December 30-31, 2004:

Two things dominated these days: I worked on the first pass revision of TROLL BRIDGE and I helped Heidi get ready for our party.

In between, I fiddled with a couple of sentence changes in the Elijah story caught up on mail, picked up the nine cakes and box of mini cannoli for the party, then worked on the revisions some more. No one has ever claimed a writer's life is a gallop. (Unless you are Hemingway.) More of a dawdle. At least for me.

But these days, safety is a blessing. The stories of the fathers and mothers and grandparents watching their children being torn from them by the unrelenting dark water are overwhelming. We hold our family closer. We know we are lucky.

On New Year's we went out to Holly and Theo Black's party. It's the first New Year's we've attended in about fifteen years. Actually, we don't normally enjoy such parties. Don't know half the people, aren't late-nighters, worry about drunks on the road. But it was a chance to see the Blacks' newly purchased Gothic house in Amherst. Maddison got to play at being bar back, washing out stuff for Holly, and even making seven dollars in tips! (That was a surprise.) We took Maddison home at ten, so Heidi could remain at the party on her own. But the three of us sat up and watched the ball fall down on a truly horrendous year. It was Maddison's first ever New Year's midnight.

I had performance anxiety dreams all night.

December 29, 2004:

I began the morning by tackling four chapters of the revision of TROLL BRIDGE. I will do the first pass because Adam is home wrestling with a mammothly bad copyedit on his own novel. How bad? Even his editor called to say "Buy a STET stamp." Am hoping to finish my pass before leaving for Scotland on the 10th and then sending it on to Adam for his input.

After that, I alternately read SUNSHINE, watched "Judging Amy" and cleaned house. We are having our annual mammoth New Year's Day Recovery party (as well as going to Holly Black's for New Year's) and so there's much to do.

The head of Harcourt called me to talk about my editor Michael leaving for HarperCollins. This is the third call from people there, making sure I will be staying with them. Well, I will to some extent, but also want to give Michael stuff as well. It's a tough call. Depends who they get to fill his rather large shoes.

Then I worked with Heidi on food for the party. My job was peeling the hardboiled eggs for deviled eggs (which will be made tomorrow.) She was hard at work on the sweet and sour meatballs.

Did I mention how big a party it's going to be? The weather looks promising. Though I am feeling of several hundred minds about having a party while the world's news is so dire. My friend Lin Oliver, head of SCBWI, was in Thailand and left for Vietnam the day before the tsunami hit. We are giving money to Doctors Without Borders. I wish I knew what else to do.

December 28, 2004:

Still unfocused. Said goodbye to Adam and Betsy and crew who left for Minneapolis. Me--I went to get my hair done. Then grocery shopping and finding a handyman service which I had noticed while driving by their office the other day.

At last I went back home to sit quietly. Reading McKinley's SUNSHINE. Thinking about two short stories and revisions on TROLL BRIDGE. Thinking is close to writing, but not close enough.

December 27, 2004:

A two hour root canal work, three roots. Lovely doctor who explained everything as he went along. No pain, but discomfort nonetheless. My jaw cracked for about five minutes when he was done.

David drove me there, took me home, and I slept a couple of hours. Walked on eggshells the rest of the day. Couldn't focus.

Glen babysat for the kids and we grownups went to dinner at Betsy's favorite, Eastside Grill. I had chowder, which was all I could manage.

Writing? It is to laugh.

December 26, 2004

Quiet day. Children playing with presents, making interesting paper cut-out door hangers, watching tv, reading new books. (Mine included reading some of Nancy Willard’s poetry, some of Don Kroodsma’s THE SINGING LIFE OF BIRDS for a blurb, and a BESTIARY that Adam and Betsy gave me for Christmas.)

Heidi and I watched the kids while Adam and Betsy slept in.

The only writing--revising yet again the revision letter on TROLL BRIDGE. Adam checked it out, made a few suggestions, then I sent it off to the editor.

Other than that. . .well, it’s the day after Christmas and the day before root canal. What do you expect?

December 25, 2004:

The house was hardly quiet. Wee Davey had been up till 1 am with his exhausted mother and father. So they were in bed, with Adam snoring mightily, while the rest of us were up and waiting. The two girls, 9 and 6, were being stoic about opening presents. So I brought them into the living room and gave them each something small. Glen and boyfriend arrived after three phone calls urging them awake. Heidi's ex-husband had stayed over to be there at present-opening time and our traditional pancake breakfast.

Finally, after 9, and four separate tries to wake them, we broke through Adam's snores and he and Betsy struggled downstairs with Davey.

Then we began the whirlwind of present opening. Davey, at 2, of course wanted to open all the presents himself. And what he didn't scratch at, the cat did.(Actually the cat had found a sheep ornament and had adopted it as her own mouse and no amount of bribery could rescue the poor thing.)

I got exactly what a Nana should get: two new flannel nightgowns and a soft robe, earrings, scarves, and DVDs of Tolkein and "Hero." No books because I buy what I want myself (except for books from editor friends.) The children and grandchildren all got massive amounts of books, clothing, jewelry, toys, some hand made, some store bought, some hand-me-downs.

We cooked, we ate, we chatted, we laughed, we called Jason and family in North Carolina. We watched the extended "Return of the King" (though exhausted, I went to bed only a fifth of the way through.)

One would hardly know a writer lived here. Much less four of us. Except that the stories told were elaborated, complex, sub-texted. Even the family stories. Especially the family stories.

December 24, 2004:

I spent an hour writing a letter to the editor about the TROLL BRIDGE revisions, then cut out the two harshest paragraphs, read it aloud to David, Heidi, and Adam, and cut out two more paragraphs. I will finish it after Christmas.

The rest of the day was about the coming holiday, with gift wrapping, prep work for our dinner, watching a football game, playing with the kids, reading wee David a book or two, dancing with the girls and making up silly songs, laughing with our dinner guests, overeating, writing a journal entry in the morning and this piece at night as we waited for the children to settle and Santa to make his rounds.

And so to bed.

Happy holidays all. Holy days for some, gift days for others. May the light rise on us all in peace. It would be the greatest gift of all.

