Today's word of the day is: Website, your virtual face.

I maintain the New England SCBWI website, which undergoes a facelift and feature enhancement every few years...

Version 1.0 (2000-2002):



Version 2.0 (2002-2005):



Version 3.0 (2005-2008):



Version 4.0 (2008-):



More to come...

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Today's word of the day is: Cranberry Sauce, food of the gods!

You know that gelatinous red goo that plops into a serving bowl, still retaining the perfect shape of the can it came in? That's not a complement to your Thanksgiving dinner, it's an insult! You can't even call it cranberry sauce, any more than you'd pry meat out of a can and call it turkey.

When I was a kid, I taught myself how to make real cranberry sauce--which was not hard at all because the basic recipe is just to combine cranberries with sugar and boiling water, heating for ten minutes and then refrigerating overnight. Cranberry sauce was among the first three recipes I ever mastered, along with the combining of cereal with milk and the toasting of bread.

I feel guilty about how easy this stuff is to make, contrasted with how my family raves over it, so I usually punch it up with extra fruits and nuts to increase the level of difficulty and make it my own.

Here's what we're having this year:

THAI CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add lychee nuts and shredded coconut.

TROPICAL CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add pineapple, kiwi, and sliced almonds.

ORCHARD CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add peaches, sliced almonds, and mandarin orange.

DATE NUT CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add peanuts and dates.

Anyone else have a favorite kind of cranberry sauce?

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Today's word of the day is Howl-a-Day, combining two parts holiday with one part full moon.

I'll be signing copies of THE PENGUINS OF DOOM today (Saturday) at the Howl-a-Day Craft Event in Waltham, Massachusetts, from 10AM to 4PM to benefit Greyhound Friends, a non-profit organization dedicated to saving racetrack greyhounds and placing them in responsible loving homes. Come on by if you're looking for crafty-gifty items and like to support a noble cause.

As a general rule, I've never been much of a dog person, but greyhounds are all right. They're quiet, non-aggressive, medium-sized, playful, good with children, and only a little slobbery. They're also fast, fast, fast! That makes them a logical choice for bus company mascots and a prime target for exploitation by the gambling industry.

One of our ballot measures during this past election was whether greyhound racing should be banned in Massachusetts. Proponents of the ban claimed that dog racing was cruel and inhumane. The other side claimed that it wasn't. And that's pretty much how the TV commercials went:

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not, is not, is not!"

"Is too, is too, is too, infinity-squared, no backsies!"

Maybe dog racing is inherently cruel. Maybe racing regulators have been lax in their duty to protect the dogs. Maybe certain trainers or owners pushed their dogs to the point of injury, neglected their health, or pumped them full of drugs. Maybe the track kennels are inadequate and unsanitary...

Or maybe not. I've never been to a dog track, so all I have to go on are those "is not" and "is too" politically-motivated commercials.

What I do know is that when racing dogs pass their prime and start to slow down, they get kicked to the curb--or worse. That's where Greyhound Friends comes in, finding homes for as many of these former racedogs as they can.

My sister and her fiance recently adopted a greyhound through Greyhound Friends, a very sweet dog named Susie who has really become one of the family--and I'm saying that as someone who's never been much of a dog person, so you know it's true.

That Massachusetts dog racing ban passed, incidentally, so over the next few years Greyhound Friends will help rescue some of the last-ever racing greyhounds in our state, until the dog tracks either shut down or switch to another animal. Like maybe cheetahs. Dude, cheetah racing! That would seriously rock, except they'd probably go through jockeys like crazy.

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Today's word of the day is pitch, the process of throwing a book against the wall to see if it will stick.

After a manuscript is written, "the pitch" is what gets it turned into a book. The pitch, in the form of a query letter, is made to an agent. The pitch, in the form of a submission, is made to an editor. The pitch, in the form of accounting projections, is made within a publishing house to put together an offer and allocate resources. The pitch, in the form of brochures and sales materials, is made to buyers at the chain and independent bookstores. The pitch, in the form of blurbs and marketing, is made to the public.

So it's a good idea for authors to study the art of the pitch.

I was watching TV last night instead of writing, but I'm calling that professional development time because what else are TV commercials but slick professionally-packaged pitches for us to learn from?

Case in point, commercials for two different cell phones, either of which could easily kick my current cell phone's butt. But which pitch is more likely to make me want to dump my current contract?

Pitch A: "Our phone has a feature that can identify any song it hears. Just hold the phone up to a radio, a speaker at the mall, or a TV set while a song is playing in the background. In just a few seconds you'll get the title and artist as well as a link to purchase a copy of the song and listen to it any time you want. Wow!"

Pitch B: "Our phone makes clicking sounds when you press the touchscreen. You may think you pressed too hard, so that something inside the phone is breaking, but no, it's supposed to sound like that. This is, apparently, the phone's most notable feature."




So, which pitch works better for selling cell phones? "Solving life's dilemmas one app at a time" or "What mad genius and his ten thousand co-workers would think up these stupid clicking noises?" The equivalent pitches in the book world would be something like this...

Pitch A: "When you hold my book up to a TV screen, the book characters come to life and interact with whatever show you were watching!"

or

Pitch B: "When you tear pages out of my book, it makes a loud ripping noise. You might think you're causing irreparable damage...and you are! Aaaaaugh! Why would you do that?!!"

I know which pitch I'm using with my next book.

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Today's word of the day is: Sesame Street, brought to you by the letters B and H and by the number 6!

Every time I'm feeling old, which is more and more these days, I remind myself that I'm still younger than Sesame Street, which is celebrating the 39th anniversary of its 1969 debut. 

Happy 39th birthday, Big Bird!

Happy 39th birthday, Oscar the Grouch!

Happy 39th birthday, Ernie and Bert!

I spent many childhood hours watching this show, and many more looking out the car windows on every trip we took in the hopes of glimpsing that crazy street where all the Muppets lived. Not to mention the hours I spent theorizing about the alternate universe Sesame Street where Oscar was rust orange instead of moss green, like in the first-season Sesame Street picture book I had. Or the hours I spent drawing people with big oval-shaped noses interacting with monsters. If you add all those hours together, you'd get the first five years of my life.

Cookie Monster made his debut in a 1966 snack-food commercial that Jim Henson did for General Mills, so he's 42 years old.

And Jim Henson first started to perform with Kermit the Frog in 1955, making him the oldest Sesame Street Muppet at 53 years old.

So now I'm feeling young again, though old enough to remember when Snuffleupagus was merely a figment of Big Bird's deranged imagination.  Thanks, Sesame Street!

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I've written before about being reluctant to blog about politics on a writing-oriented blog. Today is a rare exception.

While I was trying my best to keep my political views to myself, to my friends, to a few listserves, and to a political blog I maintain under a pseudonym I'll never divulge, Maureen Johnson was gathering together a community of YA authors and readers to support Barack Obama and try their darnedest to help put him in office. I was tempted to join in, given the authors involved--ones I respect enormously like Scott Westerfeld, Tamora Pierce, Judy Blume, Hank Green, Holly Black, Libba Bray, and good friends like Greg Neri, Carrie Jones, Jo Knowles, Sara Zarr, and on and on!

1,650 people joined "YA for Obama" and 28 joined a second group called "YA for McCain," with most of that difference directly due to Maureen's enthusiasm and organizational skills. I've been a fan of both Obama and McCain since long before either one was ever given an outside chance of taking his respective party's nomination, so I went ahead and joined both groups.

