Words We Say

The Habit of Seeing

2012-02-15T09:55:00.005-05:00

"I like to change my habit of seeing."

I think it was the musician John Cage who said this

but it might have been another musician or artist or writer.

Maybe you are working on a book

and the intricate pieces of it are becoming

as tangled as a mangrove forest

(above)

Maybe you change your setting

so that everything is new again

Maybe you kick off your shoes

and walk in the sand

Maybe you ponder the wildlife

And visit old friends

(wildlife of another sort)

Maybe you contemplate

the blue green ocean

and the white white sand

Maybe you do all that

and restore your mind

and your soul

so that your story or song or painting

realigns

so that you see your way ahead

calmly and clearly.

Maybe.

Beaming you all sun and sand and blue green water.

Invasion of the Children

2012-02-06T10:51:00.002-05:00

This past weekend

three of our great-nephews

bounded onto the scene.

Invader number one:

Zoom zoom zoom

from here to there

and there to here

up and over and under

jump and run and gather.

Invader number two:

Find sticks and pinecones

bring them to the yard

make beds and fire pits and forts

zoom zoom zoom.

Invader number three:

Find the remote

find the crayons

fingers here fingers there

zoom zoom zoom.

Gotta love 'em.

Gotta gotta gotta.

Beaches and Writing

2012-02-02T20:10:00.001-05:00

Maybe you love beaches

especially deserted ones

where the only sounds you hear

are the waves and the seagulls.

Maybe you come here to walk

and to empty the mind

so it can absorb the rhythm

of the water.

Maybe you stand in shallow water

and see the sun reflected

at your feet

and then look up

at the blue blue sky

and that astounding

sun.

And maybe then

when you are realigned

you go home

to write.

Mm?

Of Books and Dogs

2012-01-30T17:43:00.002-05:00

Books, books, books. I can't help it - I can't resist buying books, books, books. I also have a Kindle, but much prefer holding a Real Book. Some of these books are kept forever and some are donated.

Last week I vowed: No more books until I finish reading the ones stacked beside the bed.

Today I bought:

So much for vows.

Have I also mentioned this book (link below): S.O.A.R., animal rescue stories by Jack Floyd? S.O.A.R. stands for Southport-Oak Island Animal Rescue, and Jack is a long-time volunteer there. I'm partial to it because I know the author, but you might want to check it out. [It's an ebook; the link below is for iTunes, but you can also get it elsewhere.]

S.O.A.R. Stories by Jack Floyd

What is your latest book purchase?

Love That Dog Trailer

2012-01-27T08:29:00.003-05:00

Love That Dog trailer

A friend recently emailed me this link (click on above) to a short, cute trailer for Love That Dog, and I thought you might enjoy it, too.

Have a dog? Have a boy? Have poetry?

Story Fuel

2012-01-21T20:32:00.001-05:00

I'm in full-tilt writing and revising mode, having cleared the decks to write for the next couple months with few interruptions. It's a good feeling when that time is there and the story is cooperating. In the above pic, the white stack is the newly revised portion, the second draft; the blue stack is the first draft, with chapters yet to be revised.

Yesterday, a reader asked me "What do you eat when you write?"

Well.
I'd never been asked that before.
I thought it interesting that the reader did not say "Do you eat when you write?" but rather, "What do you eat . . ", seeming certain that some eating was going on.

Yes. Eating does go on.
Until recently, the munching was any or all of these: nuts, chocolate-covered almonds, mini Milky Ways (dark chocolate ones), popcorn, kettle corn, more chocolate . . .

I know, I know.
And so last week I stopped eating sugar and re-booted my food supplies.
Take a look at the current snacks-for-writing:

I'm not kidding.

And here's what I drink when I write:

Water. Fizzy.

I know, I know, I'm being so virtuous I can hardly stand myself.

The question is: which fuel will produce the best words/stories, mm?
Stay tuned . . .

Meanwhile: what do YOU munch on and drink as you sit at the computer, mm?

Road Trips

2012-01-17T21:11:00.000-05:00

Sunrise : Blue Ridge Mountains

on the road

that quiet feeling at dawn

that always-surpise

of the rising sun

you feel as if

you could go on forever

in that silent way

North Carolina

2012-01-16T22:10:00.002-05:00

My husband and I have just completed a 900-mile road trek from western New York to southern North Carolina, and I'd hoped to post a photo taken early on the second day of the trip: sunrise in the Blue Ridge Mountains - all deep blues and lavenders and rose. But I've not yet been able to transfer the photo from phone to computer. Maybe tomorrow.

Meanwhile, these two photos reflect what I'll be doing here:

No, not photography (though I'll continue to take photos), and no, not self-reflection (though that is ongoing, as well) . . .

I'm focussing on the new work-in-progress (not the one to be published in September - that one is finished), this new one that is three-fourths complete. What is it really about? What is IN there? I can almost see it. Almost. It came from me, but it isn't me. What is it?

I usually have to ask my editor that question when I submit it: "What exactly is this, anyway?"

If you know, please let me know, mm?

Morning Moon

2012-01-11T12:03:00.001-05:00

The moon at 7:00 this morning.

What a sight!

What a sky!

Blue Sunset and Endings

2012-01-08T19:17:00.002-05:00

This was today's sunset, above, 5:15 pm: the sky dramatically blue, the lake smoothly glazed.

Just two days ago, the sunset was full of gold and amber and orange,

the lake newly frozen and snow-covered:

I am proofreading the first-pass page proofs for the upcoming book,

thinking about endings.

Is my ending blue or amber?

Hmm. Amber, I think.

Of the books you read, are they more likely to have blue or amber endings? Mm?

The Puppy in His Glory

2012-01-06T19:37:00.000-05:00

Well, now, didn't he have fun?

It's not as bad as it seems.

The puppy was given that big stuffed frog for Christmas

specifically so that he would chew that

instead of sofas, chairs, shoes, hats, gloves.

And

worked.

The Transforming Power of Snow

2012-01-03T17:32:00.001-05:00

The much-awaited blizzard arrives

and transforms the dull browns

begone brown!

hellooooo white!

and just when I'd been thinking

Why don't we live in the South?

the answer comes

in pure white mounds

and vast vistas of white

and silver

and gold.

Love that snow.

Do you?

Snowstorm

2012-01-02T09:34:00.001-05:00

Last night, in the midst of the howling winds of a winter storm, the power went out for several hours. A good excuse to have dinner by candlelight and a fire in the fireplace.

Could even work with the aid of candles:

Much contemplation of life-before-electricity, so utterly dependent are we . . .

This morning, we awoke to a blue-white scene (view from the office):

The power is back on, the tea is hot, and the snow falls outside while I resume work inside:

Are you back to work or school today, mm?

The Animals Take Over

2011-12-29T19:43:00.000-05:00

We had animal visitors for the holidays.

