... besides that she will lapse into talking about herself in the third person:

When her sons were young, she admitted that she was actually an alien, sent here to live among humans and observe, and every New Year’s Eve she returns to her planet for a couple of hours. It explained a lot.

If you’re Catholic you might understand this: As young children, Terri and her older brother used to play “Mass.” He’d be the priest and they’d make a chalice from aluminum foil, hosts from smashed white bread circled out with a shot glass. She’d be a nun, wearing one of her father’s white shirts backwards, another on her head for a veil and a rosary around her waist. Confession didn’t work out as well since her brother was a snitch.

When she was born, she had a gigantic head. Enormous, according to her mother. According to her husband, she still does.

She got kicked out of high school. What? She went to another one. Misunderstood artist....nyuk, nyuk.

She will pretend to “take kids” to the snowhill, but actually go by herself to sketch and photograph other people’s kids. Something about unadulterated joy that draws her there.

Birds fly to her. Two have become pets. One was a parakeet, the other a quaker parrot.

Her memory goes back to when she was an infant...when she was preverbal and thought in images and feelings.

Terri just found her kindergarten report card. Check out the notation....

...well, sort of!

Of course I am talking about the thrill of seeing an advertisement placed by one's publisher that includes one's book. Somehow that is as much of a boost to the ego as the initial sale of the manuscript! I had the pleasure the last two weeks of catching Sterling's fun ads in Publisher's Weekly Children's Bookshelf (their free weekly email newsletter about the Children's Book world) featuring my book as one of three, as well as utilizing some of my interior art to create the ad itself. What a charge that was!

Now, I have just opened my latest copy of Booklist and I have the added thrill of seeing ads for two of my fellow bloggers and members of my writing group: Becky Hall and Joe Kulka. Back when we all formed this group only one of us, Anne Bowen, was published as a writer. Now we get to share the wonderful, even if silly, excitement of the discovery of the ads for our books.

For your viewing pleasure, Joe's and Becky's publishers' ads are below. Mine you can see by getting the PW Children's Bookshelf, or by taking a look online at the PW website.

Who would have throught that a mere commercial could be such a cheap thrill?

Six weird things about Kim Norman...

1. Since my parents raised innumerable foster children, I fit into nearly EVERY possible birth-order category.

2. I used to sing in a Big Band. For pay, even.

3. My first job was running a press, shooting & stripping negatives, and typesetting in a print shop. My boyfriend freaked a little when I told him "My boss taught me how to strip today."

4. My first boss, (the boss of the one who taught me how to strip) committed suicide by jumping off a bridge a few years ago. Turns out people really do that.

5. I was the first person to discover that chocolate and orange were a good combination, decades ago. Now Pepperidge Farm and Ben & Jerry are just ripping me off.

6. Ditto for Christmas ball earrings. I invented that, too. No really, I did.

See photos of me doing other weird stuff by clicking here.

Kim

Great posts lately! As a small diversion, you have now been tagged to tell SIX weird and/or strange things about yourself. Barb has done it already, and so has Liz. SO, Joe, Sandy, Becky, Anne, Terri, and Kim- you're up!

Previous blog written by Anne Bowen---sigh.

I copy the masters. Like an art student, I study what the experts in my field do and then I try to do the same thing. Students who emulated Monet moved to Giverny just to breathe the same air that he did. I am not that bad, but I study the authors whose work I admire.

I was working on early readers. So I read and reread Henry and Mudge books. I studied the way Cynthia Rylant repeats phrases throughout the book, how she constructs her sentences, how she places the words on the lines and where she has page breaks. I noticed how she puts some words in bold print. She has a see saw kind of construction in Henry and Mudge The First Book. I liked that.

Henry had no brothers and no sisters.
"I want a brother,"
he told his parents.
"Sorry," they said.
Henry had no friends
on his street.
"I want to live on another street,"
he told his parents.
"Sorry," they said.
Henry had no pets
at home.
"I want to have a dog,"
he told his parents.
"Sorry," they almost said.

I love this opening scene. It is short; there are no extra words. It is poignant but not maudlin. It sets the scene for the reader. We immediately connect with the main character. We know the problem right away. Henry is lonely. But she doesn't tell us; Cynthia Rylant shows us. It is done SO simply. It is brilliance- in an early reader!

Now I am writing a story from the point of view of an animal. One of the human characters is a third grade girl. I am studying my mentor texts again: Clementine by Sarah Pennypacker. Judy Moody by Megan McDonald, Junie B. Jones by Barbara Park and Ruby Lou, Brave and True by Lenore Look. These are all books with great female characters who are about the right age. I am studying how the girls react to the world around them, often misunderstanding the adult point of view. They are funny and flawed and lovable. I want my human character to be like that.

