Tightrope Tuesday: Teaching my Kids about Politics & Compassion

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

            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.