This cute pooch (above)

pooped on the carpet

and

this cute pooch (above)

peed

in the kitchen

and

this tired pup (above)

finally gave up

chewing the wrapping paper

and the Christmas tree

and the stuffed frog

and

collapsed

with his buddy, the horse

and

these two mellow bears

let themselves

be dragged and pulled

and hugged and ridden

and they did not

chew or poop or pee

anywhere

all.

Snow

2011-12-28T17:00:00.005-05:00

No snow on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day

or the two days following

but when the guests - who were craving snow -

left

down came the snow.

It happens.

How to Write a Book in Four Easy Steps

2011-12-18T10:38:00.001-05:00

1. First, choose appealing ingredients, including intriguing characters - I mean apples:

2. Next, peel away the skins and throw them all together and simmer for 15 drafts - I mean minutes:

3. Then, puree (edit in a blender), drain off the excess and reserve for another story - I mean drinking:

4. And there you have it - a book! I mean - applesauce!

Oh well, I tried. The analogy isn't perfect. But what corresponds best, I think, is that if you begin with good ingredients, and have the patience to combine them and simmer them and drain off the excess, you are more likely to end with something good.

Yes? No? Maybe?

Apples, apples, apples

2011-12-17T08:26:00.001-05:00

This post is a nod to Lori Skoog and to Kate Jackson who regularly post enticing food photos. Recently Lori posted a photo of an apple pie she was in the midst of baking, and it set off such hunger and yearning pangs that I went out in search of apples that very day.

At a local farm, I found Honeycrisps (shown above), an apple I'd been searching for since reading an article on apple growing in The New Yorker. I'd never eaten a Honeycrisp before - but, oh, are they good. The name describes them well.

So, I made the pie. Here it is waiting for top crust and crimping:

And now ready to go in the oven:

And, ta da! Warm apple pie!

It is now half gone. And I mean to tell you: it is goooooood.

Makes you hungry, doesn't it?

Makes you want to go out and get some apples, doesn't it?

Makes you want to bake a pie, doesn't it?

Mmmmmmmmm.

Geese at Sunset

2011-12-15T21:14:00.004-05:00

Two nights ago, the scene above:

geese on tranquil lake

at sunset.

Tonight, though,

the wind is howling

the rain is pelting

the water surging

past sunset

inky black.

I had a calm scene to write tonight

but the relentless winds

are skewing the scene

tossing it

here and there.

And that's the way it goes.

Mm?

How'd you get that Twitter Name?

2011-12-12T15:44:00.001-05:00

Time for an Explanation

"Why do you use ciaobellacreech as your Twitter screen name?"

twitter.com/ciaobellacreech

It sounds a bit vain, doesn't it? (Translation = 'Hello, beautiful Creech.' But wait! I have an explanation.

When I signed up for Twitter and was asked to provide a screen name, I chose, simply, my own name, Sharon Creech, but was promptly informed that that was already taken. What? Really? (Turns out there are several Sharon and Sherri Creeches around.)

I had just returned from a year in southern Switzerland, where the language is Italian, and every day when I walked through the local village, people would call out (to me and to other girls and women), "Ciao, bella!"

Ciao, bella! Ciao, bella! Ciao, bella! Such a cheery refrain bouncing off the mountainsides.

And so, when Twitter told me I couldn't use my own name, the first thing that popped into my head was 'Ciao, bella!'

Ciaobellacreech.

I've since learned that Ciao Bella is also a lingerie chain . . . and somewhere I saw it as the name of an ice cream shop.

So. There you go.

Ciao, bella!

Tracks

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

Someone

has been leaving

lipstick

kisses

all

around

the

house

. . .

and it wasn't

and it's not

house

. . .

Texture and Story

2011-12-08T21:00:00.001-05:00

I love this gnarly old tree.

What a history it must have.

It reminds me of a really, really old and wise woman.

You don't want to mess with her

but you might learn a lot from her.

On my walks I am drawn to texture

and to contrasts in texture

from the rough and gnarly, nobby, bare tree above

to this:

soft and floaty grass fronds

as delicate as lace.

I appreciate intriguing texture in story

the accumulation of details and tone

of pacing and pattern

and I appreciate contrasts in texture

that guide me from the gnarly to the soft

skillfully.

I love when I begin reading a book

and sense immediately

that I am in the hands

of a skillful writer.

Have you had that feeling recently?

What book or what writer?

Pattern and Story

2011-12-06T19:28:00.001-05:00

I am drawn to pattern

- not rigid, symmetrical pattern -

but to pleasing balance

In life as in story

I need to see the particular

and understand how it relates

to the whole

It wasn't until I got home

from my walk

that I noticed the similarities

in the scenes that caught my eye

much as, in writing a story,

the patterns are not always evident

until I complete a first 'walk' (draft)

but then, once noticed,

the task is to oonch them to the surface

right?

Layers and Water

2011-12-04T10:00:00.001-05:00

I am addicted to walks

slow, meandering walks

drawn to layers

Everything relates to story

the frozen water

cupping frozen leaves

is a mind

holding an untold story

it waits

and waits

until

the thaw

I am drawn to water

water

and what lies beneath:

layers

of stone and silt and shell

Writing a story

is uncovering

the layers

sifting the silt

hoping there is more

than sludge

down there.

Pencils

2011-12-02T21:41:00.001-05:00

I admit a love for pencils and pens

papers

inks

all the instruments of writing

I also admit that I bought myself a present

greedy girl

the Blackwing pencils above

a box of them

Steinbeck wrote with Blackwings

(I learned this from Sara Zarr)

: :

they are hard and smooth

and

will

of course

produce

elegant

words

(Do you have a favorite pen or pencil?)

Blog Hopping

2011-11-30T10:47:00.001-05:00

A few times a week I go blog hopping: starting with one blog that I visit regularly, I read the day's comments and then click on one of the commentators and hop over to their blog. From there, hop to another commentator's blog, and so on. It's addictive, but so entertaining and inspiring. Today I began in Vermont (above) and hopped to France and Luxembourg and Australia, etc., a great romp!

A few of the stops are pictured below:

I love the serendipity of what I discover.

Do YOU blog-hop?

Mishmasheroni

2011-11-26T18:59:00.001-05:00

During this post-Thanksgiving weekend, everything is a jumble - what I call 'mishmasheroni': clearing up from the holiday, catching up with mail and chores, and creating order on the desk to return to a work-in-progress.

In the midst of this bustle, two photographs arrived.

This first one (above) is of my six-year-old grandson being a soldier.

That's a crab pot strainer helmet.

Of course.

When my own son was young, I didn't buy him toy guns,

but he fashioned guns out of sticks

and helmets out of pots

nonetheless.

The second photo (below) came from my friend Louise. Her dog had pups. Two of them:

I mean: really.

Who could resist these?

They will be trained by Fidelco to be guide dogs.

Lucky future owners, mm?

And that is my mishmasheroni for today.