I won't tell you how I voted except to say I went with the candidate who consistently impressed me with his message of hope and the way he kept his cool as the economy melted down around us all. I gave the other candidate a fair chance to win me over but instead he consistently disappointed me with his erratic behavior, negative campaigning, and dubious vice presidential choice.

But, to bring this discussion back to writing, I was interested in how the characters in The Penguins of Doom might approach this election, so I posted a series of letters to YA for Obama from the point of view of Septina Nash.  And here they are!

On a Day of Political Awakening
28 October 2008

Dear YA-YAs:

Hello! It’s me, Septina Nash, star of the smash middle-grade novel, The Penguins of Doom, which the New York Times referred to as "a book." If you've been preoccupied with battling a mad scientist and looking for your lost triplet-sister, you might not have realized that this is an election year--but don't feel bad because I kinda forgot too, until today.

"So, who would you vote for?" asked my triplet-brother, Quinn, on our bus ride home from school.

I'd been struggling to think up Halloween costumes for my pet penguins but I perked up immediately. "Is the new 'American Idol' starting up already?"

"I mean, for President," he said.

I stared back at him blankly.

"Of the United States," he said.

I stared back at him blankly.

"The Head of the Executive Branch? Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces? Leader of the Free World?"

"Um..."

"One of those guys on the big poster in Mr. Gray's social studies classroom." My sister, Sexta, looked up from the graveyard scene she was drawing on the back of the seat in front of her, for just long enough to give me a good hard sneer. "I don't pay attention in class either, but even I know that."

"Oh, those Presidents of the United States! I'd vote for James Garfield, of course, because he's named after a cartoon cat. Or maybe Chester A. Arthur for that fabulous facial hair."

"Dead Presidents of the 19th Century aside," said Quinn, "Mr. Gray's assignment was for us to write a five-page essay about the candidate we'd vote for in the current election, and why. I'm picking Barack Obama because of his economic policies."

Kim Siegel popped up from the seat behind us. "It figures you'd support Obama."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Quinn.

"He's a total socialist. He wants to take money from hard-working Americans, like my parents, and spread the wealth around to poor people like your parents!"

"That sounds pretty good," I had to admit. "Free money!"

"It's not free money," said Quinn. "Our parents work just as hard as yours," he told Kim. "What Obama wants to do is make up for the last eight years, when the richest Americans have gotten way more than their fair share of tax breaks while the bottom 95% have gotten the crumbs."

"Crumbs can still be pretty tasty," I noted.

"You stay out of this!" Kim and Quinn both shouted at me, and immediately went back to their debate. If you could call it a debate. Mostly it was Quinn citing facts and figures while Kim called Obama a socialist, a Marxist, and a class warrior, all the while referencing something called "RNC Talking Points 4 Through 8." It was just like one of those shows on the cable news networks!

"And if Obama socializes health care, we'll end up just like England!" Kim exclaimed.

"Eating fish and chips during a cricket match?" I asked. They both glared at me. "I know, I know, stay out of this..."

"No, wait." Kim smiled, which was a startling experience because Kim never smiles at me. "What we have here a truly undecided voter, the rarest of rare birds."

"Like the dodo?" I asked.

"I couldn't have said it better," said Kim. "Our assignment is due on Election Day, next Tuesday, so each of us has a week to convince Septina to see things our way. May the kid with the best candidate win: John 'Patriotic War Hero' McCain or Barack Hussein Obama!"

"Barack, who's sane, Obama?" I asked. "Why make such a big deal over the fact that he's sane? Are you saying the other guy is crazy or something?"

"Exactly," said Quinn, with a chuckle. "This wager's going to be easier to win than a Democratic majority in the Senate."

I stared back at him blankly.

Quinn sighed. "It'll be really, really easy," he clarified.

So I guess I have a lot to read about over the next week, and a lot to learn, and a lot to think about. Anyone who wants to help me, feel free to drop a comment or two. Thanks!!!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Swing Voter

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Sexta appears in Letter #1, so I guess it takes place after the novel continuity and I probably just spoiled the ending of the book for some people. Oh well. I tried to stay true to the characters, so Quinn is a well-informed deep thinker, Kim is an over-the-top antagonist, and Septina is her lovable oblivious self. It's not a fair debate, between Quinn and Kim, but we also never know what kind of argument will ultimately win over Septina.

On a Day of Fighting Terrorism
29 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

There's not much an ordinary kid can do to fight terrorism. Ordinary kids like me, Septina Nash from The Penguins of Doom, have nothing going for us but our sense of right and wrong, our determination, our pet penguins, and our magical number-based super powers. That's why I'm so pleased to say that today I successfully defeated a terrorist.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was in school today, worrying about a big math exam and the weird things that tend to happen just before a big math exam--like an invasion of elves, aliens, mole-people, robots from the future... You know, all the usual stuff that's kept me out of the exams all year. So I wasn't at all surprised when I opened my locker and someone jumped out at me.

All right, I might have been just a little surprised because it turned out to be Kim Siegel with a sheet of paper folded into the shape of a knife. "Random terror attack!" she shouted. Then she tripped over a stack of textbooks, smacked her head against the wall, and fell unconscious to the floor.

I could have left Kim right where she landed and still made it to the math exam on time, or I could have dragged Kim's body down the hallway to the nurse's office and missed the exam entirely. I picked the second option because, as much as I love numbers, it's never a good idea for me to be in the same room with them.

When we got to the nurse's office, Nurse Bradley was busy filing the four-and-a-half inch tongue depressers down to exactly four inches long. Apparently this is an important part of being a school nurse. She huffed at the interruption, bandaged Kim's head, and went right back to her filing.

Kim's eyes fluttered open and the first thing she said to me was, "And that's why you should vote for John McCain!"

"Is this about universal healthcare?" I tapped her bandaged forehead.

"Ouch!" She winced. "No, this is all about terrorism. I just proved that terrorists can strike anywhere at any time and only a Republican president can protect us."

"From where I was standing, all you proved is that you're a klutz with a talent for blacking herself out."

"Performance art certainly can be subjective," Nurse Bradley butted in. "My brother's girlfriend's cousin does a one-woman show up in Manchester, where she paints herself blue and plays Disney songs on a xylophone made from auto parts. It's supposed to be about global warming, but I just don't see it."

Kim and I stared at her for a while, but she'd moved on to counting cotton swabs and wasn't saying anything else. I turned to Kim. "I could try to catch the end of that math exam, or I could stay here and let you talk to me about terrorism and the election."

"So which are you choosing?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Kim grinned. "Nash, you're nothing if not predictable. All right, you know all about 9/11?"

"Of course. Give me some credit, will you?"

"Just checking. I never know how much reality filters through your shell of rainbows and penguins. Okay then, if you know about 9/11, you also know that everything is different in a post-9/11 world. Our government must be allowed to tap our phones, read our emails, and access to our library records, in order to fight terrorists. Our government must be allowed to detain terror suspects in Gitmo forever, without charging them with a crime, and without giving them access to the legal system. And our government must invade other countries who support terrorism, with or without the support of the international community. Only John McCain has the political will to stay in Iraq for a hundred years and to expand our war on terror to Iran, Syria, Pakistan, Venezuela, Cuba, and North Korea. On the other hand, Barack Obama would rather engage in diplomacy, improve our reputation and moral standing in the world, and spend our money on domestic programs instead of weaponry."

"If you're trying to convince me to write my essay about John McCain instead of Barack Obama, you're not really winning me over."

