Read Write Believe

What I'm Reading Now: Darth Paper Strikes Back

2012-01-20T10:42:00.000-05:00

Darth Paper Strikes Back by Tom Angleberger

Is it real? Should I believe? That's what Tommy always wants to know about the paper Yoda finger puppet Dwight uses to dispense wisdom and advice to his classmates. Especially now that Yoda is challenged by another force, Darth Paper, a scorn-spewing puppet wielded by hard-hearted Harvey---and Dwight is sinking under the full weight of a school system which wants to expel him.

The brilliance of this book is that the intended readers---upper elementary and middle schoolers---will absolutely know the answer to the "Is it real?" question. They are long past believing in the magic of inanimate objects. So they get to revel in the question behind the question: What is true?

This is exactly what author Tom Angleberger gives them as his hero, Tommy, with an earnest dedication to justice, gathers stories from his classmates of Dwight's benevolence, with the intent of presenting them to the school board. Each tale ("Origami Yoda and the Pre-Eaten Wiener", "Origami Yoda and the Exploding Pizza Bagels of Love") is told by a different kid---in voices that refreshingly reveal their own struggles and mistakes, but also show Dwight's clearly weird approach to life. What's more, some of the episodes result in outcomes probably not appreciated by the adults at the school (who have to clean up vomit from pre-eaten wieners, after all) and you become seriously worried these stories won't be enough to save Dwight. Especially not when Darth Paper.... okay, I won't ruin it.

Ultimately, this is a story that respects kids enough to let them be juvenile and flawed--- and yet totally affirms their power and goodness in the face of "dark times." Read it you will for the humor, the Star Wars insider jokes, the lunch table power struggles---but changed you will be by the power of paper. And yes, I do mean the paper that makes up the pages of this book. But only because it's real. Only because it makes you believe. And only because it is truly good.

This blog entry is cross-posted on Goodreads

Operation Yes meets Blue Chicken at Phantom Tollbooth

2011-11-22T09:25:00.001-05:00

Every word of that title is accurate.

While in New York over Veterans Day weekend, I met my friend Debbie Freedman, author of the amazing picture book, Blue Chicken, at Books of Wonder just before their event celebrating the 50 year anniversary of The Phantom Tollbooth. If you haven't checked out Debbie's interview at 7-Impossible Things Before Breakfast, run there, chicken-fast. You must see the vivid, emotionally true, totally fun art from this book that celebrates color and redeeming mistakes. (The two-page spread which reads simply "The chicken is sorry! Sincerely sorry." is my favorite moment in the flood of disaster that overtakes the chicken----but Jules shares many other fabulous ones.)

Debbie and I signed each other's books, ate scones and drank tea with fellow author Rosanne Parry, and my lovely agent, Tina Wexler. Then Debbie was kind enough to get my copy of The Annotated Phantom Tollbooth signed for me while I dashed off to my Military Families panel at the NYPL (more on that later.)

I took a few photos of the Phantom Tollbooth event, but the lighting was difficult, and the store was packed, so I failed to deliver much beyond the fuzzy shot below. I also had to strain to hear both Jules Feiffer and Norton Juster (who were occasionally prompted for stories by Leonard Marcus, there on the right.) What made the event for me were the little moments---such as Norton Juster admitting to growing up with a dad who adored puns (me, too!) and the kid with the green mohawk who peppered Jules and Norton with enthusiastic questions. I can't wait to dive into my annotated version, which is, I think, the third copy of The Phantom Tollbooth I have in the house. (Can't be sure; there may be a fourth lurking around.)

I have so much more to report from my trip to New York. It was, from start to finish, a perfect weekend, but I think my posts will have to be delivered in short bursts. As the chicken says, I'm sincerely sorry. Will catch up soon. Very soon!

Stages on Pages at Books of Wonder (Cue the Squeee!)

2011-11-07T08:43:00.000-05:00

Stages on Pages

On Thursday, November 10th, Books of Wonder is delighted to present 7 authors who have written new books for teens that feature young people involved in one way or another with the performing arts. Joining us will be debut author SHELLA CHARI to share Vanished, the story of 11-year-old Neela, who's determined to protect an antique Indian stringed instrument that's a family heirloom which she dreams of playing for delighted crowds someday; author BARBRA DEE will present her new novelTrauma Queen, about Marigold, a teen girl who's constantly embarrassed by her infamous stage actor mom; debut author SOPHIE FLACK will take us into the exclusive world of the Manhattan Ballet Company as we follow one aspiring dancer persuing her dreams in Bunheads; SARA LEWIS HOLMES will present Operation Yes, about a sixth grade class on an army base with a new teacher who uses improvisational theater to teach and inspire them and how they come together to help their teacher when her brother goes missing while serving in Afghanistan; debut author STASIA WARD KEHOEwill share Audition, the story of high school junior Sara, and the trials and tribulations she endures while struggling to become a professional ballet dancer;debut authorGRETCHEN McNEIL will introduce Possess, a dark thriller in which 15-year-old Bridget's ability to hear demons poses a very real threat to her, her family, and maybe the entire world; finally, author ROSANNE PARRY will present Second Fiddle, set around the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, this is the harrowing tale of 13-year-old Jody -- a violinist and composer -- who sets in motion an unlikely chain of events when she and her friends save a Russian solider from drowning in Berlin. Join us beginning at 6pm as these wonderful authors read from their new novels, answer questions from the audience, and sign copies of their works. Some of the authors, who play instruments, will also provide live music! Ages 10-14. Thursday, November 10th, 6-8pm

Please go to the Books of Wonder site to pre-order signed copies.

Writing in the Snow with Dragons

2011-10-31T08:17:00.001-04:00

My weekend: snow, writing, dragons (of the self-doubt variety.)

Revision is SO scary. It can feel like battling a three-headed dragon. You deal with one problem, you make two more for yourself. Everywhere, there are teeth. But if you look for it, there is also snow. Miraculous, unpredictable snow.

See those silhouettes underneath the dragon? They're fairytale postcards I bought in Germany. And the gypsy doll is a marionette I found in Prague one bitterly cold winter day. (So is the dragon.)

Back to work now.

Poetry Friday: Ghost in this House

2011-10-28T09:06:00.002-04:00

Poets.org sent me a link to "Ghost Poems." But if you really want to experience a haunting, listen to the phantasmagoric voice of Alison Krauss inhabit the drifting, melancholy beauty of this song. Pair it with a viewing of Robert Duvall and Bill Murray in "Get Low" (which also features Alison on the sound track, singing "Lay My Burden Down") and you'll be shivering feverishly for a long while.

"Ghost In This House"

I don't pick up the mail
I don't pick up the phone
I don't answer the door
I'd just as soon be alone
I don't keep this place up
I just keep the lights down
I don't live in these rooms
I just rattle around

I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shadow upon these walls
As quietly as a mouse I haunt these halls
I'm just a whisper of smoke
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
You took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house

I don't care if it rains
I don't care if it's clear
I don't mind staying in
There's another ghost here
He sits down in your chair
And he shines with your light
And he lays down his head
On your pillow at night

I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shadow upon these walls
I'm living proof of the damage
Heartbreak does
I'm just a whisper of smoke
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
And took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
Oh, I'm just a ghost in this house

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Random Noodling.

Cheese

2011-10-26T10:03:00.000-04:00

Linda Urban's in town, and she and I talked cheese at Jaleo's last night.

Okay, we talked about more than cheese. We talked craft, and art, and fears and dreams in our current writing projects. But cheese did get me riled up. We ordered the six cheese sampler, and it was fantastic, a delectable collage of varied pungencies and textures, served with honeyed apricots, each triangle or round of cheese hand-crafted to perfection. And I ranted about the newest campaign against cheese (spokes-demon: The Grim Reaper) pushed by some doctors who feel it's the main source of fat in American diets. That may be. But it's also sublime. It's an rustic art form, for pete's sake! I'm offended it's under attack.

I guess it was also because we'd just visited the National Gallery, and seen their exhibit of artist's books, called Text as Inspiration: Artists' Books and Literature. And let me tell you, it was tiny---one petite gallery with four glassed cases. And some of those books were as quirky as artisanal cheese. I loved the book that featured a poem called EVE, which unfolded out of a cover made to be Adam's intricately designed, highly realistic paper rib. And the one with the slightly off-color poem that could be read two ways with the bold wire design of a cat proudly sitting in front of it.

Worth savoring, it was.

I guess what I'm saying is that campaigning against cheese is like saying life is a dry sandwich. And everything I saw at the National Gallery---from that tiny exhibit to the arresting and often highly individualistic portraits in the Chester Dale collection---says that ain't so.

Give me some cheese. And some great art. And a friend to share both.

Poetry Friday: Bad Taste

2011-10-21T08:43:00.001-04:00

I don't want to be accused of bad taste here at Read Write Believe---

However.

Hmm.

Urp.

Out of a desire to find a poem to pay tribute to Jama, hostess of Poetry Friday today---and insatiable consumer of poetry and delectable food---I lazily googled "cooking poem."

Oh, my.

Jama, I'm sorry.

Today I must serve these overbaked goodies.

First Course:

Ye Muses nine inspire
And stir up my poetic fire;
Teach my burning soul to speak
With a bubble and a squeak!

Second Course:

Light of triumph in her eyes,
Eleanor her apron ties;
As she pushes back her sleeves,
High resolve her bosom heaves.
Hasten, cook! impel the fire
To the pace of her desire;
As you hope to save your soul,
Bring a virgin casserole...

Dessert:

We shou’d submit our Treats to Criticks’ View,
And every prudent Cook shou’d read Bossu.
Judgment provides the Meat in Season fit,
Which by the Genius drest, its Sauce is Wit.
Good Beef for Men, Pudding for Youth and Age,
Come up to the decorum of the Stage.
The Critick strikes out all that is not just,
And ’tis even so the Butler chips his Crust.
Poets and Pastry Cooks will be the same,
Since both of them their Images must frame.
Chimera’s from the Poet’s Fancy flow:
The Cook contrives his Shapes in real Dough.

Quick! Run to Jama's and cleanse your palate!

Flat-Heeled

2011-10-20T10:35:00.000-04:00

I'm sure there will be rapturous odes to the writing gods everywhere for National Writing Day. By way of contrast, I give you "how it really is" from one of my favorite writers, Lloyd Alexander, in his Horn Book essay, "The Flat-Heeled Muse."

On another occasion, I had planned to include a mysterious and menacing portent in the shape of a dark cloud. The Muse, an early riser, prodded me awake sometime well before dawn.

"I've been meaning to speak with you about that cloud," she said. "You like it, don't you? You think it's dramatic. But I was wondering if this had occurred to you: you only want a few of your people to see the cloud, is that not correct? Yet you have already established a number of other characters in the vicinity who will see it, too. An event like that? They'll do nothing but talk about it for most of the story.

Or," she purred, as she always does before she pounces, "did you have something like closed-circuit television in mind?"

She clumped off in her sensible brogans while I flung myself from bed and ripped up all my work of the night before. The cloud was cut out.

The entire article was published as “The Flat-Heeled Muse, Horn Book Magazine, April 1965. I wish, wish, wish it was still clumping around online somewhere. A bit more of it is here, at least.

Not a sensible brogue.

The Cute Photo Approach to Speaking

2011-10-19T10:30:00.002-04:00

Is it wrong to pull out cute photos of your kids when you're speaking in public?

That's me, showing the adorable baby passport my daughter, Rebecca, was issued before she left Japan at four weeks old. In my defense, I was talking about military families and how much we move. And how story can help. How "doing something" is better than pretending these families are invisible in our classrooms and in our literature.

I think it went well. In fact, I think it all went well at the new Joy of Children's Literature Conference held in Williamsburg this past weekend. I especially enjoyed the other presenters' sessions which I was able to sneak into, including one by teacher Amy Moser, who recounted how her class embarked on a study of Ellen Potter's middle-grade novels, which culminated in a Skype visit with the author. Amy had the foresight to interview her students right after the visit, to document their reaction. I wish I could show you that video----talk about cute. And smart. And wonderful.

Handouts from the presenters (including mine) can be found here. You can read about the conference here----and note that organizer Denise Johnson has already set the date for next year: Oct. 12, 2012, with headliner, Lester L. Laminack. Denise is a firecracker of a person---determined to champion children's books in the classroom---and if you ever doubt that teachers and writers belong on the same team, read her blog.

Here's another shot of me at the conference---this time during my afternoon workshop, talking planning and improv. That's an actual planning sheet used by my cousin, Chris, (also a military spouse) in preparing for her move to Egypt. It's not as cute as a baby, but at least the picture isn't of me wearing a clown nose. (Yes, I put one on, briefly.) Many thanks to all for a great day!

Poetry Friday: Garlic

2011-10-14T05:00:00.000-04:00

My mom is a superb gardener. So is my daughter. Me? I confess to having killed a rubber tree plant once. And many other varieties of green things many times over.

Yet.

I bought this lovely herb planter. Walked it home in my arms from the farmer's market. Everything in it is still alive, except for the dill, which mysteriously shriveled overnight and has but one teeny leafy sprout left. I've used the basil and parsley. Admired the rosemary and marjoram and chives. And if when the nasturtiums bloom, I can even put flowers in my salads.

Why do I keep buying plants when I fear they are doomed? Because I cook. I need fresh herbs. And I'm too lazy to keep running to the store. And I like the shape the plants make as they curl down from the pot.

I'm also thinking of planting some garlic--- even more so since I found this terrific quote, which was pungent enough to inspire a poem:

"Garlic is as good as ten mothers." (from this site, no source)

Who needs admonishment
when you can plant
three or four squeaky
clean cloves of peeled
garlic between your back
molars and bite down, hard?

Who needs milk
when a steely press
will pulp a half-moon
breast, flattening
it to a papery empty
envelope?

Who needs love
when hours later
your breath will cleave
the world into those
who don't mind your
stink and those who do?

Yet, in the ladle of my belly
I grew you, bulbous;
sulfurous juices thick
inside your husk of skin,
til by your tender scapes, I seized you,
now a knotted rose. Ten times over
I will crush your enemies.

--- Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Image courtesy of Fresh Off the Vine

Poetry Friday is hosted today by David Elzey at fomagrams.

New Children's Lit Conference

2011-10-13T09:35:00.001-04:00

In full, furious (but happy) prep mode here. I'm leading two workshops at the Joy of Children's Literature Conference in Williamsburg, Va this Saturday. (Check online; it might not be too late to register)

My two sessions:

Beyond Veterans Day: Connecting with Military Families in the Classroom

A student told me her favorite chapter in Operation Yes was the one called "Do Something." I asked why. "Because that's my motto, too," she said. Wow. I wanted to hear everything she had planned! And it made me think, too, about what we, as teachers and writers, can do to understand and connect with the families of our military, through fiction and beyond. Resource list and link to online teachers guide provided.

