Eleven months I wrote this post about a first draft of a book I’d just finished.

It was supposed to be about an aspiring baseball player growing up on the streets of San Pedro de Macorís, “The Cradle of Shortstops.” It is still about him, but it is also about a sensitive American girl named Maya who takes an interest in the same player, years later when he is in the minor leagues and struggling. It is about a baseball blogger named Grace, and a Haitian girl named Bijou, and it’s about bees.

I’m pleased to say that this book has now found a home at Albert Whitman Books! It’s still a long road to publication day, but watch here for further announcements. (Photo by Stuart Williams)

And while I have you on the phone, I should tell you about the next issue of The Horn Book magazine, which provides reviews and commentary on children’s literature. The March/April issue will have a special section devoted to Beverly Cleary in honor of her 100th birthday, and my essay “Beverly Cleary and the Art of Growing Up” is included. I can’t say how flattered I am to be a part of this issue, celebrating a writer who has had such a huge impact on my own career: not just the shape of it, but the fact I chose it.

Eleven months I wrote this post about a first draft of a book I’d just finished.

It was supposed to be about an aspiring baseball player growing up on the streets of San Pedro de Macorís, “The Cradle of Shortstops.” It is still about him, but it is also about a sensitive American girl named Maya who takes an interest in the same player, years later when he is in the minor leagues and struggling. It is about a baseball blogger named Grace, and a Haitian girl named Bijou, and it’s about bees.

I’m pleased to say that this book has now found a home at Albert Whitman Books! It’s still a long road to publication day, but watch here for further announcements. (Photo by Stuart Williams)

And while I have you on the phone, I should tell you about the next issue of The Horn Book magazine, which provides reviews and commentary on children’s literature. The March/April issue will have a special section devoted to Beverly Cleary in honor of her 100th birthday, and my essay “Beverly Cleary and the Art of Growing Up” is included. I can’t say how flattered I am to be a part of this issue, celebrating a writer who has had such a huge impact on my own career: not just the shape of it, but the fact I chose it.

The best book I read in my nine-month adventure of reading books only women of color was Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I composed and deleted several “reviews,” but I found it hard to get a handle on the material. The truth is that I loved the book for its two deftly-drawn protagonists and their story, but didn’t know quite what to make of the bloggier parts of the book. Ifemelu, one protagonist, has a blog and the book includes many of her articles, which are wry commentaries on race in the U.S. Were these an opportunity for Adichie to include her own commentary? Or was she showing the inner workings of Ifemelu’s mind? I had a hard time correlating the observations made by Ifemelu in her blog with the third-person glimpses into her mind.

The passage I think about the most is one where she gets a sales call from a long distance company and has a friendly but awkward conversation with the telemarketer. It’s a loaded scene for a simple phone conversation.  She accepts his compliment that she “sounds totally American,” after she tells him she is from Nigeria, but later resents it. She tells him she calls London a lot and he says he will look up the rates for France; his astonishing ignorance of geography amuses her. She visualizes him as pudgy, white, and naive, and obsessed with video games. In particular, Ifemelu sort of pities the young man for not understanding the “roiling contradictions” of the real world.

Is an appreciation for such roiling contradictions present in her own blog entries? I don’t think they are. They are amusing for the most part, sometimes have a good insight or observation, but tend to be broad-brushed. How white people think and what black people experience are represented as universal truths without roiling contradictions. If I knew Ifemelu only through her blog, I would think what I think about many blogs: passingly entertaining, but shallow and quickly tiring.

My central question about the book is whether Adichie means for readers to be struck by that contrast. If so, it is not clear enough. If not, it is a problem with the book. Mind you, I still think it’s brilliant novel and I’ve recommended it to everyone, but the bloggy parts fail for me as a critique of social media (too subtle) and fail more if this whole notion of the wisdom attained from hardship and travel doesn’t come through in the ultimate representation of Ifemelu’s experience, her own writing.

In any case, I think there is a conversation worth having. As bloggy-type commentaries becomes a bigger and bigger part of how we gather information and form opinions, the fact that they rarely appreciate roiling contradictions is very much on my mind. The whole economy of the Internet, the way clicks are baited and things go viral, relies on being able to do a quick take: give a soft elbow to the ribs like you’re nudging a friend. Whether it’s outrage or an inside joke (or both), I feel like if the prevailing McLuhanesque message is one of affinity. We find the like minded and feel less lonely.

The problem is that those circles of affinity give us tunnel vision. We become less inclined to seek out opposing points of view, unless we mean to roast the author on Twitter with our like-minded friends. We become less inclined to express a slightly different point of view, because the response can be swift, unforgiving, and alienating. We become more inclined to go along with whatever everyone else is saying. And, over time, we become more like minded, more indoctrinated by the group, and more reactive to challenges from “outsiders.” From the inevitable fire-breathing Sanders-fan response to anything positive I say about Hillary Clinton, you’d barely know we have the same political values.

A while back a friend retweeted something about video games teaching you that when you’re encountering enemies, you know you are moving in the right direction. It had like a million retweets and comments that it was “brilliant.” For me it conveyed the central problem with getting your world view — like Imefelu’s telemarketer — from video games. You see not opponents, not good people with a different point of view, or even better information (heaven forbid), but “enemies.” And of course in video games, you never have a conversation. You hack and slash and defeat the enemies: that’s the point of the game. But I think this worldview has more to do with the effect of Twitter on a person’s worldview than playing video games.

Maybe I’m lapsing into my own simplicity by assuming people are as cut-and-dried as they seem in aggregate, and that they really stand behind every hastily retweeted platitude. But assuming that people were since in their appreciation of that sentiment, that life has no roiling contradictions, simply a path to find and follow, enemies to defeat, I have worries bigger than whatever we’re actually arguing about.

The best book I read in my nine-month adventure of reading books only women of color was Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I composed and deleted several “reviews,” but I found it hard to get a handle on the material. The truth is that I loved the book for its two deftly-drawn protagonists and their story, but didn’t know quite what to make of the bloggier parts of the book. Ifemelu, one protagonist, has a blog and the book includes many of her articles, which are wry commentaries on race in the U.S. Were these an opportunity for Adichie to include her own commentary? Or was she showing the inner workings of Ifemelu’s mind? I had a hard time correlating the observations made by Ifemelu in her blog with the third-person glimpses into her mind.

