My life is a clown car

My life lately is a clown car: Distracting, too much crammed into an impossibly small space, entertaining but likely to crash and burn if someone isn't steering carefully.

A competition held by SCBWI (http://scbwi.org) ends this week and I desperately wanted to enter. The prize is hugely enticing. The judge is Tomie dePaola!!! The challenge: Draw the opening scene from HEIDI, a book written in 1872, subsequently replotted into films that etched their directors' visions on my brain. How to update Heidi and make her fun for today's kids?
To really do well I had to start weeks ago -- which I did.
Amid all my crazy deadlines and events in November, I sketched out a few ideas.
Nothing seemed original and fun to me. I did some research. Sketched out a few more ideas.

One of my illustrator friends set the bar *very* high with her entry. I didn't have a shot at the prize, so why bother with an entry? Especially with my clown car life crammed with a zillion deadlines.
It haunted me, though. I finished all the other deadlines (except the Ellie book 4 -- that's more long-term) and yesterday at 7 pm as Charlie and I sat in the warmth of a writers' cafe, getting ready for the drive home, I said to him I wanted to try to enter the contest. Even though it ended at midnight. And the drive home was an hour. And I only had parts of ideas that I liked.

Since I didn't have the supplies necessary to create the art at the cafe, we got into the car and headed home. On the way I was smacked by a flash of an idea.
Charlie turned on the interior ceiling light so I could sketch.I protested -- the bright light was very distracting to drivers, not to mention to Charlie!
But he insisted.
And, amazingly, the sketches turned out pretty well. I'm used to sketching in the car -- I do it on almost every school visit trip we take.
The ride was smoother than it's been, because we splurged on new tires a couple weeks ago (one tire had been egg-shaped; you can imagine the bumpety drawings that produced).
I sketched a few versions of my brain flash -- I was excited because it seemed original and fun (my two rules for bothering to enter).
The only question: Could I possibly get it colored and sent to the contest in time? In fact, might the contest have ended at midnight *yesterday*? My brain is good at playing tricks on me.

We arrived home. I gathered up my piles of papers and books, and raced to my studio. Pulled up the contest website. I still had time! Three hours and 40 minutes!
I scanned in the art and tweaked it. Added the lettering. Tweak, tweak, tweak. Color.
The phone rang. It was my mom. Charlie handed me the phone! Nooo!!! I have to work!!! Balancing the phone on one shoulder, talking to Mom, I colored the art. More tweaks. Scanned the final art into the computer -- Oh, no!!! It's garish!! The subtle art turned garish in my evil scanner! Tweaked it some more. Kept reducing the file size until it fit the contest guidelines, and emailed it to Charlie's computer to see if the garish was gone. It was! Victory dance!!
Mailed it to the judges.
I'm happy with it. If it doesn't win, I'm okay with that too -- I have already seen some uber-fabulous entries by other illustrators. May the best Heidi win!

My wish list for gifts:
- a little booklight to keep in the car, for sketching
- a better scanner
- art supplies!
- a little more confidence, please

What's the best thing about being an author?

One of the best things about being an author is knowing other authors.

My 12 yr old, Emily, just finished Sarah Miller's brilliant MISS SPITFIRE: REACHING HELEN KELLER Atheneum Books, 2007, about which Richard Peck says, "Miss Spitfire is high drama about how language unlocks the world." I adore Sarah and I love her book and I love her brain.
When Emily announced she'd found the book on my shelf, started reading, and just finished it, I was excited to hear what she thought of it.
The Helen Keller story has always fascinated me, but I may have been over-zealous in introducing Em to it. She's watched The Miracle Worker (w/various casts) several times and wasn't as obsessed with it as I am. I, uh, kind of forced her to watch.
So I didn't shove Sarah's book at her and encourage her to read it. She found it when the time was right for her, in between readings of the Lightning Thief, Sisters Grimm and Twilight series. I'm so glad she did.
There's not much more satisfying for me as a parent than seeing my kid discover something great on her own. When Emily entered my studio and started talking, I listened. Then I started taking notes, typing what she was saying. With her permission I mailed her stream-of-consciousness review to Sarah, who responded with a lovely note and an offer to mail a signed bookplate.
So I am happy.
My kid is thrilled.
Which makes me even happier.

I'm an author. At four family events in the last week, kids who are Ellie McDoodle fans who happen to also be my relatives engaged me in discussions about Ellie.
Now, I'm accustomed to meeting with kids at schools, libraries, bookstores, chatting about my books, asking what they liked or didn't like, and I'm always happy to discuss future plots or give a sneak peek at the work-in-progress.
But I'm not used to talking with fans at family events. It's a little weird to talk about work with kids anyway; they were never interested in the logos or brochures I used to design.
It's good, though. I love connecting with all readers.