I hope you're having a good weekend, wherever you are.

Walk Two Moons Covers, Part II

2011-11-23T09:48:00.001-05:00

(See yesterday's post for Part I)

Continuing yesterday's topic, below are additional book covers for foreign translations of Walk Two Moons:

The red convertible and turkey on the Polish edition (image 2, bottom left) are . . .surprising; the Korean cover in third image (bottom) seems to depict another story entirely.

I tend to favor covers that do not depict a character on the cover, leaving the reader to 'cast' the character in his/her own mind.

What do you think? Any favorites or not-favorites among these?

Walk Two Moons Covers, Part I

2011-11-22T11:34:00.001-05:00

Original American cover for Walk Two Moons

One of the American paperback covers.

I am intrigued by alternate covers for books, especially those printed in other countries. Book covers say so much about each publisher's sense of the best market for the book. You will see, below, a range of styles. Perhaps you will choose a favorite? And a least favorite?

British paperback covers.

Although I am now consulted on the American covers and sometimes the British, I don't see the others until after they are published.

To be continued tomorrow. . .

Meanwhile, do you have any favorites or least-favorites from the above?

November

2011-11-19T14:41:00.001-05:00

A hawk hovering in our yard, waiting to scoop up dinner in the form of a chipmunk.

Squirrel stopping for a snack on the steps.

I am inside, writing my words, my mind half in and half out of the window.

The Eyes Have It

2011-11-16T09:11:00.001-05:00

I am drawn to eyes

pulled in by them

This is how I know someone:

by their eyes

their eyes

. . .

Love that Pup, Love those Kids

2011-11-13T19:57:00.001-05:00

Roan

This is Roan, my grandchildren's new pup, a rescue dog part-Australian Shepherd and part Dachshund.

He is the softest, sweetest, floppiest dog I've ever met. Look at that face.

My husband and I have just returned from visiting our daughter and grandchildren. We are besotted with the grandchildren - and now - the puppy, too. But I won't blather on about it. I don't have the right words to tell you without sounding enormously sappy.

It was hard to leave.

Walk Two Moons: the Chicago Performance

2011-11-07T15:36:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, my husband and I attended Adventure Stage's brilliant, lively, engaging performance of Walk Two Moons at the Vittum Theater in Chicago. Wow!

It seemed fitting and perfect that the play was opening in Chicago, for that is where I received the Newbery Medal for this book in June, 1995.

The Adventure Stage group put on a professional, polished ensemble production that moved me greatly. Laughed. Cried. Loved the actors, director, crew, playwright. Everyone. Full house - a beautiful audience with a great mix of students, parents, teachers, librarians and general public. Wonderful, cozy theater.

The above shot is an attempt to capture the giant poster advertising the play. That's me and a mysterious red-hooded child in the reflection.

After the play, I joined the cast and playwright onstage for 'talk back' - taking questions, both serious and humorous, from the audience. Following that was a reception for all (with ice cream) and book signing.

We loved it all. The next morning, before we left for the airport, we took a walk on Michigan Avenue.

Sun, tall buildings, blue sky, people strolling and running.

And this great statue of Marilyn Monroe.

We watched as so many tourists posed beneath her . . .

and they all looked UP.

No, we didn't do it.

Too shy?

Bye, bye, Chicago.

(The play runs through December 3. More info at AdventureStage.org)

Walk Two Moons on Stage

2011-11-03T11:57:00.004-04:00

The Adventure Stage in Chicago has adapted Walk Two Moons for the stage, opening today for students and on Saturday for the public. I'll be there on Saturday. Can't wait!

It is an odd experience to see your words acted out by others and to see and hear the audience's reactions. It's as if you are viewing someone else's creation - which, in part, it is - but a creation that is so intimate, so familiar, that you feel disoriented, but in a good way.

There is more information here:

Adventure Stage: Walk Two Moons

If you're in Chicago, go see it. It runs November 5 - December 3. Ticket information at above link.

Huzza, huzza --

Love That Dog, Hate That Cat

2011-11-01T10:45:00.003-04:00

Occasionally - no, often - in the blur of everyday normal chaos, things are forgotten. I don't have to explain; you know how it is - birthdays, keys, appointments, gloves, notes, watch, phone.

And when you are writing a novel, you are trying to keep a thousand other details in your head - details of plot and character and setting and dialogue, of structure and tone and style. And then as the book nears publication, you are trying to retain details about book jackets and flap copy and marketing and promotion. All good stuff.

But sometimes you forget some of that good stuff. Yesterday I came across a terrific teaching guide for Love That Dog and Hate That Cat.

Here is where I found it: Love That Dog and Hate That Cat Teaching Guide

It has probably been there a couple years, and I had forgotten all about it. Great surprise!

So if you're a teacher or librarian or reader, you might want to hop over there and take a look or download a copy. Free.

Cool, mm? Love that publisher.

Back to Work

2011-10-28T18:07:00.002-04:00

Since it's officially too cold outside to be lolling around in the hammock or the kayak or on the swing, it's a good day to return to the work-in-progress.

The book that I finished this spring (THE GREAT UNEXPECTED - out next fall) has a wider canvas than the one I'm working on now. It seems to go like that: a longer book with many scenes is often followed by a book that is more spare and condensed.

I'm looking at these ducks on the lake, the simplicity of that image. That's the sort of thing that is appealing right now.

Back to it . . .

Mom

2011-10-25T09:05:00.002-04:00

Thinking of my mom today, on her birthday.

She was about 20 years old here.

Autumn 100%

2011-10-23T16:52:00.000-04:00

It's one of those perfect autumn days here on Lake Chautauqua in western New York.

After two weeks of gray skies and wild winds, sun!

The leaves are just past peak, with more on the ground than on the branches.

Get out the rakes.

Squirrels and chipmunks are busy.

Time to get serious about storing those nuts.

Have to stop for lunch, right?

Love the shagbark hickories . . .

and the geraniums still blooming . . .

And when I come inside

it may not be possible

to write something chilly or harsh

because all the day's bounty

will fill up the room.

If I have a sad or wicked scene to write

it will have to wait

for a gloomier day.

You know?

Attack of the Kittens

2011-10-18T19:53:00.001-04:00

Look what we noticed under our deck this morning (above).

It crawled out, followed by two more kittens.

I'm allergic to cats, but we petted them.

How could we not?

Bigga mistake!

We couldn't leave.

They crawled up our legs.

Finally, we pried ourselves away and fled inside.

Heard mewmewmewmewmewmewmewmewmew.

Mewmewmewmewmewmew.

They climbed to the top of the screen door

and

then

fell

off.

They climbed back up.

We hid.

It was hard, but I'm very allergic.

Really.

But they were prepared to wait us out.

Two of them had a nap right near the door.

We could not leave the house. Trapped by cute kittens.