The passage I think about the most is one where she gets a sales call from a long distance company and has a friendly but awkward conversation with the telemarketer. It’s a loaded scene for a simple phone conversation.  She accepts his compliment that she “sounds totally American,” after she tells him she is from Nigeria, but later resents it. She tells him she calls London a lot and he says he will look up the rates for France; his astonishing ignorance of geography amuses her. She visualizes him as pudgy, white, and naive, and obsessed with video games. In particular, Ifemelu sort of pities the young man for not understanding the “roiling contradictions” of the real world.

Is an appreciation for such roiling contradictions present in her own blog entries? I don’t think they are. They are amusing for the most part, sometimes have a good insight or observation, but tend to be broad-brushed. How white people think and what black people experience are represented as universal truths without roiling contradictions. If I knew Ifemelu only through her blog, I would think what I think about many blogs: passingly entertaining, but shallow and quickly tiring.

My central question about the book is whether Adichie means for readers to be struck by that contrast. If so, it is not clear enough. If not, it is a problem with the book. Mind you, I still think it’s brilliant novel and I’ve recommended it to everyone, but the bloggy parts fail for me as a critique of social media (too subtle) and fail more if this whole notion of the wisdom attained from hardship and travel doesn’t come through in the ultimate representation of Ifemelu’s experience, her own writing.

In any case, I think there is a conversation worth having. As bloggy-type commentaries becomes a bigger and bigger part of how we gather information and form opinions, the fact that they rarely appreciate roiling contradictions is very much on my mind. The whole economy of the Internet, the way clicks are baited and things go viral, relies on being able to do a quick take: give a soft elbow to the ribs like you’re nudging a friend. Whether it’s outrage or an inside joke (or both), I feel like if the prevailing McLuhanesque message is one of affinity. We find the like minded and feel less lonely.

The problem is that those circles of affinity give us tunnel vision. We become less inclined to seek out opposing points of view, unless we mean to roast the author on Twitter with our like-minded friends. We become less inclined to express a slightly different point of view, because the response can be swift, unforgiving, and alienating. We become more inclined to go along with whatever everyone else is saying. And, over time, we become more like minded, more indoctrinated by the group, and more reactive to challenges from “outsiders.” From the inevitable fire-breathing Sanders-fan response to anything positive I say about Hillary Clinton, you’d barely know we have the same political values.

A while back a friend retweeted something about video games teaching you that when you’re encountering enemies, you know you are moving in the right direction. It had like a million retweets and comments that it was “brilliant.” For me it conveyed the central problem with getting your world view — like Imefelu’s telemarketer — from video games. You see not opponents, not good people with a different point of view, or even better information (heaven forbid), but “enemies.” And of course in video games, you never have a conversation. You hack and slash and defeat the enemies: that’s the point of the game. But I think this worldview has more to do with the effect of Twitter on a person’s worldview than playing video games.

Maybe I’m lapsing into my own simplicity by assuming people are as cut-and-dried as they seem in aggregate, and that they really stand behind every hastily retweeted platitude. But assuming that people were since in their appreciation of that sentiment, that life has no roiling contradictions, simply a path to find and follow, enemies to defeat, I have worries bigger than whatever we’re actually arguing about.

My son is really into fighting. He watches shows like Power Rangers and Ninjago. He likes superheroes and video games. I think his favorite thing right now is to watching Daddy guide Link through a boss level in a Zelda game. (Fortunately for Daddy, the games are very forgiving). I think that he might be… resolving something? Working something out, mentally and emotionally? Maybe it empowers him to see the snake people get beat? I dunno. I know he likes fighting and no stern look or lecture from me is going to change it.

Of course he wants books about fighting, but apart from uninspired picture books derived from superhero movies, the children’s book industry has been derelict in providing books featuring hand-to-hand combat for kids like B.

See a need; fill a need. I’ve tried, in fits and starts, to create characters that fight, and to give them monsters to fight, but I lapse back into my muddled view of the universe. The monsters in my imagination develop a point of view; not one I particularly agree with but one I can at least comprehend. The heroes are timid and do a lot of soul searching instead of slaying. They argue with the monsters but never raise a blade. By the end of chapter 3 they’ve become friends and have no antagonist to deal with.

This whole business is against my grain. I lack moral certainty. I am against violence, having been on the wrong end of it. At the same time, I can see the satisfaction to calling up your fears and giving it form and cutting its head off. From Beowulf to Star Wars, that’s a story form that will never go out of fashion. I think humans crave it, and especially little ones. Oh, it’s, you know. Profitable. Cough.

But I can’t do it. I don’t know why. It looks easy. Walk on the muscled hero, have him say something clever. Walk on the snarling beast. Have it spit and snarl. “He swung his sword and pierced the wretched creature’s neck.” Fanfare and big advances. The end.

I’ll keep trying. You know, for the kid.

My son is really into fighting. He watches shows like Power Rangers and Ninjago. He likes superheroes and video games. I think his favorite thing right now is to watching Daddy guide Link through a boss level in a Zelda game. (Fortunately for Daddy, the games are very forgiving). I think that he might be… resolving something? Working something out, mentally and emotionally? Maybe it empowers him to see the snake people get beat? I dunno. I know he likes fighting and no stern look or lecture from me is going to change it.

Of course he wants books about fighting, but apart from uninspired picture books derived from superhero movies, the children’s book industry has been derelict in providing books featuring hand-to-hand combat for kids like B.

See a need; fill a need. I’ve tried, in fits and starts, to create characters that fight, and to give them monsters to fight, but I lapse back into my muddled view of the universe. The monsters in my imagination develop a point of view; not one I particularly agree with but one I can at least comprehend. The heroes are timid and do a lot of soul searching instead of slaying. They argue with the monsters but never raise a blade. By the end of chapter 3 they’ve become friends and have no antagonist to deal with.

