Marcia Thornton Jones's Blog, page 159
December 23, 2015
Smack Dab OUT OF the Classroom by Dia Calhoun
School's out for the holidays. So let's get Smack-dab-out-of-the-classroom and spend two glorious weeks reading whatever we want to, whenever we want to. Keep reading, reading, reading--the flashlight under the covers shining on the page until we hear reindeer clap-clattering on the rooftop.
And don't forget to leave Santa a book with his cookies and milk. He probably needs a break.
Happy Holidays.
And don't forget to leave Santa a book with his cookies and milk. He probably needs a break.
Happy Holidays.
December 22, 2015
Christmas Gifts by Laurie Calkhoven
My two sisters and I used to wake up at dawn on Christmas morning like kids all over the country. Sometimes we didn’t even wait until dawn and my parents had to send us back to bed.
Whoever woke up first had the task of waking the others. We rarely agreed on anything, but Christmas was different. The first thing we did was race to the kitchen table to see if Santa had eaten his cookies and milk and taken the carrots we left out for the reindeer. Then, of course, we checked out the stash of presents under the tree.
My parents had a rule—we could open the small gifts in our stockings, but we couldn’t touch anything wrapped under the tree until my parents were awake. And we couldn’t wake them until the little hand was on the seven and the big hand was on the twelve. Sometimes that meant filling as much as two hours with a pile of wrapped presents just sitting there, waiting to be attacked..
For my sisters that time was torturous. But not for me. Because Santa (aka my mother) always left some unwrapped gifts under the tree—right out front. When we were younger, those gifts were coloring books and crayons or paper dolls. Later on, those unwrapped gifts were books—glorious, glorious books.
My family didn’t buy things that we could get for free at the library, so getting a book from Santa was a huge treat. My sisters didn’t care about the books, but I loved them. I remember finishing a Bobbsey Twins novel before my parents got up one year and moving on to my older sister’s Nancy Drew. Sometimes I read aloud while my sisters crawled around, reading the tags on the presents and guessing what was in the packages.
I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with deadlines this holiday season. There’s one crazy-making freelance project I really want to GO AWAY, although of course it won’t until it’s done. I haven’t had time to decorate and at this point I won’t bother (something you can get away with when you live alone). I’ll spend Christmas with my sisters and their kids—they’re all getting books, of course—but the day after I’ll be back at my desk.
I hadn’t planned on doing anything for me, but then I remembered Santa’s Christmas tradition. I’m going to give myself a book, a deliciously long novel. And then I’m going to give myself the time to read it.
Happy Holidays!
Whoever woke up first had the task of waking the others. We rarely agreed on anything, but Christmas was different. The first thing we did was race to the kitchen table to see if Santa had eaten his cookies and milk and taken the carrots we left out for the reindeer. Then, of course, we checked out the stash of presents under the tree.
My parents had a rule—we could open the small gifts in our stockings, but we couldn’t touch anything wrapped under the tree until my parents were awake. And we couldn’t wake them until the little hand was on the seven and the big hand was on the twelve. Sometimes that meant filling as much as two hours with a pile of wrapped presents just sitting there, waiting to be attacked..
For my sisters that time was torturous. But not for me. Because Santa (aka my mother) always left some unwrapped gifts under the tree—right out front. When we were younger, those gifts were coloring books and crayons or paper dolls. Later on, those unwrapped gifts were books—glorious, glorious books.
My family didn’t buy things that we could get for free at the library, so getting a book from Santa was a huge treat. My sisters didn’t care about the books, but I loved them. I remember finishing a Bobbsey Twins novel before my parents got up one year and moving on to my older sister’s Nancy Drew. Sometimes I read aloud while my sisters crawled around, reading the tags on the presents and guessing what was in the packages.
I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with deadlines this holiday season. There’s one crazy-making freelance project I really want to GO AWAY, although of course it won’t until it’s done. I haven’t had time to decorate and at this point I won’t bother (something you can get away with when you live alone). I’ll spend Christmas with my sisters and their kids—they’re all getting books, of course—but the day after I’ll be back at my desk.
I hadn’t planned on doing anything for me, but then I remembered Santa’s Christmas tradition. I’m going to give myself a book, a deliciously long novel. And then I’m going to give myself the time to read it.
