road.  

I've been at this for 7 years—writing, attending conferences and workshops, honing my skills, submitting manuscripts—and the evolution of my perception of things has been unexpected and surprisingly sneaky.  

Let's start with the big question, "What am I all about?"  I'm not sure anyone can answer that in the space of a blog, at least not one anyone would read, but I'll narrow it down.  First and foremost, I'm a lover of books.  But connected to that is my desire to teach, to share my own violent passion for stories with teenagers.  And as a high school teacher, I stoked the fires everyday, and even, I think, made a difference in at least few lives.  But truth be told, they fed my soul as much as I led them to the feast.  

Always in the back of my mind were my own stories that must be told.  So I finally began to give them their voice in 2001.  I started with a few picture books, not because I thought those were easier—I was never that naive—but because that was the sort of story I had brewing in my brain.  I even submitted a few for publication.  It didn't take long to figure out that PBs are not my gig. I was far too sentimental.   So what to do?  Of course! Go back to that piece of my soul that I had shared for so many years and the people I shared it with—teenagers.  

Ah, these were the stories that really screamed to be told.  I'm still a little too sentimental, and I tend to use far too many adverbs, but the stories are authentic.  And my perspective on my own writing continues to sharpen as I speak to editors, agents, and other writers.  Yes, I want to get published, to share something with young adults, to give them another voice, to imagine. 

So often the keynote message at conferences is the same—persistence and good writing.  Well, I've got that, right?  I'll say yes to the persistence part, but the writing is still in process and as far as I'm concerned, it always will be.  

However, I've also learned that just because one editor, or even ten, doesn't like your work, it doesn't mean that you suck.  And you should want more than instant editorial approval.  You also have to be willing to be guided, inspired.  It's easy to presume that you know what your doing and everybody else just has to be convinced that you're right. I'm not saying you should abandon your own opinion, but if twenty editors tell you that your first two sentences just don't work, perhaps you should consider trying a different approach.  

I have a least one editor who has inspired me to keep at it until I get it right, even if she's a little slow in the response on my final manuscript.  And this weekend, a wonderful agent took real time with me to talk about my ideas and my approach to the story.  Some of it she likes, some of it she would do differently.  Again, it's an opinion, an educated, thoughtful opinion, and my thanks go to the Rutgers Council for such a good match.  I'm looking forward to talking to her more.    

When it's all said and done, my new perspective is as much about me as it is about my writing.  I value my craft more than I used to.  It's not just the desire to get a story out there, but to craft it well.  But even more, I value myself as a writer, (not as a wannabe) and walk in with a little more confidence, however hard-won it has been.  I've accepted that I'm on a journey, one of my own choosing.  And every student I ever taught, every text I've written or read—published or otherwise—is part of what I am all about.

Come As You Are

Wednesday Night, I had a thrill...my first speaking engagement as a writer.  No, I'm not published, yet.  No, I'm not even remotely famous—or infamous—yet.  And quite frankly, there is no real reason anyone should care what I have to say about anything.  But I am a writer.  

Yep, there it is.  I AM A WRITER.  

It began with an unexpected phone call from a new acquaintance who is certainly now a friend—for a host of reasons.  She has a book club comprised of a variety of women, most of whom are mothers in their 30s.  Many of them are artists.  All of them are book lovers.  So, they had decided that instead of choosing a book for the group to read, each member would bring her favorite children's book and share why they love it so much.  But there was a bonus—at least that's how my friend saw it, and to my surprise, so did the ladies of the book club.  I was the bonus.  A real, live writer.  

My assignment:  talk about my life as a writer.  That's it!  They don't care that I'm not published, yet.  

So what did I have to say to these intelligent, thoughtful, accomplished women?  More than I expected.  It started with a brief description of how I began, but it quickly evolved into some bits of advice for claiming your dream.  Here are the basics:

• Own Your Passion — Write because you simply can't not do it and never make excuses or apologies.  When someone asks you what you do, say "I'm a writer" and mean it.  Don't look away, launch a nervous giggle, and meekly offer, "Well, I'm trying to be a writer." Does an athlete say, "I'm trying to exercise?"  Just because you're not published yet does not mean you're a hack or a fake.  Just because a runner hasn't won the Boston marathon yet, does that mean he's not an athlete?  By the way, no one ever asks you if you are a good writer or a bad one...well, almost never!