This whole business is against my grain. I lack moral certainty. I am against violence, having been on the wrong end of it. At the same time, I can see the satisfaction to calling up your fears and giving it form and cutting its head off. From Beowulf to Star Wars, that’s a story form that will never go out of fashion. I think humans crave it, and especially little ones. Oh, it’s, you know. Profitable. Cough.

But I can’t do it. I don’t know why. It looks easy. Walk on the muscled hero, have him say something clever. Walk on the snarling beast. Have it spit and snarl. “He swung his sword and pierced the wretched creature’s neck.” Fanfare and big advances. The end.

I’ll keep trying. You know, for the kid.

In the 1990s and early 2000s I was an ardent supporter of Minnesota Senator Paul Wellstone; he’s the only candidate I ever volunteered for and there were throngs of misty-eyed 20-somethings who wanted to do so, because Wellstone was the most progressive and honest candidate who’d been elected to higher office. When he died in 2002 I attended a memorial service for a colleague who was one of his closest advisers and died on the same ill-fated flight, which was one of the saddest in my life. And at that memorial service, talking about Mary, I remember saying something positive and hopeful about Hillary Clinton one day being president, because I felt that she would carry the banner that Paul and Mary had carried, particularly her interest in healthcare and education.

Why am I reflecting on that now? Because at the time there seemed to be little question among a group of progressives that Hillary Clinton was “one of us,” and somehow in the intervening fourteen years she’s become the establishment and even the enemy. I’m wondering why that is, and whether it has anything in particular to do with her politics or if it’s an imagined splintering. It’s not hard to imagine Wellstone, had he lived, running the same kind of fiery campaign of truth as Bernie Sanders is now. But as a Wellstone supporter I sure never say Hillary as an opponent. Bill had his critics, but Hillary was admired. People had bumper stickers that said “I would vote for Clinton but she’s not running.”

Yet, when Hillary running became a reality, and not a bumper sticker joke, the tone changed. What surprises me isn’t the contempt from the right, but the contempt from the left. A lot of it is vague and dismissive.

I supported Obama in 2008 but it was with no hard feelings for Hillary Clinton, but I think that particular primary race exposed a virulence on the American left… both racism and sexism became a part of the open dialogue, especially because social media was becoming a part of a presidential election for the first time and the filters were off. But as that endless primary wore on there seemed to be more and more enthusiasm for, if not Obama himself, for the idea of Obama — that an African American with a funny name and “exotic” background could win the presidency told a better story about America than the forty-odd white men who preceded him.

How come that same spirit has not gathered around Hillary Clinton? Why are white liberal men suddenly “feeling the Bern” instead of finding the same call to make America more like the land of opportunity it is rumored to be? How come the idea of Hillary Clinton hasn’t inspired men the way the idea of Barack Obama inspired progressive white people?

I think that there is a failure of progressive spirit in the sudden enthusiasm for Sanders, to keep finding excuses not to vote for a woman president. To be frank, I think men are happy to get off the hook. They can vote for an avatar instead of voting for a woman. To be equally frank, that must have been at least a part of my enthusiasm for Obama in 2008.

True, there is some resentment for Hillary that’s borne of her long history and familiarity. In a way it’s like an organization turning down an inside candidate who has labored for forty years inside the company and risen to a minor executive position in favor of a man with a shiny resume from elsewhere. You can have a long list of minor grievances (and no loyalty) to a woman you’ve worked with and for, but a new person is a blank slate, presumed to have all the right opinions, especially when he promises to fix everything. I think men are allowed to have their faults, to win out over Mr. Tabularasa, but women are not. It’s one of the quiet ways the glass ceiling remains intact.

Obama was Mr. Tabularasa in 2008, and he knew it. In The Audacity of Hope, he wrote in the prologue that he had become, “a blank screen on which people of vastly different political stripes project their own views.” I think he even knew that he benefited from the resentment of men — including liberal men — for women who rise above their station. Mind you, I think he’s been a fine president and is a good person. But he unarguably benefited from sexist backlash in 2008, even while withstanding and prevailing against racist backlash.

Now I think it’s time for American men to man up and elect a woman. I’m not satisfied with the dismissive attacks on Clinton as an explanation for voting against her, or the promise from a guy that he’ll support a woman president when Elizabeth Warren or some other Ms. Tabularasa runs, somebody with enough ideological purity to deserve the support of men, like a political Virgin Mary without original sin. A fundamental difference between men and women is that men are allowed to have warts. Heck, that other Clinton was wartier than a professional toad handler and we elected him twice.

And if Clinton does get passed over for Mr. Tabularasa, I think there needs to be a little soul searching on the left about why women are our biggest voting bloc and take on a lioness’s share of the volunteering but aren’t qualified to lead.

In the 1990s and early 2000s I was an ardent supporter of Minnesota Senator Paul Wellstone; he’s the only candidate I ever volunteered for and there were throngs of misty-eyed 20-somethings who wanted to do so, because Wellstone was the most progressive and honest candidate who’d been elected to higher office. When he died in 2002 I attended a memorial service for a colleague who was one of his closest advisers and died on the same ill-fated flight, which was one of the saddest in my life. And at that memorial service, talking about Mary, I remember saying something positive and hopeful about Hillary Clinton one day being president, because I felt that she would carry the banner that Paul and Mary had carried, particularly her interest in healthcare and education.

Why am I reflecting on that now? Because at the time there seemed to be little question among a group of progressives that Hillary Clinton was “one of us,” and somehow in the intervening fourteen years she’s become the establishment and even the enemy. I’m wondering why that is, and whether it has anything in particular to do with her politics or if it’s an imagined splintering. It’s not hard to imagine Wellstone, had he lived, running the same kind of fiery campaign of truth as Bernie Sanders is now. But as a Wellstone supporter I sure never saw Hillary as an opponent. Bill had his critics, but Hillary was admired. People had bumper stickers that said “I would vote for Clinton but she’s not running.”

