Reading Corner

In my quest to encourage the girls to read, read often, read for the sheer love of it, I set up one corner of our living room with a pile of blankets, two king-size pillows, and a stack of books, and told them this corner was ONLY for reading. No playing with toys, no pretending to take naps, we only curl up here when we want to read.

They loved it at first. Then they whined because I wouldn't let them turn it into a tent. Part of me felt ridiculous for sticking to my guns about it, but I needed it to be special, in order for reading to be special. So I didn't make a big deal, just reminded them that they had an entire house they could play in, they could keep one corner for reading.

Slowly, over the course of a week or so, they got used to the idea. I would come into the room to see Joy sitting there with a book. Grace would come down after her nap and cuddle up with a blanket and a picture book until she woke up fully.

And every once in a while, delight of delights, they would sit down together, and Joy would read aloud to Grace.

Now they are doing that all over the house. Joy curls up in the recliner with Frog and Toad are Friends. Grace plops down in the middle of the floor a collection of fairy tales. They sit on top of their Lego crates, prop The Little Red Hen on the coffee table, and Joy reads while Grace provides sound effects.

I know I talk fairly frequently on here about my kids and their reading habits. That's because it is so vitally important to me right now! They don't have to love the same sort of books that I do. They don't have to be the type of person to get lost in another world, like I do. Carl takes great joy in sitting down with a commentary on the minor prophets, but can barely get through most fiction. And that's fine, too.

The important thing is that the kids are learning the true magic of the written word, in whatever form takes their fancy.

And if putting an old comforter down in one corner of the house helps with that? Well, you can be sure that comforter is going to come with us no matter where we move.

Expanding Her Horizons

We recently did some rearranging in our house so that Joy and Grace could have separate rooms. This, sadly, will last only for while we remain here, in this nice roomy four-bedroom house. Once Carl starts seminary and we're living in campus housing, it'll be back to sharing! For now, though, they both seem to be thriving on the separation.

Joy, in particular, delights in having her own space. One of the first things I did was take the tiny bookcase that had been removed from their shared bedroom after I found them trying to use it to leapfrog between beds (and it, shockingly enough, crashed and narrowly missed Grace) and put it in her room. Her special picture books are on the bottom shelf, tiny books like Beatrix Potter and Brambly Hedge are on the top shelf, and the middle shelf is reserved for big girl, read-aloud books. Books that Grace would lose interest in after two pages, but Joy is finally old enough to listen to while someone else reads. Books like The Secret Garden, Betsy-Tacy, The Wind in the Willows, Five Little Peppers, Swiss Family Robinson, Hitty, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, The Railway Children, etc.

This is real life. A few book jackets displaced, the Frances books on the floor because she was reading them most recently, and Bunny Douglas forlornly squeezed between the bed frame and the book case.

This edition of Anne of Green Gables took its place on the shelf on Christmas Day (Grace received Peter Pan).

The book I placed on the shelf with the most secret hope was The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. That was the very first long book I ever read all by myself, and it is the book that started my lifelong love of fantasy. I so want my girls to love it as well! But I didn't say anything to anyone, not wanting to influence Joy, and in fact didn't even push any of the books on that shelf. I borrowed Little House in the Big Woods from the library and we started reading that together, but I left the middle shelf alone.

Then, one night, out of the blue, after Grace was tucked in and Carl came into Joy's room to tuck her in, she handed him The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and said "Daddy? Can we start reading this?"

Carl's never read it either, so now BOTH of them are experiencing (and enjoying) it for the first time. Both of them (separately) tend to come and fill me in on what they just read. Carl is mostly blown away with how different it is from the movie. "This is SO MUCH better!" he enthused. "Why did they even call the movie 'based' on the book, anyway?" The other night Joy chattered to me all about how Dorothy melted the Wicked Witch with a pail of water and won back her sparkly shoes, and how the Cowardly Lion isn't really scary, he just pretends to be scary so he won't be scared by everything else, and isn't it silly that there's a man made of tin instead of skin?

And I am dancing with glee.

Only a few more years before we can start reading Lewis, Tolkien, and Alexander!

If I keep thinking of more books to add, eventually we're going to need a bigger bookshelf.

My Joy

Ten years ago, if you'd asked me where my life was headed, I would have told you a fabulous tale of living and writing abroad, traveling all over the place for my stories, coming home when necessary to either work at a steady job for a while or just recharge my batteries. There might have been orphanage work mentioned in that saga, too.

Eight years ago, I almost sheepishly got married and accepted that my life was flowing in a different direction from what I had planned.

Five years ago ... well, five years ago, this happened:

My life has turned out so different from what I thought it would be, and so much more fulfilling than I could have imagined (even if at times it seems absolutely numbing and stultifying - even at those times, I KNOW that it is all worth it.

Happy fifth birthday, my darling Joy. Your life is the very best story I could ever have a hand in writing, and I am so thankful for the privilege of being a co-author in your living epistle.

One year

Two years

Three years

Four years

Last month. We haven't had a chance to do her five-year photo shoot yet. Later today!

I am a writer. I am a mom. It's taken almost five years, but I'm finally learning the two are not incompatible.