• Claim Your Space — This can be a tough one.  I know I'm not alone as a reigning queen of the clutter zone.  Yes, my space is in the playroom, surrounded by piles of toys and discarded art projects, and far too often, noisy kids.  But it is my space.  There is an invisible force field around my desk, and the kids know that penetrating that barrier carries serious jail time.  And now that they are both in school all day (2 sighs here, one of relief and one of wistful longing), my space is peaceful, momentarily less cluttered, and all mine.  

• Make Time for Your Craft — No matter how hectic it gets, with lacrosse practice, doctor's appointments, the dentist, the vet—the 1001 things we always have going on—carve out time for your work, even if it's only 20 minutes a week.  You'll find that once you actually give yourself even the tiniest window of time, you'll guard it ferociously and crave more.  Let your hubby handle dinner or run the schpunts to sports practice or heaven-forbid clean the house!  And when necessary, take yourself to the cafe or the bookstore, where you can choose which voice bounces around in your head.  

• Take Yourself Seriously — If you don't, nobody will.  

• Find a Community — Writing is a very solitary pursuit, as is most creative activity.  Maybe that's why so many creative geniuses are stark raving mad—too much isolation!  This is one advantage to the technological explosion of the modern age.  You can find supportive cyber communities many places.  One of my favorites, of course, is Verla Kay's fabulous message board. The SCBWI also has a discussion board for its registered members. And there are others for more precise niches, like YA Fiction.   There are many more, and you can often find critique groups or just a whole new set of friends who "get" you.  

• Feed Your Writer's Soul — As a writer, I have a million ideas flying around my brain and all kinds of theories as to the best way to splatter them onto paper.  But you know what they say about theories.  Allow yourself to attend a conference or workshop from time to time.  Not only do you get some surprising illumination about the craft of writing (despite the fact that you know it all already) and the business side of things, but you meet more people like you, and you network and make contacts that could potentially lead you to that next goal, whether it's publication or a critique group or a new knitting circle!  

• And finally, Come As You Are — You carry within you entire worlds.  You see with eyes that no one else can look through unless you bring them behind the curtain.  It's not the package they will want to see.  Sure, it's nice when its pretty and tied up with a fabulous glittery bow.  But folks, writing ain't pretty!  Don't be afraid to open that package and see the bare naked truth.  All those little worries and insecurities and failures make a promise to the writer that you will become.  And you...you need to make a promise to the writer you are.  Just come as you are and pour yourself into a pot of ink and spill it all over.  Dance in.  Make a mess.  Love it.  You are a writer. 

Okay, so that's the gist of my little chat.  Oh, I shared some tidbits of my books, which will be published any day now (wink), and my WIP and other elements of my journey, too.  And I got to recommend a host of kids books, some written by people I know, to all these eager readers.  It was amazing to see all those faces looking at me as if I actually know something exceedingly cool.  

...hey, I guess I really do.

Let's talk about YA—What is it?

     After writing 2 YA novels, you would think I would have the answer to that one. I can’t tell you how many people just think of YA as watered down adult fiction or kid lit that happens to have a teenage protagonist. Of course most of these brainiacs never read a book they didn't have to.

     But as writers, we can't escape the question: What exactly is “YA” literature? Who is its audience? What defines it as “young adult”?

     Now that I’m on my 3rd novel for young adults, you would think I might have the answer. But as I’ve found when it comes to agents and editors, "YA" can mean very different things to different people. Let’s start with the basics: The Young Adult Service Division of the American Library Association defines the age range of an adolescent or young adult as ages 10-19.  

Does that help? Hmmm… Then we have the age breakdown:  

•      Early adolescence (Elementary or Middle School or grades 5, 6, 7)
  
•      Middle adolescence (Junior High or grades 8, 9, 10)
  
•      Later adolescence (High school or grades 11, 12)
  

It’s all clear, right? As lead…

     Now I could get into a history lesson about how adult literature was hijacked for teenagers before we had a legitimate YA classification, or how decades ago a wise librarian set aside a section of the library specifically for young readers or even the various accounts of which author first set out to write specifically for teens.  But I won’t.  Suffice it to quote a little piece from Donna Niday’s ENG 394 class at Iowa State:

Definition of a Young Adult Literature: Literature written for and marketed to young adults. Young adult literature is usually given the birth date of 1968 with the advent of S.E. Hinton's The Outsiders. Other forms of literature prior to this date may have had young adult protagonists (such as Huck Finn), but it was usually intended for an adult audience. Characteristics of a young adult novel usually include several of the following:

(1) a teenage (or young adult) protagonist
(2) first-person perspective
(3) adult characters in the background
(4) a limited number of characters
(5) a compressed time span and familiar setting
(6) current slang
(7) detailed descriptions of appearance and dress
(8) positive resolution
(9) few, if any, subplots
(10) an approximate length of 125 to 250 pages

Check out an Australian's take on the subject here.   Or this one from a Stanford scholar. 

     As a matter of craft, I need a firmer grasp of things. Yeah, I have a story that I simply must tell, but how I tell it is key. So where do I start? Is it the voice the separates the YA from the MG or the adult? Is it length? Is it depth or breadth of ideas? Vocabulary? Sentence structure? Do I have to write in first person? (which I don't do) 

     And what about style-genre (for lack of a better term)? Edgy, Literary, Commercial, etc. How do you classify your work? When it comes to selling your masterpiece…to an editor, agent, or the readers…this is can be an important moniker. How conscious of your style-genre are you? Do you balk at the need to validate your work with a label like “literary” because you don’t want to be presumptuous? When you begin the first draft, is your goal to make it edgy? Is there one right way to do it? It can be a bit overwhelming.  Take a look at this discussion on TheCheers.  We could spend weeks discussing the cultural implications of YA subject matter.  But that's for another time.  

     So, when you are crafting your YA masterpiece, what drives your style the most?  

The Word is Out! (...and so is the book)

Ghost Hunk's book has hit the shelves.  Yes, you can now pick up a copy of The Porning of America by Carmine Sarracino and Kevin Scott at your local bookstore or on Amazon.   To get a look at their thesis, check out our hometown newspaper's interview here.  If you have children, especially young girls, this is a must read.  (Okay...I'm only a little biased here.)

My Southern Wish List*

First, let's begin with All the News from HolyCrap Creek:

Athens, GA— Police arrested a woman who they said mooned motorists after she received a ticket for jay-walking. The 23-year-old and a friend had both been drinking and were disorderly, according to Athens-Clarke police. An officer noted in his report that the woman did stay within the crosswalks while shaking her butttocks. The arrest was for misdemeanor public indecency.

~USA Today, September 2, 2008

Yep, this is our new territory. Gotta love it! Of course there was a time when many counties in the South were dry...even in the 1980's. At least if you can stay in the lines, you can skip the extra jay-walking ticket!

Ghost Hunk left for Georgia again this morning and we are all in a funk. We took the kids to school together, though Ghost Daughter insisted that she'd rather ride the bus. However, the rare opportunity to introduce her daddy to her awesome 1st-grade teacher quelled her frustrations. Ghost son had to fight back tears. I think his teacher thought he (the teacher) was in trouble...the look on his face when he saw both Ghost Girl and Ghost Hunk coming down the hall, probably looking a little stressed ourselves, said "Holy Crap! I see trouble!" Poor guy. We just wanted him to know that Ghost Son wouldn't be himself for a couple of days.

Now for the wish list. As I was daydreaming about finally making the inevitable move and joining Ghost Hunk, I realized that there are a whole lot of details that most certainly have escaped my vast reservoir of knowledge about the world because, let's face it, my world is apparently flat and it ends at the Mason/Dixon line. So here are a few things I need:

• A good book about gardening in the Southern States—an absolute must since I like to grow things outside, especially veggies and low-maintenance flowers. (I kill most indoor plants...we won't even go there!)

• A good book about the wildlife in Georgia. (As we discovered at the PA Renaissance Faire this weekend, Anoles shall hereafter be referred to as "baby dragons").

• A guide to trees in Georgia. (other than peach and pecan, of course!)

• And even though I would love to maintain the fantasy that bugs don't live in the South, I should probably be aware of whatever creepy-crawlies wend their way through the subterranean mecca that will be our crawl-space. All advice appreciated.

• Cook books all about Southern Cooking.

• Any information about absolutely essential amenities that I should demand when looking for a new home in the South.

• Any other indispensable knowledge/advice that a Yankee absolutely must take Down Yonder. 
  

And for all my new friends in the SCBWI Southern Breeze chapter, I'm looking forward to meeting all of you and taking part in some fabulous events.

For now...back to cleaning and packing...cleaning and packing...trying to write...cleaning and packing...