Darel
Here is Darel. As I am out in the studio trying to create a new book, Darel is on the second floor of my house trying to create a new bathroom.
And he's doing a great job.
A Sea of Daffodils
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
IN my first book about Anastasia Krupnik...and that's its title....she, at age 10, accompanies her father to a Harvard English class in which he is teaching this Wordsworth poem to his bored students. Walking home with him afterward, they talk about "the inward eye which is the bliss of solitude" and the little girl realizes that her grandmother, in a nursing home, has such an inward eye....memory....that provides company for her.
I love inserting literary references into fiction for young people. Recently, in the book "Messenger," after the death of the character Matty, I quoted the second verse of this Houseman poem, "To an Athlete Dying Young":
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.
If not used to excess, I think the reference flies past for the young reader without slowing the narrative, but that someday in the future that reader may recall it in some other context, as I did yesterday, driving up my driveway here in Maine and thinking suddenly, "When all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils;
beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze"....
I am here now, beside the lake, beside the trees, for a week, after a two-day trip to Newport News, Virginia, where I spoke at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony and was so graciously hosted by the Jewish Council there. This is the fourth year in a row that I have spoken at a Yom HaShoah ceremony and each one is different, each always very moving.
Maybe that experience is connected to the daffodils, bursting forth each year renewed, reminding us of vibrant life continuing after a cruel time.
Script tinkering
Play rehearsals for "Gossamer" have begun in Milwaukee, and that means the playwright is back at work. Funny how you don't perceive stuff until director and actors begin working with it. Jeff Frank, the director, emailed me that the transition from Scene 1 to Scene 2 didn't work well...getting the characters from one place to the next was difficult, but what if we...? And he was right. I re-wrote Scene 1 and now, he tells me, that problem is solved.
Now I am about to deal with a number of other thoughts/suggestions from Jeff after he held a reading in front of an audience. This is the type of thing (I hope he doesn't mind my posting his quote here):
As much as I love scene 17 and the humor within (which I think is necessary in the rhythm of the piece), I do feel that it goes on too long – interrupting the build in tension for too great a time. We also lose some of the dramatic tension in the scene if we venture too far into the humorous aspect.
Of course this is the sort of collaborative work that ultimately strengthens the play and for which I'm very grateful. It's fun, actually, to trim and tighten with the help of such input.
He also mentioned the possibililty of switching scenes 14 and 16 with each other and this is something I'll look at when I have a little more time to sit and think. Today I am flying to Newport News, Virginia, in order to speak at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony there tonight. But I'll be home tomorrow (Friday) and back at my desk.
The differences between book/stage/screen are really fascinating. "To Kill a Mockingbird" of course has been successful in all three genres. I'm trying to think of others. Yesterday morning I had tea with writer Allegra Goodman, who lives nearby, and we talked about books-to-movies, in particular some that were better on the screen than on the pages. (Neither of us had been able to go see "The Kite Runner") For me, "House of Sand and Fog" fell into that category, and also "The Cider House Rules."
PLay-to-Screen is another interesting transition, with no book to impede or enhance the adaptation. "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf" worked brilliantly but of course it had director Mike Nichols to thank for that. Often such a jump means a movie that seems constrained and stagey. "Equus" didn't work very well.
And oh my, I could start thinking/talking abut Shakespeare now, and the various movie adaptations....the Polanski MacBeth, for example. Zeffereli's Romeo and Juliet. Mel Gibson as Hamlet. Olivier. Kenneth Branagh. Oh dear, I must stop.
Back on the East Coast
It is actually warmer here than it was in Beverly Hills. Think I just hit a cool snap out there.
My next trip in this non-stop spring will be Newport News, Virginia, where I will speak at a Holocaust Remembrance ceremony next Thursday evening.
As for movie news, now that I have actually met with the people involved: no news. Simply a lot of discussion about things left unanswered in the book...how to answer them in the film, or how to deal with them if they are to remain unanswered. Various visions of what things look like. How big is the community? How old is The Giver? All of these things...which can be left for a book-reader to individualize...have to be firmed up for casting directors, for set designers, etc. No more "whatever you want it to be in your imagination."
It's an interesting, challenging process.
Here's a front desk at Warner Brothers:
Not all that glamorous. Just hard-working people.
Yes, there was another cotton-candy night at dinner, and another amazed dinner guest, British screenwriter Guy Hibbert. I did take his picture so that his actress wife back in London could see what he was confronted with (but won't post it here and violate his privacy)
UNeventful flight home. Six separate people inquired about my Kindle. It certainly is a conversation-starter!
No dessert, please
I was having dinner last night in the restaurant of the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills, where I have been staying for the past few days, and when the waiter offered me the dessert menu, I said no thanks. Didn't even want to read about the flans and creme caramels and decadent chocolate things. Was full. Stuffed. Had not even finished my risotto.
So he took the dessert menu away. And a few minutes later, back he came with ... THIS.
My dinner companion, screenwriter/director Bob Weide, had also turned down dessert. And so he ALSO got one of these.
"The chef got this machine," our waiter explained. "He's having fun making cotton candy."
Bob and I rolled our eyes and continued our conversation, talking now while looking over the top of these huge...things.
And then we both started sneaking little fingerfuls of it. Of course it melts in your mouth. Disappears. Requires another fingerful.
And so this is the story of how two people, neither of whom wanted dessert, ended up with sticky fingers and a billion calories of sugar.
And tonight I am having dinner in the same restaurant with British screenwriter Guy Hibbert...and I am not going to tell him about this phenomenon. I am eager to see the look on his face.