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "Barack Obama pals around with terrorists, and therefore he is a terrorist, and therefore anyone who supports him is a terrorist. Are you a terrorist, Nash? Because if you're a terrorist, I'd have to punch you in the face."

"What?"

"Every citizen has a duty to punch terrorists in the face," she explained. "Pow! One shot, right in the kisser!"

"That's very true," said Nurse Bradley. "I have a boxing glove under my desk just in case Osama bin Laden walks into my office some afternoon." Kim and I stared at her until she added, "What? It could happen, especially on days when there's a big math exam. I'm still trying to get the elf footprints off my ceiling!"

I looked up and really couldn't argue with what she was saying. It looked like an elf parade had marched through!

"It seems to me," Nurse Bradley continued, "that a terrorist is someone who uses violence or threats of violence to create an atmosphere of fear, in order to advance a political cause."

"Right," said Kim.

"Sounds like a good definition," I agreed.

Nurse Bradley put down her container of swabs. "So if you jump out of a locker at someone in order to get them to vote for a particular candidate, wouldn't that make you a terrorist?"

"Oooh, yeah!" I exclaimed.

"Now wait a minute," said Kim, edging away from me.

"Feel free to borrow my boxing glove," Nurse Bradley told me. So I did. Pow! One shot, right in the kisser! Fighting terrorism feels even better than I ever imagined.

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Counter-Terrorism Expert

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Nurse Bradley didn't appear in the book, but I like her. A real-life nurse would take Kim's condition more seriously but Kim does have a track record of knocking herself unconscious quite frequently and how dare she interrupt the daily cotton swab sorting activities!

On a Day of Television Watching
30 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

I walked into the living room three nights ago and found Quinn and Sexta watching something on TV. "What's on?" I asked.

Immediately, Sexta dove to block my view of the screen, while Quinn jumped up and tried to push me out of the room. "Nothing you'd be interested in, and shouldn't you be working on that election essay for Mr. Gray?"

I probably should have been working on my essay, explaining which candidate I'd vote for in the 2008 Presidential election if I weren't under 18 and entirely fictional, but I could tell from the sounds of cheering and sportscastering that my triplet-siblings were watching some kind of sporting event. "Is that baseball?" I asked.

"Sep, please," said Quinn, "don't mess this up for us. It's the World Series, the fifth game in a best-of-seven format, and maybe the last game because the Phillies are up three games to one. The score is tied at two in the middle of the sixth inning with the number nine batter due up in the second half--"

"Quinn!" Sexta snapped, but it was too late. The numbers were already running through my brain, transforming each other, and moving out into the universe. That's my talent, and why I'm usually not allowed to watch baseball: math and I don't mix and, between the scorekeeping, player statistics, and field geometry, baseball is math in its purest form.

"Sounds great," I said. "I'll get some microwave popcorn. Keep the game paused until I get back!"

"You can't pause a baseball game!" Sexta called to me, but she didn't have to worry. Hundreds of miles away, the skies over Citizens Bank Park started dumping rain onto the field. The umpires postponed the game, while both teams sheltered in their dugouts to keep dry.

I meant to restart the game after five or ten minutes, but I couldn't find any microwave popcorn in the cupboard, and Spots had a new comic book he let me read, and then it was time for bed and I forgot all about baseball for a couple days--until last night.

My parents and my oldest sisters, Una, Dua, and Tria, were gathered around the TV, watching a shivering, mackintosh-wearing sportscaster talk into a soggy microphone through his chattering teeth. "We're into our 46th hour of continuous rain delay here in Philadelphia. The stands are empty, the field is under three feet of water, and most players on both sides are suffering from terrible colds. It's got to stop raining sometime. It's just got to! But while we wait, we're going to show a thirty-minute paid political advertisement for Senator Barack Obama."

"Ooh! This might help me decide!" I said.

"Me too," said Dad. "Let's watch." And we did. It was a pretty good show, with interesting characters and a decent soundtrack, all about Obama and his plans for the economy, taxes, energy policy, and healthcare. It really made me wish I was old enough to vote!

"Well?" I asked Dad. "Did you hear what you needed to?"

"I did," he said. "I always vote for the candidate who runs the most positive, most truthful campaign, and this year that's been Obama by far. In the entire half-hour commercial, he never mentioned John McCain at all. Instead, he talked about his own ideas and plans in detail and how they would make people's lives better, so tonight he earned my vote."

"I go by the numbers," said Mom.

"Ooh, numbers!" I exclaimed.

Mom smiled. "Here's one you might like. John McCain's running mate spent $150,000 on new clothes during ten weeks of campaigning. So at that rate, during a four-year term as Vice President--"

"She'd spend three million, one-hundred-twenty thousand dollars, just on clothes! Where would she keep them all?"

"Probably in John McCain's closets," said Una. "The guy has so many houses, he can't even keep track of them all."

"Are there any more numbers in the campaign?" I asked.

"Yes, but not for you!" snapped Una. "You and your number-powers aren't going to ruin this election."

"I don't ruin things with my number powers," I said. The World Series came back on, with a driving rain that splashed into a lake that covered the entire field. "Well...not on purpose," I added.

Dua came back in with a big bowl of popcorn from a secret stash of hers, and that made it finally stop raining in Philadelphia. They quickly pumped all the water out of the ballpark, resumed the game, and the Phillies won. Sorry for the delay, everyone!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Rain Goddess

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Confession time... I didn't check my notes on the oldest Nash sisters, Una and Dua, so they're probably out of character a bit. I didn't want to compound the problem by giving them too many lines, which is why we don't get their perspectives on the election, but they are over 18 and they did cast their votes.

Mr. Nash has a rational approach to the election that doesn't require him to get bogged down by the issues. He votes for the candidate who runs the most positive, most noble, most truthful. least negative campaign. If all voters followed this, campaigns would be a lot more civil. Mrs. Nash isn't going to spout off too many of numbers within Septina's hearing, but you know she's thinking about how those middle-class tax cuts would help a family of nine.

And as far as Major League Baseball is concerned, that Obama infomercial really did take place during a rain delay!

On a Silly Halloween Day
31 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

It's Halloween! Today the halls of O.W. Holmes Middle School were jammed with ghosts, ghouls, witches, and goblins--not just because the students are encouraged to dress up, but also because the school is built on top of an old cemetery.

Kim Siegel pushed her way toward me through a gaggle of rotting zombies. Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore rimless glasses and a red pantsuit with a gigantic American flag lapel pin. "Great Tina Fey costume," I told her.

Kim scowled. "I'm Sarah Palin, you idiot. The Alaskan Maverick!"

"Oh." I remembered something my mother said the night before. "Hey, did you know she just spent $150,000 on a brand new designer wardrobe?"

Kim sighed and got a dreamy look in her eyes. "Yeah. That's why she's my new role model, you betcha, wink-wink!"

Quinn, standing next to me, rolled his eyes. He was wearing long red robes and a large red hat, like a church cardinal from the Middle Ages. "As if anyone really casts a vote based on who the Vice President is going to be."

"Hey! The Vice President is very important," said Kim. "She runs the entire Senate and makes them do whatever she wants."

"No she doesn't," said Quinn.

"Sarah Palin would, and she'd just be biding her time until John McCain gets too sick to run the country." Kim lowered her voice to a whisper. "Just between you and me, the guy's as old as dirt. He has no energy or vitality when he speaks, he tends to get confused, he wanders around aimlessly, he's already had cancer four times, and still refuses to release his medical records to the public. There's no way he'll hold on for four more years, and that means we'd have the first female President of the United States! Hooray for women's rights!"