Yet, when Hillary running became a reality, and not a bumper sticker joke, the tone changed. What surprises me isn’t the contempt from the right, but the contempt from the left. A lot of it is vague and dismissive.

I supported Obama in 2008 but it was with no hard feelings for Hillary Clinton, but I think that particular primary race exposed a virulence on the American left… both racism and sexism became a part of the open dialogue, especially because social media was becoming a part of a presidential election for the first time and the filters were off. But as that endless primary wore on there seemed to be more and more enthusiasm for, if not Obama himself, for the idea of Obama — that an African American with a funny name and “exotic” background could win the presidency told a better story about America than the forty-odd white men who preceded him.

How come that same spirit has not gathered around Hillary Clinton? Why are white liberal men suddenly “feeling the Bern” instead of finding the same call to make America more like the land of opportunity it is rumored to be? How come the idea of Hillary Clinton hasn’t inspired men the way the idea of Barack Obama inspired progressive white people?

I think that there is a failure of progressive spirit in the sudden enthusiasm for Sanders, to keep finding excuses not to vote for a woman president. To be frank, I think men are happy to get off the hook. They can vote for an avatar instead of voting for a woman. To be equally frank, that must have been at least a part of my enthusiasm for Obama in 2008.

True, there is some resentment for Hillary that’s borne of her long history and familiarity. In a way it’s like an organization turning down an inside candidate who has labored for forty years inside the company and risen to a minor executive position in favor of a man with a shiny resume from elsewhere. You can have a long list of minor grievances (and no loyalty) to a woman you’ve worked with and for, but a new person is a blank slate, presumed to have all the right opinions, especially when he promises to fix everything. I think men are allowed to have their faults, to win out over Mr. Tabularasa, but women are not. It’s one of the quiet ways the glass ceiling remains intact.

Obama was Mr. Tabularasa in 2008, and he knew it. In The Audacity of Hope, he wrote in the prologue that he had become, “a blank screen on which people of vastly different political stripes project their own views.” I think he even knew that he benefited from the resentment of men — including liberal men — for women who rise above their station. Mind you, I think he’s been a fine president and is a good person. But he unarguably benefited from sexist backlash in 2008, even while withstanding and prevailing against racist backlash.

Now I think it’s time for American men to man up and elect a woman. I’m not satisfied with the dismissive attacks on Clinton as an explanation for voting against her, or the promise from a guy that he’ll support a woman president when Elizabeth Warren or some other Ms. Tabularasa runs, somebody with enough ideological purity to deserve the support of men, like a political Virgin Mary without original sin. A fundamental difference between men and women is that men are allowed to have warts. Heck, that other Clinton was wartier than a professional toad handler and we elected him twice.

And if Clinton does get passed over for Mr. Tabularasa, I think there needs to be a little soul searching on the left about why women are our biggest voting bloc and take on a lioness’s share of the volunteering but aren’t qualified to lead.

Remember when I said I was teaching this class and hoped people would sign up? That was way back in November. Now the class is only two and a half weeks away!

The Art of Growing Up

01/27/16–03/16/16 | Wednesday | 6:00-8:00 p.m.

Ages: Adult

Location: Open Book-Loft Classroom (1011 South Washington Ave., Minneapolis, MN 55415)

Reg $280.00 | Mem $252.00 | Low inc. $196.00

In this class we’ll revisit two iconic middle-grade series: Beverly Cleary’s Ramona and Judy Blume’s Fudge. These series chart the milestones of growing up without dead mothers or anyone needing to save the world. In the first part of each class, we will discuss two or three crucial moments in the book under discussion and how the comparatively low stakes can feel high in the hands of a skilled author. We will also have a sustained discussion about why such books matter—how “quiet” books that chronicle the lives of ordinary children can be comforting companions to young readers. In the second half of each class, students will bring their own writing and/or favorite books into the discussion. Each participant will have at least one opportunity (and obligation) to do so.

Students are encouraged to read or re-read Ramona the Pest,Ramona and Her Mother, and Ramona Quimby, Age 8 by Beverly Cleary and Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, and Superfudge by Judy Blume.

Sign up here!

The last two Saturdays I was out and about in my own neighborhood! First I read along with authors Sarah Warren and Shannon Gibney and literacy advocate Chad Kempe at The Warren Arts Habitat which is about one hundred yards from our back door (I’ve never measured). This event was extraordinary — Sarah and Shannon were fantastic to read with, and there was a wonderful group of people, many of them in the neighborhood. I even met a guy from the D.R. who was really interested in my latest baseball novel (which I read from). I had a warm happy feeling about this for days.

Today was one of the coolest events I’ve ever done — I did a book talk at North Regional Library (two blocks from B’s school!) followed by a robot demo by the Herobotics club at Patrick Henry High… it was like the characters in my novel Winter of the Robots had come to life! (The littlest person is my assistant, not a member of the team).

I talked about my favorite robot books from Asimov to Yaccarino, then the Herobotics club showed some of their creations. Byron got to operate a robot! At both events my wife had a great robot craft for the kiddos. Even the herobotics team took a break to make paper bots.

I received a Minnesota State Arts Board grant to support my latest work, and these events were done to fulfill my obligation to the voters of Minnesota. But after doing them I realize the events are really what the grant is all about. Getting out in the community, promoting reading and robots, has been the highlight of my year. We really did reach new people and new readers. I’m lucky to live in a state that values and supports the arts as much as Minnesota does, and lucky to live in a neighborhood where people turn out to support local authors.

Thanks to Larry and Catherine, Duane and Connie for their support at these events! And a huge thanks to Sarah, Shannon, Chad, and the Herobotics team for making these wonderful events! This thanksgiving week I have a lot of thanks to give.

The last two Saturdays I was out and about in my own neighborhood! First I read along with authors Sarah Warren and Shannon Gibney and literacy advocate Chad Kempe at The Warren Arts Habitat which is about one hundred yards from our back door (I’ve never measured). This event was extraordinary — Sarah and Shannon were fantastic to read with, and there was a wonderful group of people, many of them in the neighborhood. I even met a guy from the D.R. who was really interested in my latest baseball novel (which I read from). I had a warm happy feeling about this for days.