Kindle
Some posts ago, a commenter asked how I was enjoying my KIndle. And I never got around to answering.
But the answer is: I LOVE IT.
Here's the thing: it isn't a book. It doesn't feel in your hands like a book, or smell like a book, or sit upright in your bookcase enhancing your decor and making your guests admire your literacy.
BUT.
My problem is two-fold: I travel a lot, and I read very fast. My worst fear (and it has happened) is flying to the west coast and finishing my book over Denver. For that reason, I have always taken MANY books, or LONG books, on lengthy trips...Ken Follett's "World Without End" (1024 pages) to London not long ago; Vikram Seth's "A Suitable Boy" (1349 pages) to Hawaii once. Those suckers are HEAVY. And even so, I had to make my way to Waterston's, in London, before retuning home, to get something to read on the plane (had finished the Follett) and in Hawaii...same thing, but harder; try finding a great bookstore at Kaanapali Beach.
(Okay, please don't write me in outrage if you live in Lahaina. I KNOW they have bookstores there)
So: for me, the Kindle is a godsend. You can download many books at a time into it, wirelessly.. Sitting here at my computer this morning, I went to Amazon.com, found the books I wanted, bought the Kindle versions, then walked into my kitchen, (you can see the Kindle lying there beside today's NY Times) and the books I had downloaded were there in my gizmo, ready for a plane trip to LA in the morning.
To download a book costs slightly more than a paperback and considerably less than a hardcover book.
The Kindle itself costs too much. Around $400. But like all technology, it will come down in price.
It is very lightweight....fits in my purse...and a battery charge lasts a good long time.
It is very easy to use (I turned mine on to take these photos, and it opened at the page in "Girls Like Us" where I had stopped reading on my way home from Philadelphia Thursday). You can change the type size to what feels comfortable for you. When you finish a book, you can delete it, but you still OWN it, so you can get it back from Amazon if you want to re-read, or to loan your Kindle to someone.
Downside? No pictures. I'll have to go to a bookstore and lurk, looking at the photos in "Girls Like Us," which is about Joni Mitchell, Carole Young, and Carly Simon.
So the answer is: I LOVE IT. And no, I do not get a sales commission from Amazon.
Home again...briefly
You can click on any of these photos to enlarge.
First, a photo just sent to me from the recent event at the Kennedy Library: me at the podium, introducing gorgeous Alice Hoffman, who appears to be listening attentively. Alice is now off touring for her new book, The Third Angel, and it wouldn't surprise me if we were to run into each other at an airport someplace!
Next, a stack of books waiting to be autographed at Politics and Prose, the wonderful bookstore in Washington DC. I spent the past week first in Baltimore, then Washington (where I was competing with The Pope), then Philadelphia (where Hillary and Barack were just down the street).
And - another photo: This is an incredible cake crated by a mom! I was at St. Alban's School in Washington DC, for an evening event sponsored by the parent-and-boy book club (many dads there! How great is THAT!) The Willougbys cake was done by Malcolm's mother...I'm sorry I can't remember thier last name, and surely she deserves to go down in history! It tasted good, too!
Finally, an audience of 7th-8th graders brought from their schools by bus to the library in Chestnut Hill, part of Philadelphia. This was a great bunch of kids. Well behaved, lots of questions, and after the event, as I walked through the library to get back to where my driver was waiting, I could see groups of them lined up to get library cards!
During a Q-and-A with these kids, one of them asked a question about the meaning of "release" in The Giver. I began to answer, then noticed a boy in the front row had put his hands over his ears, and was groaning. I stopped talking and asked if he was okay. "I haven't finished reading it yet!" he wailed. "Don't ruin it!"
So of course I didn't.
Early Monday morning I take off again, this time flying to Los Angeles for two days of meetings at Warner Brothers, about the film of "The Giver."
And when am I finding any time to write? Well, right now I'm not. But on May 5th I will head back to Maine for some uninterrupted time there, during which I will re-open (literally, on my computer) a manuscript that has been neglected now for too long.
Tulips in my Cambridge yard are close to blooming, and the forsythia that so distinguishes our house (for one week each spring, people can give directions by saying, "Turn left by the house with the forsythia") is almost at its magnificent peak.
And now I must turn my attention to today's NY Times crossword.
Out of Chaos: Coherence!
Spring is finally coming, I think. My lawn is dappled with scylla and I can see a robin tugging at a worm this very moment, from my office window.
I returned from Michigan Monday after watching a terrific performance on Sunday of THE GIVER, with staging very different from any of the productions I've seen in other cities. And: a female GIVER! First time I've seen that, but it worked just fine.
And yesterday I signed books and spoke briefly about "The Willoughbys" at Porter Square Books in Cambridge, where I live. A lot of school groups there so the store was packed and they were great kids: attentive, interested. Most unusual question: "What kind of tea do you like?"
Ah, Earl Grey.
And that reminds me of a recent email, with a PS: "What is your favorite ice cream flavor?" and then: PPS: "You don't have to answer that if you are lactose intolerant."
Late yesterday afternoon, two guys in coveralls were in my yard repairing the underground sprinkler system...finding leaks, digging things up, appearing at the door now and then to announce, "Another valve needs replacing. it'll be another $60 (or $75, or $125")...okay?"
At the same time, I was grappling with a computer problem that made it impossible for me to send e-mail. So I had called and left a message with my computer guru.
