Liz In Ink

Thrill Seeker

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 02:20:30 GMT

Today we went to the water park because dang nabbit, we'd had it.

With city inspections and work emails and tweaked backs and packing for vacation and Morning Edition and the whole lot of it.

Chuck it, we said.

And the next thing you know we're wearing wrist bands and deciding which water slides are the scariest and how quickly can we get there.

Actually, at first, it appeared we were going to be a little risk averse.

We won't do the very, very craziest rides, okay, Mama? said Tall One.

And I'd like a life jacket, said Small One.

Say wha?!?!

This is the child who has no pain threshold, no sense of mortality and a keen eye for the extreme.
A life jacket???

But okay.

So we started tenderly. On a lazy-river-kind-of-thing that was, well, boring.

So which water slides are the scariest? And how quickly can we get there?

That's how we spent the rest of the day.

And when we stopped for lunch (which was at 3 o'clock because we could not bring ourselves to stop until we were faint of heart and spirit) we pulled out a map, circled all the things we'd already done and plotted out what we'd hit before nightfall.

On the way home we talked about our favorites and "it turns out," said Small, " that the ones that make you kind of nervous are the best."

And that's the thing about life and waterslides, isn't it?

I mean, parenthood, for one.

Or writing.

Or showing somebody your writing.

Might as well go headfirst down a speed chute.

Whoopin' and hollerin' the whole way....

We Have Lift-Off

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 02:29:16 GMT

Hello, Houston.
We have a kitchen.

And when I say a kitchen, I mean:

Indoors.

Running Water.

Refrigeration.

Gas burners worthy of a rocket launch.

And... it's cute, to boot.

Personally, when it comes to creative endeavours I prefer the 2 dimensional kind -- words on paper, that sorta thing. But it does feel good to know that we've pumped a little new life into an old bungalow and we're still upright, speaking to one another and -- ta da -- eating home cooked meals again! Wahooo!!!!!

Poetry Friday -- Better Late than Never

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 04:30:39 GMT

We are just home from the
Best.
Fireworks.
Ever.

I kid you not.

We were out in our canoe on Ladybird Lake.

I had to ride like Cleopatra in the middle of the boat due to my tweaky back.

Hubby and girls paddled and we found ourselves amidst the most spectacular floatilla of canoes, kayaks, inflatable rafts and other seaworthy craft.

Everyone, it seemed, had a glow bracelet or two, a cooler of watermelon and a zest for all things pyrotechnic.

The symphony played.
The cannons blasted.
The wind blew.

It was chilly.
In Texas.
In July.

And then, just as the show began (so close we could smell the sulfur), a train moved over the water behind us.
And stopped.
To watch.

They just shut that baby down and we all sat under the spell of sparks and swishes and booms.

The grand finale went on forever.

And as we turned our boat to paddle home, the engineer blew a long, happy whistle.

Good night....

Goodnight
By Carl Sandburg

Many ways to say good night.

Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July
spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes.
They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit.
Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue
and then go out.

(Read the rest here...)

Bad Back

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 13:17:56 GMT

I never really knew what people meant when they said, "I threw out my back."

Now I do.

I was moving a small bench and something went zoing and now I can't put my own shoes on.

Yesterday we were supposed to go to a waterpark with another family for some serious fun.
I hate rollercoasters, but I loooove waterslides.
So I gimped into the car, determined to carry on.

Even though I winced when I shut the door.
Even though one of our friends' daughters had possible pinkeye.
Even though all signs pointed toward postponement.

Fortunately for those of us with rocks in our head, determined to ignore signs, a huge thunderclap sounded as we exited for the park and a deluge began. It was not to be...

We went back to our friends' house and I was tucked into the guest room where I fell sound asleep while the kids wrote an original musical about a gypsy and a wily fox.

The waterpark can wait.
It's me that's a little impatient...

The Magic and Talented Marla

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 17:53:01 GMT

Marla Frazee (sometimes referred to -- in moments of euphoric elation -- as my own personal illustrator, not to mention a kindred spirit in the hair department) is interviewed today on Jama Rattigan's Alphabet Soup.

