You know how sticky it can sometimes get when you’re juggling both a mother and a stepmother? Imagine if your mother was a ghost and your stepmother was a teacher at your school! Sherry Baldwin’s mother floats in on a wave of coffee to let Sherry know that she needs to meet her at Dairy Queen, ghost headquarters. There, Sherry learns that her stepmother, aka The Ruler, has a stalker. With her dad out of town, and her mother competing in the Ghostlympics, it’s up to Sherry to solve the mystery. But, she so doesn’t do spooky.

Sherry enlists Junie’s help as they embark upon a journey of the paranormal. A ghost hunter’s equipment picks up signs of her mother while a teen psychic confirms Sherry’s fears about her stepmother. When The Ruler’s tires are slashed, Sherry follows the scents of sweat socks and honey, and wonders what she’ll do when she finds the stalker.

To make matters worse, her uberfantastic boyfriend, Josh, has a glittery tutor who seems eager to take Sherry’s place. Her best friend, Junie, is too distracted to answer her texts, someone is trying to kill her fish, and her school’s rival robotics team has discovered she’s a spy.

Barrie Summy’s I SO DON’T DO SPOOKY is a wonderful romp between teen and paranormal worlds. I thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Summy’s first novel, I SO DON’T DO MYSTERIES and was eager to read I SO DON’T DO SPOOKY. I was not disappointed. It was just plain fun. And if an unusual scent seems to settle around you as you read, don’t be concerned. It’s probably just a ghost that can’t resist reading over your shoulder.

This review was originally posted here at Teens Read Too.

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First, a quick update. I'm proud to announce that I finished the first draft of MUTED on Sept. 27th. A birthday gift to myself. I then spent a month catching up on reading, telling myself I was just letting the manuscript rest before I tackled it again. Truth? I was scared to death of it. It's huge. Monstrous! Where to start in the mountain of revisions?

So, about the time everyone was gearing up for NaNoWriMo, I began gearing up for my revisions. I even printed it out. Two pages per page. Yet it was still nearly two inches thick. Much cutting ahead I fear. I carried it around for over a week. Probably two. I kept making excuses. "Not enough time to start it." "If I start working on it here, someone will want to talk to me." "It's too late. If I start it now, I'll oversleep in the morning." Yada, yada, yada.

Finally, I took my manuscript with me to the public library. The plan? Force myself to work on it till it was time to pick up my daughter at play practice. It worked! There was only one thing keeping me from working on my revisions. Me. I'm now about fifteen chapters in, and have cut an entire chapter. It seems the more I fix, the more questions I jot down. But I can feel it getting tighter. Better. But I have a long way to go. I want this ready to go out the door by the end of Christmas break. That gives me weekends, the week of Thanksgiving, and two weeks at Christmas.

Meanwhile, I will continue to be absent from LJ. I do loiter on FB, so you can look me up there. But for now, I will focus on the book.

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I'm back at school and loving my students! Really! I have an awesome group of eighth graders this year! So far it's been good on the opposite end of the bad that I had last year. I'm having a great time with them so far.

But more importantly, and the reason why I'm posting, is that I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm just over 58k on my WIP and have only 7 chapters left to go! Then the real work begins. But still. I'm almost there!!!

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Do you ever do it? Break through that imaginary wall between the writer and reader? Where your character kind of looks up and notices the reader, and makes a comment directed at them? Where, just for a moment, you switch to 2nd person POV?

I know Kate DiCamillo did it in Tale of Despereaux. Her reader comments were overt. Some critics said they thought they were intrusive. For example, pg.15. She writes:

"This is the last one," said the father. "And he'll be dead soon. He can't live. Not with his eyes open like that."

But, reader, he did live.

This is his story.

She references the reader over and over throughout the book. As I read it, I felt kind of special. Like, she was talking to me. Strange, I know. Perhaps that was her intent, to pull the reader into the intimacy of the story telling. In fact, before "Book the First" she writes:

The world is dark, and light is precious.
Come closer, dear reader.
You must trust me.
I'm telling you a story.

It's like she's letting the reader in on a secret. Know what I mean? And maybe that's why it keeps cropping up in my current WIP. My narrator is sharing something about herself that she knows the reader will not understand. So sometimes she speaks to the reader directly. I don't want to give too much away, guarding the idea and all that...but here's a relatively harmless example. This is after Jessica finds out something online that rocks her world. It's a pivotal point in the book. She finds out from her best friend who has no clue that she's just dropped a bomb.

