Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 12

making maps

As I child I used to love books that had a map printed on the opening pages. I don’t write high fantasy and generally think my stories are easy to follow, but things are getting a bit more complicated in Book #4 and Jax needs to find a missing map in order to save his grandfather. He has to settle for a sketch of the map made by Professor L. Roy Jenkins and after describing it with words, I decided to draw the map myself. I tell kids that writing for me is 70% dreaming and that is basically what my weekend has looked like: lots of lolling about, which then leads to spurts of writing. My agent suggested I reactivate my Pinterest account so I also spent a bit of time gathering home decor ideas…Friday was my third time in the Hyde Park condo and each time I’m there, I see the place differently. Or I see myself living there in a different way. The inspection didn’t take too long and I should get the report tomorrow; the inspector said he didn’t find any major problems but there’s definitely work to be done. I looked up electricians in the neighborhood because some rooms have original wiring from the 1920s and I’d rather have it ripped out and replaced than have new wiring added externally. I don’t want a dishwasher but am keeping in mind as I design my “dream kitchen” that the next homeowner might want to add one. The dining room has wood paneling and I’ve decided that will be my long wished for black room; it makes sense then to have the cabinets in the adjacent kitchen be black as well. I turned in SO many documents last week and was very grateful for my mortgage broker’s assistance and endless lists; she anticipated what the underwriter would ask for and so I was ready when the requests came in (starting at 8am). Turns out a freelance writer isn’t the ideal candidate for a mortgage—at least it’s harder for us to prove steady income. So even though I earn more now than I ever did as a professor, I’m scrutinized more closely because I have multiple income streams instead of a single employer who pays me once a month. But we cleared that hurdle so now it’s just the appraisal left and negotiating repairs with the seller. This will be my fourth move in as many years and I really hope I can stay put for a while. On Friday I reached Hyde Park early and so decided to take a walk around the block. After just a couple of minutes, I heard someone call me by my full name and looked up to see my friend Ebony and her parents. They were returning from the lake and we walked and talked till it was time for the inspection to begin. That encounter felt magical to me and reminded me of how I felt when I first arrived in Brooklyn so many years ago…people would stop me to ask for directions, assuming I was a local and not a recent immigrant. Belonging is powerful. I wound up in Brooklyn because I saw a picture of young Black artists sitting on the stoop of a brownstone. I don’t have as clear an image of the life I want in Chicago but I’m letting myself dream…

here be dragons

It was once believed that early cartographers wrote “here be dragons” on unfamiliar areas of their maps (it only happened once, apparently). I’m in uncharted territory right now—my offer on the condo was accepted and we’re hoping to conduct the inspection later this week. I expect there will be some significant bumps in the road ahead; the seller’s bringing in a plumber to fix some valves and there are a couple of rooms with original wiring from the 1920s. But I just unsubscribed from one of several daily property listings and will delete the rest by the end of the month. I’ve found a credit union and hardware store not far from the new place; I picked out paint colors a few days ago…at this point, I’m daring to let myself do more than dream. I wanted to move to Hyde Park a year ago and hoped to buy my first home there. I have no regrets about my year renting in Evanston, but I’m glad I didn’t relinquish that original plan, didn’t let myself get too comfortable and ready to settle. I’ve also started reaching out to theater people in Chicago. It’s humbling having to start over and build a new community from scratch, but it’s also exciting. I’m in discovery mode and on Saturday took a public art tour that started at the Chicago Cultural Center. The first sculpture was by Richard Hunt and I was able to pull up his Ida B. Wells sculpture to share with the two friendly New Yorkers on the tour. The next stop was a beautiful mural by another famous local artist Kerry James Marshall, which pays tribute to important Chicago women. We went into Millennium Park to see a few more pieces and when the tour was over, I crossed the bridge that leads to the roof of the nearby Art Institute. More sculptures by Richard Hunt were on display there and I saw dragons in each one! I’ve only finished three chapters of the fourth dragon book but I have no appointments this week and hope to make up for lost time. It was strange to be in Millennium Park with the usual crowds when I had the place to myself last fall. But it was also reassuring to see children playing in Crown Fountain and seagulls casually perched atop Cloud Gate. I learned on the tour that Chicago’s motto is urbs in horto or “city in a garden.” It isn’t green everywhere and communities of color pay a high price for the inequitable distribution of trees across the city. I’m grateful that my new neighborhood is close to the lake and several parks. I’ve reached out to some schools, libraries, and bookstores…if the sale falls through, at least I’ll have forged connections with folks on the South Side. For now, I’m going to think positive thoughts and keep my fingers crossed…