She shares some terrific art, and lots of great photos, and even gives a nod to our upcoming collaboration.

Run -- don't walk -- to check it out....

Still Floatin' -- Awesome Austin Writers' Workshop

Mon, 30 Jun 2008 22:54:01 GMT

As a writer and a mama, one of the things I do to stay sane is lower my expectations, writing-wise, during summer vacation.
And when I say lower, think basement.
Like, um, a coupla grocery lists, a few emails with my editor and lots of trips to the library.

Because honestly, I'm already teaching a class that requires a whole lot of critiquing, and the girls are only out of school for a couple of months, and there are popsicles to be eaten. The last thing I need is a constantly-running brain hum:

You are not worth your weight in pencil lead... everyone else in the known universe has written reams this week, except you... time is running out -- all books need to be finished in the next 24 hours... your brain will be mush by September... you'd better review some basic vocabulary words... you'd better review the alphabet.

Nope.
Not gonna go there.
Instead, I just aim low and enjoy any surprises that come my way.

Last summer it was my trip to L.A. for the SCBWI conference that shot my expectations out of the water.
And then a fevered, late-summer writing binge that resulted in my next picture book.

Now, already, I've crushed this season's delusions of nothingness.

Here's how:

I spent most of the past 72 hours with a most extrordinary group of children's writers.

Months ago, nearly 30 of us exchanged manuscripts and started reading.
Friday morning, we gathered at the gracious home of Cynthia and Greg Leitich Smith & we barely budged for 3 days.

(Well, okay. Unless you count the grand party thrown at the fabulous, view-happy home of workshoppee Helen Hemphill on Saturday night. We did not suffer...)

Each and every piece was critiqued with meticulous attention, ideas and admiration (and I'm telling you guys, these are some fine, fine budding books.)

Everyone was so interested and interesting, generous, thoughtful, careful, honest.
And everyone was funny, to boot.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only writer who was a little weepy when things broke up on Sunday and we returned to our real lives. I mean, of course. Right?

But here's the beautiful part.

This is my real life.
This is my real community.
These are real people who are real good with real words and generous hearts and I've got them in my real life.

Which is why, instead of coming crashing back down today amidst errands and chores, I'm still floatin'.

(Thanks, Greg, Cyn, Donna, Carmen, Tim, Julie, Helen and all the rest of you amazing voices for a heckuva weekend...)

Poetry Friday -- Raccoon

Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:38:18 GMT

Today our drama was a sick raccoon, right around the corner from our house.

My elder daughter spotted it on our way out this morning -- first excitedly (because other than evidence of emptied cat bowls, we hardly ever actually see them) and then, as we realized it was lurching and what raccoon in its right mind would be out in the heat of a Texas summer, the excitement tempered and she grew quiet and sad.

My younger daughter began to cry.
She said she was scared although we later determined that she was scared for the raccoon, not of it.

There was much scurrying on our part, to call the wildlife rescue folk and to check in with the neighborhood listserve which has been busy with news of distemper in the coon population.

And sure enough, it was distemper this time around, too.
By this afternoon he had died -- rather quietly and with decidely less chaos than he might've met in a net and cage and bumpy truck.
So that's good.

But still.

When you live in the middle of a city you want the wild things to be seen and to survive.

Raccoon
By Anne Sexton

Coon, why did you come to this dance
with a mask on? Why not the tin man
and his rainbow girl? Why not Racine,
his hair marcelled down to his chest?

(Read the rest here...)

It's So Amazing

Thu, 26 Jun 2008 02:16:38 GMT

Every single generation of kids needs to learn -- somehow, someway -- about sex.

A million mamas -- mine and now me -- have jumped into the blushy, tittery muck to do the teaching.

A million dads have, too.

A whole heap of questions get asked -- and answered.

A whole heap don't.

Lots of kids think it's gross.

Lots don't.

Some kids already knew it all.

Some didn't.

(Some wish they still didn't.)

A whole heap of mamas feel prepared for all this.

A whole heap don't.

But a whole heap of mamas feel better getting the goods out there on the table, for everyone to know and understand.

A whole heap of kids feel better, too...

It's So Amazing...

isn't it???