She signed off.
Imagine you just ate an entire pot of stewed seaweed.
Yeah.
That's me.
I most definitely felt a sick day coming on.

She occasionally comments on what she knows the reader is assuming and then confides what it's really like, or why she's acted or not acted a certain way.

The problem is in deciding if it distracts and pulls the reader out of the story. And deciding how often to let her do this, if I allow it.

So, what are your thoughts about 2nd POV? Breaking that sacred wall. What other authors have used it in what books? And, more importantly, why do you think they used it?

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I just wrote another chapter this morning and found myself back in 6th grade. A new girl had moved to my school. Robin Hill. Creve Coeur, Mo. I'll never forget her name. Rena Macina. Probably spelled wrong. She was different from anything I'd ever seen before. She came dressed in filmy linens that covered her head and flowed to the floor. I'm sure they have a name. She also had a spot on her forehead. Red I think. Like I said. She was different. Soon, I heard a rumor and felt it my duty to spread that rumor. Terrible I know.

Now, I should back up a sec and let you know that my little self-righteous self was very proud of the fact that I had an uncle who was Chief of Police in Brookfield, Illinois. Illinois! Not Missouri! Like that would even matter. (Yeah, I idolized my Uncle Paul.)

By Rena's second day at my school, she was wearing cute tight jeans like everybody else. In one night she went from weirdo to fitting in. That quick. Now, I don't remember when we moved there, but I'm sure it hadn't been for very long and fitting in was something I never did quite get the hang of. (My move to Florida in 7th grade was my 6th home.) She did it in one day. One day, people! She was pretty. The guys loved her looks. Her accent. It just wasn't right, you know? How unfair is it that she could become popular so quickly. A girls who's daddy sold pot for a living. Yeh, if I called my Uncle, he'd have her parents behind bars in no time. I only said this to a couple of my closest friends. They wouldn't repeat it. Right? (I still haven 't learned this.) Except somehow, she found out. And the whole...entire...school was at the bus pickup area to watch us fight after school.

I pressed my way through the crowd to my bus, my violin case banging against my leg. I fought tears the entire way, hearing, "Fight, fight, fight," as I staggered to the bus. To this day, I have no idea if she was there waiting. Too many other students in the crowd. I stared out the window and cried behind my violin case all the way home. I refused to admit to my parents that I knew why she wanted to fight. Even the next morning when my parents took me with them to talk to the principal's office. Between sniffles, I kept saying, "I don't know. I don't know." I was in college before I told my mom the truth about that day.

Rena didn't bother me again, but as I write the next chapter in my book, I'll be drawing from this emotion core of teen angst. Maybe that day wasn't such a total loss after all.

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Try to enjoy it. At least, that's what I tell myself. My niece and nephew are still here. Still sleeping. I know I'll get little writing done today. Very frustrating when your self-imposed finish-the-novel-before-school-starts-back deadline is looming. But, I remind myself, that's why I live close to family. So we can help each other out like this. My SIL is at work, and my brother is helping a friend do something(?) on his home. Brother is good like that. He's built three homes himself. And I mean by himself. In his spare time, LOL, he's a middle school band director. Teaching runs in our family.

So I just got home from my 1st trip of the day into town (~6 miles each way.) Took son to cross-country practice. It's voluntary during the summer, but he wants to go and who am I to discourage that dedication? On the way home my little notebook is propped on my steering wheel. I write, Rinse. Spit. Repeat. Then I add, gum. My brain wants to write. My crit buddies pointed out that I'd cheated the reader by summarizing Jessica's day in a journal. A journal that only just now appeared over halfway through the book. Two problems. 1) It's over halfway through the book. Either no journal or put it in sooner. 2) I cheated them. No matter how painful this day is, I cannot spare Jessica or my reader. I must take the reader through it. Every agonizing moment. So painful that Jessica ended the last chapter throwing up. Hence, rinse, spit, repeat...then gum.

Sixth grade niece, third grade nephew, and ninth grade daughter will soon be up. I'll make them breakfast. Then at 10:00, I'll pick up son and drop off daughter for cheerleading conditioning. That makes trip #2. Are you counting? Trip #3 will be picking up daughter. At 2:30 I'll be taking daughter back to school again so she can interview to be on the yearbook staff. (Trip #4) Nevermind she's declared yearbook as her major for her freshman year. She loves taking pictures. I hope the interview is short and sweet because I absolutely have to bring her and her cousins back home before heading back in, (#5), for my 3:15 doctor's appt. You know the one. Nuff said. It's been two years. I have soooo many friends with cancer that have taught me it's best to find out any bad news early. I'm praying for good news. Of course.