Happy Holidays!
December 19, 2015
The Gift of Time (December Theme) by Kristin Levine
Of all the gifts I receive in December each year, the gifts of time are always my favorite. Thank you for: the real estate agent who gave away Christmas trees to all his clientsthe friend with a truck who came and helped me set it up
the time to go on a field trip with my daughter to the National Cryptologic Museum
the time to get out my holiday dishes
the old friend who came to town and took me out for Ethiopian foodthe new friend who invited me to the season 6 Downton Abby premiere
my parents for inviting us all to a sing-a-long at the Kennedy Centermy kids for going with me to the Living Christmas Tree concert
the friend who invited us over to light the candles for Chanukahthe friends who came over for wine and cheese and cookiesand since this is a writing blog, the gifts of comments on the second draft of my new manuscript (which I turned in yesterday - woo hoo!!) I’m so grateful I had people in my life who were willing to read and comment on my work…even during this crazy time of year. And some of it was even returned with little doodles!
Happy holidays to all!
the time to go on a field trip with my daughter to the National Cryptologic Museum
the time to get out my holiday dishes
the old friend who came to town and took me out for Ethiopian foodthe new friend who invited me to the season 6 Downton Abby premiere
my parents for inviting us all to a sing-a-long at the Kennedy Centermy kids for going with me to the Living Christmas Tree concert
the friend who invited us over to light the candles for Chanukahthe friends who came over for wine and cheese and cookiesand since this is a writing blog, the gifts of comments on the second draft of my new manuscript (which I turned in yesterday - woo hoo!!) I’m so grateful I had people in my life who were willing to read and comment on my work…even during this crazy time of year. And some of it was even returned with little doodles!
Happy holidays to all!
December 18, 2015
"Her Gift Is Better Than Mine!" by Claudia Mills (December theme)
My mother believed in iron-clad fairness when it came to gifts. My younger sister and I are one year apart, and we always got identical gifts on Christmas morning. When I grew up and had my own two boys, my mother gave them identical gifts as well: "Two of everything" was her motto.
But as a writer, I've learned that we all have gifts, but we don't all have the same gifts. Lately it's become hard not to notice that, well, some of my friends' gifts are better. These writers create more memorable characters and place them in more challenging and provocative situations; their prose shimmers on the page. They have the kind of gifts that earn their books not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE starred reviews.
As the writing year comes to an end, and their titles appear on "Best of 2015" lists, it's hard not to feel a teensy-weensy bit jealous. I find myself envying the prodigious gifts that led them to such abundant and well-deserved recognition.
Wrestling with this ugly emotion - envy is one of the seven deadly sins - I hit upon this way of valuing anew my own distinctive gift as a writer. For I do have one gift nobody else has, even though in some sense it's the one gift everybody else has.
I have the gift of being me.
Others may write better books, but nobody else can write my books. Nobody else can tell my stories, the ones that come from my memories, my struggles, my sense of humor, my hard-earned wisdom, my soul. If I don't write those stories, they will stay unwritten. And I do believe the world would be poorer for that. Some child somewhere will read one of my books and love it fiercely and it will change her life at least a little bit.
The gift-giving fairies gave that to me, and they gave that to you, and it's a gift worth keeping.
But as a writer, I've learned that we all have gifts, but we don't all have the same gifts. Lately it's become hard not to notice that, well, some of my friends' gifts are better. These writers create more memorable characters and place them in more challenging and provocative situations; their prose shimmers on the page. They have the kind of gifts that earn their books not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE starred reviews.
As the writing year comes to an end, and their titles appear on "Best of 2015" lists, it's hard not to feel a teensy-weensy bit jealous. I find myself envying the prodigious gifts that led them to such abundant and well-deserved recognition.
Wrestling with this ugly emotion - envy is one of the seven deadly sins - I hit upon this way of valuing anew my own distinctive gift as a writer. For I do have one gift nobody else has, even though in some sense it's the one gift everybody else has.
I have the gift of being me.
Others may write better books, but nobody else can write my books. Nobody else can tell my stories, the ones that come from my memories, my struggles, my sense of humor, my hard-earned wisdom, my soul. If I don't write those stories, they will stay unwritten. And I do believe the world would be poorer for that. Some child somewhere will read one of my books and love it fiercely and it will change her life at least a little bit.