P. S. Update: The mother cat came to the rescue, at least temporarily. She lured the kittens back under the deck by dangling

a chipmunk

from her mouth.

A cute

little

baby

chipmunk.

It is very hard to write with all this drama going on right outside our door.

Where do you get your ideas?

2011-10-17T09:41:00.001-04:00

The question I am most often asked is, "Where do you get your ideas?"

The seeds for ideas are everywhere: in everything you see and hear and touch and feel. Combine this seed with that seed, and off you go.

Above might look like "a bigga mess" on the deck.

You look closer and you see nuts.

You kneel down and look closely at one of those nuts:

Pretty interesting thing, that little nut. Wonder what's inside?

Chop it open. Huh. Who might want that nut?

Ah, my nosy friend, the squirrel.

And your mind is off and running. Where is she taking that nut? What does her home look like? Does she have a family?

No, I don't normally write about squirrels, but I get my story ideas the same way. That crowd of people over there - look at that one boy - look more closely - what's in his hand? - where is he going? - who are his friends? - what's bothering him?

Off you go . . .

Golden Grove Unleaving

2011-10-15T16:08:00.003-04:00

Yesterday: this golden umbrella overhead.

Today: vile wind and rain, throttling the branches.

Bye, bye, leaves.

Characters: the Grandma

2011-10-13T15:32:00.001-04:00

My husband gave me this wooden figure (I call her 'Knitting Grandma') for my birthday this year. She stands about seven inches high and I love the detail: her expressive face, her wire glasses and metal knitting needles, the folds and pattern on the apron, the tiny flower dots on her headscarf, the hunch of her shoulders, the flat black slipper shoes. She has taken on a life of her own in our kitchen, watching benevolently over her territory.

Someone recently pointed out to me that each of my books contains at least one benevolent older figure (not always a grandparent figure, sometimes an aunt or teacher or parent), and though I wasn't conscious of that prevalence, it seems fitting. I had many older, benevolent people in my life when I was young.

Did you?

Croquis, Design

2011-10-11T17:39:00.000-04:00

I love things like this fashion sketchpad. It is full of croquis (rhymes with pokey), figure templates. I hadn't known such a thing existed until I came across this in our local bookstore.

Often when I am in the midst of writing a new book, I dream of finding beautiful dresses – unusual and unique ones with elegant but simple lines and materials (linen, cotton, silk) and when I wake, I'm disappointed that these dresses don't exist.

I realize, though, that they are part of creating anything new - your mind is sorting and sifting and combining, in hopes of making something elegant.

The two garments below are not elegant - I just quickly drew them on the croquis so you could see what the templates are like.

There are hundreds of croquis in this sketchpad. You could go crazy, funky, wild. You could try outrageous hairstyles and jewelry and shoes.

Sort of like writing a book . . . you could go crazy, funky, wild . . .or simple and elegant . . .or whatever you choose.

Love That Dog: the Puppy

2011-10-08T19:37:00.002-04:00

Remember the grandchildren's new puppy?

He found a cozy basket retreat:

Remember what puppies do?

They chew.

And they chew.

But you love them anyway, don't you?

Chipmunk and Agents

2011-10-07T19:37:00.003-04:00

So, now a chipmunk has followed in the squirrel's footsteps and is watching me as I work. When I aim the camera, it turns its head away slightly (as above), as if to deny that it has been spying.

A chipmunk has nothing to do with an agent, but a blog visitor asked on the last post if I have an agent, and the chipmunk is watching me compose an answer:

Yes, I have an agent and have had one since I wrote my first novel. When I lived in England, I had a British agent with an American representative; since I moved back to the States, I've had an American agent who has a British representative.

I've worked with my current agent for thirteen years, and I trust her completely, value her advice, and admire her talents. I rely on mine to sort out contracts and foreign rights, to provide sound analysis and judgement regarding major publishing questions, and to represent me with integrity.

I need an agent, but not everyone does.

The chipmunk is still watching . . .

Editor and Copy Editor

2011-10-05T10:02:00.001-04:00

The squirrel is back, really interested in this new book I'm working on. She sits there for up to ten minutes at a time, several times a day, turning her head this way and that, inching closer to get a better look, not at all afraid when I lift the camera to record her existence.

Several people have asked me to explain (per the last blog entry) the difference between editor and copy editor. This will have nothing to do with squirrels. The squirrel photos are merely to show you who is watching me as I am writing this post.

My editor is the one who first sees my newest book (usually my third or fourth draft). She gives me both a general impression and an in-depth analysis, including detailed notes on the book's strengths and weaknesses. She raises questions about large issues of depth and meaning and character. She gives me these comments on the phone, in a detailed letter, and on the manuscript itself. It is up to me to think through all of her comments, resolve questions and submit revisions. The editor will continue to oversee the manuscript's development and will coordinate all issues related to design and publication.

The copy-editor (whom I have never met) is someone who sees the manuscript after I've revised it and the editor has officially approved it. The copy-editor scours the manuscript, marking it for consistency of style and format (font, headings, spacing, bold, italic) and for accuracy. She will note discrepancies (different spelling of same name, miscalculation of dates or times or distances) and awkward repetitions or phrasings. It is up to me to resolve the discrepancies and smooth or eliminate the awkward bits.

Not all editors and copy editors work the same way, but this is the way mine work with me. I've had the same editor for the past fourteen years. We've developed a deep understanding of the way each of us thinks and works and this, I think, enriches the work we do together.

Revisions, Copy-Editing and all that Jazz

2011-10-03T20:01:00.003-04:00

A Bigga Mess

Closing in on last tweaks before the book is set in galleys (pages that look like book pages.) Bigga mess on desk. It has gone something like this, over the past two years:

Write several drafts, submit to editor, receive feedback; revise, resubmit, feedback, tweaking. Ms. 'approved' and goes to copy editor and then comes back to me with questions. Fix it, resubmit, a few more tweaks, off it goes again to be set in galleys.

[Meanwhile: begin first draft of next book.]

Meanwhile: talks with editor regarding cover art and interior art (that begins shortly after editor first sees manuscript, and is ongoing until book is ready for publication.)

Next: first-pass galleys will arrive in a month or two and we'll all (me, editor, etc.) proofread. Tweak. Fix.

While we're doing that, marketing and publicity and sales departments are ramping up with their expertise.

Then: second-pass galleys arrive; proofread, tweak, fix.

[Meanwhile: continue writing drafts of next book.]

Sometimes another final pass (of first book) comes to me.

Final art arrives.

Advance review copies are printed (up to four or five months in advance of publication).

[Finish next book drafts; submit to editor; receive feedback; revise . . .]

About eleven months from now: publication day of the book that's the bigga mess on desk above.

Ta da!

Soon I will disclose the . . . title.

Love That Girl, Love That Dog

2011-09-30T09:18:00.003-04:00

Again: the photo says it all.

It needs no words. . . but it also inspires words. What is the story of this girl and this dog and this place?