December 23, 2004:

I spent much of the morning reading over the editor's notes for TROLL BRIDGE. Much more than I had thought was needed, though some of the things he asked for were absolutely correct. But since there was no letter included, I knew I didn't have the full picture yet.

I also fiddled with a poem that went wonky and so threw it away.

Mostly this was a cleaning-the-house-and-waiting kind of day. Our friend Pat showed up and we exchanged gifts, or rather exchanged clothes we didn't want. She walked away with a gorgeous red sweater. Glendon loved a lilac jumper that, though it fit Heidi, didn't seem appropriate to her style. Pat had also brought a Christmas stollen. We invited her to stay for dinner.

Adam and crew were on their way from Minneapolis, but the lousy weather (snow in the Midwest, torrential rains here) slowed them down. Lightning even struck their plane and it bounced on landing and dipped one wing. Betsy said she'd been weeping with fear. But at last they arrived. We gave the kids all pre-Christmas gifts. And a big dinner was enjoyed by all.

After, Adam showed off his latest short story in Paradox magazine--the lead and cover story. And then he showed me the actual revision letter for TROLL BRIDGE that seemed to say we should start all over. Feh! I will think about it tomorrow.

December 22, 2004:

Somebody known as "The Pirate King" emailed to ask me this: "Reading your journal, I couldn't help but wonder how you handle the switch from writing mode to revision mode so that it's timed correctly. I suspect I am like many other amateur authors in that I don't get very far into writing a story before my Inner Critic tries to take over, essentially strangling the writing process before the story is finished. If at some point you have the inclination to discuss it in your journal, I'd love to discover what you do to hold off the revising process until you're done roughing out the story."

Well, Pirate King, I think the world is divided into three kinds of revisioners: the Complete First, the Revise-As-One-Goes, and the Stumped. I am of the Revise-As-One-Goes variety.

The Completers are able--by dint of their own hardnose personalities, or by wearing blinders, or by sheer dogged perseverance--to ignore all side roads along their trip. They simply slog from the beginning to the end of a piece before turning around and surveying their own wreckage. Then they start filing down, building up, patching, pasting, paving, gluing, duct taping, shoring up. My friend Susan Shwartz describes her writing style this way: "I am the mad monk in a sling on the side of the mountain with a chisel. And I attack it till I am done." I envy such writers.

The As-One-Goers cannot abide a bad sentence. Or even a bad phrase. We go back daily to whatever we've written. Over and over again. Gem polishers. (Or perhaps coprolite polishers.) It is a process of accretion. No mountains for us to hammer out. We build a piece up, not break it down.

The Stumpers--well, I'm sorry for them. They need to get either a good stone chisel or some jewelry polish before they start.

That said, I polished and polished NAMING LIBERTY twice more, then sent it off to the editor who is on her way out of town. She won't be back before I take off for Scotland, so there's no way I will be able to work more on this anyway. At least I will get a good reading on it eventually and then get back to it afresh in February.

I also heard from my co-editor of the YEARS BEST. We have finalized the list of stories as well as the sequence of stories. Whew.

Then I fiddled a bit with the Elijah short story, just a few words here and there. Still no plot. So I sent the start off to the editor who'd asked me for a story, Terri Windling.

And I spent about an hour cleaning off shelves in the pantry, and doing re-shelving of items for the holidays. Plus last-minute wrapping of final presents. Read the new PW and Newsweek and received the revision stuff for TROLL BRIDGE. Wrote the blurb for THE PERFECT WIZARD for my website. It's my Hans Christian Andersen picture book biography.

Then we went off to dinner with the Daytons and Dr. Bill. After, we came home to collapse in front of the tv for West Wing.

December 20-21, 2004:

Heidi and Maddison went off to New York City around 2pm on Monday for an overnight. And I settled down to write. By the second day, I had completed the first draft of NAMING LIBERTY. It’s still rough, and I have to do some work still, but at least I have an entire manuscript done. It's been quite a slog.

Now it's revision time. Revisions--I love them. Things come alive during the revision process. The brain works differently, less focused on creation and more on re-creation. The difference between a plant setting down tap roots, and the same plant pushing out buds. Now I just have to cultivate those buds into lovely blossoms. Sorry about the overblown metaphor.

Other things: Jason and his crew drove down to his in-laws. Adam and his crew arriving here on Thursday. I did some laundry. Read PW and the Smith Alumnae Quarterly. Finished the Scottish selchie novel I had put down weeks ago. I was not surprised by it. But some of the writing was lush. I’ll hand it on to Adam.

My agent and I think I will have a good January re new sales. That would be nice after the last six months. But to keep me honest, and my head in place, I got a big $11 check from the agency for royalties.

December 19, 2004:

Not a work day.

David was up at midnight to start the annual Christmas bird count. He does an owl census in Hatfield (remember--he is Pa in OWL MOON!), along with our neighbor Jan who stayed with him till 4:30, at which point Heidi took over Jan’s place. I used to do the bird feeders, but didn’t this year.

I got up at the regular hour, and was on Maddison duty. She and I cleaned the house, shined silver, did some laundry. I read the latest Smithsonian magazine. We made place cards, set the table. I did prep work for the big dinner we were having.

Heidi got back at noon, and we did present wrapping. The living room is now a shrine to overspending.

Then Heidi’s ex-husband came over and with Maddison they set out 150 candles in bags down our driveway and along the property line for the town’s big Luminarium celebration.David went off to the Christmas Bird Count Compilation and Pot Luck, but we didn’t go with him because at 5, Tony and Angela Di Terlizzi, and Theo and Holly Black arrived. We all went out to help light the candles and the street began to glow.

Our across-the-street neighbors came over: Nina and Trevor Dayton and their daughter Annie (one of Maddison’s friends) as well as Dr. Bill, a local ID doctor who'd been a star years ago on Broadway with "Hair." He is a good friend of ours and the Daytons'. (Nina is the "Hair" archivist.) Then off we walked into the center of the town where caroling commenced and the local high school brass ensemble played. Santa came by on a horse-drawn carriage. About two hundred stalwart citizens stood with us, in a gently falling snow in front of the Town Hall. It was so charming and satisfying, we all belted out the songs with gusto. (Though I have to admit that Theo and Tony didn't sing them quite the way they were written!)