So: all at once, the phone rang, and it was someone at NPR, telling me that a piece I had written and recorded would be played during "All Things Considered" in the next 15 minutes. So I turned on the radio waited, and indeed, there was my voice beginning to talk. Then the phone rang; it was my computer guy, ready to walk me through a fix for my problem. So I was listening to myself on the radio, listening to Computer Guy say, "Okay, go to Entourage preferences.." and then the front doorbell rang, and it was Lawn Guy, holding up yet one more broken valve; and then the BACK doorbell rang, and there was nephew Michael (to whom, years ago, my book "The One Hundredth Thing about Caroline" was dedicated) in from New York briefly, stopping by to say hello...
Eventually, everything emerged out of chaos. The NPR piece ended (you can hear it by googling "You Must Read This" which will take you to the website). Lawn Guys finished and departed. Computer Guy successfully got me through my glitch-fix. And Michael waited patiently until we could sit down and pour a glass of wine and have a brief visit.
In retrospect this reminds me a little of the point in writing a novel where a lot of fragments begin to meet and be relevant, connecting to each other. My particular fragments yesterday had no real connection. If they had been written into a novel, Lawn Guy would have overheard the NPR segment, which was about books, of course, and he would have said, "Hey, I've written a novel! Would you—" ; I would have said to Nephew Michael, "Sorry, I have to finish this phone call with Computer Guy Ben Lowengard; and Michael would have said: "Ben Lowengard? Is that the same Ben Lowengard who—?" and so on and on. Connecting.
Here's a picture of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt's booth at the recent Bologna Book Fair, which is where American pubishers go in order to sell foreign rights, and foreign publishers go in order to sell their boks to Aerican publishers. YYou can see that HMH was featuring "The Willoughbys," among others.
The doctor who lives across the street from me has just gone into the park to walk his two dogs; and here comes Sophie, the German Shepherd who lives up the street, arriving to play with Alfie. So the day begins.
Sunday in Flint
Okay, so this is not a luscious landscape. This is the view from my Holiday Inn hotel room in Flint, Michigan, the view of the Chinese restaurant to which I walked across the parking lot for dinner last night, the HI having no restaurant of its own.
Flint is in a state of demoralizing economic decline, the auto industry here having collapsed.
But the arts here seem alive and well. Tomorrow I will speak at a nearby theater and then attend a production of THE GIVER at the smaller theater next door to that one. The arts — in the form of theaters, and library — are all in the same location; and from my quick glimpse yesterday during a tour of both theaters, they are fabulously designed and well maintained.
I have seen stage productions of THE GIVER many times in many different cities. Each of them is staged differently...it's one of the intriguing elements of theater, that a play leaves latitude for the director and set designer to create individual elements. I got a peek backstage here in Flint and can tell already that today's production will be very different; but I won't make any comments until I've actually seen what they're doing.
In the meantime, I have just replied to an email—again, no details until anything becomes official, if it ever does—from an opera company that would like to create an opera from THE GIVER. It makes me think, oddly, of the old...was it Dutch Boy?..paint company ads, where a can of pain was being poured over the globe. I think the catch-phrase was "We Cover the Earth!" Well, I am starting to feel as if THE GIVER is covering the earth! I think I posted on this blog, a few days ago, covers of the book now in Vietnamese. and Serbo-Croatian.
Although there is always the risk that people will rise up en masse screaming, "Enough! ENOUGH!" .... still I think it's kind of wonderful that in many, many cultures, young people are responding to, discussing, thinking about, the issues in the book...issues that confront us all, more and more.
This morning I replied to an 18-year-old reader in Taiwan, who was so intrigued, reading THE GIVER in English, that he—I think it was a he; no way to know; no name at the end of the email—read it also in Chinese, to compare.....and said, sadly, that it was not a very good translation. I had suspected that, mostly because the cover of the book in Chinese shows someone on skiis; and of course there are no skiis mentioned in the book, so I have guessed that perhaps "sled" was mis-translated.
I remember many, many years ago, a writer named Ilse-Margret Vogel (sadly she has since died) wrote to me to tell me she had read my book AUTUMN STREET in both English and German, and wanted to tell me what a beautiful translation the German was. I appreciated that enormously because there is simply no way for me to know that.
(Actually, I could now ask my Germany daughter-in-law. But at the time Ilse first got in touch with me, my son had not yet married his Margret)
The art of translation, of course, requires not only a command of the language but also an appreciation of the writer's tone and subtlety, and an ability to re-create both cadence and nuance. I remember years ago, when I was in graduate school, taking a course in Chinese poetry which of course I read in translation. But I made a point of reading more than one translation of each poem and sometimes they were SO different, almost unrecognizable as the same text.
I remember, too, meeting once with the Finnish translator of my Anastasia books, and her describing how difficult it was to translate word-play of any kind...and there is a lot of it in those books.
More offspring art
Since I showed you all a picture my daughter did of her cat at age 8, and because I am taking a break from work and killing a little time, here are a couple of pictures of the same daughter's current cat, Sam, done by the same daughter but many years later, in her forties.
and okay, one of her (late, much mourned) very old dachshund, Wiener
and here is a very funny photo of the same daughter in my kitchen with her chihuahua and my Tibetan Terrier:
And now I am going back to work.
Creativity
A while back I posted a photo of the painting my daughter gave me for my March 20th birthday, a painting of a San Francisco street (she lives in SF) and now here is a picture if her actually working on the painting.
And thinking about that made me remember another painting of hers...this one done when she was in fourth grade many years ago. It won a prize in a city-wide children's art show, and it has been hanging in my guest bedroom now for a long time.
It was a painting of her cat, whose name was Betsy, with a litter of kittens. If you click to enlarge it you can appreciate the very self-satisfied look on the mother cat, and the pink paw pads.