Today was one of the coolest events I’ve ever done — I did a book talk at North Regional Library (two blocks from B’s school!) followed by a robot demo by the Herobotics club at Patrick Henry High… it was like the characters in my novel Winter of the Robots had come to life! (The littlest person is my assistant, not a member of the team).

I talked about my favorite robot books from Asimov to Yaccarino, then the Herobotics club showed some of their creations. Byron got to operate a robot! At both events my wife had a great robot craft for the kiddos. Even the herobotics team took a break to make paper bots.

I received a Minnesota State Arts Board grant to support my latest work, and these events were done to fulfill my obligation to the voters of Minnesota. But after doing them I realize the events are really what the grant is all about. Getting out in the community, promoting reading and robots, has been the highlight of my year. We really did reach new people and new readers. I’m lucky to live in a state that values and supports the arts as much as Minnesota does, and lucky to live in a neighborhood where people turn out to support local authors.

Thanks to Larry and Catherine, Duane and Connie for their support at these events! And a huge thanks to Sarah, Shannon, Chad, and the Herobotics team for making these wonderful events! This thanksgiving week I have a lot of thanks to give.

I’m teaching a Loft class this winter that’s live and in person, inspired by my many posts here.

The Art of Growing Up

01/27/16–03/16/16 | Wednesday | 6:00-8:00 p.m.

Ages: Adult

Location: Open Book-Loft Classroom (1011 South Washington Ave., Minneapolis, MN 55415)

Reg $280.00 | Mem $252.00 | Low inc. $196.00

In this class we’ll revisit two iconic middle-grade series: Beverly Cleary’s Ramona and Judy Blume’s Fudge. These series chart the milestones of growing up without dead mothers or anyone needing to save the world. In the first part of each class, we will discuss two or three crucial moments in the book under discussion and how the comparatively low stakes can feel high in the hands of a skilled author. We will also have a sustained discussion about why such books matter—how “quiet” books that chronicle the lives of ordinary children can be comforting companions to young readers. In the second half of each class, students will bring their own writing and/or favorite books into the discussion. Each participant will have at least one opportunity (and obligation) to do so.

Students are encouraged to read or re-read Ramona the Pest,Ramona and Her Mother, and Ramona Quimby, Age 8 by Beverly Cleary and Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, and Superfudge by Judy Blume.

Sign up here!

I’m teaching a Loft class this winter that’s live and in person, inspired by my many posts here.

The Art of Growing Up

01/27/16–03/16/16 | Wednesday | 6:00-8:00 p.m.

Ages: Adult

Location: Open Book-Loft Classroom (1011 South Washington Ave., Minneapolis, MN 55415)

Reg $280.00 | Mem $252.00 | Low inc. $196.00

In this class we’ll revisit two iconic middle-grade series: Beverly Cleary’s Ramona and Judy Blume’s Fudge. These series chart the milestones of growing up without dead mothers or anyone needing to save the world. In the first part of each class, we will discuss two or three crucial moments in the book under discussion and how the comparatively low stakes can feel high in the hands of a skilled author. We will also have a sustained discussion about why such books matter—how “quiet” books that chronicle the lives of ordinary children can be comforting companions to young readers. In the second half of each class, students will bring their own writing and/or favorite books into the discussion. Each participant will have at least one opportunity (and obligation) to do so.

Students are encouraged to read or re-read Ramona the Pest,Ramona and Her Mother, and Ramona Quimby, Age 8 by Beverly Cleary and Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great, and Superfudge by Judy Blume.

Sign up here!

I think I broke my Facebook. I deleted all of my past posts and now nobody sees the new ones… do doubt due to algorithms that make it impossible to appear in the “feeds” of others unless you have a critical mass of past likes. Kind of like publishing, I guess. You have to be a big deal to be a big deal.

But do I want to trust my public persona to algorithms anyway?  Deep down inside, even in the age of Kardashians, I kind of think that a fame based on being shoved in people’s faces is not the same as having, for lack of better word, a reputation. Some desperate, lonely part of me wants people to seek me out, to find me on the bookshelf, to enter my URL, at the very least to “subscribe” to my posts via email.

So maybe this is for the best. To the five people who see this post because they chose to see it, I thank you for stopping by.

I think I broke my Facebook. I deleted all of my past posts and now nobody sees the new ones… do doubt due to algorithms that make it impossible to appear in the “feeds” of others unless you have a critical mass of past likes. Kind of like publishing, I guess. You have to be a big deal to be a big deal.

But do I want to trust my public persona to algorithms anyway?  Deep down inside, even in the age of Kardashians, I kind of think that a fame based on being shoved in people’s faces is not the same as having, for lack of better word, a reputation. Some desperate, lonely part of me wants people to seek me out, to find me on the bookshelf, to enter my URL, at the very least to “subscribe” to my posts via email.

So maybe this is for the best. To the five people who see this post because they chose to see it, I thank you for stopping by.

I have two events in November, both cool, and both in stone-throwing territory from my own home… these are both free, open to the public, and fun for all ages.

COOKIES AND AUTHORS!

Join me and wonderful local authors Shannon Gibney and Sarah Warren as we talk about our work, and have snacks. There will also be someone from the terrific-awesome Mid-Continent Oceanographic Institute, a local nonprofit dedicated to helping kids with their writing.

What do the four of us have in common? Alas, it is a secret, but if you come, I will whisper it to you and deny it later.

Saturday, November 14, 2:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
The Warren (An Artist Habitat), 4400 Osseo Drive, Minneapolis

DAY OF THE ROBOTS!

Join me and the Herobotics team at Patrick Henry High School in North Minneapolis for a fun afternoon of books, bots, and bars (you know, cookies… I’m trying to stay alliterate here). I will talk about my favorite robot books, which of course includes one set in North Minneapolis (cough). I am so excited the real-life counterparts of my characters will be on hand to talk to younger kids about what goes into bot-building.