So, today I know I won't get a lot done. Maybe this evening. Maybe a good half hour this morning? But it's not always about the book is it? Sometimes it's best to just enjoy life. I'm going to try to remember that when the frantic feeling starts chasing me down today.

ETA: I hope I remember to go by and pick up Mom and Dad's dog during trip #3. I'll be dog-sitting till tomorrow... Read the rest of this post

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I'm frequently impressed by the numerous ways writers approach their novels, yet come out with equally impressive works. Some writers write straight through never stopping until the end, similar to nanowrimo. I've never been able to do that. I'm not sure I could. I'm more of a revise as you go type of person, to the point it drives me nuts. Why can't I just go on?

I take those critiques I've received and revise backwards. I may leave a few threads hanging, ends than need to be woven in, but I've got to fix that global template. Even if I'm not responding to a critique, I've got to re-read the last chapter I've written before I can go on. I guess it kind of gets my head back into the book. And I always find little stuff to fix. Repeated words. A stupid adverb. Telling that's already been shown. Inserting tags. (I really despise tags. I much prefer dialogue and action, so much so that my reader can lose track of where I am.) Yet even after all that revising-as-I-go process, usually I still have to go back and rewrite the beginning. I've heard that there are authors who use this method so well that the editing process with an editor is minimal. I wish.

I guess for me, it becomes a matter of efficiency. Sort of. The more into the book I get, the better I learn my characters. I'm almost 2/3 finished with my current project and I think I've finally sorted out my character's family. I've figured out the part they need to play. How I need to write them. I only recently heard the dad's voice. And that was nearly halfway into the book. His voice is strong and has a significant impact on how Jessica feels about herself. He needs to be introduced much sooner. Mom's role has been shifting throughout the book. So, now that I know her role, I have to go back and make her more consistent. (As consistent as hormonal mothers are. LOL.) But the biggest change is going to be in the brother. I know how he truly feels about his sister but he's a cardboard cutout. One crit buddy uses the term, Nancy Drew. I know what he means. He's not real. Not believable. That absolutely must be fixed.

The question is, when? Some writers would simply take note of what they've learned and move on. I don't know if I can. If I drop a stitch when I'm knitting my prayer shawls, I have to rip it all out and fix it. If I don't, it will bug me. But this time I'm going to push myself forward. I'll add these character trait changes to my whole-document-revisions-to-look-for-when-finished page and force myself to keep going.

Perhaps the key is to simply just do it. Whatever your process. Which is hopefully somewhere in the middle, between those who revise to the point that they never get past chapter one, and those who never revise, submitting that crappy first draft into the slush pile.

How do you write? Whatever your process? Just do it.

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It's true. He's left Firebrand. Read more here.

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We've all heard it. The difference between a published author and an unpublished author is that the published author didn't give up.

Giving up. We've all been there at one point or another. Not just in writing. Fighting the attitude with the kids. Fighting the clutter in the house. Fighting the you fill in the blank. We pick our battles. We fight the important ones. So, how important is writing to you? How badly do you want to write? How badly do you want to write well? How badly do you want to be published?

When we hit that blank screen we have choices. Procrastinate? (Surf the net? Houseclean? Go shopping? Insist that we just don't have the time with our busy schedules? You fill in the blank.) Or type. Anything. Just type till the well opens up again. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes those other forms of procrastination are just what you need. Sometimes backing away gives your subconscious time to work out the problem. Deep down, we know the difference. Are we procrastinating to let our creative cup fill again? Or are we procrastinating out of fear. Are we letting those negative "I stink" voices take over? Especially after a particularly rough critique session. They happen. And I find that usually, those critiques end up being the most valuable. But only if you end the procrastination and make yourself face that blank screen. How bad do you want it?

My favorite quote:

Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time. ~ Thomas Edison

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Some time ago, I posted pictures of a mouse rescue. That was in April. Since then, we've received copious amounts of rain. I can barely get up and down my driveway now. I posted pictures on Facebook. It's so wet that apparently the snakes in my 15 acres of woods have decided to head for higher ground.

