Question of the Week: What Have You Learned?

Lori asks, “What have you learned?”

Writing was an early interest of mine, one that I let go of over time only to rediscover about a decade ago. In the past ten years, I’ve come to realize just how difficult and wonderful the pursuit of writing can be. But that discovery really was a case of re-learning something I already knew.

What I have truly and newly learned is this: for me, the most satisfying moments of The Writing Life are the people moments.

Reading aloud something I’ve written, and seeing the reaction of kids and their parents. Gathering with other writers to share and discuss manuscripts. Even just hanging out with other writerly people.

For words are the writing. But people make the words matter.

And for an introvert, that's been one heckuva revelation!

Debbie's Childhood Reading

Our question of the week has to do with books we read during childhood that have really stuck with us.

If I put my mind to it, I could probably come up with a list about a mile long. But just rattling off the ones that pop to mind immediately, here are a few that have stuck with me through the years:

From early on:

• Any and all Dr. Seuss books. I especially loved Fox In Socks and The Sleep Book.
• John Ciardi's You Read To Me, I'll Read To You poems, illustrated by Edward Gorrey
• The poetry volume of the Junior Classics series (favorite poem at the time: "Jabberwocky")
• That's Good, That's Bad by Joan M. Lexau, illustrated by Aliki
• "Stand Back," Said the Elephant, "I'm Going To Sneeze!" by Patricia Thomas, illustrated by Wallace Tripp

Then of course there were the years dominated by...

• The Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Count me amongst those who read each of the books dozens of times.
• Around this time, I also loved the All-Of-A-Kind-Family books by Sydney Taylor.
• And I really liked a book the title and author of which I can't recall, but involved a boy who left the house one morning for a walk and came back to find his house burned down and his family presumed dead. He went off on his own, perhaps with his dog (I'm fuzzy on that part) and managed to survive in the woods by the highway by rigging up a little something so that trucks going by wobbled and lost a bit of their loads - these bits of lost cargo served as his provisions. At the end, the family turned out not to be dead. Plot details hazy, but I read and re-read this book many times. I think the author's last name was in the first half of the alphabet, because I still remember the shelf area of the library where the book was.
• Oh, and let's not forget Freckle Juice, Nate the Great books, James and the Giant Peach, From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and dozens more I'll think of later.

Later, during my teen years, my reading was all over the map (though frequently in the area of the map covering frequently challenged books):

• A series of books, something maybe having to do with someone's attic - all I remember is the cutaways on the mass market paperbacks
• Sybil by Flora Rheta Schreiber. Yikes! I don't think I could read that book now, but back then I was fascinated by it.
• A romance book written by someone named Skye something. The book itself didn't impact me, but the notion that someone would have the name Skye was mind-bending. Then someone clued me in that it was a pen name. Oh! That was mind-bending, too. I immediately decided I should have a pen name, something as glamorous sounding as Skye. I settled on... Denise O'Dharbe, which is an anagram of my name. (But no, I haven't written any romances.)
• The Best Little Girl In The World by Steven Levenkron. I think the book was meant to be illuminating as to eating disorders, but unfortunately I think the book served to heighten many a girl's interest in anorexia.
• The Velvet Room by . Actually, I'm not sure I found the book itself that absorbing (I don't remember any of it), but that room has stuck with me!
• A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck. I don't remember much about this book now, but I think it was a definite early influence on my eventual vegetarianism.
• I Know What You Did Last Summer by Lois Duncan.
• Deenie by Judy Blume

I read many other books during my childhood, but those are some that pop into my head as having left their mark. I'll probably add to this list as more influences percolate up.

How to Create an Enigmatic and Aloof Internet Presence in Ten Easy Steps

Once upon a time, in the good old days, authors were known to be enigmatic and aloof. Then along came the Internet, and ruined all that.

Now authors are commonly understood to be friendly, outgoing, and accessible “normal” people. Chances are, your favorite author is now on FaceBook and MySpace; has a web site; and maintains a blog. (Incidentally, these opportunities are not limited to living authors; rumor has it, Shakespeare now tweets.)

Oh, how we all miss those glory days, when authors were inaccessible and eccentric. Is it too late to turn the tide?