Libraries

Wed, 25 Jun 2008 17:14:29 GMT

Look, I'm all for swimming and water balloons and sleeping in, but a girl's gotta have a good stack of books by her bed in the summertime.

We've already been to the library three times since school let out.

My daughters each have their own card, & they nearly buckle under the weight of the tomes they check out.

The big hits so far:
The Amelia books
The Boxcar books
The SOS File
The Pixie Tricks books
Love, Ruby Lavender
Because of Winn Dixie
The Fudge Books
and lots and lots of books about Japan

They're going through a book or two a day.
At this rate, their fingertips are gonna get calloused and their eyesight's gonna go.

I remember my own frayed, paper library card from when I was a kid -- and the stacks of Nancy Drew books I'd bring home to read by flashlight. When we moved to the hinterlands of Wisconsin, there was a BookMobile which is pretty much as close to magic as an automobile can get without turning into Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Our experience here is a bit more urban and we've got branches galore to choose from, but the magic still holds.

A library is a great leveler in life; we're all equal in the stacks, each with a heart and mind just aching to be opened. How about making a run up to yours this afternoon?

Witch Camp

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 17:18:57 GMT

It turns out that my younger daughter and her friends from 1st grade are witches.

But it's not what you think.

There's not a newt's eyelash or toadstool to be seen.

Those, apparently, are the stuff of Pell Witches.
(Which is short for Potion-and-Spell. Of course.)

These little gals are Sea Witches, Plant Witches, Water Witches and the like.
A happy, dreamy coven gathered, right now, at my house.
For Witch Camp.

Current activity:
Handbooks, which is no surprise since I'm a word witch.
According to the powers-that-be.

The witches (Ivy, Bellatrix, Pacific, Adilanta and Gail) are debating colors, magic, rules and regulations.

Serious stuff.

Adilanta, who happens to be related to me, seems a little bossy.
Let's hope nobody turns her into a frog.

Later this week, they'll be at the other houses, fashioning wands, cooking and storytelling.

And who knows what other types of magic they'll concoct?
Don't leave any intact egg shells lying around...

Charm Against an Egg Boat
Anonymous

You must break the shell to bits, for fear
The witches should make it a boat, my dear;
For over the sea, away from home,
Far by night the witches roam.

Murphy's Law

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 23:28:42 GMT

Um, hello.

Mr. Murphy?

I'd already been knocked down a notch during the whole 2004 election.
Okay?
I get it.

Goodness is not to be taken for granted.

Change is constant. (Or not, as the unfortunate case may be.)

Bad stuff happens to good people.

I totally didn't need this week's still-no-kitchen-car-suddenly-in-the-shop-cat-with-an-abscess-two-girls-with-swimmers'-ear-stuck-in-tornadic-winds-in-the-grocery-store-forget-my-swimming-suit-at-the-swimming-hole kind of week.

I mean, I missed Poetry Friday.
Aaaaaakkkkk!!!

What is this world coming to?

Things better be lookin' up come November.
I'm just sayin'.

Reading, Reading, Reading

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 22:58:30 GMT

I've been invited to participate in a writers' workshop at the end of the month.

With a lot of very good writers.

Very prolific good writers.

Which means I am reading a stack of manuscripts that'd put the phone book to shame.

It is a dizzying array of work -- from picture books to YA -- and we are going to give each one its due in two-and-a-half days of discussion.

Which means I am reading a stack of manuscripts that'd put the phone book to shame -- very carefully.

And what I'm discovering is:

There is no shortness of talent out there.

No derth of original ideas.

No lack of empathy, or lack of intuition, or lack of guts.

What a lucky world that all these folk put pen to paper when there were so many other things they could have done...

Blessings

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:08:21 GMT

Our girls have been asking for a blessing before dinner, especially since our visit to Seattle a couple of weeks ago where we discovered my in-laws singing the same lyrical little grace I sang at summer camp, back in the day.

So I found what I thought was the perfect answer to their wishes --
a little rhyme by Ralph Waldo Emerson that goes like this:

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.

That pretty much covers the bases, I think.
Plus, it rhymes so it's easy to memorize.
And it's short so nobody'll get hungry waiting.