So now, I'm back in the mouse catching business. Really. A friend suggested I put traps in brown paper bags so that I don't have to touch the critters when I disposed of them. Well, if I'd done that I would have racked up eight body bags by now. In less than two weeks. Ick.

I can't do it. I can't kill them. They are so cute. It's not their fault it's wet outside, right? So I discovered these.




I put squirrel food in them. I've caught them all in the same cabinet. Sometimes two at a time. (I've put three traps in the cabinet.) I've started trying to tag them with green nail polish when I release them so I can make sure I'm releasing them far enough away from the house. So far, only 3/8 have been tagged, none of them have returned. (I don't think.)

I can close up the holes in the cabinet, but that won't keep them from coming in the house. It only means I'll have to find a new place to catch them. At this point, I don't think I have many options.

1) Pray that it will finally stop raining so it can dry up around here.
2) Stop putting goodies in the traps. Maybe they're coming in for the treats now.
3) Stop painting crowns on their heads. They're all going to want one.

And no. I still can't kill them. Just stop the rain. Please?

Oh, and it could be worse. It could be roaches. Shudder.

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Hey Rebecca! Thanks for the question you posted on my previous post, Voice - Some observations.

"Voice is such a hard thing to define. I agree with you, Cana, especially with books that have contemporary settings--you can often hear the same voice in the novel as you can in the writer's speech habits. What confuses me is the difference between writerly voice and the various distinct voices writers create for their characters. Take Ena's books, where her 12-year-old boy characters sound different from her 12-year-old girl characters, and her adult characters are each distinct, too. Yet they're all recognizably coming from the Pen of Ena (to coin a phrase). Care to comment?"

I've wondered about the same thing - how we make our characters distinct from one another. This may sound weird, but I think our voice is a combination of all of our experiences. In other words, Ena has a house full of boisterous (wonderful) boys. They are a part of her and her ear is finely tuned to their voices, but even so, her voice still comes through. Does that make sense?

As a teacher, I've known and loved lots of students. Often, when I'm trying to place a character's voice, I picture a particular former student, or even a compilation of several students. But it's not just their face, or their appearance. I remember them in action, moving, talking, interacting with myself, their peers, other adults, etc. This is where I pinpoint their voice. But as the author, my particular perspective on this event or situation, colors the scene. My voice.

Think of it this way. You've heard that if more than one person witnesses an event, each individual would still tell a different story from a different perspective. Like an auto accident. A Mom would focus on the car seat in the back. Maybe a guy would notice the damage to the vehicle. A child might worry about the animal that caused the driver to swerve - if it was okay. A minister would have a different perspective from the young EMT working at the scene.

So as we work our scenes, we filter through our experiences and select what we need for our characters. But when it comes right down to it, it's still all being told from our own perspective. Everything we write is filtered through who we are first. And I believe that voice happens when we allow ourselves to flow upon the page.

Comments???

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Voice is a slippery thing. Trying to grab hold of it is often as easy as capturing a bit of fog in your hand. And even when you've found your voice, you're not quite sure what it is. You only know that something feels different. Your friends are commenting that they see it in your writing. You think to yourself, "What am I doing different?" and more importantly, "Can I do it again?"

I blame a writer's struggle with voice on teachers. (Sorry. Ouch. I know. I am one. But hey, I teach math. What harm could I do? Yeah, right. I know.) Hmmm...was that voice? But, as usual, I digress. Many writers look back upon their school days and remember those early attempts at writing. I have some particularly awful poems and even a screen play that I wrote. (The screen play, I've decided, was possibly a direct result of reading Freckle Juice by Judy Blume.) Since her book is not written as a screen play, I don't think I can be accused of plagiarism. At least, I hope not. Since it will never see the light of day beyond my own home, I don't think I'll need to worry about it. (Yes, I still have it, complete with a construction paper cover crudely illustrated by...myself.)

But my favorite was a story I wrote about a white horse named, (of course), Snow Queen. I was the protagonist, I rode around on this beautiful steed, attired in fringe buckskin, catching all the criminals. I was soooo famous, I never even had to do the paperwork. That chore was assigned to the underlings in the police department.

Of course, I thought this story was amazing. Imagine my devastation when I got it back with red marks all over it. I don't even remember the grade. Just the red. I remember whining to my mom that they didn't even comment on the creativity. (I don't think I still have this story. One day, I'll have to look for it. It would make a wonderful slide on an author presentation, don't you think? Along with the cover of Freddy the Frog with Freckles?