No. No it is not. There’s still time for writers to reclaim their collective and rightful aura of mystery! This impossible-sounding task can actually be accomplished in ten easy steps:

1. Write your blog entirely in the third person. Or better yet, the second person.

2. Resist the temptation to blog on topics popular on other writing blogs, such as: writer’s block; your writing “journey”; writing conferences; and Michelle Obama’s arms. Instead, blog about your writing “process,” and Barack Obama’s arms.

3. Include only obscure authors in your blog roll list. If any of them link back to you, delete them from your list immediately.

4. Alongside your web site or blog “Words Written” gadget, add a “Words Scratched Out”gadget. Specify both counts to two decimal places.

5. Tantalize your readers by offering only limited personal information. For instance, when composing a blog entry about your Ideal Weekend Breakfast, do not specify your preferred cereal brand.

6. All of your web site photos should depict you in silhouette, hunched over a writing surface, surrounded by crumpled paper wads. Use stock photos from a free photo site and/or PhotoShop if necessary. Alternately, use hand-drawn stick figure illustrations. Credit these drawings to your dog.

7. Wear sunglasses to all of your public appearances. When asked about them, state that Sunshine Impedes The Flow Of Ideas. When asked the inevitable follow-up question (“Where do you get your ideas?”), fling the glasses off, sneer dramatically, and shout “Next question!” Be sure that a bookseller films the outburst, and post the video to YouTube immediately.

8. For your Twitter tweets, use the Cyrillic alphabet.

9. Alter your contact link so that instead of bringing up your email address, it launches an audio feed of Philip Glass music.

10. When you use friend as a verb, put it in "quotes."

By following these easy steps, you too can have an Enigmatic Internet Presence ™.

Fellow Write Brainers, any additional suggestions?

I Lead a Charmed Life

Several centuries ago, Lori asked a "Question of the Week" on the topic of what charms, trinkets, and inspirational objects do you keep in your writing desk area. After some delay, I'm finally answering. (I'd love to have thumbnail images for you, but you'll just have to use your imagination.) In my writing vicinity, you will find the following:

• Two framed b&w photos of my children. The photos were taken by my talented photographer Dad.
• A fishy sun-catcher, given to me by my wonderful Mom.
• My favorite pottery mug, holding one pen. It's my writing pen. I try to use it.
• A Pout-Pout Fish mug, full of other pens.
• An SCBWI mug, mostly full of unsharpened pencils (I've been meaning to sharpen them, but somehow haven't). This mug also contains a rooster pen, given to me by April; though it's now out of ink, I still treasure it.
• A Lego office complete with Lego Debbie at a Lego computer and with a built-in Lego Post-It Note holder. This original creation was put together by my elder son.
• Another Lego creation, a box with a secret compartment, built by my younger son. I'm afraid if I open it, I'll never get it back together properly, so I just use my imagination as to what it contains.
• Three pieces of art by my boys.
• A birdhouse decoration that originally sat on top of my wedding cake.
• A magnet that says, "When you absolutely, positively have to know: Ask A Librarian!"
• A small pottery container given to me by April. It stores the earplugs that I wear when writing if the children are loud (i.e. when they're awake).
• A magnificently lovely barn photo taken by my Dad.
• A beautiful tile turkey created by Shutta Crum.
• A Laura B. DeLind linocut, "Great Expectations."
• A collection of rocks. Each rock has its own story.
• A coaster with my elder son's handprint.
• A coupon from my younger son, good for "One Big Hug." It includes, in his writing, an expiration date: 100/100/1020.

It's a charmed life, indeed.

Winter Whoa Woes

I'm inordinately unfond of winter. Other than cross-country skiing, I find no use for snow. I detest winter driving. And the cold? I have nothing good to say about it. Nor, really, about winter in general. The days are short, and cabin fever a reality. All the hot cocoa in the world doesn't quite make up for winter's shortcomings.

On the plus side? Few distractions.

No flowers to smell. No long jacketless walks to take. No beaches to visit. No lawns to mow.

As long as I can ward off the midwinter doldrums (a battle I'm slowly winning as the years go on -- lots of exercise and sufficient sleep seem to help greatly), I actually get quite a bit of writing done in the winter. When there's little else to do but hunker down and work, well, one hunkers down and works.

But as soon as that first crocus pops up? I'm clockin' out!