I am also studying books that have animals that interact with humans and are telling us their story. Bill Wallace understands the way dogs think in Watchdog and the Coyotes. Rosemary Wells' McDuff jumps off the page at me; he is full of personality and is a perfect West Highland Terrier (Both Wells and Susan Jeffers have Westies- They know what they are writing about and illustrating.) Lyn Rossiter McFarland and her husband Jim McFarland produced Widget, another book about a Westie, a Westie who acts like a cat in order to be taken into a home full of six cats.

As I study these texts, I type out the words. I read them many times. I break down individual sentences and notice their construction. What kinds of words does the author use? How does the author show us the confused animal thinking that demonstrates the difference between animal and human? How does its animal-ness get it in trouble? How does its understanding of humans help? And how does the author maintain the animal-ness without anthropomorphizing too much? Most of all, how does the author help the reader make that leap of faith so that we believe in this animal. What makes it work for us as readers?

I look to the masters. I study their work so that I can figure things out for myself. Do I copy? No. Do I use their work and call it mine? Certainly not! Do I learn how to perform my own magic from studying theirs? I hope so.

Yes, it's a tragic malady. Above, the person I've become. Below, the glamorous person I once was, (shown here as the singing narrator in a production of JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT), before I was driven insane by MSA. (Also known as CMCD -- compulsive mailbox-checking disorder.) I've immortalized the malady in a song, "Ode to a Departing Manuscript." Listen to it on my home page at www.kimnormanbooks.com

I've been reading a book "White Oleander" that I bought from a resale boutique. It got me thinking about why I became an artist. But first a word about the resale boutique. I hate shopping. Deplore it. More like most guys in that respect, where I save and list all the things I need, then do a one stop shopping expedition, in and out. But the resale boutique, that's different...I linger. Everyone's lives are there each with their own story, elbow to elbow...the wedding candlesticks offered up because they no longer held magic in light of the divorce, resting next to the bundt cake pan Aunt Matilda was so sure would be the perfect teenager's gift. Where else could you find a lovely item as this...a stork on a turtle's back. I don't know what's more troubling, the fact that someone created this and thought it would sell, or the fact that I bought it.

Anyway, on to "White Oleander" by Janet Fitch from the boutique's book section. It's a coming of age story about a young girl (told from her POV) whose mother is imprisoned after poisoning the lover that jilted her. I suppose I related to this story because the young girl is an artist, the mother a poet. It's a beautifully written book, with prose and images that stay with the reader long after the book is closed. In one excerpt, the mother writes a letter to her daughter who is having difficulty in her foster placement... "Dear Astrid...I know what you are learning to endure. There is nothing to be done. Just make sure nothing is wasted. Take notes. Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to. Mother."

So it got me thinking, why did I become an artist? I think it was formed early for me, because I was a child of immigrant parents and English was not my first language. There were no head-start programs, no gymboree, no socialization outside the ethnic group. So once I entered kindergarten, I was the quiet Polish girl who smiled and observed. It forced me to read cues to understand people and to believe in my intuition...to read their body language, their expressions, inflections. It made me form stories in my head as to what the reality of a situation may be, then keep backtracking to see if my vision still held water.

That, and being influenced by my storyteller father and artistic grandmother...and the die was cast. If you’re an artist, a writer, a musician, an actor, a dancer....what’s your story?

Terri

So, here's one of the great little wall hangings I received at our newspaper office Christmas party last week. We always do that silly gift exchange where you can "steal" any already-opened present you think looks good. My boss (an editor and publisher) and I dueled for a while over these items and a cool mug that said, "What deadline?" He won the mug, but I was equally happy with my news-writer-themed little plaques. (The other two are an old fashioned phone and an old camera. I tried inserting them here, but the spacing around them was too funky, so I decided not to burden you with those.)

I was happy with the three, but it turns out there's a 4th plaque somewhere in my co-worker's car. She promises she'll bring it in as soon as she finds it.

Now, where to hang them? Somewhere near my computer, naturally!!

Kim Norman

PS: It's still not too late to listen to my "Santa Baby for writers" song parody!
(On my website, click the button beside "A Writer's Wish List)
Visit my site by clicking my name, above.

I am on vacation so I have been reading. As a children's library media specialist, I read many kids' books, but I have been reading adult stuff. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen and Where the Heart Is by Billie Letts. I read Gruen's book first. It tells about a man's lifetime spent in a circus and all the strange and unusal people there- but throughout we see the importance of caring and finding family where you are. I was swept away by Gruen's character development. She writes from the point of view of a 90 or 93 year-old man (He can't recall his age because he is getting forgetful.) Then she switches, through his memories, back to his youth. She impressed me because she maintained the voice of the young Jacob and then flipped to the old one. Each had a distinct voice but was still clearly the same man. Wow! How did she do that? I was impressed, so impressed that I picked up three more books before I could commit to another.