at home

Today I laughed so hard I cried and my throat is still sore after talking for hours at brunch with friends. I’m slowly building up my social stamina but it’s not easy getting used to being out in the world again. Earlier this week I was in Hyde Park and all of a sudden I had a slight panic attack; I’d made more effort than usual and was wearing a dress with heels when all of a sudden I felt extremely self-conscious (who are these people? why am I here?) I had planned to take the train back to Evanston but instead I called a Lyft and hurried home. I was back in that neighborhood a couple of days later because I’m thinking about buying a condo there. The second time around, I was fine—more comfortably dressed and happy to see so many people out and about, dining on the sidewalk as a jazz trumpeter played on the corner. Folks were friendly and said hello as I passed…and I realized I’ve really missed being part of the world. I love quiet and solitude but even this introvert has probably had enough to last me for quite a while. House-hunting isn’t exactly fun, but shifting from looking at online listings to in-person tours makes a big difference. I haven’t found anything that makes me want to drop everything and move, but I might put in an offer on one place that has “good bones.” I’ve always prided myself on my ability to beautify my homes—I can see potential even under layers of grime and (in this case) pink ceilings and walls. But after a year of living comfortably in my current rental, I don’t know that I’m ready to take on a total renovation. This fall I will finally have more time to myself—do I really want to spend it tearing out two bathrooms and installing a new kitchen? I tried to get a few quotes so I’ve already got contractors texting, phoning, and emailing me…but a lot of building materials are hard to come by right now and unlike on HGTV makeover shows, renovations can drag on for weeks. This is the biggest challenge for me coming out of the pandemic, I think. Knowing when to push myself out of my comfort zone and when to be a little more indulgent. House-hunting took up almost all my mental space this past week, which meant I lost momentum on my novel-in-progress. I did ask my editor about an extension but don’t want this particular project eating up my “free” fall months. Will try to be a bit more disciplined next week and maybe set aside the condo search for a little while. The market isn’t as frantic as it was even a month ago so I think it’s safe to take my time and enjoy what’s left of the summer. Lately I’ve been hearing Nat King Cole singing “Autumn Leaves”…a reminder that September will soon be here!

the moon

The moon is in Taurus right now. I only know that because I signed up for the Chani Nicholas astrology app and her weekly explanation of the planets and their transits has become an interesting way to think about my personal and professional growth. The moon in Taurus is apparently good for collaborators and this week Lyn and I revealed the cover for Moonwalking, which will be published in April. I didn’t get much writing done this week but Chani reminded me that “in a culture that pushes you to monetize every moment of your existence, rest is radical.” The Enchanted Bridge is due at the end of the summer and I did a little research last week but the outline isn’t done and that makes it hard to move forward. But I delivered a keynote for teachers on Monday and presented for my last school on Wednesday—there’s nothing on the calendar until December! So I feel like I finally have enough time…to rest, to dream, to write, to reflect. I talked to my cousin for two hours today and she shared an activity about values: list the five traits you value most in five people that you love. My list would include daring, loyalty, integrity, and humility. Curiosity also means a lot to me and I want to do more exploring in the coming months. Travel may not be possible but there are internal journeys I have yet to take. I tell students that a good story begins with “what if?” But sometimes it’s just as important to ask why…