When things finished, we walked back to the house and Heidi put together a lovely dinner: baked brie with an apple/cranberry chutney on French bread, lemon chicken, rice pilaf, fresh asparagus, and a Caesar salad, made special by toasted croutons a la Angela.(All my prep work saved the day!) The Blacks had brought the bread and wine. The DiTerlizzis had come with desserts. David made it home in time for his just desserts. Much hilarity was had by all, especially when Maddison gave us each hand-made presents and Tony showed us how to do "stupid" dances.

The evening ended fairly early, around 10, but Heidi and David were too exhausted to complain.

Sometimes writers just live, never mind the writing.

December 18, 2004:

I finally shook a headache in time to get nicely dressed. Then, at 11 am, Heidi, Maddison, and I drove to Cambridge (2 hours away) where we were to do a signing at the Barefoot Bookstore for the BALLET book. A couple of wrong turns, but we got to the store in time to meet illustrators Grace Lin and Anna Alter for lunch before the event. Eventually Rebecca Guay, the BALLET book illustrator, joined us.

Grace gave us the complete update on the "Robert’s Snowflakes" auction and its aftermath. And she told us about the book they are putting together, showing us the dummy. They will be asking poets to write haiku for each spread. I wrote a bird haiku on a napkin as we ate, and submitted it to her!

Then Heidi, Rebecca, and I did our song and dance for about fifteen people: mostly adults (including a cousin of Rebecca’s) and three little girls in tutus. To come all that way for such little turnout is a bummer. But it goes with the territory.

We were exhausted when we got home at 7:15. I cleaned up the tv room, checked my email, heard from Adam that we have a BIG revision due on TROLL BRIDGE, and wrote the December 17 and 18 journal pieces. Then watched a bit of tv and went to bed.

December 17, 2004:

What a relief. Floodgates opened. I got five hours of work done on LIBERTY and managed to complete a draft of the immigration part. The Statue of Liberty section is fairly straight-forward and doesn’t worry me. However, not letting the seams show does. But I feel more in control now.

The thing about writing a new book is that it is always NEW. All that I have learned writing other books may or may not be useful. There is no real template. I have to relearn everything as I go along. Reinvent. Re-vision. I call it the "magic trick" and wonder if I can still make it work. Every single time. And this after 40 years as a professional (ie published) writer.

Right now I’m sure I’ll be able to complete a full draft of this book. And I hope I can do it by January 10 when I am off to Scotland. In between I have the holidays, a big New Year’s Day party, root canal, and a visit to a new back doctor. I have a revision of TROLL BRIDGE to discuss with son Adam. I have a life to live.

That life today included going to granddaughter Maddison’s school where David and Heidi and I (along with all the other parents) got to look at grade 4’s "Roman Museum" to which each of the students contributed and for which each was a museum guide, explaining about all the articles and artifacts, the history and lore of ancient Rome. Maddison had done a unit on Roman Art, including frescoes, mosaics, jewelry. The whole thing was extraorinarily impressive.

December 16, 2004:

Good news, bad news. I went back to the dentist, and it looks like root canal is on the horizon. I am actually relieved, though I have to wait ten more days before I can get it done. Ten more days of Tylenol. The dentist did something to try and relieve the pressure and gave me some medicine. But it will still be an uncomfortable wait.

I came home with my mouth full of novocaine, which was actually good news because for about five hours my jaw didn't hurt at all. So I got a good deal of work done on NAMING LIBERTY, working on the immigrant sections, and reading through a bunch of wonderful books loaned to me by Barbara Diamond Goldin on Jewish immigration. I also found something about my great grandfather Berlin's family which a cousin had sent, that had bits about their immigrating that I can use, including the fact that my grandfather's older brothers worked in a cigar factory in America, and learned English by listening to the hired readers who read aloud from the Yiddish and English newspapers of the day.

There was also wonderful news that Brooke Dyer--Jane Dyer's eldest daughter whom I have known since she was a young child--will be doing the SLEEP, BLACK BEAR, SLEEP illustrations as her third book. Heidi and I did a happy dance in the kitchen. We love her work.

A poem of mine has been reprinted in a British ecological magazine and granddaughter Maddison likes it so much, she wants to bring it into school tomorrow to share. Now THAT makes me truly happy!

Finally, we went out with neighbors for dinner at a local restaurant.

December 15, 2004:

First I want to thank a boy named Miles who sent me email through his mom telling me that I had misspelled Tylenol. As I told Miles, I am a good writer but a lousy speller. And even spell-check was no help to me. Spelling--so I was told years ago by my children's elementary school principal--is somewhat genetic and tracks to visual memory.

Second, I want to rant a bit. I got a phone call from my wonderful novel editor at Harcourt, Michel S, that he's off to HarperCollins for a bigger and better job. Or at last a bigger job. (My thought, not his.) And I wished --and really do wish--him all the best. But his leaving is symptomatic of what's happening in publishing and why so many authors and illustrators feel bereft and abandoned and unhappy. Not the only reason, but one of them.

When an editor you love and have worked successfully with leaves, your books are orphaned. And no matter that the Editorial Director phoned to assure me I wasn't being orphaned, there is right now no one at Harcourt who can take Michael's place for me. Michael was an editorial assistant when I started my imprint at Harcourt and because of his love of fantasy and sf (he'd been a Clarion graduate) he became my assistant. He is brilliant, careful editor, well read in the field, feisty, and a fighter for those things he believes in. Even when we disagreed on something, I always found his reasoning sound. The books I did with him include ARMAGEDDON SUMMER, SWORD OF THE RIGHTFUL KING, THE YOUNG MERLIN TRILOGY, the three books (so far) of the Tartan Magic series, and the repackaging of the Pit Dragon books. (Which will have a boxed edition come next fall.) I am in the middle of writing the fourth Pit Dragon book, something Michael and I have long talked about and for which I am waiting notes on the first 125 pages. He promises them before he leaves.

Before he leaves. I am bereft.

Yes, I am concerned about who will take over the new Pit Dragon book. Michael knows it--and its three previous books--as well or better than I do! He has taken great care with the two re-packagings so far--the first with Dennis Nolan covers, the second with more romantic covers. He has been shepherding the boxed edition through. He has kept the books in the forefront of Harcourt's paperback list and the company mind.