But here's the thing.
As we recited it tonight -- a few times to get it good & sticky in our brains -- I heard my small one carefully substituting phrases from my next picture book.

(Which is in rhyme, coincidentally, so is easy to memorize.
And is short, so nobody's going hungry while waiting.)

Her sister and dad heard her, too.

And before long it had been decided --
Ralph Waldo out (beloved though you may be), Mama in (biased though they may be).

I feel a little funny being the pen behind our dinnertime blessing but it made everyone else kind of blushy-happy, so I'm going along with it for now. Until someone decides we oughta switch to the old ditty 'bout the appleseed...

Poetry Friday -- Louise Gluck

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 17:56:12 GMT

Yesterday, I closed my post with a note of gratitude.

So I figured, what better place to start today?

The thing about kindnesses is that they can be complicated...
when they come with strings attached and what not.

And then the subsequent gratitude gets a little murky, too.
Sometimes a bit begrudging or embarrassed. Y'know?

I prefer the pure kind -- of kindnesses and gratitudes.

Pure, unfettered giving and receiving and thank you thank you thank you.
Like that.

No big white elephant in the middle of the room.

Just you.
And me.
And thank you.

Here's what Louise Gluck has to say about all that:

Gratitude

Do not think I am not grateful for your small
kindness to me.
I like small kindnesses.

(Read the rest here.)

Open handed

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 01:32:21 GMT

Lately I've found myself asking of others quite frequently.

And on the days I'm not asking, I tend to accept help when it is offered.

When, for instance, my best chums say that they will take turns delivering dinner once a week while we are without a kitchen?

I say, um, yes.

And when my kids are at a neighbors all morning and they offer to keep them all afternoon?

I say yes.

Dogsitting?

Yes.

Advice?

Yes.

Get out of jail free?

Yes, thank you.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And then, at two a.m., the voices in my head (who are all sort of pull yourself up by your own dang bootstraps kinda folk) say to me:

How ya gonna make good on this, Missy?
How ya gonna pay these people back?

And they sit there sneering, the voices, waiting for the paroxysms of guilt and shame.

And I teeter.

And they sneer and twitter with anticipation.

And I waver.

And they are lovin' this!

"Look at her," they say. "Needy and wobbly as a two-legged stool."

And that is when I plant my third leg firmly on the ground --
this is a benefit of yoga, my friends (third eye, third leg, all sorts of extras that balance and enrich) --
firmly on the ground, I plant it.

And I say, "I am not going to pay these people back. Their gifts are not about me. Their gifts are reflective of them. They are just good folk. I am blessed and surrounded by a hundred very fine friends with open hearts. And sometimes when you are faced with open heartedness, it's best to be open handed. That is the third leg of the stool called love. Tomorrow, it is my turn. Tomorrow, I will offer my ear to the person who needs to talk, my car to the person who needs a ride, my bag of pecans to the squirrels. And in the meantime? I will say thank you."

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Summer Goals Meme

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 20:32:07 GMT

I have to admit that I usually say no, thank you to memes.

I think it's sort of appalling how much 80s music is still alive in my head; I don't want to feed the beast by talking about it.

Ditto -- bad haircuts, bad habits and most embarrassing memories.

But the lovely Jen Robinson tagged me to talk about summer goals, and since it is nearly one hundred degrees here in the heart o' Texas, it seems like the appropriate time to give it a thought.

Numero uno:

My top priority this summer is to put down the laptop and step away from the overwhelm.
I want to be present and joyful with my kids and my husband, my family and my friends, and myself.

I want to swim.
A lot.

Nap.
Quite frequently.

Read.
A ton.

Blog.
A bit.

Talk.
Freely.

Listen.
Carefully.

I want to single- rather than multi-task, say no when I need to and yes when I want to, and generally enjoy the fact that I have the health and the time and the privelege to take it down a notch this season.

Numero dos:
I'm only teaching one class this summer.
It's online, and I want to enjoy it.

I want to wallow in my students' evolving work, share with them what I'm able to share, and try to convey the joy of poetry as viscerally as the nuts & bolts of the craft.

Tres:
Since Jen called me out specifically in regards to exercise, I'd better rise to the occasion.