quiet desperation

I watched a really good movie this week: Another Round. In US films, when men have a midlife crisis, they buy a flashy sports car and ditch their wife for a woman half her age. But this Danish film revealed the quiet desperation of middle-aged men who lack the skills they need to understand their own misery. So instead they embark on an experiment to see how much alcohol they need to consume daily in order to improve their personal and professional lives. Not a healthy or sustainable strategy but the main character does begin to reconnect with his family, his students, and his creative self. The film is meant to be funny at times but beneath it all, it’s really quite sad. Why couldn’t these four men bond and help one another without relying on alcohol? Why didn’t they consider therapy or just communicate with their wives? What did they teach the next generation of young men about confronting pain and fear? When I first began experiencing symptoms of depression, I didn’t tell anyone how I was feeling. So many things unraveled in my life when I was a teenager but I just swallowed the shame and kept going. That was my survival strategy: sleep a lot, do the bare minimum at work and at school, and make it to college. Then, I thought, everything would change for the better. It didn’t, of course, but at college I met a friend who wasn’t silent about the dysfunction in her own family. Lucy made me laugh out loud with her stories about “Cutesie Wootsie,” her frivolous stepmother, and soon we began swapping stories about how our fathers favored our obnoxious older sisters. Lucy took her own life a couple of years after graduation and for a long time I was angry; I blamed her family for causing her so much pain and not giving her the help she needed. I mourned the brilliance I saw in her that she couldn’t seem to see in herself. But I was also grateful for the way she modeled emotional honesty for me and by the time I reached NYC in the ’90s, I had at least some language with which to talk about my family. I found friends who were also grappling with their own difficult childhoods and we compared notes and shared resources. When you’re in your 20s, your childhood doesn’t feel that far away. I eventually found a wonderful therapist who listened as I laughed about my laissez-faire parents, and I tried to move on with my life. Now I’m nearly 50 and I realize that my childhood still doesn’t feel that distant; I’m still there, in a way, because I’m attached to that little girl and want to say all the things she wasn’t able to express at the time. I recently ordered a couple of books to help me with the healing process and have been quite energized the past couple of weeks. I started writing again and finished three new picture books. I got dumped by my film agent last week and decided to part ways with my literary agent this week. Now I’m thinking more deeply about the kind of career advice and support I need. Looking back at my childhood actually helps me understand my triggers and why I have a disproportionate response sometimes to criticism and rejection. I often tell kids during author visits that I write about 8-9 year-olds a lot because that was a pivotal year for me: I started a new school with almost no Black students or educators, despite having already skipped a grade I wasn’t placed in the gifted and talented program, and I had to fight every day for my teachers’ good opinion when it had been automatic at my previous school. Feeling invisible, underestimated, undervalued…knowing that those in charge may arbitrarily withhold things I need…I learned those lessons very early on. As a result I became braver, knowing I’d have to fight for what I felt I deserved. But these days, I’m tired of fighting. And, as I found out as a girl, being Black, female, and defiant comes with risks and penalties. On the one hand, I’m tired of finding myself in the same situation over and over again. My mantra is “I can walk away and be okay” because I’ve stayed in unhealthy relationships in the past just to avoid conflict or rejection or abandonment. But I’m grateful that I can recognize the patterns in my life now and confront them with less anger. Healing matters more than accountability sometimes. No apology can change what happened in the past, but it’s possible to do the work so you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else. We excavate so we can “build back better,” right? Tonight I watched a documentary on hummingbirds, which reminded me of my unfinished family memoir The Hummingbird’s Tongue. There are so many projects I’ve put off because I’ve focused on writing for kids. Maybe it’s time to serve my adult self instead of speaking to that little girl who didn’t have the stories and mirrors and support she needed so long ago…