"Sarah Palin supports women's rights?" I asked. "Is she pro-choice?"

"Of course," said Kim. "Sarah Barracuda supports the right for her to choose to prevent other women from having the right to choose--if that's not a choice, I don't know what is."

"Whatever," said Quinn. "McCain and Palin don't even matter anymore, because Barack Obama is so far ahead in the polls. There's no way he can lose."

"That's where you're wrong," said Kim, smugly. "You're forgetting that Sarah Palin has an ace up her sleeve--Hillary Clinton!"

Quinn blinked in surprise. "What?"

"During the primaries, Hillary Clinton boasted that she had 19 million rabid supporters who would do anything she told them to. They're all backing Obama right now, because she endorsed him at the convention, and that's the only reason why he's so far ahead of McCain. But there's still a few days left for Hillary to announce that she's changed her mind. When she does, all 19 million voters will instantly shift over to John McCain and he'll win in a landslide on Election Day!"

"That's just stupid," said Quinn. "Why would Senator Clinton do that?"

"Why not? The woman has 40 years of experience making change, so who are you to say she can't change her own mind? Who are you to say anything?"

"What is this," I asked. "The Spanish Inquisition?"

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Quinn exclaimed, right on cue.

Kim frowned. "Huh?"

"Quinn and I figured that you'd probably dress up as the Republican Vice Presidential candidate, so... Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin, meet British Comedian Michael Palin!"

Quinn twirled around to show off his cardinal robes.

"That's a stupid idea for a costume," said Kim. "Monty Python's Flying Circus ended a zillion years ago and nobody cares--"

"Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam," Quinn sang, drowning her out completely. He was joined by a dozen skeletons wearing Viking helmets. "Lovely spam, wonderful spam! Lovely spam, wonderful spam!"

Other kids and teachers gathered around us. Kim tried to get their attention by pretending to shoot a moose, but nobody was paying attention to her anymore. Quinn shrugged off his cardinal robes to show that he was wearing a flannel shirt and denim overalls underneath. He shifted to another song:

"Oooooooh, I'm an Obama fan and I'm okay.
I vote all night and I vote all day!"

The skeleton Vikings were joined by a chorus of zombies dressed as lumberjacks:

"He's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!"

Quinn sang:

"I eat my lunch, I skip and jump.
I want our troops out of Iraq.
I back a middle-class tax cut
To bring our economy back!"

The zombies and skeletons were joined by a coven of witches:

"He eats his lunch, he skips and jumps.
He wants our troops out of Iraq.
He backs a middle-class tax cut
To bring our economy back!"

"Cuz he's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!
Yes, he's an Obama-fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!"

Quinn sang:

"I want better schools, I want better laws,
I want universal health.
I dislike Joe the Plumber
Cuz he won't spread his wealth!"

The zombies, skeletons, and witches danced around and sang:

"He wants better schools, he wants better laws,
He wants universal health.
He dislikes Joe the Plumber
Cuz he won't spread his wealth!"

"Oh, he's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day.
Yes, he's an Obama fan and he's okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay..."

"I vote all night and I vote all day," Quinn finished. Everyone applauded while the ghoulish background singers dispersed back into the school hallways.

"Yeah, whatever," said Kim. "I'll see you freaks in class."

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Halloweenie

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: I didn't think there had been quite enough silly before I wrote this one. And I really wish my school had been more like this!

3 November 2008
On a Day in the Dumps

Dear Ya-Yas,

I was down in the dumps this weekend because of the election. I like the dumps. One of our landfills has been capped and turned into a nice park that's never crowded because of the smell from the incinerator. The other has all kinds of neat stuff that people have thrown away. If you're looking for new furniture with just a few stains or toys with one or two broken parts, all for free, it's the only place to go. And then there's our town's recycling center where they're helping to save the world--it's so inspiring!

My dad works for the Sanitation Department and so does the smartest person I've ever met, Stan the Rat Man. Some of my teachers think they know everything, but Stan's got them all beat. So I went to talk to him about my election essay, and that's why I was down in the dumps.

I found Stan making his daily rounds, checking the rat traps around the edge of the dump. "Could I ask how you're voting in the election?" I asked.

"For which office?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"The Presidency and Vice Presidency comes up for a vote every four years, Congressmen and women in the House of Representatives are elected every two years, and each Senator is in for a six year term. Then there are state legislators, governors, mayors, clerks, judges, sheriffs, and ballot initiatives on tax issues, civil rights, and a variety of other laws."

I felt like my brain would explode from all those choices. "I had no idea it was so complicated! How does anyone ever decide what to do when they get into the voting booth?"

Stan opened a trap with his rubber gloved hands and dumped a fat Norway rat into a burlap sack. "If they're like me, they get a sample ballot in advance along with the state's voting guide. Then they look at each candidate's website and campaign literature, watch the debates, and talk to many different types of people to get their input on the issues that matter to them most."

"And if they're not like you?"

Stan shrugged. "They might vote along party lines, or only for incumbents, or for candidates with cool-sounding names. I'm convinced that's how Senator Pizza McNinja got elected."

"One more question," I said. "Are you voting for Obama or McCain?"

"That's like asking whether I prefer Brown rats or Black rats, just because they happen to be the two most popular rats. But what about Polynesian rats? What about Giant-pocketed rats? What about Bandicoot rats?"

"Um..."

"That's not such a good metaphor, because Bandicoot rats aren't members of the Rattus genus, but you know what I mean. There are six candidates for President on our state's ballot this year. You'll only ever hear about Barack Obama and John McCain, but what about Ralph Nader? What about Bob Barr? What about Chuck Baldwin or Cynthia McKinney? Our world is a better place when we have a wider variety of politicians, just like it is when we have a wider variety of rats. It's the same general principle!"

After talking to Stan the Rat Man, I'm more confused than ever. Quinn is pressuring me to write about Obama, Kim wants me to write about McCain, and now I'm trying to figure out whether Bob Barr is more like a Bandicoot rat or a Polynesian.

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Dazed and Confused

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Stan the Rat Man appears in the book and he makes a great gadfly here. Just when Septina finally thought she was getting a handle on the election, she learns that everything is far more complicated than she ever imagined in a way that can be explained with rat metaphors. Gotta love Stan the Rat Man!

Dear Ya-Yas,

Election Day is finally here! After today I won't have to worry over this election essay assignment anymore. I have to admit it's been a good assignment because it's forced me to learn about the candidates, about the issues, and about the whole voting process. After high school, I might even want to apply to attend Electoral College, where students from every state get to be the ones who actually decide who gets to be President.

On the bus to school, Kim Siegel claimed the seat across the aisle from me and Quinn. "Why are you taking the bus anyway?" Quinn asked her. "I thought your parents sent you to school in a limo."

"Yeah, well..." Kim fiddled with her bag. "A lot of our family fortune is tied up in the stock market, so I offered to cut back my car service to three days a week. We all have to make sacrifices."

"Hey, hey!" shouted Ralph the bus driver. "There will be no human sacrifices on this vehicle. No bonfires, no stone circles, and absolutely no sprinklings of chicken blood!" I don't think he really thought that was what Kim had meant, but enough weird stuff happens on his route that he has to make sure.

Quinn pointed out the window. "Look! It's happening!" People were standing outside our school parking lot with signs and balloons in red, white, and blue. A line of voters stretched from the gym entrance to the sidewalk. "History is being made right here in our gym, and in polling places all across America!"