My priorities have shifted since becoming a mom, but who I am at the core has not. Motherhood just stripped away the nonessentials.

These last five years have been a wild ride. I can't even fathom what the next five will bring, but I'm excited to live it, and watch it unfold.

It may be Joy's birthday today, but I'm the one receiving the gift. Every day for five years.

Three

As I sat at the table with Grace this morning, reminding her every 30 seconds to take another bite, helping her with her water, getting her down to go potty, and then getting her back in the chair, reminding her (again) to eat instead of play with her fingers, breaking up a fight between the sisters, encouraging her to wait until AFTER breakfast to sing, I had an epiphany.

I understand now why it is impossible for me to keep to any kind of schedule.

I have a three-year-old.

'Nuff said.

What I get when I ask said three-year-old to smile. Goofball!

Totally better than the best schedule, though. Don't you agree?

I'm getting better these days about accepting that this is my season for intensive parenting, which means even school has to take second place sometimes, and writing a distant third. Sometimes I still want to rail against it (because hey, I want to have IT ALL, RIGHT NOW), but slowly, I'm coming to a point where I can not just be okay with it, but actually happy about it. Amazing!

Readers

I love peeking around the corner of the living room and seeing this.

What better way to spend a summer afternoon?

Holly Grayson, Alleluia ...

One of Joy's favorite songs is "All Creatures of our God and King." She will go around the house humming it for hours, breaking into words only at the "alleluia, alleluia" part.

Grace, being three, likes to imitate her sister in all things, so when Joy starts caroling "Alleluia, alleluia," Grace immediately joins in.

Only her alleluias don't always sound the way they're supposed to. From Grace, it sounds more like she's singing, "Holly Grayson, Holly Grayson ..." (Or, technically, "howwy gwayson," because she's still working on her "l"s and "r"s.)

After I checked all their books and TV shows to see if she was singing about some character (she wasn't), I decided it was just a trick of her hearing alleluia slightly differently, pronouncing it more differently yet, and my ear trying to arrange her nonsense syllables into something that makes sense.

Then I started thinking about what a good name Holly Grayson was for a book character, decided I'd use it sometime.

A couple days later, I decided Holly had long, dark brown hair, and either blue or hazel eyes.

Few days after that, I knew she was strong-willed and sharp-witted, often speaking without thinking, but with a warm heart underneath.

An investigator, I realized shortly thereafter. Not an ordinary investigator, either, but either a paranormal or supernatural one.

Nope, I decided a short time later. Time-traveling investigator, working for the InterGalactic Time Police (what, you didn't know about them? Oh, they exist, my friends.), except they only let her stay on because of her ability to always get results. They don't like the way she flouts their rules and doesn't always respect authority. You can't fire your top investigator for being a smart-mouth, though, so she stays on, even though they're always looking for reasons to get rid of her.

Then I decided that her time-traveling machine broke down on her last trip, trapping her in the Victorian Era until she is able to fix it, and that she uses her skills and abilities to help those who can't help themselves - in fact, that becomes her agency's motto. Holly Grayson Investigations: We help those who can't help themselves.

Saturday afternoon, I caved and started writing the story that landed her in the Victorian Era. It's going to be novelette or novella length, I'm not sure yet. I'm having so much fun with it.

Hey Grace, got any more songs you want to mangle? Just imagine the stories you could inspire!

This is somewhat how I imagine Holly. No talking lions, though. At least not yet.

Reader

A possible near-future conversation between Joy and a librarian or teacher.


Librarian or Teacher, looking at Joy's armful of books teetering nearly above her head: My, that's a lot of books! Are you going to read all of them?

Joy: Yes, all by myself.

L or T: Really? How old are you?

Joy: I will be five in November.

L or T: And you can already read all those books by yourself? How did you learn to read so young?

Joy: I got bored.

End scene.

This kid, she amazes me. I really did start to teach her to read simply because she was bored. Bored to the point where she was getting into trouble out of frustration. She struggled a bit at first because it didn't click immediately (and because I was an idiot and thought I could teach her with easy readers and flash cards - I'm sure that's all some people need, but I am a lousy teacher and needed a curriculum), but we persevered (all of us - Joy and I did the official school books, but Carl would sit down and patiently work with her through regular books, even letting her read the bedtime stories sometimes), and then, ever so slowly, it started to come together. She would recognize one word when she saw it, then two. Then five. Then she could put together sentences. Then she started figuring out the whole "sound it out" business.

Yesterday afternoon, I walked through the living room and paused. Joy was curled up on the couch with "Mr. Putter and Tabby Pour the Tea," which we had borrowed from the library last week and hadn't had a chance to read together yet, and she was reading it. Out loud. By herself. Sounding out the words she didn't know. Getting some of them wrong, but more of them right. Going back to re-read a sentence that she hadn't added the proper emphasis to before. Immersed in her own world.

I very nearly burst into tears.

She finished that and picked up "Sam and the Firefly," another library book, and read through that. Then she read through "Go Dog. Go!" She had to take a bathroom break partway through that one, and I sat in Carl's study and listened as she read all the books we keep in there for the littles to look at while they use the potty (leftover habit from the days they were potty-training).