out of words

I finished a new novel last week, which means I’ve spend the past few days floundering…I started a poem last night and pulled up a couple of unfinished picture books but can’t find my flow—yet. I really need to work on my tendency to use busyness as a way to avoid serious reflection—and ACTION. I recently watched a series about a family coming undone (US on Masterpiece) and realized two things: 1) I revisit my own childhood trauma often when I’m writing, and 2) being proficient/productive can lure you into complacency when it comes to personal growth. My mother had her first major stroke when I was a toddler; she had a second stroke when I was in high school and I still remember the terror of not knowing what was going to happen. The novel I just finished has a little girl struggling with her great-aunt’s recent stroke; at first Ruby finds reasons to avoid her aunt but eventually she needs Ida’s help and so learns to accept her aunt’s limitations. I wrote another stroke victim into The Phantom Unicorn but this time around I wanted to include Ida’s recovery process. At first Ruby was being raised by a single mother, just as I was, but then I changed it to a single father. Which made me wonder how often I have two-parent families in my books…my parents’ divorce was traumatic for me and shaped my understanding/practice of family. I always try to include a range of family configurations in my books because every child doesn’t come from a “nuclear family.” But I rarely depict the kind of ideal family I wish I’d had as a kid…why? I was invited to a friend’s home on Friday—she cooked and talked and shared her own family history. And I was fascinated by how close-knit her family is but also a little disturbed. It was clear that she had reproduced her family culture in her own home/life and it was all too clear (to me) that I’ve done the exact same thing. I *never* have people over for dinner. A tea party, maybe, but those are rare. I’m happy to go out to meet folks at a restaurant—I met up with some Chicago kid lit authors last week and thoroughly enjoyed the three hours we spent at the pub. On Saturday I had tea at a friend’s home and found it reassuring to hear her reflect on her parents (deceased) and the way their values continue to show up in her own life. I suspect most of us look back on our lives and search for signs that we’ve become our parents somehow. In Us, I started out feeling sorry for the clueless husband desperately trying to hold his family together. But he kept having flashbacks that revealed he wasn’t clueless at all—he just kept making choices that alienated and/or hurt his wife and son. We didn’t learn anything about his parents but we could see all the ways his anxious, fussy, routine-loving personality made his artistic wife and son uncomfortable. He was so busy counting his steps and trying to keep everyone on (his) schedule that he missed opportunities to be spontaneous and emotionally present. Having a routine helps me manage my anxiety and my endless lists keep me on task; the pandemic didn’t diminish my productivity at all since crisis seems to activate my imagination. But I don’t want to leave lockdown without learning the lessons COVID has tried to teach us. As an introvert, my homebody life wasn’t terribly disrupted and I had the privilege of working remotely. But now the world is opening up again…so how will my “new” life be different? I’m serious about slowing down, setting boundaries and saying “no” more often; I took on a dozen gigs this month but I won’t take on anything else for the summer or fall. I have to start The Enchanted Bridge next week and I’ve got a couple other novels to finish. Moonwalking, A Song for Juneteenth, and The Witch’s Apprentice (look at our gorgeous cover!) are still in production and I’m waiting on feedback from my sensitivity readers. I can manage all of that; I have no trouble staying busy. But I think I’ll revisit Chani Nicholas’s Year Ahead astrological reading this week. We’re halfway through 2021 and no one knows how the second half of the year will unfold. Another surge caused by another variant? Am I ready to get back on a plane? If we’re meant to “build back better,” how will I improve myself and my life? Time to upset my routine, I think, and consider how to create in real life—not just in fiction—the family/home life I always wanted but never had. We can’t change the past but the future is up for grabs…so REACH!

The Colored Girl’s Quest: Finding Mirrors in the Museum

Milo visits Manchester Museum

If you’re free Wednesday morning, join us for a virtual event at Manchester Museum. “The Colored Girl’s Quest: Finding Mirrors in Museums” will be live-streamed on Facebook and on YouTube. I’ll be talking about MILO’S MUSEUM, how it was inspired by The Colored Girls Museum in Philadelphia, and how self-publishing by Black creators is an act of resistance in a White supremacist society.