Saying Yes: Improvisation on the Page (and on the Stage)

Does a good writer outline or fly by the seat of her pants? Is improv the opposite of planning? What place does teamwork have in the creative process? I'll talk about how I brought my love of the theater into my writing. Come prepared to let loose. Link to online teachers guide with more improv games provided.

Resources for both talks can be found on my Teachers Page at the Operation Yes website.

The Dog Rule

2011-10-12T09:05:00.001-04:00

This is brilliant: the "dog rule" for journal keeping as revealed by Author Erica Perl in the Washington Post.

Back in 2008, I called it "taking out the trash" and then "magpie intelligence," but I like "the dog rule" better. Much better.

Can you help me spread the word?

2011-10-11T15:20:00.000-04:00

At Cynsations, Rosanne Parry is talking about military family culture and how "It was both an honor and a terrific responsibility to try to depict the life of a reservist’s son"

Which prompts me to remind you that Rosanne, Suzanne Morgan Williams and I will be part of this New York Public Library program:

Children's Literary Salon - Military Offspring: A Whole New Genre

Saturday, November 12, 2011, 2 - 3 p.m.

PROGRAM LOCATION:

Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, Margaret Liebman Berger Forum (Map and directions)

Fully accessible to wheelchairs

Yes, that's the main branch, the building with the two famous lions out front. Please come and share your thoughts with us. I'll remind you again closer to Veterans Day.

As an added incentive, if you tweet, blog, or share this link between now and November 11th, please put your link in the comments section, and I'll enter your name into a drawing for the Audie Award winning audio recording of Operation Yes.

Poetry Friday: Jar of Pens

2011-10-07T08:50:00.000-04:00

Mine aren't in a honey crock, but a Mason jar. But they are just as mute and expectant.

Jar of Pens
by Robert Pinsky

Sometimes the sight of them
Huddled in their cylindrical formation
Repels me: humble, erect,
Mute and expectant in their
Rinsed-out honey crock: my quiver
Of detached stingers. (Or, a bouquet
Of lies and intentions unspent.)

Pilots, drones, workers—the Queen is
Cross. Upright lodge
Of the toilworthy—gathered
At attention as though they know
All the ink in the world couldn't
Cover the first syllable
Of a heart's confusion.

This fat fountain pen wishes
In its elastic heart

the rest of the poem is here.

There's also an audio link, if you'd like to hear Pinsky's voice.

Pinsky did an extended reading of his poems at the Folger Shakespeare Library on Tuesday, and as I said earlier this week, he claims we can find in any one thing----a jar of pens, a shirt, a Plexiglass lectern---a portal to the whole world. Jar of Pens is from a series of poems he wrote in which he had to take as his topic the first object he touched...and then the next object...and then the next...

It has made me aware, ever since, of the weight, history, and possibility of each thing in my life.

More about First Things to Hand

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Mary Ann at Great Kids Books.

Francisco Stork at DC Public Library

2011-10-06T10:18:00.000-04:00

This one almost slipped by me:

Francisco Stork, author of the much loved YA books, Marcelo in the Real World and The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, is speaking at the downtown DC Public Library, MLK Branch, this Saturday at 1:30. The topic is "Writing about disAbilities," and like his books, he will charm you with his humble manner and humor and empathy.

Details (what little there are) are on the DC Library site.

If you'd like to know more about Francisco, I shared the quiet goodness of his blog and his poetry for Poetry Friday here and again here, and I wrote, very passionately, about his Marcelo in the Real World right here.

I have yet to write about how moved I was by The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, but I'll say that I read it many, many months ago, and even now, I can close my eyes and think of certain scenes, and sometimes those characters pop into my head and talk to me. Encourage me, really. If you haven't read his work, you are losing out on feeling that much more alive today.

Better have a story ready

2011-10-05T12:10:00.000-04:00

Better have a story ready to tell.

All that talk of the moon at Linda's place earlier this week reminds me that I'm signed up for a Full Moon Hike at the National Arboretum. One of the moonlit sights will be these columns, which formally graced the East Portico of the Capitol, but now hang out in a grassy field and inspire writers.

Okay, well, maybe not all writers. Or only writers. But me. And Robert Pinsky.

The former United States Poet Laureate, who spoke last night at the Folger Shakespeare Library, claims we can find in any one thing----a jar of pens, a shirt, a plexiglass lectern, perhaps a set of sandstone columns---a portal to the entire world.

Is that what these columns are then? A portal? For some reason, I picture them attached to an outsized, ballooning parachute, each staid column holding down one tenuous tie, the whole thing billowing in and out like a squid, trying to get our attention.

Then I wonder if these columns are more like chapters, each standing on its own, but forming a semi-enclosed space---a space that clearly invites you to come in and think awhile. Kind of like a book. Or a poem in stanzas.

Or, possibly, they are not a finished work but a sad outline that didn't get the go-ahead to be the real article.

One other thought: perhaps they are an obituary. Robert Pinsky loves those too---says they compact life to its best bits---children, accomplishments, flashes of fame.

If so, these columns are part of the life story of Ethel Garrett, who refused to let these beauties be destroyed, and campaigned for twenty years to save them after they were left to drown in the mud of the Anacostia River. A bit of the story of how she and landscape artist, Russell Page, pulled it off is here.

Wouldn't you like to have that listed as one of your life's accomplishments----Mover of Columns?

And yes, they make an absolutely fabulous End of the World movie set. Sadly, you cannot hold a party here.

How does a story grow?

2011-10-04T10:47:00.001-04:00

Worthy stuff:

Linda Urban is bravely sharing an early draft of Hound Dog True and opening a discussion of how story happens.

P.S. Linda is coming to DC! I'll be getting my copy of HDT straight from her at Politics and Prose. Event details are here. Who's with me?

Poetry Friday: Only Love Can Do That

2011-09-29T12:45:00.000-04:00

“I don’t believe poetry should be a solitary intellectual adventure. It should be a relationship with people, it should forge a connection. Good poetry does not belong to the poet.” ---Dolores Kendrick, D.C. Poet Laureate, in this interview with the Washington Post

I've been gone from this blog for almost three months now, and it's not because I was on "a solitary intellectual adventure" (although I've been revising a YA novel.) It had mostly to do with three successive moves in the family---or what we have dubbed The Summer of the U-Haul Truck. Which has ended happily with two children in new digs and my husband and I now living in a row house with its own library.

(This picture is pre-books.
Now it's full, every inch of it.)

Still, after a three-month break, it's hard to re-engage with blogging without thinking about why I'm doing it. It's a question authors get asked a lot: Why do you write? (Yes, blogging is writing.) At this past weekend's National Book Festival (to which I walked, thanks to our new location) I heard Gary Schmidt say he writes because a book may be the only companion a child has. He visited a prison where six locked doors separated the kids from the outside world, where the inmates were allowed no personal possessions, and yet, they had been able to read his book and could talk to him about it. One child said he identified with the dog in the story---because he himself would never be able to have one.

Me, Gary Schmidt, and Sondy Eklund
at the National Book Festival

Which brings me back again to the quote above, about poetry not belonging to the poet. Or, as Gary Schmidt might say, books don't belong to the author---they go where they are needed. And yet, it's the age of personal vocalizing. Blogs enable us to catcall, cheer, kvetch, croon, and crystalize our every thought. So does this blog, in fact, belong to me, in a way my poems or my novels don't?

In answer, I overheard last night a cell phone conversation at 2:00am. We sleep with our windows open, and the bay window in our bedroom amplifies sound from the sidewalk below. Usually, it's remarkably quiet---the first morning in the new house, we were awakened in this great city by a noisy. . . bird. But last night, Mr. Angry Man crept into my sleep, gradually wakening me as he and his phone walked into my hearing zone, until I surfaced to this loud bellow: "I texted you yesterday that I WAS FINE!!!" I could even hear the unintelligible but anguished reply of his cell phone friend before he passed out of range.

So, dear friends, I am fine. This blog is fine. I do write almost all of it as a solitary adventure. I have no routine. No set mission. No way to permanently hold onto the posts or poems that I put out there.

But I don't think I want to do it without a connection with you. You are the only reason I write.

So welcome to Poetry Friday. Please leave your links in the comments below and I'll round them up.

In lieu of a poem, I'd like to contribute these words from Martin Luther King, whose speech was often poetic. They can be found on his new memorial, which is now open to the public---and is a very long walk from my home, and yet on the day of the National Book Festival, we did that too. Because we could.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; Only light can do that

Hate cannot drive out hate; Only love can do that.

Please read Sondy's wonderful writeup of Gary Schmidt's talk and the rest of the National Book Festival.

Poetry Friday Connections:

Poet Charles Ghigna summons us with an original poem, "Drum Beats," at his new blog, FATHER GOOSE.

Robyn embarked on a walk with "binoculars and optimism," and comes back with The Birds by Linda Pastan.

Teacher Dance collects poems of goodbye for her students, and she shares a lovely one in her post, Endings Hold Mixed Emotions.

At Gathering Books, another teacher celebrates former students through the poetry of their father in The Ties That Bind.

Jone is trumpeting the Cybils Poetry Team today. Huzzah, Poetry! And as Jone says, don't forget that Cybils nominations open tomorrow, October 1st.

Diane brings a whole basket of poetry links for us: an original poem at Random Noodling, "The Oleo Kid" at Kids of the Homefront Army, a poem by Gail Mazur at Kurious Kitty and a quote by Joan Giroux.Kurious K's Kwotes'.

At The Poem Farm, Amy is thinking about time and things we "used to do." She reminds me of why I have my old Raggedy Ann doll in my writing office.

Julie Larios at The Drift Record wants us to meet two geniuses. She has videos about Kay Ryan and A.E. Stallings, two poets who received MacArthur Foundation grants this week. (Bonus: the word "hokum" is used.) Plus she has enticed me with her call for Poetry Advocates for Children and Young Adults. Visit "Poetry at Play" and spread the word.

Pentimento is tending to Blake's illustrated poem, The Sick Rose.

Jeff Barger reveals how walking sticks, luna moths, and ladybugs can rock multiplication problems in his STEM/Poetry Friday post, Multiply on Fly.

Mary Lee at A Year of Reading always has fantastic poetry to share, and today it's a glorious Linda Pastan poem about fall. Go and roll the word "pumpkin" off your tongue.

Love is in the air at Laura Purdie Salas's blog, but with an amusing twist: love poems from one animal to another by the ever-creative Marilyn Singer. Plus, Laura has her usual (and always unintimidating) invitation to join her in creating 15 Words or Less poems.

Karen Edmisten dips into The Writer's Almanac for her poetry selection today, a pithy bit of wisdom called September Visitors.

Can I quote Maria Horvath on her blog post today? She says Carl Sandburg explains what love was, is, and shall be. A spectacular poem that I'm clipping straight into my poetry common book.

Rice on your sock? Poems from the "purple cursive of her veins"? How to Tell If a Korean Woman Loves You by Christy NaMee Eriksen, a glorious find by Tabatha Yeatts.

Ha! J. Patrick Lewis is always clever, and his poem, One Cow, Two Moos, is that and more. (Be prepared to groan a bit at the pun.) Thanks to Debbie Diller for sharing it.

On the Stenhouse Blog, Maine teacher/author, Anne Tommaso explores why "Poetry demands you return when you are different." Dang. An exploding kind of thought if there ever was one.

If you've never read Mary Oliver, let this post hit you between the eyes: Joyce Ray gives us Oliver at her finest.

Liz Garton Scanlon knows how to ease you past a dry spell. Today, you can linger with her and savor Nothing by Ken Mikolowski.

Poetry can take on anything. Even Animal Fights. Thanks, Anastasia Suen for another STEM/Poetry Friday mashup.

I feel a swearing fit coming on after reading Jama's post, "Manners" by Kim Addonizio. But I promise not to take it out in the Clorox aisle at Safeway.

So it turns out Julie Larios (above) was right about POETRY AT PLAY---it's fabulous. You'll be a regular subscriber/cheerleader/greatbighonkingfan after this post about master poet David McCord.

Andi Sibley at the wrung sponge reviews At the Sea Floor Cafe. More science and poetry!

Heidi Mordhorst is joining us with a poem from "the trenches of 7th grade" (hoo-boy, those can be deep!) and news about the release of the p*tag digital poetry anthology.

Gregory K, you had me at fried: Things I Saw Fried at the Fair Thing I want most to taste fried? One of those chewy orange circus peanuts. Or possibly popcorn. Can popcorn be re-fried?

Elaine Magliaro is "Saving Summer" at Blue Rose Girls and talking furniture, reclaiming a room, and grandbabies at Wild Rose Reader. Cute baby alert!

I'm one of those stab-able morning people. (I'm even worse after coffee and a run.) So thanks, JoAnn Early Macken, for We Are the Early Risers. Wade in, morning lovers, wade in.

Sally Ito at PaperTigers shares a book her daughter loved (the best kind!): The Eleventh Hour by Graeme Base.

For all those who have gotten sidetracked while pursuing the muse: Not the Poem I Wanted to Write by David Elzey. How true it is, David.

Carlie celebrates webs which "bloom with bursts of silver thread" in her original poem. Lovely indeed.

Ah, our "bootless cries." What to do when consumed by them? Ruth has Shakespeare's answer in Sonnet XXIX.

Judy is musing on "these seamstresses’ chalks and golden needles" in Galway Kinnel's poem, The Shroud.

Poetry Friday: What gives us shape?

2011-07-08T11:06:00.001-04:00

Elizabethan clothing
(or what gave bodies shape in those times)

Last week, I attended No Kidding Shakespeare Camp for the second year in a row. (You can read about last year's rowdy adventures here.) This year was less rambunctious, perhaps due to the overarching theme (structure), but absolutely satisfying all the same. We heard from the architect who designed the lovely Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton, talked trapdoors and lighting and costuming and rhetoric in the early modern theater, and saw a rehearsal of Hamlet and two plays---Shakespeare's The Tempest and Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest.

The structure of the ceiling of the Blackfriars Playhouse
in Staunton, VA

As last year, I was awed by the actors' generosity, both in their performances and in their interactions with guests at the American Shakespeare Center. Watching the rehearsal of Hamlet was like watching a fabulously scary and wonderful roller coaster assemble itself on stage. In addition to the complex characters being built from Shakespeare's twisty and highly structured language, the cast is also constructing the ride's special effects. The ASC has no tech crew or elaborate sets; so when the ghost walks, it's the actors who create the supernatural atmosphere, from eery wind noises to the cock crowing to the trumpets that signal the change of scene. It was amusing and impressive to see the director call for someone who could do a cock crow and have the actors sort it out from backstage; ditto for the trumpet volley, which was offered vocally in three different riffs for the director to choose from. All the while, between these bursts of practical machinery adjusting, the actors played on, creating the emotional tracks on which the audience will rise and plunge. I can't wait to go back and see this Hamlet, which previews July 10.