But even more, I am concerned about how often wonderful young editors., having nowhere within their own publishing company to grow, jump ship. And once they are gone, authors either jump ship with them (but I am already at HarperCollins with three separate editors!) or settle back into new relationships that are sometimes--but not always--a good fit.

I look back at the old days, seen through the Leonard Marcus biography about the great Harper children's book editor, Ursula Nordstrom: DEAR GENIUS. In those days (1950s-70s) editors stayed put, authors stayed put, it was a satisfying and growing relationship. Or at least that's how it seems though these backwards-looking rose-colored glasses.

Anyway--Michael, I salute you. You have a brilliant career ahead of you. But I am, for now, bereft.

Otherwise--more tooth problems. More Tylenol. (Miles--note spelling.)

Movie news: almost to the point of a signed option on the Pit Dragon books. HIPPOLYTA script is being written by the woman who wrote the HARRIET THE SPY script. Of course, I never expect the movies to look like the books. The most recent egregious example is Ursula LeGuin's gorgeous Earthsea books being turned into "The Legend of Earthsea" pap for the sf channel. Feh. But one always hopes. And the books still exist!

Fiddling a bit with LIBERTY but not a lot.

Read Kathy Koja's short YA novel BUDDHA BOY which I thoroughly enjoyed.

And--because of the teeth--slept badly.

December 14, 2004:

Boring.

Revised the first fifteen pages of NAMING LIBERTY.

Went to Writer's Group.

Pain in tooth.

Wrapped Christmas presents now that Chanukah is over. (We are an interestingly blended family of Jewish/Quaker/ex-Catholic/ex-Jehova's Witness/Deists/ Theists/Atheists.)

More Tylenol.

Boring.

December 13, 2004:

I woke up at 1 a.m. with a jaw throbbing badly and hurting all the way up to the top of my skull. Thinking I was dying, I woke David. I told him I loved him and told him to tell the children and grandchildren how much I loved them.

One in the morning is a soul's dark time. He held me, asked if he should call an ambulance, get me to the hospital, and at that moment sense returned. Four Tylenols and a half hour later, I was able to sleep. It took him quite a bit longer.

So I made an early appointment (again) with the dentist. We are still hoping this is not going to mean root canal, but it may be the (hah! root) problem. And since the antibiotic did not touch the nasal infection, I am now on Flonase.

On the way home, I bought chocolates for the entire crew at my agent's (meaning 10 boxes of 32 Godiva truffles) and a special bowl for my daughter-in-law.

Enough. I decided that no falling-off body parts were going to keep me from my appointed tasks. I am a writer. That means I write. Fully armed with nose spray and pain killers and determination, I went up to the attic and banged out another two double-page spreads on LIBERTY as well as outlining the rest of the book. Went over the whole thing several times more. About four hours of work in all. Damn the pain.

Then I went downstairs to talk about the problems of this very complicated picture book with David who had some good insights. As always.

After that, more Tylenol, more hot tea, and after dinner an attempt to watch "The Legend of Earthsea" which tried manfully to destroy my favorite trilogy. I shut it off lest it corrupt my head entirely, and went to bed. And slept pretty much through the night.

December 12, 2004:

So I finally had a full morning and early afternoon to get some work done. And guess what: nothing happened.

I should have known better. After all, as a child I’d been a dancer at Balanchine’s School of American Ballet. The ballerinas all told us, Mr. B told us, a day away from the barre meant it would be extra hard getting back to dancing. The leg and back and arm muscles needed to be exercised every day to keep them supple and working well.

Well, writing is a muscle that needs to be exercised every day, too. And I have been doing very little of that over the past weeks, as any reader of my journal can tell. I’ve had excuses of course--health, book tour, signings, parties. But none of that matters when I sit down at the computer and. . .very little comes out. Instead of a spate, a dribble. Instead of a waterfall, a trickle.

Oh yes, I managed a draft of the next two-page spread of NAMING LIBERTY, but it was weak, under-researched, and awkward. I doubt little of it will remain. Oh yes, I did emails and snail mails, and journal entries, but those are finger exercises, not full-body workouts. Oh yes, I paid bills. I picked up the kitchen. I went over my calendar.

Oh yes, I went with Maddison and Heidi to see Maddison’s best friend play Clara in the local "Nutcracker." And then after we went to the DiTerlizzi’s house where we watched the progress of the "Robert’s Snow" illustrated snowflake auction for charity on ebay, which raised an astonishing $90,000. (And my calligraphed poem went for about $700.)

But I am disgusted with my writing progress. That is where my heart is. Where I live. Where I exercise. Or at least where I should exercise.

Signed, Ms. Flabby.

December 11, 2004:

Yet another busy non-writing day.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I woke late, very unusual for me, and was out of bed and downstairs by 8 am. Picked up the kitchen, got dressed, signed a book for a neighbor, did email, then worked some on revising those first pages of LIBERTY. Ran out for the mail and there were the contracts for the hibernation book, SLEEP, BLACK BEAR, SLEEP that Heidi and I wrote.

Then we had to get nicely dressed and race off to the Odyssey Bookstore in South Hadley for a signing with Jane Dyer, Leslea Newman, David Costello and some authors of adult books. A small group of people bought books, and there were about 25 pre-sales. Not a patch on yesterday’s wonderful signing. But we signed stock, which they always manage to sell off.

Next, at 4, we drove to Amherst where we met Angela DiT at our favorite clothing store , Zanna's, because I had $100 worth of credit there. No bargains, but beautiful clothes. I got three tops. Heidi got a top, a jacket, and a fancy coat. Angela got three tops. Score!

A quick soup stop for the four of us (Heidi, Angela, Maddison and me) and then we said goodbye to Angela and went off to the Amherst Ballet presentation of its students. Since they are the kids who will be doing two ballets from our book BAREFOOT BOOK OF BALLET STORIES in May, Heidi and I (and illustrator Rebecca Guay who is designing costumes for them) got to sign about 60 books. Then we stayed to watch the performance, which included the first choreography for their version of Shim Chung, one of the two ballets from our book.