This summer I want to keep my mileage up and running shoes handy, I want to take my yoga practice with me on vacation, and I want to swim. Pretty much every day. That's the plan.

Quatro:
Read, read, read.
The novels on my bedside table and then some.
Plenty of good adult fodder but also, like last summer, I want to read any of the big award winners I haven't gotten to yet.

And I'm starting at the library.
Tonight.

Now then.
If you want to put a little thought into your summer, consider yourself tagged!

Poetry Friday -- Denise Levertov

Fri, 06 Jun 2008 19:35:14 GMT

It is an oddity of the writer that we live immersed in a world of words and yet sometimes can think of not a thing to say...

or the thing we do think of is not quite right...

or we don't have the time to do justice to all that needs saying.

Because really, is there ever enough time to do it all justice or get it quite right?

Caedmon
-- Denise Levertov

All others talked as if

talk were a dance.

Clodhopper I, with clumsy feet

would break the gliding ring.

Early I learned to

hunch myself

close by the door:

then when the talk began

I’d wipe my

mouth and wend

unnoticed back to the barn

to be with the warm beasts,

dumb among body sounds

of the simple ones.

(Read the rest here)

Last Day of School

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 16:16:12 GMT

My tall one finishes 3rd grade today.

She made her teacher a card that said:
We had a great year and a great relationship.

Which is true, and I just think it's a beautiful thing that she knows that.

My small one finishes 1st grade today.

She's already talking about the school-type work she plans to do over the summer.

Journaling. Reading. Higher math.

She's kind of an overachiever, but still... I'll believe it when I see it.
It is summer, after all.

I have very vivid memories of my own summer vacations as a kid.

Cousins.
Swimming.
Horseback riding.
Waterskiing.
Kick the can.
Rag tag.
Popsicles.
Rootbeer.
A thick smear of zinc oxide on my nose.

There were no bedtimes and no alarm clocks.

Time was virtually suspended for three months and then, suddenly, come the first of September, I was older.
Not a day older -- a whole grade older.
A whole new set of rules and expectations, priveleges and opportunties.
A whole new me.

Which is where my girls are going to find themselves in a few months, in 2nd and 4th grades with the rest of the big kids.

It nearly brings me to my knees with nostalgia and the dizzying speed of it all.

Fortunately, though, as of 3 o'clock this afternoon we are in that nebulous land where clocks and calendars cease to matter and there's nothing much to do but catch caterpillars, paint rocks and shake the sand out of our bathing suits.

We'll deal with that growing up business all in good time...

Ideas...

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 15:22:17 GMT

We went away for the weekend.

No biggie.

A drive rather than a flight.

A home rather than a hotel.

Bathing suits rather than, well, clothes.

The kids had kids to play with.
The dog had dogs to play with.
We had grown ups to play with.
(...and discuss candidates and delegates with, and schools and sports and religion and grandmothers and art.)

We enjoyed a yard.
A pool.
An actual kitchen.

I could feel myself wind down at the cellular level.

And when that happens, the mind unravels.
I mean, in a good way.
All the everyday knots and plans and preconceptions spread out into a sort of marshy meadow.
Idea-ready.

It was a quirky little slip of the tongue -- in the midst of one of our quirky little conversations -- but there it was.

Just ripe for the taking.

A word.
That could be name.
That could be a character.

I'm trying to maintain a little marsh state here, to see where it takes me...

Poetry Friday -- Vacation

Fri, 30 May 2008 19:49:42 GMT

Really, I'd love for you to take a look at my post from yesterday --
a pictorial view of our school's literacy parade.

Poetry in pictures, to my mind.

I mean, c'mon people.
Floats based on books???

As for today, we are ready for vacation at our house.
This is the first year our school year has stretched into June and it's killin' us.

Here's what my small one has to say about it, and don't tell me she's alone in this:

School

I sit there in

a dark blue chair

listening to directions

But in my little

tiny head

I wish I was

on vacation

The Whole Point

Thu, 29 May 2008 19:25:42 GMT

Why Do You Write For Children?

So parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles can read to them.

So teachers and librarians can read to them.

So they can read to themselves.