I’m grateful for the invitation from author/scholar Breanna McDaniel and her organization, REIYL (Researchers Exploring Inclusive Youth Literature), a collective of students, early career, and established researchers who facilitate knowledge exchange on issues of inclusion, equity, and justice in youth literature and media.

citizen

I meant to blog earlier this week but after my swearing-in ceremony on Tuesday morning, life got real ordinary, real fast…and somehow it no longer felt urgent to write about becoming a US citizen. It was a beautiful, sunny day and 49 of us were socially distanced in the courtyard of the federal building. The judge who swore us in was warm and friendly; he told us we hailed from 23 countries and had each of us stand up when we called out our country of origin (“One person came all the way from…Canada!). Then he congratulated us on making it this far because “it isn’t easy to become a US citizen.” He said last week there was one man who had waited 15 years for his chance to take the oath! I definitely know how lucky I am—I applied in February 2020 and just over a year later I took the oath. The pandemic definitely slowed things down but moving to Chicagoland might have sped things up…I really don’t know. I do know that I’m lucky I had an immigrant father who opened the door for me; May 24 marked 17 years since my father died and the day of the ceremony was the one-year anniversary of the murder of George Floyd. The judge couldn’t help quoting Thomas Jefferson but I suspect most of us knew that the preamble to the Declaration of Independence has never been true for everyone in this country. That didn’t make us any less grateful or excited, I don’t think. People die trying to get into this country; I know how lucky I’ve been, choosing to leave one wealthy country for another, not needing an interpreter to guide me through the application process and then stand behind my chair throughout the ceremony. We weren’t supposed to bring guests but some family members were off to the side taking photos. I just took a selfie, walked a few blocks over to Garrett’s, and bought myself a bag of popcorn before taking a Lyft back to Evanston. Cozbi stopped by to give me my first hug in over a year, Edi sent money so I could have dinner delivered, and Akosua sent me cake and balloons! I don’t mean to sound blasé about becoming a citizen because it [image error] was a big step for me and they registered us to vote even before the ceremony began. It’s a big responsibility and I just missed a round of local elections but will be ready when it’s finally my turn to vote.

Now that I’m fully vaccinated, I’m mentally preparing myself to rejoin the world. I’ll try taking the train next week and the week after that I’m meeting friends downtown for afternoon tea at The Drake. Tomorrow we’re dining outside here in Evanston…and I’m thoroughly enjoying being unmasked whenever I’m walking outdoors. Despite the sudden drop in temperature, the peonies are blooming in the Shakespeare Garden and I’ve got new birds at my window—downy woodpeckers and sleek gray catbirds. I finished a new picture book last weekend and on Monday finally started a story inspired by the beautiful dolls made by my friend Janine. We had a very ugly interaction with the film studio last week and so I asked to have the deal canceled; fortunately it hadn’t been announced and no money had been paid so the execs seem willing to call the whole thing off. That means more paperwork but eventually we should get the rights back and my agents are already on the lookout for another studio—and this time we won’t be seduced by the money. Better to take a reduced advance but work with folks who have integrity and respect for me and my vision.

I’m hoping I can find some fireworks this weekend! Hope you enjoy the Memorial Day weekend.

