(ahem) woo hoo.

I am SO not a WOO HOOO!!!! kind of person, but you know what?  The SCBWI winter conference is this weekend, and I am very (for me) excited.  So I am giving a restrained, moderate, dignified shout-out that would never be heard in a crowd, but you and I know it's there, right?  Decided at the last minute to stay over in the hotel on Sat. night, because a few days ago I learned via email from Kathy Temean, ,the indefagitable New Jersey regional advisor, that some people from the NJ chapter will be going out to dinner after the cocktail party, and I decided to join them, and once I did, the idea of Port Authority at 10 p.m. to catch a bus back home, only to catch another one back into the city at 7 the next morning, seemed less than appealing.  I hate to spend the money for the hotel, but my husband urged me to do it, so I did.  I am up for putting my public face on for a weekend, then coming home and collapsing on Sunday.  The thing I'm actually most excited about is getting to finally meet Sarah Davies, founder of Greenhouse Literary Agency, who worked patiently with me on Novel #3 a couple of years ago until she ultimately decided to pass on it.  I only know her through emails and one unexpected phone call from her, at the start of which I almost hung up on her because it was 6 p.m. and at that hour, I pick up the phone with the presumption that it's a telemarketer on the other end.  Big oops.  I still cringe. Anyway, she's a hero of mine, and I'll get to stalk - I mean meet her at the conference, which thrills me.  So, I'm off!  Well, technically I'm not "off" until I'm on the 6:57 bus tomorrow morning, but for all intents and purposes, I'm off.  Wish me well, okay?  I'll report back.

Vive le Roi!

This post is going to be about kids' lit.  Really.  It is.  But first, I just have to share my post-South Carolina homage to Mr. Gingrich:

At least he's not a Mormon.
At least he's not a Jew.
Third go-round, he's a Catholic;
Guess that will have to do.

Macbeth provides the precedent.
The old becomes the new:
Weird creatures drop the "'I' of Newt"
Into the witches' brew.


Get it?  "I" of Newt, because he's such an incredible narcissist?  Okay...  Back on my meds now.  No more politics.  And when the new dance show "So You Think You Can Lead the Free World?" becomes the hottest thing on the Fox network, I won't even try to claim the credit.
   But what I REALLY want to tell you about is the 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards Contest, which opens tomorrow, and which has a Young Adult Novel category.  Google it to get all the information.  I'm entering.  And if you, like me, have an unpub Y.A. novel just sitting there, you should enter too.  Why the hell not?  You don't have to be The Winner in order to benefit; if you make any of the cuts, you'll get at least a partial review out of the process.  I apologize for the short notice.  The contest runs until Feb. 5th, but I wouldn't advise waiting until then, because there's a cutoff after the 5,000th submission, and I suspect there may be a lot of us unpubs out there.  So, read the rules, and DO IT!  What have you got to lose?  And, by the way, if I haven't said this before: Join SCBWI.  Immediately.  It's an international organization, so it doesn't matter what country you live in.  Joining this group is a move you will never regret.  Unlike voting for ...   AAARRRGGGGHHHHH!  They're coming to take me away now....  Enter the contest!!!

Absolutely Nothing To Do With Writing...

but how can I NOT blog about the Republican-primary freakshow? My God, it's everywhere you turn.  Who has the best chance of defeating Obama the Antichrist?  Well, let's see whom we can crown Whitest Whiteboy in America, shall we?  Why don't they just put an end to the interminable anguish of this process and decide the whole thing on the basis of a dance competition?  Obviously, whoever is the clumsiest and most tonedeaf is the one least likely to be a henchman of Satan.  Voila!  Our candidate!!  But who?  Rick Sanctimonium?  Ron Paul, founder of a crackpot dynasty and possessor of a voice possibly even more grating than George W's?  Le Roi Newt, so in touch with his inner European Monarch that he can't understand why he couldn't consort with both his wife AND Callista the Whip Lady?  And last but not least, Uncle Mitty, who looks okay, speaks comprehensibly (for a robot), and doesn't belong in a straitjacket, but, most horrible betrayal of all, he's - gasp! - NOT PRECISELY CHRISTIAN!!!  Hey, good luck tomorrow, South Carolina.  Can't wait to see which one of the Four Stooges gets your thumbs-up.
     As for me, I'll be focused on getting ready for the national SCBWI winter conference in New York next weekend.  Reading faculty bios, planning my public transportation route, and trying to become a charming person by 7:30 a.m. next Saturday.  I might even be able to pull that one off, unless someone at the conference within my immediate radius mentions the primaries.

Happy Anniversary!

Well, not quite.  In two days it will be the one-month anniversary of the date I started this blog.  But I thought I'd celebrate a little early by posting a tribute to a few of my alltime favorite young-adult authors and their books.  To begin with, no one's body of work has inspired and moved me like Katherine Paterson's.  Over thirty years ago, she courageously opened doors that so many authors have since walked through and pushed open even wider.  She writes about the outsider, and does it from the inside - from the soul.  To me, her most astonishing feat of heroism is "Jacob Have I Loved."   Then, Laurie Halse Anderson's "Wintergirls"  weaves a spell that seems to me must be witchcraft - but she is a white witch, and her goal is to erase some of the world's darkness, not add to it.  And then there's Angela Johnson's "The First Part Last" - the exquisite story of a boy becoming a man by falling in love with his child.  These authors are among my heroes, and the novels I've mentioned, with their unforgettable protagonists and language that cuts to the core, have widened and deepened my world.  I hope that if you haven't yet read them, you will soon.  Happy Anniversary, and, I hope, many more to come.

