Why do I love this so much?

I just finished reading A.O. Scott's New York Times review of Wes Anderson's "Fantastic Mr. Fox."

I love this line:  "Is it a movie for children? This inevitable question depends on the assumption that children have uniform tastes and expectations. How can that be?"

But my FAVORITE part of the review is this note at the end:

"Fantastic Mr. Fox" is rated PG (Parental guidance suggested).  

It has danger, sorrow, and an awareness of mortality.

I'm guessing I will never write a novel for children that doesn't brush up against these same three elements.  Kids think about these kinds of things all the time -- more than the rest of us do, probably.  I love creative work that recognizes this (Miyazaki's films, for instance).

Okay, must now get back to the crazy business of November.

Breaking promises

So yesterday was the first day I DIDN'T write in November.  

Did I say I would write every day in November?  Yes.

Did I do it? No.

Will I blather on about my excuses? No.

November Tally:

Writing days so far : 7

Missed days so far: 1

Nights when I literally fell asleep at the keyboard: 2

National Novel Writing Month

November is National Novel-writing Month.

A lot of folks over at www.nanowrimo.org are going to write novels this month -- WHOLE novels.  50,000 words.  175 pages.  I'm cheering for each and every one of them.

Writing a novel in a month is not something I can do.   But I'm going to take advantage of the lets-get-it-done writing karma in my own way.  I'm going to write (something) every single day in November.  

Now perhaps you are thinking, "Wha??  Don't you write every day anyway?  Isn't that kind of your whole JOB?"

The truth is that I don't write every day.  But this month, I'm going to try.  So if you see me somewhere, feel free to bug me about it.  Just don't ask me about my word count. 

Doing Art

All kinds of wonderful things have been happening, including foreign sales of WHEN YOU REACH ME (now 7 countries! woo-hoo!) and lots of visits with school and bookstore communities.  This weekend I met with two groups of kids, all of whom had the best, most interesting kinds of questions.

Another thing that has made me happy lately?  The discovery that an extremely, um, undeveloped artist like myself is capable of carving erasers into very satisfying ink stamps.  I know it seems like a small thing.  But it isn't.  I went to an evening art class at my 11-year-old's school, where a wonderful teacher/artist taught me (and my friend Randi, and 4 other women) how to carve stamps and use them to print bookcovers.  I had this utter determination to create a watertower stamp.  I have a thing for watertowers.  Yes, there were moments of doubt, but in the end, I accomplished more or less what I set out to do.  And that felt surprisingly amazing.  So today I want to say -- go make art.  (Or, if you are an artist, write something.  If you already do both, I don't know -- dance.)

I created this little blue mailbox stamp at home.  I plan to use it to make excellent signed bookplates. (want one? email me) 

I wrote an article for TIME OUT NEW YORK KIDS about so-called tweens.  The gist of it is that while today's preteens have more purchasing/media influence than their predecessors did, they also have less independence, because the adults in their lives are trying (a little to hard) to keep them "safe".  You can read the article here.  

The wonderful Sara Zarr has posted a response to it here.

And in related news, here's some news about how kids REALLY get hurt on playground slides (with thanks to the excellent Lenore Skenazy at www.freerangekids.com)

First Day Back

As of today, both of my kids are in school again, which means that I am officially back at work.

This morning I'm answering email, and contemplating the ever-present question,
"how do real writers structure their work days?"

I'm also finishing the book I'm reading (A SHORT HISTORY OF WOMEN, by Kate Walbert), where I just read the following line:

"I think how long it takes to clear your throat, and by that I mean, to say anything true."

September

September.


September = lists.


One of the things on my list is "figure out how to blog."
I have trouble letting go of any thought or idea that feels remotely interesting -- I always feel like I should save them for something else. I think this is probably how survivors of the Great Depression feel about their rubber bands and plastic baggies.

Maybe this letting-go is something a person has to learn.


Here is a childhood memory that surfaced this week in the middle of an email conversation with Wendy, my editor:


I have a lot of memories of my dad reading to me before bed. I'm not exactly sure why, but at some point he started recording his readings on a cassette, using one of those recorders where you have to push down hard on the big plastic buttons. When he was done reading, he would rewind the tape for me and say good night, and then I would listen to the whole story again. When it was over, I would press down on the "stop" button and go to sleep. Except sometimes I let the tape play on, listening for what seemed like a long time to whatever was next - music, old stories, or just that empty static-air sound. That's what came back to me this week -- a memory of lying in my bed and listening past the end of the story, feeling slightly guilty that I hadn't stopped the tape.