"And we don't have physical education classes today!" I exclaimed, equally excited.

"Hey, Septina! Have a look at this map." Kim handed me a sheet of paper with the United States in red and blue. The map was covered in numbers that started dancing around in my head before I had a chance to stop them. "What do you think of that?" she asked. "Isn't it interesting to count up the electoral votes in the red and blue states?"

Quinn scoffed. "FiveThirtyEight.com says Obama has a 98.9% chance of winning and will probably get 349 electoral votes to Obama's 189."

"That's not what this map says," I told him.

"What? Let me see that!" He ripped the paper from my hands. "These are the results from 2000. Why would you show that...to Septina?! Oh my god, you're trying to trick her into flipping the election with her powers!"

"What's the point in having powers if you're not going to use them?" Kim tilted back her head and laughed while I felt the mathematical forces flowing through me and out into the universe. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Kim's laughter ended suddenly as she fell back into her seat, through her seat, and into a black hole that had appeared under her seat. "Aw, no!" exclaimed Ralph the bus driver. "There will be no rending of the fabric of time and space within the confines of this vehicle. Don't make me turn this bus around!"

None of the other kids were listening to him. They all gathered around the place where Kim had vanished, but the hole was now gone as well. "Portal to an alternate universe," I explained to them. "She'll be all right. Looking at old numbers will do that sometimes."

Ralph pulled the bus up to the school, near where a reporter from the local news was reporting on the turnout for our school's polling station. "A record number of voters are turning out at this location and at locations across the state. Our preliminary exit polling indicates that the vast majority are voting for Barack Obama. Voters we've spoken to say that they're worried about the economy being in a recession, our growing national debt, the wars in the Middle East, the threat of terrorism, the high cost of energy, jobs going overseas, restrictions of civil liberties, increased global warming, and our country's lowered standing in the world. After eight years of President Bush, it would seem like folks here are overwhelmingly ready for a change. Back to you, Tom."

A few kids from our bus started to cheer, led by Quinn. Suddenly, a black hole opened in the air and Kim Siegel stumbled out. "See?" I said. "I told you she'd be all right."

Kim's face was ashen white. "It was horrible... Just horrible. What have we done?"

Quinn looked at me with one eyebrow raised. He was probably wondering what could possibly shake Kim up so much, and I had no idea either, so I peeked through the portal before it disappeared again.

The air on the other side was a little cooler than in our own universe, and maybe a little cleaner. Our school was there, and our school bus, and the same long line of voters, and the same local TV reporter.

"A record number of voters are turning out at this location and at locations across the state," she said. "Our preliminary exit polling indicates that the vast majority are voting for Barack Obama. Voters we've spoken to say that they're excited about our booming economy, our budget surpluses, peace agreements in the Middle East, safety at home and abroad, innovations in energy conservation, new American jobs, a reduction in greenhouse gases, and our country's increased standing as a beacon of hope and prosperity in the world. After eight years of President Gore, it would seem like folks here are overwhelming ready for more of the same. Back to you, Tom."

I pulled my head back into our own universe just before the portal disappeared, which is a good thing because being ripped apart by multiversal forces can be quite painful.

"Well?" asked Quinn.

"I think both universes are going to be all right."

Thanks for reading, now get out there and rock the vote!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, On the Side of Democracy

THE END

Comments: I wanted to do seven letters, as a lucky number, but couldn't get that many done. Ralph the bus driver also does not appear in the book, but if there's a sequel...

This is a good illustration of the limits of Septina's powers--they can't swing an election but they can call an alternate universe into being. Now if anyone needs me, I'll be in that alternate dimension.

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Something else we noticed during the Sox/Rays series...

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Today's word of the day is duct tape, the most useful item in the universe.

Duct tape is like the Force because it has a dark side, a light side, and binds the universe together.

Duct tape can be used to make footwear, tuxedo jackets, and prom dresses.

Duct tape helped rescue the astronauts of Apollo 13 in the 1970s, and the International Space Station operations manual calls for the use of duct tape to restrain astronauts who suffer psychotic episodes.

Duct tape can be used as a temporary bandage to cover a wound.

And now... ordinary rolls of duct tape can generate 100-milliwatt x-ray pulses. Now we can make x-ray machines the MacGuyver way, and can home dentistry be far behind? Exciting times!

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Today's word of the day is Rays (Team motto: "Devil-free since 2007!")

Major League Baseball's World Series started last night in Tampa Bay. Yes, that's right, Tampa Bay. When my Boston Red Sox lost the American League Championship Series to the Tampa Bay Rays, I lost a bet to gneri, which obligates me to write this entry as a tribute to our new chief rivals in the AL East, the mighty, mighty Rays.

Red Sox and Yankees fans have been watching the Rays all season, waiting for a collapse that never came. Instead, the Red Sox had to settle for a wildcard berth while the Yankees are spending this postseason playing golf (except for Derek Jeter, who inexplicably still gets work in postseason commercials despite the Yankees being zero-for-the-millenium in World Series wins).

I spent much of the summer in New York City, where fans seemed particularly demoralized by having their team in third or fourth place for most of the season. Folks I talked to claimed to be Mets fans, and wouldn't admit to having ever followed the Yankees. This offseason, Yankee Stadium (aka "The House that Ruth Built") is being imploded to make way for a new ballpark with, notably, fewer seats.

Back in Boston last month, when the penant race had officially come down to just the Sox and Rays, I saw a car with a Yankees logo on it. In previous years, that would have caused a rancor. People would have hounded that car's owner out of the state with pitchforks and burning torches. But this year, Bostonians just walked past, shaking their heads sadly. "A Yankees fan? Aww, poor thing..."

Not that the Yankees are going away, but it really does feel like the Rays have replaced them as our new chief rivals. The Rays are for real, they have a good chance against the Phillies in the World Series, and they're positioned to stay in contention for years to come. They can hit for power. They can pitch, despite the lack of a dedicated closer. They can field without letting up too many spectacular errors. They can win close one-run games in 11 innings. They can win in a 13-4 blowout. And they can win the seventh game in a seven-game series, which says a lot about playing under pressure.

The one thing the Rays lack is history. I was talking to my mother the other day, trying to figure out whether her grandfather had been an Americans/Red Sox fan. She didn't know for sure, because she never got to meet him, but living in the Boston area around the turn of the 20th Century, the odds were pretty good. Boston's other professional baseball team, who now play in Georgia as the Atlanta Braves, lost many of their best players and much of their fanbase when Boston's American League franchise formed in 1901. So I consider myself to be a fourth-generation Red Sox fan, and we're raising our daughter to be a fifth-generation Red Sox fan. The Tampa Bay Rays, formed in 1998, don't have any fifth-generation fans unless they happen to be fruitflies.

But my Grandpa Max (second generation Red Sox fan) would have loved the Rays. He's the one who taught me to always root for the underdog, the team who fought their way up from the cellar and won against all odds. For most of his life, the Red Sox were that team. He didn't live to see them win their first World Series in 86 years, in 2004, but he never stopped rooting for them. Against any other team than the Red Sox, Grandpa Max would have been all about the Rays.

My wife's family are Phillies fans, so I've got to root with them, but I'll also be hoping that the Rays will continue to be a formidable foe in a post-Yankees era. And I can hardly wait for our rematch next year!

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Today's word of the day is: Fruit!

Toward the end of Penguins of Doom, one of the characters has a bit of a nervous breakdown and starts spouting non-sequiturs, some of which are apparently quotable. I found this out the other day from a friend who's been inserting "Fruit!" into casual conversation.