Actors Ben Curns and Allison Glenzer also came to our camp sessions on rhetoric and played out, on the spot, variations to monologues they had so securely in their heads and bodies that no matter what we threw at them, they absorbed it and reflected the change back to us. Ben's portrayal of Caliban in The Tempest was nearly overwhelming to watch at close range---he creates a "monster" so piteous and clearly abused that you ache for justice and some human dignity for him, and yet by turns, he is reprehensible, ridiculous, and soaked in such a lust for revenge and love that he will commit to anyone that will give him a taste of it. In a later session, we circled Allison, as she invested Trinculo, the jester, with swaggeringly false wisdom and hilariously shaky bravado as he inspects the "half-man/half-fish" of Caliban's hidden body. She then shared her clown training and how she "vacuums out" the female characteristics of herself to reveal the men she's often cast to play. It was a rare gift to watch both of them.

A camper tries on the French wheel

As to the two play performances I saw, they were brave and lovely and funny, and I highly recommend you get to Staunton and see them for yourself. The Importance of Being Earnest, while not Shakespeare, certainly has the language chops, and the troupe served up Oscar Wilde's witty skewering of humanity with relish. The entire cast was wonderful, but I was especially fond of Rene Thornton's Jack, whose sincerity in pursing love to its confused ends was a foil to all the brittle barbs flying about. It turns out earnestness is endearing. :)

Equally as strong, The Tempest opens with a stunning storm, created by the actors out of not much beyond thin air, strong rope, and a broad sheet of cloth. The players then go on to invest the play with waves of comedy, more than usual for The Tempest, I think. The performances include a sympathetic Prospero---a feat accomplished by James Keegan's calm-in-the-center portrayal---and a cleverly funny Miranda/Ferdinand romance, courtesy of Miriam Donald and Patrick Midgley, and of course, Ben Curns's heart-wrenching Caliban and Allison Glenzer's boisterous Trinculo as mentioned above.

A completely hand-sewn ruff

To me, Shakespeare's The Tempest asks us: okay, so what would YOU do if you were in charge of the world? Or if that's too much, a little island? Or for that matter, a stage? Or, say, even smaller, our own bodies? How many ways do we want to be master of our fates and yet choose the most unworthy ways to structure our lives?

Which brings me, at last, to Poetry Friday. Having Fridays filled with poetry is a sound way to anchor a week, I think. Poetry asks us to give shape to our days. To ask what we're playing at.

Months ago, I attempted a sestina at the urging of my Poetry Sisters, but never shared it. It's a terrifying kind of poem, shaped by a scheme that asks you to repeat the same set of six words over and over in a rotating pattern. I learned a lot by writing it, mostly that rules are how we begin the game. After that, it's play on, as hard as you can.

Play on (a sestina)

I was made, as all, to make a mark,
made hasty fast, BANG! here
on floorboards cast,
a slight of light
hooked by barb of sperm with crooked line
to tender egg, in open-mouthed want.

I want for want
of what’s marked
as mine, biting at the flick of line---
Quickly there! No, fast, hold to here!
Chasing lapping rounds of light
shedding mortal coil and wormlike cast

til I’m a roil of slurry caught in rigid cast
to drain of stinging want;
fettered, I’m released as light---
a fellow of “no likelihood or mark.”
Is there nothing of me here?
Shut up; you distress the line.

Oh master body, oh mistress tongue, bind us line to line;
for the die is---oh the drama!---fatal cast;
soon we’ll be---as they say---anywhere but here
where patrons queue to satiate their want
in gilded halls as barren as St. Mark’s,
while we make part with shadowed light

where in full sight of all our breath do heat til we light
a raw-birthed tempest between the ordered lines;
crack winds! blow cheeks! we overtop the given marks
end-stopped by neither fixed form nor as by words forecast;
filled---after---with wanton wonton want---
hey! ho! nonny! absurdity follows brilliance here

Lost in the now and here
in wasted light
tell me you didn’t want
it and I’ll make the words align.
I’ll release, as falconer does, the pairs as cast:
On the mark, by the mark, to the mark, we were such an easy mark

All we want is here
unmarked by time and unformed by light
Each a line, each by self recast.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader

What does it all mean?
Talking about the play

More pictures from Shakespeare Camp are here. A snapshot of the week's schedule is below.

Poetry Friday: The Fighter Pilot

2011-06-24T10:29:00.000-04:00

I missed posting this for Father's Day because I was lollygagging at Isle of Palms in South Carolina with most of my husband's family---a lovely, relaxing launch to summer.

But why not celebrate dads a week longer?

Here's me, with my dad, taken at his med school graduation:

We share a love of books, bad puns, lifelong learning, and outdoor adventure. Because he was a surgeon, I didn't get to observe his work, but I knew he could be called in at any hour to operate on someone who desperately needed his skill. He could also be counted upon for elaborate practical jokes---including one that involved a fake radio broadcast of an alien invasion at the nearby Tyson-McGee Airport. He bakes bread from scratch, recently enjoyed discovering The Phantom Tollbooth (great puns there), and has been married fifty years to my mom.

And here's my daughter, Rebecca, with her dad:

Rebecca in her "meeting" dress with her daddy
(First deployment to Iraq)

Rebecca's grandmother made that dress specifically for her to wear to greet her daddy. Later, she would learn a new father appreciation song---and drive us nearly insane singing "You're a Grand Old Dad" over and over during a cross-country move. Most recently, the two of them handled an epic move to grad school together, complete with cat and U-Haul and towed car trailer.

The references in her poem may not be clear to those who didn't grow up as a fighter pilot's daughter. But that's the beauty of father-daughter bonds---they are story written together.

The Fighter Pilot
by Rebecca Holmes

The throttle, the pressure suit, the callsign,
the rubber sleeves, the formation. The story
about being hit by lightning. Saturdays at the squadron
and urgent missions: rows of fake switches

in the simulator to flip all on, all off, and test flights
on the bench-press. The bar songs with the dirty parts
revised, the crud table, the afterburners,
the sortie, the tower, the roofstomp:

lexicon of all the nomad people who must
have left these rituals for us, although
scattered in pieces between Alabama, Virginia,
Rhode Island, Mississippi. The burning piano,

solemn prank and memorial for some long-dead
R. A. F. aviator, repeated here for the unspoken
name and for what might happen. The one about
the dead lizard in the Philippines. The broken nose.

The war stories, the sand, the contractors on the farm
where he grew up, building a silo, who didn’t
need advice and called him college boy. Always
the catfish meunière on the first night home

from the desert. He said the ice cream in the cafeteria
wasn’t bad at all. When I was a baby in Japan,
my feet never touched the ground until the box
of Tennessee dirt from my grandmother arrived,

until the proper ceremony, the flag, all the men
in dress blues filling the little house. Never
the slightest doubt about any tale in this canon.
I have seen the movies. I know fighter pilots

are all supposed to have a tragic flaw and someone
dies before the end. It wasn’t like that, but in August
on bike-rides we would peel out from the driveway
in formation. And at bedtime the trundle bed

was a runway: procedure was observed, the tower
notified, landing gear extended, instruments checked, and I
had to call the ball, Rebecca. It was better than any
cinema dogfight. We never needed enemies or flames.

----Rebecca M. Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today at Carol's Corner.

What I'm Reading Now: The Great Wall of Lucy Wu

2011-06-07T06:00:00.002-04:00

Made me laugh? Yup.

Made me cry? Yup.

Made me want to use the words "Judy Blume" in this review? Yup.

Sixth-grader Lucy Wu is obsessed with basketball and hopes to play for legendary UT Lady Vols coach Pat Summit one day. But that's a long ways off. For now, she's short, being forced to go to Chinese school, and in an extended battle with mean girl Sloane---who puts crickets in Lucy's lemon chicken. To top it off, she has to share her bedroom with her non-English speaking, Vapor Rub odor-emitting, suddenly visiting great-aunt, Yi Po.

This novel is about walls: at first, the one Lucy erects in her bedroom to keep her great-aunt at arm's length. But later, there's the one in Lucy's school bathroom scrawled with a mocking poem about Chinese people; the walls between Lucy and her basketball dreams; and most of all, the walls inside that we all use to keep other people out...

What I loved most about this book---and what caused me to invoke the name of Judy Blume---is how debut author Wendy Shang keeps Lucy firmly grounded in her family, but gives us complete access to her inner life. Here is Lucy explaining what sharing a room with her great-aunt is like:

"Yi Po woke up every day before the sun even peeped out. And did she tiptoe out quietly? Not without making the bed! I lay in bed and listened to her every morning, walking around in her flat slippers that made a fwap-fwap sound with every step. I soon noticed that she had a little pattern every morning. Whoosh fwap-fwap. She pulled up the blankets. Swish fwap-fwap. She smoothed the bed. Poom fwap-fwap. She puffed up the pillow.

By the time she fwap-fwapped out of the room, I was too fwapping mad to go back to sleep."

No walls there.

Cross-posted on Goodreads.

Poetry Friday: Morning by Billy Collins

2011-06-03T09:57:00.000-04:00

Billy Collins is on to me. He knows I'm a morning person---and even more so in summer when I can wake as early as I like and still be greeted by sunlight.

Morning

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,

the swale of the afternoon,

the sudden dip into evening,

then night with his notorious perfumes,

his many-pointed stars?

This is the best—

throwing off the light covers,

feet on the cold floor,

and buzzing around the house on espresso—

read the rest here

Poetry Friday is hosted today at The Writer's Armchair.

Poetry Friday: Cosmic and E.E. Cummings

2011-05-20T09:36:00.000-04:00

Cosmic, by Frank Cottrell Boyce, opens with a boy in a rocket ship, far above the Earth---and it's not science fiction. Not really. It's contemporary, with a solidly classic feel to the prose. My far-too short Goodreads commentary was: "Oh, yes, it's cosmic: a book with a totally believable voice and a wildly unbelievable plot. And it doesn't leave you feeling like you ate cotton candy. Wise and funny and wonderful."

I should've also said that it gave me the same feeling as E.E. Cummings's poem, "anyone lived in a pretty how town."

My first meeting with Cummings was in English class, in a hard-edged desk, with a worn anthology open in front of me. We were supposed to be bored. We were supposed to be cajoled into loving this stuff. We were supposed to not want to dance when we read these words:

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

What the what? My brain spun. I flipped the words around on my tongue like those ubiquitous Pop Rocks that were popular in the 70s.

And there was more.

Of course, we had to discuss the poet's unconventional use of punctuation, syntax and grammar, etc., etc. What the what, in other words. (Later I learned that he was influenced by Picasso's cubism, which makes complete sense.) But why the why---that's what I wondered. Why couldn't we sing like this all the time?

In Cosmic, the boy hero doesn't "down forget as up he grows." And up he does grow, prematurely, so that everyone mistakes him for an adult. Which puts him in some intensely sticky situations, like on a rocket bound for the moon as the one responsible "dad" overseeing a group of kid astronauts. (I told you it was unbelievable.)

I'm not sure why the why I delight in the otherworldly---and the other-wordy, like E.E.'s poems. I'm just grateful nothing has to be as it seems at first glance. That our pretty how towns can be mundane and extraordinary at the same time. That poetry and classic kids book share much in common----mostly, a belief in the cosmic.

Julie at The Drift Record has the Poetry Friday roundup today.

Poetry Friday: Found

2011-05-06T09:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I spent an hour writing letters to three of my readers. One wrote me about Operation Yes (and quizzed me about my life); two wrote me about Letters From Rapunzel (each with a drawing---one on a custom bookmark with my face in a tower, and the other, a fabulous portrait of Rapunzel with bangs. Because, as the writer explained, of course she would get bored and "experiment" with her hair.)

I answered all of them on plain notebook paper. Notebook paper helps me remember how much fun it was to steal a moment of class time to create a story, something I did a lot of in high school. I also need the lines, because my handwriting has always been of "C" quality (or below.) I save the letters to answer in batches of three to six at a time, because I find it takes the right frame of mind to deliver a response that's both kind and personal and informative--- and once I'm in the zone, I don't want to quit.

If I received more fan mail than I do, I could never keep up. Or afford to relish it. But I don't, so I do---relish it, love it, honor it. I always tell the senders that I appreciate and save their letters, and I hope they save mine. I doubt that one day, a letter I've written will show up on a blog like Letters of Note. But I try to remember that letters change lives. Letters give hope. Letters are a small way of listening to one another.

So, for today's Poetry Friday, I'm featuring a found poem, adapted from a letter sent by E.B. White to the children of Troy, Michigan, to congratulate them on their new public library. I think he knew his letter was more than a formality, or a publicity stunt. It was one alive person speaking to another alive person: I'm here! Find me!

Hide and Seek

A library is a good place to go
when you feel unhappy,
for there, in a book,
you may find encouragement
and comfort.

A library is a good place to go
when you feel bewildered,
for there, in a book,
you may have your question
answered.

Books are company,
in sad times and happy times,
for books are people---
people who have managed to stay alive
by hiding between the covers of a book.

You can read more letters to the kids at the library, from authors such as Dr. Seuss, here, at Letters of Note.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Terry at Family Bookshelf (formerly Scrub-a-Dub-Tub)

Poetry Friday: That's the Difference

2011-04-22T09:53:00.000-04:00

I'm conflicted. It's Good Friday and my first instinct is to repost Gerard Manley Hopkins's exquisite poem, Carrion Comfort. Hopkins writes compressed agony like no one else.

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

(See here for the rest of the poem and my post of three years ago.)

My other instinct is to sing loudly this darkly hilarious Lyle Lovett song:

God Will

Who keeps on trusting you
When you've been cheating

And spending your nights on the town
And who keeps on saying that he still wants you

When you're through running around
And who keeps on loving you

When you've been lying
Saying things ain't what they seem

God does
But I don't

God will
But I won't

And that's the difference
Between God and me

So who says he'll forgive you
And says that he'll miss you
And dream of your sweet memory

God does
But I don't

God will
But I won't

And that's the difference
Between God and me

I don't think that one will make it into a hymnal any time soon.

What else to do but call this a Good Poetry Friday?

The roundup today is hosted by BookAunt.

What's it like to be part of a military family?

2011-04-13T13:08:00.001-04:00

I didn't know there was video! And there's a nice write-up on the TATAL (Teens at the Arlington Library) blog.

By the way, did you know April is the Month of the Military Child? And that this week, First Lady Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden launched the Joining Forces initiative to support military families?

For a list of resources to help military students, please check out this post, Connecting with Students From Military Families.

Yes in every way

2011-04-12T09:00:00.000-04:00

You know an author visit has gone well when a week later, you're still smiling.

Each year, the Arlington Library's TAB (Teen Advisory Board) invites an author to speak to the middle school kids who participate in the program. This year, I was lucky enough to be that speaker. What's more, the entire county, under the banner of All Arlington Reads, is highlighting military themed books for the month of April and the library is hosting book discussions and exhibits and speakers and film screenings. (I'll be blogging more about one of those exhibits, the Combat Paper Project, later this week.)

Here are some quick shots of my visit.