Fun to have creative children, and all of my children are, or were. Grandchildren, as well, come to think of it.
On Saturday I head to Detroit, and from there to Flint, Michigan, where I will spend all day Sunday. So today and tomorrow I am at my desk, plugging away on a book manuscript. Someone asked me recently if it was difficult coming and going and being interrupted mid-writing so much. Actually, it serves me well, I think, because breaking off doesn't mean the ideas disappear or dissipate. It gives them a chance to be worked on at a sub-conscious level. I might write steadily for a couple of days...then head off, as I am this weekend...but my brain is still working on that plot and those characters. When I get back to it, and to them, as I will on Tuesday, they will be enhanced, re-worked. That's what usually happens, at least. Not always, of course; but more often than not.
Back to the cat painting: I remember my daughter confiding in me (she was eight) that the painting started out to be a whale. The gray curve of the cat's back was supposed to be the body of the whale. But suddenly, she said, it began to look like her cat.
The same thing happens, actually, in writing. You think a plot is going to turn left...and then suddenly, it seems as if it has turned right, or wants to. And usually it is a good thing to follow along where it wants to go. It is not a good idea to force a cat to become a whale when what it really wants to be is a cat.
getting it right
This is a banyan tree, one of several, at Selby Gardens in Sarasota, where I spent the past almost-a-week. Strictly vacation, visiting good friends who winter there, and a much-needed vacation after a lot of travel...and more to come: Detroit next weekend, then Baltimore,Washington DC, Philadelphia, and finally, Los Angeles.
Today was the PEN Hemingway event at the Kennedy Library (such a gorgeous location on a clear day with blue sky). I remember speaking of that event on this blog a year ago, when Joyce Carol Oates was the keynote speaker. This year it was Alice Hoffman, and I was the one to introduce her, a real privilege, since Alice has been a friend for many years...but also daunting, wanting to get it right and do her justice. I remember that last year it surprised me that JCO was funny; I hadn't expected that. No surprises with Alice, that she was articulate and smart and political.
Patrick Hemingway , Ernest Hemingway's son, read the opening passage of "A Farewell to Arms" and read it well. I haven't re-read that book in years but the opening pages...and the ending...have stayed with me; I could almost recite the words as he read. The Kennedy Library houses the Hemingway archives and papers, including the 44 versions of the last page of "A Farewell to Arms." I remember reading once that when asked why he rewrote and rewrote it, EH replied: "To get the words right."
An email today from my German daughter-in-law tells me that my granddaughter and her good friend, Annika, have just received the book "The Willoughbys," which I dedicated to the two of them. Annika will have to wait until it is translated into German because she is not proficient yet in English, but Nadine, my granddaughter, reads (and speaks) both languages.
IN the waiting mail when I returned from Florida, incidentally, were several copies of THE GIVER in Vietnamese, plus other copies in a language I am uncertain of...perhaps Serbo-Croatian?...with my name spelled Luis Lauri. Click these to enlarge.
Happy Easter
Just to brighten the day...and to counteract the whining in my last post...here is a painting (click to enlarge) by Anne Schreivogl, who was kind enough to send me pictures of some of her work, knowing that I would love it (since we have almost the same birthday!) The bright colors are making me smile as I sit here at my desk, and also reminding me that I must get back to my current knitting project. I've been traveling too much, and knitting is hard to take along on a plane (and Tuesday morning I head to Sarasota, where it will...I hope and assume....be warm, and I don't much like knitting during hot weather)
All this traveling has also thrown a monkey wrench into writing and I must found a way back into my work, not just my knitting. I will be in Florida for three days (this time strictly vacation, visiting close friends), then the following week to Flint, Michigan, to see one more production of THE GIVER.
And my current project, though quite brief, is oddly difficult. Next Sunday I am to introduce Alice Hoffman, who will be the keynote speaker at the PEN Hemingway-Winship Awards at the Kennedy Library. This is a very big and elegant event. Alice follows last year's keynoter, Joyce Carol Oates. Ordinarily an introduction is not a big deal; people are waiting to hear the speaker, after all, not the preliminary words. But Alice is a friend of mine (another with whom I share a birthday week!) and I want to do her—and her fine body of work—justice.
So that is today's project. And tomorrow I sit down with the panel of judges for this year's Susan Bloom Award— we've all been reading manuscripts like crazy — to select the 2008 winner(s). This is an award for a previously unpublished New England children's author, given by the Children's Book Caucus of PEN New England, the tenth year of the award's existence. Many of the previous winners have gone on to publication—part of the award consists of a reading by a major publisher— so it is a big deal. The winner(s) will be honored at an event May 4th.
And here is another painting by Anne Schreivogl.
Apologies once again
Here are two pictures of my computer screen while it is showing an animated film of "Number the Stars" made by a schoolgirl named Shani in Woodside, California. The reason I have titled this post as an apology is because Shani sent me this film, and some books to be signed, MONTHS ago. She waited a while and then wrote politely to asked if I had received them...and I had to reply regretfully that I had not, that they had somehow been lost in the mail. Yesterday they arrived, forwarded from the publisher to whom she had sent them, along with a stack of other mail...some of it dating to August 2007.
I don't know really how to account for this, but here is my theory. Forwarding the mail is a boring job. It is given to some minor employee who is overworked and underpaid, and eventually that employee quits, leaving mountains of untended mail, maybe on a high shelf someplace, out of sight. Eventually someone says, "What's this dusty stuff?" and takes it down and deals with it. But in the meantime months have passed. Christmas gifts have gone unacknowledged. A young girl who spent hours making a film is led tp believe that it disappeared in the mail. Once, even, an invitation to dinner with the foreign minister of Denmark went unanswered because it didn't reach me until long after the dinner had been held.