Saturday, November 21, 2:00 p.m.- 4:00 p.m.
North Regional Library, 1315 Lowry Avenue North, Minneapolis

Both of these events are made possible because… Kurtis Scaletta is a fiscal year 2015 recipient of an Artist Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation by the Minnesota State Legislature and by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Please come and tell your friends to come!

I have two events in November, both cool, and both in stone-throwing territory from my own home… these are both free, open to the public, and fun for all ages.

COOKIES AND AUTHORS!

Join me and wonderful local authors Shannon Gibney and Sarah Warren as we talk about our work, and have snacks. There will also be someone from the terrific-awesome Mid-Continent Oceanographic Institute, a local nonprofit dedicated to helping kids with their writing.

What do the four of us have in common? Alas, it is a secret, but if you come, I will whisper it to you and deny it later.

Saturday, November 14, 2:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
The Warren (An Artist Habitat), 4400 Osseo Drive, Minneapolis

DAY OF THE ROBOTS!

Join me and the Herobotics team from Patrick Henry High School in North Minneapolis for a fun afternoon of books, bots, and bars (you know, cookies… I’m trying to stay alliterate here). I will talk about my favorite robot books, which of course includes one set in North Minneapolis (cough). I am so excited the real-life counterparts of my characters will be on hand to talk to younger kids about what goes into bot-building.

Saturday, November 21, 2:00 p.m.- 4:00 p.m.
North Regional Library, 1315 Lowry Avenue North, Minneapolis

Both of these events are made possible because… Kurtis Scaletta is a fiscal year 2015 recipient of an Artist Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation by the Minnesota State Legislature and by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Please come and tell your friends to come!

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind was not the book I expected to read, and the title seems to misrepresent the book. There is history here, sure, but it is more a philosophical treatise than an historical one. Author Yuval Harari suggests, among other things, that:

• Humans are inherently bad for the planet, having driven animals to extinction well before recorded history began.
• Even extinction is a better fate for animals than being domesticated, save a few (cats and dogs) kept as pets and a few more (sheep, no other examples) who manage to have decent lives while still being exploited for their resources.
• The agricultural revolution was terrible for humanity. He even suggests that wheat domesticated humanity vs. the other way around.
• Human Rights are among the fictions we create, like gods and corporations.
• Money is the one true religion.

Any reader is likely to find something here to be challenged by, perhaps even outraged by, if so inclined. I found it rather interesting and provocative, even if Professor Harari (it is hard to think of him as anything but a professor, the sort of iconoclastic one who divides classes into ardent admirers and petitioners who want him fired) might overhammer a few nails. In fact, his tendency to go back and remind you what he just said six times is part of his professorial wont.

In particular I keep thinking about his description/indictment of “romantic consumerism,” as the prevailing western ideology, one which unites people across the political and religious spectrum. He puts this in terms where most people who do not consider themselves to be materialistic would still be very much on the hook: the idea of betterment through travel and the arts, for example. It feels true on a visceral level and gives a vocabulary to thoughts I’ve had and could not articulate.

He also describes the myth/misconception of meritocracy, which is also compelling and important. I think that even progressives who know the statistics of success will attribute their own fortunes to their virtues, even if they magnanimously decline to blame the failures of others on their character flaws.  These are mere fictions used to support a hierarchy. I would say an “unjust hierarchy,” except that justice itself is, by Harari’s explicit reasoning, a fiction.

The religious and the idealistic will find little quarter given, but I don’t I would describe him as misanthropic. Sapiens definitely holds up some unpleasant truths about our particular species that might be easier to dismiss than think about.

I would recommend this book to anyone wanting a little brain food. I enjoyed having it as an audiobook; it was like having a pedantic but interesting passenger as I toodled around town.

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind was not the book I expected to read, and the title seems to misrepresent the book. There is history here, sure, but it is more a philosophical treatise than an historical one. Author Yuval Harari suggests, among other things, that:

• Humans are inherently bad for the planet, having driven animals to extinction well before recorded history began.
• Even extinction is a better fate for animals than being domesticated, save a few (cats and dogs) kept as pets and a few more (sheep, no other examples) who manage to have decent lives while still being exploited for their resources.
• The agricultural revolution was terrible for humanity. He even suggests that wheat domesticated humanity vs. the other way around.
• Human Rights are among the fictions we create, like gods and corporations.
• Money is the one true religion.

Any reader is likely to find something here to be challenged by, perhaps even outraged by, if so inclined. I found it rather interesting and provocative, even if Professor Harari (it is hard to think of him as anything but a professor, the sort of iconoclastic one who divides classes into ardent admirers and petitioners who want him fired) might overhammer a few nails. In fact, his tendency to go back and remind you what he just said six times is part of his professorial wont.

In particular I keep thinking about his description/indictment of “romantic consumerism,” as the prevailing western ideology, one which unites people across the political and religious spectrum. He puts this in terms where most people who do not consider themselves to be materialistic would still be very much on the hook: the idea of betterment through travel and the arts, for example. It feels true on a visceral level and gives a vocabulary to thoughts I’ve had and could not articulate.

He also describes the myth/misconception of meritocracy, which is also compelling and important. I think that even progressives who know the statistics of success will attribute their own fortunes to their virtues, even if they magnanimously decline to blame the failures of others on their character flaws.  These are mere fictions used to support a hierarchy. I would say an “unjust hierarchy,” except that justice itself is, by Harari’s explicit reasoning, a fiction.

The religious and the idealistic will find little quarter given, but I don’t I would describe him as misanthropic. Sapiens definitely holds up some unpleasant truths about our particular species that might be easier to dismiss than think about.

I would recommend this book to anyone wanting a little brain food. I enjoyed having it as an audiobook; it was like having a pedantic but interesting passenger as I toodled around town.

I’ve seen a few people posting this graphic on Facebook, in response to a particular issue which this post is not about. I’ve been thinking about the quote itself.

Whether minds can be changed by eloquent quotes, I don’t know, but I do think President Jefferson here captures the mood (or a mood) of the nation’s founding, the pervasive optimism of the enlightenment, which was not especially religious, even if the men themselves were.

