Family stuff

Exactly 21 years ago doctors were telling me I was not in labor, go back to sleep and wait for induction in the morning.
The baby was two weeks overdue and I was anxious to hold her.
But they were wrong. I was in labor, and the baby came so fast she caught everyone by surprise, especially her daddy who was running down the hospital corridor toward our delivery room when he heard a baby cry... his newborn daughter.
Katie has been surprising us ever since.
When she was three, she was that kid who'd take all her clothes off and dance on the picnic table at camp.
She chewed out Santa Claus, telling him he was too fat.
She helped unpack Christmas ornaments, held up a cherub ornament and called it a "kid butterfly with no clothes on."
I captured all these moments in cartoon cards I sent to my ailing grandpa. He died when Katie was four, and the family gave me the big box of cartoons I'd been sending him since Katie was a tiny infant. There it was, all of it: Katie's hilarious early childhood in cartoons.
I thought this meant I had a future in comic strips, but after two particularly heart-rending rejections I gave up and tried kids' books instead. That worked out better.
Maybe someday those letters to Grandpa will be a book.
I'd also like to do a book just on Katie. Here's one idea that hasn't panned out yet:


There will be more; Katie's a very colorful character.
For fans of Ellie McDoodle, Risa is absolutely Katie (right down to one of the surprises in book three, coming out in August, where Risa sneaks an evil pet into the house).
Happy Birthday, Katie!

How I work

Yesterday I dismantled my makeshift desk next to the Christmas tree in the living room: I'm done with the art for the third Ellie McDoodle book. Well, mostly done; there'll be a few revisions/requests.

For a month I've had a mini-studio set up in the middle of the family action, because while writing is more of a solitary venture, art requires the energy of people around me. Plus I need short, intermittent bursts of breaks from it to keep it fresh, whereas with writing, breaks can sound the death knell of creativity.

Upon my mother in law's death a couple weeks ago we inherited, among other treasures, two tv tables. I've wanted a pair of tv tables for a long time (I knew they'd be perfect for temporary desks), and these came at a useful time.
Before them, I stacked things on an ottoman; not very stable, no leg room.

So this was my portable art studio:
- one tv table with my editor's handwritten notes on the penciled art pages, plus a Mason jar of water and a bag (pink wintergreen lozenges) or roll (Mentos) of mints, plus an assortment of bad carbs and good raw veggies.
- second tv table with my lightbox balanced on top. On that, graph paper, pencil, two pens, razor blade for mistakes, and the penciled rough to be inked.
The light box isn't the nice one I used in college or at my job at MSU. It's an 18" x 24" cardboard strawberry box from a supermarket with a hinged plexiglass lid which is still encased in the blue plastic I bought it in years ago. The blue cuts the light and reduces glare. Better would be a portable box with frosted glass. Someday...
Inside the box is a portable flourescent light fixture with an on/off switch.
- round plant table with a box of files on it: About 2,000 papers which include drafts 1, 2, and 3 of this book, both writing and art, editor comments, a thin sheath of loose paper for inking (too thick a packet is discouraging), a couple encouraging notes from my agent and editor, and a folder of "Must adds". I hope I remembered to add all the musts. . .

Every day at about 1pm I set up my workspace next to the Christmas tree, across from the tv, turned on the tv and all the lights in the living room and plugged in the tree lights and the light box.
I settled in for about 15 hours of work, taking only very short breaks, working until 4 - 6am, quitting when hallucinations started. I'd watch whatever not-too-mindless thing was on tv (on our new Christmas present, DirectTV): Dog Whisperer, Mythbusters, anything on Science, Nat. Geo. or Discovery Channel, sometimes a movie (my favorite was The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, about a lady carrying sextuplets; wartime America's response to the Dionne quints in 1944). I learned about survival techniques used in disasters (have confidence, take immediate action, believe your time is limited, practice evacuation routes in advance), how to make a car skip across a pond like a stone (redistribute the weight, pump up the acceleration to 100 mpg), what's the dirtiest thing in your house (kitchen sponge), secrets of Pompeii (I don't know why, but this story has gripped me since I was a small child), and I scrawled down the websites and prices of at least a dozen infomercial products that looked like a good deal to my addled brain. I watched Clean House on the Style channel, wished I could do that to my house, but disliked the sometimes-bullying tactics.

I worked methodically, sometimes stopping for commercials and sometimes working through them and stopping for the main attraction, usually mixing both. I tried to ignore the page number of the art I was working on because knowing I still had 75 pages ahead of me would be paralyzingly disheartening.
I ignored the phone and email. Opened Christmas cards, read them, grunted appreciation, and got back to work.
Went to Christmas parties only because I had to. Ate no meals in the dining room. Barely showered.
Paid attention to my kids or spouse or grandkids only when necessary.
I quit working in the wee hours of the morning, turned off all the lights, put my work in a safe place, scrubbed my face and teeth and collapsed into bed, then woke up 6-7 hours later and started again.