So they can fall in love with books.

Which is a way to fall in love with life.

Right?

They -- the kids -- are the whole point.
A point driven home today during the annual Literacy Parade at my daughters' school.

It opened with a rousing rendition of Teach Your Children Well, sung by a motley crew of kids, teachers and parents...

Then the parade kicked off with a pledge to read over the summer...

... followed by the class floats, each in honor of a book!

The Lightning Thief, by Rick Riordan

How I Became a Pirate, by Melinda Long

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo

Henry and Beezus, by Beverly Cleary

The People of Sparks, by Jeanne DuPrau

The Poppy Stories, by Avi

I could go on but I've far exceeded my "add image to blog" capability here, so I best go lie down.

But you get it, right?

Kids LOVE these books.

They talk about these books.
They celebrate these books.
They remember these books.

Which is, I'll reiterate, the whole point.

(From The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein)

Summer -- Upsides and Downsides

Wed, 28 May 2008 15:52:12 GMT

Up -- The Sun

Down -- Sunburns

Up -- Swimming

Down -- Swimmer's ear

Up -- Travel

Down -- Travel Expenses

Up -- No School

Down -- No School

Y'know what I mean?

I have to say, I relish not packing another lunch bag or filling out another form or helping with another sheet of homework.
I relish reading longer and later each night since the alarm won't be going off at the crack of dawn.
I relish hangin' with my girls -- in the kitchen, in the water, on our roadtrips.
I relish the sponaneity of it all.

But.
There is the teeny tiny matter of time and space to write.
And really, I'm talking about headspace here more than anything.
Not so much a room of my own, as a minute or two.

See, the thing that worries me is that my muse is highly unpredictable.
What if she comes wafting through with one of those ideas that keeps me at my kitchen table 'til noon --
still in my jammies, hair like a tumbleweed, writing like a mad woman?

My kids just might have a little issue with that.

Talk about upside, downside.

I guess if I grunt and point with enough oomph, they'll go grab their clay and pens and join me in the rush of it all?
One can hope.
Stay tuned...

Color Update

Tue, 27 May 2008 13:28:37 GMT

Remember the colossal meltdown my daughter had a couple of weeks ago when she discovered we'd chosen a shamefully boring paint color for our new kitchen and living space?

Well, lest you think we are permanently damaging her creativity and decision-making capabilities, I'll have you know that she and her sister picked out the paint this weekend for all the shelves and cabinets in the mudroom.

And I have two words for you:
Ruby. Ring.

Oh, I have another word for you.
Vivid.

The girl is happy.
Make that a capital H.

Happy.

Poetry Friday -- School Days

Fri, 23 May 2008 14:41:58 GMT

I am enamored of the academic calendar.

It's no accident that I'm a mother and a teacher and that our family's days, therefore, are governed by the schools up until a certain bright morning in June when they suddenly are not.

And also, that I'm a writer, so that the rest of my days aren't governed, exactly, by anything.
Or anyone.
(Which can be problematic, but that's a different post.)

In spring it is as if there's a wasp in my heart -- so crowded are our days with field trips and events and celebrations.
A piano recital here, a field day there. A class play here, an art exhibit there.
And, throw into the mix all of my own students' portfolios awaiting my critical eye.
A wasp, I tell you. It's enough to make a person swoon.

Only in the heat of it, I realize that some of the buzzing isn't overwhelm.

Some of it's excitement.

We are almost to those hours of watermelon and bathing suits and playing kick-the-can long past bedtime.
I can smell the sticky sweetness in the air.

And some of it is pride.

That my students created work they didn't know they had in 'em, and revised it to levels they thought they couldn't reach.
That the school kids I visited this year all know an author now, and all have made metaphors, and all have made rhyme.

That my daughters negotiated the highs and lows of another grade.
That they have an understanding of liquids and solids, and story arcs, and long division.
That they have friends and teachers over whom they will cry when saying goodbye.

That we, as a family, got the lunches packed and alarms set and forms filled out, pretty close to on time, all year long.

And then some of it is wonder.
At the passing of time.
That I'm not as young as I once was, nor is my husband, nor our friends or colleagues or students.
And, even more stunning, neither are our girls.