And I don't have a solution, except once again to apologize to all those disappointed kids who never got a reply to letters they wrote to me last fall. Maybe if we all gather, en masse, with placards, and demonstrate? March on the palace? Send a petition? Whine in unison?
The Dalai Lama says to smile and think: I wish you happiness.
And I do. But I apologize as well. And I'd like to wring the neck of the person who thought that kids' letters were unimportant.
Liar Liar Pants on Fire
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/story/2008/03/14/ST2008031403262.html?sid=ST2008031403262
That seems much too long and complicated an address, but I'm told it is the way to get to a piece I wrote that appeared in Sunday's Washington Post: a short article about my history as a child liar. Oh, make that embellisher. No, I guess I was right the first time: liar. I started out (age 5) with simple embellishment, to gain affection when I felt under-appreciated; then I advanced (age 8) to upper-level embellishment to gain admiration; finally I progressed (age 10) to out-and-out lying in order to win popularity (it worked, briefly). All of this before adolescence. Surprisingly, during my teenage years I became something of an achiever and so didn't need to create my own niche any more through such subversive methods. But it was all good training for the writing of fiction, and that's what the Post article is about.
Oddly timed, too, because of the revelation that one more book has been recalled, its author having confessed to having completely made up her own fascinating past and peddled it as memoir. Me, I call my own work fiction, and it seems to me that author should have done the same.
This week is my birthday and my painter daughter has sent me a painting of hers I had admired: a street scene from San Francisco, where she lives. Here it is, hanging in my office (click to enlarge):
It reminds me of my own book "Attaboy, Sam!" in which the mom in the family, Kathryn Krupnik, asks her husband and kids each to make her a birthday gift instead of giving her store-bought things. So they do, and the results are disasterous. Not so, in my family! One of my favorite all-time gifts was when my daughter Kristin, then a teenager, sneaked an ordinary off-white blouse out of my closet before my birthday and then presented it to me with the collar and pockets beautifully embroidered, turning it from something ho-hum into a piece of art.
Headed to New York first thing tomorrow morning....by Limo-liner, the wonderful luxury bus from Boston...and taking my brand new Kindle, into which I have already downloaded three books.
Home again..briefly
Back from the West Coast, after very hospitable times in Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver; and now I am catching my breath before heading to New York day after tomorrow, just overnight. This is a busy time of year! But Martin is coming with me to New York, because it will be my birthday, and we will go to the theater.
So many friends share my birthday week that it almost makes me believe in Astrology: my friend Joanna, an actress and professor of theater; my friend James, a composer; my friend Alice, a novelist; my friend Haley, a retired professor of Children's Literature....and several others, including two daughters-in-law. March is a good month for a birthday, at least in New England, because you begin to feel...slightly...that spring is on the way.
In Portland I got to watch a reading of the play "Gossamer" and was delighted to see how well the audience responded. It is still technically "in process" so there was a talk-back afterward in which members of the audience had a chance to make suggestions and comments to me and to both theater directors who will produce the play in the fall. There were two child actors and ...let me think...I believe 6 adults...reading at
microphones; and we all...myself included...laughed at times, and dabbed our eyes at other times. (Well, by "all" I don't mean the actors....they stayed in character throughout.....but the audience).
In Seattle, I did an hour-long radio program, mostly interview but some call-ins...and to my amazement, got a call from a friend I had not seen since 1956 when she was a bridesmaid in my wedding when I was a child bride (age 19). I had no idea that she lived in Seattle or that she would recognize the interviewee as her old pal. Somehow we had failed to keep in touch over the years, and it was nice to catch up a bit. (we did that afterward, privately, not in front of the radio audience!)
Now I am catching up, as well, on all the episodes of "In Treatment" that I missed while traveling. And answering a ton of mail, too. In my waiting mail, incidentally, was my new "Kindle" which Ihad ordered several weeks ago, but they were out of stock then. For those who don't know...a Kindle is an electronic book into which one can download up to 200 books... It makes for very easy reading...ALMOST feels like a real book! The reason I wanted it was because I am a very fast reader, which means that I have to schlep several books on any plane or train (or bus, which is what I take to New York) so that I won't be left bookless midway. So I'm very psyched about the Kindle. And I'll try it (well, I've tried it already of course) .. I'll USE it for the first time on my way to New York Wednesday. Four hours down, four hours back. That is usually a three-novel timespan for me. And I've already downloaded three into my Kindle.
from Portland, Oregon
Here is a group of wonderful 5th graders in Portland, Oregon, who spent an hour asking me questions yesterday morning...and many of whom came last night to be part of 900 people to hear the annual children's author lecture held each year. My hand got tired from signing books afterwards...but it was nice that many of the books were the brand new one, THE WILLOUGHBYS, which is JUST available for the first time.
Night before last I watched a reading of the play "Gossamer," by performers from the Oregon Children's Theater (2 children and 5 adults, reading the parts) listened to comments and questions from an enthusiastic audience, and could feel for the first time just how it will work on stage. There was no staging yet, of course, but listening to the reading, you could sense the pacing, and the scene changes. People in the audience who knew the book enjoyed the reading; but the important thing was that people who had never read the book could still "get it" in its dramatic form. There was laughter and silence and probably even a little eye-dabbing here and there.