I can imagine a million uses for "Fruit!"

In a Presidential debate, "Fruit!" can completely reframe the discussion:
"How do I expect to pay for my proposed tax cuts? Um... Fruit!"

"Fruit!" can be used to spice up bad news:
"The stock market went down over 300 points on Tuesday--Fruit!--after the release of the latest unemployment numbers from--Fruit!--the Department of Labor. And in other news, Fruit!"

If you're remaking a classic movie and want to modernize the dialogue, what's better that adding a "Fruit!" or two?
"Here's Fruit in your eyes!"
"You have no idea of the power of the Fruit side of the Force!"
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a fruit!"

Plus if you're in the produce department at the supermarket, or in a self-pick apple orchard, you can add a spinning move and gesture with your arms as you pronounce all of your surroundings to be "Fruit!" and nobody can argue with your accuracy.

Go on, give it a try, it's fun.

Fruit!!!

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Today's word of the day is Revision, because we can't all get it right the first time around.

This week I finished my long-overdue overhaul of Project G and sent it off to my literary representative. What a load off my shoulders!  It's been a tough few months on probably the most difficult and complicated revision process I've ever put myself through.  Lots of research to do, several viewpoint characters to flesh out, a structure to reconfigure, new rules, new ending, new, new, new!

Project G is a middle-grade science fiction thriller about... Well, actually, this Wordle cloud of words from the manuscript in sizes proportionate to their frequency will show you exactly what the book is about.

Or in other words, woo-hoo!

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Today's word of the day is Orphan Works, for the second time, and probably not the last.

I checked in once before on pending orphan works legislation, and it's time for a revisit now that the bill has passed the Senate and is pending in the House.

Last time I wrote about the underlying problem in U.S. copyright law caused by a shift from opt-in to opt-out regimes in 1976, creating a growing body of works where the copyright holder can't be easily found. The problem is made worse by copyright term extensions, which keep "orphan works" in limbo for an even longer period of time and delay all works from entering the public domain.

Longer periods of protection are theoretically good for creators like me, and are designed to give us more incentive to write, draw, paint, and compose. But realistically, I don't get any more incentive to write just by knowing that my descendants might collect royalties from my works 70 years after my death instead of just 50, should they even stay in print that long.  Instead, the primary beneficiaries of that most recent term extension, in 1998, were the owners of cash-cow properties like Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh, who gained an extra 20 years of profits and control before those works are scheduled to enter the public domain.

The trend toward longer copyright terms has extended protection from 28 years to potentially over 100 years.



Works in the public domain benefit society as a whole. They can be republished without restriction, making them more accessible, and they frequently serve as jumping-off points for new adaptations. Just think of the huge number of books, movies, and TV shows built off of such public domain stories as Dracula, Frankenstein, Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe, Moby Dick, The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, the works of Charles Dickens, the works of William Shakespeare, the mythology of ancient cultures, folk tales from around the world, and holy books including the Bible.

When Congress legislated a 20-year period in which no new works are entering the public domain, it created a chilling effect on creativity. And by adding 20 years of uncertainty to the end of a work's protection period, it became more difficult to find and obtain permission to use those works even by those willing to pay for the right. Ultimately, copyright term extensions have led to fewer works for all of us to enjoy, which is the opposite of what copyright laws are meant to do.

The Orphan Works Bill would address part of this problem by increasing access to obscure works still under protection, for the benefit of society at large, at the cost of causing a whole new set of problems for artists and photographers. Artist friends of mine hate this bill and worry that it will make it harder for them to earn a livelihood, depending on how much of a good faith effort is required to find copyright owners, whether a fee-based database of visual works is established, and what limitations are placed on damages for infringement.

If you oppose the Orphan Works Bill, your best bet is to contact your Representative and tell him or her that the Orphan Works Bill is flawed in its current form and should not be passed until it is amended or rewritten to better account for the concerns of visual artists. And while you're at it, put in a good word for the Public Domain Enhancement Act, to free up abandoned works that have been unused for 50 years or more, because our current public domain drought is set to last until 2019.

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Today's word of the day is Word of the Day.

I'd have said that today's word of the day is xkcd¹, except that's not really a word; it's a webcomic about stick figures, graphs, science, and love--not necessarily in that order. Except for today's xkcd, which is about words. The made-up kind.



Duuude, this is so true!

At the right side of the graph are books with lots of author-invented words including some great ones by Lewis Carrol and J.R.R. Tolkien. Writing at this end should be avoided unless you, like Tolkien, can also boast to being a staff researcher for the Oxford English Dictionary, noted philologist, tenured professor of English language and English literature, and author of definitive works on Middle English.

Tolkien didn't just make up words, he invented entire languages. Then he derived child-languages and dialects that may have logically developed over a few thousand years. Then he came up with the epic poems and lowbrow puns that those languages and dialects would have spawned. Then, and only then, did he feel comfortable enough to slip a word or two into the text, usually with a sense of history and shades of meaning that give them no exact match in English.

The rest of the books on the far side of the graph are total crap.

This is a writing day for me. The first in a long while, so yay! The book I'm working on has a lot of languages in it, Earth languages as well as alien ones, so I'm grateful for this reminder.

¹I'm not linking to xkcd, much as I love the site, because some of the individual strips use "strong language (which may be unsuitable for children), unusual humor (which may be unsuitable for adults), and advanced mathematics (which may be unsuitable for liberal-arts majors)."

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Today's word of the day is bank failures, the first step of an economic crisis that will inevitably end in mattresses-stuffed-with-cash failures as well.

Wachovia is the latest victim of the ongoing financial crisis. You can understand why from the bank's current commercials, which are still running even though the bank itself is being bought out by Citigroup. If the ads are accurate, Wachovia showered each of its customers with dollar bills falling from the sky. So many dollar bills that the customers became indifferent and didn't even bother picking any of them up.

This was great for the customers but apparently not a sustainable business practice.

Last week we lost Washington Mutual, aka WaMu, which kept a pen of bankers in the basement with an unlimited supply of champagne.  Bank managers would consult the bankers' pen on policy issues and do the exact opposite of whatever they said.  If the bankers didn't like to offer free checking, that's what WaMu did. If the bankers didn't like to offer no-fee ATMs, WaMu did that as well. I imagine the bankers were opposed to subprime mortgages as well because WaMu was all over them.


Sometimes the stodgy old bankers are right!

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Today's word of the day is Amazing Race, the most educational reality show on television.

When it comes to reality TV, we're an Amazing Race family. If you haven't seen the show, it's the one where teams of two race around the world on a route guided by a series of "clues" they collect along the way. Some clues are located in specially marked boxes in the middle of the wilderness, in the center of a foreign metropolis, or near some ancient historical landmark. Other clues are earned through mental or physical challenges. The race is run in stages, like the Tour de France, except that teams are eliminated or penalized if they come in last for that stage. Also, the mode of transportation is likely to be a mule, hang-glider, or Soviet-era instead of just a bicycle.

The show works on several levels. First, each team has a preexisting relationship, be they married, dating, related, or just friends. This season we have a brother and sister, a mother and son, a pair of frat brothers, a pair of comic book geeks, a married couple dealing with a recent episode of infidelity, a dating couple in a long distance relationship, a pair of hippy beekkeepers, and others. Each week we get to watch them either melt down under the stress of the race or draw closer through their joint suffering. Each season has inspiring personal stories as well as relationship-ending disasters.