It's a lot to reckon with, which is why summer vacation is a very, very good idea.

In the meantime, a poem.
A poem called Graded Paper by Mark Halliday.
I love this one.

Graded Paper

                         On the whole this is quite successful work:
                         your main argument about the poet's ambivalence--
                         how he loves the very things he attacks--
                         is most persuasive and always engaging.
                         At the same time,
                               there are spots
                         where your thinking becomes, for me,
                         alarmingly opaque, and your syntax seems to jump
                         backwards through unnecessary hoops,

To read this rest, click here.

That's a Wrap

Wed, 21 May 2008 18:59:47 GMT

This week I made my last two school visits of the year.
Gasp. Sit down. Sigh.

It is a lot to juggle -- the calendar and schedule-making, the maps, the Powerpoint presentations and the book sales.

But it is also really, really fun.
For one thing it's a good idea to stand up and step away from the computer every so often.
And then there are the tender and funny questions, and imaginative comments, and rapt eyes in the audience.
And the big manila envelopes of thank you notes-- crayons and sparkles and all.

So, now it's my turn.

I wanted to take a moment to thank all the teachers and librarians who've served as my hosts and who encouraged other teachers and librarians to do the same -- Thank YOU!

... and to the Writers' League of Texas who facilitated some of my spring readings -- Thank YOU!

... and to the parents who came to school to listen, who bought books, who took the enthusiasm for reading home with them -- Thank YOU!

...and to the PTAs who helped support my visits -- Thank YOU!

...and to my own personal little family for being flexible and speedy and patient and forgiving on the days I've had to leave way too early or gotten home rather late -- Thank YOU!

...and, most especially, to the many hundreds of students who listened and asked and inspired and challenged and touched and just plain cracked me up -- Thank YOU!

That includes the little guy today who said, "Don't tell me you think it's fun to be a writer!"
(I know. Call me crazy. I really do.)

It's hard to believe that by this time next year I'll have a whole new book and a whole new program worked out. (Since I don't think the many pockets of my fishing vest will work quite as naturally with the next one as they have with Sock is a Pocket.) Maybe I could rent a big ol' foam globe costume but that sounds hot and kind of bulky.

So, stay tuned...
And in the meantime, happy summer everyone!

In case you're wondering, here's where I've been lately:

Friday, September 21
A visit with Austin Indepedent School District teachers and librarians at Ruta Maya Coffehouse, Austin, Texas.

Wednesday, November 14
Talking with the first graders at Brentwood Christian School, Austin, Texas.

Saturday, December 1
Selling and signing books as part of the Bouldin Creek Studio Tour. Austin, Texas.

Thursday, January 10th
Young Authors' Conference at Baranoff Elementary School, Austin, Texas.

Thursday, Feburary 21st, 2008
Young Writers' Workshop at Travis Heights Elementary , Austin, Texas.

Thursday, March 6th
Young Author's Day at Zilker Elementary, Austin, Texas.

Monday, March 17th
Readings at Brentwood Elementary School, Austin, Texas.

Tuesday, March 25th
Readings at Caldwell Heights Elementary School and Bluebonnet Elementary School , Round Rock, Texas.

Wednesday, March 26th
Faculty reading at Austin Community College, South Austin Campus, Austin, Texas.

Thursday and Friday, April 3rd and 4th
Featured reader of The Corpus Christi Book Festival, Corpus Christi, Texas.

Sunday, April 6th
Poetry reading at The Blanton Museum, Austin, Texas.

Monday, April 7th
Reading at Lee Elementary, Austin, Texas.

Tuesday, April 8th
A visit with students at Good Shepard Episcopal Preschool, Austin, Texas.

Tuesday, April 22nd and Thursday, April 24th
Writing workshops for the 5th graders at Austin Discovery School, Austin, Texas.

Monday, April 28th
A visit to Mathews Elementary, Austin, Texas.

Monday, April 28th
A visit to the UT Lab School, Austin, Texas.

Monday, May 19th
Readings at Summitt Elementary, Austin, Texas.

Wednesday, May 21st
A visit with 2nd graders at Zilker Elementary, Austin, Texas.