Now I must dash off to speak at a luncheon and then rush to the airport to get a plane to Vancouver, where I'll be speaking tonight. Busy week!
on the road
I am writing this in a hotel room in Portland, Oregon, having arrived here this afternoon from Wisconsin, where I spent yesterday watching two performances, matinee and evening, at a theater in Kenosha, where THE GIVER was being performed. The two not-very-good-cell-phone photos (click to enlarge) are of me after the evening performance, with two of the stars: Terry Lawler, who played The Giver, and Nathan (drat! I'm going to get his last name wrong!) Fosbinder? (Nathan, if you read this: post a correction. I'd hate to ruin your career in the theater by botching your name) who played Jonas. Both of them are great performers.
Tomorrow I will attend, in Portland, a public reading of the play "Gossamer" which will consist of the actors at microphones, reading the script to an audience who then will be invited to give their reactions: was there something they didn't understand? something that didn't work? something they especially liked? My only role will be to listen, take notes, figure out what needs work. The next step..in June...will be a week in New York working on the play with the director, set designer, actors, and others. Such a lot of preparation goes into the production of a play! The writing of the script is really just the beginning.
Tomorrow I'll get to have lunch with my very dear friend Allen Say...we were children together and neighbors in Japan in the late 40's, though we didn't know that and realize that connection until we met as adults. Allen lives in Portland. Tomorrow he will get to lord over me the fact that I will turn 71 this month...and he won't turn 71 till August: a mere child in comparison.
It was cold and snowy in Wisconsin, and also in Minneapolis, where I changed planes. But Portland is beautiful today: clear and sunny, so Mt. Hood is visible in all its splendor.
Books from my childhood
Here is Humphrey, the book I remembered so fondly and which someone has very kindly just sent to me. (Incidentally, this has happened twice before, when in a speech I mentioned a beloved childhood book, and someone in the audience found a copy and sent it to me. One was "Dandelion Cottage" and the other...an entire set of books by Marguerite de Angeli, very beloved in my childhood...and to my good fortune, a library was disposing of their copies; and now they are mine!!)
This has made me recall, as well, two sets of books that I adored as a child; they were by a Swedish author, Maj Lindman. One series was about Swedish triplet boys named Snipp, Snapp, and Snurr; and the other—my favorite—was about triplet girls named Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka. I just googled those books to find their publication dates...late 1930's, and 40's.
Reading about them, very nostalgically, I discovered something that surprised me. In one of the books about Flicka, Ricka and Dicka, there is a cow named Blossom. When I was writing NUMBER THE STARS, which is set, of course, in Denmark, I named the family cow Blossom. I had no conscious recollection of having encountered a similarly-named Scandinavian cow when I was a child. But that cow must have been resting there in my brain cells, probably placidly chewing on a flower, for all those years.
Thinking about all of this, and remembering myself as a child—remembering my family in those long-ago years—I am again aware and appreciative of how fortunate I was to have been born into a family which valued books. My mother had been a kindergarten teacher before she married. She always read to us. There were always books in our home. We were always taken to the library.
And it was part of her heritage, too. Here is a picture of my mother in 1911, when she was five years old, being read to by her own mother.
more about mail
This is a stack of mail that arrived here yesterday. Unfortunately apparently it had been held for an over-long amount of time at the publisher..I suppose it ended up on a shelf someplace and people forgot about it..because most of these letters are dated early December, and the package is a Christmas gift. I have sent a letter of thanks and an apology for the delay to the man who sent the gift....he found a copy of a book I had loved as a small child* and he had heard me mention in a speech! Such a nice thing to do.
But sadly there are a lot of people who wondered why I didn't reply. And now I am leaving Friday morning for a trip to Milwaukee, Portland, Seattle, and Vancouver, and I will be gone for 10 days. I'll try to get some of these answered before I go. But I am also still preparing speeches for those cities so time is short.
Isn't that the story of all our lives? Not enough time; not enough time! I feel like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. I'm late! I'm late!
* The book, published in 1934, is Humphrey. I was very young when I learned to read, because my sister, three years older, began first grade and came home and "played school"..teaching me what she had learned. The reason I remember Humphrey was because, studying it by myself at ages 3 and 4, I first became aware of the oddities of the English language....the fact that I knew how Humphrey was pronounced, because my mother had read the book to me; but now, learning to read it by myself, I could see that the "ph" was a phonetic anomaly. I just absorbed that bit of information and probably applied it whenever I saw a "ph" after that. Probably there was a telephone book in our home...perhaps I saw it there, and noticed that it didn't say "telefone.". What I do remember is the awareness of it, and the feeling that I had discovered a mysterious and interesting fact.
So it is nice to have Humphrey...who is not Humfrey!...with me again, and I'm sorry that my thank you note is late.
about Harry Potter movies
In answer to any and all questions about Harry Potter movies past, present, or future:
I know NOTHING.
Rien. Nada. Absolutely NOTHING.
I do not know when or if there will be more HP films, or who will direct them.
People with questions about this topic should buy a Magic-8-Ball. The answers that float to the surface will be better than any I could give.
Mail? Do I answer mail?
Amazingly, it is once again snowing. I guess that shouldn't surprise me, because it is, after all, February in New England. But somehow I had begun to think that perhaps the end was in sight and spring was around the corner. Not so.
Someone has posted a comment asking if I answer my snail mail. Yes, I do, but I do it the same way I answer the email: with some pre-prepared replies, most often. So many people..kids, mostly...ask the same questions, and to try to answer them personally, with different replies, would be impossible. How many ways can you answer "How did you get the idea for The Giver?" So I have my stock replies. Once I got an email form a kid who called me "a lazy bum" because his friend had also written, and they both got the same answer. I told him that if I were REALLY a lazy bum, I wouldn't have taken the time to read that morning's 40+ emails....much less figure out which of my answers to send back.