Second, because it's a race, we see a whole lot of jockeying for position, strategic moves, alliance-building, and backstabbing along the way. Picture a strategy game where the board is large enough to wrap around the entire world and you'll have the basic idea--except for that one lame season that took place entirely within the United States, but we'll just pretend that never happened.

Finally, the show really shines when the producers slip educational material into the race when viewers aren't looking. Each week's challenges include once-in-a-lifetime experiences unique to the country or region the teams are passing through as well as interaction with landmarks and locals in a way that a typical tourist would never get to see. I'm not big on travelogue shows but somehow, when there's a race involved, it all becomes more interesting. You just have to tune out the relentless product placement for Travelocity.

The new season, which started tonight, will be our baby's first Amazing Race. You might think, at seven months old, that she'd be too young to fully appreciate the show--but you don't know our baby. For the past three or four weeks, she's been trying to figure out how to crawl. Until tonight she could get up on her hands and knees, rock back and forth, reach out one hand or the other, but never made any forward progress. Then tonight, on the Amazing Race, one of the teams undertook a challenge which required them to crawl on their hands and knees up the stairs of a church in Brazil. Our baby watched with rapt attention and something clicked in her brain. She suddenly understood the movements, tried them out, and started zooming around the living room like an old crawling pro.

Baby Einstein has nothing on that!

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Today's word of the day is Register, a hoop to jump through to announce your intention to gain or retain the ability to exercise your right to vote.

I'm passing along this link to a handy reference chart of state-by-state deadlines for voter registration.  Even if you are already registered, or too young to vote, your friends and family members might find this information useful. Here in Massachusetts, our deadline is October 15th.

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Today's word of the day is Facebook, a social networking version of crack. On speed. With a caffeine/nicotine chaser. What I'm trying to say is that it's addictive and possibly should be a controlled substance.

I check my Facebook account maybe once a week, update my status possibly monthly, and upload a new picture maybe once a year. There's a deliberate avoidance because otherwise I could see myself easily checking/updating every few minutes and trolling friends-of-friends lists for people I know. 

Unlike on MySpace, most of my Facebook friends are people I actually know--and also unlike MySpace, Facebook pages won't cause permanent blindness. Although MySpace has added Facebook-like features lately (like widgets) and Facebook has added MySpace-like features (like fan clubs) so the two will probably converge into a single FaceSpace in the next year or two.

Lately being on Facebook makes me feel like I'm back in high school, specifically because people from my old high school class are sending me friend requests. I get back into that mindset of being sixteen or seventeen again and I have to ask myself...

"If there were such a thing as social networking websites back in 1988, and if this person had asked back then to be my online friend, would I have clicked on approve or deny?"

Today I approved my old lab parnter from AP Biology class. We dissected a cat together--and now she's a veteranarian!  That was a good one to approve, and others have felt equally good to deny--since high school was probably the time of my life with the highest ratio of people I didn't like who didn't like me back, and I sure wouldn't have friended any of them back in the 80's!

But I'm curious about other people and their experiences with Facebook or MySpace friends from different parts or periods of their lives. Comments welcome!

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Today's word of the day is Pirate, a profession that requires skill in sailing, swordplay, firing light artillery from a moving platform, burying treasure, making maps, digging up treasure, basic care and feeding of parrots, crafting prosthetic limbs from wood, and drinking rum--not necessarily in that order.

Talk Like A Pirate Day sneaks up on me every year. I usually run across a link somewhere in the afternoon of September 19th and find that I've already wasted dozens of good opportunities to talk to people like a pirate.

"Harr... I be wantin' to pay for this bounty of gasoline with me credit card, please. Excuse me? Well shiver me timbers, what do you mean a real pirate wouldn't say please?!! Have you landlubbers not heard of Cap'n Politebeard of the Good Ship Manners? For your insollence I'll cause ye to walk the plank, if you'd be so kind!"

What are you reading on this TLAP Day? I recommend Ghost in the Noonday Sun by Sid Fleishman. Um...mateys!

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Today's word of the day is Title Character, a fictional person so important to a book that their name appears on the cover and the spine.

If the title of your book is BIG REX AND FRIENDS, there should be a character named Big Rex featured prominently within, and other characters who are explicitly identified as Rex's peers, acquaintances, or colleagues.  It doesn't matter whether the book is for babies, children, or adults--or whether it's ten pages long or a thousand. If the reader comes to the end of BIG REX AND FRIENDS and Big Rex isn't mentioned even once in the text, the result is outrage, disappointment, and the feeling that a promise made by the title has been callously broken.

That put me in an awkward position as a parent, having offered my daughter a story about Big Rex and all his or her friends, and being unable to deliver using just the text of the book.  And if you're looking to imagine up a plot to bring the book's eight non T-rex characters together in an adventure where they could be friends, you'll need to include time travel as an element--since at least four of the dino species would have been millions of years extinct before T-rex came onto the scene in the late Cretaceous.

That's why for my book I made sure THE PENGUINS OF DOOM actually had penguins of doom in it.

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Today's word of the day is 9/11, which may look like a date or a set of numbers but has actually become a noun, verb, and adjective. As used by former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani: "John McCain and Barack Obama totally 9/11ed my presidential campaign. Could this election get any more 9/11?"

Submitted without comment, blog entries from 7 years ago:

Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Holy cow!

I'm watching a news report from New York, and I don't even know what I'm looking at. According to the news anchors, it's "what remains of the city skyline" but it looks like a whole bank of smoke.


Wednesday, September 12, 2001
God bless America

There are people in the world who hate the United States, just because it is the United States, and hate Americans just because they are Americans. We knew this, but always wrote them off as extremists or crackpots. We can't write them off anymore.

Yesterday we found out just how much we are hated in some parts of the world. We are hated so much that some people want to kill us. We are hated so much that some people want to kill themselves and take as many of us with them as they can. We are hated so much that some people, upon learning of the thousands of innocent deaths in our cities, react with celebration, singing, and dancing in the streets.

This is our new reality.


Thursday, September 13, 2001
Incommunicado

On Tuesday, it was near impossible to get a phone connection to New York City, to find out what was going on and if people were all right. This was best done through email and internet messaging -- until my ISP went down on Tuesday night. It's still down, and there's no estimate on when it will return. I am posting this from a borrowed computer, which I have access to in five to ten minute intervals once or twice a day. I don't have access to my primary email account that many people might try to use, so the best way to reach me is at greg [at] gfishbone [dot] com. Thanks!


Friday, September 14, 2001
Flying at half mast

I was watching a Canadian news program last night, to get a better sense of perspective on the terrorist attacks against the US. One of the reporters made the comment that, "When Americans get nervous, they buy little American flags." We sure do...

It's been encouraging to see all the American flags people have been flying. So many people have them mounted to their car, it looks like a non-stop presidential motorcade. I've been through the same spectrum of emotions as everyone else over these past days, and now I'm emotionally exhausted. Everyone on TV seems to be emotionally exhausted as well, from the firefighters and reporters on up to the President of the United States.


Sunday, September 16, 2001
Back online!

The net-demons couldn't keep me offline forever, and just in time. I was starting to get bored of Minesweeper, Solitaire, and Freecell.

I would have been more understanding and patient if I had been given a terror-related excuse for the down time. "Our primary bank of router-switcher-doodads is located in New York" would have worked for me, or maybe, "All our tech people were called up by their National Guard units" or such.

Instead, my ISP had no excuses, no apologies, no information, and no service for most of a week.


Monday, September 17, 2001
L'shana tova!