But the main thing I remember, (yes, I remember, I'm supposed to be talking about voice here), was how often I was told, "You write like you talk." Like that was a bad thing? And not just that one 6th grade teacher. (Robin Hill. Creve Coeur, Missouri. You know who you are.) But all the way through. I teach with an incredible language arts teacher now. I had her in high school. Sorry to say, I don't actually remember her as a teacher, which is totally weird, because she's really, really good, but I do still have scads of writing from her class. With the red pen. Lots of it.

"Don't write like you talk."

But as an avid reader, here's what I'm coming to realize. Maybe voice is writing like you talk. I recently reviewed Headlock by Joyce Sweeney. I know Joyce well enough that I know the rhythm of her speech. Her voice. And as I read her book, I heard her voice. In my head, I could hear her saying certain phrases. It sounded like her.

Same thing with Prom Kings and Drama Queens by Dorian Cirrone. Dorian was the first one to critique one of my YA manuscripts. I've known her long enough that as I read her book, again, I could hear her voice. Her witty sarcasm.

And writer buddies, Linda Eadie, Paul May, and Ena Jones. Remember those names, you'll want to pick up their books one day. After years of working together to perfect our craft, I know their voices. I know them so well that if I were to pick up one of their manuscripts, without knowing they were the author, I'd know they'd written it. I can hear their voice.

Did any of you used to listen in the the voices of brothers John Green and Hank Green, on their video blog? Listen to the way John talks. Hear how he ends his statements with a question mark? And listen to his language. "Hyper-physical medium called real life?" Who talks like that? (Amazing, isn't he.) Now go read his books. Same voice. Same language. Same wry wit. Same nerdiness.

That's voice.

Don't listen to your teachers. Write like you talk.

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I bought this book for my son. I also bought this book for me, because I love Joyce Sweeney. But it took me a while to read it because, well, I don't like wrestling. I don't understand it or the fascination the public has for it. But...I love Joyce Sweeney's writing. So I started reading HEADLOCK yesterday, and, oh my gosh, I get it now! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Kyle is a high school Senior and a member of the gymnastics team. He has lived with his eighty-something year-old grandmother since he was four years old when his mother decided the mommy thing wasn't working out for her. His father was nothing more than a blast in a cup. No name. Nothing. Kyle makes good grades and has a steady job delivering pizzas. But what he really wants is to wrestle. To the dismay of his teammates, he quits gymnastics and enrolls in a wrestling class.

It soon becomes evident that Kyle is a natural. Everyone in the class can see it, but they're not all happy about it. Kyle soon realizes that if he's going to make it in this biz, he's going to have to learn to deal with the taunting and harassment from some of his classmates.  When the only girl in the class begins to take notice of Kyle, it at once escalates the jealousy, and at the same time, makes it much more fun to deal with. Ophelia helps him focus on getting the opportunity to be in a show opposite Rat Boy, who can make or break his career. As their relationship blossoms, so does his fame as a wrestler. But when his grandmother's health begins to fail, Kyle must decide between the responsibility of caring for her full time or wrestling. His decision could cost him his love for Ophelia, and his fledgling wrestling career.

When Ms. Sweeney places you in the ring with Kyle and his opponents, you will experience the difficulty of the performance. If the timing's not perfect, the audience will know it's fake, or worse, the wrestler could meet with serious injury. The author turns wrestling into an art. A gymnastics routine. She shows the reader the professional side of wrestling, and how hard wrestlers work at their craft, sometimes just so they can help their opponent win. Some of the moves sound like dance moves, and as you read, they feel like dancing. Even the process of finding your wrestling name is a big deal.

And as Kyle struggles with his aging grandparent, you are relieved that he has Ophelia to interject both reason and humor into his life. This isn't a book just about wrestling. This is a book about making difficult life choices. HEADLOCK was a fabulous read and, as with all of Joyce Sweeney's books I've read, it will keep you turning the pages.

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I should be writing. I know that. But this is something I've been meaning to look into for, well, probably the past four or five summers. So, gosh darn it, I took the time today. I have three items that are antiques. Well, I have other pieces of furniture, etc., but these three are special. You know how you wonder if it would be worth it to stand in line at an antique road show? Well, for these three items, probably not. Either that, or I'm terrible at research.