I began with a story---what happened when my daughter received a folded note from her school counselor on the morning of Sept 11. I wondered if the students, so young when the attacks happened, would connect, but boy did they. You could've heard a pin drop.

Talking about military families

Quoting Miss Loupe's rule about not passing out before we start the improv. :)

The audience enthusiastically counted out my "ten"!

Awesome crowd. They really had fun improvising jody calls, and SO many of them spoke up when I asked about the good and bad things about being part of a military family.

I displayed other books about military families.

The kids LOVED the LGM pictures
(taken by my fabulous agent, Tina Wexler)

Talking about ways to say yes and how to give back
to veterans and military families.

The kids were so polite when they came up to get their books signed. Some shook my hand. So many said thank you. Some shared that their parents were military. Plus, it was fun to hear the variety of beautiful names from all cultures.

Book signing and posing for pictures afterwards. My hand was non-stop for a full hour. And the kids---as you can see---were totally terrific.

Afterwards, the librarians took me out to lunch---yummy mushroom soup and a grilled veggie sandwich---and it was one more chance to talk about books and writing and kids with people who Truly Get It.

Thank you, Friends of the Arlington Public Library, for making this day happen. It was what every author hopes for---to connect with readers in a powerful way.

One last story---and one of the reasons I'm still smiling this week. A student, as she came forward to have her book signed, told me her favorite chapter in Operation Yes was the one called "Do Something."

I asked why.

"Because that's my motto, too," she said.

Yes. Perfect. :)

Poetry Friday: Are Poetry Slams a Nuisance?

2011-04-08T06:00:00.009-04:00

"Poets should read in a controlled and compelling voice, one that lets the listener glide softly and gracefully under the spell of his verbal music. I do not go to poetry readings to be hollered at, hectored, harassed, bullied or read to in a stentorian style more appropriate for the amusement park."

--- A.S. Maulucci, from a Norwich Bulletin article titled "Slams are a Nuisance, and of No Real Use to True Poets" (Follow the link for the full rant. Be sure to read the thoughtful reply from another poet in the comments.)

To which I say:

This is National Poetry Month. There are poetry potlucks; haiku-a-day's; online poetry bookclubs, and yes, slams. I went to one at my local high school. It veered from slapstick (a poet slamming about being an athlete dropped his pants to reveal running shorts) to fem power (Seven Strong Women) to the most amazing controlled riff on being "black enough." I assure you that true poetry was present that night. Complete with hooting and hollering and shushing and cheering and crying.

I searched high and low for a bootlegged YouTube video that might have brought you there with me. No luck. But that's the thing about slams. You gotta be there. It's about signing up. Showing up. Not throwing up. What do you think those kids are going to remember from high school? The commutative property of addition? Or the night one of them admitted to not being able to deal with his mother's lupus?

The article I quoted from also says: "The work that gets read, recited or performed at these events tends to be trite, self indulgent, boring, narcissistic, embarrassing, obscene, boorish, coarse, uncultured, unintelligent, uncouth, or all of the above."

Of course. Add in self-pitying and you've got most of us on any given Sunday---and that's when we're trying really hard to be good.

I agree that poetry can and should be polished and lovely and intelligent, but the raw material it comes from is . . . well, raw. That's why slams work. Because we clearly see the rawness. And ourselves.

Which brings me to my poetry selection for today: Louder Than a Bomb, a documentary about the world's largest youth poetry slam. It releases on May 18.

Poetry Friday is hosted today at Madigan Reads.

Poetry Friday: Joining the Life Poetic

2011-03-25T07:45:00.000-04:00

Be warned: this post is a commercial for the weekly online poetry book club run by Laura Purdie Salas and Susan Taylor Brown. It's not too late to be hooked. Each Wednesday, she and Susan are reading a short chapter from Sage Cohen's Writing the Life Poetic and inviting us to read along with them and write a draft of a poem to share with each other. It began here, with Laura's post about why we write and read poetry. This week, Susan hosts the conversation which flows from Wallace Stevens' 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird (a poem I love, and yet poked at until it bled one Poetry Friday, see here. )

I haven't responded to this week's chapter yet because I was fiddling with last week's assignment, which was to observe someone you only know in passing. In my head, I called this assignment "Imagining a Life." And it lead me to what I'm sharing today, which is not a life imagined, but a poem that ran away with itself and became something else---perhaps a call for you to join us in writing poetry.

I used to know her name

She moved out;

her possessions---divans, taped rugs,

lamps as long as lances---exiting

in stately procession from the maw

of her garage, whose walls thinned

under the beat of the monster drum set

caged there when a family with a black-haired

son moved in. His mates bumped up

in a van with scraped doors to whoop

him out of bed at ten in the morning,

sunny profanities pricking

holes in the bird song until he squared

his ass and backpack in the middle seat

for a gig twelve hours away.

Then, one morning, she's back,

parked boldly in the midline

of her driveway, renters gone, her dog arched

over the front seat, paws on a lamp.

Dark ovals shade her eyes as she emerges;

I lift my hand; Why, Burger, I could say

to her dog, you've grown! But to her,

who moved to Potomac Landing,

I have nothing to shout; we fade;

I should've hopped in the battered

van with the hooligans, tossed

my name out the busted window,

grafted it to the thigh of a song.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by the always wonderful Mary Lee at A Year of Reading.

Poetry Friday: Teaching the Girls

2011-03-18T06:00:00.000-04:00

I don't box as much as I used to. My gym moved the heavy bag to a crowded spot, the speed bag is always deflated, and there's no room to jump rope. I know: excuses, excuses. Plus, I'm developing a strange addiction to TRX, still doing boot camp, and loving the hot yoga class I discovered. The thing about my exercise routine is that it's never routine. I like change. I like variety. I like a dash of fun. But in reading today's poem, I remembered why I loved boxing. It's expansive, in the sense that it widens the way you see the world. It's not solitary, although the training can be. It's tough, but not solemn, work. Like love itself.

Teaching the Girls
by Janice Lynch Schuster

After dinner the girls shadow box
In the kitchen. There is hardly space
For their joy, their blonde energy
As they bob and weave near the counter.
I warn them away from the burners,
coffee pot and knives.
Metaphors fly; they are merry and warm,
I am their crazy coach, reciting
Poetry and combinations
As what’s left of dinner burns.
Chin down, guard up!
I mimic my trainer. Light on your feet,
Move! I’ve been training them for years
For the punches life will land,
The world beautiful and brutal,
Everyday and extraordinary.
I want them ready to slip
Through it as we do this night,
So wired by their own lives,
Nothing crowding them in a corner
The whole arena of my love
Resounding in their laughter.

---printed with permission of the author, all rights reserved by her.

Janice Lynch Schuster is the author of a new collection, "Saturday at the Gym," due out in April. Her poems have appeared in Poet Lore and The Broadkill Review. Her essays have appeared in The Washington Post and Washingtonian Magazine. She is the co-author of several books on how to improve care at the end of life, and is senior writer for the Altarum Institute. A mother of six, she enjoys boxing, walking, and writing. She'll be giving a reading at The Writer's Center on April 17, if you'd like to hear more.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Andi at a wrung sponge

What I'm Reading Now: A Time of Miracles

2011-03-07T00:01:00.001-05:00

A Time of Miracles by Anne-Laure Bondoux,
translated from the French by Y. Maudet

I would've loved this book when I was in middle school. Back then, I sought out stories of heartbreak and disaster---most of them set in wartime and most of them offering a glimpse of the beauty still possible in the middle of human waves of conflict. Most of those stories would've been set during the Holocaust, but this one isn't. It begins in a makeshift camp called the Complex, in 1992, a time so recent that I was bewildered not to know of it, scrambling to figure out what was going on and why bad things were happening around me. Everything seemed as achingly real and as slightly off-kilter as a vivid dream.

The precise language here is stunning, and manages to be wholly clear while retaining a cadence that makes you believe the translator didn't stray far from the original French. Most of all, the novel never wavers from the viewpoint of the child narrator, a boy named Koumail, who as a baby was rescued from a train wreck with only a French passport. As he journeys with his rescuer, the saintly Gloria, he grows slowly more aware of both his past and his dangerous present until at last, he (and we) can see the whole of the story which has engulfed him.

If I'd have studied the map at the front of the book, I might have realized sooner that this was a story of refugees fleeing the armed conflict that followed the breakup of the Soviet Union, but I was afraid of learning too much too soon. And to me, this is the magic of A Time of Miracles. We witness only as much as we are able to bear, but grow capable by the end of the story of knowing the full truth.

Highly recommended. Cross-posted at my Goodreads account.

Note: This book was the winner of the 2011 Batchelder Award for "a children's book considered to be the most outstanding of those books originally published in a language other than English in a country other than the United States, and subsequently translated into English and published in the United States." I'm not embarrassed to say that I read it because my friend, Adrienne Furness, served on the committee that chose it, and I was deeply curious to see what she and her fellow librarians had selected.

Poetry Friday: The Comedy of Errors

2011-03-04T09:57:00.002-05:00

Image from the Folger Shakespeare Theater

My husband and I saw Shakespeare's The Comedy of Errors at the Folger Shakespeare Theater last weekend. It was a twisty farce done up right with clever masks and extraordinary physical clowning.

But, as most comedies do, it got me thinking seriously.

From The Comedy of Errors, here is Antipholus of Ephesus at the end of the play, in Act V, Scene I, describing his earlier mental health evaluation by a Dr. Pinch:

"They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
A dead-looking man: this pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;"

Well, that IS what happened. We saw it in Act III, Scene IV. But it was all a big misunderstanding. Because Pinch thought Antipholus was someone else. Namely, his twin, also named Antipholus, but of Syracuse.

So why is it funny to hear Antipholus's outrage at the incident? Especially when he concludes with this (unwitnessed) account of his escape:

"Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities."

Well, it's funny because of the gnawing.

But mostly, we delight in his over-the-top catalog of Pinch's faults, an exaggeration with which we secretly concur, having seen the duped doctor's monstrously unjust mistake just stage minutes earlier.

Which brings me to my serious thinking: How much of poetry is built on the fulcrum of error? Overblown words balancing on one teensy tiny point of truth?

Many poems describe what we, as ordinary people, have already witnessed---we've all seen a flower, or a bird, or a deserted street. We all lived through loss and love and danger and disaster. We don't need poets to catalog the soap operas of our lives.

No, we need them to make deliberate errors in their wild depictions of such things. We need their words to bind us, to confirm our madness, to force us to gnaw our way out of the "dark and dankish vault."

Is that an exaggeration? Yup. Go ahead and Pinch me.

A review of The Comedy of Errors and a short video preview can be found in the Washington Post. If you want to see it, a limited number of standing room only tickets are available for the run through March 6. The dramaturg's notes are here.

The Comedy of Errors is also playing at the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton, VA through March 31. Their Ten Things You Might Like to Know about the play is great background material. And as a side note, registration for their Shakespeare camps for adults is now open. Go! Make your own errors! I did last year, and may do it again.

Poetry Friday is hosted today at The Small Nouns.

Military Families Need Libraries

2011-02-28T12:20:00.000-05:00

Liz, I'm a bit late to your Librarian Love challenge, but here it is!

Librarian Sondy Eklund has sent an open letter to the Fairfax County Board of Supervisors, asking that they restore funding to our libraries, reversing the deep cuts that have hit the system over the last two years.

I don't always comment on such posts, but I did today, on behalf of military families. Here's what I said:

I’m a Fairfax County resident, but I’m also part of a military family. We’ve moved many, many times as part of my husband’s service, but the library is one of the first places we go when we arrive in a new community. We scan the bulletin boards for jobs and classes and summer camps, we talk to librarians about what’s unique in the local area, we take our kids—who know no one yet— to story hours and library activities, we check out books that comfort and inform and sustain us. The truth is that every move involves stress and disruption and uncertainty. We might be in temporary housing. We might be facing an immediate deployment. But the library is, and always has been, part of how a new place, ever so slowly, comes to feel like “home.”

I challenge the Board of Supervisors to imagine that THEY are new to this area of Virginia, and to go to the smallest local branch of the library nearest them for one afternoon. What will they find? Who will welcome them? Will the library even be open?

I can’t think of any defensible reason why libraries—which are wildly successful at carrying out their mission—should not be saluted and honored and yes, financially supported, for the outstanding service they give to the people of Fairfax County. They’ve always been there for us.

Please, if you have something to add, Sondy's open letter and blog post are here. And Liz, thanks for the Librarian Love challenge---it isn't over!

Poetry Friday: Exchange Student

2011-02-24T21:12:00.000-05:00

Happy Poetry Friday! The roundup is here today, so Mr. Linky is on duty at the end of this post, ready to collect your links.

Rebecca investigates a double-helix sculpture
near the genetics department on the Trinity Campus, Dublin, Ireland

In May, my daughter, Rebecca, graduates from college with her degree in physics and a minor in creative writing. It's been exciting as her mom to follow her explorations in both particles and poetry---especially when she emails to say more of her work has been accepted by her school's literary magazine, The Cellar Door. (I'll try to link when "On the Way to Mars" is published later this spring. It's a favorite of mine.)

Many of her poems are about science, and I've shared them here and here. The one I'm sharing today isn't. In the fall of her junior year, Rebecca spent a semester as an exchange student at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland. As an Air Force kid, she'd lived all over the world, and was well-practiced at adapting to new people and places, so much so that I didn't worry much about her heading to Dublin alone to find a room to rent.

I guess I should have, because the room she found, while close to campus, was in a flat with clearly unwelcoming landlords. Ones who left her ugly notes if she left a scrap of lettuce on the kitchen counter. She did get to travel throughout Ireland, sing Mozart's Requiem with a local choir, read James Joyce and eat pub food. But when she shared this poem with me, I was reminded of how isolated a strange place can make you feel, no matter how seasoned a world traveler you are. And how much the small kindnesses exchanged between people---or lack thereof---can cure or wound.

I told her that her words made me sad because not everything about her time in Ireland was rosy, and she said: Oh, Mom, it's a poem. I had to make it more dramatic.

In Northern Ireland

Exchange Student
by Rebecca Holmes

In the last two weeks after I left the rented room
and came to stay with a classmate’s family, it was
the icy inherited house, the high ceiling,
the apples drying over the stove that cured me,
the mince pies. It was the kindness, it was—
it was sleeping the whole night warm like a little sister
on a mattress on the floor, the cold scuttle to the shower,
the steam flooding from a plate of eggs
and potatoes, carols on the radio, dry toast
with butter and jam. It was the antidote
to a frozen grocery store aisle where I stood
between the American-style chocolate chip cookies
and bags of Christmas candy, to walking
back to the room alone past all the bridges
over the Liffey—each early DART ride to school
together was a piece of it, as we ran between the cars
to the front of the train while snow fell over the bay,
slipped the turnstiles at Pearse Street Station,
ran until the flakes melted in the waves.