Research = Heaven

So, since I'm writing a book set in Ireland, it stands to reason that one of these days I'm going to have to travel to Ireland to talk to people about their local history.  And when I do that, I can't just be mispronouncing everything I'm asking them about, can I?  Which is why it makes perfect sense for me to have bought myself an English-Irish dictionary, as well as a beginner's language course (coursebook plus audio disks). When I proudly showed my purchases to my husband, he raised his eyebrows a fraction, and reminded me to be careful about not getting carried away with my research.  He's been through the writing of one historical novel (#1) with me already, and apparently remembers quite well how, after spending a year or so learning all I could about 16th-century Venice, I felt compelled to cram every single fact I'd uncovered into the text of my novel, with a crowbar if necessary. Ah, but I know better now.  When I was prowling on Amazon.com a few nights ago, trying to figure out how I could learn to speak Gaelic, did I not prudently (but reluctantly) refrain from also buying a copy of the actual 1659 Irish census, which could have been mine for a mere $25.00? I exercised restraint, but I have no doubt it would have been worth every penny. Because, for me, research is pure joy. If you're not looking to find out a specific thing, then there's just no way to do it wrong, and everything you find out just opens new doors. As opposed to writing, in which the ways to do it wrong outnumber the waves in the ocean, and so many of the doors you open lead into blind alleys and hidden traps. Writing is work. Research is fun. And some, but not all, of it will even find its way into the book. So I'm going to keep delving, and I'm going to try to learn Irish, which my first foray into the coursebook suggests will prove to be one of the world's more impossible languages. And, my fellow seeker, I leave you with this: May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back; may the sun shine warm upon your face; and, until we meet again, may God (Dia) hold you (tu) in the palm of His hand. 

I Am The Man?

Strange week.  My promotion at work took effect on Tuesday, shifting me from worker bee to the lower rungs of management.  For the first time in my life, I have become, as it were, The Man.  As in, the one to whom it (unspecified) should be stuck, as opposed to the one doing the sticking.  Fortunately, an office with a less authoritarian structure than mine would be hard to find.  I'm still working with all the same colleagues, and we all still relate to each other in the same ways we did before, but still.  Suddenly I find that some things I would have said before, without even thinking, are perhaps best left unsaid.  I now have a stake, albeit a small one, in the preservation of the current management team.  I want to make it work.  But, I protest, I want to use my newfound power for good, and not for evil! I want to make the office a better place for everyone! So you see, I am not starting down this path as a ruthless dictator, even if that is how my journey ultimately ends.  KIDDING!!! But it is kind of strange, all the same.
    So what does all this have to do with writing? You know, it's funny you should ask. I've been wondering the very same thing. Here's one possibility: my new The-Manhood will be immediately apparent to all who see me, in any context. I will walk into a room full of agents and editors at a conference, and all conversations will cease. "Who IS that?," they will whisper frantically to each other. "What presence! What regal bearing! Is she signed with anyone yet?  No, YOU get out of MY way! You've got Madonna!" Okay, fine, here's a second possibility. I'll do well in my new job, and it will increase my general sense of confidence, an improvement which I will then be able to intangibly project when I meet editors and agents, and they will want to read my book. Now, that one could actually happen, right? Just that little smidgen of magic that will bump me up to the next level? Isn't that one little bump all I really need?  After all, I already write way better than Madonna.

Update- 2012

Did it!  Emailed back to the agent to whom I'd sent my revisions in November, asking whether she'd received them and whether she might be getting back to me within the next few weeks, since I plan to attend the SCBWI winter conference at the end of January and, if she's not interested in the book,  I would like to be able to shop it around.  Heard back from her a few hours later.  Yes, she did receive my revisions, but it's been a very busy reading time for her and she hasn't gotten to them yet.  But, by all means, go ahead and shop the book around at the conference - it will be good practice for me, and agents are used to getting multiple submissions.  But if by chance I do get an offer from someone else before I hear from her, she wants the right of first acceptance; that's "customary."   Hmmm.  It's not a kick in the teeth, I guess, but it's a long way from "besotted!"  Perhaps my friends' insistence on buying me a celebratory drink that night at the conference was a bit premature, wot?  I'm feeling reasonably philosophical about this - I guess her month and a half of silence might have meant that reading my revisions had left her wordless with rapture, but it did seem a little unlikely.   So... moving along.  Researching Book #4.  Trying to write a worthy pitch for Novel #3 to present to unsuspecting strangers at the conference.  My husband informed me today of something known as an "elevator pitch," which evidently is exactly what it sounds like: a machine-gun-like barrage of facts about one's book, designed to be inflicted on the hapless industry professional who had the misfortune to get on an elevator with you.  Excuse me, but isn't exhibiting that type of behavior the recipe for becoming a pariah, rather than a published author?   If I were the industry professional in question, I suspect that either I, or the one delivering the pitch, would end up at the bottom of the elevator shaft.  No, but I do have to prepare a normal, polite, dignified pitch, just in case someone is actually willing to hear it.  Like, through the door of a bathroom stall.....