Another exhausting day. Little writing. I think somewhere in my Life’s Contract it says "U R A Writer." But it’s hard to tell that from such a remove.

December 10, 2004:

Another exhausting day with no writing done, not even this journal piece which I wrote the next morning.

The day started with email and desk polishing, then a two-and-a-half hour stint in the dentist's chair. In-between bouts of pain, I thought about the LIBERTY book, which was about as close as I came to writing all day with one small exception. (A party trick.)

Got home in time to change my clothes, check email, return an editorial phone call to my HOW DO DINOSAURS editor, and then off we went--David Heidi, Maddison and me--to Longmeadow and the Kiddleywinks bookstore. I had little hope, partially because the name of the store set my teeth on edge and partially because the last few appearances at bookstores had not been stellar. But when we walked in, we were surprised at the expanse of books/toys/ children's clothes. At how well laid out things were. How engaged and inviting the staff was. And especially with the fact that they had already pre-sold 183 books which were waiting for Heidi and me to sign! Wow!!!

So we sat down and our two hour signing turned into a two-and-a-half hour signing, and we didn't stop at all, as more and more people came up with books to be signed. During any lulls, we tackled the bags of pre-solds. The owner kept apologizing for having run out of certain books. In fact they'd reordered THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS twice.

David helped by hand-selling books to customers who couldn't figure out which book might be perfect for their particular kids. Maddison handed us bags of pre-solds, then stuffed them back into their bags. I wrote an instant 4-line rhymed verse in a young fan's notebook and read it aloud to applause. (My party trick!) We dandled babies and made jokes and signed, signed, signed. At the end, when we were deliciously tired, the owner of the story--aptly named Joy--gave Maddison a fantastic gift for being so helpful. Maddison thanked her, adding, "But isn't that too much?" And indeed it was, but Joy pressed it on her anyway, a child's pottery wheel. Then Joy's husband took a good head shot of Heidi and me together, a gift for us which he will be sending on by email and we will be using for press packages.We will be going back there often.

Out of the K shop, and on to the next thing--the annual Western Mass Illustrators' Guild Christmas/Chanukah potluck dinner, this one at Diane de Groat's house. We arrived an hour late, but with Heidi's sweet-and-sour meatballs in the crockpot. So people who'd already stuffed themselves, stuffed some more. The guests read like a Who's Who of American children's book illustrators, including Diane, Tony DiTerlizzi, Ruth Sanderson, Dennis Nolan, Lauren Mills, Bob Marstall, Gary Lippincott, Erik Ingraham, Margot Apple, and about a dozen others, plus families and friends. We even had an editor there, Jean Reynolds of Millbrook/Lerner and a book designer.

We did a bit of Guild business, passed around some wonderful works in progress. Then Angela DiTerlizzi, Heidi, and I sat down with Gary to workshop a book dummy and--I think--we got him back on the right track.

We made it home by 10 and fell into bed, my mouth sore but visions of sugarplums--er...meatballs--dancing in my head. Not to mention chocolate, for someone had brought tiramisu to the party.

December 9, 2004:

I did a sweep of my desk and it was a bit like flower arranging or, as the Brits like to say, "titivating." Moved piles around. I even found some stuff to throw out, as well as some stuff I should have taken care of months ago.

And then I started working on NAMING LIBERTY, a picture book about the Statue of Liberty and an immigrant child (based somewhat on my father’s family), which is under contract to Philomel. It’s to be illustrated by James Burke, who did the pictures for MY BROTHERS’ FLYING MACHINE and is now hard at work on my JOHNNY APPLESEED picture book. (I know what you are thinking--aren’t there already LOTS of Johnny Appleseed picture books out there? Lots of Statue of Liberty books? The answer is yes. But publishers seem to want more of the same instead of any of the brand new picture books I have already written!)

Actually, I love to start work on new picture books (or new novels for that matter.) For me, ideas flow easily at the beginning. The white page is an invitation. The world is opening up. Possibilities are limitless, or at least seem that way. This may be THE book, the one book to change the world. It is only when I hit the dreaded midsection, bogging down, mired in should-haves, that I run into trouble.

I already had a general idea of how the book was to be arranged: two separate stories that come together in the Harbor when the child actually sees Lady Liberty. And I’d done some preliminary research. So I worked for about three hours and got down a rough draft of the first three double page spreads, basically pages 6-11. (Pages 1-5 are front matter: title page, dedication, etc.) Since a picture book is 32 book pages, in total I am about 1/3 there. But of course as I went back over each page, I cut, shifted, changed stuff. So even this rough (How rough? Very rough!) draft has had about three revisions already.

There is so much about the building of the Statue that will have to be glossed over. But the point of the book is not so much the nuts and bolts of Liberty’s construction, but rather how important an icon it becomes in a child’s new American life.

I also spent more time chasing down the song that is not a folk song for the TROT TROT TO BOSTON book. Worked on a letter of recommendation for an ex-writing student of mine. Helped clean the kitchen. And took my blood pressure--which is, alas--way up. I have always had low blood pressure before. I wonder if this is a result of ongoing pain?

Feeling logie--low, sleepy--I napped some in the afternoon. This is so unlike me, I am sure it has to do with the antibiotics. Not sure even now that they are doing their job. Maybe the nasal drip is a bit less. Or maybe not. I still have a toothache but tomorrow I go back to the dentist for the second installment of Tooth-Gate. I felt so miserable, I even sneaked chocolate--and got caught!

Sorry about the continuing whine.

December 8, 2004:

Katrina of Colorado, a writer and editor, has asked me to talk about book signings/speaking engagements. She says," My first book hits stores March 1 and I'm starting to get nervous about how this whole thing works. I'll be setting up most of my appointments and I plan on trying to go to bookstores, libraries, and schools. What in the heck do I talk about? Being a writer? How the book was conceived? I don't mind doing a reading (and selling books!) but thinking about what to talk about makes me quiver. Especially since I'm a relative unknown. How did you cope with this when your career started?"