Love that Boy, Love that Dog

2011-09-28T15:38:00.002-04:00

What can I say?

I mean: really.

Did you have a dog when you were young? Do you have one now?

Focus

2011-09-27T20:03:00.000-04:00

When students say, "I don't have anything to write about," I think What? What? Are you kidding? You just need to look closely at something. Anything at all. Your hand. An eye. A leaf. A mushroom. Just lean in and focus. . .

The strange, stunning, giant yellow mushroom in the photos here was in our yard this morning. I've never seen anything quite like it. Had to get down and look closely. Had to grab a ruler so you'd know I wasn't exaggerating. Look underneath:

Incredible.

Of course, then I had to mess around . . .

'Night all. May you dream of stunning yellow mushrooms, but don't be afraid . . .

Scenes

2011-09-24T09:52:00.002-04:00

On the kitchen counter, this scene (above). There's a story there, many stories, yours for the telling.

When the grandchildren visit, we make up the story as we go along, like this: "One day a grandmother was out in the mint forest and she came upon . . ."

There are scenes like this throughout the house. Must be a compulsion: to set up scenes and tell the stories, mm?

Anatomy of a Sunset

2011-09-19T19:48:00.002-04:00

When I'm writing, I'm not aware of time passing and am surprised when I look up and see visible signs of that lapse. I took this set of pics over the course of an hour while I was also writing. (The yellow globe in these photos is the reflection of the interior light, not an errant moon.)

The photos remind me of successive drafts of a work in progress: the layering and deepening of the story with each draft.

With care and luck, that final draft might be a thing of beauty, rich but subtle?

But then, that is for the reader to judge.

The Observer

2011-09-18T10:16:00.002-04:00

Sometimes when I am writing, I'll pause to allow the next part of a scene to unroll in my mind. I look out the window, gaze at the lake. Yesterday, I saw a groundhog sitting tranquilly in the yard, gazing at the lake. Was he, too, pausing in his work to let his thoughts realign? Or simply to contemplate the serene lake?

I thought about layers: I was watching the groundhog watching, much like I, the writer, observe my character, who is observing/thinking/acting.

Later in the day, I noticed the groundhog had turned around and seemed to be watching me.

Odd feeling, that. Sometimes when I am well into a book, I get the eerie feeling that the main character has turned to me, as if to say, "Well, now what?"

Puppy

2011-09-15T15:27:00.001-04:00

Children with New Puppy

The grandchildren got a new puppy.

They'd been hoping and dreaming and wishing.

Look at these faces.

Lucky children.

Lucky dog.

Bliss.

Catching Bats and Ideas

2011-09-11T09:03:00.000-04:00

I took this photo last night at sunset, trying to capture the bats flying just below the branches, black flashes silhouetted against the lake. There were about a dozen of them zinging back and forth. I took six or seven photos in quick succession, sure that I had caught them, but I don't see them now.

When I am in book-writing mode, I often try to capture quick flashes that flit through my mind–a scene, an image, a snip of dialogue–but sometimes they elude me, like the bats. I know they were there, but where have they gone?

Quilling

2011-09-09T20:43:00.001-04:00

I've just discovered quilling. Please, please do not let me become addicted.

Check out this 40 second video:

http://vimeo.com/15033988

Writing Day

2011-09-08T09:36:00.002-04:00

We've had a week of rain after a dry spell, and the roses in the garden are loving it.

In the shower this morning, the next two chapters of current work-in-progress revealed themselves to me.

Just like that.

All that pausing for paws (last blog) and flowers and what-not, watered by the shower, must have nurtured the story.

Writing Pause for Paws

2011-09-07T15:28:00.003-04:00

I'm working on a story.

I'm sitting dutifully at my desk and my fingers are tapping out words.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sense something waving at me.

Squirrel.

Having a picnic on the deck.

Making a bigga mess.

What was I doing
What was I thinking
Where was I . . .?

Why It Takes So Long to Write a Book

2011-09-03T18:08:00.000-04:00

Sure, there are the normal things like cooking, cleaning, laundry, errands, doctors, dentists, children, spouses, friends, family that need attention.

But then, also: there is the pale moon framed by branches

and

the flowers waving

and

beckoning

and so

you have to stop

and pay attention

right?

On the Desk, Part Two

2011-09-01T20:06:00.001-04:00

More things on the desk . . .

Above, the essential computer plus a couple lucky turtles.

Dozens of family photos . . ..

Flowers from the yard (these are Rose of *Sharon*)

in Ikebana vase

Mini-dark-chocolate Milky Way

Camera

And oh yes, the manuscript-in-progress:

66 pages of rough draft prose

And observing me and my desk is this squirrel

three feet in front of me

eye level.

Is your desk near a window?

On the Desk

2011-08-29T21:11:00.000-04:00

Back in the writing mode. Here are a few things on the desk. Above: Rotring T 0.7 automatic pencil; Sharpie ultra fine point marker; Pilot Precise V5 RT pen; and Magic Rub eraser.

Above: small index cards and colored pieces of paper for jotting notes as I go - reminders of things to fix or include in current pages.

Above: hot tea and cold fizzy water (usually with lime).

Above: what I call a 'fingerling' - a smooth piece of wood in a pleasing shape and pattern (gift from an artist/craftsman friend.) Helps me think in between scenes.

More 'things on the desk' in days ahead.

Do you have a favorite pen/pencil and/or beverage that aid your work?

August Mishmash

2011-08-25T21:43:00.001-04:00

It's nearing the end of August, and the giant hibiscus (above, about 7 inches in diameter) offer up their fragile blooms for a last bright burst.

Pears are nearly ripe:

A few plants are showing autumn colors:

This young chipmunk will soon be gathering nuts:

And I am returning to the work-in-progress, gathering my words, hunkering down.

How does your life change as the summer ends?

Storm and Baby Squirrels

2011-08-22T10:34:00.004-04:00

Yesterday morning a fierce storm blew through here, shearing the tops of solid, old trees. Scary, but no damage to people or structures.

Today, when we were investigating the tree damage, we had this hollow hickory taken down, and -

- we heard squeaking. Out of a knothole, fell these baby squirrels:

We saved a section of the tree and, using sterile gloves, placed the babies back inside. We could hear the mother scolding from nearby, so we know she's aware.

I was going to write this morning, but . . . I got distracted.

Small Figures, continued

2011-08-19T19:15:00.002-04:00

Continuing from last post: more 'B-movie figures' with small animal figures, a sample scene the grandchildren concoct.

Think of all the possibilities for dialogue . . .

I admit that even when the grandchildren are not here, I set these up around the house.

I bet you'd do the same. Right?

Small Figures

2011-08-17T20:27:00.000-04:00

My grandchildren love small figures (my grandson calls the human ones his 'guys') that they manipulate in various dramas. They've done this since they were old enough to talk. It fascinates me how well young children become story-teller, director, animator, stage and prop hand, camera man/woman - maneuvering among these roles with ease.