The first? A Singer toy sewing machine, model 20. It really works!

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Amazing. Absolutely amazing. Imagine a North American future where there are no states. No countries. Only a capitol and a dozen districts. Each district little more than a body of slaves to the capitol.In Katniss' district they produce coal. Life is harsh. After losing her dad in a mine explosion, she is forced to hunt illegally and keeps her mother and sister just above starvation level.

So why don't they revolt against the capitol? Because the last time they trie, the thirteenth district was obliterated. And the capitol reminds them yearly of the high price of any attempted revolt. Each year each district must participate in the reaping. A boy and a girl are harvested for the games. Twenty-four names. All between twelve and eighteen years of age. Only one will win. Only one will survive.

Katniss knows the chances of her name being selected are high. Each time she requested extra supplies for her family's survival, her name was entered again. And this year, for the first time, her frail, tender sister, Prim, is eligible. But there's no chance Prim's name will be called. She is entered only once. Out of thousands. Katniss made sure of it.

But Prim's name is called, and before she can even reach the stage, Katniss has volunteered in her place. The others assembled do not remember a time when someone from district twelve has volunteered.

Katniss is taken by train to the capital with Peeta, the other contender from her district. She realizes she knows him. He's the baker's son, the one who threw the loaf of bread her direction when she was near starvation. The two are fed richly, plucked and preened and dressed for presentation to the districts on TV, along with all the others who have been chosen. Peeta treats Katniss with kindness, almost reverence. Will Katniss team up with Peeta to increase her odds of winning? Will that garner more sponsors? She knows she will need sponsors if she's to make it through alive. Or is he just trying to trick her so she'll let her guard down. Slip up.

Alliances are made. And broken. Several contenders die the first day. But the hunger games have only begun. Katniss knows that the games will go on until only one contender remains. And if it becomes too boring, and no one is dying, the game makers will create horrifying events to make sure the captives are brought together. The ultimate reality show. Except there's no way out.

Make sure you have nothing pressing to do before you start this book. It will pull you in and you won't want to put it down. THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins has the same intensity and incredible pacing as THE HOUSE OF THE SCORPION by Nancy Farmer which won numerous awards. The hype about this book? It's no hype. It's just that good.

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The first time this was emailed to me, I was impressed. The second time I received it, I was amazed. The first time, I thought they were dancers. The second time, instead of simply glossing over the video, I took the time to read the blurb about them.




There is an awesome dance, called the Thousand-Hand Guanyin. Considering the tight coordination required, their accomplishment is nothing short of amazing,even if they were not all deaf.  All 21 of the dancers deaf-mutes. Relying only on signals from trainers at the four corners of the stage, these extraordinary dancers deliver a visual spectacle that is at once intricate and stirring.

It's first major international debut was in Athens at the closing ceremonies for the 2004 Paralympics. But it had long been in the repertoire of the Chinese Disabled People's Performing Art Troupe and had traveled to more than 40 countries. Its lead dancer is 29 year old Tai Lihua, who has a BA from the Hubei Fine Arts Institute. The video was recorded in Beijing during the Spring Festival 2005.

Yes, I'm going a little video happy lately. I'm looking for good inspirational videos for my classroom next year to go along with our PBS initiative. (Positive Behavior Support.) I want to teach my students to dream. To go for the seemingly unreachable. Many of my students never leave our little rural town. So I want to bring the world to them.

The writing? Going well. Word count: About 23,500 out of a guesstimated 60,000. Now that summer's here, I'm reaching for a goal of 2K per day, knowing I won't reach it every day, yet knowing some days I will, and more. But I'd rather that, than set an easily attainable goal that is no challenge at all.

Enjoy the video. Be inspired. No excuses.

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Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time. ~ Thomas Edison

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I just started this. OMG! I can barely put it down. But I have to read through my crit partners 20 pages!Okay, Cana. Put the book down. Slowly. Now back away from the book.

Must. Crit. Manuscript. Pages.

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This book was sent to me months ago. I'll be honest. It kept getting shuffled to the bottom of my reading pile. Why? The cover. Something about it just didn't intrigue me. So a week or so ago, I made myself pick it up. It was sent to me with glowing recommendations by someone whose opinion I greatly respect as a reader. I read the flap copy:

"Joey Willis is used to being left out of conversations. Though she's been deaf since the age of six, her mother has never allowed her to learn sign language. Everything changes when Joey meets Dr. Charles Mansell and his baby chimpanzee, Sukari. Her new friends use sign language to communicate, and Joey secretly begins to learn to sign. Spending time with Charlie and Sukari, she has never been happier. But as Joey's world blooms with possibilities, Charlie's and Sukari's choices begin to narrow - until Sukari's very survival is in doubt.