Homemade mince pie

Poetry Friday: Poison and Wine

2011-02-18T09:26:00.002-05:00

Once a long time ago, my husband convinced me a date to see Jason and the Scorchers was a charming idea. You'd think the name of the band would've clued me in, but decades later, we only have to allude to that night in passing before we're both tossing salt over our shoulders to prevent another disastrous "You Have No Idea Who I am as a Person" pothole in our relationship.

Even though he led me astray years ago, I accepted his invitation last weekend to see another act unknown to me for Valentine's Day, and squelched any fear that after twenty-six years of marriage, we might be due for another What Were You Thinking? moment.

Not so. The Civil Wars were everything I love in music----raw, lovely, equally sad and funny, dramatic, exquisitely and emotionally performed.

You only know what I want you to
I know everything you don't want me to
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine
Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine
Oh I don't love you but I always will
Oh I don't love you but I always will
Oh I don't love you but I always will
I always will

I don't suppose that's the most romantic song. But here's what its creators, Joy Williams and John Paul White, say about it:

"Poison & Wine" fits the paradigm of subject matter too true to be spoken, as opposed to sung. "That song probably does sum us up—The Civil Wars, the name of the band—as well as any song that we've written," White says. It's the one song on the album written with an outside collaborator, their friend Chris Lindsey. "We're all married, and we were all talking about the good, the bad and the ugly, and just felt like: What would you say to someone if you were actually brutally honest—the things that you could never say because it would turn them away or let the cat out of the bag or reveal yourself to be weaker? What would you actually say if you had this invisible curtain around you and could just scream it in somebody's face and they'd actually never hear it? We were all being very painfully honest, because we're all very comfortable around each other and know that things like that never leave the room, except in a song. I'm pretty proud of that song, to be honest."

I admit that during our dating years, I regularly questioned (tortured) my husband with an inquisition designed to determine What Love Is. And if I loved him. And if I did, What That Meant.

The only better answer I have now is this: Love can live through a Jason and the Scorchers hellfest. You can slowly become more known to the one you love, even as the unknown is a current taking you further out, together, to the end of the world.

P.S. Joy wore the most gorgeous velvet dress with a blue bow that made me instantly crush on her for not defaulting to jeans and a glitzy top.

P.P. S. My husband was worried about not providing me with a traditional Valentine's Day dinner pre-concert. I'm here to say the two chili dogs and beer I consumed at Jammin' Java were heavenly.

For a glimpse of Joy's dress, the Washington Post reviewed the concert in a much more musically focused manner here.

More about The Civil Wars, including some free downloads, tour dates, and a link to their recently released album, Barton Hollow, is here.

Mary Ann at Great Kid Books has the Poetry Friday roundup today.

Poetry Friday: The Last Word of a Blue Bird

2011-02-11T08:56:00.001-05:00

Last week, I was on retreat in an old Vermont house (circa 1840) where I fell in love with this wooden bluebird adorning the front fence. The day before, the blizzard that socked Chicago and other parts of the Midwest had swept across us too, leaving fresh snow and shockingly bright sunshine in its wake.

This bird reminds me of how lovely it is to focus on one beautiful thing; it's what poetry does so well, and why it can be the counterpoint to the endless browsing of modern life. I love the Frost poem I found, too, because of the line "do everything!" One thing/every thing. Poetry gives us both.

The Last Word of a Blue Bird

by Robert Frost

As I went out a Crow
In a low voice said, "Oh,
I was looking for you.
How do you do?
I just came to tell you
To tell Lesley (will you?)
That her little Bluebird
Wanted me to bring word
That the north wind last night
That made the stars bright
And made ice on the trough
Almost made him cough
His tail feathers off.
He just had to fly!
But he sent her Good-by,
And said to be good,
And wear her red hood,
And look for the skunk tracks
In the snow with an ax-
And do everything!
And perhaps in the spring
He would come back and sing.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Carol at Rasco from RIF.

Poetry Friday: Justin Townes Earle's Harlem River Blues (plus a cry from Kabir)

2011-01-14T09:56:00.000-05:00

Was there ever a more infectious song about drowning? (Ya-huh, that's an original song, even though you'd swear it's a classic as old as a muddy river.)

I'm puzzled over why a call to suicide is cheering me up today. Justin Townes Earle seems to be saying, "Go out on top. Don't wait for life to screw you over, or for you to screw up in life. Drown while you're in a state of grace."

As one who deeply loves quite a few people who are bursting with grace, or who are just figuring out how filled with grace they are, or who are reaching for grace at a moment much later than they planned, or who are simply tired and yearning for grace after being beat, time and time again, I don't want ANY of them to be covered up "without a sound."

If Earle meant that, then why is the music---the emotional current of the song as opposed to the intellectual argument of the lyrics----so joyous? Because walking that walk---"up the FDR" (a NYC parkway that runs along the Harlem River)---"a-clapping and a-singing"---is exactly how to survive. I can't imagine the FDR is attractive. I can't imagine it's easy to walk. And I can't imagine the river at your side ever gives up and goes away instead of lapping "dirty water" against your ears. So what to do, then, but set its siren call to a transparent and luminous counter-rhythm? Brilliant, Mr. JTE.

In other words,

Do you have a body? Don't sit on the porch!
Go out and walk in the rain!
If you are in love,
then why are you asleep?
Wake up, wake up!
You have slept millions and millions of years
Why not wake up this morning?

----poem by Indian poet Kabir, as translated by Robert Bly, found in the pages of Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World

More about Justin Townes Earl's album, Harlem River Blues

Poetry Friday is hosted today by poet Laura Purdie Salas.

Poetry Friday: Song

2010-12-17T07:46:00.000-05:00

I envision heaven in a selfish manner. I don't care which cloud you stick me on as long as I'm in possession of an honest-to-God, otherworldly singing voice. I've always felt broken because I can't keep a tune. What's in my head and my heart never matches up (not even a little) with what croaks out of my mouth. So being able to hang in there with the archangels is this tone-deaf girl's idea of being healed and whole.

In this season of using light to defend against darkness, music is one of our strongest weapons. I give you two examples: this poem, Song, which illuminates a lone singer, and the following video, which captures a flash mob of singers in a food court as they help the weary world rejoice.

Song
by Eamon Grennan

At her Junior High School graduation,
she sings alone
in front of the lot of us--

her voice soprano, surprising,
almost a woman's. It is
the Our Father in French,

the new language
making her strange, out there,
fully fledged and

read the rest here

Poetry Friday is hosted today at The Poem Farm.

Poetry Friday: Hyper

2010-12-10T09:17:00.001-05:00

I don't know how much time you have today. Enough for both a math doodle video and an exquisite poem about ADHD?

The video captures the quicksilver leaps of the human mind when it's chased by boredom into a world of knots and snakes and other satisfyingly twisty and mysterious doodle patterns. The poem, in a similar vein, ponders stillness and speed and perception. Each asks us: what's the rush? And I don't mean that in the standard "stop and smell the roses" way. I mean it as: what's the joy? What's the reason? Why do we bother to look?

Doodling in Math Class: Snakes and Graphs (with thanks to James Gurney, for posting this.) A commenter on his site says "The creator of this amazing clip is Vi Hart. Her website has many more such treats. She is the daughter of a creative math teacher and sculptor, George Hart, who also has good things to see at his website."

an excerpt from the middle of

Hyper-
by David Baker

[...]
Let me put it another way. After
twenty-four math problems, the twenty-fifth
still baffles her, pencil gnawed, eraser-
scuff-shadows like black veins on her homework.

It's not just the theory of division
she no longer gets, it's her hot clothes, her
itchy ear, the ruby-throated hummingbird's
picture on the fridge, what's in the fridge, whose

socks these are, why, until I'm exhausted
and yell again. Until she's gone away
to her room, lights off, to sulk, read, cry, draw.
No longer trusting to memory, she

writes everything in her journal now, then
ties it with a broken strand of necklace.
Of her friends: I am the funny one. Mom:
She has red hair and freckles to. Under Dad:

I have his bad temper. I know. I looked.

In one sketch she finished, just before we
learned what was wrong—I mean, before we knew
what to call what was wrong, how to treat it,

how to treat her—she captured her favorite
cat with a skill that skips across my chest.

read the entire poem here

Poetry Friday is hosted today by the fabulous Jama at alphabet soup.

Some Resources – Connecting with Students from Military Families

2010-11-23T06:00:00.005-05:00

As promised, here's the resource list we handed out at our NCTE talk. Rosanne Parry, Suzanne Morgan Williams and I all contributed to the list, but it was Suzanne who did the heavy lifting of putting all the links in one cohesive document.

Some Resources – Connecting with Students from Military Families

National Council of Teachers of English, 2010

provided by Sara Lewis Holmes, Rosanne Parry, and Suzanne Morgan Williams

The Military Child – School Support:

http://www.militaryimpactedschoolsassociation.org/misa/documents/Educators_Guide.pdf A guide for educators on reactions of students to deployment with many suggestions and additional resources. From the Military Impacted Schools Association. General website is Military Impacted Schools Association www.militaryimpactedschoolsassociation.org

www.ourmilitarykids.org which provides funding for extra support during wartime, including tutoring and extracurricular activities for military kids whose parents are in the Guard or Reserves.

Student 2 Student and Junior Student 2 Student: a student-led program at the high school and middle school levels to support students who are transitioning to and from their school. For more information regarding Student 2 Student, email S2S@MilitaryChild.org.

http://www.militarychild.org/child-student/student-2-student/

Operation Military Kids: http://www.operationmilitarykids.org/public/home.aspx -- great booklet for helping military kids in school at this website.

OperationWeAreHere: comprehensive list of support programs for military children and teens, including excellent links for teachers, and a resource list for Veterans Day. http://www.operationwearehere.com/ChildrenResources.html

For the Military Family:

Military One Source: www.MilitaryOneSource.com Education, relocation, parenting, stress - Military OneSource helps with just about any need. Available by phone or online, this free service is provided by the Department of Defense for active-duty, Guard, and Reserve service members and their families.

National Guard Family Program http://www.guardfamily.org

Military Families Speak Out http://www.mfso-oregon.org/ -supporting families who openly oppose the war.

Programs that use the Arts – art, literature, theater to support the military child:

The annual Military Child and the Arts Contest Each year children are asked to submit work that can be utilized in the MCEC's publications, conferences, and other activities. Included in the request for work from military-connected children, kindergarten through high school, are artwork, film, and writing (essays, poetry, and short stories). http://www.militarychild.org/child-student/arts/

Tell Me a Story: an initiative that was created to empower our military children by using literature and their own stories in a way that fosters skills for resilience, strong peer and parent connections, a sense of pride and accomplishment, and a caring community. http://www.militarychild.org/military-parent/tell-me-a-story/

A Story Before Bed: Parents who are members of one of the branches of the U.S. Armed Forces who are deploying or already deployed away from their children for any amount of time are eligible to sign up for free recordings from A Story Before Bed. http://www.astorybeforebed.com/military

United Through Reading: helps ease the stress of separation for military families by having deployed parents read children’s books aloud via DVD for their child to watch at home. http://www.unitedthroughreading.org/military/

Operation Homecoming Writing Program: The NEA’s program "Operation Homecoming: Writing the Wartime Experience," now an online project, encourages the soldiers to discuss their experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq. http://www.nea.gov/national/homecoming/index.html

Also, the NEA's "Great American Voices" and "Shakespeare in American Communities" visited military bases in 2004. http://www.nea.gov/news/news04/bases.html

The Philoctetes Project: Theater of War presents readings of Sophocles' Ajax and Philoctetes to military communities across the United States. These ancient plays timelessly and universally depict the psychological and physical wounds inflicted upon warriors by war. By presenting these plays to military audiences, the hope is to de-stigmatize psychological injury and open a safe space for dialogue about the challenges faced by service members, veterans, and their caregivers and families. http://www.philoctetesproject.org/press.html

Connecting with and Supporting Troops and Veterans – Possible Class Projects:

Joining Forces http://www.whitehouse.gov/joiningforces/ A national initiative, launched by First Lady Michele Obama and Dr. Jill Biden, "to mobilize all sectors of society to give our service members and their families the opportunities and support they have earned." Also on Facebook.

USO Go to http://www.uso.org/programs.aspx for a list of programs the USO provides that may be useful to your students or that your students may want to support.

Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA) For America’s newest generation of veterans and the people who support them. This includes a Troops Charities page. Or visit http://iava.org/take-action and http://iava.org/transition-home , http://iava.org/content/organize

America Supports You www.americasupportsyou.mil A nationwide program launched by the Department of Defense recognizes citizens’ support of our of our military men and women and communicates that support to them. It includes an online e-mail form for messages.

Letters to Soldiers www.Letterstosoldiers.org provides an online e-mail form to send messages to soldiers.

Holiday Mail for Heroes http://www.redcross.org/holidaymail sponsored by the American Red Cross and Pitney Bowes. From here, you can learn how to send your holiday mail to our American service members. The deadline for mailing your letters to the Red Cross is December 10, 2010

AnySoldier.com www.AnySoldier.com for Community groups, churches, etc. that may want a more ongoing relationship with someone in our armed forces. You can choose a group of deployed military to receive care packages and/or letters.

Fisher Houses http://www.fisherhouse.org/ provide lodging for families of injured troops and veterans close to veteran and military hospitals. Fisher House also sponsors scholarships for military children.

Information about Traumatic Brain Injury

Brainline.Org www.Brainline.org a site devoted to preventing, treating and living with traumatic brain injury.

The Journey Home www.traumaticbraininjury@oz.org This site provides an informative and sensitive exploration of Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), including information for patients, family members, and caregivers.)

Defense and Veterans Brain Injury Center www.dvbic.org Their mission is to serve active duty military, their beneficiaries, and veterans with traumatic brain injuries (TBIs) through state-of-the-art clinical care.

The Real Warriors www.realwarriors.net This campaign promotes the processes of building resilience, facilitating recovery and supporting reintegration of returning service members, veterans and their families.)

ReMIND.org - The Bob Woodruff Foundation www.ReMIND.org educates the public about needs of injured service members, veterans and their families as they reintegrate into their communities. Empowers all people to take action.

Musicorps: http://musicorps.net/About.html Aids injured vets by adapting musical instruments for prosthetics, and by using musical instruction to enhance recovery from brain injury.

