Suzanne DeWitt Hall's Blog, page 14

Happy to be included in a gay-themed picture book list!

I was thrilled to discover that librarian Patricia A. Sarles has included Rumplepimple in her collection of resources:


One of our goals in portraying Rumplepimple's family as it actually exists was exactly for this purpose. We know that children need books which illustrate that they and their families are normal, regardless of how many parents they have, or how old those parents are, or what color their skin is, or what genders they happen to be. Being included in this wonderful compilation of titles is a real honor.

Check back soon for an interview with Patricia about her work in creating these book lists.

Proud mama moments

Head on over to Rumplepimple's website to read why I'm feeling like such a proud book-mama today.

What a joy.

Thoughts like fish, slippery and darting

Watching mom trying to navigate the reaches of her mind is a lesson in patience.

It's as if thoughts and words are like minnows, swimming around her ankles. She'll have her eye on one in particular, and bend to follow it, reaching with both hands to grasp it. But just as her fingers begin to close, the slippery little body slips between them, darts away, and is quickly lost in the mass of similar fishes that surrounds her. Lost in a swirling cloud of information, each word and thought unique and worthy of merit and attention. Each one impossible to grasp.

We watch her face as she watches it swimming away, eventually shaking her head and giving up in graceful defeat. "Oh," she'll start out. "I don't know."

She is more graceful than we are. More accepting of the futility of catching a minnow but still willing to try. We toss out nets woven of reminders and cues, hoping to rescue her from otherwise certain failure. But when we do she turns her head to the side and furrows her brow, as if telling us that we are distracting her from the hunt.

It is a lesson in patience to bite our lips and keep our fingers still rather than trying to build her the perfect piece of fishing equipment. We are slow to learn, and are still working out the right way to respond when she admits the minnow is gone. We usually just point out another fish and renew our hope that perhaps she'll be able to catch it.

Then off she goes on another hunt, her face alive for the moment with clarity and purpose. And the minnows swim and dart. And we watch and wait.

My first children's book is live!

This happened today. My first children's book became an orderable thing.

It wasn't the first I'd written. Those titles (Hello Mommy and The Cove Keeper) are still to come. But it's the first to be published. We learned a lot in the process, and will continue learning now that it's available for sale.

But it's up. It's up.

If you'd like to get a copy for your very own self or for your favorite kidlet, you can find it in two places:

Rumplepimple on Amazon
Rumplepimple direct from CreateSpace

Now to crack open some champagne!

My bra and I

My bra and I took a bath together today. I'm not sure which of us needed it most.

While I may have seven bras, I actually wear only one of them. The rest are either too tight or the wrong texture or too boney or too thin or too itchy. It's a woman thing which also applies to shoes. A decade or two ago I'd wear all sorts of impractical things, standing tall and uncomfortable in scarlet push up and 3-inch pumps. Now, comfort is queen, and so my comfy bra gets a lot of use. And I mean a lot.

But back to the bath.

We needed it, both of us. I'd just come in from the first, overdue, mowing of the year. I'd spent the earlier part of the day driving a lovely young lady to the airport, and then doing battle with hospital bureaucracy and elderly stubbornness. The result was a fug of sadness and frustration and sweat, with only the slightest hint of fresh cut grass.

The bath was cool and delicious. I emerged blessedly clean, and smelling of tea and lemongrass from soap that had been milled by nuns. My bra continues to drip in vanilla-sugar scented relief, having been scrunched into cleanliness using Body Bath Shop shower gel.

Meanwhile, my mom is surrounded by the scents of alcohol, disinfectant, and wretchedness. And my stepdad sniffs back his tears and tries not to think about the future while measuring laundry detergent at home.

Alone.

Tomorrow will be another day of battle and worry. We'll start out strong and smelling fresh, my bra and I. We'll try to notice the scent of May flowers drifting through the air. We'll try to accept the limits of our control over the world and the people in it. And we'll hope for the best.

Reflections on a Tea Kettle

A friend recently connected me with a woman who has written a historical children's book about a teapot, and is looking for editing help. That reminded me of this 2009 post which I wrote for Theology of Desire. Thought I'd share it here, because I still like it. Reflections on a teapotI've been talking to my priest about Thomas Howard's idea of everything meaning everything, as it relates to the reawakening of the Christian imagination. I thought it might be good to offer an example of the concept in an easily digestible form, and was given an image of a teapot. So here goes.

Let's say that you were shown an old metal teapot. The empirically minded would note that it is made of scuffed metal and has a wooden handle. They could see that it has been used and looks old. If they open it they can see the stain of yesteryear teas, and perhaps even catch it's scent if they dare dip their noses.

All of these things are real and true and give insight about the pot.

An expert on teapots could look at the workmanship and tell more about it. More facts could be collected.