Some days I was very productive. Some days it felt like I worked and worked and worked and accomplished almost nothing. That's typical for a book.

When it was all over early Saturday morning I spent a few hours copying all the art, then took a nap, then ran it all over to UPS.
It will arrive in NYC on Monday morning.
Next I'll make the text revisions requested by my editor, and unfortunately that's a more solitary task. I don't have a good computer to work with in the living room yet. When all the text changes are done there will be a few art revisions to make, and then my editor will send ARCs (galleys) for copyedits. That will take a couple weeks -- it'll probably be the end of January. I think? Then I jump into the next book, a novel, with a synopsis and 3 chapters due ASAP.
I'm filled with such self-doubt right now, despite meeting this huge deadline. I worry they won't love the novel. But maybe they will. It's about a girl who has trouble balancing things in her life. Sounds familiar, eh?
As they say, write what you know.

Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah!

Wishing you a great holiday:
This is my sketch on Christmas morning for the back of our card.We're off to a party at my cousin's. Then a party tomorrow at my sister-in-law's. Then a party the next day at my brother's. Then I think we're celebrating Thanksgiving at my house on Wednesday (because we never celebrated it with our little family -- too busy running to all the relatives' houses). In between all that, I have book deadlines. I should bring the work to the parties. Hmm...

Happy New Year!

Drawing on life for a tribute

I was going to do a card to hand out at the funeral, with Mom Barshaw's picture on it. Then I decided not to. Then one of my nephews asked if I would, so that night I drove 90 miles home, set pencil to paper not knowing what would come out of it, and drew.
Then I slept fitfully and got up for the long drive back to Detroit for the funeral early in the morning.
It was almost magic, how the image came out of the pencil without much anguish, in the middle of the night. This doesn't happen often; generally funeral cards are a difficult labor of love. Maybe I'm getting better at this.
Here's my mother in law:

As it was coming out of my pencil, I first noticed the eye on the left looks just like some of her daughter's eyes. This astounded me.
And there's my husband's chin, and another daughter's eyebrows.

It always surprises me when I see someone I know in my drawings.

It's also odd to meet someone on the street who looks like one of my recent drawings. I want to rush up to them and shake their hand and ask a lot of personal questions because I feel like I know them well.

Taking these cards to the funeral, I felt self-conscious and awkward, as usual. I always worry that the rest of the family will hate the art, or that they'll think I'm uppity for printing copies, or greedy for getting self-promotion during a sad time. In this case I didn't hear any bad comments, but the funeral director put the cards in a place where I doubt many noticed them. Someone took home a stack of these. Maybe they'll go in thank-you notes. Maybe they'll be lost to the ages. It doesn't really matter; I did my part, giving what I could give. I drew Mom. The original sketch will go to the nephew who asked me to draw.

And I'm back to working on my book.

My editor has gone home for the holidays. They're closed all next week. They wanted the final art done before Christmas; earlier this morning I was thinking, if I can manage 30 drawings a day plus revising text, I can still get it out by Christmas. Thinking in the wee hours of the morning, it wasn't quite a dream. More like a nightmare.

What I've been up to lately... Book 3 cover!!

Here's a sneak peek at the rough art cover for Ellie McDoodle: Best Friends Fur-Ever:

I am thrilled -- what a cool cover! Not much pink on it, that's a good thing. ;) I have a lot of readers who are boys.
The parrot in the book is an African Grey, not a macaw, so the colors of the bird will change.
And the layout will change a little -- the bird won't be weighing down her shoulder anymore.
You'll see. :) It'll be in stores next summer. Amazon says August 3; they know more about that than I do!
Watch this blog for sketches to be uploaded in the coming weeks. I'm very excited about this book. Fans of the series will love it, I am sure.

How we lost 1 dog and ended up with 8...

Last Thursday I sat on the couch and stroked the fur of my beloved elderly miniature poodle, Willie, and told him it was okay to go if he felt it was his time. He died peacefully at 1pm. We didn't even get a chance to call the vet for euthanasia; they were closed for the day. I felt lucky that he died so beautifully, lucky I was with him and that he wasn't in terrible pain.
I did not feel lucky that he died.
We raised him from a tiny puppy, took him everywhere, taught him an assortment of silly tricks, gave him bad haircuts and incomplete trims. He was cute and very puppy-like in appearance, even as a little old man. And he was my shadow.
I knew I was going to miss him with an ache that wouldn't soon ease. I buried him with heart-shaped rocks.