Read Our Memorial Day Posts at Teens-Read-Too

We were invited to create this trio of posts for Memorial Day. This was meaningful to us, and we hope it will be to you also. Enjoy

http://trtbookclub.blogspot.com/2010/05/visit-with-rosanne-parry.html

http://trtbookclub.blogspot.com/2010/05/visit-with-suzanne-morgan-williams.html

http://trtbookclub.blogspot.com/2010/05/visit-with-sara-lewis-holmes.html

Find Us Online

Sara Lewis Holmes: websites: www.saralewisholmes.com and www.operationyesbook.com

Sara has a free downloadable teacher’s guide at all of her sites which includes a glossary of military terms: http://www.operationyesbook.com/Operation_Yes/Teachers.html

E- mail: email@saralewisholmes.com

Blog: Read*Write*Believe http://www.saralewisholmes.blogspot.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/saralewisholmes or http://twitter.com/operationyes

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/saralewisholmes

Rosanne Parry: website: http://www.rosanneparry.com/

E-mail: rosanneparry@comcast.net

Goodreads page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1472137.Rosanne_Parry

Blog: From the Mixed Up Files of Middle Grade Authors http://www.fromthemixedupfiles.com/

Suzanne Morgan Williams: www.suzannemorganwilliams.com Suzanne also has a teacher’s guide of lesson suggestions for Bull Rider. Go to Fiction/Teachers.

Email: suzanne@suzannemorganwilliams.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/SuzyMWilliams

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/suzannemorganwilliams

Blog: Too Much Information http://www.suzannemorganwilliams.blogspot.com

NCTE Stands Behind Military Kids

2010-11-22T06:00:00.000-05:00

Isn't this awesome? I asked teachers and authors attending the NCTE Conference if they would participate in the National Military Family Association's "Wall of Thanks" to show support for military families. And look how many said yes!

(If you want to join us, go to this site and download the PDF of the sign. Fill in your name, hold it up and snap a photo of yourself. Upload the photo, and you'll be part of the slideshow.)

David Macinnis Gill

Wendy Mass

Margaret Peterson Haddix

Anna J. Small Roseboro

Tricia Stohr-Hunt

Holly Black

Carrie Ryan

My NCTE panel on "Military Families in Fiction":
Rosanne Parry, Suzanne Morgan Williams, and me

Jessica Anderson, Jo Whittemore, P.J. Hoover

Gennifer Choldenko

Teachers and others who attended our panel on military families

Oh, and yes, I brought home a lot of books.

The haul

And my signing at the Scholastic booth was wonderful. They always make me feel like a rock star.

At the Scholastic booth
(note my Scholastic red dress)

To everyone who came by to say hi, to buy books, to hug me, to tell me your class is using Operation Yes in literature circles, to share that you are reading my book to your three boys, to say that you're buying my book for your grown brother :), or just to give a wave of encouragement: Thank you!

And to the young boy who walked by, snapped his head around and pointed at my cover, and said "I loved that book!", you are in charge of the world from now on, you hear?

Poetry Friday and What I'm Reading Now: Borrowed Names

2010-11-12T10:08:00.001-05:00

Finding a book to read while I'm revising is tricky. If I pick a compulsive page-turner, I'm tempted to not write but read in great gulps. If I pick a novel too close to my own attempt, I worry about confusion and undue influence. If I only read the Washington Post and my email, though, I get fiction-thirsty. I long for something that helps me remember why I'm doing this writing gig in the first place.

So it's with great happiness I report that Jeannine Atkins' verse biography, Borrowed Names, has come to my rescue.

The poems in Borrowed Names dive into the historically rich lives of three mother-daughter pairs (Laura Ingalls and Rose Wilder; Madame C.J. Walker and A'Lelia; Marie and Irène Curie) but they linger on the personal undercurrents, illuminating the ongoing push-pull of relationships where women both love and doubt each other's choices.

Borrowed Names is also an exquisitely honest account of how any creative endeavor, be it raising a daughter or writing or starting a business or exploring the scientific frontier, can be both richly rewarding and emotionally turbulent. While reading it, I'm reminded of how the right word can make me shiver, and how beginnings always affect endings, and how, when you read, you are hoping--- no--- NEEDING--- to have "the top of your head taken off" as Emily would say. It's exactly what my writing soul was thirsty for. Thanks, Jeannine!

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Terry at Scrub-a-Dub-Tub.

Salute

2010-11-11T00:02:00.002-05:00

In honor of Veterans Day, I salute my husband, Mike Holmes, who has given almost 30 years of service to the United States Air Force.

I'm also happy to say that I will be speaking on a panel about military families at the National Council of Teachers of English next week.

National Council of Teachers of English

Fiction and the Military Family

(with Rosanne Parry and Suzanne Williams)

"Giving Military Kids Roots

Through Literature and the Arts"

Friday, November 19, 2010 12:30 PM to 1:45 PM

As part of our talk, we'll be handing out a list of resources for teachers and others interested in connecting with military families. As soon as it's ready, I'll post a permanent link here on the blog. Thank you to all who serve our country, both veterans and their families.

Poetry Friday: Poppies by Sandra McPherson

2010-10-29T09:40:00.000-04:00

Yes, that's me, the orange crayon in the box.

(I wish I could find the rest of the pictures

of my colorful cohorts that Halloween.)

I love orange. Not so much traffic cone orange, but golden orange, the color of autumn trees after a heavy rain, when the leaves radiate like inextinguishable flames. I didn't know quite why I loved this color so much until I read the opening line of Poppies, by Sandra McPherson. The progression of imagery in the poem trails into sadness, which is difficult. I wanted more blazing. Sigh.

Poppies
by Sandra McPherson

Orange is the single-hearted color. I remember
How I found them in a vein beside the railroad,
A bumble-bee fumbling for a foothold
While the poppies' petals flagged beneath his boot.

I brought three poppies home and two buds still sheathed.
I amputated them above the root. They lived on artlessly
Beside the window for a while, blazing orange, bearing me
No malice. Each four-fanned surface opened

To the light. They were bright as any orange grove.
I watched them day and night stretch open and tuck shut

Read the rest here.

P.S. Don't miss Poets.org's take on Halloween, including their Poetry Haunted House.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Toby at The Writer's Armchair

Writing Mantras

2010-10-21T09:01:00.000-04:00

I like to write while listening to yoga music. It puts me in the zone. Since I don't understand Sanskrit, the words aren't distracting. The beat, based on breath, is energizing and relaxing at the same time, like a strong cup of tea. And best of all, I've developed a Pavlovian response to it. When I hear the music, I write.

I'm also addicted to taping mantras to my laptop. For Letters From Rapunzel, it was this fortune cookie fortune:

For Operation Yes, it was:

SERVE THE STORY

Lately, in my continuing struggle to revise a YA manuscript, I've gone through a slew of them, and I'm toying with putting up Auden's quote about poetry, which I think perfectly describes the complexity of a YA novel:

"Clear thinking about mixed feelings"

Or perhaps this one, which reminds me not to bother being someone I'm not:

"Cool and I have never met upon the high road of life." -- M.T. Anderson

Do you have a writing mantra?

Poetry Friday: Dandelion

2010-10-15T09:18:00.000-04:00

This is me, once again reminding you to sign up for the Poetry 180 series, "a poem a day for American high schools," but really, it's a stream for all of us. Here's poem #156:

Dandelion

Julie Lechevsky

My science teacher said
there are no monographs
on the dandelion.

Unlike the Venus fly-trap
or Calopogon pulchellus,
it is not a plant worthy of scrutiny.

It goes on television
between the poison squirt bottles,
during commercial breakaways from Ricki Lake.

But that's how life
parachutes
to my home.

Home,
where they make you do

Read the rest here.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by my poetry sister and fellow Cybils judge, Liz Garton Scanlon. (Remember to nominate a poetry book for the Cybils by midnight tonight!)

Limitations and Words in the Dust

2010-10-13T10:52:00.000-04:00

"Limitations, honestly faced, are the greatest assets in producing a work of art."---caricaturist Al Hirschfeld.

This quote (pulled from at the always interesting blog, Letters of Note,) is taken from Hirschfeld's personal correspondence with artist Peter Emslie, but truly, I love the whole letter. It's the kind of utterly impractical, yet life-changing advice that feeds you, day after day, and pushes you out in the right direction instead of hobbling you with self-doubt.

Of course, we're limited. But the desire to be more than we are, the need to strive for what we can't have---that's where story happens. A novel is a failed attempt to tell the truth any other way. A poem is a wrong-headed impulse to cage what can't be contained. Every piece of art is a confession that our legs are broken, our hearts tired, our souls, starving.

I just finished reading Words in the Dust, Trent Reedy's debut novel about a young girl in Afghanistan. Zulaikha's life, by any measure, is limited. She is taunted by boys who call her "Donkeyface." She is bound by culture, laws, time, and war. Barely any stories of girls in Afghanistan survive the scouring forces that turn their lives into wind-blown dust. And yet, here, despite the odds, is a life painstakingly held to the light.

The author was a soldier in the Iowa National Guard and is a Facebook friend. The editor is Cheryl Klein, my editor for Operation Yes. The book is graced with the poetry of Afghanistan-born poet, Jami; peopled with characters as fully realized as your own family, and infused with a quiet, watchful intensity. I don't know how to stop wanting to be more than I am; perhaps that's why I ached so much for Zulaikha to have more than she does.

Read in ARC form. Available for sale in January.

Southern Festival of Books in Nashville, TN

2010-10-10T15:59:00.000-04:00

Look who greeted me upon my arrival
to War Memorial Plaza
for the Southern Festival of Books
in Nashville, TN
They must have known Operation Yes was coming.

At LEAD Academy,
talking about military families, writing books, and saying YES

Great kids
I wrote a jody call just for them
and boy, did they belt it out

I don’t know, but I’ve heard it’s true,

LEAD Academy has the tightest crew.

We can’t be quiet; we’ll say it loud,

We are LEADERS and we are proud.

I don’t know, but I’ve been told

Books are better than piles of gold.

We can’t be quiet; we’ll say it loud,

We are LEADERS and we are proud.

We have a secret; we confess,

Battles are won by saying YES.

We can’t be quiet; we’ll say it loud,

We are LEADERS and we are proud.

We can’t be quiet; we’ll say it loud,

We are LEADERS and we are proud.

Books sales, my kryptonite

They had both my books in stock.
And my panel on Contemporary Military Families in Fiction
went really well. I was happy.

Books by my co-presenter, Dana Reinhardt
including her novel, The Things a Brother Knows.
My husband absconded with my copy,
and just texted me his review:
Wicked good.

Me with authors Dana Reinhardt and Louis Sachar

Jon Sciescka was in the house,
talking up Spaceheadz and Guys Read.
I didn't get to meet him again, but I did sit in his
chair! He had been eating breakfast
with Tom Angleberger, author of Origami Yoda . . .

and then I sat down with Tom,
so you know the magic in the chair totally rubbed off on me, right?

Tom also asked if he could snap a quick picture of me reading for this project for a librarian friend. (Click one of those map pins in Tennessee, and you'll see a pic of me, a book, and a biscuit.)

See that name? Lauren Kate?
In a former life, she was my editor at HarperCollins.
She was the reason Letters From Rapunzel was pulled from the slush and became a real book.

What a total pleasure to see her again, meet her husband,
and have her meet mine, and to rejoice in her great success.

Me and Lauren

I also got to catch the end of Deborah Wiles reading from Countdown.

I cannot wait to read this!

I had time to duck into the gorgeous
downtown Nashville Public Library

Maps of Nashville

Check out the macarons at Provence,
the cafe adjacent to the library.
I had one lemon and one chocolate. Mmmmm.

Provence was also where I met Jules (from Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast) for a morning chat which was going splendidly until I thought to check the time. Holy crap. I thought we'd talked for an hour. NO. It was THREE.
I had to run to my hotel to check out, and Jules had to run to a Festival session, so it was quick hugs and sadly, no pictures of us together. Waaaaah. We need an official timekeeper when we get together.

You know it was a Southern Festival
because the author hospitality bags contained
mini MoonPies and Jack Daniels.

"Atticus Finch for Chief Justice" t-shirts

Monuments to Music

Guitars everywhere

All in all, a spectacular weekend. Thank you, Nashville, and the Southern Festival of Books. Truly a class act.

Brought to You By the Letter "N"

2010-10-06T22:36:00.001-04:00

The other day in the car we were listening to my husband's iPod. He has a LOT of music, and for kicks, we've been listening to the songs in alphabetical order.

L, of course, was much ado about Love and Lovely.
M had some variety, from Mothers to Money
But N?

Talk about a downer.

There was
NEVER
NIGHT
NO
NOTHING
NORTH DAKOTA
NORTHERN WINDS (brrrrrrrr)
NOT
NO ONE
NO WAY
NO BODY
NOT PRETTY ENOUGH (one of my favorite songs of all time, btw)

So I tried to think of less gloomy N words. My brain, though, was stuck on NOPE. NADA. NUMB. NOISE. NASTY. NATTERING. NOSEY. NINNY. NONPLUSSED. NIT-PICKY. NEGATIVE.

The only good N words I could come up with were Natural and New. Except those sound like a commercial.

I guess there's Nutmeg. That's ~~good~~ Nice.

Oh, wait!!!!!

NASHVILLE

I'm going to Nashville! For the Southern Festival of Books. I'm so honored and pleased to be part of this great lineup of children's and YA authors:

Will I see you there?

Knowing Nothing, Feeling Everything

2010-10-05T09:23:00.000-04:00

"I like knowing nothing, but feeling everything." ---Sharon Creech, speaking about rough drafts in "Leaping Off the Porch," from Barbara Harrison and Gregory Maguire's collection of essays, Origins of Story.

"An acting teacher used to tell us, 'The best protection is stark naked,' meaning that if you commit yourself to a role and to your character’s objectives, and open yourself completely to the moment onstage, there is no room for self-consciousness or second-guessing. It’s when you indulge in half-measures that you screw up." ---Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., from her column, The Doctor is In

I love both these quotes, but of course, they intimidate me, too. How to be so brave? How to be so balanced that leaping and committing are both possible?

What doesn't work is looking at my own feet. Look out and up. Breathe.

Poetry Friday: Banned Books Week Edition

2010-10-01T07:04:00.000-04:00

A short article about the history of banned poetry is posted at Poets.org. I found it amusing that Shel Silverstein's How Not to Have to Dry the Dishes was considered subversive. Really, dish-drying tikes are devious in their avoidery all on their own. (Avoidery = the intricate task of avoiding an onerous task without seeming to do so; related to embroidery, the verbal embellishment of facts used to cover for the same.)

Surely there is more banned poetry. After all, a poem can be committed to memory, unlike most books. And when banned words enter your brain, well...

Annunciation

Blessed, blessed
are you, for

I
will make you weep
when the light hits the grass
in the morning.
I will make you crave
conversation like red
meat, lay you
weak, at the feet
of strangers. I will open
lives like vistas
before you
that you will never
seal.

Every
beautiful thing
will come to you and press
against your flesh.
There is nothing
that will not call
your name, nothing
that you will not long
to possess, nothing
that will not offer up red
kisses, coupling,
seeping into the roots
of the world.

I
will deceive you,
tell you all you need is a
mouthful, but in truth,
I know the desire
I infect you with is
boundless.
See, how the red shoes
I bind to you prick
your feet,
hungry for the beat
and sway
of word upon word.

Blessed, oh! blessed
are you.

---Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Jennie at Biblio File.