Fuzzy-Wuzzy Wuz A Santa

Our question of the week was about favorite holiday books from childhood. My personal favorite is one that I remember not for its plot but for its texture: an oversized (quite tall) paperback Christmas story, which I believe but cannot swear to was an edition of The Night Before Christmas. The crucial feature of the book? The fuzzy Santa on its cover. To me, he's the Santa to whom all other Santas must be compared.

It might have been a Whitman edition, circa 1950s or 1960s. It's still extant at my parents' place; I'll have to take a look at the publication info when I'm there next week.

(...but not until after I've finished my annual convening with its cover.)

Distractibility

--Debbie's perspective

I'm very easily distracted. This comes in handy as a writer -- it's curiosity that launches the mind into imagination -- but being prone to distraction can make it difficult to actually complete a piece of writing. In addition to general distractibility, here's what's been doing me in lately:

• The election. What with having to bring my new yard sign in every time I leave the house, there go minutes from my day. Add to that my compulsive headline checking (up two points! down a point! oh my, Florida! Ohio!) and my days are pretty full lately.
• Good mysteries. Too many writers are writing absorbing mysteries lately, and I can't seem to drag myself away from them.
• My schedule. I've been busier than usual for many months now. I have come to the point that when I open my calendar, I cringe as if expecting to be attacked by a wild animal.
• My inner critic. Man, she's noisy.
• The mess on my desk. I sorted through it just last week, but it's back!
• Email. Don't get me started -- I'll just whine and give lame excuses for my inability to stay on top of my Inbox.
• Pumpkin pie. Why write, when there is pumpkin pie to be eaten?

Still, when I push it all aside and just write, I'm never sorry. And the pie tastes even better when the work comes first. (As a side benefit, the pie can also be used to distract wild attacking calendar animals.)

Debbie's Mysterious Roadtrip

Writer Brainers' current Question of the Week is about memorable roadtrips, so I thought I'd weigh in on the topic. But rather than offering up one from my distant past, here's a trip of more recent vintage, fresh from the mental scrapbook of my family's vacation last week in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

We stayed in the Manistique area at an extraordinarily lovely cabin, and over the course of a week spent plenty of time on the beach. We also took some fun if slightly de rigueur sidetrips to Big Springs, Seul Choix Lighthouse, and Fayette Ghost Town. Many pictures were taken. Much fun was had. Good memories, all of them.

But we also made one sidetrip of a very different nature. We went to.... The Mystery Spot.

Why, you may ask? Why would a family with common sense coursing through its collective veins voluntarily pay an expensive visit to a known tourist trap that is based on nothing more than optical illusions and vestibular disorientation? What an odd thing for her to say! It's downright... mysterious!

To understand the rationale behind our irrationality, let me take you back in time for a moment, to my and my husband's childhoods. (Bring your duster -- you'll need it for the cobwebs.) Though he and I didn't know one another then, we likely passed one another on the highway, as both of us made regular trips with our families to the U.P.

Those trips exposed us to those intriguing Mystery Spot road signs: those bright black, red, yellow and white signs dominated by a Giant Question Mark. Oh, those billboards were irresistible! I longed to go to the Mystery Spot. As I've written about previously (in my 9/16/7 entry on my News page) this desire ranked right up there with my fantasy of driving in to a truck weigh station. (Bear in mind when considering these somewhat odd childhood dreams that I spent most of my long car trips of yore stuck in the middle of the back seat, doped up on Dramamine....)

My parents were (and still are) good and smart people who knew full well that (if I can say this without being sued by the Mystery Spot people) a visit to the Mystery Spot would be a waste of time and money. I, and the world at large, know this to be the case. But knowledge was no match for my and my husband's combined 87 years of Mystery Spot curiosity. So when our children expressed their own strong interest in going (OK, well, it was really just a case of "Mom, what's the Mystery Spot?" -- but add thirty or forty years, I'm sure they'd be hankering to go), we figured it was time to pay a visit.

Needless to say, we were underwhelmed. Admission was even more than we suspected it might be, and we had to wait a while for our "tour" to begin, not an easy task with two trip-weary kids. Once "in" the Mystery Spot, our younger son found the tilt and slant of the Mystery Spot building to be so disturbing that he could barely stand to be in it (to an extent that I had to chase him down and demand that he Get Back In Here and Enjoy The Mystery Spot, Now!). Our elder son, an engineer in the making, held up his hand at nearly every opportunity to point out how the principles of physics were being utilized. Still, by the end, we all got into the spirit of doing such a ridiculous thing, and we were laughing happily -- if only at ourselves.