The gift-giving fairies gave that to me, and they gave that to you, and it's a gift worth keeping.
December 14, 2015
Writing Gifts by Bob Krech
I’ve always liked the tools of writing and I’ve received quite a few gifts over the years that were just that. Writing tools. My wife still buys me writing books as gifts as well as books I want to read. All tools for a writer. But my most memorable writing gifts were the real physical tools of the task.
The first writing gifts I remember getting were yellow ledger pads and pencils my father would bring home for me from his office. They were much more interesting to me than the big-lined school paper or 3-hole punched notebook paper we had to buy for school. Yellow ledger pads seemed more “adult,” more “professional.” I saw people on TV, newspaper reporters and lawyers, doing real “business,” real writing on these kinds of pads. I
When I was twelve my father brought me home another writing gift from the office. A Royal manual typewriter. Manual was the operative word. It was like a manual transmission versus an automatic transmission in a car. You had to have pretty good finger strength, but it was very impressive when your words came out in that Times font almost like in a real book. I was all hunt and peck with two fingers, but I quickly learned where all the keys were. Along with this I was given a ream of typing paper so I could really go to town. I wrote my first big school report on that machine. It was about Al Capp, the creator of the Lil’ Abner cartoon strip.
Soon after, I received a Christmas gift of a Cross pen and pencil set. Gold tone in a silk lined black velvet case. These instruments were only for special writing occasions like signing the back of birthday checks or the bottom of official letters I would write to people like Mickey Mantle or the company that failed to send me the stamps I requested.
The Royal lasted me all through high school where I took a typing class and learned how to use all my fingers. In my junior year in college I finally got the gift of the ultimate writing machine; an IBM Selectric typewriter. It too was used, but it required no special pressure on the keys. You just touched them and bam! There was a letter on the page. It had a ball you could change with different fonts. Many a term paper and short story was written on that baby. That particular gift kept me going through school, work, and my first published fiction, till I bought my first used Mac in 1987. A big gift for myself. It’s been Mac’s ever since. I wonder what will be next?
But, maybe the best writing gifts of all though, are those less physical writing tools; time, support, and encouragement. Many thanks to all of my family, friends, editors, and fellow writers for many years of those!
The first writing gifts I remember getting were yellow ledger pads and pencils my father would bring home for me from his office. They were much more interesting to me than the big-lined school paper or 3-hole punched notebook paper we had to buy for school. Yellow ledger pads seemed more “adult,” more “professional.” I saw people on TV, newspaper reporters and lawyers, doing real “business,” real writing on these kinds of pads. I
When I was twelve my father brought me home another writing gift from the office. A Royal manual typewriter. Manual was the operative word. It was like a manual transmission versus an automatic transmission in a car. You had to have pretty good finger strength, but it was very impressive when your words came out in that Times font almost like in a real book. I was all hunt and peck with two fingers, but I quickly learned where all the keys were. Along with this I was given a ream of typing paper so I could really go to town. I wrote my first big school report on that machine. It was about Al Capp, the creator of the Lil’ Abner cartoon strip.
Soon after, I received a Christmas gift of a Cross pen and pencil set. Gold tone in a silk lined black velvet case. These instruments were only for special writing occasions like signing the back of birthday checks or the bottom of official letters I would write to people like Mickey Mantle or the company that failed to send me the stamps I requested.
The Royal lasted me all through high school where I took a typing class and learned how to use all my fingers. In my junior year in college I finally got the gift of the ultimate writing machine; an IBM Selectric typewriter. It too was used, but it required no special pressure on the keys. You just touched them and bam! There was a letter on the page. It had a ball you could change with different fonts. Many a term paper and short story was written on that baby. That particular gift kept me going through school, work, and my first published fiction, till I bought my first used Mac in 1987. A big gift for myself. It’s been Mac’s ever since. I wonder what will be next?
But, maybe the best writing gifts of all though, are those less physical writing tools; time, support, and encouragement. Many thanks to all of my family, friends, editors, and fellow writers for many years of those!