As for "snail mail" I have a large stack of cards that I have had made, with a photo, and I write a note on the bottom, and my signature..in case you want to lick your finger and test it...is real. Or, for some replies, I have a letter I've already written. I might select one reply or another, depending on the questions asked.
If readers send a lengthy list of questions, i have to answer them very briefly, or perhaps select one or two to answer.
It is helpful is a teacher combines all of the kids' comments/questions into one email. Once a teacher had 63 kids send me separate emails. Because it was clear they were all from the same class, I asked one of the kids to send me the teacher's email address, which she did...and then I emailed her to suggest that in the future it would be helpful if she sent one email instead of so many. But she was outraged by that and said she'd never use my books in her classroom again. Sigh.
And once a mother was very offended because I had not answered her daughter's (snail mail) letter immediately. The daughter's classmates had all written to authors and the others had received their replies. The mother had emailed me with her outrage, and so I received that on my laptop...but I was out of the country for three weeks, and so had not gotten her daughter's letter yet. When I got home, there were over 100 letters waiting...presumably her daughter's among them...and so they each had to get a standard "form" reply. The mother then emailed me that she wanted to "rip off your face."
I felt sorry for the child of such a mom.
I once..after the disaster with the teacher who said she'd never use my books again...emailed a number of writer friends/acquaintances to see how the dealt with such situations (63 letters form the same class, for example). I asked Jerry Spinelli, Katherine Paterson, E.L. Konigsburg, Phyllis Reynolds Naylor, Jane Yolen, Chris Crutcher...maybe some others; those are whom I recall right now. It was clear from their replies that they all grapple with the same challenge, and do pretty much what I do...which is to say: the best we can.
Poster Art, and Snow King
I've just received this from Oregon, from the artist Michael Orwick, who was commissioned by the Oregon Children's Theater to do the art (publicity, programs, posters) for the play "Gossamer." I'll be in Portland in mid-March (you can see my schedule on the website under "upcoming schedule") and though the play will not be produced until fall, there will be a public reading of it on March 10th.
I am just back from Maine after a busy and productive week there. Here is a picture taken through the window of my studio, showing how high the snow is; Alfie was feeling like King of the Hill. The lovely hanging glass ball was a gift from my friend Richard Greene, retired fourth grade teacher from Illinois who now lives in Florida. He and I have been corresponding for probably 20 years.
I worked on my taxes in Maine, and wrote an article and a speech that I had promised to people; and fiddled with a book manuscript...but it wasn't till the drive home that I hit on the plot device that I think will make it work. Lightbulb over the head! Now I can't wait to get back to it and forge ahead.
An Apology
Those of you who read this blog know that a couple of days ago I mentioned that THE GIVER movie would likely be further delayed because the director wanted to do the final Harry Potter movie first.
I had no inkling what a tsunami that would bring on. I have now been alerted that my small bit of non-news is appearing everywhere and as it takes on momentum it also takes on a life of its own bearing no relation to fact. LOWRY SAYS HER FILM HAS BEEN SCREWED BY YATES is a headline someplace. Harry Potter websites have created lengthy postings about it; hundreds of emails have come to me from strangers; I am about ready to change my name and go live in the outback someplace.
I have sent an apology to the film producer, who was extremely gracious....more than I deserved...in her reply.
I think we tend to forget how quickly the internet snaps and gobbles when prey is offered. I should have recalled a time some years back, when the author Susan Cooper, who had lived in my neighborhood for years, married Hume Cronyn and moved away. Shortly thereafter, in describing where I live (Cambridge, MA) to an audience in Charlottesville, Virginia, I mentioned that many writers live in my Cambridge neighborhood. I began to list a few: Robert Parker, Kathryn Lasky, Susan Cooper...then caught myself, and said, No, sorry, I forgot; Susan's gone now.
The next day the word went out...on the internet...that Lois Lowry had announced the death of Susan Cooper.
Of course I wrote Susan a note of apology and she, like the film producer, was also very gracious.
But jeez! Wouldn't you think I'd have learned by now?!
To me, this blog is like a conversation with a few friends. It always has been. I just schmooze about writing, about my dog and my grandchildren, and often people...strangers, but they feel like pals...send comments and it is all cozy, as if we were sipping tea together.
But today it doesn't feel that way. And today I am abjectly apologizing to everyone in the film industry who has been skewered by increasing misrepresentation of what I thought was a minor, fleeting, ad unimportant bit of news from this snowy farm in Maine.
Country matters
I am in Maine now and seeing first hand what the latest storm has done here. It followed, of course, a winter of huge snowfall...I am looking through the window at the moment at Alfie, playing King of the Hill, sitting atop a snowbank probably 12 feet high. Around the edges of the supermarket parking lot, the snow is as high as a two-story house.
The recent storm was more snow, then rain, then freezing temperatures. So there is ice everywhere, and when I got here, although the driveway was plowed, (thank you, Jesse), the garage door was frozen closed. Eventually, though chopping and shoveling and..yes...swearing...I got it open. And I carved a path to the place where the oil company feeds oil into the furnace; if I don't keep that cleared, they won't deliver oil. But there is no way I can get to, or defrost, or expose, the propane gas tank behind the house...it feeds the six top burners of my Viking stove, and it is now empty and won't be accessible till spring. So cooking will be a challenge. There will be a lot of roasted vegetables, I think, and micro-waved things. And next fall I will not start out with a half-full tank, which was my mistake this year.