Inspired by the true story of a chimpanzee raised as a human child, HURT GO HAPPY is he unforgettable story of one girl's determination to save the life of a fellow creature - one who shares 98% of our DNA, and who has the ability to communicate with us."

That doesn't even begin to show the emotional pull of this story. This is not just a story about a girl, a man, and a chimp. This is a story about determination. This is a story about a young teen realizing that her mother is not perfect after all and loving her just the same. This is a story about a mother learning to let her daughter be independent. This is a story about following through with your responsibilities, even though it may mean doing things you've never done before and going places you've never been. Even though you may be hurt in the process.

HURT GO HAPPY will leave you changed. You'll never think about testing on animals the same. Every time you see an animal in a movie or commercial, you'll wonder about their fate. You'll find yourself wanting to sign up for an ASL class. You will cry as you read. You will rejoice. You will hope and plot and pray with Joey as she struggles to save Sukari. And in the end, you will be satisfied in knowing that Joey did not take the easy way out. She didn't quit. She persevered in her fight against her mother as well as social apathy until she found the best solution for Sukari.

This book touched my soul. It reconnected me with my 13 year old self. The one that couldn't get enough Helen Keller books. I'm saddened that I passed over this amazing book so many times just because it didn't have a flashy cover. This is not a flashy book. This book is real. Read it. It will leave you feeling empowered. Incredible read. Thank you, Ginny Rorby.

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I can't paint, draw, or sculpt. But I can appreciate art. Especially when I can watch art in progress. Janeen Mason, a member of Fl. SCBWI shared these two videos.

This second one is much longer. But I enjoyed his thoughts about his art. Be inspired! Happy writing all!

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Cameron Morgan attends the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women where, unknown to the outside world, she is training to be a spy. She first stole our hearts in Ally Carter’s I’D TELL YOU I LOVE YOU, BUT THEN I’D HAVE TO KILL YOU. Ms. Carter’s second novel, CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO SPY is a fast-paced Gallagher Girls sequel that you won’t be able to put down.

In the first novel, Cammie falls for Josh, a regular boy from the village who crashes her final exam. CROSS MY HEART AND HOPE TO SPY begins as Cammie is debriefed about her ex-boyfriend, aka, The Subject. She wonders if he even remembers her, if she’ll ever see him again, or if she even wants to. She promises her mother, the headmistress of Gallagher, that she’s finished with lying and sneaking around, unless under cover, of course, and that she’ll never let a boy compromise her judgment again. Ready to focus on her classes, it’s an easy promise to make. But it’s not long before Cammie realizes how difficult that promise will be to keep.

She overhears her mother tell her Covert Operations teacher, “Cammie doesn’t know anything.” They discuss something called Blackthorne. Her mother tells the girls of the academy that the East Wing is closed due to contamination by fumes from the chemistry labs. But Cammie knows there’s no way that’s possible. “There is no ventilation access from the chem labs to the East Wing,” she says.

Cammie and her friends are forced to launch their own covert operation to discover more about the fifteen male spies who have moved in as guests of the academy. She wonders why she is continually paired with Zach and how he knows so much about her and the secret passages within the academy. When the academy’s security is breached, knowing who you can trust becomes a matter of life and death.

If you haven’t read Ally Carter’s Gallagher Girls novels, you are seriously missing out on a fabulous experience. CROSS YOUR HEART AND HOPE TO SPY was every bit as good as Ms. Carter’s first Gallagher Girls novel. Her third book, DON’T JUDGE A GIRL BY HER COVER, is due to be released in June. I’m putting in a Pre-Order and hoping that I’ll see these books on the big screen.


This review was originally posted here at Teens Read Too.

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Another  Florida SCBWI member had the opportunity to sit at Ernest Hemingway's typewriter, her fingers poised over the keys.  Her picture inspired this post.

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She doesn't usually give me much feedback, but she hangs in there with me, offering support, love, and lots of hair. I might be allergic. But who cares. She's 16 and a sweetie. Meet Runtskie.

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