I think this idea has fallen upon hard times with a large number of people; the idea that our national story is one of discovery and development. Among some, there is distrust of science. Among others, profound unease about the changing “manners and opinions” of the 20th and 21st Centuries.

Even among those who live by this myth — and it is, after all, a myth, in the broader sense that means a communal narrative of origin and destiny — even among those who live by this myth, I feel like faith in it erodes; people speak with confidence about the right and wrong side of history, projecting a jury of our descendants who have the final verdict, even while lamenting the ebbing tide of progress.

I have mixed feelings myself about this narrative… I don’t completely accept this idea of “barbarous ancestors,” or that humanity has had a childhood which it can outgrow, that we are fit for bigger britches now than we did before. It is a more compelling myth, to me, than one of divine creation and pending apocalypse, but I feel like it is historical to suppose we have only recently matured, after sixty or seventy thousand years of existence.

I have grave concerns about the immediate future and little hope for the far future, for purely scientific reasons that have to do with population and ecology. Whatever our barbarous ancestors did, they lived for many millennia, adapting to climactic and other changes, without making the place uninhabitable. They were more or less leaderless and casteless. Their lives were short but the world was without end.

I’ve seen a few people posting this graphic on Facebook, in response to a particular issue which this post is not about. I’ve been thinking about the quote itself.

Whether minds can be changed by eloquent quotes, I don’t know, but I do think President Jefferson here captures the mood (or a mood) of the nation’s founding, the pervasive optimism of the enlightenment, which was not especially religious, even if the men themselves were.

I think this idea has fallen upon hard times with a large number of people; the idea that our national story is one of discovery and development. Among some, there is distrust of science. Among others, profound unease about the changing “manners and opinions” of the 20th and 21st Centuries.

Even among those who live by this myth — and it is, after all, a myth, in the broader sense that means a communal narrative of origin and destiny — even among those who live by this myth, I feel like faith in it erodes; people speak with confidence about the right and wrong side of history, projecting a jury of our descendants who have the final verdict, even while lamenting the ebbing tide of progress.

I have mixed feelings myself about this narrative… I don’t completely accept this idea of “barbarous ancestors,” or that humanity has had a childhood which it can outgrow, that we are fit for bigger britches now than we did before. It is a more compelling myth, to me, than one of divine creation and pending apocalypse, but I feel like it is ahistorical to suppose we have only recently matured, after sixty or seventy thousand years of existence.

I have grave concerns about the immediate future and little hope for the far future, for purely scientific reasons that have to do with population and ecology. Whatever our barbarous ancestors did, they lived for many millennia, adapting to climactic and other changes, without making the place uninhabitable. They were more or less leaderless and casteless. Their lives were short but the world was without end.

The title of Shannon Gibney’s debut YA novel, See No Color, has a resonance for people (like me) who were around in the 1980s — “Love See No Color,” was a popular motto, often emblazoned on T shirts, and generally seen (by white people, at least) as an idealistic goal: Color didn’t matter! We could all be color blind together and put the terrible past behind us!

Gibney’s book is a critique of that trope. The protagonist, Alexandra “Little” Kirtridge, is in a perfect position to examine it, as the African American adopted daughter of a wealthy white family. Her father is a former professional baseball player and still obsesses on the game as a father and as a coach. Alex is perhaps his favorite project, a high-school girl who plays on teams of boys and excels. The shared love for baseball anchors a wonderfully described father-daughter relationship, but that relationship begins to fray at the seams when Alex discovers her biological father has been trying to contact her for years and her adopted parents have kept his letters a secret. That plus a black boyfriend have Alex doing a little soul searching.

The Kirtridges say repeatedly that race doesn’t matter, and that they (the reader winces) never “saw” Alex “as black.” But of course, Alex is black, and begins to wonder what’s wrong with that, or why her parents would refuse to see it. She begins to realize that she’s been kept from her family and cultural history.

Gibney builds sympathy for the Kirtridges while showing readers how deeply flawed their reasoning is. They are kind, generous, loving parents; they are also wrong. Young adult fiction has been called “morally simple,” but here is one of many books that challenges that pert assumption (as does any book from Carolrhoda Lab). Real parents can be both lovable and frustrating, and Gibney illustrates that beautifully. Alex is complicated herself — her resentment of her parents’ biological children is conveyed with moving honesty. As a child from a well-off family, she also struggles with judging the more working-class family of her boyfriend.

Gibney is at her best describing family relationships, and I look forward to reading more from her. I happen to know that her second book is set in Liberia — an interesting direction to take after a debut novel about baseball and adoption. ;-)

The title of Shannon Gibney’s debut YA novel, See No Color, has a resonance for people (like me) who were around in the 1980s — “Love See No Color,” was a popular motto, often emblazoned on T shirts, and generally seen (by white people, at least) as an idealistic goal: Color didn’t matter! We could all be color blind together and put the terrible past behind us!

Gibney’s book is a critique of that trope. The protagonist, Alexandra “Little” Kirtridge, is in a perfect position to examine it, as the African American adopted daughter of a wealthy white family. Her father is a former professional baseball player and still obsesses on the game as a father and as a coach. Alex is perhaps his favorite project, a high-school girl who plays on teams of boys and excels. The shared love for baseball anchors a wonderfully described father-daughter relationship, but that relationship begins to fray at the seams when Alex discovers her biological father has been trying to contact her for years and her adopted parents have kept his letters a secret. That plus a black boyfriend have Alex doing a little soul searching.

The Kirtridges say repeatedly that race doesn’t matter, and that they (the reader winces) never “saw” Alex “as black.” But of course, Alex is black, and begins to wonder what’s wrong with that, or why her parents would refuse to see it. She begins to realize that she’s been kept from her family and cultural history.

Gibney builds sympathy for the Kirtridges while showing readers how deeply flawed their reasoning is. They are kind, generous, loving parents; they are also wrong. Young adult fiction has been called “morally simple,” but here is one of many books that challenges that pert assumption (as does any book from Carolrhoda Lab). Real parents can be both lovable and frustrating, and Gibney illustrates that beautifully. Alex is complicated herself — her resentment of her parents’ biological children is conveyed with moving honesty. As a child from a well-off family, she also struggles with judging the more working-class family of her boyfriend.