Lightness as the Winter Solstice Approaches
Even in the sunshine state as the winter solstice approaches darkness seems to arrive much too soon. A few holiday seasons ago when we were first acclimating to this region, my husband shared a 2012 video of Matt Harding (of Where the Heck is Matt) dancing with people all around the world. Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s one of my favorite videos to watch. It’s filled with so much joy! In addition to the wonderful dancing people, the song lyrics are inspirational. I’m especially drawn in by these words:
“And in the morning light I’ll remember
as the sun will rise,
We are all glowing embers
of a distant fire.”
When I read what Matt’s up to now – another video in 2016 – I feel more inspiration. So many people in so many places around the world joyfully working together next year to create something for the world. On these short winter days and long nights, I wish you joy – and dancing.
~~~~~~ Tamera Wissinger writes stories and poetry for children including Gone Fishing: A Novel in Verse, This Old Band, and the forthcoming There Was An Old Lady Who Gobbled a Skink and Gone Camping: A Novel in Verse. Tamera is a big fan of light, music, joy and dancing. You can connect with Tamera online at her website, on Twitter, or on Facebook.
“And in the morning light I’ll remember
as the sun will rise,
We are all glowing embers
of a distant fire.”
When I read what Matt’s up to now – another video in 2016 – I feel more inspiration. So many people in so many places around the world joyfully working together next year to create something for the world. On these short winter days and long nights, I wish you joy – and dancing.
~~~~~~ Tamera Wissinger writes stories and poetry for children including Gone Fishing: A Novel in Verse, This Old Band, and the forthcoming There Was An Old Lady Who Gobbled a Skink and Gone Camping: A Novel in Verse. Tamera is a big fan of light, music, joy and dancing. You can connect with Tamera online at her website, on Twitter, or on Facebook.
December 12, 2015
A Parent's Gifts by Darlene Beck Jacobson
Every Christmas I am reminded of the many gifts I received as a child. Our family was poor, in terms of monetary wealth. My father grew up in a comfortable middle class family. But he became disabled from injuries he sustained as a POW in Japan in WWII. He was unable to work. My mother grew up in poverty. A coal miner's daughter and one of 13 children. She was never allowed to finish school and had to work in a silk mill at fourteen.
Yet my sister and I were surrounded by wealth of a different kind. My father had a love of words. He worked crossword puzzles, read mystery novels, and took great effort to make sure we spoke proper English. My sister and I often teased him by saying "ain't" or some other awful word, just to see his reaction. He never got angry; he just corrected us. Spoke to us as though we were adults. Expected us to be able to use language comfortably. Mom was a reader as well. We always had newspapers and magazines around the house. And, as soon as my sister and I learned to read, we got our own library cards. Mine was worn and dog-eared from so much use.
We also had plenty of paper, crayons, markers, and pencils. We'd spend hours at the kitchen table doodling and scribbling words, crude drawings and such. As I grew, these primitive efforts were replaced by letter writing, diary entries, hopes, dreams. And always, there was the constant love, support, and encouragement of Mom and Dad. They never told me I couldn't. So I believed I could.
What makes a writer? I'm sure everyone's path is different. Yet there is a common element. Someone, somewhere encouraged our early efforts. Found value in our verbal expression. Made us believe we might have a gift. A gift of words.
My parents died before I became a children's book author. But there is no doubt in my mind, I wouldn't be one if not for the gifts they gave me as a child.
Yet my sister and I were surrounded by wealth of a different kind. My father had a love of words. He worked crossword puzzles, read mystery novels, and took great effort to make sure we spoke proper English. My sister and I often teased him by saying "ain't" or some other awful word, just to see his reaction. He never got angry; he just corrected us. Spoke to us as though we were adults. Expected us to be able to use language comfortably. Mom was a reader as well. We always had newspapers and magazines around the house. And, as soon as my sister and I learned to read, we got our own library cards. Mine was worn and dog-eared from so much use.
We also had plenty of paper, crayons, markers, and pencils. We'd spend hours at the kitchen table doodling and scribbling words, crude drawings and such. As I grew, these primitive efforts were replaced by letter writing, diary entries, hopes, dreams. And always, there was the constant love, support, and encouragement of Mom and Dad. They never told me I couldn't. So I believed I could.
What makes a writer? I'm sure everyone's path is different. Yet there is a common element. Someone, somewhere encouraged our early efforts. Found value in our verbal expression. Made us believe we might have a gift. A gift of words.