What I'm Reading Now: Blackout

2010-09-30T10:30:00.001-04:00

Oh, Connie Willis. Only you could make me laugh by referring to a much-maligned dance dress as "The Yellow Peril." (The dress is passed from wearer to wearer by WWII female ambulance drivers who still scramble to look fetching despite no new frocks for the duration. They also have an ambulance dubbed Bela Lugosi.)

Blackout is stuffed---and I do mean that---with fascinating details of England during WWII. The book is huge, following the exploits of multiple historians as they time-travel back into the past, witnessing and ultimately getting sucked inside the chaos of The Blitz and the stolid British response to it; the desperately improvised civilian small boat rescue of stranded soldiers from Dunkirk to Dover; the air raid shelters peopled by both knitting biddies and Shakespearean actors; the rampages of measles-infected, parentless, prank-playing young evacuees; the frantic deployment of fake rubber tank units which must be blown up by hand in the middle of foggy fields with snorting bulls in them; and the endless terror of whistling V-1 rocket attacks, incendiary bombs, and the looming pall of threatened German invasion.

Does that sound confusing? It is. Does it sound fascinating? It is. Connie Willis is a master at making you realize that life is made up of unpredictable moments, all of which add up, person by person, to the sweep of history as we know it. Time travel seems ordinary by comparison.

P.S. Just to let you know, I normally avoid novels that are really the first half of a VLB (Very Long Book.) Nothing makes me madder than realizing 4/5 of the way into a terrific story that it can't possibly end in time and sure enough.... %^&*! ...on the last page are the dreaded words "to be continued." Especially if the "continued" is for longer than, say, two weeks. People, I don't care how great your story is, my brain cannot hold details that long. Publishers Weekly refers to readers such as myself as "allergic to cliffhangers."

Thankfully, Connie Willis and her publishers admitted at the outset that this was indeed a single VLB split in two. And they set the release dates of the two halves close together. Thus, I deliberately held off reading Blackout until this month because the second half, All Clear, is due out next month. (Essentially, I compressed time and travelled right through the intervening days of hanging off the cliff. Clever, right?)

For more, here's the review of Blackout in the Washington Post from March.

Clutter's not clutter when you display it, right?

2010-09-27T08:49:00.000-04:00

This summer, I ordered a 3' by 5' pinboard for my office. It seemed gigantic when it arrived.

But I'm filling it up.

Yes, I am.

Ooh, shiny.

Poetry Friday: Getting the Girl

2010-09-24T06:11:00.000-04:00

Getting the Girl

by Markus Zusak

I always have to think awhile after closing a Zusak book. He socks me so hard in the gut it's hard to formulate a coherent "review" of the experience.

Getting the Girl is a continuation of the story of the Wolfe brothers begun in Fighting Ruben Wolfe. (My review here.) Zusak writes close to the bone, exposing the marrow of what love is---between a boy and a girl, and between brothers. It's also about Cameron defining himself, as he is ripped away from all the safe places he used to hide, including his identity as Ruben's inferior brother.

And once again, Zusak takes artistic risks within his story, risks which could've easily gone horribly awry. This time, he includes Cameron's stumbling and raw words as he puts who he is on paper, foreshadowing this almost mute boy's emergence as a writer/poet. These sections work, thank God, because Zusak doesn't try to underwrite them. He lets Cameron be over-the-top and angsty and "poetical" so his words read like the rough drafts of poetry before it's shaped by time and practice. They sound wincingly authentic, of the sort you'd want to hide if only they didn't demand such attention for their pure gutsy-ness and flashes of stabbingly accurate emotional insight.

The Charcoal Sky

Sometimes you go to the wrong place, but the right way comes and finds you. It might make you trip over it or speak to it. Or it might come to you when a day is stripped apart by night and ask you to take its hand and forget this wrong place, this illusion where you stand.

I think of the mess in my mind and the girl who walked through it to stand before me and let her voice come close.

The rest of Getting the Girl is unflinching, too, as no one "gets" anyone. Instead, we wrestle with the dual meaning of "get": 1) to obtain or take and 2) to understand. When we love someone, which is it?

And most brilliantly, even though the book is a slim, short read, and we may think we already know we can't truly "have" another person, Zusak takes us on a long, slow walk through the conflicting desires that make it so difficult to let go of that need, so we can, like Cameron, chose how to love with open eyes.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Karen Edmisten at The Blog With the Shockingly Clever Title

How to talk about story

2010-09-22T11:13:00.001-04:00

I posted this link on Facebook, but it's worth a cross-post here.

Two teachers write letters to each other about the books they are reading---and model for their students how to talk about story. Wow.

P.S. It's my book, Letters From Rapunzel, that they're discussing. I'm bowled over by this.

P.P.S. One more thing, because other than this, I'm mute with gratitude and have little to blog about today. Here are the new author photos I mentioned. Author Sonya Sones took them as part of the pro track offerings at the SCBWI Conference in L.A. She has a beautiful knack of making a person feel utterly comfortable in front of the camera. Thank you, Sonya!

Shutters Open

2010-09-21T09:52:00.001-04:00

A camera phone is a useful tool for me as a writer. Mostly because I tend to have it bouncing around in my pocket, whereas a regular camera is usually at home, its shutter carefully closed, on my dresser. I use mine

. . . to take pictures of books that I might want to read/buy/investigate further

This one, of course, goes in the
Operation Yes/fun improv ideas pile

. . . to save bits of interesting language

Old-timey advertisement at Cracker Barrel.
I zoomed in because . . .

. . . the "Tally-ho horn" made me laugh.
One of my characters might need a tally-ho horn one day.

. . . to provide writing inspiration

Come on, isn't "bring 'em back alive" a pertinent reminder
not to overwork your revision? Or to go out there and nab
a great story in the first place?

. . . to marvel at how things in my books are essential to people's daily lives

That's right. Banana pudding (featured in Operation Yes)
is so popular and valued that there is a whole DAY devoted to it.

. . . to record critical details, such as who I am.

Okay, I cheated. This photo was actually taken by Sonya Sones.
She was doing dozens of author photos at the SCBWI LA conference
and wanted to make sure the right photo got sent to the right name and face later.
But the principle stands. More on my new author photo tomorrow.

What writerly things do you use your camera for?

Poetry Friday: You might have missed

2010-09-17T10:03:00.000-04:00

You might have missed this quote from Franz Kafka, via Kurt Scaletta on Facebook:

We need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us. - Franz Kafka

You might have missed this glorious poem at Francisco Stork's journal, which he posted on an ordinary Tuesday in June.

Inspiration

Do not worry that your love’s beauty

Will dazzle me,

Blind me,

Keep me

From my daily bread.

Do not worry that the bursting

Notes of your anvil

Will stun me to dead stillness.

Read the rest here

Taken together, this quote and this poem, make me believe that each book, each poem is a chance to die . . . and rise, living again.

Don't miss that chance.

Poetry Friday is hosted today at Wild Rose Reader

Taking Action

2010-09-16T09:32:00.000-04:00

My sister-in-law, Shannon Lewis, sent me this picture of her sixth-grade class. Guess what they're holding up?

Letters to a soldier in Iraq!

Yup. They're reading Operation Yes together and taking action. They plan to do more. I love it.

Also, Shannon must have a karmic connection to this book because

1) She's done improv with her students before (Natalie, they're digging the new suggestions from your wonderful teacher's guide.)

2) She says "I have always done push-ups in my class because we do this activity called roundtable and I am not supposed to talk. For each time I do, push ups." Go, Shannon!

3) She's had a beat-up old couch in her class for FIVE YEARS.

Finally, did you all see the editorial in USA TODAY from Michelle Obama and Jill Biden? It's called "The Troops Need Us."

As a country, we have come a long way in how we support our veterans and military families. In our travels to base communities from Fort Bragg to Camp Pendleton, we have seen employers creating innovative programs to support military families, classrooms adopting deployed units, faith communities providing prayers and support, and countless other acts of kindness.

Yet there is still more work to be done.

Our military families are strong, resilient and proud to serve their country.

Nonetheless, they don't always feel that the rest of the country is part of the war effort. We've met National Guard families who feel isolated because they are the only members of their communities experiencing the deployment of a loved one. We've heard from military kids who struggle in school while their parents are deployed.

Remarkably, these same families still find time to serve their communities every day. They are troops who come home from a long deployment and coach Little League or mentor a child. They are children who tutor their younger siblings, and spouses who balance their families with jobs, school, community service — or all of the above. They are wounded warriors, survivors and veterans who continue to give so much to our country.

[...] That's why we're challenging every sector of American society to support and engage our military families. You don't have to come from a military family, have a base in your community, or be an expert in military issues to make a difference. Every American can do something.

Clearly, Mrs. Lewis and her sixth-graders are doing something. Mrs. Obama, Mrs. Biden, I wish you'd send them a thumbs-up or something.

Read more of the editorial here.

The Fantastic Secret of Owen Jester

2010-09-15T11:21:00.002-04:00

In my post from Monday, I also left out that I did some satisfying reading over the summer. At ALA, Barbara O'Connor came to find me during my signing of Operation Yes, and since I couldn't leave to come to her booth, she kindly brought and signed for me an ARC of her latest novel, The Fantastic Secret of Owen Jester. Here we are together (looking somewhat color-coordinated, I must say):

I immediately devoured the ARC in June and posted my initial thoughts on Goodreads, but now that the actual novel is available for sale, THIS is the time to tell you all to go read it!

First of all, isn't that an eye-catching cover? Love it! But just wait until you read the story. I think Barbara's books are hard to write about because so much of their appeal has to do with her vigorous use of language, and the quiet accumulation of detail which soaks in almost unnoticed but results in a feeling of having dived down deep into another world. This is how I tried, on Goodreads, to capture the saturated goodness of The Fantastic Secret of Owen Jester:

I loved how she built the novel around key sounds---of the passing train, the "fantastic secret's" bumpy arrival, the captured frog's throaty calls, the irritated housekeeper's carping (reminiscent of the faceless adults in Charlie Brown), the one-way conversations with the ill grandfather, the recurring verbal battles between the boys and the lone girl---and many more subtle acoustic details that give the book the wondrous feeling that you are underwater where sounds are magnified.

What's funny is that I didn't even notice the acoustic emphasis until I finished reading and was in the middle of trying to analyse the story. It was like being clued in to a magician's trick. Ohhhhhh. So that's it! Except with each book, Barbara O'Connor seems to conjure up a fresh and intriguing "it."

Go trap your own copy and tell me what you think her "fantastic secret" to writing book after great book is. I wanna know!

For a detailed review (more articulate than mine), see Fizzwhizzing Flushbunker.

Dear Blog . . .

2010-09-13T09:30:00.000-04:00

I've never been a fan of letters that begin "Sorry I haven't written in so long..."

After reading Deborah Heiligman's delightful Charles and Emma, I realize why. Those two lovebirds often wrote each other several times a day.

A long time is relative.

But I understand why people feel a need to excuse their silence. I feel the same about this blog. In hindsight, I should've put up a sign in my absence that said: BUSY WRITING AND LIVING. Or perhaps pulled out a few of my old posts to entertain you. But I trust all of you have been BUSY WRITING AND LIVING as well. (Or whatever you do that makes you happy.)

I posted about three of the major events of my summer: the ALA Convention here in D.C., my week at Shakespeare Camp, and my jaunt to the SCBWI Conference in L.A.

I left out my peaceful and productive writing retreat on Lake Champlain (organized by the dynamos Kate Messner and Marjorie Light) during which I found the way back to a revision of my long-wrestled-with YA novel, HOLLOW. (Still under revision, by the way, with a tentative due date of mid-October and one of the main reasons for my blog silence.)

Lake Champlain, NY

I left out the agony/joy of drafting an entirely new middle-grade novel before the ALA convention, which is now sitting, a quiet mess, on my desk, patiently waiting for me to attend to it after the HOLLOW revision is due.

I left out my trip to New Mexico to visit my daughter, Rebecca, who was working at the National Laboratory in Los Alamos. (She was doing particle physics research as an intern. Her project involved sound-proofing a detection instrument. And she did a spot of writing for the Lab's internal newsletter.)

I left out making root beer float cupcakes. Picking up my golf clubs again. Finally seeing the precision drama of the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. Getting a new author picture made. Swooning in the stifling heat of Wolf Trap National Park to hear Lyle Lovett. Celebrating twenty-six years of marriage. Discovering I like iced coffee. Painting my toenails every color from Russian Navy to Diva of Geneva.

Each of those might have been a blog post. Sometimes, I hoard my words. I don't exactly know why.

SCBWI LA 2010 in Pictures

2010-08-04T11:13:00.005-04:00

I'm back from the SCBWI conference in L.A. with a suitcase full of books and a head full of revision thoughts. In particular, Linda Sue Park's Master Class in Middle Grade Fiction lit a few lanterns along the twisty path of taking a MG novel from draft to crafted book. I took a nap and slugged tea every afternoon so I could be extra alert for it. My favorite thing she said? Her definition of middle grade fiction:

"Life isn't fair;
what are you going to do about it?"

I keep taking my favorite MG novels and running them through that definition. It's my new mantra.

Beyond that, instead of blogging the weekend, I'd like to make a list of what I'm grateful for.

1) I'm grateful that Newbery-winning writers like Linda Sue Park and Gail Carson Levine still come to conferences like these, even though their careers definitely don't require them to.

With Gail Carson Levine.
(I heard she rocked the dance floor, but sadly, I missed that.)

2) I'm grateful that illustrators like Dan Santat are willing to pose with writers they do not know if only because we share the same editor.

With Dan Santat, illustrator with mad skillz
The caricature drawing he did of Cheryl Klein is brilliant.

3) I'm grateful that even though two years pass between meetings, writer pals can fall right back into the easy laughter of friendship.

My friends, the RockSugarBeets at the Heart and Soul Party:
Deborah Freedman, Elise Murphy, Jill Corcoran, me, Amber Lough, Jacqui Robbins, and Cindy Pon

4) I'm grateful for every writer and illustrator who shared thoughts about craft, including the above-mentioned Linda Sue Park and the following three authors, of whom I have pictures. There were so many more that inspired me, including Rachel Vail; the entire rocking non-fiction panel of Susan Campbell Bartoletti, Deborah Heiligman, Elizabeth Partridge, and Tanya Lee Stone; and Ashley Bryan, who closed the conference with the gospel of poetry. (Imagine a room of a thousand people chanting the poetry of Langston Hughes.)

Deborah Halverson,
author of the forthcoming Writing Young Adult Fiction for Dummies.
My roommate, author Val Paterson (The Other Side of Blue) and I are writing up her talk for the Mid-Atlantic SCBWI newsletter. Look for it! I'm also grateful for Val, the kind of roomie who shares her oatmeal and her heart.

M.T. Anderson. I look remarkably calm.

As you'd expect, he's a brilliant speaker, but did you know he could sing?

He ended his keynote with an operatic rendition

of the "alternative" Delaware state song.