Gibney is at her best describing family relationships, and I look forward to reading more from her. I happen to know that her second book is set in Liberia — an interesting direction to take after a debut novel about baseball and adoption. ;-)

In author circles, particularly those writing fantasy and science-fiction, there’s a lot of talk about “world building,” which I visualize as writing ad-hoc descriptions of physical and political structures. (I know world building is more than that; I can’t help what I visualize.)

So I now use the expression “culture building” knowing that “world building” encompasses that, but finding that gets more at what I would want to do in a work of speculative fiction, and because it gets more to the heart of the matter. How are these humans (or animals, or aliens) human, and what shape is their humanity? I came across this incredible list, written by the anthropologist George P. Murdock (via E.O. Wilson; you might have seen that coming), who sought to create a comprehensive list of all the human cultures he’d encountered. The list follows.

1. age-grading
2. athletic sports
3. bodily adornment
4. calendar
5. cleanliness training
6. community organization
7. cooking
8. cooperative labor
9. cosmology
10. courtship
11. dancing
12. decorative art
13. divination
14. division of labor
15. dream interpretation
16. education
17. eschatology
18. ethics
19. ethnobotany*
20. etiquette
21. faith healing
22. family feasting
23. fire making
24. folklore
25. food taboos
26. funeral rites
27. games
28. gestures
29. gift giving
30. government
31. greetings
32. hair styles
33. hospitality
34. housing
35. hygiene**
36. incest taboos
37. inheritance rules
38. joking
39. kin groups
40. kinship nomenclature
41. language
42. law
43. luck superstitions
44. magic
45. marriage
46. mealtimes
47. medicine
48. obstetrics
49. penal sanctions
50. personal names
51. population policy
52. postnatal care
53. pregnancy usages
54. property rights
55. propitiation of supernatural beings
56. puberty customs
57. religious ritual
58. residence rules
59. sexual restrictions
60. soul concepts
61. status differentiation
62. surgery
63. tool making
64. trade
65. visiting
66. weaving
67. weather control

It’s meant to be descriptive, but I think it could be to creative writers — like Joseph Campbell’s work — prescriptive, a means of planning. Murdock’s list is a series of hints and suggestions to creators of imagined and imaginary cultures the many things they might consider working into their book. As I prepare myself to delve into a project that would require full-scale world/culture building, and wondering if I am up to the task, I find this list is extremely helpful. Each item is a question to answer, a challenge that leads me to fully develop my world… and some could lead to passages, with key plot points and character development, that might not have occurred to me otherwise. I don’t think I’ll need to plod people through ALL 67, but I know I would return to this list again and again for ideas.  I also see those points that other authors covered, that made their books rich and wonderful, whether or not they actually read anthropology books: Rowling and 2, Jacques and 22, Richard Adams and 15. They might have had muses whispering in their ear, but for me this list will help me fake it.

* Because I had to look it up: the scientific study of the traditional knowledge and customs of a people concerning plants and their medical, religious, and other uses.

** If, like me, much of your career has been charting the lives of middle-school-aged boys, this one is optional.

In author circles, particularly those writing fantasy and science-fiction, there’s a lot of talk about “world building,” which I visualize as writing ad-hoc descriptions of physical and political structures. (I know world building is more than that; I can’t help what I visualize.)

So I now use the expression “culture building” knowing that “world building” encompasses that, but finding that gets more at what I would want to do in a work of speculative fiction, and because it gets more to the heart of the matter. How are these humans (or animals, or aliens) human, and what shape is their humanity? I came across this incredible list, written by the anthropologist George P. Murdock (via E.O. Wilson; you might have seen that coming), who sought to create a comprehensive list of all the human cultures he’d encountered. The list follows.

1. age-grading
2. athletic sports
3. bodily adornment
4. calendar
5. cleanliness training
6. community organization
7. cooking
8. cooperative labor
9. cosmology
10. courtship
11. dancing
12. decorative art
13. divination
14. division of labor
15. dream interpretation
16. education
17. eschatology
18. ethics
19. ethnobotany*
20. etiquette
21. faith healing
22. family feasting
23. fire making
24. folklore
25. food taboos
26. funeral rites
27. games
28. gestures
29. gift giving
30. government
31. greetings
32. hair styles
33. hospitality
34. housing
35. hygiene**
36. incest taboos
37. inheritance rules
38. joking
39. kin groups
40. kinship nomenclature
41. language
42. law
43. luck superstitions
44. magic
45. marriage
46. mealtimes
47. medicine
48. obstetrics
49. penal sanctions
50. personal names
51. population policy
52. postnatal care
53. pregnancy usages
54. property rights
55. propitiation of supernatural beings
56. puberty customs
57. religious ritual
58. residence rules
59. sexual restrictions
60. soul concepts
61. status differentiation
62. surgery
63. tool making
64. trade
65. visiting
66. weaving
67. weather control

It’s meant to be descriptive, but I think it could be to creative writers — like Joseph Campbell’s work — prescriptive, a means of planning. Murdock’s list is a series of hints and suggestions to creators of imagined and imaginary cultures the many things they might consider working into their book. As I prepare myself to delve into a project that would require full-scale world/culture building, and wondering if I am up to the task, I find this list is extremely helpful. Each item is a question to answer, a challenge that leads me to fully develop my world… and some could lead to passages, with key plot points and character development, that might not have occurred to me otherwise. I don’t think I’ll need to plod people through ALL 67, but I know I would return to this list again and again for ideas.  I also see those points that other authors covered, that made their books rich and wonderful, whether or not they actually read anthropology books: Rowling and 2, Jacques and 22, Richard Adams and 15. They might have had muses whispering in their ear, but for me this list will help me fake it.

* Because I had to look it up: the scientific study of the traditional knowledge and customs of a people concerning plants and their medical, religious, and other uses.

** If, like me, much of your career has been charting the lives of middle-school-aged boys, this one is optional.