Going to bookstores, even for a known writer, is often one of the most degrading and devastating experiences to go through. Usually no one but a few relatives show up. If you can get good coverage in the papers and TV ahead of time, if you’re well known in the community (the mayor, a pediatrician, a coach) you may get enough people out for one local bookstore signing. But after that, it gets harder and harder. Trust me. Last week Jane Dyer, Leslea Newman, my daughter Heidi, and I were sponsored by a local bookstore at the University of Massachusetts. Maybe fifteen people showed up. Three or four of them worked for the bookstore and were there to sell books.

It makes much more sense for a new writer to volunteer a program to several local schools where the school will also sell copies of the book with the help of a nearby bookstore. You talk about how the book started, how many revisions you did, what the book looked like in its various incarnations--notes, manuscript, galleys. Show these around, let kids see them, touch them. Then read a bit. Let the kids ask questions. Do a couple of schools for free, as practice, but let them sell the books to the kids and their parents.

After that, you should charge. As a new author, maybe $250 for the day, doing up to four presentations. After a second book, you can begin to raise your prices. The schools can make back some of the money for your fee by selling your books and getting a percentage from the bookstore. My daughter’s website has a sample contract: http://www.heidistemple.com/schoolvisit.html

I did school visits for 25 years. With only a very few exceptions, they were always successful for both the children and for me. Some were absolutely spectacular. I remember a school in Westfield, MA. that had a parade of book characters in my honor, a school in Indianapolis that had starlingly built mermaids swimming along the corridors to celebrate my latest book which starred a mermaid, a school that had a life-size Djeow Seow flying a kite all the way up a winding staircase three floors high. But school visits are exhausting and, in the wintertime, a visiting author picks up as many viruses as plaudits. However, school visits do three other things: they get word of a new author and a new book out, they bring in extra money to an otherwise semi-destitute author, and they are wonderful learning experiences for an entire school.

Now that was a long-winded answer. But since I did little writing today, going out to lunch with one of my British editors, then showing her around the Michelson art gallery, I might as well spin my wheels.

What did I actually manage to accomplish? Paid some bills. Wrote this journal piece. Wrote a short bio for my website. Checked over the sample layouts for PAY THE PIPER, the novel Adam and I wrote.

Some days are like that.

December 7, 2004:

It is amazing to me how many people felt a kinship with my discussion about raising children and writing books simultaneously. I have to admit that, while living through that time, I'd actually given it little thought. (Like keeping my maiden name--I just DID it.) I think it's always harder for someone who only becomes a writer after getting married and having children. Then it seems as if one is stealing something from them--time, energy, passion. But if one is already a writer and then gets married, raises children, that person they know and love--that writer-mom (or dad)--is who one is. No surprises there.

Today we had a small snow/ice storm. Hardly noticeable in the Valley, but in the hills towns it was more of a problem. Some schools closed, our writer's group cancelled because Ann Turner and Patty MacLachlan both live on mountains. Maddison stayed home sick and her dad came over to play games with her and got skunked in Monopoly. Heidi worked on cleaning stuff off her desk. David worried about what might be an infected foot.

And me? I hunkered down and worked over a list for our New Year's Day party, sent out emails, read Newsweek, worked over the proposal for the pirate book, wrote the day's journal article, cleaned up the computer desktop, napped (am still under the weather), got emails from several editors that needed answers.

Then--most exciting--our photographer son, Jason, called to tell of a great year's contract for photographs which I won't say more about until the contract is duly signed. But it perked us all up enormously.

December 6, 2004:

Lavonne wrote: "I have a question for you that’s tangentially related. Could you say something. . . in your journal. . . about motherhood and writing? It must be possible to do both—-you’ve done it—-but how? Did you have to put everything else on hold for ten years? Give up a social life? Close your door every day for two hours? How did you deal with all the chaos?"

I was already a published writer when my kids were born so I just kept on writing. They grew up thinking all mothers wrote. Indeed, they knew no other. And when I was writing, I was a great mom, making cakes, singing, telling stories. When I wasn’t writing, I was grumpy.

My writing room was in the middle of the house, so I could dash in there whenever. Notebooks were helpful, too. And long naps (for the babies, not for me!) I gave up cleaning the house. Never got the knack back. That bit of guilt I can handle.

I used to keep a quote from Marya Mannes over my desk: "A man at his desk at home is at work. A woman at her desk at home is available." And that is true to some extent. But young children do what they are instructed to do. I told mine that unless they were bleeding from an important orifice (this after they were school age), they could solve things on their own. So they learned to get a glass of oj when they needed it. Mommy didn’t have to pour it with her own hands. Or make pb&j sandwiches. We always had breakfasts and dinners together.

Together? We had a barn full of crafts people who usually ate with us in the evening. So our dinners were often huge affairs. The kids had other fascinating adults to hang with. (This, of course, was in the 70’s!) And I got a lot of writing done. It helped that as a young child Heidi napped four hours, Adam two. Of course by the time Jason came along, it was no hours at all.

So now I have grown children who realize that work can be compelling and fascinating. Of course this means that none of them holds a full time desk job! Insurance is always a worry. Heidi is a writer (and my assistant). Adam, is a musician and novelist. Jason a photographer and occasional bartender. They are all better parents than I was, and much more rigorous. But I think some of that has to do with the times. We were a lot freer back in the 70’s. No-seat-belts kind of folks. (Not that there were seat belts then.) Though of course that was also the time of Thalidomide and Vietnam and other horrors. So while we were freer within limits, our children were not necessarily safe. We just thought they were.

My advice? I never give advice about child rearing. But I do give advice about writing while growing a family. If you are happy with your work, your children will be happy, too.

As for today, it was a snowflakey day (well, it is December, after all) and as such a perfect day for working on poetry. I revised (again) some of the new poems for the Reflection book. Then went over the changes Jason and I wanted for COUNT ME A RHYME with the editor. One of the poems ("Ten Crabs") felt much too heavy now that it was on the page with its corresponding photograph, and so I pared it way down, which took only a little time, before shipping it off to the editor.

Then aghast at the mess on my desk, I proceeded to pay bills. When next I go up to the office, I will do a Major Sweep of the desk. That happens about once every two months and mostly what happens is that I throw out stuff I was hoarding that had seemed important but turns out not to be. (It's the Elizabeth I mode. She often waited years to make a decision, at which point the problem had either solved itself or could be dealt with by a single blow. Usually to the back of the neck. See how she treated Mary Queen of Scots!)