Then I found Where the Heart Is. I realized I had seen the movie and had started the book before, but it is so beautifully written I had to keep reading. This book is full of odd people. I even love the names she chooses for them. I keep thinking that they are the forgotten people we walk by every day, the ones we raise an eyebrow at or the ones who prompt us to quicken our step as we pass. These characters have escaped from the book and moved into my consciousness. It reminds me of Inkspell by Cornelia Funke where the people in the books trade places with their readers. I am still here, but these people are haunting me and I love them. It is all in the details!
Read this from Where the Heart Is… (p. 160)

"Novalee, this is my father, Purim Whitecotton."

The old man smiled at her with the side of his face that still worked, but the broken side, the side with the hooked eye and sagging lip, had shut down on his last birthday, his 83rd, when he bent to blow out the candles on an angel food cake and a blood vessel exploded in his temple.

"Hello," said Novalee.

His left hand, defective…useless, fingers twisted and curled toward his palm, lay in his lap like some long-owned geegaw…worthless, but too familiar to throw away. He offered his good hand- palsied, warted and scarred, discolored like bruised fruit- but good. Veins, intricate purple skeins, webbed across the back of his hand and his skin, cool and soft, felt like fine creased silk. And when Novalee touched it, she heard the lines of a poem she had read,

…ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

A good book leaves us thinking. It leaves us different. It leaves us aching- aching at its craft, aching at its beauty, aching for more. It leaves us writers wanting to perform the same magic. It sends us back to our writing. And leaves us with wonder.

I am thankful for good books.

Happy holidays
Becky Hall
A is for Arches (Sleeping Bear Press-2003)
Morris and Buddy, The Story of the First Seeing Eye Dog (Albert Whitman-2007)

I have a habit of berating myself for not writing. I get in a
whirlwind over my day job, my family or whatever else is happening in my life.
Then I ask myself: How can you call yourself a writer? So then the
question I come to is: What makes me a writer? And what IS writing after
all?

This summer I got in the anti-me mode but then my writing group friends
reminded me that I was editing a book. I was engaged in an uplifting
revision process with my editor all summer long. It was intense work. We
reviewed every word in my new book. This was writing.

In my day job as an elementary school library media specialist, I
compose monthly newsletters. I email the faculty with book reviews. I design
and write up curriculum with grade level teachers. I send my parent
volunteers notes. This is writing.

I had a crazy fall and became frustrated with my lack of writing. My
stepfather died on September 8, and a week later I received a call from
my sister telling me my mother was dying also. I flew east and sat at
her bedside for the next week. I came home to Salt Lake City complaining
that I had not written much. Then I reviewed my journal. In between
amazing talks with my mother, I had filled my journal with memories of my
childhood, thoughts about death, her comments about her life. This was
wonderful writing!

Writing takes many forms. If you are like me, we need to take a moment
and remember that it all adds to our children's writing. Maybe someday
I will write a book about a mother's death, or children in a school
library or any of my life experiences. What makes me a writer is that I
experience the world through words. I record my thoughts. I search for
the perfect word to describe a feeling, a scene, or an action. I solve
my problems through writing. Yes, I also create stories and write
nonfiction for kids, but that is not the only thing that makes me a writer.
Maybe when I am not feeling like I am writing, it is really that I am
not creating new stories. Could that be what is confusing me? Surely, I
am a writer.

Becky Hall
A is for Arches, a Utah Alphabet
Morris and Buddy, the Story of the First Seeing Eye Dog

Bursting through the doors, late for this blogging party. What? I was working!!

Had 4 books to illustrate within 4 months and after all the sketch changes and approvals I was down to the wire sometimes painting an illustration a day. Not the choicest of situations but it did provide me a rich experience. That of being cocooned, focused, and putting down the simplest and strongest of strokes to convey. Though I can’t show the entire illustration as it’s not published yet, here’s an example of a character in one of them.

A few theories I’m going to dispel as a result of that experience. First, the theory of “everybody pitches in while mom is working.” That’s in theory only. Turns out I’m not Donna Reed, and my family ain’t the Huxtables. Second, an interesting theory of my agent’s when it comes to an overload of work...that of “batch painting.” Of painting multiple illustrations at once. Say if 3 of them had lavender skies, I’d whip up some lavender swirls and stroke away...the theory being it would be faster. Not sure that saved any time, but it was interesting. Given the choice and luxury of time, my preference is to dive in, one at a time. I’m monogamous like that.

The last theory is more of an observation. After this intense painting marathon, as every day unfolded the same as the previous, as my house fell down around me, as I looked for the light at the end of the tunnel....finally being free.....I miss my tunnel. I miss the warmth of my studio, the music, the candles, the colors blending on my palette and translating through me until only the colors remained. Yeah, I miss that.

Overload me.

Terri

We've all gotten them: rejection letters. Now, for every writer who has received a rejection letter, or the writer annoyed by celebrity children's books, my holiday gift to you: a song parody I'm calling "A Writer's Wish List." Visit my site, then click on the "play" button beside my book cover. Click HERE first, to visit kimnormanbooks.com.
Kim Norman