My parents died before I became a children's book author. But there is no doubt in my mind, I wouldn't be one if not for the gifts they gave me as a child.
December 11, 2015
All the Themes + WIN!
From Jody FeldmanSeeing that we Smack Dab bloggers have a choice of topics this month – shortest day, decorating, gifts – I found a way to incorporate all three.
With a plethora of writing to do – working on something new, working on a novel with a co-author, redoing my website – my days seem so short. That’s why I decided to decorate this post with a gift. I’m giving away a FREE Skype (anywhere) or school visit (local or by arrangement). You don’t need to be a school employee to win. If you want to gift this to your child’s/niece’s/nephew’s/grandkid’s/best friend’s/neighbor’s school, that’s fine, too.
Until today, there had been 3 ways to enter, but now there's a 4th. Find all the details at my SCBWI Launch Party page under the Contests tab. AND if you leave a comment with this Smack Dab blog, telling me you want to win the drawing, you'll be in as well. That’s the mystery entry I mentioned at the SCBWI Launch Party site.
Happy holidays everyone! Can't wait to see who wins!
While you're here, look around at the other 450+ new books that debuted in 2015!
With a plethora of writing to do – working on something new, working on a novel with a co-author, redoing my website – my days seem so short. That’s why I decided to decorate this post with a gift. I’m giving away a FREE Skype (anywhere) or school visit (local or by arrangement). You don’t need to be a school employee to win. If you want to gift this to your child’s/niece’s/nephew’s/grandkid’s/best friend’s/neighbor’s school, that’s fine, too.
Until today, there had been 3 ways to enter, but now there's a 4th. Find all the details at my SCBWI Launch Party page under the Contests tab. AND if you leave a comment with this Smack Dab blog, telling me you want to win the drawing, you'll be in as well. That’s the mystery entry I mentioned at the SCBWI Launch Party site.
Happy holidays everyone! Can't wait to see who wins!
While you're here, look around at the other 450+ new books that debuted in 2015!December 10, 2015
Every Day is a GiftBy Marcia Thornton JonesSo….I schedule...
Every Day is a GiftBy Marcia Thornton Jones
So….I schedule an entire morning for drafting a blog post in which I’m sure to come up with something pithy and inspirational and absolutely genius. But then I get a call about some silly-sounding little accident involving sleep-walking and closet doors; a teeny-tiny misstep that for most people would be laughed off, but that for a 92-year-old requires an emergency visit to the doctor. The same 92-year-old who dedicated her life to me; who has always been there to laugh at my foibles, celebrate my victories, and mourn my disappointments. The 92-year-old who is more than a mother—she’s also my best friend . The very same 92-year-old who remains smart and funny and ‘with it’.
So…instead of writing, I take a moment to realize that the cliché EVERY DAY IS A GIFT is actually a guiding statement of truth worth remembering.
So…when real life derails your plans for scene-building or plotting or BIC-ing or whatever else you might want to call your dedicated writing time, remember this…That sometimes…
It’s okay not to write.It’s okay to not feel guilty.It’s okay. Because EVERY DAY REALLY IS A GIFT …and it’s the real-life gifts-- especially the surprises —the good AND the bad—that provide the fodder for a time when these emergency surprises become nothing more than memories and you have time to power up the computer and go back to thinking about the worlds of make-believe.
December 8, 2015
The Long Nights
It's December. The nights are so much longer. The days are colder. The sun barely seems to make it up above the trees. In Wisconsin, we already had our first snow. The holiday season is here. I'm grateful for the parties with friends that warm our hearts and the colorful decorations that brighten our days. I know I appreciate those holiday treats more because of the cold and the dark.
The same is true for the what we create. Without shadows, there can be no depth. And without depth, there can be no meaning.
by Julia Coash
Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Only in the darkness can you see the stars."
He was talking about what he and others were doing to bring us a better world. But as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe."
London at Night -- photo by Sofia K. Johnson
The same is true for the what we create. Without shadows, there can be no depth. And without depth, there can be no meaning.
by Julia CoashMartin Luther King Jr. said, "Only in the darkness can you see the stars."
He was talking about what he and others were doing to bring us a better world. But as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe."
London at Night -- photo by Sofia K. Johnson