Heidi had done a stealth trip to New York City, David was quietly at work on his own stuff, and so I had a fairly relaxing time. After yesterday I needed it.

But by mid-afternoon I was beginning to feel icky, as if coming down with something new and awful. Maddison had not been feeling well either. The problem with living with grandchildren. . .

I managed to make dinner--chicken with my special apple and onion compote, corn bread, pasta, a nice salad. Heidi got home in time for dinner. But I could hardly eat. I left the table and lay down, then began to cough so violently--with accompanying head pains--that I threw up. Oh, nice journal entry, Jane!

Lay down for the rest of the evening and went to bed at 8:30.

(Quick note for worriers--I awoke feeling much better.)

December 5, 2004:

This was the day of the Big Head. It turns out, adulation is exhausting. Who knew?

Morning was "Bagels and Breakfast" with Artists at the Eric Carle Museum. I was the moderator for the panel of ten artists which included (among others) Ruth Sanderson, Tony DiTerlizzi, and Bob Marstall. But the introduction to the panel made by Rosemary of the museum was all about me. One would have thought she was delivering a eulogy. I sounded a veritable paragon.

The panel went well, though not all of the artists were equally comfortable on stage. Tony created an Eric Carle Museum First by demonstrating what spooning meant, getting David Costello (who was foolish enough to ask the question after Tony mentioned the word) to lie down on stage while Tony spooned around him. An X-rated moment. And yes, there are pictures though whether they will ever be offered to the public. . .

After that, it was left to the Poor Moderator to herd the cats back on stage, comfort the shell-shocked and hysterical audience, offer thoughts on artists and artistry.

And then Tony went on to deliver some of the most passionate and articulate words on being a picture book artist I have ever heard. What a guy!

In other words, not your usual panel but great fun.

We had a good and interested crowd who then went and bought loads of books.

After a lunch chat with my publicist and one of my editors who’d come for the day, we all traipsed across the Valley to Northampton. (I changed clothes in the lady’s room first, for a dressier number.) And then to the Michelson Gallery for the Homage to Jane Yolen. (See WHAT’S NEW for the invitation)

Well, very soon the place was packed, as packed as I have ever seen it. I glowed with praise, and with gazing at the astounding array of book art from my books. There were almost thirty artists displayed, like Jane Dyer, Bruce Degan, Trina Hyman, Barry Moser, Dennis Nolan, Lauren Mills, Jane Breskin Zalben, Leslie Baker, Ruth Councell--even my son Jason had contributed three of his wonderful photographs from my books.

And the roll call of who had come to the show was a veritable who’s who from my past. Including the woman on whose couch in Italy I had thrown up, with morning sickness pregnant with Heidi. And Heidi is now 38. We hadn’t seen Sara since then.

I was interviewed by the local NPR reporter, my voice still hoarse from all the talking.

At 4:30, Rich Michelson hushed the crowd, said some absolutely shatteringly wonderful things about me, divided us all like Moses with the waters of the Red Sea, into published authors and illustrators, from the adorers of children’s books. A photo was taken. And then I got to read from my new poem written especially for the occasion—"Mother Goose’s Maladies." My voice didn’t break once. The poem, in eight sections with a L’Envoi at the end, was greeted with both laughter and sighs. Just what I wanted.

And then after a wait for another interviewer--who never showed because he was covering a death on Route 93--twenty-one of us retired to the local Hunan Gourmet for dinner. I was so exhausted, I hardly ate a thing.

How do really famous people do it? I was barely able to put one foot in front of the other by the end. Perhaps being on antibiotics at the same time was not helpful. But all in all, it was a lovely and overwhelming day.Tomorrow I must get a big pin to prick my head so it goes back down to size and I can get to work again.

December 4, 2004:

I'd been worrying for the past few weeks about continuing this journal. Very little except writing (or whining about not-writing) seems to happen in it. I worried that it had become repetitive or insufficient to the task or just plain boring.

And then this morning, after having written two more journal entries, and working on a new poem (a haiku sequence) for the Reflection book, I read this in the latest Locus magazine, a journal for science fiction/fantasy writers and lovers of the genre. In an interview, Karen Joy Fowler said: "I tell my students it's best if they don't live interesting lives. On a day-to-day basis, it's best if there's nothing more appealing on the horizon than you and the computer."

That olde light bulb went off over my head. I mean, it would have taken someone with advanced myopia not to see it. Of course! My actually life is insignificant to the writing life. And that is what my readers are tuning in to the journal to read. Thanks KJF!

With that in mind, I went back with renewed vigor (or vigour, which has always seemed to be more sporting!) to write first drafts of some more poems for the Reflection book. I got down stuff on a moorhen, an elk, and revisions on the swan haiku sequence. All still in pretty shaky condition, but nonetheless workable.

Then I turned back to the COUNT ME A RHYME color layouts and went over them carefully making full notes. Around noon I called Jason and we had a long pore through, discussing each spread carefully. noting what worked and what didn't. My favorite moment was when he commented in his laconic voice (I think they invented the word "laconic" for Jason's dry delivery) that the final lovely photo on page 32, under the About the Author and Illustrator, was upside down. And no one else had noticed it!

My back was hurting me badly, and so I took it easy on the sofa with the laptop, working some more on revising the poems. Each trip through they seemed to get a bit better, even if I only changed a word or three. But tomorrow (shades of Oscar Wilde-surely you know that anecdote) I will probably change those very words back again.

Then I watched (God help me) the Masterpiece Theater POLLYANNA, a book I loathed as a child. Read several magazines, including STYLE 1900. Got the chicken ready and in the oven. And wrote this piece.

December 3, 2004:

And yet another good news/bad news day.

The only writing I did was to rewrite the Bison poem and work on two more poems for the reflection book, one on a wet raccoon--which I like, and one on a snowy egret, which I am less favorably disposed towards.

And then it was Fix-the-Body day.

I spent over an hour at the dentist getting my lower cracked tooth crowned. The upper cracked tooth will be dealt with next week. Listen, as long as they are no longer hurting...