Two days later by an odd combination of events, we found ourselves at the local animal control shelter, not to find a replacement, but just to observe life. We could have been anywhere else that day. We could have left the shelter early. We could have taken home the big old dogs we befriended there, convinced it was the right next path for our lives' journeys.
But we were there at closing, at the right time to see an old van pull up, and a sad young man bring out a big bin. I knew it was puppies or kittens in the bin. I thought, what kind of person brings a whole litter to a shelter? How irresponsible.
I actively avoided the drama, but it sucked me in: My 12 year old daughter was trapped inside the now-locked shelter, and the keys were with the animal control officers who were talking to the guy with the bin.
And since I saw prison inmates helping in the shelter, I wanted my Emily out of there as soon as possible.
The officers let Emily out of the building.
I let myself relax, then, enough to hear the man's story.
He's unemployed (so's my husband, and the guy across the street, and a few of our good friends, and a few relatives... Here in Michigan it's a common start to a story).
He lost his house. He and his family (wife, two teens with Down's Syndrome -- and that's another story in itself, but to me it said, here's a family with compassion and mercy) were moving to a relative's house for a while. They couldn't bring the dogs.

He found good homes for 3 puppies and the two parent dogs. Mom: full-blooded American pit bull terrier. Dad: half small Rottie, half big chihuahua.
In the bin: EIGHT puppies, age 7 weeks.

The Humane Society sent him away -- too many pups.
Animal Control was closed til Tuesday.
They asked me to foster the pups just til Tuesday. It didn't take long to say yes.
I promised the man we would find excellent (stable, appropriate) homes for the puppies. I turned down his offer of $25 for food until Tuesday.

Katie (age 20) and Emily were thrilled. My husband Charlie... not so excited.
But we did it.
It was an exhausting mix of sleeplessness, cooperation, and cramming our brains with Puppy 101 information from the Monks of New Skete (that's how I'd raised Willie), and Wikipedia, and an Animal Planet dvd.
Many times I felt like Octomom, torn in 8 directions.

I swear, puppies are liquid. Not that they pee a lot (they do) but that they disperse and spread like only a liquid can. This idea came to me at 3:30am as I tried to corral them enough to not lose them to the dark bushes and any hiding predators (we have hawks in the woods behind us), but not so much that they were inhibited about 'doing their business.'
Frantic that we might have 8 puppies forever, I put a note on my Facebook page. Friends came immediately, and some eventually adopted puppies from us. One of my fondest memories is of a bunch of neighbors and my kids and me (and Charlie) on the lawn with the puppies, giving them love and reporting on potty accomplishments and comparing each pup's personality and physical traits.
It was so sweet, and it took me right back to when our across-the-street neighbors had newborn puppies 6 years ago and they let then-6 Emily gently hold them that very day they were born.

As of yesterday, we've found homes for every wonderful pup:
Othello went home with Mary the first night.
Lady MacBeth became Bella, at Tyson, Beth's and Sydney's house. And we've seen her twice since. Yesterday she nearly licked my chin off. I'm convinced she remembered me.
Feisty Helena went home with Diane and Steven, dear friends who swore they were only coming over to help pet the puppies. I'll see her a lot. :) (She likely has a new name too, a comics-related one, because her big dog companion there is named Squee)
Henry became Zeus after going home yesterday with Michelle after a neighborhood picnic. He was perfectly behaved there and lots of people fell in love with him. I teared up kissing his forehead goodbye. If that adoption doesn't work out, I have another lady waiting to take him.
Tybalt will become Zeus also (!) next week on Friday, when he goes home with Heather. It's not yet a good time for them to take him.
Rosalind, Rozzie, is up north vacationing with my son and his wife. She will live here until they find an apartment that allows pets (or negotiate with the current landlord).
Boots Tewksbury is Katie's now, and he will live here until she moves out, maybe this fall. (She's taking a break from college)
Clarence is ours. He's the right combination of spirit and docile, intellect and playfulness, for Charlie, Emily and me.

Those are all Shakespearean names -- did you notice? It all started with a hamster named Hamlet.
I'll probably still tell my funny Willie story in my author events at libraries -- kids always laugh on cue. I won't tell them Willie is gone now. I don't want to cry at author events.
But, maybe soon I will have funny puppy stories to tell, too.

The vet gave us tips on avoiding aggression, and he answered a million questions, and he gave them their first shots.
The neighbor kids come to play a few times a day.
We still have to get up in the middle of the night. Charlie's become an active participant in their care -- he handles the morning shift. I am grateful to have Emily and Katie around -- they're experts in the puppies' care too. Katie's teaching them to sit. I think they've caught on. I also think they've gone backwards, a little, on potty training. (argh)
We aren't looking for new puppy homes anymore -- we're all set.