And thus are roadtrip memories made.

But one mystery remains. The brochure for the Mystery Spot invites visitors to "See for yourself why most of our one million visitors return year after year." Say it ain't so. People go back???????

Goal-Setting, Summer Edition

--Debbie's View

Generally speaking, I'm more Eeyore than Pollyanna. But for some reason, when I sit down to set goals, my dormant inner optimist comes to life and takes over. She has a tendency to craft grandiose plans formatted with headings, subheadings, and sub-subheadings. Little surprise that I never make it even half way through these unachievable checklists of delusion.

So, for my summer goal-setting, I've given my inner optimist a wallop. While she's out cold, here's my pragmatic side setting some simple, do-able goals:

1. By the end of July, finish a first draft of Face It, a project I'm working on with April.
2. In the waning days of July, blow the dust off Grand Canyon, my YA novel manuscript. Work on this manuscript during our August writing group retreat. Continue to work on it during August.
3. Finish and revise Gonna Make It Through, a rhyming picture book manuscript I'm currently working on.

That's it. Now I'm off to wave the smelling salts under Pollyanna's nose.

Scaffolds and Scribbles and Drafts, Oh My!

--Debbie's View

When I write a story in rhyme, my drafting process begins in a burst of enthusiasm and optimism. Usually I’ll have been inspired by an idea or a fun phrase or word or sound; this spark starts the story. The next step in my process involves experimentation, as I try out different rhyme schemes and cadences, and play with characters and plot. I usually enjoy this exploratory period, much of which takes place off-paper. Eventually I arrive at a workable rhythm and a general notion of my story’s arc. I then set up a blank draft to indicate the general structure of my story, including notes about recurring words and phrases. This is the scaffolding for what’s to come.

But when I get to the next step, of fitting my story idea into the structure I have devised for it, the work becomes much more intense and often much less fun. Once I’ve started earnest work on my draft, I find it very difficult to stop until I have a complete first draft. Having an incomplete rhyming story draft is physically painful to me. It gives me a feeling of having been left hanging. So I juggle my work schedule; ignore the dishes, the laundry, and the cats; and stay up far past my bedtime for however many days it takes to churn out a complete first draft.

To my mind, second drafts – at least for rhyming stories – are much less painful.

Grammar Guidance for your Angst-Ridden Inner Rebel

a writing resource book review by Debbie

I love words. I love their sounds. Their shapes. Their meanings. Weaving words together into phrases, sentences, and more brings me great pleasure. I find joy in simile and metaphor. In alliteration and onomatopoeia. In rhythm and in rhyme.

But I find no joy in grammar.

This may be a surprising revelation. By general disposition, I’m a rules and regs sort of person; so you might think that the ins and outs of grammar would appeal to me. But they don’t. Like many people, grammar makes me anxious: I know that I make a lot of grammatical mistakes, so I figure it’s only a matter of time before my errors are pounced upon as proof-positive that my writer credentials are a sham. This in turn brings out my rebellious side (ah, you didn’t know I had one of those! but yes, I do; inside me is a quiet, small, and well-mannered rebel, but a rebel nonetheless), and I find myself muttering, “Who made these stupid rules anyway!?!”

Enter June Casagrande to the rescue.

Author of Grammar Snobs Are Great Big Meanies and the recently released Mortal Syntax, June is a funny and friendly companion on the rough and rocky road of grammar. Both of her books are hilarious in a laugh-out-loud sort of way, but both books are also chock-full of highly accessible grammar and usage guidance. By educating and entertaining simultaneously, June’s books help to eliminate the heavy fear factor that so many of us carry into our otherwise enjoyable writing endeavors. I consider June to be a leader in the long overdue movement to take back the streets from the grammar snobs. If she’s successful, we’ll all become better writers in the process.

So go take a look at her books. She also has a blog, called Conjugate Visits, which is fun -- and enlightening -- as well.

A couple of quick side notes: Since I’m posting this review on Write Brainers, a children’s writers’ blog, I should probably point out that June’s books aren’t kids’ books. But they are great resources for writers, as well as for the general public at large (particularly anyone who lives in fear of being ticketed by a grammar cop). Also, it probably goes without saying, but humor is very subjective, so what I find hilarious won’t necessarily appeal to every reader. But I for one love Grammar Snobs and Mortal Syntax, and I can’t wait to read whatever June Casagrande writes next.