Then I went to the doctor's office where I had a chest x-ray (clear) and throat x-ray (clear) and put on antibiotics because, since June, I have had a post nasal drip and have lost my voice. I can no longer sing and can hardly croak a full speech without coughing. Actually I sound like my mother, and she was a 4-pack-a-day smoker, and I never smoked in my life. (Except for all that early secondhand smoke.)

Came home to the color xeroxes of the layouts to the full COUNT ME A RHYME book, which are sensational. (Except for the first page which is a stunning alligator picture that I think we should save out for the reflection book.) I did a first read-over, knowing that some time this weekend Jason and I will have to talk on the phone about any changes. And he is wrestling with the twins who have developed (a light) case of chickenpox.

Also Jason had scanned and shipped over several more pictures for the reflection book, so I have more work to do next week. Or maybe Saturday!

Went over the galleys for a short piece I have in an upcoming Parabola magazine. I have been a contributor since the first issues. Every few years I have something else there. It's always been a classy magazine about myth and the search for meaning.

Heidi's friend Sandra, an art teacher in Myrtle Beach, is here for the weekend. We all went out for dinner at one of Northampton's lovely restaurants, along with Smith College granddaughter Glendon and her boyfriend. But I faded fast. Too much doctor stuff for one day.

December 2, 2004:

So this was a good news, bad news sort of day.

I got a lot of fiddly revisions done: on the Ma Goose poem which I will be presenting at the gallery opening on Sunday (see the WHAT'S NEW section of this website for information on coming to that.) 1 hour.

I worked a bit on the non-fictional parts of EEK--YOU REEK: A Book of Stinky Animals. 1/2 hour.

Then I upgraded (per the editor's request) the proposal for a new big book of retold tales. (Will mention the theme once it's sold!) 1 hour.

Rewrote one verse of BABY BEAR'S CHAIRS as per that book editor's request. The book is already illustrated and there was one small illo glitch in the otherwise adorable artwork which needed to be addressed by text change. So it goes. If you have written as many picture books as I have over the millenia, you have to learn to be flexible on this kind of change. 1 hour.

Looked over a new powerpoint presentation--or at least an upgraded one--that Heidi was working on for us. 1/4 hour.

Did a draft and two revisions on a bison poem for the proposal for Jason's and my new book about reflection that we hope Boyds Mills will take. 2 hours.

Then I turned down writing an introduction to an art book. Just too overwhelmed with work. No time at all.

And then I got a wonderful call from my editor friend at Charlesbridge, JO'M, interested in a proposal I'd sent her, and asking about possibly turning it into a somewhat longer book, not a picture book, which is doable. 15 minutes.

Finally, I worked on more stuff for my college reunion. (It's become a tradition that I write the little punny lines that go on the signs we carry at the Alumnae Parade.) 1 hour.

Total of work: 6 hours. Mostly revision and fiddly stuff. Not the fun, deep-in-the-writer's- barrel kind of work that is totally engrossing. And yet look how the time flew by.

So where's the bad part of the day, you ask? Well, at 4 o'clock Heidi and I packed up the powerpoint presentation. David took Maddison to her ballet class. And off H & I went to the University of Massachusetts where she and I would be joining Jane Dyer and Leslea Newman in a signing-cum-speaking engagement. Well, it hadn't meant to be a speaking engagement. We get paid for those. Just a signing. However, we'd been told after accepting that it was an actual 20-30 minute presentation each. No payment. But we knew the manager of the UMass bookstore who'd asked, and he's a lovely man, so we stayed the course.

We parked in the parking garage (which was going to cost us $4.50.) Meanwhile, my back had gone out. And it turned out the quarter mile walk in the cold to the place where the presentation was to be held (there was no closer parking without a sticker) did not help. By the time we got there, I had to lie down on a convenient sofa for ten minutes before I could even stand up straight. And then, predictably, only about twelve people showed up, three of them the bookstore workers.

So in the end, we didn't use the powerpoint, just talked to the audience. I sold about 10 books, Heidi sold three, Jane sold about ten, and Leslea sold one. A disaster for everyone. And, as Heidi remarked later, "There's an afternoon we'll never get back."

December 1, 2004:

The pain in my teeth having subsided, I found I could actually work today. Not write any original stuff, you understand, but at least I could try some revisions.

So, I rewrote a bit of LUNCH BUNCH, one of the books my son Jason and I are working on. It's a poem really, that's a picture book to be illustrated with his photos. Animals eating. I really only changed two lines, but that took a lot of thought.

Next I turned to some revisions on the DANCE book (companion to the BALLET book) trying to inject more of a sense of dance into the various folktales, and also de-toxing Tam O'Shanter, trying to make him more likeable to a young dance audience.

Then I worked on the central poem for a picture book poetry collection TWO BY TWO with a Noah's Ark theme. By work here, I mean I added about one and a half verses and completely re-numbered the pagination.

All this took through the morning and well into the afternoon. Little fix-ups can often take longer than writing 2500 solid paragraphed prose. It's a funny sort of physics, but there you have it!

Finally, I wrote the long journal piece below, catching up on the weeks of neglect here so more readers don't throw brickbats at me. Or write careful emails asking if I am all right. I am fine, except for the cracked teeth and too much travel. Really.

There was a lot of back mail to do as well. Fan mail, two books (SHERWOOD and ATALANTA) going op, or at least as close to it as never mind. Do we order more of the books or not? Decision and crunch time. Some nice reviews of the BALLET book. Talked once to my agent, and once to one of my editors on the phone, as well as my publicist. Chatted with son Adam, friend Bruce Coville, friend Deb Harris in Scotland, and a teacher wanting me to come for a school visit. Alas, I no longer do those.

But then I threw up my hands at work, which was feeling pretty unrewarding, or at least it was all such fiddly stuff, I was disgusted with it and with myself. Some days are like that.

Instead I went downstairs and watched the news, read two back issues of Newsweek, three issues of Publisher's Weekly, and the science fiction magazine, Chronicle. Thought about finishing the Scottish selchie novel I'd been reading on and off during my trip, but it wasn't calling to me loud enough.

And then I wrote this journal piece, just to round out the day. At least my teeth no longer ached.