I quite honestly had a lump in my throat the rest of the evening. Reading has shaped my life, my very nature, for as long as I can remember. It has been one of the deepest desires of my heart that my children share the same passion and love for the written word as I have. Seeing this love take root in Joy is one of the most rewarding moments in parenthood I've had thus far.

She's reading. My kid is reading.

It still blows my mind.

Now I just have to keep from going absolutely crazy on Amazon and buying every easy reader I can find. I just want to shower her with ALL THE BOOKS IN THE WORLD, but that's what libraries are for, and I don't want to deprive her of one of my other deep-set joys, which is finding those amazing books at the library, and the thrill of bringing them home to read.

Taken first thing this morning after she came downstairs. Please ignore the mound of clean laundry next to her. It was a long weekend.

I have a reader. A real live reader. Somebody pinch me!

By the way, the scene up top would never really happen. Joy hates talking to strange adults. I can't really blame her; I'm not crazy about it either.

To Parent or Not

It's one of the most common topic of discussion for YA and MG fantasy - what to do about the parents?

The orphaned hero is become so cliched that people do tend to roll their eyes automatically when they see it, but writers seem to be left with little choice - either create some elaborate scheme to have the parents out of the picture, or just kill them off, because if the parents are around, much of the tension for the young protagonist is removed.

Oddly enough, I'm not a huge fan of that whole "remove the parents" idea, though. I know that it's mostly because I am a parent now. But it's also because while it makes it trickier for the protagonist to be the one driving the story, it also adds another level of tension - how does one go about having magical adventures when one's mother is right there reminding one to keep safe and be smart? And what does a mother (or father) do when adventure finds one's child - go with the natural instinct to protect one's kid, or stay in the background and allow the kid to learn through experience?

These are the sorts of themes I really do enjoy seeing played out in books.

Edward Eager and E. Nesbit both handle parental presence well in their books. Usually, the parents are completely unaware of magic, and that unawareness becomes in itself another obstacle - the mother in Half Magic thinks she's going mad because of all the magic she's witnessing; Anthea has to go to extreme measures to hide from her mother that the magic carpet took the baby away in The Phoenix and the Carpet; Granny gets her hands on the magic book in Seven-Day Magic and leads the children on a madcap adventure they can't escape until they get the book back, because she thinks she's just dreaming ... and so on and so forth. My favorite Eager parents, though, are Martha and Katharine, both of whom had magical adventures when they were children, and aren't afraid to set their children straight when it comes to magic. And in The Time Garden, when the children travel back in time and end up in one of their parents' magical adventures, and have to rescue them, it gets thoroughly delightful (side note: I wonder at what point in time did Martha, Katharine, Jane and Mark look at each other and realize, "OH! Those strange children from our desert island adventure that time - those were OUR KIDS"?) and mayhem-y.

I read a duology recently where the daughter was kidnapped to a magical realm to help free her father from a spell there, and the mother went back voluntarily to rescue the daughter. I thought the concept was fabulous, except in execution, the mother spent most of her time as a prisoner in the palace, dithering about what was best to do, while the daughter escaped her kidnappers and had wild piratical adventures while on her way to rescue her father. It was a bit of a disappointment, because I really, really wanted to see a YA book that had an equally strong mother and daughter - in the same place but separated, both having awesome adventures.

I guess maybe someday I'll just have to write that story myself.

What are some good example you can think of for parental inclusion in YA or MG adventures? Do you prefer to read stories where the children have to work with or around the parents, or where the parents just aren't there at all? Would you want to read a story that features both kids AND adults being awesome?

Sharing the Secrets of the Garden

I recently started reading The Secret Garden aloud to Joy (and Grace, when she sits still long enough to hear). We finished up with Betsy-Tacy and were wondering what chapter book to start on next when I saw my beautiful green-and-pink copy on my shelves, and knew that was the one.

http://contentinacottage.blogspot.com/2010/07/tasha-tudor-estate-family-feud-still-in.html

The Secret Garden is one of those books that shaped my childhood. Books in general shaped my childhood, really. But some stand out more than others. The Narnia books ... The Hobbit ... Half Magic ... The Four-Story Mistake and Thimble Summer and the Gone-Away books ... The Wizard of Oz ... the Betsy-Tacy books ... the Anne and Emily and Story Girl books ... Dad's old Lone Ranger books (don't judge!) ... and Frances Hodgson Burnett's tales about two very different girls, Sara Crewe and Mary Lennox.

I was a little torn, in fact, between reading The Secret Garden or A Little Princess, but Sara's tale of cold, gloomy, fog-ridden London always seems more fit for winter, to me, while Mary and Dickon and Colin all coming to life with the garden is so very much a spring tale. And seeing as how we started our first garden this spring, I thought the littles would enjoy it best right now. We'll tackle A Little Princess this winter.

It's not an easy tale to read aloud - the Yorkshire accents are tricky to pull off without sounding ridiculous - and much of the vocabulary is far beyond my four-year-old, but she is still riveted every time we read. We're only four chapters in (I can't get through more than two chapters at a time before my voice gives out), but I honestly think she would sit through the entire thing at once if I could do it. Right now she is as eagerly anticipating Dickon's first appearance as Mary is, and I am loving seeing this world again through her eyes - the magic of the moor, and the manor with a hundred locked doors, and a pert maid who speaks broad Yorkshire when surprised, and a hunchback, and a robin, and of course, the locked-up garden with rose trees inside. It's captured her imagination just like it did mine when I was a kid, and I suspect she is already imagining herself friends with Mary - just as I did.