Often we film these mini-dramas (I take photos & compile in slideshows; lately they're doing their own with a Flip camera.) On our recent trip to Maine, we took along some 'B movie figures' that I had found (like the man on the left above) and a couple artist models (like the one at right.)

The figures went everywhere with us and the grandchildren: to the dock, to the lawn, to the picnic table, in the car. I brought some home with me. They're like book characters - set them up and see what they say and do.

I've lost my mind, right?

Exploring Maine

2011-08-15T20:01:00.003-04:00

Even though we live on a lake (in western New York state), we were lured up to a lake in Maine for the past two weeks. Our daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren have been singing Maine's praises for several years, and so we joined them, and we saw what all the fuss was about.

Clear, clear, clear water, in abundant lakes with granite islands, perfect for kayaking and swimming.

Miles and miles of coastline jagged with bays and coves and rocks.

Masses of blueberry hills and hiking trails and vistas of green mountains and blue-gray lakes and ocean.

"Lobstah!" Fresh, tender, sweet lobster.

And it was all fine, fine, fine. But finest of all were the grandchildren: the joyous, energetic, healthy, loving, imaginative grandchildren. For them, I would go most anywhere.

You been to Maine? Have a favorite spot there?

P. S. Brattcats: we loved having time with you en route. Thank you so much for your warm welcome.

P. S. Birdman and Elenka: we had all intentions of tracking you down (with forewarning), but were swallowed up by all of the above. Next year?

Small Critters

2011-07-28T09:29:00.002-04:00

Mini critters seem to be multiplying here. We're not able to keep real animals inside (because of travel and allergies), so these are stand-ins. I'm not quite sure why, but turtles, squirrels and birds are regarded as lucky in this house.

We'll be immersed in/with grandchildren the next couple weeks, so my blogging may lag behind. Be well, everyone . . . and may the good-luck critters be with you . . .

Do you have any good-luck tokens?

Fishing in the Air

2011-07-23T19:40:00.003-04:00

This is a poster made from Chris Raschka's artwork for Fishing in the Air, a story about a father and a boy going fishing. It is also about how our imaginations are shaped, and I was stunned by how Raschka so beautifully captured that abstract concept.

Did you ever go fishing with your one of your parents or grandparents? Do you think you caught more than fish?

The Blue Kayak

2011-07-21T17:38:00.001-04:00

One of my most favorite places to be: in my blue kayak on the lake. I've had this kayak for over twenty years. It's a sit-on-top kayak, perfect for these hot days, when you can dangle your legs over the side.

My husband has his own kayak. We like to explore coves and creep up close to fallen tree trunks. Ducks and chipmunks scurry in and out, birds swoop through the branches above.

The quiet of a kayak skimming through the water - so serene, so peaceful, so restorative.

Have you been in a kayak?

Hydrangeas

2011-07-16T15:37:00.004-04:00

(Click to enlarge)

The hydrangeas are blooming: most bushes are putting out blue blooms, one offers pink, and one offers white. I've heard the ph of the soil determines the color. True?

Go ahead, put your face right in there. Mm, mmm.

Harvest

2011-07-15T09:16:00.000-04:00

(Click to enlarge)

Today's harvest from the mini-garden (above) - I can hardly stand how happy this makes me.

I am not normally a lover of peas, but these (above) are so sweet and tender. They are barely rinsed off before:

Gobbled up! Every single one. They were so good.

Husband comes in. Eyes me. Eyes the empty pea pods. "Good thing I didn't want any," he says.

Good thing.

Chasing Redbird

2011-07-14T08:38:00.001-04:00

Cardinals, those surprising flashes of red in the air or the trees, suggest something both stunning and illusive.

Fifteen years ago, I sat down to write a book with only the title in mind: Chasing Redbird. On one level Chasing Redbird is the story of a girl uncovering a trail one summer, of finding her place in her family and the world, but on another level it is about the process of creation, of uncovering the trail of the story.

With every story I write, I feel as if I am chasing a redbird, and I hope I will find it. I don't have to 'catch' it; I just have to find it, see it, and show it to you.

Dog Love

2011-07-11T09:53:00.002-04:00

(Click to enlarge)

The photo says it all, mm?

Yellow Pepper

2011-07-10T15:52:00.000-04:00

If I could draw and paint better than I do, I would paint this still life: the first yellow pepper ever grown in our yard, ever, ever, with delicate roses and a pleasing vase. It's simple, but I like it so much, this little vignette.

Do you draw/paint?

Squirrel Eats Tree Eye

2011-07-08T20:52:00.003-04:00

(Click to enlarge)

This little squirrel spent a good ten minutes nibbling at the plaster eye on the walnut tree outside my office window. All rather surreal.

And I only recently noticed the irony of having lived fourteen years in Walnut Tree Cottage (which had no walnut tree on the small lot) in England, but now at last walnut trees dot the yard here in western New York state.

Chipmunk Door

2011-07-07T16:26:00.000-04:00

I received this mini door (about 10 inches high) from my grandchildren last year, after they had visited and been intrigued by a hole at the base of this tree. Each day they had placed various toy critters and dolls near or in the hole, all the while carrying on an endless story.

Chipmunks use the door now, but when the grandchildren return, it will be overrun with other creatures.

Whoever thought to make this little door?

Surprises in the Garden

2011-07-05T17:13:00.000-04:00

This is the first year I've grown vegetables in addition to flowers, and it's been more fun than I ever expected. Everything surprises me. Lettuce! Tomatoes!

Green peppers! Yellow peppers!

Peas, sweet sweet peas!

And, most surprising of all--this (below) is going to be a cucumber. A cucumber!

Be still, my heart.

I apologize for all the !! exclamations !! I can't help it.

I mean: did you ever grow a cucumber?

Island on the Island

2011-07-03T09:23:00.000-04:00

(Click on photo to enlarge)

I've shown this island before (see keyword island in list at right). It's a gathering of flowers and doo-dads that sits on the kitchen island, so we think of it as an island on an island. Above are the last of the dogwoods and peonies and a few of the roses and herbs.

Just as in a book where I sometimes change point of view or perspective in order to highlight another aspect of the story, I thought it would be interesting to see the above rendered in black and white:

(Click to enlarge.)

So different. The black and white feels more sculptural to me, with more emphasis on form.

Do you have a preference?

Reaping

2011-07-01T10:00:00.000-04:00

This may not look like a bountiful harvest to you (lettuce, a few peas, one green bean and a marigold), but I am so excited by it! Although I've always grown flowers, this is the first year I've planted vegetables, and to be honest, I'm shocked that they actually grew! Into food! That you can eat! And they taste completely YUM.

My dad always planted a big garden, with tomatoes, corn, beans, cucumbers. My garden is a much smaller version, but I think he'd be proud to see it.