The local paper, as always, is filled with local color. In the police blotter....two car accidents involving deer (no moose; sometimes there is a moose-car collision, and that usually sadly involves two deaths: moose and driver); a rescue of a woman who went through the ice at Moose Pond; and...surely there is more to this story but all I know is the terse report from the paper: a horse "went through the floorboards" and was lifted to safety with the help of "heavy equipment and a sling."
A friend of mine arrives later today: my friend Kay, who is on sabbatical from teaching at Harvard and is writing a book. She'll be in one room at her computer and I out here in my studio off the barn at my own computer. We'll have each other's company for meals (roasted vegetables!) and evenings for the whole week. And we both plan on getting lots done though we may be distracted by dogs. She is bringing hers; mine is here; the two of them play very excitedly with each other whenever they're together, and we are hoping that an extended visit may calm them down. Either that or we will all be crazy at the end of the week.
Yikes. I just heard a huge roaring, thumping, crashing sound. Snow sliding off roof. Luckily the dog was not underneath.
Bad news from The Giver Movie front. David Yates, the director currently working on the next Harry Potter film, was supposed to begin The Giver film next. But he has just decided he wants to do the final Harry Potter first, thereby postponing The Giver by several years. Maybe the opening of this film could be held simultaneously with my celebration-of-life service after I succumb to old age? Or the producers will decide to get a different director. Stand by. But without holding your breath.
Okay, back to work. That's what I came here for, and that's what I'm doing.
The Gathering
This is the beautiful jacket of the Booker Prize winner "The Gathering" by Anne Enright, which I own but have not yet read, because I am in the middle of one of my childlike rituals involving "You can't do this pleasurable thing until you have completed this other dreaded task"...i.e., I am not allowed to read "The Gathering" until I get my tax stuff in order. Sigh.
But this morning I went to the Barnes & Noble website for a self-serving reason. Last month, when I was in New York, I did a taped interview with Katherine Lanpher for the B&N "One on One" section of their website (click on "All media.") I went to see if it was up yet (it isn't) and remained to browse and came across a video of an "Upstairs at the Square" reading.. The same Katherine Lanpher is the host and interviewer (she's great) of Anne Enright, who read beautifully, and the readings were interspersed with music by a group called Camphor. The music was so well chosen and appropriate that it enhanced the already-wonderful reading and watching the whole event made me want so badly to pick up the book! But alas, the tax stuff must come first.
Another interview I did during the same NY trip was for TIME (yes, the magazine) for Kids, and that one IS available on YouTube http://xml.truveo.com/rd?i=4288178126&a=rss&p=10 and probably as well on a Time website but I don't know how to find that.* In this case I was interviewed by a poised and articulate kid named Hannah (with an unspellable last name; she'll have to change it if she enters show biz) who did a great job.
I DID answer a huge stack of fan mail (real mail, not email, which is easier) this morning and that was one of my list of "you have to do this before..." tasks. One was a letter (my first) from Cambodia!
*Update: I prowled around and found www.timeforkids.com and you can get the interview...plus others...there.
ta DA!
Well, okay, technically it isn't "out" yet, but in today's mail I received the very first copy of THE WILLOUGHBYS and even though it is I think my 34th...maybe 35th?...book, it is still a thrill to see the finished product.. Not entirely unlike waiting nine months to have a baby and then seeing it for the first time. Fingers, toes, all intact. Nose still a work in progress but with possiblities. You hope people will share your affection for it.
Okay, the analogy breaks down a little. But there is some of the same whew, I did it, and here it is, world
feeling.
Thank you, Houghton Mifflin editors and designers!
Speaking of giving birth, my oldest daughter, whose birthday was two days ago, the painter/weaver/woodworker daughter who lives in San Francisco, has just arrived in Boston for the weekend, with her friend Steve and their dog Penny Lane. Every year I boringly once again tell her about the day she was born, when her father drove me to the hospital in New London, Connecticut, crossing a toll bridge from Groton, where we lived; and I said in a spritely fashion to the toll collector: "I'm having a baby today!" The toll booth guy looked at me with a "Huh?" look. Clearly it was not as exciting an event for him as it was for me.
Here's where you leave your heart...
My older daughter lives in San Francisco and is a painter, weaver, woodworker, and many other things, including speaker of Arabic!
Here's a recent painting by her.
High on a hill it calls to me...
This is the view from the home of friends in San Francisco with whom I have just spent the past few days. So I have been playing hookey, not working, though now that I'm back, it is catch-up time; 300+ emails were waiting for me on the website.
I go there at least once a year to see these same friends. The wife is an artist, and one time when I was visiting I took her to meet Ruth Heller, extraordinary illustrator who lived there, and who showed us through her studio before we went out to lunch together. We had all three hoped for more such get-togethers but Ruth died, sadly, before we could make that happen.
I do love SF. The weather is so much milder—I returned late Friday night to fresh snow in Boston, with more flurries today; and they are predicting below zero temperature in the morning—but I doubt if I could ever leave New England, especially with grandchildren here. And so many good friends.
Week after next I will go up to Maine, to the farm, and hole up for a little while to get some work done without distractions. My friend Kay, on sabattical from a university teaching job and working on a book, will come with me, and we will set ourselves up in two different offices in the house and plug away.
Alfie stayed at a new kennel while we were gone. This one sends him home with a little report card that comments on his eating, sleeping, and playing habits while in residence. It deemed him...yes, they really used this phrase..a "party animal." I'm going to take that to mean what it used to say on my children's kindergarten report cards: "Plays nicely with others."
Superbowl
OKay, it's only a game, it's only a game.
A heartbreaker, though!