Burnett bears much of the responsibility for my love affair with England. CS Lewis shares that responsibility, as do E Nesbit, Susan Cooper, Tolkien, ... oh okay, there are a LOT of authors responsible for turning me into the anglophile I am today. But Burnett is right up there. When I think of Yorkshire I do not first think of Downton Abbey and the misadventures of the Crawley sisters; I think of Mary Lennox and Dickon and a walled-in garden (as a young woman, by the way, Mary would wallop some sense into those sisters - she wouldn't stand for Lady Mary's dramatics for one second, and Colin and Lady Edith would probably fall in love only to have both Lord Grantham and Mr Craven disapprove, and Sybil would try to fall in love with Dickon, but of course everyone KNOWS he and Mary are meant to be together, and no I haven't been tempted to write a crossover fanfic about this, why do you ask? Ahem). I know, in my head, that England is not at all like Burnett wrote it, but when I close my eyes and conjure up images of it in my head, I see a moor covered in heather, and children playing with wild animals in brilliantly-colored gardens, and a foggy London with hansom cabs. The England of my heart is peopled with Dickons and Marys and Colins, secret gardens and gloomy mansions, a wide-spread moor and wise country mothers; with Saras and Beckys and Large Families and even Miss Minchins and Miss Amelias, boarding schools and attic bedrooms.

(When I close my eyes and think of Wales I see Will Stanton and Bran and Merriman, seven riders and a grey mountain and an afanc - but that's a different post.)

I'm not sure much in life brings me more joy than being able to introduce my children to the books that I have loved so well my entire life, to think that they will be making friends with the same timeless characters that have been my friends since I was small, to see their eyes light up with the same joy I feel every time they see the familiar dust-jacket of certain books. I can think of no better childhood than one spent roaming the moor with Mary and Dickon (yes, and Colin too, even though I never liked him - I would have been much happier if the book had just been about Mary and Dickon the whole time, although I did love it when Mary so magnificently put him in his place during that one tantrum) and Dickon's creatures.

http://domesticfox.wordpress.com/2011/09/02/thoreaus-of-passion-dickon-sowerby/

Just a few more years, and we can start reading about Narnia and Middle-Earth. I really can't wait for that. Every child should be able to go adventuring with Lucy and Bilbo!

Lessons From a Pig

picture from kristiyamaguchi.com

When I first heard that one of my long-time heroes, Kristi Yamaguchi, was writing a picture book, I was both excited and nervous. Excited because for one thing, there aren't enough books out there for kids that feature figure skating. Ballet, yes. Skating, no. Also excited because it was Kristi! I was nervous, though, because excellence in one area doesn't always translate to excellence in another. Not all figure skaters make great writers, and as a writer myself, I knew I would be hyper-critical.

I shouldn't have worried. Dream Big, Little Pig is a fantastic book! Instead of what I would arrogantly call typical inspirational tripe, gallant little Poppy taught an important lesson. You aren't going to magically be good at something and have everything handed to you on a silver platter just because you dreamed it - but if you love something, you should work hard and pursue it despite what other people say, and in that very pursuit there will be satisfaction. Awesome. My sister bought the book for my Joy when Joy just started skating, and I loved being able to read to her about how Poppy kept getting up every time she fell, and how eventually, she started falling less.

So when we heard that Kristi was writing a sequel titled It's a Big World, Little Pig, we were thrilled. And rightly so, because the sequel is just as charming as the first book. Aunt Lis and Uncle David bought this one for Joy to help celebrate her completion of her first season of skating lessons, and again, it is a fun story (with great illustrations) with an non-sterotypical message behind it. Poppy gets to go to a big international competition, and she's nervous, but soon discovers that all the competitors, despite being different animals from different countries, participating in different sports, they "all smile in the same language." I half-listened as Carl read it to Joy and Grace the first time, and I asked when he finished "But did Poppy win?" All three rolled their eyes at me. "It doesn't say," Carl said. "That is not the point."

Oh. Oops.

Not every athlete or actor can turn to writing stories, especially stories for kids, well, but Kristi certainly does. She inspires me to look at my own stories, and make sure I'm not falling into the trap of writing expected tropes, but instead pursue messages I would want my own girls to believe.

And to be perfectly honest, Poppy is a good inspiration to me, too - to not expect magical success, or to expect success to look like wild popularity or medals, but to work hard at what I love, just because I love it.

My big dreamer at her very first ice show (she's the one in front)

Disclaimer: I am not being compensated in any way for this review, and the opinions therein are solely my own. And my children's, so far as they have communicated them to me. :-)

Lessons

WARNING: This post has nothing to do with writing. It is, in fact, mostly bragging on my kid. Because along with being a writer, I'm a MOM, and occasional bragging on my kid goes with the territory.