My status is up a little higher than it used to be, due to my books.

But it really shoots up if I have a special connection to a relative's new favorite author.
At Christmas I learned my niece Alex likes Gail Carson Levine's books. I met Gail! I sketched her in NYC. I told Alex that Gail is a lovely person and is petite, like Alex's mom. Bing! My status bumped up.
When I handed my nephews Chris Barton's THE DAY-GLO BROTHERS with a flourescent bookplate and told them I know the author, and he's really cool, my status went up a couple points. Bing! Bing!
When I handed my oldest daughter Liz Scanlon's ALL THE WORLD (illustrated by the fabulous Marla Frazee, who I got to help shadow at an SCBWI conference), she read it to her baby and she was very touched by the message of the book. When I told her I know Liz -- and also Marla! -- and I saw the book before it was published, and it's going to be a Cheerios book and probably also a Caldecott contender, my Mom status bumped up a few more notches. Bing! Bing! Bing!
My niece is a fan of Libba Bray. I don't know Libba, but I did meet her husband (and he likes Ellie McDoodle, and he's a friend of my agent's)... Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing!
My grandson loves THE POUT-POUT FISH, by Debbie Diesen. I know about her new books; she has some amazing work coming down the pike... Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Status shoots through the roof.
It just occurred to me: I could send Amy Huntley's THE EVERAFTER to my cousin's teen daughter. I bet she'd adore it. And I know Amy well! Bing, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing!
And now Sarah Miller is sending a bookplate.
I could go on forever. I have hundreds of writer friends who can make me look good by association.
What, me, namedrop? Heck yeah.
Wish I knew that Wimpy Kid author...

Post script: Sarah Miller's bookplate for Miss Spitfire arrived -- it's in Braille! Is that cool or what?

Where the Wild Things Are

I finally saw Where the Wild Things Are, the film. I thought it was outstanding. I want to buy it. (I don't buy many).
This will sound heretical, but I was not an early fan of Maurice Sendak's seminal children's book, Where the Wild Things Are.
I bought it, of course, because I was a conscientious young mom who tried to buy the great books. In the Scholastic Book Club flyers that came home from school with my kids I always searched out the Caldecott and Newbery winners. I remember telling my Aunt Marj that I bought those because those were the best books and I wanted to expose my kids to the best.
She said they're not always the best books.
This was distressing to hear. As a crazy-busy parent I wanted an easy, no-think method to as many things in life as possible, and here she was, poking a hole in my carefully-derived plan to expose my kids to only the best in literature and children's art.
Gradually I started to think for myself, and question the award winners, and buy on principle rather than on stickers.
Where the Wild Things Are is one of those books I bought because everyone was talking about it, and it looked fun.
I read it, and wasn't impressed. Maybe the kid in the book reminded me too much of my wild brothers.
Maybe I was afraid of the anger.
Maybe I just didn't "get" the point of the book.
I didn't dislike it; I read it to my family, and it wasn't their favorite, so it went back on the shelf.

I dragged it out of the bookshelf archives to create theme decorations for the baby shower of my brother's first child, no doubt a future Wild Thing.
The decorations were adorable.
I still have them -- I saved some of the monster pictures, and the little boy in the wolf costume (which I added heart buttons to, maybe to soften his anger?).
I hung the monsters on my studio walls and one on the window. They've been there for years. (Well, my niece is now 14) (and she isn't wild)
One of my friends bought me a Where The Wild Things Are t-shirt (sold at Target a while back) for my birthday, one year. I try not to wear it to writer events because I don't want someone reading my chest ("So that's where the wild things are, eh?") and making me blush.

Watching the movie reminded me that the book is scary (Sendak agrees) and that the monsters are not lovable and soft (my decorations are smiling monsters. Fangs, claws, but no indication they'd ever actually use them).

I wouldn't take a four-year-old to the movie. Well, not one of my four-year-olds (see aforementioned easy life desire).
I might take my almost-seven grandson; I think he could relate to hyperactive Max.
As an artist, I loved the film. It was inventive and a feast for the eyes.
As a kids' book writer/illustrator, I loved the film. It built the characters in ways the book was too short to do. It set up an expectation and exceeded it. It repeated worthy motifs and demonstrated wise foreshadowing.
As a parent, I was glad the kid at my side is 12. She fully "got" the story, the intention, the inventiveness, and -- bonus -- no nightmares for me to deal with later.
I loved the film.
Kudos to all involved: the screenwriters, the soundtrack developers (also outstanding), the costume and makeup people, the person who cast the kid (because he's believable, and I dislike films that star terrible kid actors). Kudos to all who took a risk on this film.