the light

I didn’t expect to have such a good day! Woke with yet another migraine because I can’t get my sinuses figured out despite the double dose of allergy medication I’m taking and using the neti pot twice a day. I got my second dose of the Moderna vaccine last week and thankfully didn’t have the severe reaction some of my friends described. But the day after ended with a migraine and the day after that started with another. I’m blowing through my migraine pills even though I just got a refill at the start of the month; my previous batch lasted more than a year but at this rate, I’ll need another refill long before May ends. My doctor suggested a CAT scan, which seemed extreme at the time but now I really do want a look inside my head. Sinus headaches hurt, make it hard to focus, and make late-day naps hard to resist. The pressure keeps building until I just give up and go to bed, hoping for relief in the morning. So waking up with a migraine today wasn’t auspicious but I stayed in bed until the medication kicked in, and then got up and made French toast for breakfast. I had to resubscribe to Disney+ in order to watch Up but it was worth it; I laughed, I cried, and felt reassured that my vision for the Dragons in a Bag film is viable. Last week I sent a list of my concerns to the studio head, hoping we could trash the existing treatment and start over. I was trying to think of animated movies that I enjoyed because they were funny and sweet rather than action-packed. Pixar has a formula, of course, but Soul felt different and I remembered my sister urging me to see Up because it was a tear-jerker. Watching it for the second time, I was surprised by how similar it is to Dragons in a Bag. I know now that what I want is what’s largely missing from the field—a film about a Black boy who’s nerdy and vulnerable and brave. The current treatment has Jax getting suspended from school for assaulting another student—NO. I had two teachers reach out last week to tell me how much my book has meant to their students during the pandemic. One told me his first-graders didn’t always show up for online classes, but they never missed story time because they knew he’d be reading another chapter of Dragons in a Bag. The other teacher said her fifth graders appreciated the temporary escape from pandemic life that my novel provided. I included this part of her email in my letter to the studio head:

I cannot put into words how insane this year has been for both teachers and students but I thought I’d share the joy that your work has brought to our class. I am in the process of implementing a fantasy writing unit as our last big writing project for the year. I chose your book, Dragons in a Bag as our mentor text for studying fantasy. We are halfway through the book, but my goodness, my students, my co teacher, and I LOVE this book. My students are so sweet and creative and seeing a story like this out in the world allows them to know what’s possible. We have such great discussions about the character of Jax and his identity, we love how you’re able to envision Brooklyn and everyday city things as magical objects and beings, and I know that many of my students feel seen in this story. One of my students who transferred into the class halfway through the year talked about how the character of Jax looks like him, something that he’s never experienced before in fantasy. Adding a few illustrations into the story was such a powerful move to make. My students have experienced so much trauma and chaos this year, so to know that we can all escape into this world and feel so many different emotions, it’s kind of everything right now. So thank you for that.

Will it make a difference? I don’t know. The studio wants a “hit” but I’m the one who will have to face thousands of irate kids if the film isn’t true to the book. My editor let me know that we’ve sold over 120,000 copies of the first book in the series and the sequel is selling well now that it’s out in paperback. When it comes to the film, I don’t have veto power, though I’m technically listed as executive producer. I hope they’ll treat me like an asset because otherwise I will become a liability. And they definitely don’t want that. I finished Up and wanted to get back to work on my alternate film treatment but instead made myself focus on finishing the first round of copy edits for Moonwalking. They were due Friday so I’m a little late but now that they’re done, I can turn back to the film treatment and a new picture book that’s been percolating for a while. This week I only have ONE Zoom presentation and one podcast, so I feel like there’s light at the end of the tunnel. The school year is winding down and I’ve decided not to book more gigs for the fall. I don’t even know what four months off would feel like but I’m ready to find out! The pandemic isn’t over but here in the US things are starting to open up…we’ve sent my Say Her Name play out to directors…we found an illustrator for Juneteenth Song…writing an alternate film treatment means starting Book #4, The Enchanted Bridge, sooner than expected…but if I’m not doing half a dozen Zooms each week, then there’s time for everything. I could even sign up for another art class this summer and maybe try a sculpture class in the fall.

It’s been a month since I blogged so I have a few links to share. If you missed the 2021 Augusta Baker Lecture, you can find the recording on YouTube. I did two read-alouds of Roots Run Deep, starting with a slideshow of ancestor photos; you can watch the recording of Story Time with Mr. Limata on Facebook. My IG Live conversation with Dena Simmons of LiberatED ran into technical difficulties so I’m going to get a new phone this month and hopefully we can try again.

Time for the treadmill! Happy Mother’s Day to all the mamas out there and all the “other mothers” who pick up the slack.