These two pictures were taken the first time Joy was on the ice. She made either me or my sister carry her the ENTIRE time. Granted, she was a tiny three-year-old at the time, but still, we were SORE the next morning. She has loved watching ice skating with me ever since she was a little baby, but the reality of stepping on the ice scared her to death.

This was her third time on the ice. She didn't even want to hold my hand by then! She also insisted I show her how to bunny hop. No fear at all, and even the few times she fell, she laughed.

photo by lis hurlbut

First time on single-bladed skates, showing her sister how it's done.

And THIS is from her first day of Snowplow Sam (that's the lowest level of skating classes from the United States Figure Skating Association, by the way) in January.

And THIS is last Sunday, when she brought home a certificate stating that she'd passed all of Snowplow Sam, and is ready to start Basic 1 in the fall!

Not bad, for a little over a year. Her first-ever skating show is this Sunday, and my parents, Carl's mom, my sister and brother-in-law, and possibly Carl's sister are all coming out to watch and cheer her on. It's not just about the skating, it's about finding something she loves, overcoming her fears about it, and excelling at it.

Hmm, maybe there really IS something in here applicable to writing after all ...

Hey, have you entered the giveaway yet? If not, go, enter! What are you waiting for?

Blue February

I haven't had much chance to think about blogging lately. Between a trip out to Massachusetts to visit Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary (Carl had been thinking Wheaton or Trinity, but after visiting GCTS, we're pretty sure it's Boston, not Chicago, for us in the next year), sick children, an online defensive driving course to cut our insurance costs, and trying NOT to think about my 30th birthday coming up in less than a month* ...

My head's been whirling. Oh, and I started editing the 1920s adventure-fantasy (that story is in desperate need of a title). Y'know, in my spare time. Which might explain why I'm only crawling through the editing process.

And in the midst of sickness, the littles have been impossibly cranky this month - this week especially they've had me tearing at my hair. Which proves to me that no matter how mild the winter, by the time February rolls around, we're all more than ready for spring. I recognize this crabbiness - it's the winter blues for sure. Joy buried her head in my chest this morning after getting up and refused to open her eyes or mouth for an hour straight, nodding her head when asked if she was sad and shaking it when I asked if she knew why. She's better now, but she still has no idea why she was so miserable this morning. A little while ago Gracie sprawled full length on the hall floor upstairs and gave herself over to wailing, again, for no reason. Winter blues indeed!

Right now the littles are having hot chocolate and I made myself extra-strong coffee; we will attempt kindergarten with Joy and give Gracie her alphabet flash cards to play with later; then they will play in the bathtub longer than they need to get clean; this afternoon I will let them watch their Beatrix Potter video while I attempt to get some writing or editing done - Mummy needs to tend her own needs as well as everyone else's, after all.

How is your February going? Has it been a happy winter for you, or are you ready for spring, too? Do you garden? I'm hoping to start a container garden this year for some veggies and herbs - tomatoes, lettuce, and peppers; thyme, basil, and marjoram. Yum!

*I'm really not freaking out about 30 - 29 was actually a lot harder for me to come to grips with - but it's still a big milestone, and I don't really have time to think about it with everything else right now, so instead I'll just wait until two weeks before and then start thinking about nothing else. Carl, if you're reading this - small birthday gifts every day from March 1st to 14th are perfectly acceptable.

My Story, My Child

Last night I printed out the first draft of my older-young-adult historical-adventure-fantasy (seriously, don't you think I could pick one genre sometime?) so that I can look at it in physical form and mark it up for the changes I want in the second draft.

As page after page (151 single-spaced, to be exact - oy) flew from the printer, I looked at them and shook my head.

This would be so much easier if it was a collaboration, I thought. I could hand off this draft and the few notes I've already sketched out for needed changes to my writing partner, and sit back and let him or her do this next step. Then I could just polish up his/her work for the next draft!


But even as I thought it, I shook my head. Nope. Not my way. This story is my baby, mineminemine. And while there have been times when I've wished I could hand my kids off to someone, like my parents, for a few years and get them back when they are, say, eight or nine, I always knew in my heart that if a fairy godmother waved her wand and gave me that chance, I wouldn't take it. Even though my parents might do a better job, having had more experience, I still need and want to do the raising myself. It's hard work, and not fun a lot of the time, but the reward is so much greater at the end.

And so it is with my stories. The editing process might not be a lot of fun always, and it is loads more work than getting the initial idea down on paper (or computer), but even if I had the chance, I wouldn't hand it off to someone else to do. For better or for worse, this is my story. Someone else might write it better, but in the end, I am the one who has to tell it, in my own way.

Someday I might do a collaboration project with another writer. And if that happens, I am sure it will be its own uniquely rewarding experience. But for now, for this ms at least, I have to go it alone.

Just as knowing that even if I had the chance I wouldn't let someone else raise my kids (though seriously, if we lived close enough, I would NOT mind at all letting Mom and Dad watch them once a week - could I call them my beta parents?) is part of what makes me a parent, so knowing that this is my story, to tell in my own words, even with all the work involved, is part of what makes me a writer.

The Year of The Author

I have a hard time keeping track of what books I read in a year. I start out well enough, in January and February, but by March, I've completely forgotten about writing down what books I've read. Probably because so many of them are re-reads, and it seems silly sometimes to write down that I've read Anne of Green Gables for the 500th time.