When I first began writing, I didn't believe that a page this day and another that day would actually ever grow into anything worthy of the word 'novel,' but I learned that with care and patience and trust, those words could grow into something worthy.

Not unlike gardening, when you think about it. Do you plant vegetables or words or . . .?

More Birds Fly!

2011-06-29T16:52:00.000-04:00

Look what was huddled on the corner of the porch this morning: baby sparrow. I thought it might be injured, but as I approached it flew off to a nearby bush. This bird comes from the 'tenement' birdhouse that is below the robins' nest (the robins left the nest two days ago.)

Here is what the sparrow looked like just a week ago, a tiny, scrawny thing:

See it there, on the right, emerging from the green house? (You can also see the baby robins above in their nest.)

There is one more sparrow left to leave the tenement. I hope it goes today, so I can snap out of this bird-hypnosis!

Birds Take Off!

2011-06-27T21:24:00.000-04:00

When I walked out onto the porch yesterday, swoosh, one of the baby robins flew out of the nest and landed bumpily in the bushes. One of the parent robins soon came to lead it to a more secluded spot.

As I returned to the house, a second babe fluttered over my head, skimming my hair and landed on the porch, plop:

It then hopped under a planter:

About an hour later, I went out onto the back porch--on the other side of the house--and was about to sit down in a deck chair, when I saw this beneath it:

Oops. It's baby number two. Not sure how it found its way around the house to this spot. I called for the mother or father to come lead the bird away. Seriously.

Back to the front porch nest to worry over bird number three, still in the nest. All alone. All day and all night long.

This morning, that third bird finally plopped out of the nest and onto a table. I called for the mother or father to lead it away. They probably did.

I hope so, because one hour later, we saw a cat and four kittens crawl out from under the deck! What?

It's a regular animal nursery around here.

Summer at the Pool

2011-06-25T07:45:00.000-04:00

This pretty much says it all, doesn't it? Mm, mmm.

Roses

2011-06-22T16:12:00.000-04:00

I am a sucker for fragrant tea roses and add a new bush to the yard each year. These (in pic above) are from our garden. I stick my face right in them every day. June is the best month for the roses here; they receive the best amount of rain and sun, and the Japanese beetles have not yet emerged to chew them up.

Also in the garden are cluster roses (that's what I call them; I don't know their proper name); they emerge as a ready-made bouquet:

I mean: really. Put your face right in there. Nice, mm?

Do you have a favorite flower?

Toddler Robins

2011-06-21T16:09:00.000-04:00

I can't help it. More bird pics. This second brood of robins commands more or our attention because the nest is directly outside the kitchen window and the front door. Truly: those mouths are open from dawn to dusk. Parents are busy snatching up every bug in sight and dropping it down their throats.

There is a third baby bird in the nest which seems to be stepped on and sat on a lot. Here it strains for position in the middle:

I was the second oldest of five and didn't get stepped on too much; neither did my older sister or three younger brothers because they were all too cute or too scrappy. We're a close bunch.

You? Were you stepped on or sat on? Or too cute? Too scrappy?

Feed Me!

2011-06-20T08:44:00.001-04:00

There are three baby robins, now four days old, in this nest.

"Feed me!"

They're not making any noise, but those mouths seem always open, and all day long, the parent birds fly to and fro delivering food: worms plucked from moist earth, and moths and other insects from plants and bushes.

Hard to get any work done with these sweet things so near . . . although maybe watching is part of my 'work.'

New Books, New Birds

2011-06-18T15:39:00.000-04:00

I keep a running list of books that I'd like to read, and if the titles still resonate a week or two or three later, I buy them. Above are the most recent purchases and it feels like Christmas--wow!

Along with the new books came three new baby robins–hatched yesterday–in a porch nest. Two are seen here:

They remain in that position all day, mouths perpetually open, waiting for the parents to bring them morsels.

New books, new birds: feasts for the eyes, the mind, the soul.

Ciao, bellas. . . .

Translations

2011-06-16T19:59:00.003-04:00

Students always seem interested in the look of foreign editions. For all the years we lived on boarding school campuses in England, Switzerland, and New Jersey, students could come to our house and see these editions spread out. They liked to choose their favorite covers and try to read the titles and my name in all the different languages. Since there were international students in all these schools, often students would find translations in their own languages.

Above and below are most of the translations of The Wanderer. In the photo above, the top book is from France. Second row, left to right: Italy, Germany, Taiwan. Bottom row: Slovakia, Latvia, Spain.

In this second picture directly above, the translations are (top, from L to R): Thailand, Netherlands, Germany; (bottom L to R) = China, Russia, Spain (Castilian), Korea.

I may have a few of these wrong. Feel free to correct me.

Below are the American (at left) and British (at right) editions:

I'm not sure if you can see the covers clearly enough (click to enlarge all photos) to choose a favorite, but if you have one, I'd love to hear what it is.

Beauty

2011-06-13T09:12:00.000-04:00

I would like to write a book as pure and beautiful as this single dogwood blossom. It is not too showy, nor is it drab. The colors are soft, muted. The symmetry is appealing. It is framed by its green leaves and offered up in a simple, elegant white vase.

Makes me marvel, makes me smile.

Birdhouse Wings

2011-06-12T15:28:00.000-04:00

My husband's sense of humor . . .

My husband and I spent nearly twenty years working in boarding schools in England and Switzerland, and another eight years at one in the U.S. When new buildings were built on these campuses, fundraising campaigns sometimes offered large donors (size of donation, not size of donors) a chance to have the building named after them.

For my birthday last year, my husband put up these signs (click to enlarge) on the birdhouse on the front porch.

haha.

For another view of this birdhouse/townhouse see last week's post below.

So: question for you today. If a building were named after you, what sort of building would you want it to be?

Porch Residents

2011-06-10T11:07:00.001-04:00

This birdhouse hangs on our front porch and was first used by finches, who raised their young and then vacated. The chickadees then swooped in and pulled out all the nesting materials of the finches and 'redecorated,' raising this current flock. (Click to enlarge.*)

The nest on top is from a robin who moved in above the chickadees after already raising one brood over a nearby porch light. The robin apparently prefers this real estate for her next brood. The chickadees do not seem amused and occasionally there are squabbles between the chickadees and robins.

I've had to go out there a couple times and ask them to knock it off.

Microcosms

2011-06-07T08:40:00.000-04:00

So much world in so small a space. Look at that amazing dandelion. Each of those little white threads ready to fly off, each carrying its own world. Boggles the mind. Well, my mind, at least.

I like seemingly simple things: clean close-ups, small impressions, single flowers, 'ordinary' people, though no person is ordinary if you zoom in for a close-up, just as no flower or stone or weed is simple if you lean in and focus.