I looked in the mirror a couple days ago and noticed I was smiling.
The sadness of losing Willie won't evaporate, but I feel very lucky to have had, for one day, the distraction of eight new puppies to love. (the next day it was 7, two days later it was 5, today 4...) But, really, as losing Willie taught me, I'll always have those puppies to love, even if they're in new, far-away homes.

And now, I have to get back to revisions for Ellie McDoodle: Best Friends Fur-Ever, due in stores in 2010. If you see Shakespearean names in the finished book, you'll know why.

(No photos of the pups - my digital camera broke last year. No drawings uploaded yet - I've been in survival mode. At some point I'll upload some)

Lots of great news - Beverly Cleary Award nomination!

Ellie McDoodle is nominated for the Beverly Cleary Children's Choice Award for 2010! I am thrilled. There are only 6 nominees. One is my friend Katie Speck. It's an honor just to be nominated (but I hope I win).




(this true cartoon of my son shows why I don't tell kids they can grow up to be anything they want, if they just try hard enough)


Ellie McDoodle is mentioned very favorably in an article in Publishers Weekly about a new trend in children's illustrated books. A few books are mentioned as derivative (I can imagine that's a painful label) and I was glad to see Ellie grouped with The Princess Diaries as books that break new ground.




The third book is being created right now! I sent the first draft to my editor on Feb 27 (met the deadline! Woo hoo!) and the revisions letter should arrive at my house sometime in the next few days. I'll have just a few weeks to redraw everything, then will send it back to her, and I'll have a week or two off while my editor considers all the changes. She'll write another revisions letter, I'll do my best to improve everything, and the final art/text deadline is June 1. It'll be a busy spring.











I'm doing a LOT of school visits these days. In March alone, I visited so far:
- 17 schools (Grosse Pointe, Mason, Farmington)
- 1 library (Farmington)
- 1 MRA conference (Michigan Reading Assoc)
- 1 unofficial library visit (Harper Woods) and that's only the first two weeks of March!
I still have a few author visits every week for the next few weeks (Bath, Dearborn Heights, East Lansing, Lansing, Lowell, to start).
Life's busy. I'm happy. I LOVE presenting to audiences about the Ellie McDoodle books.
If you'd like to book me for a visit (hurry before my low, low rates go up in the autumn), go to my website, go to the For Teachers page, and all the information is there.
I still have a couple days open this month if you'd like something now.
Otherwise, I am booking now for summer and the next school year.
It's never too early to book a day/week with me, and you might find you're saving a bit by locking in my current rates now.

I sketched lots of teachers, librarians and authors at the Michigan Reading Association Conference at the Amway Grand Hotel in Grand Rapids, Michigan, this weekend. Watch for pages uploaded here soon. Presenting was great fun! I had lots of handouts made specially for my sessions. They went fast -- I'll upload copies to my website soon, for use in your schools.

As we come up on another spring - finally! -- I encourage everyone to find a child and give him/her a journal. It could be a folded piece of paper. It could be a bound one from a bookstore. It could have lines or blank pages, fancy or plain, expensive or cheap. Your choice. Just encourage a kid to journal. It makes kids into better writers. And encourage them to draw, too -- because studies in Art Literacy show that when kids create art it makes them better writers as well! Weird sort of confluence of talent, don't you think?
I'm pushing my 11 year old daughter to journal more.
My teacher was the first person to give me a journal and encourage me in such a way that it stuck. I was 15, and have kept a sketch journal ever since. I have sketch journals from trips, births, funerals, weddings, field trips, daily life... hundreds at my house. (My daughter and her fiance are building bookcases at my house this week -- yippee!!!!! -- to accommodate all the books and sketchjournals here) Keeping a sketchjournal helped me through many tough times in my life and it grounded me during the happy times.
Encourage a kid near you -- that kid might grow up to thank you in front of large crowds at conferences... as I did this weekend.
Aside to the wonderful Elizabeth McCarthy, art teacher at Harper Woods Secondary School when I was 15 in 1974: I will always revere you. Thank you for singling out this miserable teen and giving me a lifeline in the form of a sketchjournal, a tool that still helps, 35 years later.

If anyone can help me sniff out Mrs. McCarthy's location, let me know!

By the way, I am a multiple-award-winning writer and illustrator. I am America's Most-Harried Home Cook, Dr. Mom, Kudos Working Mother of the Year, Suave's Family Manager of the Year, and several other honorary titles.
You can just call me your pal, though. ;)
And now, back to work for me!