However, I did realize, recently, that I tend to have a year of an author. For the last few years, there's been one author that I've discovered, either new to me or newly-loved, and I've spent the year reading everything I can get my hands on by that author.

First it was Dorothy L Sayers, and spending the year borrowing one Lord Peter book after another from the library. I even read all the Monty Egg stories I could find. Sayers' writing still enthralls me - I find something new about it to cherish each time I re-read. And Lord Peter himself ... I have mentioned before how bitterly I resented Harriet Vane because he fell in love with her, yes? All right then. Nothing more about that really need be said. He is as human and real and swoon-worthy a hero as was ever written.

Then it was Tamora Pierce - first Kel, then Aly, then Beka. Though Pierce's tendency (as I see it) to sometimes subvert the story in favor of her point irritated me (and still does, though the more I write the more I understand that temptation, and also how easy that is to do without realizing it), I did so appreciate her strong heroines - especially Kel and Beka, who were both quieter and more sensible than many female fantasy protagonists and were not blessed with special gifts that made them stand out; it was their character and determination. I truly do love that.

This past year, it was Diana Wynne Jones. I'd read one or two of her books before last year, but 2011 was the year I fully fell in love. Also, it happened to be the year she died, which left me feeling outraged - I'd finally found out how much I loved her writing, and then she was gone, before I even had a chance to say or think "thank you." The woman who created Sophie and Howl, Chrestomanci, Cat, and so many others, and wait, what, they just barely sprang to life for me and their creator was gone? Bad timing, Louise and world!

I think I already know what author will dominate 2012 for me - another one who died shortly after I'd finally read one of her books*, though that was a few years ago.

2012 seems a fitting year to immerse myself in this author's writings, seeing as how it is the 50th anniversary of her most famous work. That work? A Wrinkle in Time, and the author is Madeleine L'Engle.

I've mentioned on here recently just how moving I found A Ring of Endless Light. 2011 (well, and 2010) was a year of a lot of personal darkness for me, and the message of hope and encouragement to persevere that rang through Vicky's experiences was just exactly what I needed, when I needed it. I sobbed my way through the last few pages - and I am not a big crier (I mean, sure I get choked up Every Single Time I read OR watch Sam's "I can't carry the Ring, but I can carry you," bit to Frodo in Return of the King, but who doesn't? I'm not made of stone, after all).

While we were visiting my MIL for Christmas, I started reading A Circle of Quiet, one of L'Engle's memoir-ish works. By the time I was a few pages in, I know this was going to be one of those books that picked me up, shook me out, and set me back down again dazed, refreshed, and seeing the world with new eyes - or old eyes that simple had too many scales on them now shaken off.

And I was right. My thinking hasn't necessarily radically changed on anything, but the book both affirmed and challenged me right where I needed it, helped me shake loose some ideas that have been weighting me down, and filled up the spaces with fresh ones. It also made me laugh, which is grand.

So now I am certain that 2012? Is going to be the year I read everything I can find by L'Engle.

(*So, the story about why it took me so long to read anything by L'Engle - when I was very young, I picked up a book from the library called The Door in the Wall, which I thought was going to be exciting, and WAS NOT. I hated it. After that, I always got that book confused with A Wind in the Door, and so transferred my loathing of that darn non-exciting children's book to anything by L'Engle. Kind of like how I never read anything by Jones for so long because I always saw cats on the covers of her books, and unless Lloyd Alexander is writing it, I have no interest in feline fantasy. It took me until I was an adult to finally brave picking up Wrinkle, at which point I realized it had nothing whatsoever to do with EVIL BORING DOOR BOOK, but it was so very different from what I had been anticipating that I wasn't sure what to make of it. Same when I finally read Wind, and it really did take me until Vicky and Ring before I could start to better appreciate L'Engle's beautiful, strange writing. The End.)

Favorite Children's Books

My girls are 4 and 2 1/2, and I thought I'd share some of their current favorite books, in case there are any parents/grandparents/aunts/uncles/close friends who are interested in good books for very small people.

Anything by Beatrix Potter. Their current favorites are the nursery rhyme books: Cecily Parsley and Appley Dapply. They also like The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes, Jemima Puddleduck, and Mrs Tittlemouse (Grace goes around all the time saying "Sank 'oo, 'sank 'oo, mouse*," in a very credible imitation of pompous Mr Jackson).

White Rabbit's Color Book. This is one of Grandpa's stories that he keeps for the littles. Grace asks about it the entire car ride whenever we go and visit (that's four hours straight, by the way). They love learning about the mixing of colors, and I think they both (especially Grace) identify with the inquisitive White Rabbit.

Along those same lines, The Color Kittens is another favorite. I've been slowly increasing our collection of Little Golden Books; this one they like the best so far. We can't get through a day without one or both of them asking me what color comes from mixing _____ (insert any two colors of choice here), and then correcting me if I get it wrong.

Joy more than Grace loves this Classic Fairy Tales book, another one that Grandpa picked up at the used bookstore and gave us to take home. Carl reads this to them often, and Joy knows most of the stories well enough by now that she can go through it by herself and recite the stories.