The Pout Pout Fish (Official) Debut

This was the scene at Schuler's Bookstore (the local independent we love!) during Debbie's book launch on Saturday. These pictures come from Ann and Tim, who were the on-hand paparazzi.

Debbie did a storytime where she not only read The Pout Pout Fish, but also a couple other books by Michigan authors. There were some great handouts for all ages, including some very cool fish masks.

For more information about Debbie's book, or to bring her to you school for a great program, check out her website.

They lined up for autographs. . . .

And really, what's better than putting a book you wrote in the hands of a kid who seems thrilled to get it? Is there anything better than that? No, I don't think so.

Congratulations, Debbie!

***

(Don't forget to check out the question of the week, below) Anyone reading who would like to participate, go ahead and leave your answer in the comments. :o)

Sorry, dear, but I can’t hear you right now

My ideal writing environment is a quiet, clutter-free place. However, the last time I had either quiet or tidiness in my home was probably the day before my elder son was born, nearly a decade ago. With two lively children on premises, life in general these days is loud and messy; and to be honest, I rather like it that way (except when it’s driving me crazy). Still, to get any writing done, I find it’s best to locate myself in areas of my home or schedule that at least aspire to library-like standards. If I tidy up my desk before sitting down at my computer, or vacuum the carpet before curling up on the couch with a notebook and a pen, I’m much more likely to tap into a good writing vein.

I’ve also found judicious use of ear plugs to be a writing lifesaver.

Factor by which the length of this post exceeds that suggested by our Blog Captain: 10.14

Lori nudged us into our inaugural blog activity by posing this week’s question of “Who the heck are you?”. It’s a useful question for testing one’s existential limberness and self-knowledge, but I would submit that it’s also a question with potential use for sorting writers into their genres. Raise your hand if your first response to the question was not “Gosh, what a thought-provoking question!”; nor “How far back do I stretch this bio plot arc – to kindergarten?”; nor “Strictly facts? Or is embellishment OK?”; nor even, “The worst autobiography that I write is better than the best one I don’t!”; but rather, “I wonder if she means her question with the emphasis on WHO, on HECK, on ARE, or on YOU?”

Those of you with your hands raised, I salute you. (I’d hug you, but that’s so not me.) I can definitely relate. We are fellow travelers on the road of words. We see through the question for what it truly is: a monosyllabic word series with no intrinsic meter. Without meter, there can be no sustainable rhyme scheme. And without rhyme, what is there?

I’m a card-carrying writer of rhyme. Which is not to say I’m credentialed or anything. The card is actually a “Get Out Of Jail Free” card from an old Monopoly game. I keep the card handy in case the “It’s a crime to write in rhyme” police ever knock down my door. (Though with the way I mutter through my drafts late at night, trolling aloud through the rhyming dictionary, reading and re-reading and re-re-re-re-re-reading every stanza, every word, every syllable, occasionally laughing, sometimes even shedding a frustrated tear or raising my fists to the sky, it’s more likely that the door-knocking crowd hauling me away will have a different institutional destination in mind. To the extent that it’s quiet and library-like there, I’ll have no complaints.)

I do write other things. Grocery lists and To Do list epics come to mind, but I also have a middle-grade novel manuscript and a young adult novel manuscript in various stages of abandoned progress. I’ve managed some short, unpublished essays that assay very little. And I am now – as of this writing – a blogger. (That makes fourteen billion and one of us, which would explain the delay in receiving my membership packet and complimentary tin of mints.) But, though I frequently vow otherwise, I always return to writing in rhyme. It’s a pursuit that is as enjoyable as it is excruciating. (Think grade-school music recital. Same basic feeling.)

Other than the rhyme-writing, I’m a hodge-podge of interests and activities. Mother. Wife. Cat-owner. Reader of mysteries. Doer of crosswords. Walker of walks. Taker of baths. Amateur photographer of trees. I lack a musical ear, but this doesn’t stop me from my unfulfilled wish to buy an electric guitar and channel SRV. A librarian by training, I currently earn my non-Monopoly dollars doing bookkeeping and financial management for a small nonprofit.

And then I spend my riches on rhyming dictionaries. I figure, what the heck.