I like this lettuce, grown right outside my door, so delicate and astounding:

I like this birch bark, with all its convoluted curls:

Many years ago, I read a slim book about an ordinary man, Marcovaldo, by Italo Calvino, and while I was reading I felt as if this book was a doorway with a sign saying, "Come on in," for this was the sort of story I knew I would write--stories about seemingly simple, ordinary people.

If you write, was there a book like that, that opened a door for you? If you don't write, do you like the simple or the complex?

Swamped

2011-05-28T11:39:00.000-04:00

Like many parts of the States, we've had an awful lot of rain. For this part of western New York, it is the wettest May in 119 years. But we are nowhere near as bad off as the people in the midwest who are suffering devastating losses.

Our dock (above) is not supposed to be under the water. Ahem. We are hoping it will not break apart and float away. Meanwhile, naturally that pic reminds me of writing--about 40 pages into a new draft, feeling suddenly swamped, sinking, hoping the whole story does not break apart and float away.

Fortunately, there are a couple life preservers attached to the dock :)

Is the weather (real or metaphorical) challenging you these days?

Gift on the Dock

2011-05-25T12:16:00.000-04:00

Look what I found on the dock this morning: a perfectly perfect egg (from a duck, I think). I'd love to know how it got there. Two male mallards were sunning themselves nearby. No females in sight. Was a duck simply not able to contain herself?

Since I can relate just about anything to story telling and writing, naturally I see that egg as the story waiting to be hatched. Something's in there, all the ingredients necessary. It merely needs careful incubating and will emerge when ready. Don't neglect it, though. It'll never hatch if it's neglected.

Are you incubating something?

Feed Me

2011-05-23T10:18:00.000-04:00

My story, like these baby robins, is sitting there with its mouth open, calling, "Feed me, feed me, feed me."

And I, like the parent birds, am scurrying around gathering up nourishment.

That story is hungry, I tell you. Hungry. I hope I find enough to fill up its belly.

Pay no attention to the messy nest, with its bits of wire and paper, twigs and mud. My nest is not that messy.

Wonder what you are scrambling to feed these days.

Simple Beauty

2011-05-22T10:16:00.001-04:00

There is so much flashy beauty in all this spring springing, but today I looked down at my feet, at the dewy grass, and ta da! Look at that. All those perfect dewdrops on those perfect, green blades.

It's all too much for the little brain to handle.

Relate it to writing? O-kay. It's like the fertile start of a story, all that promise of newness and sparkle, dazzling to the mind's eye. And then comes the heat of summer. You have to mow (tame, edit) all that green stuff. And then fall: it threatens to die on you.

Well. I tried to relate it to writing. I tried.

Fog and Crabapple

2011-05-21T19:37:00.000-04:00

Woke this morning to this sight: the crabapple tree in full blossom and fog over the lake. White, misty light and white blossoms.

Went in search of a few more vegetable plants for our small garden, and by the time we came home (with zucchini and pepper plants), the sun was out for the first time in many, many days.

Had to go kayaking. Had to.

Had to.

Hope you 'had to' do something equally nice today.

The Lake

2011-05-20T20:00:00.000-04:00

I'm experimenting with a Flip video. Don't expect too much.

The Watcher

2011-05-20T10:08:00.001-04:00

This is the offspring of Big Squirrel, who used to hunch up in this same spot and watch me at my computer. He (or she) will watch for a few minutes and then scurry off. If I'm on the phone, the squirrel stays longer.

Listening?

I always feel obliged to have a little one-sided conversation, mostly along the lines of: "Okay, okay, I'll get back to work," or "What? What? I'm a little busy right now . . ."

Maybe I've been in this room too long.

Posters by Folon

2011-05-17T11:43:00.000-04:00

Occasionally you find an artist whose works and/or words speak to you on so many levels that you cannot fully articulate the how and why. Folon is such an artist for me.

After recently discovering the illustrated cards and envelopes by this Belgian artist in Lettres a Giorgio, I went in search of more artwork by him and was able to track down a collection of his posters.

Beautiful! Above is one I call 'the eye tree.' About this image, Folon said, "Outside my studio window there's an apple tree that has never borne any fruit. I still hope that it will produce something one day. It's been thinking about it for years now. I suspect that it's planning a surprise."

On the morning that I received this book of posters, I had taken a photo of the view from my office window, of a crab apple tree ready to blossom:

Now when I look out the window at that tree, I see white eyes . . . I wonder if the tree is 'planning a surprise.'

Another Folon poster, done for the Festival d'Avignon, reminds me of the multiple traces of an author's self that he/she leaves on each page:

And then there is this one, which I refer to as 'chopped feet':

About this poster, Folon said, "'The times they are a-changing',' goes Bob Dylan's song, and so they are. The past is erased only to be replaced by what is temporary."

What do you see in that poster? I keep thinking of someone who cannot move because he has neglected his foundation, or has parceled himself out in pieces, or . . .

This next poster is one of my favorites, perhaps because I love trees and I love the placement of the 'unusual' or 'unexpected' image of the chair in the center:

Of this poster, Folon says only, ". . ..[it] was made for an exhibition on the theme of the tree at Jacques Marquet's gallery in Paris."

Why the giant chair in the center? And then I see the branches coming off the back of the chair, and I think of wooden chairs and their legs like trunks and the way one thing (tree) becomes another (chair, poster/paper) . . .and on the mind spins.

I wonder what you are thinking when you see these images. I wonder what other things you see.

(Posters by Folon, Harry N. Abrams, Inc., NY, 1978.)

Illustrated Envelopes and Cards

2011-05-13T17:02:00.000-04:00

Recently I posted the cover of Jean-Michel Folon's Lettres a Giorgio, a collection of illustrated envelopes and postcards by the Belgian artist, all addressed to Giorgio Soavi in Milan, Italy, between 1967-1975. Above and below are examples of the contents of this book.

I love these colorful envelopes and cards! Imagine being the recipient of these treasures.

They are mailed from various countries: Italy, the USA, France, Japan. I like seeing not only the quirky, clever illustrations, but also the postmarks and the stamps. (In the above example, postage from the States to Europe was 20 cents. Now it is 90 cents.)

I don't think I can ever send out a plain white envelope again.

Doesn't it make you want to try your hand at one? Mm?

New Books

2011-05-09T09:59:00.002-04:00

Two very different books that I'd ordered arrived last week: Lettres a Giorgio and The Hunchback of Neiman Marcus.

I'll have to do a separate post showing the illustrated postcards and envelopes in Lettres a Giorgio: 1967-1975--all so colorful and intriguing. They make me want to paint my envelopes. The illustrator's name is Folon; I'm off to do a search about him.

The Hunchback of Neiman Marcus is a novel in verse by Sonya Sones, whom you may know as a young adult author. This novel is for adults, "about marriage, motherhood and mayhem." I find something simpatico in Sones' voice, almost as if my characters Jack in Love That Dog or Annie in Heartbeat had grown up and written in their adult voice. Sones' character displays an appealing combination of humor and poignancy.

What are you reading?