Footprints and Shadows is lovely. I found it at a used bookstore and couldn't believe someone had sold it. The littles love the quiet rhythm of the words, and I get enchanted by the illustrations. It has actually inspired me to attempt more picture books, and I even have a plot simmering in the back of my brain for the next one!

Any of the books in the Stranger in the Woods series are perennial favorites, adored ever since the littles were babies. They are especially fun in the wintertime.

They are both just starting to appreciate the wacky humor of Dr Seuss. Grace loves her ABC book, and I bought Joy One Fish, Two Fish for Christmas, and this is ONE present I'm fairly certain (rap wood) she won't reject after opening.

Jan Brett is another one whose books the girls love - any and all of them. On Noah's Ark and The Owl and the Pussycat are their favorites, but now that Christmas is coming, I suspect they will want to read The Gingerbread Baby over and over (and over and over) again.

Grace is still a little young for them, but Joy enjoys Madeline and Babar, and they both like Curious George (although the first time I re-read the first book since I was a kid, last year, I was horrified at it - the Man in the Yellow Hat kidnaps George, and then George gets arrested for accidentally dialing a wrong number because the Man in the Yellow Hat just goes off and leaves him alone and loose in the apartment (AFTER KIDNAPPING HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE) ... the whole thing is dreadful. Give me Babar's communism any day).

Finally, they also both like listening to the CD of the Jesus Storybook Bible (GREAT for long car rides), and even though I find myself choking up at various stories when I try to read it aloud (Abraham and Isaac? BAWL), they also like to have it read to them by Mamma or Papa.

So there you have it! Any books little people in your life adore that I ought to look into adding to our collection?

*that translates to "Thank you, thank you, Mrs Tittlemouse."

Carl reading Winnie-the-Pooh to Joy when she was about a week old, starting what we hope is a lifetime habit of loving good stories.

Happy December!

So, I didn't think I was going to do it, but ...

I made my November writing goals! With one day to spare: I wrote the last word of the first draft of my 1920s fantasy-adventure Tuesday night. And then I jotted down the main areas that need work in the next draft.

So, that is one first draft finished, and one final draft finished. I had hoped to get the first draft of my MG fantasy finished as well, but I kind of guessed that wouldn't get done. I'm writing that draft by hand, which takes way longer than typing.

And today we started Advent - our first activity of the month was "listen to Christmas music," which we are ALL enjoying (I should mention that Carl is out of town today - he gets sick of Christmas music much faster than the girls and I). And I snuck in some holiday M&M's, because what's the point in starting Advent without a bit of candy?

I'm also hoping to bake some cookies throughout this next month. What are some of your favorite Christmas cookie recipes? We have the typical sugar cookies for frosting, of course, and Carl likes cappuccino crinkles, and if the smell doesn't gag him I'll probably make peanut butter cookies (Joy has informed me that are her best favorite) ...

But I'm always in the market for good new recipes!

Has your December started well? Are you getting excited for Christmas? And please, leave me a note with your favorite recipe or a link to it!

Thanksgiving Update

I wasn't going to post on Thanksgiving, but ...

In between making pie crust and preparing the pie filling, I sat down for a bit (Carl was slicing the apples for me, so I wasn't just slacking), and ended up finishing the final revisions to my picture book MS. The final draft has been sent to the illustrator, who will start work on it after Christmas.

I am so excited!

And now I get to go put together an apple pie. Yesterday I made my first-ever french silk pie and a dutch apple pie, so this is my last one for the holiday. My baby is napping, and the bigger one is helping her Oma in the kitchen. Snowy landscape outside, peaceful house inside.

I hope you, in America, are having a wonderful Thanksgiving, and you, in other countries, are simply having a marvelous Thursday.

Much joy to you all!

Insanity With a Side of Peace

Our weekend company has gone home, my house has been semi-restored to order, the only reminder of my tick bite is a tiny red dot on my back and a lingering fear of going back outside, and life is getting somewhat back to normal.

Of course, Carl is working (probably) long hours all week, making me effectively a temporary single parent, and then he's (maybe) flying out to Chicago for one day at the end of the week. And then we start getting ready for Thanksgiving. WHERE DID NOVEMBER GO???

So normal is just crazy. I think I'm starting to accept that. I love a peaceful, slow life, but that sort of life doesn't seem to love me, however hard I pursue it. And with Carl planning on going to graduate school, and then working for his PhD, and me turning toward indie publishing with at least one, if not more, books, and two little ones we intend to homeschool and also encourage to find their passion and chase it ...

Yeah. I don't think a slow life is in the books for us any time soon.

And that's okay. God knows what each of us need the most. Truth be told? If I had that slow, peaceful life, I would probably slump into laziness and slothfulness. I'm not the most driven person in the world.

The trick, for me, is finding moments of peace in the midst of the chaos. Sometimes when Joy is getting nervous and worked up, we send her to her room, not for a time-out, but just to have a bit of time alone to calm down. I need that, too. I want to find a way to be a peaceful person, even if my life is insane. And one way for me to accomplish that is snatching at moments when I can rest and restore myself.

And yes, that includes writing, because as much as it is my career choice, writing is also one of those things that restores my soul, so to speak. So, like Connie suggested on my last post, I am going to work, even this week of insanity, at finding those five to fifteen minutes of writing, each day.

It might be impossible, as I posited in that last post, to find balance, but that doesn't mean I need to stop trying.

(I apologize for all my recent posts running on a theme. Can you tell what's been on my mind lately? I'll try to think of something more original for my next post. Maybe I'll have had a chance to start reading The Taming of the Shrew and will be able to give thoughts on Shakespeare. It's a goal, at least!)

Before-bed craziness from a couple of weeks ago. I suspect we'll all start looking like this all the time by the end of this week.

Libraries and Death Traps

Thank you all, again, for your kind words on my last post. You brought a lump to my throat more than once.

We're still at my parents' until Tuesday morning; Grandma's memorial service is Monday. We're looking forward to having much of the clan gathered together for it. Even though funerals are sad, we always manage to have something of a good time just because we're together. Some of the aunts and uncles have only met my littles once or twice, so I'm happy (and slightly nervous) to introduce my small people to the larger family.

We also had Joy's fourth birthday party today; I can't wait to put pictures up on here from it. It was a woodland butterfly fairy tea party (originally, it was going to be a bird and flower and butterfly theme, but it evolved. These things happen), and even the three men involved (my husband, father, and brother-in-law) wore butterfly wings. O yes, they did. They all love Joy very much. They are also all very secure in their masculinity.

And my sister and I made sure to get them blue wings. Pink might have been carrying things a little too far.

And for a first, Joy only got one book for her birthday (and that from Carl and me). Usually books make up the bulk of her gifts. I'm sure she will get more once she receives her package from Carl's aunt, a librarian in Maine. She always sends lots of book for birthdays and holidays. We are always very happy to see presents from G-Auntie.

This is the book we got for Joy:

No, wait. Wrong one. This one:

thanks to a recommendation from Rockin Librarian (thank you!). I'm excited to see what stories Joy concocts from the illustrations.

Meanwhile, my mom, sister and I are all sick (watching the two of them trying to tack up sheets and white lights while simultaneously hacking and blowing their noses would have been funny if I weren't trying to slice vegetables without sneezing into them), and I am starting to go a little bit crazy from not writing at all in the last week plus - not since coming up here last Thursday. Family is more important, hands down, no questions asked and no regrets ... but writing is such a part of me that I'm starting to feel starved for it.

And my characters are starting to haunt my dreams. Plus last night I dreamed that I had to scale a rickety ladder and swing from a rope to get into a library's second story, not to mention crawling along the outside of the roof and breaking through a window (and was I ever pissed when I got inside and saw an escalator that led to main lobby, and I realized the librarian at the desk had sent me up the death trap way for, apparently, a lark, and then the escalators shut down because the library closed and I had to come down the same way and I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO CHECK OUT MY BOOKS), which I think is indication that my subconscious is telling me to not neglect books so much.

Or, you know, it could have been the rum in the tea last night. Whatever.

(Almost worse than the horrific ladder (I have a good head for heights, but I have always always hated ladders, and swinging from a frail rope to try to reach a roof window is not my idea of fun) was that I had found a brand-new, just-discovered Lloyd Alexander book in the children section (downstairs) and when I didn't get to check my books out, I had to leave it behind. LLOYD ALEXANDER, newly-discovered book!)

I am working on the MG rewrite, but of today, Maia of the 1920s fantasy-adventure has been chatting to me, reminding me, impatiently, that I left her in Grave Danger and she needs a chance to Prove Her Worth. She is most definitely not a helpless heroine, and she doesn't like being left a victim without a chance to take on the villain herself. So I think I need to get back to her soon. She gets very crabby when left alone for too long.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have some rum-and-tea and a box of tissues calling my name.

And some pictures of three men in butterfly wings to upload onto my computer.

Finding My Ark

This has been an up-and-down week for me.

I wrote a children's picture book. WHEEE!

I got the typical "oh that's nice" response or, worse, no response at all from family and friends when I tried to share my excitement. WAHHH.

One friend immediately asked about illustrations, and we started collaborating that night. WHEEE!

Trying to figure out the best way to self-publish that offered me electronic options AND the freedom to offer print books to indie bookstores and local galleries on my own AND didn't cost the sky completely and totally freaked me out. WAHHH.

I had a beautifully positive response from the few friends who did get excited for me, and my first critique partner. WHEEE!

My husband and I had one of those conversations where no one is mad at the other, but everyone ends up feeling lousy afterward (nothing to do with writing). WAHHH.

And then I got sick.

And it's been raining for what feels like 40 days and 40 nights.

So, I'm finding an ark.

Today I'm going to wear nice clothes, bake cookies, play loud and fun music, laugh with my girls, work on sewing their skirts I cut out last week, and throw encouragement at everyone I can find, even if it is just online. I will hide myself from discouragement in joy. And hopefully when I emerge, the waters will have receded.

Just as soon as the two-year-old stops her wailing for no reason in the background.

What is your "ark" - where do you go, what do you do to rest and recover from discouragement or disappointment, or just plain blah-ness? Are you living in an area that's been getting drowned, like me, or are you one of the ones suffering from drought? If you are, I so wish I could send you some of our wet!