But what happens when you see it, and know it to be your grandmother's?

When you look, you see the dent on the side and it's flame-darkened bottom. You picture it sitting where it always did, on the back of the old gas-burnered stove. You see the black stick-match holder mounted on the wall nearby, and smell a brief sulfurous blast when one is struck.

You remember the cabinet in which a box of Red Rose rests, and the drawer filled with the tiny Wade figurines you played with year after year.

You remember orange pekoe being offered as a treat, and wishing that you actually liked it.

You remember taking grandma's tea-and-dry-toast cure, and wanting just a touch of butter.

You remember the sound of her coming through the swinging door from the dining room, where Jesus' painted eyes followed her as she walked.

You remember how she poured for sorrows and joys, for calming and reviving, for waking up in the morning, and for restlessness at night.

You hear her voice telling the teapot story again; how she received it as a wedding gift some 30, then 40, then 50 years before.

You remember clearing out the house when she died, and having to throw the old pot away...

These memories add more than mere facts to the reality of a simple teapot. The associations and interactions and emotions provide context.

They give the object meaning.

The Enlightenment would have us strip things down to the essential facts, to isolated collections of details theoretically comprising a whole. None of which have meaning, only existence.

In the enlightened view, the teapot means teapot. There is nothing more. Just the facts.

In Thomas Howard's view, the teapot means comfort, and contentment and safety. It means stick matches and squeaky doors. It means pillowy hugs and powdery old lady scents. The teapot means grandmother, and love.

Going beyond that, it means the technological evolution of man; the forging of metals and hewing of wood for our purposes. It means the alchemy of molecular change and the ritual of seed, seedling, sapling and tree. It means the interaction of man and nature and God.

What if we could see all the interconnections of things all around us? What if we could see them stretching out like spider webs dew-sparkling in the early sunshine? What if we could see the beauty and the wonder and the majesty behind the exterior of every single thing?

I can only imagine...

Call me a carrot and throw me in the pot

  True confession time:

Today I made my third submission to Chicken Soup for the Soul.

One piece was a poem for the Possibilities edition. One was an essay for an issue on Volunteering. And today's was about my cat, Chicken (or was it really about my wife, Diane?)

I must really want to be part of the Soup family. I wonder if buying a carrot suit would help?

Writerly Wisdom from the Newburyport Literary Festival

I wrote about the festival and featured some local authors in the recent issue of Merrimack Valley Magazine. This great photo by Kevin Harkins is of last year's closing panel.This year's Newburyport Literary Festival was packed as always with more speakers and panels than we were able to attend. It's a great problem to have, and I'm grateful for all the hard work that goes in to making the event so useful, entertaining, varied, and generally wonderful by the festival's team of organizers and volunteers.

I primarily attend talks that focus on the craft of writing, and inevitably capture useful or powerful insights. Here are a few gems from some of these presentations.

Holly Robinson talked about making your readers, laugh, cry, and be amazed. This will now be a goal for every novel I work on. (Which implies I'll survive the one I'm currently slogging through.) I'm currently reading Holly's latest novel, Haven Lake, and am already anticipating tears.

Lorrie Thomson discussed pushing your self-consciousness out of the way so that the truths that lie beneath can come out. I'm reviewing Lorrie's upcoming book, A Measure of Happiness, for Merrimack Valley Magazine's July issue.

In conversation about being a debut author, Katie Shickel informed us that the big 5 publishers produce 95% of traditionally published books.

That shocked me.

She also passed on her agent's wisdom about promotion, saying that authors should spend 80% of their time writing, and 20% promoting. This woman's email signature reads "What are you doing with your 15 minutes today?", which refers to time spent on social media. (The May issue of Merrimack Valley Magazine features my review of Katie's debut novel, Housewitch. Copies should be on newsstands mid-May.)

Iconic children's author Avi reminded us that hard writing makes easy reading. He also stressed the importance of the first line, the first paragraph, and the first page. That's a powerful concept, whether you are trying to catch the attention of agents, editors, or readers.

This is just a tiny taste of the richness offered at the festival. 2015 marked its tenth year. May it see another 100.

Preparing for liftoff!

It's been a long time coming, but I think we are in the final countdown to launching my first children's book. It's the story of a misunderstood doggy hero named Rumplepimple who goes places he shouldn't go and does things he shouldn't do in order to rescue a little girl from her tormentor.

Our proof copy is due to arrive any day. Checking it is the last step in what's been a long and adventurous process. Here's the cover:

We're hoping the red will work, but can't really tell until the proof arrives.

Check back soon for more details!

Palm Sunday Reflection in Impact Magazine

For those of you who participate in the Christian practice of Holy Week, I offer you a reflection on my experience at this week's Palm Sunday service. The piece appeared in the wonderful Impact Magazine.

The Jesus I saw this Sunday