Ahem. I had to post this picture again.
'Cause you know, me, Jon, little green army guy...
And Jon, if you're reading this, I expect updates on where the LGM has been housed and what he is up to.

5) I'm grateful that L.A. was not sticky and hot like D.C., and therefore, I was able to run twice---and one of those runs was with the marathon-training author Jacqui Robbins, who did not ditch me. Also, I'm grateful I got to see the ocean, sit outside, and eat funnel cakes.

At the Santa Monica Pier

Funnel cakes taste extra good when they are toasty hot and you are chilly from an ocean breeze

6) I'm grateful that Sonya Sones volunteered to take author photos of anyone who signed up for the Pro Track of the conference. I don't have the photo to share yet, but I'm convinced that the secret to a great author photo is a photographer who makes you feel at ease. Sonya was that and more. Because I was coming to the photo session straight from the Pro Lunch, she even whipped on her glasses and checked my teeth for embarrassing debris. Thank you, Sonya!

7) I'm grateful that I'm part of a world that writes books, reads books, buys books, talks books, and shares books. I'm grateful that even when life is not fair, writers and artists do something about it.

A portion of the haul.
I read Schooled on the plane home. Classic Gordon Korman---fast-paced with humor and a bang-up ending. The woman next to me was very curious about it and finally asked if she could see my book and then promptly handed it over the seat to her grown daughter to view. I think I made a sale for you, Gordon!

For more posts about the 2010 conference, see the SCBWI Team Blog. (I've made it easy; where I could, I've linked to the Team Blog writeup for each author or event mentioned in this post. Go! Click!)

Freak out

2010-08-01T20:41:00.001-04:00

SCBWI L.A bulletin: Yesterday I met and spoke to Jon Scieszka. Author of The Stinky Cheese Man. Star of the fabulous autobiography Knucklehead. Former children's literature ambassador and champion of Guys Read. Smartest troublemaker I know.

Turns out he's read Operation Yes.

Freak out.

Can you see the little green army man? His bazooka is being gallantly aimed away from my face by Jon.

SCBWI LA 2010

2010-07-30T16:52:00.001-04:00

Follow the action at hashtag #LA10SCBWI.

The book haul so far (two of which I own already but bought again to have signed---Fangirl!)

Is this not good?: Shakespeare Camp

2010-07-07T15:24:00.008-04:00

"Spectacularly rowdy and fun-filled." So says one review of the American Shakespeare Center's current production of The Taming of the Shrew at the Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton, VA.

Shakespeare Straight Up

I couldn't agree more. I haven't been a Shrew hater since the marvelous BBC ShakespeaRe-Told version, and this rapid-fire, intelligent, and juicy take on the Kate/Petruchio love affair in an intimate theater where they're proud to say they "do it with the lights on" sealed the deal for me. At a key moment---"Kiss, me Kate!"--- in what some have deemed a "problem play," Petruchio, with great affection and glee, asks the audience, "Is this not good?" And the audience, entranced by a production that discards any safety net under Shakespeare's hotly debated play, responds with unforced, approving laughter. It was indeed that good.

So you won't be surprised that I've chosen "Is this not good?" as a way into describing the week of No Kidding Shakespeare Camp I experienced last week at the same Blackfriars Playhouse. This was no academic lecture-fest. This was the kind of camp where you come home with a red clown nose in your purse.

Me with Daniel Kennedy, talented actor and Moscow Clown School graduate.
The best thing about him was that he made us all comfortable enough to be silly. That's a rare skill.

I also learned to dance . . .

Learning the pavane, a slow, courtly dance
We also did a more lively "country dance" called The Hey

That's our graceful and patient instructor, Doreen Bechtol, in the pink flowy pants

. . . and to wield a sword.

I only got to pose with this sword.
We actually used whiffle bats in our fight choreography.
(See below)

Fight Director Colleen Kelly demonstrates how to execute a parry

The whiffle bats came complete with a handy Shakespearean insult
The blue line is to remind us numskulls to parry at the far end of the bat---and not near anyone's fingers

This was how we began: with an insult.
The response was: "Villain, thou liest!"

Colleen Kelly demonstrating how to stay a safe distance from your partner.
I was impressed by her preparedness, down to the nth degree.
Perhaps it comes from teaching stage combat to teenagers.

And that's but a taste of the goodness. (See the end of the post for a scan of our full schedule.)

There were talks about casting---This is a play, people. The first thing you ask is not: how does Shakespeare explore the theme of jealously in Othello or how many iambs in that foot, but: how many players can we hire and who can double and how will we manage and/or afford all this? (With a clever, clever spreadsheet, it turns out.)

There were sessions on rhetoric, which I swear to you, had all of us dying to sign up right then and there for a full-length class in said subject. There's a reason that rhetoric, with all its myriad, artful ways of delivering and repeating information, is so essential to theater. An audience can't flip back a page and look something up. Best nail it into our brains with the tools of anadiplosis or assonance.

We were invited to three talk-backs with the actors, one cast party, one mesmerizing professional rehearsal, and two ticketed productions, Taming of the Shrew and Othello, by which---ask my husband if I didn't sigh wearily when I first heard these two plays were our offerings---I was completely seduced.

I told you of my devotion to the Blackfriar Playhouse's staging of Shrew at the beginning of this post. I was equally waylaid by their Othello. Good Lord, I never recognized Iago's wife, Emilia, as the emotional linchpin to this story of broken trust and revenge, but thanks to actress Allison Glenzer (a military brat, I have to shout out!) I was shaken, even with the jaded heart I often bring to a production of the doomed Othello. It's her determined refusal to be silent, and not to be manipulated, that brings Iago's house of cards crashing down. It was her wasteful, yet utterly necessary death that made tears sting my eyes, after I'd survived the death of Desdemona (who was played magnificently by thoroughly grounded Texan actress, Sarah Fallon.)

And that twisted, talented Iago. Who would've thought I might identify with his frustration and jealousy? It's all there in the play, but it was brilliantly unveiled by actor Ben Curns who had such unashamed affection for his role of Iago that the audience was beguiled longer and more deeply by his deceptions that any other production I've seen. Which of course, made us freeze in horrified silence when, protesting not, telling not, we see his lies reap avoidable deaths we refused to stop.

The ever-generous Sarah Enloe, Director of Education,
on the Blackfriars Playhouse stage
where many of our sessions took place

Me, trying out some of Shakespeare's embedded stage directions under the guidance of
skilled actor and director, Bob Jones, who is also a student
in the Mary Baldwin College Shakespeare and Performance MFA progam.
In this case, the implied action is between Cleopatra and Charmain

In short, I, along with about eighteen other campers, was treated to a week of mind-blowing insight into Shakespeare as alive on the stage. If I took away two main thoughts--and these are not my ideas, but what I learned from the combined efforts of the NKSC crew--- they are

1) Shakespeare spring-loaded his plays with everything necessary for a small troupe to put up a play on short notice with minimal rehearsal and scant resources, while leaving the maximum amount of space for the individual actor to create as big-hearted a part as possible. I was convinced of this by a workshop in which we enacted scenes using only "cue scripts"---scripts that contained only our lines and the short cues before them. In Shakespeare's time, these were given out on hand-sized scrolls---hence, the term "Role." No one actor studied the entire play and attempted to "understand" it. They memorized gloriously well-constructed lines, they listened for their cues, and the scene unfolded in the most genuine manner possible. Think of it! In life, each knows his own lines---just barely---and it's only God, or in a play's case, the audience, who views the overall "arc" of the action.

Which brings me to

2) It's the audience---yes, us, the lowly audience---who is the third leg---along with players and play---which makes theater stand out from other art forms as a collaborative, moment-by-moment creation.

Which is the reason (along with historical accuracy) that the American Shakespeare Center doesn't turn down the house lights. They NEED the audience to play its parts---yes, the very roles Shakespeare writes for them to literally embody--- in order for the transition from page to stage work. Think of all those carefully scripted asides---who do you suppose the actors are talking to? Not an empty theater! Think of an Othello in which Iago can't communicate with the audience, and thereby not make them complicit in his machinations. Think of a Shrew in which there are no married couples, or about-to-be married couples, or never-ever-want-to-be married couples watching who recall the well-argued bargains they've made with each other in the name of love, and recognize Petruchio's defiant "If she and I are happy, what's it to you?" Think of the famous St. Crispin's Day speech in Henry V without a rag-tag bunch of groundlings to swell into a heroic "band of brothers." That's us!

Even more mind-blowing to those used to sitting in the dark, alone, watching a Netflixed movie---the audience needs each other. Theater is communal, and if we huddle, elbow, whisper, watch, wait, guess, giggle, weep, blush, and otherwise prove ourselves human together, we provide an answer to Shakespeare's question:

"Is this not good?"

Schedule for No Kidding Shakespeare Camp
Click to enlarge

P.S. There was also time for us to rehearse and stage a culminating performance (I was First Citizen in Richard III), visit a local winery and vineyard, and enjoy the charming town of Staunton, home of Mary Baldwin College. If you go, eat at Staunton Grocery, which showcases local produce in creative ways. I'm still re-living every bite of their tasting menu which consisted of young carrot salad with blood oranges, arugula, and coriander vinaigrette; white Atlantic salmon over fava beans, and a totally decadent dessert described as "Bittersweet Chocolate Soup + Earl Grey + Thyme + Yeast Doughnuts."

P.P. S. Many, many thanks to Ralph Cohen, Director of Mission, and Sarah Enloe, Director of Education, for their brilliant planning and execution of last week's No Kidding Shakespeare Camp for adults. You can find more of Ralph's unique approach to Shakespeare in his book, ShakesFear and How to Cure It. You can read Sarah's detailed post about the camp here. Actor bios and some great interviews are collected here.

P.P.P. S. Yes, you should sign up for next year!

ALA in Pictures

2010-07-01T08:32:00.002-04:00

Signing Operation Yes at the Scholastic booth
Cheryl & Co. made me feel like a rock star

Don't you love Cheryl's military style green dress?

Meeting Joyce Sidman and Pamela Zagarenski
As delightful in person as their books are on the page

Liz Garton Scanlon
I was so proud to cheer for All the World

Having tapas with the Poetry Princesses

M.T. Anderson and Katherine Paterson
The brilliance was dazzling

At the Paterson Tea with Liz Garton Scanlon and Laura Purdie Salas

With Cheryl Klein and Francisco Stork
at the Scholastic reception

I love this picture! Yes, we were all that happy.
Tanita Davis and D, her husband; me, and Kelly Fineman

So glad to see Adrienne Furness
So sad not to have gotten to shop with her

At the Newbery/Caldecott banquet
Laura Purdie Salas, Kelly Fineman and Elaine Magliaro

Laura, Kelly, and me

I got home from the Newbery/Caldecott banquet after midnight on Sunday. I got up at 5:00 am the next morning to go to Shakespeare Camp. More on that anon!

Critique Groups: Kirby Larson Gathered the Questions, We Attempt the Answers

2010-06-17T13:11:00.001-04:00

Kirby Larson has the first of two posts up today about critique groups. A twisty topic, I found, so go read how the other panelists and I tackled the questions---seriously, my fellow panelists offer detailed advice worthy of a book on the topic!--- and please---join the discussion.

Also, Nancy Kress (author of one of my favorite thought-provoking SF books, Beggars in Spain) is one of the writers-in-residence at the two-week Taos Toolbox Workshop. Every so often, she posts memorable quotes from their critique sessions. Highly amusing.

P.S. Part Two is now up.

Between now and ALA

2010-06-02T21:48:00.000-04:00

Yay!

I'll be signing Operation Yes during the Annual Conference of the American Library Association here in Washington, D.C. Look for me at 2:00, Saturday, June 26, at the Scholastic/Arthur A. Levine Books booth. I'll be the author handing out little green army men. I predict a few battles might erupt in the aisles. Perhaps one of the LGM might work his way onto a book cart for the Sixth Annual Book Cart Drill Team World Championships. Or be spotted at the Newbery/Caldecott banquet cheering for friends Marla Frazee and Liz Garton Scanlon (All the World) and Joyce Sidman (Red Sings From the Treetops) and all the other winners/honorees.

I'm also excited about the KidLit Drinks Night on Friday, June 25, at RFD (Regional Food and Drink) from 7-9. All are welcome! Details here.

I hope to see many, many friends at ALA, including some of the Poetry Seven, my DC KidLit Book Club, and the awesome people who create Arthur A. Levine and Scholastic books. However, between now and then, I have a draft to finish. So this is my last post until ALA rolls into town. See you soon!

P.S. For ALA conference goers, I put together a list of fun literary things to do in D.C. Add to my list if you like.

P.P.S. Don't forget to leave a comment over at TeensReadToo if you want a chance to win a copy of the audio book of Operation Yes---I found out the contest stays open until the end of June.

Three Authors, Three Posts, One Memorial Day Weekend

2010-05-31T08:23:00.001-04:00

I'm at the TeensReadToo Book Club Blog today, talking about military families for Memorial Day. My post is the third of the weekend. On Saturday, Rosanne Parry (Heart of a Shepherd) gracefully and purposefully addressed the challenging topic of Patriotism and Military Fiction. On Sunday, Suzanne Morgan Williams (Bull Rider) wrote movingly about Traumatic Brain Injury and how war affects communities. Today, it's my turn, and I tell a personal story that begins with four words: Your dad is okay.

If you comment on Suzanne's post, you have a chance to win a copy of her excellent Bull Rider, and if you comment on mine, you could win a copy of the Operation Yes audio book (as a digital download from Audible.com)

Come join us!

I'm also excited to announce that Rosanne, Suzy, and I will be presenting a panel on Military Fiction at the National Council of Teachers of English conference in Orlando this November. More details to come.

Poetry Friday: Memorial Day

2010-05-28T07:40:00.003-04:00

Today, I'm reposting my Memorial Day poem from two years ago. And asking you to watch the TeensReadToo Book Club Blog where Rosanne Parry (Heart of a Shepherd), Suzanne Morgan Williams (Bull Rider) and I will be doing back-to-back guest blogs this weekend to honor military families.

"The past is never dead, it is not even past."
~William Faulkner~

Photo courtesy of the U.S. Army

Photographer: Adam Skoczylas

Dedication

They have been given
flags, these children,

to plant between the stones;
decorated sticks, each insertion

point chosen with grave
care; the same care

they give to tugging lace tights onto
stiff-kneed baby dolls, building

landing craft from perforated
plastic blocks, and arraying–

piece by piece–
squads of battered

soldiers along the arms
of couch and chair.

They have been given
flags, these children.

-Sara Lewis Holmes

From RN Clara Hart's post at The Sandbox:
It’s Memorial Day and while I want to remember, I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember my friends killed on September 11th, or the others who've died serving our great country. Those who I’ve worked so hard to save only to fail. I don’t want to remember the broken bodies I try so hard to fix. I don’t want to remember the scarred hearts that may never be mended. Read the rest.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect.