Selene Castrovilla's Blog

Je voudrais un croissant, s'il vous plait.

2012-02-27T12:24:00.000-05:00

I was going to call my minister just now. I haven’t spoken to her in years, nor have I set foot in her church, but I know she’d speak with me as though no time had passed. That’s what ministers like her do.

But I realized, I’m not having a crisis in faith. I’m having a crisis in people.

Having my mom and my aunt pass away has been difficult enough. Writing a semi-autobiographical book and facing my life – including my dad, the only one left, who was a pathetic father and who I am now in charge of because he sits paralyzed in a nursing home – makes everything worse.

Why do people think writing about things is cathartic? Is it cathartic to open a vein and bleed out? That’s what this process feels like. I do get satisfaction from writing well, but not from the act of getting it “all out.” Frankly, I feel like I may puke. But I write on. It’s my mission. This much I know, because every time I’ve tried to veer off my path the universe has plopped me right back on it, sometimes kicking and screaming. I don’t fight it anymore. I just write.

The behavior of some people has been utterly appalling¸ and unfortunately it continues to be. There’s a pain in my heart and it’s been put there by humanity (which is not an appropriate name for many of the inhuman occupants of this planet.) Near the end of her diary, Anne Frank wrote that she still believed people were good at heart. Then they put her to death in a concentration camp. What is that?

Still, I write. It’s my job.

I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself right now, other than write. My plan is to move to Europe eventually, where at least if someone is unkind I probably won’t understand them. It’s the benefit of being a hermit without actually being one. The country will probably be France, because I studied French for about eight years, so I can successfully order a croissant. And yet, I can never get what they are saying in conversations because they speak so fast. Perfect.

Until then, what will I do? Where will I go? I don’t know. I have a house I can’t deal with, plus my mother’s house which I really can’t deal with. The few people I can count on for support have problems (and lives) of their own. The people I ought to be able to count on, I can’t.

Maybe this turmoil is part of grief. Or maybe I just see things more clearly now.

Or maybe this isn’t turmoil at all – just a turning point.

By the way, lest you think I’m despairing of life – I’m not. I feel grateful to be alive, to have my children and the people I can truly call “friends.” It’s the “others” I can’t reconcile. Like an innocent, I still don’t understand why people hurt each other, and why they throw good love away.

Silly me.

Method to my Madness Monday: Writing Through the Pain

2012-02-13T10:26:00.000-05:00

Several years ago, author Susan Taylor Brown gave me a magnet which said: “Write where it hurts. Find the courage to create.”

I have it on my refrigerator. It did indeed help me find the strength to write “Saved by the Music” – largely autobiographical.

In the wake of my aunt and my mom passing away, I am still writing where it hurts. But my question is: Where doesn’t it hurt?

Grief is like an ocean with no land in sight.

Writing isn’t hard now.

But writing cohesively is.

I sat yesterday writing notes about the rest of my latest novel. Scribbles are my version of an outline. (If I were in school I would get a failing outline grade. Also a failing penmanship grade – sigh.)

These are only tentative plans, and yet I couldn’t get a grip on them. The littlest plot choices had me stumped. Then I got mad at myself for my hesitance¸ and poof! I got on board the “I suck” express train. Last stop: Despair.

Then I did something different. Instead of wallowing, I went to the gym. Thank goodness for my son, who goes religiously. He makes me want to go, too.

On that bouncing elliptical I was able to make some plot decisions. They might change – and probably will – but I couldn’t move forward without them. I need order in my writing life, all the more now because I don’t have much in my day to day life.

So that’s me, writing through the pain.

The secret to writing is that there is no secret. No formula.

Ultimately, however you get something to the page is the right path.

The tricky part is that paths change. Sometimes there’s a downed tree in the way, or maybe even an avalanche occurred. We writers have to be ready to find an alternate route – and we have to make sure we don’t get hit or buried.

Like Winston Churchill advised, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

Things to Say to a Dead Mom

2012-02-10T10:54:00.000-05:00

My mom is on my kitchen table, cremation no. 91739 (I accidentally spelled it “creamation”, but there’s nothing creamy about it) performed on February 2, 2012 by Long island Cremation Co., Inc. (another business I couldn’t imagine owning. I feel like it’s one of those operations passed down through generations, fathers grooming their sons to burn and box bodies. Lucky boys.)

I put her next to my Aunt Olga for the night. I figured I’d give them a chance to catch up on things. Last time they saw each other it was Thanksgiving, about three years ago. Our dinner was like a scene in a black comedy. My mother was going on and on to my aunt, who was too polite to tell her that she had no idea who she was.

Today we’re bringing Mom to the cemetery where her parents are. The cemetary people are going to insert her in the ground next to them. I think she’d like that. She adored her parents, particularly her dad.

I’ve got her next to the computer right now. I just had a conversation with her (albeit one-sided.)

Now, her soul isn’t in that box, I know, but still I felt compelled to say something to her remains while I had them.

Writers are always looking for climatic moments.

I put my left hand on her box, and my right hand on my aunt’s box for support, and I asked my mom if she loved me.

There was no answer.

But I know my mom did love me. It just wasn’t a traditional love. It was a love often smothered in her issues. You know how you can use a pillow for rest¸ or to kill someone? That was my mother.

She had no idea of what she was doing. I told I knew that.

I told my mom that I forgave her.

I told her I love her, and I appreciate the things she did for me.

I kissed my index finger and planted in on her box.

There’s something about physical remains that are so, well...physical.

You can talk to someone’s spirit anytime –I believe –but there’s something extra poignant about having that box there to hone in on. A focal point, if nothing else.

Another thing I look for as a writer is a focal point in a scene. It’s like an anchor.

Life begets writing, and writing begets life.

My aunt once told me, “Each man is the sum total of everything that has happened to him.”

True. I might add: “Each man is also the sum total of all the relationships he’s had.”

My relationship with my mom is (was?) complicated and sometimes dark, but in the end it comes down to this simple fact: we loved each other.

It takes death to bring things down to the bone.

Grief: It's Not Just for Breakfast Anymore

2012-02-09T09:51:00.000-05:00

I've always been awkward with death.

Not that anyone copes well –though maybe they do. Like Grandma Mazur in Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books. A wake is a social event for Gramdma – not to be missed. Of course that’s fiction, but I wonder, does anyone handle death with ease? (Morticians do, of course. How do they feel when someone close dies? And how to they manage to confront man’s mortality every day, and "pretty up" what remains? They are either the most well-adjusted people in the world, or the most f---ed up.)

Faced with the passing of friends’ loved ones through the years, I’d been unable to deal with wakes (are they called wakes because they’re in the wake of lives?) and Shiva calls. I just couldn’t bear the sorrow – theirs, and mine.

I’ve always felt a universal empathy, which either helps me be a writer or is the reason I’m a writer – or both. But when it comes to living, it’s a problem, because I feel everyone’s pain. I absolutely avoid the news for this reason.

And death has been the worst. I do believe the end of a life is not the end of a soul, but it’s the pain of those left behind I can’t take.

My neighbor Harriet died a few years ago. They sat Shiva right across the street from me. I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t. About a year later I summoned up to write a note to her husband and leave it on his door. I apologized for not paying a call. I explained that I didn’t handle death well. I told him I loved Harriet – and I did. I closed it with this: “Harriet tried her hardest to be a good person and help people, and you can’t ask for more than that.” It was the truth.

My friend’s husband died suddenly at work, leaving her with two young children and another on the way. She was, understandably, consumed with grief. I told her, “You have to remember the love you shared, and you have to believe that he’s in a better place.”

She stopped weeping for a moment, looked at me and said, “I don’t care about all that. I just want my husband back.”

And I got that. And I didn’t know what to say.

I still don’t.

There is nothing to say when someone dies. I mean, there are lots of things to say, but none of them will do a thing to console those left behind. It's our friendship and love that comforts them, I realize now. It's what we don’t say. That’s another reason why it’s so hard for me to deal with death. I’m a writer. I rely on words. If words can’t be counted on, what then?

But the grief has been the heart of my problem. The grief that surged up like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me.

The grief is what held me at bay, unable to effectively be present during those times of loss.

It’s a relief to know that I’m better at my own grieving than at comforting others. Perhaps because I write about my life, I’ve given great thought to the day I’d lose my mother.

Still, it was a shock. Isn’t death always the last thing expected? Even if she was eighty-one, clearly suffering from the early stages of dementia (which I knew too well from my Aunt Olga.) Despite these factors, I never thought the police would have to break down my mother’s door to find her in bed (not expecting to die anytime soon, she hadn’t given me a key, and I’d never thought to ask for one.)

And it was a sucker punch, this loss. Coming on the heels of losing my aunt.

But I’m okay. Handling it much better than the previous deaths I’d been exposed to. I guess death has become more familiar. Maybe that’s the morticians’ secret. Familiarity.

I have my mom’s cat. The poor thing looks to be about twenty years old, bowlegged and all spine. She yowls incessantly and follows me everywhere. She’s hideously mean to my other felines, who take up a Halloween "black cat" defensive stance which I'd never seen in person before.

I have my mom’s things. Her favorite scarf. The pictures she carried of my sons. The meticulous notes she took while watching Dr. Oz. The tutu I wore when I was six, which was hanging in her bedroom. Her many, many papers I’m sorting through.

I have to deal with the things she left behind. Everything.

I hear her voice, asking the questions she always posed. She had so many questions. I only hope she’s got some clarity now.

I was raised without religion, but I know this is not the end. It’s hard not knowing just what this is, and what we are in relation to our dead. I guess that’s where the faith comes in.

The faith that was never instilled in me.

Death is, among other things, a lesson in faith. Death and faith are both so vague; both so muddied by our frenzied, fruitless attempts to explain and complicate them. Untampered with, they are simple.

They are calm.

I’m trying to follow their lead.

Larry Dane Brimner: A Notable Author

2012-01-27T12:29:00.000-05:00

Congratulations to Larry Dane Brimner!

His book Black & White: The Confrontation between Reverend Fred L. Shuttlesworth and Eugene "Bull" Conner is a 2012 ALA Notable Book and a 2012 Sibert Honor Book!

To commemorate these honors, I am re-posting my interview with Larry from last week:

Today I'm honored to feature an interview with the fabulous Larry Dane Brimner, author of 157 books, fiction and nonfiction.

His latest book is Black & White: The Confrontation between Reverend Fred L. Shuttlesworth and Eugene "Bull" Connor.

Here are excerpts from two reviews:

"A fascinating look at one of the most crucial places and periods in the civil rights movement through two polar opposites." Kirkus STARRED review

"With a spacious design that includes archival pictures and primary source documents on almost every page, this accessible photo-essay recounts the events in three sections that focus first on the Preacher ('Fred'), then on the Commissioner ('Bull'), and finally, on their confrontation." Booklist STARRED review

Larry's previous two books on the civil rights movement garnered many awards!

Visit www.Brimner.com for more information about Larry and his books!

Thank you, Larry, for taking the time to answer my questions!

I heard you speak about your rocky start getting published (if I recall correctly, you kept submitting manuscripts and it never occurred for you to revise them). Please tell us about your journey.

Your recollection is partially correct. (Don’t worry. Senior moments happen to all of us.) I was published pretty much right out of the gate, but in poetry and, rather quickly after that, the newspaper and magazine markets. My first work, poetry, was submitted by a graduate school professor of mine without my knowledge. He’d encouraged me to submit my work on my own, but I was too shy, too insecure, too fill-in-the-blank. When those first poems were accepted, however, I was hooked on publication. After I started teaching, I continued to write, giving myself an hour or two every evening after school and BEFORE grading student work, to pursue my own writing. I had long been attracted to middle-grade and picture book fiction, and that’s what I wrote: bad middle-grade and picture book fiction. I collected two large Xerox boxes full of rejections. Eventually, though, the form rejections turned into personal rejections. One of those was for a middle-grade novel I’d written and submitted to Clarion. Jim Giblin, whom I knew from SCBW (there was no “I” in those days), wrote a rather detailed editorial letter, but ultimately rejected the piece. If I had known then what I know now, I would have (I should have) rewritten it and re-submitted it. I didn’t however and because Jim retired a few years later, I never had the opportunity of working with him which was something I always wanted to do.

You made the jump to writing about American history fairly recently. What perked your interest? What specifically led you to Bayard Rustin? How did you get started in your research? Tell us about that initial spark, and what followed.

It’s actually incorrect to say that my interest in American history is fairly recent. Each of those sports books I wrote back in the 1980s had a chapter of history. It wasn’t the same sort of history that I write today, but it was history nonetheless. History has always been an interest. What triggered my interest in the civil rights movement was a footnote at the bottom of a magazine article I happened to be reading about Rosa Parks. In a font size that was almost small enough to require a magnifying glass, the footnote indicated that ten years before Rosa Parks took her stand on that Montgomery bus a
gentleman named Bayard Rustin also had refused to move to the back of the bus. I wondered why one name was familiar to me and the other totally unknown. I first did an internet search that provided me
with a little more detail and directed me to a couple of books for adults about him. I was simply blown away by how strategic he was to the movement. I knew I had to write about him, whether it ever got published or not. Before taking the project to Calkins Creek, I actually shared it with a couple of other publishers. One of the editors expressed interest in my writing, but not in a book about Bayard Rustin. She said something akin this: “We’re not in the business of publishing books about people that nobody has ever heard of.” Silly me! I thought that was one of the reasons for writing nonfiction—to shed light. The other editor said they already had a black history book on their scheduled list. Both of these rejections were beneficial to me because I ended up sending it to Carolyn Yoder at Calkins Creek. The rest, as is sometimes said, is history. Carolyn and I worked for perhaps a year on the book. It was the first time I’d ever been so involved in a book’s production, from revisions (more than I care to remember) to design. It came out to starred reviews and was named the Norman A. Sugarman Biography Award and Jane Addams Children’s Book Award winner. So much for a book about somebody that nobody’s ever heard of!

Did you have an idea about all three Calkins Creek books when you started writing We Are One? Or did things you found researching the first lead to the next, and the next? Tell us about the process of discovering how you wanted to write these three books. Are there more to come in this vein? What are you working on now?

I was just happy that Carolyn and Calkins Creek liked We Are One and that it garnered respectable reviews. Just prior to finishing work on it, though, I found a librarian’s call—I believe in an ALA or IRA journal—for biographies of the four little girls who were killed in a Birmingham church blast during the civil rights era. Although the civil rights movement took place during my youth and both of my parents were born and raised in Birmingham, I was largely unaware of the movement. I grew up in Alaska and California, and Birmingham and the events there may as well have been on another planet. Birmingham Sunday came out of those two things: a librarian’s call and a desire to rectify my lack of knowledge about the civil rights movement. It was out of research for Birmingham Sunday that Black & White sprang. Long before I finished the first of these latter two titles, I knew what I wanted to write next, and Carolyn was game. There likely will be more books in this vein, but I want to turn to a couple of other topics that have been nagging to be written. But because I hate to waste creative energy writing about them here and would rather spend that energy on the actual projects, I’ll just say that other things are in the works. (I’ve been called a “tease” often. Me. Can you imagine?)

You say the original pitch for Black & White was quite different from the finished product. Tell us a bit about the evolution process.

You are right about that! At the Highlights Foundation Writers’ Workshop at Chautauqua, where I was on faculty every other year, Carolyn and I discussed Black & White over coffee one morning. In my mind’s eye, I saw it as another 48-page book complimentary in design to the previous two titles. I jokingly referred to the bunch as my “trilogy.” I liked the idea of a 48-page book because as a former teacher, I realized my high school boys would go to the library and pick the skinniest titles on the shelves to read. I liked the idea of “tricking” them into reading a skinny book that was simply oozing with information. Well, I was the one to get tricked. What started as a biography of the Reverend Fred L. Shuttlesworth turned into so much more. I realized fairly early on in the process of researching and writing that I wasn’t going to be able to write about Fred Shuttlesworth without writing about Eugene “Bull” Connor, Fred’s nemesis. That led to the realization that I was going to have to explain their symbiotic relationship right up to and through the children’s crusade of 1963. I was worried about telling Carolyn that my little book had grown…and grown…and grown. In fact, I didn’t say anything to her until I delivered the manuscript and, yes, it was delivered late because it was much more involved than I ever anticipated. (To Carolyn’s credit and my relief, she never nagged me about missing the deadline.) Writing it proved emotionally draining. There were days when I’d sit for eight hours in front of the keyboard and type only one sentence that I was happy with. On other days I’d nearly weep and want to quit. When I sent the manuscript to Carolyn electronically, I attached a note that said only, “It’s a little longer than Birmingham Sunday.” She called finally and asked me how much longer, and I said, “Oh, about two and a half times as long.” The finished book, as you know, runs 112 pages.

Please describe the processes you follow for writing fiction versus nonfiction. Which is harder for you? Do you prefer one more?

I’m not sure there’s a “process” for either frankly, at least not one that would make sense to your readers. With fiction, once I have an idea sketched in my head of major plot movements, I simply sit down, try to find a writing zone, and write. I’m always looking ahead and thinking how I can complicate my lead character’s life and still end up at that place I think I’m heading. Sometimes I get there and sometimes I don’t. As you know, I tried the Beta version of Scrivener for Windows thinking it would help me organize my thoughts. The results were disastrous. Every file on my computer and thumb drive was wiped clean. I was able to recover everything, but only after I deleted the Beta version. I now have the final version of Scrivener loaded on my computer (with no horrible effects) but haven’t actually used it. I still write a chapter or section, print it out, review it, and then sketch out the next chapter or section.

With nonfiction, I need to research and read a lot BEFORE I sit down to write. I read to find “the story” among the facts. I’m also looking for that WOW! moment that will serve as my door into the story that I’ve unearthed. Finding those, I sit down and write with all my research around me in neat little piles on the floor.

I’m not sure than one genre is harder than the other. Both fiction and nonfiction are hard. Heck, writing is hard! I like fiction because it’s all in my head. I like nonfiction because it’s fun to see if I can find an interesting story among the facts.

You shed light on little-known members of the civil rights movement. Why do you think it is that some people in history become so famous, while some remain obscure?

Let me talk specifically about Bayard Rustin, Rosa Parks, and Fred Shuttlesworth. Rustin remained obscure because there was an orchestrated effort to keep him in the background. He was vital to the civil rights movement, managing Martin Luther King’s rise on the world stage. But he was openly gay and proud. Leaders in the movement were fearful that if his sexuality were found out, it might derail the movement. Rustin didn’t mind working behind the scenes. Rosa Parks is another example. Many people think that her case led to the Supreme Court decision that outlawed Jim Crow seating on buses. Not true. Her arrest galvanized Montgomery’s black community into the largest racial protest in history up until that time, but her case didn’t change the law. It never reached the Supreme Court. The case that decided bus segregation was Browder v. Gayle. One of the plaintiffs in the Browder case was Claudette Colvin, a fifteen-year-old who had become pregnant without the benefit of marriage. Leaders and lawyers alike felt that an unwed mother was simply too scandalous. They believed that it fed into every negative stereotype of the black community. Mrs. Parks, however, was a respectable, hard-working seamstress. After the Browder case was decided, it was easy for leaders to tie Mrs. Parks to the Supreme Court decision, and she gained fame for something she didn’t actually do. Finally, it was Fred Shuttlesworth who pleaded with King to come to Birmingham. King was given the Nobel Peace Prize largely for work that he and Shuttlesworth did in in that city, but Shuttlesworth did most of the work. Shuttlesworth had been peacefully protesting in Birmingham for a full decade before King ever agreed to go to that city in the spring of 1963. King won the Nobel Prize, I believe, because he was the voice of the movement, the face of the movement. He was an articulate speaker, much more so than was Shuttlesworth. Many think that great prize should have gone to Shuttlesworth, and I would be among them. But it was King who received the prize and the glory. This is not to say that King and Parks shouldn’t be remembered, for they should be. It is simply to say that their reputations were built upon the shoulders of others and those are the people that fill my books.

As a writer, have you accomplished all you set out to do? Do you have more goals to achieve? Is there a subject burning inside you, begging to be written?

I have been able to make my living as a writer for more than twenty-five years. That’s something, given that writing is always described as a career one cannot make a living at. That said, I will also admit that I haven’t accomplished all that I’d like. I haven’t written the book I’d like someday to write. Birmingham Sunday came close to being that book. But even with 157 books under my belt, I still feel as if I’ve somehow failed. So, yes, I still have goals. Among them is returning to chapter-book fiction…if nonfiction ideas would stop pestering me long enough to do it.

With publishing in turmoil, do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

Yes. Look for the nearest exit. No, seriously, it seems that publishing has always been in turmoil. It was when I started nearly forty years ago and it still is. This is selling or that isn’t selling. Kids aren’t reading. School budgets have been slashed. Independent booksellers have all but disappeared. The chain bookstores only feature Disney titles, or Scholastic. Publishers are merging and shrinking their lists. Staff editors have been replaced by freelance editors. Print books are dead and e-books are rising. And yet, books are still being published by publishers, whether in print form or e-book form. There is still a hunger for the written word. There is still a need for information. There is still a yearning to read a great story. We as writers have to be willing to evolve with the technology, but a reading audience still exists. My advice to aspiring writers is to write the story in their heart—whether that story is fiction or nonfiction. Polish that story until it can’t be polished any further. Then submit it and don’t give up on it. I read an article on Facebook the other day about a woman who struggled with her writing and finally turned to self-publishing her story as an e-book. Now she has more than $2 million in sales, and contracts with traditional print publishers. That should serve as inspiration to all of us, aspiring and old-hands alike.

Your first writing successes were poems. Would you share one of your poems with us?

Usually, my poetry is just for me and one or two friends. But for you, anything. I was going to share one from early on about laundromats and two-martini lunches, but darned if I can find it. Periodically, I go on these cleaning sprees where everything that isn’t nailed down gets sent to the landfill.

One Hot Hound

High noon in August,

One hot hound and sprinkler meet—

So cool, conversing.

What is the greatest thing about being a writer?

Gosh, there are so many great things about being a writer that it’s difficult to nail down. As someone who suffers from crippling shyness, I like the fact that I’m my own boss, can set my own schedule, and can work alone. I can go to work in my underwear if I want and I don’t have to shave. But those aren’t the greatest things. The greatest thing is thinking that maybe someone somewhere is reading what I’ve written, and it is making that person think or bringing tears to that person’s eyes or making that person laugh out loud. Maybe. Just maybe.

What is the greatest compliment you’ve received as a writer?

A reviewer once said of my writing—I can’t remember the title—that I make it look effortless. I’d say that is tied with the father who said that his daughter slept with one of my picture books (Country Bear’s Good Neighbor) under her pillow every night.

What is your favorite quote?

Well, I have two. Each inspires me, but for different reasons. One tells me to try again, while the other reminds me that editors aren’t infallible gods. Both are posted over my computer.

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.” –M.A. Radmacher

“Larry, please bare with me.” –an unnamed children’s book editor (unnamed because she is a legend in the business and still very much alive and working)

What are three words to describe you?

Driven. Quiet. Kind.

What do you want on your tombstone (real, not pizza)?

Since I don’t plan on a tombstone, I’ve never thought about it. But if you insist, then something like: He tried to make a difference in the lives of children. Or maybe: The end. That’s all he wrote.

Larry's bio:

The Early Years

Larry Dane Brimner spent his early childhood exploring Alaska's Kodiak Island. He traces his love of reading to that time in his life. Since there was no television reception and only sporadic radio reception, entertainment came in the form of books and stories. Reading and making up stories was a part of day-to-day family life. Raised in a traditional Southern family--his parents hail from Birmingham, Alabama--telling falsehoods was frowned upon but embellishment was encouraged. Larry experienced his first writing successes--mostly in the genre of poetry--while still an undergraduate in college, but he began to focus on writing for young people during his twenty-year teaching career. Now a full-time writer and author of more than 150 books for young readers, Larry lives in San Diego, California.

The Writing Years

Larry made his debut in children's books with the publication of BMX Freestyle (Watts) in 1987. Readers responded by naming it an International Reading Association (IRA) Children's Choice book for 1988. Subsequent books have also proven popular with their targeted audience, having garnered nominations for several young reader awards. Max and Felix was a nominee for the Kentucky Bluegrass Award; Elliot Fry's Good-bye, a nominee for Maryland's Black-Eyed Susan Picture Book Award; and Merry Christmas, Old Armadillo, a nominee for Alabama's Children's Choice Award and named to the Kansas Reading Circle. Another sports title, Snowboarding, was named a Children's Choice book for 1998 by the IRA/CBC, while The Official M&M's Book of the Millennium was named a Children's Choice book for 2000. A project about a skateboard-riding, fish-taco-eating cat called Cat on Wheels was nominated for the 2002 Michigan Readers' Choice Award. The Littlest Wolf (HarperCollins, 2002), which was translated into Japanese, was named an IRA/CBC Children's Choice book. It also received the Oppenheim Gold Medal for Best Book 2002, won the San Diego Books Award (2002), was a 2004 Great Lakes' Great Books (Michigan) Honor Book, and was a 2005 nominee for the Arkansas Diamond Award. Subway: The Story of Tunnels, Tubes, and Tracks (Boyds Mills Press, 2004) was a Junior Library Guild selection and is a PBS TeacherSource recommended book for Science and Mechanical Technology. More recently, We Are One: The Story of Bayard Rustin (Calkins Creek, 2007) won the Norman A. Sugarman Biography Award and the Jane Addams Book Award. His Birmingham Sunday (Calkins Creek, 2010) received starred reviews from Kirkus and School Library Journal.

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Quotes to Dance By

2012-01-25T14:42:00.000-05:00

“People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway.
If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.
For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.”
― Mother Teresa

On this Hokey Pokey Wednesday, I’m not going to say much – just put in some quotes that I hope will inspire and lift you as much as they do me. Because as I do this dance of life today, I need to be inspired and lifted. Maybe you do, too.

At any rate, it couldn’t hurt.

Enjoy!

And smile :)

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.
Dalai Lama

Always aim at complete harmony of thought and word and deed. Always aim at purifying your thoughts and everything will be well.
Mahatma Gandhi

A jug fills drop by drop.
Buddha

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.
Confucius

Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.
Henry David Thoreau

Always do what you are afraid to do.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
Mahatma Gandhi

Okay, back to dancing! Left foot in, left foot out. Let's turn ourselves about.

That's what it's all about.

Tightrope Tuesday: Credit for Time Served?

2012-01-24T22:59:00.001-05:00

So how am I handling parenting during this writing season?

Pretty well, actually.

I have learned to pace myself a little bit more on this fifth novel, and to forgive myself if I don’t get as much done in a day as I’d wanted. I make a scene a goal for a sitting, instead of a certain word or page count. This way, if I need to take care of something for one of my sons, at least I accomplished a goal before I walked away from the computer.

It’s helpful that my older son is seventeen, and very independent. There are certain things I need to do for him, but on the whole he can carry on very well. My younger son is in middle school – a place where they had to expand the lost and found into the rear of the auditorium because they have so many unclaimed items. In other words, he needs guidance to stay on track.

In the past, my biggest problem was freaking out about everything.

I've realized, if I just relax, I can get everything done.

And I’m doing it!

I’ve even been going to the gym – rare when I’m deep in a novel. My older son goes religiously, and I go with him. A parenting perk! I keep having thoughts on the elliptical. Sometimes I halt and head to the front desk for a scrap to write them down. Other times I run the lines over and over in my head like Jack Nicholson typing in The Shining so I can get through my two miles without forgetting them.

I've been to hockey games. I've dealt with stomach aches and doctor visits. I didn't flip when my younger son got in my car with a surprise gift of eight fish swimming in a Chinese soup container from a friend's mom. I’ve even done some food shopping with relatively good humor!

It’s all about state of mind. Serenity, baby.

Don’t ask me how I got it, but it’s here. Maybe it has something to do with time served. Having parented for so many years, and completed four novels, perhaps I’ve become convinced that I can in fact do both those things well.

Or maybe something inside me realized that all that angst was taking moments from the writing and parenting. I have so much more time now!

Remember “The Redbook Juggler?” The woman who can handle career, parenting, housekeeping and romancing her man? (Kind of like the woman in the old Enjoli perfume commercial – bringing home the bacon, frying it in a pan, and never, ever letting her husband forget he’s a man.) I always thought I’d drop the balls – not just one, but all of them. It’s no fun juggling in constant fear! Now, I feel great. I’m doing it! I’m juggling!!!

It may be my writing season – but parenting is always in season.

Method to my Madness Monday: My Writing Season

2012-01-23T12:24:00.001-05:00

Stephen King said that you should write a novel in a season.

Yeah, I get that.

You need to stay in that flow.

Up until now, I’ve written every novel in a period of about three months. The first two – Saved By the Music and The Girl Next Door – I wrote together in three months. (Not recommended – but good for a jolt to your writing process – akin to jumping into the ocean during winter.)

The thing is: when you’re feeling it, you’re feeling it. You have to go with it. The more you stop, the more time you have to waste getting started again. Warming up...and even remembering what the heck you were getting at when you walked away.

A sampling of my latest notes. (Scrivener doesn't work for me.)
Can you imagine trying to figure this out months or even years later?

If you stay away from your WIP for awhile, you have to figure out what points you already made, what you still have to work in...and you have to get to the heart of your purpose all over again.

This current novel is in its fifth year – but not really. I wrote what I thought was the novel five years ago – but it turned out to be the bones of the novel. It was the true grit of it – the deep emotion. But I had the structure all wrong – and I had to find a cohesive path for the character to feel all those emotions.

I had to put some flesh on those bones - and pack some fat in between, too.

It took me the interim years to work up the nerve to do this. Piecing those bones together had been so painful!

As I’ve said before, this is my most ambitious endeavor timeline-wise. My other novels take place in a period of months. This novel has a forty year span. It’s almost as hard figuring out what to leave out as it is to write it.

So I took out the draft and I went over it and I rearranged and cut and added – and now I’m in the home stretch.

Finally, this draft, I’m writing my novel within a season.

Feels good!

And who am to contradict a master?

Read this book if you haven't.
You really can learn from a master - and his story of writing CARRIE is awesome!
Quite an inspiration!

Guest Blog Friday: Author Larry Dane Brimner

2012-01-20T07:00:00.004-05:00

Today I'm honored to feature an interview with the fabulous Larry Dane Brimner, author of 157 books, fiction and nonfiction.

His latest book is Black & White: The Confrontation between Reverend Fred L. Shuttlesworth and Eugene "Bull" Connor.

Larry's previous two books on the civil rights movement garnered many awards!

Visit www.Brimner.com for more information about Larry and his books!

Thank you, Larry, for taking the time to answer my questions!

I heard you speak about your rocky start getting published (if I recall correctly, you kept submitting manuscripts and it never occurred for you to revise them). Please tell us about your journey.

It’s actually incorrect to say that my interest in American history is fairly recent. Each of those sports books I wrote back in the 1980s had a chapter of history. It wasn’t the same sort of history that I write today, but it was history nonetheless. History has always been an interest. What triggered my interest in the civil rights movement was a footnote at the bottom of a magazine article I happened to be reading about Rosa Parks. In a font size that was almost small enough to require a magnifying glass, the footnote indicated that ten years before Rosa Parks took her stand on that Montgomery bus a gentleman named Bayard Rustin also had refused to move to the back of the bus. I wondered why one name was familiar to me and the other totally unknown. I first did an internet search that provided me with a little more detail and directed me to a couple of books for adults about him. I was simply blown away by how strategic he was to the movement. I knew I had to write about him, whether it ever got published or not. Before taking the project to Calkins Creek, I actually shared it with a couple of other publishers. One of the editors expressed interest in my writing, but not in a book about Bayard Rustin. She said something akin this: “We’re not in the business of publishing books about people that nobody has ever heard of.” Silly me! I thought that was one of the reasons for writing nonfiction—to shed light. The other editor said they already had a black history book on their scheduled list. Both of these rejections were beneficial to me because I ended up sending it to Carolyn Yoder at Calkins Creek. The rest, as is sometimes said, is history. Carolyn and I worked for perhaps a year on the book. It was the first time I’d ever been so involved in a book’s production, from revisions (more than I care to remember) to design. It came out to starred reviews and was named the Norman A. Sugarman Biography Award and Jane Addams Children’s Book Award winner. So much for a book about somebody that nobody’s ever heard of!

You say the original pitch for Black & White was quite different from the finished product. Tell us a bit about the evolution process.

Please describe the processes you follow for writing fiction versus nonfiction. Which is harder for you? Do you prefer one more?

You shed light on little-known members of the civil rights movement. Why do you think it is that some people in history become so famous, while some remain obscure?

As a writer, have you accomplished all you set out to do? Do you have more goals to achieve? Is there a subject burning inside you, begging to be written?

With publishing in turmoil, do you have any advice for aspiring authors?

Your first writing successes were poems. Would you share one of your poems with us?

One Hot Hound

High noon in August,

One hot hound and sprinkler meet—

So cool, conversing.

What is the greatest thing about being a writer?

What is the greatest compliment you’ve received as a writer?

What is your favorite quote?

Well, I have two. Each inspires me, but for different reasons. One tells me to try again, while the other reminds me that editors aren’t infallible gods. Both are posted over my computer.

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.” –M.A. Radmacher

“Larry, please bare with me.” –an unnamed children’s book editor (unnamed because she is a legend in the business and still very much alive and working)

What are three words to describe you?

Driven. Quiet. Kind.

What do you want on your tombstone (real, not pizza)?

Larry's bio:

The Early Years

The Writing Years

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Poking Through the Ashes

2012-01-18T23:48:00.000-05:00

I slept with my aunt's ashes last night.

They're in the box the crematorium sent, which is now resting in a paisley, purple decorative box people usually use for photos. My purple prayer beads rest on top.

I don't have much to say tonight. I miss my aunt terribly.

And I keep writing...

Life comes down to ashes. We have to do what matters to us. We have to leave our mark - like my aunt did, with her barge. And we have to laugh.

I'm good with that first part. I'm dedicated to my craft. But laughing is hard for me sometimes. Melancholy is my default emotion.

I have to remind myself that it's not my only one.

Happiness is a choice. Sometimes it's not an easy one. My aunt was happy, and happy with her choices. There's no reason to mourn her when she lived the life she imagined - just like Thoreau urged!

But I do mourn her. I guess that's natural. I've never dealt well with death (does anyone?) My neighbor died and it took me about a year to finally write a note to her husband expressing my sorrow, because I just couldn't deal with it. And yet, I'm sure our souls live on. So what is there to be sad about?

I don't know. I just am. I guess this is what they call grief. Another label. You know how I feel about those.

My aunt played in the orchestra of a Broadway show called "No, No, Nanette." I used to listen to the album endlessly. There was a song in the show called, "I Want to Be Happy." The words went like this:

"I want to be happy, but I can't be happy, 'til I make you happy too. When skies are grey and they say you are blue, I'll send the sun shining through. 'Cause I want to be happy, but I can't be happy, 'til I make you happy too!"

Although she had to play this song, my aunt didn't subscribe to its message. She said that we are all responsible for our own happiness, and anything else makes us emotional hostages. (My aunt was dramatic.) So I will do my best to honor her by making myself happy.

It really is a choice - that begins with a smile.

I'm smiling now.

Tightrope Tuesday: Brimming with Words and Trying to Relate

2012-01-17T22:39:00.000-05:00

The college applications are in (except for CUNY schools, due 2/1) and we’ve moved onto the financial aid stage. I’ve filled out the federal form, but I’m confused about the CSS profile from the College Board (AKA: Highway Robbers.) Is it necessary, and why? It is expensive, or course – because it they could, the College Board would charge you for the air you breathe while taking the SATs.

I’m also moving towards the end of my latest novel. An exciting time, but also hard because when I’m in that zone, it’s hard to think about anything else. Imagine trying to live in two worlds at once. Something’s going to suffer.

Then there’s my younger son, Casey. I feel like I should be giving him more attention.

I took the kids to see RENT recently, and Casey loved it (yea!) This, after he practically had to be shanghaied to go. We’re going to watch the movie this weekend.

And I took him shoe shopping.

Other than that, Casey prefers to be with his friends – either on-line or in person. I guess this is normal, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong.

With Michael, it’s so easy. We can laugh at anything together. We both love Hard Core Pawn, and have a plan to journey to Detroit (the heart of Detroit’s 8 Mile, to be exact) to see American Jewelry and Loan in person. I want to meet Les Gold, the owner. I don’t even know why, but I do. I just love that show. And the great thing is, Michael’s down for it, too. We want to bring things to sell, and we’ve got a plan. We have to bring them all in separately, because if you bring it all together you get an offer for the lot, which is never enough.

These are the things we talk about. What do you talk about with your kids?

Casey, on the other hand, would never be up for a road trip to Detroit. He wouldn’t even entertain such a discussion.

My kids are so different.

It’s not that I don’t relate with Casey, but the relating seems to come in dribs and drabs, while it’s always there with Michael. But I do have a rapport with Casey – and he knows he can always talk to me, no judgments.

What can I do but take it day by day? I’m not complaining – I’m just unloading my brain, and possibly not very coherently, I’m afraid.

It’s hard to walk this tightrope of parenthood – and even harder with all these novel thoughts brimming from my soul.

But I’m grateful for everything.

Method to my Madness Monday: Ripping the Labels From Literature

2012-01-16T13:48:00.000-05:00

I have long felt that labels hurt humanity. I feel the same about books.

I had a Facebook message conversation with a reader recently. She mentioned that she reads both adult literature and young adult literature. I remarked that before there was a “YA” category, literature was just “literature.” And frankly, I think we were better off.

Is The Catcher in the Rye strictly a young adult novel? Is The Member of the Wedding? To Kill a Mockingbird? Jane Eyre? You get the idea...So many of our great novels feature a young protagonist, and with good reason. Coming of age is perhaps the most difficult and important thing we do in our lives. And yes –young people should read them. But so should older people. Not only because we’re still struggling with the lessons and experiences of our youth (we are) –but more importantly, because these books are about humanity.

We should always read books about the human condition.

Literature is literature. It doesn’t matter if it’s about a teenager or an old woman. What matters is if it’s well-written. Period.

Most people who read The Old Man and the Sea are not old men, and are not on the sea.

None of us will ever live near Wuthering Heights. (In place or in time.)

To say a reader need be in similar circumstances to the characters in a novel is absurd. One of the most glorious things a book can do is take us to a different world. And why would we want to segregate ourselves to books in our "comfort zone?" If we are white, should we only read books about white people? If we are women, should we never pick up books about men?

One of my favorite books is As I Lay Dying. I’ve never experienced a lifestyle like any of those people’s (thankfully) – and I wouldn’t want to know them in person. They were all pretty horrible. But I felt their pain. They were human. So human.

To attach a YA label to a literary novel is a disservice to the book and to its potential readers.

Literature has enough problems in this country. It doesn’t need this extra handicap.

When people ask me what I do, I say, “I’m a writer.”

Of course, they ask, “What do you write?”

I say, “I’m a novelist, and I also write about the American Revolution.”

I don’t say “I write teen novels” – because though the protagonists are teens, and teens can relate to them, so can everyone older. I wrote the books in my late thirties, and somehow I managed to relate. Go figure.

Nor do I say that I write “picture books” about the American Revolution. Because that puts me in The Cat in the Hat category automatically. My books are illustrated, but they are not for the kindergarten crowd. My publisher deems them for “ten and up” –and “up” has no limits. Adults love my books, because they are well-written and well-researched, and they show a human side to the revolution not often revealed.

My WIP features a forty year old woman, but it goes back in time and follows her childhood. Can children alone relate to the youngest years? Can teens alone relate to the teen years? Should we chop up the book and market it to different audiences?

But we live in a marketing society, and the labels are piling up. I can’t fight them – I can only write on, and pray that my books find their way into the hands that need them. Because good literature is something needed –to enrich our souls, and to remind us that we are not alone.

Maybe we could use one more label: “human books.”

Guest Blog Friday: Illustrator Amal

2012-01-13T14:42:00.000-05:00

Today I'm hosting a different point of view.

My friend Amal is an illustrator of children's books, editorial pages, and portraits.
You can see from her work how talented she is. Please visit her blog and website for more about her (info. below).

She also has a good sense of humor, as you'll see here.

Welcome Amal!

The human face is fascinating. Lately I’ve been doing a lot of
portraiture, mostly for people I’m at least slightly familiar
with or know to be the day’s model. But before getting into anything lengthy

I need to begin the morning with coffee and a good read--
The Fugitive Finder. Full of unfamiliar faces, some hard and some kind, I'm given the opportunity to discover what my Long Island neighbors are up to then proceed to do one or two quick sketches of them. It's a warm-up exercise I've gotten addicted to.
Their crimes range from local burglaries and DUIs to violent assaults and grand larceny.

While Fugitive Finder photographs are crude they still provide some sense of individual personality. But if you've ever tried to match the person wanted with a particular crime, you'll find it's near impossible. This got me thinking about how neatly any face might fit into the front page of that highly coveted periodical I snatch every fourth Sunday while exiting Guinta Meat Farms.

If you’re like me, you’ll shake hands with nearly anyone,
even those who claim to be members of highly organized gangs
of illustrators and writers.

The painting below is the original from which the 6th district police
found a good likeness of October’s most wanted. Back issues available
at any police station.

Self Portrait of Artist in Studio, pastel

Amal - Illustrator (female, pronounced 'amal'gamation)
Blog:amalimages.blogspot.com

Website: amalillustration.com

Winner of Quote Contest Announced!

2012-01-12T22:51:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone who entered my contest last week. I enjoyed reading your thoughts on Cervantes' quote, "All in good time."

I guess the bottom line is: All in good time!
(This frustrating truth may be one reason why liquor stores have such great business despite the economy.)

The winner - drawn randomly from the entrants - is:
Sarah Butland!!!

Sarah wins a signed copy of my novel The Girl Next Door.

Congratulations, and please e-mail me (Ldymcbeth@aol.com) with your details, Sarah!

Stay tuned for a new contest next week, everyone!

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: On Heading Down the Aisle

2012-01-11T21:39:00.000-05:00

In a stunning reversal of opinion, I’m now in favor of marriage.

In the past, the thing that most upset me about marriage was the coldness of the institution – the contractualness of it. I was all about “love.” How dare a contract be involved!

Now, I’m all about marriage because it’s a business agreement. Why shouldn’t there be a contract? It doesn’t mean love isn’t involved. It just means that both people are investing into something. There are obligations – and consequences if the contract is broken. As well there should be!

So many people are living together now. Remember the expression, “Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?” I’m going to straight out say that this hurts women more than men. They are the ones giving more away; they are the ones generally more hurt financially and emotionally than men if the relationship breaks up (I know there are exceptions, but let’s face it, the world is what it is.)

It’s only getting worse, with girls younger and younger throwing themselves on guys and asking for nothing in exchange. Perhaps living together will be passé one day.

It comes down to self-worth. Women need to value themselves more – and I include myself in this statement. We deserve the protection and validation of marriage. Yes, I dare say “validation,” because it’s an acknowledgement of our importance and a genuine commitment.

There is of course a place for love in marriage. But the more important part of marriage is the guarantee of the contract. Many people think nothing of breaking their marriage vows, which is all the more reason for a contract – and a pre-nup!

Yes, everyone should have a pre-nup! Why not? It’s absolutely rational, and necessary.

I thought I was against marriage, but I was really against the misuse of marriage. I’ve come to realize that marriage isn’t the problem: it’s the people who rush into marriage and then think nothing of cheating, or dumping their partner. But there are good marriages – they just don’t get attention because America thrives on gossip. A solid marriage does not make for titillating gossip. How dull.

I do still maintain that it's too easy to get married. You should have to do as much paperwork to get married as you do to get divorced. No one would jump into a frivolous marriage if that were the case!

So, to recap, I now declare that marriage is a good thing. As is the protection that a marriage contract provides.

What can I say? It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.

Tightrope Tuesday: Teaching my Kids about Politics & Compassion

2012-01-10T07:00:00.045-05:00

Here’s what I tell my kids about politics: Vote for the candidate with the most compassion.

Not that there’s much compassion in politics.

Today is the New Hampshire primary. In my first year at NYU, I spent the winter break sleeping on a floor of some Nashua, New Hampshire family, campaigning door to door for Gary Hart. (This was his first run – no Donna Rice until four years later.) I remember patches of the adventure, like being driven up from New York by the grandson of FAO Schwarz, who liked to drive on empty to see how far he could get.

I remember meeting Gary Hart at a rally, and getting his signature on the back of a peeled Heineken label I had in my purse.

Gary Hart: I was way into this guy. Don't remember why...

I also met George McGovern in a diner. He had bushy eyebrows.

I remember someone literally holding me back when I attempted to cross the street in the middle of the block instead of at the light. “You could’ve been killed!” he exclaimed, though there wasn’t a car in sight.

I remember meeting a cute, sweet guy named Mark who went to Rutgers. I think he liked me – he stuck around in New Hampshire longer than he intended because I was staying – but unfortunately I was obsessed with an NYU classmate named Gus who turned out to be bisexual, but still not interested in me.

I remember the snow – sooo much!!!

I remember everyone saying that Walter Mondale’s people put sugar in our gas tanks.

This is all to say that I remember little, human things – but nothing about the day to day, door to door campaigning. I think I blocked it out.

I remember the night we won. WE WON!!! Earlier that day I’d been selected to monitor the signing-in process at a polling place (we’ve all learned how necessary THAT is), but someone asked me for ID. I was two months shy of eighteen, so out on the snow I went, to spend hours waiting for my pickup (no cell phones back then, dearies.) I developed a fever, and stayed in the campaign office while everyone partied the night away with Senator Hart. Sometime during the evening, as I lay slumped on the floor, I hallucinated a conversation with Senator Ernest Hollings of South Carolina. At least, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t there.

Sen. Ernest Hollings, another democratic candidate that year: I enjoyed my hallucination of him. Nice guy, though conservative.

In the morning, my fever broke – but I’d been forgotten. The bus was leaving for New York without me. Thankfully a thirteen-year-old prodigy who was a student at Columbia demanded that they hold the bus while he looked for me.

This was my thanks for slaving away and sleeping on a strange family’s floor for a month.

My disillusionment became complete when Gary Hart conceded the nomination to Walter Mondale to form “party unity.” No way – that guy had people who put sugar in our gas tanks!

In my first election, this was who I had left to vote for. Because the Republican choice was worse.

My son Michael is seventeen. He gets to vote in November. He has no aspirations to campaign for anyone. Perhaps he is dissuaded by my experiences, but more likely he wouldn’t do it anyway. He’s got other passions on his mind. Thank goodness! If I could go back in time I wouldn’t work for any politician, ever. They’re not worth the effort. I vote, and I share my opinions with anyone who wants to hear them (I always have an opinion) – and that’s enough. Politicians will always break your heart, because they are politicians.

I’ve told Michael and his brother a fair amount about politics, because I want them to question everything they hear. I took Michael to Fahrenheit 911 when it came out, but he was a little young to get it. Perhaps another viewing is in order.

I want my kids to know what’s going on, and to care. I want them to see reason, which often is forgotten in politics.

I don’t tell them to be democrats, though I am. They of course can choose what party they want. And it’s not like I’ve ruled out voting for a republican. I always check out both candidates, and vote for the one with most heart.

I’ve never voted for a republican.

I would be surprised if my kids were republicans, and I would be sad. But I would still love them.

In the end, all I can offer my kids is exposure to the process, and my honest opinion. I can’t imagine the American public voting for a guy who strapped his dog to the roof of his minivan and drove to Canada. But I couldn’t imagine them re-electing Bush after Fahrenheit 911.

I tell my kids, nothing is certain.

Perhaps that’s the best lesson politics can offer.

Method to my Madness Monday: The Things I've Left Behind

2012-01-09T01:03:00.000-05:00

My latest novel is in some ways my greatest challenge. Is this because it’s deeply personal? No. I’ve written novels like that before. One of them was so emotionally close that it nearly killed me.

Okay, this book is not that challenging – thankfully. But it is my biggest test plot-wise, and in its overall breadth, if that makes any sense. My novels thus far have covered a very limited period of time. One of them covered a summer. Another spanned ten months, the other two – maybe a year. This novel covers forty years of a life. Talk about an epic journey!

A lot of scenes are required in a book like this. I’ve been told a novel must be in at least 80% scene. Problem: scenes take up more room than summary/telling. With so much space being occupied by extra scenes in this revision (because of the 80% rule), it sadly followed that some plot points needed to be dropped – or the endeavor would be 1,000 pages long!

Have you read The Things They Carried? (You should.) In the midst of writing this novel, I’m mourning for the things I’ve left behind.

The first thing to go was the most poignant love affair the character experienced. Why? First, because it was too much of a diversion from the main theme of the book. Second, because it required too much of a set-up and explanation – for which there was just no room!

The second thing to go was a set of secondary characters who were quite amusing and animated, but they also took up too much room for the limited amount of time they were part of my character’s life. I couldn't justify building up a personal trainer (pardon the pun) who would only be around for a few years, or a shrink who was present for a few months. In real life we gain insight from many people we encounter. In fiction, it’s richer and more satisfying to meld these people into one strong secondary character, who will act as the main character's “go to” for the bulk of the story.

The third thing to go was a collection of funny and poignant scenes that did not pull their weight in yanking the plot forward. They were well-written and satisfying and I hope to publish them in a collection of short stories, because they hold up on their own – but in this novel they were like boulders strapped around the plot’s waist, weighing it down.

So many pages have been cut – valiant, fallen soldiers who fought the good fight but made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause. Writing a novel is in fact like dodging bullets on a battlefield, but they’re the ultimate friendly-fire because the sharp shooter aiming at you is you. This is impossible to fathom if you’re not a writer.

It’s hard to fathom even if you are one.

My Aunt Olga the violinist once told me an amusing musician’s break-up line: “I love you darling, but the season is over.”

The same may be said to the things I’ve left behind.

Revolutionary Saturday: A Celebration!

2012-01-07T21:09:00.000-05:00

Let this first Revolutionary Saturday of 2012 be about celebration!

First, I want to celebrate my upcoming picture book, Alliance! It’s about the incredible friendship between Washington and Lafayette.

I had the privilege of seeing the artist’s sketches last week. How magical to see what my words inspired! This will be my third picture book, but the excitement is still palpable.

Second, I want to celebrate curious minds. This book sprang from the question I kept asking myself while doing research for my first two Revolutionary War books: Why is this French guy always hanging around?

In the primary sources I consulted, Lafayette was often mentioned as being present, but no one really explained how he got there or what he was up to.

From that question came the essential question of the book: How did two such different people form such an attachment?

To me, exploring relationships is a paramount part of writing, whether the setting is the Revolutionary War, or this afternoon.

Third, I want to celebrate revolutionary people: then and now.

Lafayette left his cozy and safe aristocratic lifestyle in France to help us fight for freedom.

You know by now how I feel about Washington: without his brilliance – and his ability to see past his disadvantages – we wouldn’t be a country.

Lafayette and Washington deserve a celebration. And so do all the revolutionary people in the world today: The people who refuse to be told how to think and feel. The people who create, add beauty and defend truth. You know who you are. And if you aren’t one of those people yet, it’s not too late. Celebrate life by sharing yourself with the world in your unique way. Be revolutionary!!!

Guest Blogger Orel Protopopescu Discusses Gender in Writing and her Eclectic Journey

2012-01-06T14:22:00.000-05:00

Today I welcome my dear friend and mentor, Orel Protopopescu. Orel was one of the few people who took me seriously in the beginning of my endeavor to become a professional writer, taking the time to scrutinize my work and show me how to make it better. I will always be grateful to her!

Orel's words are luminous and thoughtful. When I'm feeling stagnant I read over one of her poems for inspiration. Orel creates a whole world on a page. She can make you laugh; she can make you cry. Most of all, she'll make you feel.

Welcome, Orel:

As a writer of children’s books, I wonder why many editors urge us to write more books for boys. Didn’t I, as a young girl, see myself in Huck Finn? I traveled down the Mississippi with him and Jim, the runaway slave. I didn’t need to be a boy to share a boy’s adventures, joys and fears. It was enough to be human. But now I hear that boys refuse to read girls’ books, demanding heroes who are decidedly male.

Are we gender-stereotyping books? Left to their own devices, will kids read anything?

That has not been my experience. I remember doing a presentation of my first picture book, Since Lulu Learned the Cancan (illustrated by Sandra Forrest and reappearing this year as an app from Auryn, Inc.) in an elementary school. Its heroine, an ostrich who favors frilly dresses, kicks up a ruckus wherever she goes. Lulu may act like a tomboy, giving some powerfully dangerous kicks, but doesn’t dress like one. After the assembly, a very assertive little boy gave me a thumbs up and said, “You did good!”

One hopes to do good whenever one writes for any child or adult, of any age. And yet, when I wrote my second picture book, The Perilous Pit (a NY Times Ten Best-Illustrated book, illustrated by Jacqueline Chwast, to be granted a second life, very soon, as an app from Auryn, Inc.) I was criticized by some adults for casting a little boy as my hero, Daredevil Danny. He ends up riding a skateboard out to sea, all because of a carelessly thrown peach pit. Why not Daredevil Denise? a psychologist asked me. Was I trying to perpetuate the stereotype that girls were less adventurous than boys?

Does it matter if the protagonist is Danny or Denise?

In my next published picture book, Two Sticks (illustrated by Anne Wilsdorf and also slated for imminent appdom) my heroine, Maybelle, discovers the joys of making music with live crocodiles. It never occurred to me to make this one a boy’s book, since it was based on a dream I had when I was small, a girl’s book from a young girl’s dream. Was Maybelle to be shunned as second rate by boys barely old enough to read?

I haven’t been able to take a poll on that one, but the pendulum shifted again, back to a so-called boy’s book, when my next picture book, Thelonious Mouse, also illustrated by Anne Wilsdorf, was published by FSG in 2011. Again, I wasn’t trying to write for boys when I created this feisty, scat-singing mouse. Girls can be rambunctious, too, as we all know and hope. I was simply attracted to the way Thelonious rhymes with melodious, the visual assonance with the word “mouse,” coupled with my desire to pay homage to the genius of Thelonious Monk, the great jazz pianist and composer. His name was the source of my inspiration and it’s not a girl’s name. I expected that all children, boys and girls, could identify with my slick-tongued mouse whose music grew from everything around him, even his arch-nemesis, Fat Cat.

So it has been gratifying to hear that a book for ages 4 and up has inspired a three-year-old to say that he wants to write books about “Fat Cat” when he grows up. My character has already sunk some sharp claws into his imagination. This little boy didn’t seem to be concerned that Fat Cat was a girl. And what of Thelonious himself, that rascally mouse with a knack for turning insult into musical, mousical art? I am still hoping to hear from some little girls who can identify.

My writing is somewhat eccentric, I suppose, because I write whatever I am moved to write, without regard for the market. I write for children and for adults, for all the children and adults in each of us, whether latent or emerging. Sometimes they write to me.

Most recently, I was touched by emails from readers of my chapbook of poems for adults, What Remains, published in 2011 by Finishing Line Press.

This little book, I’ve learned, has traveled by plane to Hong Kong, Berlin, Paris, London, San Diego, and to the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Everywhere, readers tell me that they recognize themselves in my words. My family, theirs. My emotions, their own. Grown men and women had to stop reading, moved to tears. I could not ask for more gratifying news, except, perhaps, to hear that Lulu made a little boy laugh to see such sport, as he kicked up his own flat heels.

Orel Protopopescu

About Orel:

Orel Protopopescu, children’s author and poet, has been published by major houses. A Thousand Peaks, Poems from China (with Siyu Liu) was selected for the New York Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age, 2003 list. Two Sticks is on Bank Street College of Education’s Best Children’s Books of the Year 2008 list. Thelonious Mouse (FSG, 2011) was praised by reviewers in Booklist, Kirkus, and SLJ. She has completed a novel for young adults and is working on an inter-active poetry app currently in production by Actialuna in Paris, France.

Her poetry has appeared in Spoon River Poetry Review, Long Island Quarterly, and Oberon Poetry Magazine, as well as in the anthology, PAUMANOK, Poems and Pictures of Long Island, published by Cross-Cultural Communications. She won honorable mentions in the Oberon contests judged by Louis Simpson (2006) and Daniel Thomas Moran (2007) and was awarded first prize in Oberon’s 2010 contest judged by L. S. Asekoff for the poem, Listening to My Favorite Things from the Best of John Coltrane. Some of her poetry for children appears in her book for teachers, METAPHORS & SIMILES YOU CAN EAT And 12 More Poetry Writing Lessons (Scholastic Professional Books, 2003).

A gifted and nurturing teacher, Orel conducts writing workshops for students and teachers. As a former student, Christine Slatest, now a 7^th grade English teacher, said, “My interest in writing poetry began in Mrs. Protopopescu’s workshops. Her visits to my elementary school changed my life.”

Check out her website: www.OrelProtopopescu.com

Quote Contest Thursday!

2012-01-05T16:50:00.000-05:00

Here's a quickie, because I'm on the run:

Cervantes wrote: "All in good time."

What do you think of that? How does it make you feel? Do you believe it? Do you feel your time is past due? What then?

E-mail your thoughts to Ldymcbeth@aol.com and you could win a signed copy of The Girl Next Door. I will choose one winner at random, from all entries (from anywhere.)

Deadline: Saturday at midnight.

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Living My Day, Living My Life

2012-01-04T21:57:00.001-05:00

I sometimes buy greeting cards and display them in my kitchen. One of my favorites says: “How you live your day is how you live your life.”

It’s so easy to get bogged down in the wrong things. To stare around the room and think about all the improvements to be made. And the cleaning that needs to be done.

I read a line in Writer’s Digest many years ago that said something like, “The dishes will still be there later.” The article said you must writing first, and everything else after.

I make sure to write every morning – even if it’s just a few lines, or editing something I’ve already done. But I have to work on the rest of my day. Sometimes I get all melancholy and weepy. What good does that do? Sometimes I go out on errands that never seem to end. It’s ridiculous. What I need to do is force myself into a writing schedule of a few hours a day, at least. I’m a writer, for heaven’s sake. I have to “go to the office.”

Another card I bought recently is Joseph Campbell’s quote, “Follow your bliss, and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.” (paraphrased.)

I’ve already had this experience – I must keep on my path! I can’t control much in my life, but I can control my production of writing. And I can count my blessings.

I have to go now – I’m in Starbuck’s and they close at 10. I need to post thing and go home.

I need to write.

That’s how I plan to live my life from now on.

Tightrope Tuesday: Another Year of Parenting Without A Net

2012-01-03T14:40:00.000-05:00

Another year of being a mom is underway. And I can’t help thinking: somehow this parenting thing eludes me. I always feel like I should be doing something more for or with my kids, and yet the tug to write is so strong as well...

The other night they wanted me to carve pomegranates. Tearing myself away from my manuscript to paw at seeds and splatter crimson everywhere was not thrilling, and I let my kids know it. They laughed.

Some mothers manage to fulfill their kids’ requests with a big smile. I can’t help wonder: is it genuine, or Zanax-induced?

My son Michael made a little comment about my perpetual menu options the other night. “We know it’s either going to be steak, chicken or fish,” he said.

“Excuse me, but this isn’t the diner,” I told him. “You’re lucky you get that. Besides, sometimes I make tacos.”

What does he want? Doesn’t he know how hard it is for me to deal with meals at all when I’m in the middle of a novel? On Saturday night it took me an hour of wandering through the supermarket even though I had a list of only four things to buy, because I literally couldn’t focus. I kept running lines through my head.

Living in two worlds is like constantly juggling. And when I leave the literary world for awhile, it takes me that much longer to reacquaint myself with the characters – let alone write something quality. Sometimes I forget plot points, or if I’ve tackled something yet. So the bottom line is, I don’t want to cook or shop AT ALL. That doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids. I just wish they could fend for themselves.

I do what I need to do. I’m just not going to be researching any recipes. It’s only dinner. Eat it and more on.

I love spending time with my kids. But I like to do fun things with them. You know, like those “Disney Dads?” Yeah, I get that.

So what I need to do is get famous and wealthy enough so I can hire a chef and housekeeper, so we can just have fun when I’m not writing.

Until then, I’ll cook and do the laundry and do marginal cleaning, but there’s no service with a smile here. Just can’t do it – I’m not a Stepford wife. I’m not a wife AT ALL!!!

But I am a mother, and I must be doing something of a decent job because my kids are interesting and funny and I’m proud to know and be affiliated with them. And when we sit down to dinner – I do smile and enjoy myself. I wish we could just cut to the chase.

Discussing Dialogue

2012-01-02T22:53:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I wrote about the opening scene in my novel, which I'd changed to ground more in scene. You may recall, I was quite excited.

But apparently just because something is in scene and written well does not guarantee that it can do the job.

In this opening, my protagonist was having a conversation with a sleeping man, telling him she loved him, and ruminating about the problems of their relationship while he snored loudly. I submitted it for critique by a very reliable, well-respected writer. She wrote back, “You are telling, not showing that M is an unsatisfying relationship for Luna. We just see him sleeping and then gone. So her dissatisfaction and therefore everything she tells us subsequently, is unearned. For all we know he’s prince charming and she’s just a complainer.”

When I shared this with my friend Pascale she said of my critiquer, “Oh, please. Has she met a man?”

Be that as it may, apparently the information needs to be verified.

My critiquer said all I needed to do was use a different scene in which there is an exchange of dialogue.

This is a lesson I’ve been taught before, and ignored. At a writing conference a few years ago I read the same scene, and a famous writer said, “How about some dialogue?”

I said, “The guy’s sleeping.”

She said, “What if this were a movie?”

I said, “It’s not a movie. It’s a novel.”

I thought I’d added enough dialogue when I created lines for my protagonist to say to her sleeping lover. And when I had him snore back in response, I thought it was funny. I still do.

I don’t feel completely wrong here. I should be able to have a scene with a sleeping man if I want to. My protagonist does a great job creating the angst, which is another major ingredient to get that plot moving. I’ve read internal books – and this isn’t completely internal¸ plus it’s only one scene. It’s an entertaining scene anyway. But I can recognize when the fight is futile, so I’ve changed it to a scene when both parties are awake. I hope to use the sleeping stuff elsewhere, because it’s good.

I still think you can create a dynamic scene with little or no dialogue (as I did in every scene of my picture book BY THE SWORD), but apparently I’m alone in this line of thinking. “Show don’t tell” actually means “show interaction between characters, ” I’ve just learned. We’ll need to let James Joyce and Virginia Woolf know asap.

Yes, we must kill our darlings. Sometimes, the reasons are obvious. And sometimes, the hardest times, we must abort a perfectly viable literary fetus.

You have to do what you have to do, and move on. If you want to be published, that is.

Revolutionary Saturday: A Toast to Our Allies and Accomplishments

2011-12-31T20:28:00.000-05:00

Bonjour mes amis!

At the end of the year we reflect on our friendships and wish each other good tidings. I thought this would be a great time to remember our French allies in the American Revolution: we couldn't have won without them!

Ben Franklin in France, seeking support and recruits

It is also a time to celebrate our accomplishments. I've recently received the rough sketches for my book on the unlikely and touching friendship between George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette.

It's called Alliance! Zut alors, I can't wait to share it with you!!!

Washington and Lafayette at Valley Forge

So let's toast our successes, and our friends. Particularly the unlikely ones, who we'd never thought we'd have. Let's drink to serendipity and the power of faith and love.

If an impulsive, bubbling teen Frenchman could bond with a middle-aged American general who had little tolerance for anyone - but most especially foreigners - there's hope for anyone to get along.

Mais, oui!

Their friendship was solid!

A toast to you, and to me. May our friendship be long and prosper.

Happy New Year!!! Cheers!!!!

Contest Winner!!!!

2011-12-30T10:02:00.000-05:00

My apologies for posting my contest winner a day late!!! There has been a bit of madness in my life this week, between writing, college applications and school vacation.

The winner of my surprise box of ARCs is Lisa Reiss, who posted such a great story about a gift from her daughter. Tooooo sweet!!!

Today is supposed to be Guest Blog Friday, but my intended guest blogger had surgery recently, and she is not feeling well enough to contribute today. I put in a request to another friend, and we'll see how that goes. It's a tough week to contribute, I know ;)

So, we may have to content ourselves with the knowledge that many guest bloggers will come our way next year. Let it be fruitful and literary and bright.

Thanks for sticking with me and my ravings :) On Monday, there will be a consideration of the importance of dialogue. Just the thing for the new year!

Cheers,
Selene

On Resolutions

2011-12-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

Aren’t resolutions funny?

We spend so much time making our lists this time of year. What will we do differently? What will we improve about ourselves? What habits will we break for good?

I don’t like resolutions, especially in list form. When I decide to do something, I do it. I don’t call it a “resolution.” To label it something that dramatic seems like a prelude to failure.

And when I set out toward a goal, I do it without announcement. If I tell people, in every subsequent encounter they inevitably inquire: “Have you done it yet?”

Who needs all that questioning?

I attend a writing retreat twice a year. AT the end of the week, my editor asks us to list our goals for the next six months. I rarely do it. If I do, my single is “to be.” Once I made a full-blown list – which I didn’t accomplish.Then I was sad when she shared it the next time.

I’ve seen people agonize over their resolutions. If they put that much effort into getting things done day to day, they probably wouldn’t need resolutions. Imagine living your life so well that you had not one resolution to make?

I’ve made a decision to delete all my e-mails as of New Year’s Day. I have over 3500. I don’t know how that happened - except that when I'm writing I don't spend much time checking e-mails, especially when so much of it is junk. If you haven’t heard back from me in months/years – this is why. Please re-send after January first ;) But I won’t call this decision a resolution. I will call it a step toward my mental well-being!

Seriously, what is it about the word “resolution” that freaks me out? Maybe it’s because year after year I hear people make them, them break them. Maybe the word means nothing anymore, due to careless handling.

However, I do love deadlines. I use them often. Maybe I like the inherent threat of death. The stakes are high! I meet my deadlines, which are largely self-imposed. I don’t think I would if I called them “resolutions.” They wouldn’t have the same impact. Why? It’s the feeling of the words, that’s all.

I am, after all, a writer.

What’s the number one resolution people make? I’m sure it’s to lose weight.

I took a look around the gym the other day. Not too full, but that’ll all change in January. Gyms bank on people resolving to lose weight in the new year to sell memberships. Right now, folks are stuffing themselves to excess because they’re making that resolution starting New Year’s Day. And then, by February, something thins out. It’s not the people losing weight – it’s the crowd at the gym. The new members stop coming.

Resolutions, phooey. They’re ready for their Valentine’s chocolates.

Hey, there’s always next year to resolve anew.

Aren’t we all silly, worrying about things we never change? Kind of a waste of energy. When we’re ready to do it, we can do it without a declaration – can’t we?

Why must everything we set out to accomplish have such pomp and circumstance? Somehow, we Americans insist on flourish. But if it starts with a bang, it may end with a whimper.

What matters is the part we as a culture don’t focus on: carrying out the goal.

It’s like weddings, come to think of it. So much poured into that big day. Then, after the honeymoon, the happy couple is stuck with each other and no drama to occupy them. The goal is to stay happily married, but all the effort was put into the initial moments. Doesn’t make much sense.

With all that said, I wish you all the best in the New Year. Here’s to accomplishing all you set out to do, whether it’s with sound and fury, or in absolute quiet. Whatever works for you.

Cheers!

Tightrope Tuesday: College Applications and Hard Core Pawn

2011-12-27T22:50:00.000-05:00

It is a trying time for me as I feel pressure to get my novel done, do that mothering stuff, and help my son Michael wrap up his college applications. My problem is that I take everything so seriously, and I worry a lot. I don't want to, but I tend to assume the role of Atlas, holding up the world. Meanwhile, the world could probably hold itself up if I let go. But how can I take the chance?

So, to get some relief, I watched three episodes of Hard Core Pawn with Michael.

Wow, it's as if these people opened a business just to get cursed out by would-be customers. I guess it's editing, but it seems like pretty much every person who walks in takes issue with the owners. Security is always escorting someone out.

It's good for a laugh.

The old me wouldn't have wasted ninety minutes watching the show. But I've learned from my son that you can take some down time and still be productive. In fact, you can be more productive if you let loose and laugh a little.

I find that I learn something from everything. There's a lot about human nature in Hard Core Pawn. When people are desperate, their true selves are exposed. I would hope not to act like these people in their situation, but then again - I would not be in their situation. It shows you that limited means lead you up against a brick wall.

This show should be screened at college fairs, to show kids what waits for them if they don't pursue an education.

So while I'm thinking about it, let me acknowledge my gratitude to the universe that we can sit back and watch the madness of Hard Core Pawn without being party to it.

I'm doing a pretty good job. Maybe one day I'll let go of the world and see what happens - or at least try holding it up with only one hand.

Method to my Madness Monday: Basking in Your Glory

2011-12-26T18:33:00.000-05:00

Here's a quick tip to jump start your writing when you just don't feel like it: Read over something great you've written. A morsel you're soooo proud of. Even if it's a sentence. Anything that makes your chest puff up a bit as you say to yourself, "Hey, this is good stuff!"

If you've got a work in progress, find a line or two in that. If you hate everything you've produced of late, dig deeper. If need be, find a school newspaper article you penned in the eighth grade. Or a term paper. Anything.

A funny thing will happen when you read your polished work. You'll want to get moving on something else. Those juices will get flowing. You'll crave setting out once again on the path that ends with a sentence, paragraph, page or chapter you want to share with the world.

Maybe it's the law of attraction, maybe it's the law of prosperity (Is there a law of prosperity? It sounds good!), maybe it's the power of a good mood - or maybe all of these are the same thing. Who cares what label you throw on it? You're writing, and that's what counts.

Basking in your glory begets more glory to bask in. At least, it works for me.

And that's my last "method to my madness" tip for 2011. Hope you've enjoyed them, and used them.

Go forth and write - make this last week of the year count!

"What would I do if I had only six months left to live? I'd type faster. "
-Issac Asimov

Write like you're dying.

Cheers!

Revolutionary Saturday: How George Washington Spent His Christmas, 1776

2011-12-24T20:27:00.000-05:00

Think you’ve got a lot going on for Christmas?

Around this time on Christmas Eve, 1776, George Washington was probably busy planning his deadly attack against the Hessians. You know it as when Washington crossed the Delaware. But what happened after that – when he marched his troops to Trenton, NJ - made it one of goriest Christmas nights ever.

He had to do it, I know. War is indeed hell. And after all, those Hessians had it coming. Heartless mercenaries. They preferred to kill American soldiers rather than go to the trouble of taking prisoners. They really had to go.

The problem I have with the whole thing is the fact that so many people glorify this moment in Washington’s military career – often citing it was his greatest. Slaughtering a bunch of drunk and sleeping men on Christmas night is not glorious.

Much more valiant were his actions following the Battle of Long Island, when he managed to cross his 10,000 men across the East River to safety. Perhaps no one brings this feat up because he lost the battle. Or maybe it’s because no one captured the moment in a painting.

It was a noble thing to not give up even after losing at the Battle of Long Island, and saving all his men. There would not have been a crossing of the Delaware if not for the crossing of the East River first.

That said, it was a necessary, sad, grim thing which Washington set out to do on Christmas night, 1776. Remember him for both feats, and remember the men who left their families and spent Christmas fighting for our freedom.

Enjoy that freedom, and enjoy your holidays.

May peace and love be with you.

PS: If you'd like to see illustrator Bill Farnsworth's depiction of the retreat from the Battle of Long Island, check out my book, By the Sword. They are stunning paintings - and the writing's not bad, either ;)

Welcome to Guest Blogger Shannon Delany!

2011-12-23T09:56:00.000-05:00

Today I welcome my friend and fellow author Shannon Delany,

who is one of the most dedicated authors I know (and I know many!) Shannon has both an incredible work ethic, and a deep devotion to her fans.

Thank you for posting, Shannon!

Readers: Don't forget to enter my contest to win a box of ARCs! Deadline is tomorrow night - read yesterday's post for details!

Putting Werewolves to Bed:

On Ending a Debut Series

I guess writing this means it’s true. My debut series, including five YA paranormal novels (the first of which began as a cell phone novel) starring hot teenage Russian-American werewolves in small-town America has finally come to an end.

When I started writing 13 to Life for a contest in 2008 I never expected for it to take on the life it has. In 2009 I learned I’d won the first-ever cell phone novel contest in the western world, landed my first agent (as fresh in the biz as I was) and, in freakishly short order, I had a movie producer contact me and two publishers. As a result of all that, I made some choices and contracted for three books with St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of “Big 6” publisher Macmillan.

Three books. St. Martin’s Press put me on the 6-month plan: a new novel came out approximately every six months. I loved it (especially since I have an addiction for fierce cliffhangers). That 6-month plan probably saved me from being throttled by anxious readers. Then, while I was in Orlando as a speaker at the RWA national convention I got a call. St. Martin’s Press was interested in bringing me on for two more books. Equally flabbergasted and thrilled I said: YES!!! I reworked a bit of my story arc and my character development and was able to dive into a subplot I wanted to explore more fully.
I wrote and promoted and revised and promoted and did copyedits while writing, revising and promoting and... You get the idea. Somehow I maintained my last shreds of sanity (I did mention I wrote Russian-American werewolves, right?)

And then it was time to write the final novel in the 13 to Life series. I was miserable writing it. I knew that after the revisions, the copyedits and the first pass pages the only time I’d revisit my characters and the world of Junction was if I reopened one of my books and read. I realized there would be no more hot and frustrating moments between Max and Amy, no more struggles with Jess and Pietr and no more adventures with Alexi hustling pool. Since 2008 I’ve held the lives (and loves) of these characters in my hands. Living in a world where I realize I have tremendously little control still I had complete control over their world.

A few days ago I sent my copy-edits back to my editor.

I’ve been a bit of a wreck ever since. See, I never expected to write a debut series of five novels. I never expected I’d be writing Russian-American werewolves. After living with teen werewolves for three years (because, in a way you do live with them if you write them) ending the series feels like a really fierce goodbye.

As a matter of fact, the only thing that’s keeping me going is that although one series is over I have other things in the works. Two other things at the moment. I’m not at liberty to talk too much about either yet... The one project I can mention—and something I’m tremendously excited about is a short story for a charity anthology through YALitChat.

Georgia McBride has organized a group of authors to create a set of truly unique tales based on an old literary staple. We get to reinterpret something that has become nearly completely integrated in our culture. And I get to do mine with a co-writer. Yes. A co-writer. This is the part that’s just as exciting as creating a new world or being part of a new project—working with someone whose talents I greatly respect.

The fact he’s not an author of novels but a writer of songs is even more awesome in a way. He even says he’s “excited to bring my songwriting into a different light.” For this upcoming project I’ll be working with lyricist and singer Max Scialdone. Max has been making music and performing live as a solo act and with a variety of bands (right now a lot of his time’s devoted to Autumn Fire who just released their second CD) for more than a decade.

We both have an appreciation for the same types of stories and a fierce desire to make this project sing. Interpret that as you will. I can’t say much more right now, but if you’re as familiar with Selene’s novels as you should be, after reading this upcoming short story of ours you’ll understand why I love her title Saved by the Music even more.

So although the 13 to Life werewolves have been put to bed (at least for now) I have things that are on the horizon. Things I hope readers will find as inventive, passionate and exciting as I’m finding the creation of them to be.

Shannon Delany is the author of the 13 to Life series through St. Martin’s Press including: 13 to Life (8/10), Secrets and Shadows (2/11), Bargains and Betrayals (8/11), Destiny and Deception (1/31/12), Rivals and Retributions (8/7/12); and the sci-fi short story “To Hel and Back” in Spirited: 13 Haunting Tales (Leap Books, 10/11 ebook; 3/12 pb).
Max Scialdone is the singer and songwriter for Autumn Fire. His albums include Endless (2010) and Amends (12/11).
Find them both online on Facebook and Twitter and at ShannonDelany.com and AutumnFireMusic.com.

New Contest!!!

2011-12-22T12:22:00.002-05:00

Enter to win a surprise selection of novel ARCs, collected from American Library Assocation conferences & Book Expo Americas!

(ARCs = Advance Reader Copies)

They are limited editions & collector's items!

To enter, please comment about a gift you once received that touched you (or if you are shy - e-mail me at Ldymcbeth@aol.com.)

You get another chance to win if you share this post on any social media.

Deadline is midnight Saturday (I believe that is also Christmas!)

Here's some gifts that meant a lot to me:

My son Michael shelled out the big bucks and bought me a bracelet with diamond hearts. When a teenager parts with that kind of dough, it's pretty touching.

My son Casey bought me two bunches of lovely wooden tulips last Mother's Day. I especiallytreasure them because I get so sad when real flowers die. I asked him why he bought two bouquets. He answered, "Because one wasn't enough for you."

My boyfriend bought me a purple Dell computer two Christmases ago. If you know me, you know why this was so appropriate. I am the purple queen. lol.

Anna Pett - who runs the Facebook group "Peace, Love, Teen Fiction," made me a pair of earrings with the cover of The Girl Next Door on them. She used Scrabble tiles with "S" & "C" - my initials!!!

Your turn!

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Doing the Holiday Gift Dance

2011-12-21T17:30:00.000-05:00

I’ve made a decision to stop buying silly, useless holiday gifts in the name of love.

The retail industry is adept at tugging on our heart strings. They embed the message: Show your love through gifts.

The more you give, the more you love them.

This is so not true. If love could be measured in money, rich kids would all be happy. Check out the celebrity reality shows past and present (IE: Hilton, Kardashian) and you’ll see that some rich kids grow up miserable and broken.

Shopping not only eats at my wallet, but also my time. I absolutely refuse to go the mall. But I even resent shopping locally. I just cannot stand the commercialism – and worse – the misleading promise of it all.

Of course we should give our kids something – but not everything!

I notice that I’m getting all sorts of e-mails about stocking stuffers now. That’s become the next big marketing push. Heaven forbid those stockings aren't bulging with goodies - even if you've spent hundreds of dollars on a gift already!

I show my love to my kids every day by guiding them through life, giving them food and shelter, and nurturing them with love. Material gifts are a bonus.

I’m not saying anything new here, I know. And I’m not going to wage a full-scale war against holiday shopping. Let people whip themselves into a frenzy at the mall. I’m not giving into all that nonsense anymore.

Buddha said, “Simplicity brings more happiness than complexity.”

I think that fits this situation well. Too many gifts clutter Christmas.

Think of babies and animals, happy to play with boxes and wrap.

I’m heading to my writing group now. This is my gift to myself.

The greatest gifts are, in fact, things that cannot be wrapped – like helping my son through the maze of colleges and applications. It is the gift of his future.

And like hugging my son Casey, and telling him how much I love him.

Spending time with our kids is a gift.

Shakespeare wrote, “Things won are done. Joy’s soul is in the doing.”

I don’t think “shopping” was the “doing” he was referring to. Just a wild guess.

Tightrope Tuesday: Walking the Holiday High Wire, While Parenting

2011-12-20T16:26:00.000-05:00

I never learned how to ride a bicycle.

My mom bought me one, but never taught me how to ride it. I mentioned this to her once, when I was grown. She looked at me with contempt and told me, “You should’ve taught yourself.”

If there is a child who taught him or herself how to ride a bike, I applaud them. I did not have to gumption to try such a thing. I was alone all the time and it was sad enough. I didn’t want to be alone on the ground with a scraped knee, or worse, crying with no one to hug me.

My ex-husband tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t get past the terror of letting go of my gravity.

My son Casey tried also, when he was about nine. I had to beg him to give up. It was like I was the child.

Some things are meant to happen in childhood. When you’re an adult, they’re so much harder.

Faith is like that for me. I wasn’t exposed to much in the way of it when I was little. Certainly not organized religion. We did celebrate Christmas, but to me it was a time when Santa brought gifts. I thought everyone had a Christmas tree – until I moved to the Five Towns. There, in second grade, I was questioned unmercifully by the other kids. They wanted to know if I was Catholic or Jewish. I had never heard of either of these things, but I desperately wanted to belong. I asked my mom about it that night. She said, “Tell them you’re agnostic.” She didn’t bother explaining, but even if she did it wouldn’t have mattered. Agnostic was not a choice!

I went back and said I was half-Jewish and half-Catholic. I wanted to be liked be everyone. Instead, no one embraced me.

There is probably more to this that I’ve blocked out. Our minds try to shield us from the little horrors of our youth. Suffice to say that faith was hard to come by, because I wasn’t quite sure what it even was.

My aunt was a late-blooming Buddhist. She tried to teach me. I loved my aunt very much, but her zealous, in-your-face method of meditation instruction was not kid-friendly. I really wanted to like it, but I didn't. I couldn't even understand it. All I knew was that you were supposed to say, “Mu.”

That I have been brought to any faith at all shows us that miracles happen. I do believe in God, but not in the traditional sense. I know there is a power watching over me, guiding me, taking care of me – if I let it. I call it "God" because everyone else does. I could just as easily call it "Harry."

All of this makes the holiday season a challenge. So many people have their religious rituals and traditions. Then there’s me – with a deep spirituality, but not belonging to any of the groups that bind people together. I tried being a Uniterian. I still call myself one. But after a few months of services I couldn’t handle it anyone. It felt confining. And redundant. The initial comfort I felt in the church was gone.

My children have no religion. They seem okay with it, perhaps because I explained the concept of religion to them and why they don't have one. I just couldn’t impose something on them that I couldn’t embrace myself. Casey went to the Uniterian Sunday School for a while. But he grew weary of it around the same time that I decided to stop attending services. It was good timing.

This is not meant to be a condemnation of organized religion. I’m simply saying that it’s not for me.

So what is Christmas without Christ? Well, it’s a time to show the people you love just how much you appreciate them. It’s a time for gratitude.

Even though I've come to this conclusion, I get very sad around the holidays. It’s like I'm walking a highwire above all my ghosts of Christmases past, and they're poised to engulf me - smother me - if I fall. And yet, I have to be a parent. Someone who provides guidance, without having known any - and solace, without having experienced any. I have no idea what I'm doing.

But the hardest thing is the very thing that redeems me.

Parenting is my saving grace. My children love me unconditionally, as I love them.

How can I be a good mother during the holidays? By doing what I do best: Loving my kids.

And taking that leap of faith: That everything else will follow.

Close To You: For a Great Story, Get In The Groove With Your Characters

2011-12-19T14:08:00.000-05:00

Some time back, I had the opportunity to hear YA author Han Nolan speak at a conference. One thing she touched on struck me deep: Her personal relationships with her characters.

Han said she was out shopping once, and she spotted a butterfly trinket. My friend would like that, she thought. Then she remembered: Her friend wasn’t real. She was a character in one of Han’s novels.

This is how close we should be to our characters. We should think of what gifts they would like. What clothes they wear. Whether they prefer Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts – or, heaven forbid, we must consider that they may not consume caffeine at all.

Think of it as living in an alternate universe. Because you are. You have created it, so only you can flesh it out fully. You must give your characters the attention they need so they can reciprocate, giving you the story you desire.

It’s like gardening, but it’s better. Because you don’t really have to dig through dirt.

The dirt's in your mind. (The only dirt I like is the metaphorical kind.)

Another sign that you’re “in the groove” (as my Aunt Olga said) is when your character speaks to you. “My name is Darwin,” a voice said out of the blue in my head one day, as I turned a corner not far from my house (there’s a certain spot where I connect with my peeps.)

I wasn’t perturbed. I guess a part of me had been expecting him.

“Well,” I said. “Then I guess the name of the book is Evolution.”

I told Darwin’s painful story¸ and I did it fast. It was like I was taking dictation from him.

Evolution is the truest story I’ve written, even though it’s fiction. It’s so real and disturbing that some people can’t handle it. The point is: It all sprung from a close relationship with the character.

You are not your characters, and they are not you. You won't agree with all of their decisions and actions – but you must follow them along and document them anyway. Like the people who film animals in the wild. Watching those clips, I always think, Why won’t the guy filming help the antelope being stalked by lions?

The guy isn’t there to fight nature.

And, in fact, you can't.

Even (and especially) in fiction, we are documenting the human condition. That is why the reader cares. We can and must have empathy for our characters, without playing God. The Girl Next Door was like that for me. How hard to watch a relationship playing out when one of the pair has cancer. Devastating.

Dreaming your story is a good start. That’s what happened with The Girl Next Door.

I dreamed a little dream...

I had the whole thing in my head when I woke up one morning, even though I was struggling to write Saved by the Music.

Only when I let the characters take the lead could I write this story, and it was based on me!

Your characters will have their way with you, whether you like it or not. Fighting them just makes it harder. They will get that message out. So shut up and listen.

Get in the groove with your characters and your story will soar. Every time.

Abraham Woodhull: Stammering Farmer & Spy

2011-12-17T23:17:00.000-05:00

Last week I introduced you to Caleb Brewster, the valiant captain/spy who could’ve easily been portrayed in an action movie.

This week I give you Abraham Woodhull: the stammering, terrified farmer who handled day to day operations of the ring.

Why did Benjamin Tallmadge recruit such a pathetic excuse for a spy? That’s probably why. Abraham was scared of just about everything. No one would ever believe he was capable of intrigue and espionage.

Benjamin and Abraham grew up together in Setauket, Long Island. Benjamin knew he could trust Abraham. Poor Abraham must’ve held his friendship and the American fight for freedom close to his heart, because being a spy nearly gave him a heart attack.

It is believed Abraham recruited Robert Townsend – the pivotal member of The Culper Spy Ring. Abraham was a customer of Robert’s dry good business. It had to have freaked Abraham out to speak with Robert and convince him to betray his Quaker faith, for in Manhattan, especially, it was never safe to talk. Redcoats were everywhere.

Abraham’s hypocondria reached new heights when he took on the role of Culper Senior. After executing a letter for Washington, it was not uncommon for Abraham to retreat to bed complaining of fever, and stay there for days.

Abraham shook so much that he spilled the only vial of invisible ink on hand once. He made frequent mistakes – more understandable because he was not trained in his endeavor but learned as he went along – but Washington did not understand at all. He was quick to criticize when things went wrong, and even disbanded the Culpers in one angry moment.

But Washington ultimately did have faith in Abraham and the Culpers. When he needed vital information fast, he rallied the Culpers back into action. Of all his spies, he relied on and trusted the Culpers most.

Carol Larese Millward: My Guest Author Shares Her Truths!

2011-12-16T10:38:00.000-05:00

Greetings, everyone!

Today I'm pleased to bring you a guest post by my friend and co-WestSide Books author Carol Larese Millward. Carol's book STAR IN THE MIDDLE was a 2010 Galley Cat Best Teen Book!

Be sure to catch Carol's book trailer at the end of this post!

I enjoyed reading this post and hope you will, too. There are also some lovely quotes (which I love, as you know.)

Welcome, Carol!

Many thanks to my friend and fellow WestSide Books author Selene Castrovilla for inviting me to write a guest blog. I admire writers, like Selene, who consistently find interesting topics and issues to tackle and manage to present them in a thoughtful, insightful manner. I was inspired to write this piece after reading Selene’s quote on her blog site --

“Sharing my truths with the world, and helping others find theirs.”

As a writer, my goal is to create characters that share their truths with the world. In my YA novel, Star in the Middle, I found it difficult at times to be true to Star’s character.

I felt so protective of this teen mother, who was not only dealing with a new baby, but also with a painful secret from her past. Wilson, the young father’s character, was even more of a challenge.

Wil wanted his voice heard, and although this novel at its inception was to be about a teen mother and her baby, how could I deny the father his say?

“If there is any one secret of success, it lies in the ability to get the other person's point of view and see things from his angle as well as your own.” –Henry Ford

I found truth in the preparation. I wrote page after page of information about my characters and their needs in an attempt to understand and empathize with them. I had worked with teen parents as a Family Advocate and Parent Educator through Family Support Centers, and with the help of my fictional characters, I wanted to explore the many real consequences an unplanned pregnancy can have on young lives.

Writing extensive profiles gave my characters voice. As they told their stories, they revealed their truths.

What does truth look like, and how can we as writers stay true to our characters and our readers?

Sometimes the truth—the issues--we explore while writing realistic young adult fiction is dark. Writers don’t create that darkness, but we do attempt to shine a light on it and expose it for what it is.

I have been very pleased with the dialogue Star in the Middle inspires among teens at schools and book clubs that I visit. I believe young adults feel less threatened talking about the issues they face, while discussing fictional characters facing the same concerns.

“The worst thing about being lied to, is knowing that you're not worth the truth.” --Unknown

Parents who object to the exploration of topics they find inappropriate or offensive sometimes challenge books and want them removed from their child’s school or library. But we can’t protect children from the truth that bad things happen. We have all been bombarded with the Jerry Sandusky scandal. How many children witnessed him being led away in handcuffs on national television--with a Penn State jacket hung over his shoulders? Sandusky said that he has never harmed children and is innocent of the Grand Jury allegations that he molested young boys. What is this man’s truth, and what truth can we find in those around him who failed to come forward? Is it better to shield children from this story, or take the opportunity to talk to them about sexual abuse and predators?

My truth is that I have always been a writer. As a child, writing was my way of processing what happened to me and to those around me. I believe this process helped me to understand myself, and others. I think the most important thing I learned was that mine was not the only truth. I firmly believe that empathy is the most valuable tool a writer can have.

I write for children and young adults because I respect them and the issues they face. I hope that by being true to my characters and letting them tell their stories, I can help young readers feel empowered to tell their stories in their own unique voices.

“The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives.”

–Albert Einstein

Star in the Middle Book Trailer - A Shelf-Awareness Book Trailer of the Day Selection --

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjYijUCeso0

STAR IN THE MIDDLE by Carol Larese Millward

WestSide Books/2009

A GalleyCat Best Teen Book 2010

Order from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Star-Middle-Carol-Larese-Millward/dp/1934813133

http://carollaresemillward.com

WINNER of my Kindle Miracle Contest Announced!!!

2011-12-15T12:16:00.000-05:00

Good day!!!

I'm pleased to let you know that I studiously made entry slips for everyone (some, multiple slips), put them in a special purple basket that says "BELIEVE" on it, shuffled and shook and tossed, and drew a winner.

And it is a winner that the universe wants. Because at first this person's name came flying out while I was shuffling. I put it back in and shuffled some more. Then, I drew it!

The winner is: NA S!

Congratulations, Na! You've won a Kindle!!!!!

As for miracles, I'm focusing hard on them. I found a little figurine on the field today (where I lost & found my keys) which looks like the doll from the Island of Misfit Toys. (Not exactly, but along those lines.)

Her hair is missing and she's a little disheveled. I took her home, but I'm not sure what to do with her. Maybe that's beside the point. Or maybe I'm going mad.

Is she a gift from God?

Maybe she's like me, a former "displaced" girl. I have always felt like a misfit. Maybe the universe is telling me I'm not one. (Or that I'm not the only one.)

Maybe the miracle of a miracle is how you perceive it.

Thank you, everyone who entered. I'm sorry you didn't win, Joyce - but thank you for being so supportive!!!

I loved reading everyone's miracles, and their quotes.

Season's greetings to all - and happy miracle spotting!!!

Love,
Selene

Last Chance to Win a Kindle/Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Hoarder Nation

2011-12-14T13:20:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to clean up my life. Really.
Not that it's dirty. But it's packed.
I'm not a hoarder like the ones you see on television. But I save things. It's hard to let go.
I know I'm not alone.
We are a nation of hoarders. It's just that everyone has their own degree.
Why do we attach ourselves to certain things?
Fear of loss, comfort, desperation, laziness, compulsion...I think these all have a hand.
We are a nation that affixes our happiness to our possessions.
For me, the number one reason is sentimentality. For example, I find it so hard to get rid of anything remotely connected to my children. Today I went through a basket of stuffed animals and asked my son Casey which ones he wanted to keep. Whenever he said to toss one, I'd say something like, "But I bought this giraffe for you when you were sick. See its big, sad eyes?"
And Casey would say, "I don't remember, Mom. Just ditch it."
It's like I don't want to lose the memory.
My older son is fantastic at letting go of things. He is a neat freak, and he knows the trick is to not let anything lay around.
I want to be like that. As a matter of fact, I'm not letting anything new accumulate. But the old stuff is hard to get rid of.
I read a great tip in a magazine: Take a picture of the things you love before you get rid of them. I'll probably snap a shot of the giraffe before he goes bye-bye.
Another huge problem I have is papers. First of all, there are manuscripts. I certainly don't need them - I have them on the computer! But you try dumping your manuscript in the trash. It's like thowing your baby away.

Great minds think alike: Albert Einstein also had a cluttered workspace!

Then, I have critiques. I already went over them, but I like to keep the comments "just in case." I also like reading the compliments.
I have notebooks filled with notes from writing conferences, but never look at again.
I have piles of research for my American Revolution books. (This I hope to box up and put in the attic.)
I have receipts and statements...I have Bed, Bath & Beyond coupons up the wazoo...all these things I know I need to file, but God help me, I don't want to take the time to!!!
I have mugs from everywhere I've ever been. I don't use them - I display them.
I have soooo many pictures...It would probably take a solid year to but them in albums (I went through a scrapbooking phase, and have two completed pages, and all the materials.)
I have THINGS...little things that have captured my interest, or mean something to me.
I have my kids' art work from all the years gone by...Including things far from original or creative. Like a foam plaque with a leprechaun, rainbow and pot of gold that one of my kids glued together.

Oh, and I have boxes...lots of decorative boxes and bins to organize things in...and they are EMPTY!!!

I also have many books - far more than I've ever read!!!

All this, even though I've been cleaning out. I just don't know how I'll ever get done with it all, because I can't devote my life to cleaning up my prior messes.

I'm trying to do a little each day.

And I am proud to have halted the madness.

It feels so cruel to get rid of things, but now I view it as survival of the fittest. It's me, or them.

A cluttered life is an imprisoned one.

I deserve to be free.

--------------------

Don't forget to enter my "Win a Kindle" contest!!!!! Today is your last chance!!!!!!

Last Days for Kindle Contest/Tightrope Tuesday: The Horror of "The Science Fair"

2011-12-13T22:32:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is my twelve year old son's science fair.

"Science Fair" seems too inadequate a term. They ought to call it "An attempt to make parents' heads explode."

Something to that effect.

Maybe your twelve year old son or daughter is able to nagivate through the "official" science fair instruction packet, conduct an experiment over a period of something like twelve weeks and then write a complicated research paper as well as make up a presentation board all by him or herself.
My twelve year old cannot.
I could barely figure it all out.

Let's get real: We parents are the ones who must supervise, and do all the grudge work - like buy the dumb board.
Yes, I said dumb.
I am personifying a piece of cardboard. I can do that because I'm a writer, not a scientist.
Thank God.

I hate science. It's so precise. So formal. So cold.
I like room for error. I like uncertainty. I like inconclusive evidence.
This is what we writers thrive on.

That's why I shouldn't be anywhere near a science project.

But Casey had no partner, so I vowed to help him conduct his testing. His subject was: "Can People Spot Fake Smiles?" My opinion is that we should try not to. Feelings get hurt enough. Ignorance is bliss.

It was a fun experiment. Casey tested his friends with a BBC internet quiz consisting of twenty people smiling.

The horror came when we set out to present the findings.

The research paper guidelines infuriated me. They wanted a table of contents. How pompous can you get? This is a paper done by a twelve year old!

They wanted acknowledgments.
Is this a submission for the Nobel Prize? No, it's a twelve year old's science project.

You get the picture...

I just can't stand people taking themselves so seriously. It's everything that's wrong with this world.

Lighten up, Francis.

I must repeat: These are twelve year olds doing the work!!!
So, after many angry moments (mine, not his), we got the research paper all together.

Then there was the presentation board.
We went to get it in Michael's. I had a 50% off coupon! Of course, it was out of stock. "They better have it somewhere, or someone's going down," I told my son.
That person would probably be me - because of a stress attack.

Fortunately, we found one in Staple's. Full price, but at least it was in our possession. Phew!
The came the realization of how large it was. "How will we fill this up?" I asked my older son. After all, it was a simple experiment, summed up with one graph (Thank the lord for createagraph.com, or wherever Casey used on the web - a graph was magically created when we entered our data!)
Michael advised, "Make everything really big."

We made the words 72 font (that's the max) and I was ready to print out.
Guess what?
PAPER JAM!!!
I couldn't get it out. I freaked out on the printer. "Why? Why have you done this to me?" I wailed. (More personification.)
It didn't answer.
Must be a scientific printer
Then I hit it.
That didn't help.

I went to Staples. Looking back, it wasn't the most tragic thing in the world, but at ten to nine last night it sure felt catastrophic.
It's like that straw that broke the camel's back saying...

The work is done now. But the memory will always remain.
The horror of "The Science Fair" will live forever in infamy in my mind.
There'd better not be a math olympics, or someone's going down...
Definitely, me.
--------------------------

Don't forget to enter my contest to win a Kindle!!! Tomorrow is your LAST CHANCE!!!!!

Method to my Madness Monday: Write No Matter What!

2011-12-12T22:29:00.000-05:00

I am sooo exhausted right now. The last thing I wanted to do was write this blog. I can't wait to crawl into bed with Netflix.

But I am committed to this blog, so here I am. The post will be short, but damn it - it will be here!!!

This is the same attitude I have toward writing every day. Even if I don't have time to write much, I will write SOMETHING!!! Because:
1. "Somethings" add up.
2. Even if a "something" is junk and will be chucked, it kept my juices flowing.
3. One day away from writing leads to two, leads to three...

Stephen King said to write a novel in a season. You know he takes no days off! The reason is because you have a whole world swirling around in your head. It's hard enough to keep it all straight if you look at it every day and plow through. But if you start taking breaks...it's almost impossible to keep a lucid, entertaining train of thought. For you, and your readers.

So I sit down and work on my novel first thing every morning. Before life gets in the way (and it almost always does.) Just to make sure something got written today.

Some writers say they can produce good writing any time of day, no matter how tired they are. I think my best writing - and thought process - comes first thing in the morning. That's when life is bursting with possibility - and consequently, so is writing.

Perhaps you're a night owl. Great. Whatever works.

I'm going to bed, folks. Happy - and continuous - writing to all, and to all a good night.

Revolutionary Saturday/Don't forget to enter my Kindle contest!!!

2011-12-10T21:23:00.002-05:00

Today on Revolutionary Saturday I’d like to introduce you to Caleb Brewster, who was the kind of guy Harrison Ford or Bruce Willis would’ve played in their prime.

A real die hard.

Caleb was a whaleboat captain who conducted successful raids on British forts on Long Island.

He was also a member of George Washington’s Culper Spy Ring.
Caleb and his men hid along the Setauket, Long Island shore waiting for a signal that the message for Washington had arrived, courtesy of courier Austin Roe. It is believed that Anna Strong hung a petticoat in her clothesline to alert Caleb. But however he found out that his message was waiting for him, Caleb was always ready to act.

He and his men rowed across the Long Island Sound to American-held Connecticut.

There, it was carried to Washington. Especially because of the long, round-about route from New York, time was of the essence. But Caleb often found a moment to raid larger British ships on the way to Connecticut. He was that kind of guy.

Towards the end of the war, Benjamin Tallmadge was on board a whaleboat with Caleb when they came under British fire. Caleb went down with a musket ball through the chest. Tallmadge recalled in his memoir that he thought it was the end of Caleb. He was wrong.

Caleb rose and fought on.

He recovered and lived into his 80’s.

A letter from Caleb Brewster to Benjamin Tallmadge

If you’d like to read more about Caleb Brewster and the Culper Spy Ring, check out my book, Upon Secrecy.

http://www.amazon.com/Upon-Secrecy-Selene-Castrovilla/dp/1590785738

Don't forget to enter my Kindle contest! Read yesterday's blog for details!!!!!

Kindle Contest & SIRENZ Series Authors Guest Blog!

2011-12-09T08:46:00.004-05:00

ATTENTION:

This is your last week to enter for a chance to win a Kindle!!! Details are at the bottom of this post.

Today I welcome Charlotte Bennardo and Natalie Zaman, the lovely co-authors of the SIRENZ Series (Flux.)

As I writer, I'm fascinated by anything co-created, because I'm quite the control freak with my work and could never co-author anything. I tried once. We argued over the main character's name, and I was done.

Char and Nat's first book, SIRENZ, was released last June:

"Bickering frenemies Meg and Shar are doing some serious damage at a midnight sample sale when the fashionistas find themselves arguing over a pair of shoes-with fatal consequences. One innocent bystander later, the girls are suddenly at the mercy of Hades, Lord of the Underworld himself. To make them atone for what they've done, Hades forces the teens to become special-assignment Sirens, luring to the Underworld an individual whose unholy contract is up.
Finding that delicate balance between their fashion addiction and their new part-time job in the eternal hellfire biz turns out to be harder than Meg and Shar expected, especially when an entire pantheon of Greek deities decides to get involved. Then there's the matter of the fine print in their own contracts..."

You can order SIRENZ at www.FluxNow.com!

Welcome Char & Nat!

Personally Yours

One question we’re often asked (and we’re sure other authors are asked this too) is “Are you like your character(s)?” From the way they dress, talk, think, whine, eat, argue, and go about their lives, Sirenz Meg and Shar are itsy bitsy pieces of yours—us—truly.

Goethe said, “Every author in some way portrays himself in his works, even if it be against his will.” (www.quotegarden.com/writing.html) Who would argue with a master (especially a dead one!)? Now while it’s unlikely that Suzanne Collins is exactly like her character Katniss in The Hunger Games, it’s probably safe to say that some aspects of her personality are not only in that character, but in others you’ll meet throughout the story. We each bring our preferences, dislikes, viewpoints and predilections to the table when creating our characters; we can’t help it. That’s not to say that people who write about serial killers are killers (well, we hope not), but if that author has a penchant for spicy Thai food and the character does too, it’s not a far stretch to see why.

In Sirenz, a bit of our personalities’ DNA is generously sprinkled throughout the book. Meg Wiley—named by Nat for Meg White of the now sadly-defunct White Stripes, and Wile E. Coyote, a favorite cartoon character—is like Natalie in that she has an esoteric streak, a thing for black clothes—particularly vintage—and a well stuffed iTunes account. Oh, and she won’t touch a diet soda. Never. But in many ways, Meg’s also like Charlotte: both are committed to being as green as possible (Charlotte recycles as much as she can to the annoyance of her family and lectures others who don’t) and not having all that many shoes (really!). Meg is a vegetarian by herself—her creators are unapologetic carnivores (though we <3 organic!).

Charlotte chose Shar’s name because she liked the sound of “Sharisse,” super girly without being a clichéd “Tiffany,” and Johnson because that’s her maiden name. You can see Natalie in Shar’s fashion addiction, disturbing knowledge of designers (hey—everyone has their faves, right?), and regular manicures (but no fake nails!). Just like Shar, Charlotte is a church goer (not just on Christmas Eve, Easter, funerals, weddings… you get the idea), is irreverent (can make a joke, even if in bad taste, about anything), and definitely believes in romance (sappy sigh…). If you want to see further resemblance, look at the cover for the sequel, Sirenz Back In Fashion. The artist who drew our characters might well have been looking at us (through heavily tinted rose glasses); Shar is tall, blonde and slim, Meg is petite, curvaceous and dark haired.

Even Hades has our ‘stamp’ on him. We both agreed that Ian Somerhalder would be the perfect Hades if Sirenz ever makes it to the big and/or small screen. He is a product of our collective tastes—what we would want to see in a villain—or anti hero (let us know what you think after you read Sirenz Back In Fashion!). You’ll find pieces of us in the other gods as well: Demeter has Char’s sharp tongue (which can/does lead to trouble), and Nat’s love of the little critters (Nat keeps chickens, bunnies, cats, a guinea pig, and birdlettes.). And her daughter Persephone? We can both be a weeeeeeeeeeee-bit defiant, though in different ways. If only we could just snap our fingers to get what we want!

Even the locales of Sirenz are products of us. We both have a special relationship with New York; Nat knows Manhattan quite well (she’s always popping in to shop or visit—and she REALLY needs to get out to Brooklyn more often!), and Char was born in NY (but Long Island, which is not the city). The tropical island? A place where Char hopes to retire to (or at least run away to now and then). The Tarot shop? Based on Earth Spirit in Red Bank, NJ, a new–age store owned by friends of Nat’s.

Like the cliché about taking the boy out of the city but not the city out of the boy, writers can’t help leaking a little bit of themselves into their characters- good and bad.

Thanks again, Char & Nat. I agree about the leakage, and I love that quote from Goethe!!!

Here's a synopsis of the next SIRENZ installment: SIRENZ: BACK IN FASHION (Summer 2012):

It’s Hell on heels—again!
When Shar tries on a ring from Hades, it activates an obscure contractual clause that puts Shar and former-frenemy-now-friend Meg in Hades’ service once more. Shar is whisked away to the Underworld to prepare a ball for Persephone, while Meg is sent to retrieve the errant soul of spoiled rich girl Paulina Swanson and send her to the abyss. Just when it appears the girls will be doomed to serve Hades for eternity, Shar meets two possibly helpful demi-gods who also happen to be gorgeous. Can the girls finally ditch the Lord of the Dead once and for all?

Be careful what you wish for...

The contest details:

Got a story about a miracle? Share it with me, and you could win yourself or someone you love a Kindle.

There are other ways to win:

1. Follow this blog. (There is a space at the bottom of the post to enter your e-mail. I know it's hard to figure out - but I can't figure out how to make it clearer. Sorry!!!)
2. Post this contest in your status on any social media.
3. E-mail your favorite quote on "miracles" to Ldymcbeth@aol.com.
4. Review one of my books (there are four) on your blog, Goodreads or Amazon.
5. I'm open to other creative ideas for entries. Try me!
You will receive one entry for each thing you do. I will select ONE winner out of all the entries on Thursday, December 15.

Last Week To Enter Kindle Contest & The Hokey Pokey (A Day Late): Broadway Shows ARE Worth the Price of Admission

2011-12-08T12:56:00.000-05:00

Greetings!

This is the last week of my contest to win a Kindle! Please share your miracles! (Complete contest details are at the bottome of this post.)

Yesterday was Hokey Pokey Wednesday, but I was too busy actually doing The Hokey Hokey to post (I DID write it, LOL.)

Here it is:

I mentioned to my son Michael that I was thinking of taking his brother to see the Broadway show Rent. I brought Michael to so many productions when he was younger. We started compiling a list once, and jotted down at least twenty-five, but both of us felt some were missing.

Money got tighter, and as a result, Casey hasn’t seen many shows. Truth be told, I started resenting the price of admission. Shows are expensive! (Kind of like gluten-free cookies, but at least the shows are good.) I stopped making shows a priority. But the other day, during a school visit, I spotted some vouchers for Rent in the office, and decided to give Casey a treat.

“I’ll go again,” Michael said. “I loved that show.”

“Oh, great. More money,” I said, but I was laughing. Because Michael really did love that show. He even wanted a stuffed cow wearing the Rent logo on a t-shirt as a souvenir (you have to see the show to get the joke.) It’s funny – we just stored that cow in a box in our attic. “Okay, three tickets it is.”

Then he said something that shocked me: “Broadway shows made me who I am.”

“How so?” I asked.

He said, “They made me believe that anything was possible.”

Wow.

Looking back, I can see that. The way he marched up and down the aisle when the band played “Seventy-Six Trombones” at the end of The Music Man.

The way he marveled at Peter Pan flying above his head,

and on a different occasion in the same theatre, the way he marveled over Annie getting her gun.

Hell, he even loved Tom Sawyer, The Musical (probably the only person who ever did.)

He didn’t love Cats, but thought it was so cool to go on stage and see the sleeping cat up close at intermission. He was tickled over Suessical the Musical, which I thought was much better than it had the right to be. He and his cousin Ashleigh went wild over Footloose and asked to see the movie – which they panned.

He danced all the way back to the car after Forty-Second Street.

There were only two shows he disliked: Beauty and the Beast (He was about five and terrified. No, he was not scared of the beast. He never made it that far. The wolves attacking Belle in the woods freaked him out, and he willed himself to sleep) and Jesus Christ Superstar (which I only took him to because the commercial proclaimed it “a family musical,” but it bored him so much that he begged me to let him sleep - so I did. It got better in the second act, but he’ll never know.)

So many shows! The list goes on. I, too, was influenced by Broadway when I was little – but I thought it was because my aunt played violin in the orchestra pits (before she built her barge.) I got to go backstage and meet the actors. I especially remember No, No, Nanette and all the cool people I met there.

At home, I sang the songs with and without the record: “I Want to be Happy,” “Take a Little One Step, Two Step, Three Step” and of course the very woe-is-me “Where Has My Hubby Gone Blues.”

But maybe it wasn’t just because I went backstage. Maybe it was the magic of musicals.

I also loved The Music man. Over and over I sang “Goodnight My Someone” and “’Til There Was You.” And I adored Oklahoma.

As an adult I became a “Jekkie” and saw Jekyll and Hyde at least two dozen times.

Turns out Broadway shows are worth the price of admission. They do make you feel different about your prospects. They’re uplifting.

Michael has grown into a fine, young man who indeed believes that anything is possible.

And because he believes this - it is.

I’ll have to start bringing Casey to shows. I think he’ll enjoy Rent,

though he is a tough customer, as Aunt Olga would say. He should be happy as long as I keep my mouth shut and don’t sing along with the cast.

And I already have a stuffed cow waiting for him at home.

Here are the contest details:

Got a story about a miracle? Share it with me, and you could win yourself or someone you love a Kindle.

There are other ways to win:

Tightrope Tuesday: Groceries Strike Again

2011-12-06T21:48:00.000-05:00

     Today it was all I could do to produce dinner.
     These kids have a thing about eating. They like to do it.
     I find the whole thing overwhelming. Not the act of eating, but all the steps leading up to it.
     Shopping SUCKS.

The store is soooo big.

You have to inspect all the fruits and vegetables. You have to decide if you'll spring for the organic stuff or risk some slow, glowing insides death by pesticides. You have to search the aisles for all the things they've moved since the last time you were there (they love to do that - villains!) You have to go back to the other side of the store for the things you didn't notice on the list that were over there. If you suffer from OCD you have to inspect packages to make sure they haven't been tampered with, and then try to placate yourself by thinking, I haven't heard any reports of tampered products killing people for years. You have to wait on a line for a clerk, or self check-out the mound of stuff yourself. (That's always fun. Once I hit the "Spanish" button by accident, which wasn't so bad until I got to the produce.) You have to go to different stores to get certain things.
OMG. All this trouble just to eat. Is it really worth it?
My son's list was compiled with the seriousness of The Ten Commandments.

     And really, I want him to be happy. He deserves it. He works hard in school, and is doing so well. He just got his second on-sight college acceptance yesterday, with another merit scholarship. He needs to have brain fuel. But why do I have to drag my butt around buying everything?
     I could send him shopping. But it seems mean. He really is a great son, and he doesn't ask for all that much. It seems to be important to have these food items - and for me to cook them - and he's satisfied. Considering the problems some people have with their kids, I can't complain. But still I am overwhelmed.
     I bought so much, and still I have have to get dinner for Thursday and beyond.
     I don't know how people do it. And then there's the holidays - made even more evident by the depressing music playing in the store, making me oh, so sad. Not music to shop by.
     I am grieving for my aunt, and I'm sure that is making everything more harder for me. Normally I joke about all this more.
     Yes, some laughter is in order.

     Which is the payoff of course - laughing with the kids as we're plopped down at the dinner table.
      I just wish someone else did all the prep work.

Here we are outside Pancho's restaurant on Michael's birthday - it's nice to be served sometimes!

Method to my Madness Monday: Hocus, Pocus, Where's Your Focus?

2011-12-05T12:58:00.000-05:00

What do I want to say about writing today?

I think it’s the message I received in my Matchbox miracle: Focus.

There’s so much going on in my life right now. As there is in yours. But we can’t wait for that “optimum” moment to write. It will never come!

The best thing to do is to allow yourself five solid minutes. You’d be surprised what you can get done. Especially if you need to revise something. Carry a page of your manuscript in your pocket.

If you’re standing on a line, if you’re waiting in a doctor’s office, if you’re sitting on a toilet...

pull out that paper and revise! Not only will you get something done – you’ll be proud & pumped up! And what does that lead to? More writing!!!

I’ve done some powerful revisions waiting to order coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts.

(I actually wrote much of my first two novels in Dunkin’ Donuts.)

There are many opportunities to get some writing in during the day – if you allow for them. The thing you must do is focus on finding them. It’s like ideas. They’re everywhere. You just have to see them.

Even if you have nothing to revise, just jot things down. A random sentence might lead to something. And if not – at least your brain is churning.

You must keep those gears in motion, or they’ll get rusty.

It’s not about the final product – it’s about state of mind, which ultimately leads to final product.

And you’ll be in a good mood.

That counts for a lot.

Revolutionary Sunday: Merchant, Reporter, Quaker, Spy: The Heroic and Sad Existence of Robert Townsend

2011-12-04T15:45:00.001-05:00

Robert Townsend was a mild-mannered merchant in Manhattan during the Revolutionary War. He was also a reporter for Rivington’s Royal Gazette,

a Tory newspaper (New York was British headquarters.)

Townsend was a Quaker – opposed to war.

One of the biggest sins for a Quaker is lying.

Which is why Townsend was so tormented by his secret identity: Spy for George Washington.

Robert Townsend was the key member of the Culper Spy Ring. Because he was a reporter, British officers came to him with information about their plans. They wanted to see their names in print!

Townsend made the ultimate sacrifice for our country’s freedom: He traded his place in heaven. According to his religious beliefs he would be damned for his actions – and still he proceeded.

After the war, Townsend was ashamed. He never revealed his identity. When George Washington visited Oyster Bay – Townsend’s home town, where he returned to live after the war – Townsend did not even greet him.

Townsend never married. He died in his family’s home, living with his also-unmarried sister Sally. Like her brother, Sally sacrificed much for our cause.

Raynham Hall - Townsend's home in Oyster Bay. Now a museum!

Give a thought for Robert Townsend’s tortured soul this holiday season. Pray that he found his peace.

Rest in Peace, Robert Townsend

Read more about Robert Townsend’s role in the Culper Spy Ring in my book, Upon Secrecy:

Upon Secrecy on Amazon.com

Surprise! I Guest My Own Blog With Movie Musings

2011-12-02T19:03:00.001-05:00

Well, it’s Guest Blog Friday, and I’m the guest. Why? I could say (or sing), “It’s my blog and I’ll be the guest if I want to.” But the truth is, I forgot to contact someone until it was too late. It’s tough keeping track of a blog, folks! But I think we’ll all survive this travesty.

I will now entertain you with a list of my favorite movies (not in order - just as I thought of them):

Good Will Hunting – One of those rare movies during which I actually worried for the main character. “What will become of him?”

The Hangover – As my son put it, if you didn’t laugh during this movie, you might not have a soul.

3. The Long Kiss Goodnight – Makes Die Hard look like a wuss, with a much better, sometimes startling storyline.

Serendipity – Ok, have I mentioned my ridiculously romantic heart, combined with my belief in fate? Also, I do love John Cusack, in general.

Martian Child – John Cusack was good in this, too.

The Lost Boys – I loved this movie so much long ago, but when I tried to watch it recently, something had changed. I think Twilight ruined my palate for anything ‘vampire.’

Private Parts – Howard Stern exposes himself. Need I say more?

My Big, Fat Greek Wedding – So many great scenes!!! I love to quote this movie.

Moonstruck – When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.

The Mothman Prophesies – Creepy, because it happened. And Richard Gere got better with age.

Runaway Bride – Silly, but well-done. Takes your mind off things for awhile.

12. Mr. & Mrs. Smith - Great genre-buster. Innovative. And darn sexy as well. The only person who didn't like this movie was probably Jennifer Aniston. Can't please everyone...

Movies I dislike:

1.
Inception. WHAT?

Might as well have been in a foreign language.

Momento. Too schticky. If you put that movie in its rightful scene order, you’ve got nothing.

Anything with Will Ferrell – Dude, those Airplane kinds of movies went out with the seventies.

Anything with Adam Sandler – There’s stupid, and then there’s Adam Sandler.

Limitless – My patience has its limits for a weak plot.

6. Leaving Las Vegas – Leave already, PLEASE!!!It was as though Virginia Woolf had written the script.

Those Oceans movies. OMG, just rob the places already.

Bank robbery movies – They are limited in scope, and never end well.

Thelma & Louise – Speaking of a bad ending...

Avatar – I hate movies touted for special effects. Snoooooze... Also I dislike the pompous James Cameron. Not King of the World in MY book.

That concludes my movie musings. Next time, we’ll do TV shows.

If you feel like sharing your favorite or least-liked movies, please do!

Share my Matchbox Miracle and Enter to Win a Kindle!

2011-12-01T11:20:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone who's been entering this contest. Especially with the passing of my aunt, I'm appreciating the positivity and love we're generating.

I promised I'd tell the story of my Matchbox Ford Focus miracle, so here it is:

A few years ago I was going through a really hard time. I'll spare you the details, but things were confusing. My head felt like it was literally spinning, and I didn't know what to do with myself.

And I wasn't writing. Who could write with my personal life in turmoil?

I was coming out of an office building, and for some reason I looked down. At my feet was a Matchbox car. "Oh, Casey would like this," I thought. I picked it up for my younger son.

I examined it: A Ford Focus. Purple. It said "Focus" across the hood, and the word was scattered all over the side doors. "Focus, focus, focus, focus, focus, focus, focus..."

This is what the car looks like! Thank you, Google Images!!!

I put it back down. "I can't give this to Casey. It was on the ground. Who knows where it came from."

I started to walk away. Then it hit me:

A Ford Focus.

Henry Ford said one of my favorite quotes: "Whether you think you can, or whether you think you can't, you're right."

Purple.

My favorite color. I surround myself with it.

Focus.

Could the word be any clearer?

"This is a messsage for me, from God," I said, picking up the car for a second time.

I took it with me to a writing retreat a few days later. I focused. And I wrote the book I'd been trying to write for years: Upon Secrecy.

It came pouring out in that one week. I had only the first line when I got there: "God, forgive me."

I wrote that story in a veritable fever. My head was pounding. The scene was something out of a movie.

When we were leaving, I handed the end of the manuscript to my editor, who'd been reading along as I wrote. She said, "If it's anything like the rest, it'll be fine."

Hearing those words from her was a second miracle, believe me.

Focus. So simple. But it took a Matchbox car from God for me to sit down and do it.

Got a story about a miracle? Share it with me, and you could win yourself or someone you love a Kindle.

There are other ways to win:

Hokey Pokey Wednesday: Our Search For Happy Endings

2011-11-30T11:52:00.000-05:00

This post was going to be about what passes for Christmas these days: Shopping.

What is our holiday message?

Gifts = love.

If I buy you a gift, I love you. The more expensive the gift, the more I love you. And if you buy me a pricey gift, that means you love me. This is dangerous, appalling and just not true.

This brings me to my broader topic: Happy endings.

Christmas has become retail's way to manipulate us toward a fake "happy ending." All those commercials with glowing faces, jingling bells...and of course, lots of shopping. Every single one of them gliding us to that magical morning when we bestow our gifts and get the love we crave.

Or, we open our gifts and realize that the spouse who treats us like dirt the rest of the year actually loves us because they've purchased a big-screen tv for the bedroom. Now, we can numb ourselves in a large way. Problems solved.

But happy endings don't last. How can they? We don't freeze in time...We don't stop existing just because we've gotten the moment we were promised. The only true "end" comes when we die. So building our hopes around a "happy ending" (a wedding is another good example) can only lead to an emotional letdown. What goes up must eventually plummet. Television and the media revel in the "coming down" as well. All you have to do is watch reality tv, read a magazine or catch the evening news.

The problem is that we're raised to think we can only be happy if someone else loves us.

It's the Cinderella complex, and hey - it's in every romantic comedy (and yes, I watch them too.) No matter how messed up the couple is, they find their way into each others' arms. Sorry, but that's not going to happen in real life, folks. And if it does, it won't last - because people revert to their true selves.

Ironically, a movie I hated - The Break-Up - is more realistic. The couple breaks up (as promised), and they take time to work on themselves. They run into each other in the end. Will they get back together? We don't know. That's where we're left. I like that, in retrospect. At the time I saw it, I'd just broken up with a boyfriend. I sobbed through the whole thing. I didn't think I could be happy without a man. I felt cheated because the couple in the movie did actually "break up" without magically working things out.

We can love people. We can miss them. We can grieve for them. But ultimately, we cannot let them control us. We need to seek inner happiness. If we love ourselves, we are never alone. We are our own best friends.

Now that's a happy ending.

A Snail's Tale on Tightrope Tuesday

2011-11-29T16:23:00.000-05:00

This is a short one.

It’s the story of something that happened a few years ago.

Casey, my younger son, was about six.

We have a lot of snails where we live. They’re always sliming their way across the walkway.

On this occasion, Casey noticed a snail as he headed toward the car. Generally he moves them to safety, but we were in a hurry to get somewhere.

On our return home, he discovered the snail had been stepped on.

Smooshed.

Eviscerated.

“Mommy, I could have saved him,” Casey cried.

He said, “Why didn’t I move him into the grass when I saw him before?”

I told him, “Casey, you can’t save everyone.”

I looked into his sad eyes and said, “There are no super heroes.”

Finally, I advised him, “The only heroic thing you can do is to save yourself.”

That’s it.

Told you it was short.