The Jewish New Year is upon us, a holiday of somber reflection and prayer. I'm so worn out already from a week of somber reflection and prayer that the holiday seems redundant. I might not go this year. I might just stay home and meditate, eat honey-coated apple slices, and pray for peace and happiness in the year to come.

One tradition of the holiday is hearing the shofar, a ram's horn used as a trumpet to symbolically wake us up from the complacency of everyday life. This year, our wake-up call came a week early.


Waiting for the response

President Bush is promising massive military retaliation against those who house the terrorists responsible for last week's attacks. Just days before the attack, some of those terrorists were housed in a motel on Route 9 in my home town -- so I'll be staying away from the Route 9 area until all military operations against this motel have been completed.


Tuesday, September 18, 2001
Moving on

I think I've been able to internalize most of the events of the past week. I feel like I've been changed in some fundamental ways...

I have a different set of priorities now. The problems that loomed so large in my life before last week have become smaller from my new perspective, and some now seem so petty that I can give them up completely. I have a voice and an opinion, but it's not all about me.

I feel a greater sense of connection and solidarity with other people. We have all shared an experience that will change our world forever. We have all felt the shock, terror, and sadness of these events, even from a distance, and the distances between us have been forever reduced.

We are all survivors of a horrifying inner turmoil, even those of us located hundreds or thousands of miles from what they are calling "Ground Zero." It has been impossible for anyone to remain on the sidelines as a passive observer -- by offering prayers, lighting candles, waving flags, or just talking with each other, we have become active participants in the healing of our world.

I am proud of the courage of the rescue workers, the unity of a government in crisis, the patriotism of our people, their dedication to return to normality, and the outpouring of support we have received from around the world. Even in the wake of this act of barbaric hatred, my faith in humanity is stronger than ever.

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Today's word of the day is Politics. From the root words poly, meaning many, and tics, being a kind of blood-sucking parasite, it's no surprise that politics would be used to describe the actions of government.

In general, it's a bad idea to take your children's writing-focused blog and go off on a tangent about politics. The political landscape is a minefield of hot-button issues that we, as children's book writers, have no business talking about--unless that's part of your writing schtick, in which case you should go there as often as you can.

My livelihood depends on appealing as broadly as possible to kids who enjoy funny stories about magic, adventure, and penguins--as well as the booksellers, librarians, teachers, reviewers, parents, and other adults who serve as literary gatekeepers and the other writers, editors, and agents with whom I share the publishing industry. Whatever I could possibly say on the subject of politics will tick off some percentage of folks on the left and/or right and/or middle and hurt my writing career far more than it could possibly help.

That said, I often feel the need to rant my head off about political issues before the pressure builds high enough to pop an eyeball. Until now the options available have been to shout curses into a paper bag or post anonymously to the political blogosphere (which is kind of like peeing into a swamp). But as of today, kidlit writers have our own political forums in three different flavors:

Left: ya_liberals - Moderated by fabulousfrock 
Right: ya_cons - Moderated by cyn2write 
Center: kidlitmoderates - Moderated by </a></b></a>lillpluta

Each list is moderated so that posts and comments are visible only to members, allowing like-mindedly political children's authors to talk amongst themselves in private. I'm hoping there will be some constructive communication between the groups as well.

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Today's word of the day is Home, the only place you can be where people can't tell you it's time to go home because you're already there.

It's been a long two months but I'm finally home. I have several hundred emails to catch up on, a Tivoful of television, and an entire summer's worth of missed blockbuster movies. On the plus side, I got to skip over eight weeks of the election season--and it doesn't seem like I missed a single major happening that will still matter when it comes time to vote in November.

Well...there was this one political thing late last week, where I heard that Barack Obama had decided on a running mate and was calling the other people on his short-list to let them know they wouldn't be on the ticket. It was an exciting time because I didn't get a call, so technically I was still in the running right up until Saturday morning!

Obama had an opportunity to put old-fashioned politics behind him by choosing a vice presidential nominee who, like me, is not a politician. Someone who has never held a political office. Just an ordinary guy who writes about penguins: a candidate who would have broadened the ticket's appeal to other ordinary folks, to other writers, and of course to penguins. But instead Obama tapped Joe Biden, a failed presidential candidate who dropped out of the 2008 race after more than 99% of caucus-goers in Iowa voted for somebody else. The guy has already alienated 99% of an entire state's Democratic voters, and procedurally flipped-off the other 49 states by removing his name from their ballots, so I don't see how he's any more qualified to be Vice President than I am.

But John McCain hasn't chosen his running mate yet, so I guess I still have a chance.

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Our office, like many offices, has a kitchen area with a fridge.  And our kitchen-area fridge, like many kitchen-area fridges, tends to fill up with uneaten lunches, office meeting leftovers, and packets of ketchup. So the Powers That Be instituted a new policy: the fridges will be completely emptied every Friday afternoon at 5PM. Everything ends up in the trash, with no exceptions, in order to make room for a new week's worth of junk.

The fridge clearing policy is posted on the fridge itself and on the walls of the kitchen area. And to make sure everyone got the message, this Friday they put signs up on all the bathroom doors that said, "The refrigerator will be cleaned out at 5PM today!!!"

So last night one of the attorneys returns from a bathroom break and says, seriously, "Does anyone know where the men's room fridge is? I've checked all the stalls and I still can't find it!"

It's a real braintrust here.

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...or maybe you haven't, and that's cool too.  I started off on a ten-day vacation and got immediately yanked back to the world of what I often do when I'm not writing about penguins, which is to provide legal review and analysis of transactional documents for multinational corporations and/or government agencies. It's all dry and boring stuff that never has any penguins in it at all. In fact, the most exciting document I've seen this month has been a confidentiality agreement marked with a "confidential" stamp--so that in order to read the confidentiality agreement you first have to sign a confidentiality agreement.  Isn't that crazy?

Over the course of my legal document reviewing career, I've collected and reviewed documents in seven states and the District of Columbia.  This time, I'm in New York City.  Isn't it fun to be in New York City in the heat of the summer, you might ask, when the subways are jam-packed and poorly air-conditioned?  No, it's really not as much fun as you might think, and most of my time is spent in front of a computer screen anyway (much as those subways keep calling out to me).  The hours are long and the Internet access is sparse, which is why I haven't been answering your emails and stuff.  But it's what I've got to do to pay the bills.

So have pity on me and hope to hear from me again soon.

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Today's word of the day is News, originally the plural form of new, which as a noun meant "something that's new." Today the news are mostly recycleds.

Book Promotion News: If you're looking for attention (and lots of press) there aren't many better ways than to dump bags of cash out the window of a plane. D.B. Cooper did it in 1971, and people are still buzzing about it! Now an author in Indonesia, Tung Desem Waringin, is using an aerial money dump to publicize a book about money management. Hopefully "throw your money away" isn't part of the advice, but rather a message of "read my book and you'll have so much travelling-around cash that you'll need to toss it out a window to make more room for your luggage." Authorities apparently turned down Waringin's original request to make the drop in Jakarta, so the promo went down in a less populous city that was deemed to be safer and/or more needful of a cash infusion. Does anyone else remember that "WKRP" episode where the radio station dropped life turkeys out of a helicopter on Thanksgiving only to discover that the turkeys couldn't fly? That's the main reason why I didn't do a penguin-drop for The Penguins of Doom.

• CNN: Author drops cash from airplane to promote book
• Wikipedia: D.B. Cooper
• IMDB: "WKRP in Cincinnati"

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