Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 16

in the weeds

I didn’t go to the garden yesterday. It rained all afternoon and my 2pm conference call lasted more than an hour as my film agent tried to explain every clause in the latest offer. I tried to stay focused and think I now understand all the rights up for grabs, which ones we’ll relinquish and which ones we’ll reserve. I’m not in any rush to seal the deal but I still feel pressed because I didn’t finish Moonwalking by Monday, which means my co-author is waiting on me as well as our editor. I think we all have a slightly different vision for the book so we really need to sit down and find common ground…but we can’t do that until my poems are done! I wrote three yesterday and stayed up late, which meant I slept in this morning. Woke up already worrying about my long To Do list…yesterday I heard from a theater producer who wants to collaborate, and every day I get 2-3 requests for a virtual visit. I haven’t been leaving the house this week much but in between penning lines of verse I get up and pace the apartment, stopping to tidy something, hang a picture, put up one more curtain. The apartment is just about done and I do feel settled and yet I don’t—projects and gigs that are scheduled for later in the month aren’t on my mind right now but that doesn’t stop the organizers from reaching out with requests…I dreamed of Scotland last night but I wasn’t living an anonymous life—I was still signing books and talking to kids. I’m not sure that will ever stop. And I don’t think I want it to stop completely. I’m starting to understand how some of my friends have thousands of unread emails in their inboxes. If I weren’t so obsessive about clearing my inbox, I could let a few weeks go by before I responded to all these requests. But they tug at my brain and they’re mixed in with messages I do want to read. I’m so grateful for my friends and all the support they provide…on Saturday I got my copy of ME & MAMA which is a gorgeous new picture book by Cozbi Cabrera. We got to hang out safely at the bookstore and my other new neighbor Elisa gave me a quick history of racism in the local library system over a slice of pie. On Sunday I planned to attend a service of lament for Jacob Blake and then checked my calendar and realized I had a Zoom presentation at the same time…We’ve got a working cover for my next picture book, which features original artwork by Gracie Berry; I had hoped to have it done before leaving Lancaster but better late than never. I’m mostly juggling things pretty well and will feel much better once my poems are finished. I hate to keep people waiting but I don’t want to turn in shoddy work. That’s one of my mantras for the fall: “I can finish what I start.” I’m not a dilettante. I’m not a slacker. I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. Yes, I have moved three times in three years but I do have a sense of purpose. Everything will get done in time…

I can walk away and be okay.

I can finish what I start.

I can set limits and develop a greater capacity for genuine generosity.

I have enough.

I may fail but I am not a failure.

I can take risks without being reckless.

I need to be honest about my motives and goals.

I want to live with less shame.

I’m allowed to be selfish sometimes.

I can heal without hurting others.

I can let others shine.

room to breathe

Last week I felt like I’d been holding my breath for too long. Waiting on the movers, waiting on my Lyft ride to the airport, trying not to breathe too deeply on the packed flight to Chicago…then I finally reached Evanston early Tuesday morning, made my way down to the lake, and let myself exhale. The sound of the waves was so soothing…the streets were empty and quiet except for the church bells that rang right at 9am. I knew as soon as the Lyft driver turned the corner that I’d made the right choice. The apartment is lovely but not perfect; the building is a little shabby and there are smokers downstairs. But I was just so relieved and the movers were late—again—but by Wednesday evening they’d brought everything up and were headed back to PA. Now I’m starting my second week in Evanston and I feel a bit breathless. I’m pacing myself, exploring the lakefront trails and parks, shopping locally for the few things I need for the apartment; I found a handyman to install my air conditioners and shelves, I volunteered at the community garden and met some new folks. I had a long, honest conversation about the publishing industry with an author friend who left NYC and now lives just a few blocks away. I’m working on my manuscript and think I just might meet the deadline. Then Jacob Blake was shot in the back by a cop in Kenosha. I learned that his grandfather headed an AME church here in Evanston in the 1960s. They’re holding an outdoor memorial service this Sunday. Evanston wasn’t meant to be a sanctuary for me; after 25 years in this country, I know there’s nowhere I can go to avoid White supremacist terrorism. What’s riled me this week are the endless requests in my inbox from White folks who don’t seem to understand the fatigue Black people feel as victims and witnesses of this violence. I finally reached out to a booking service but they’re not taking on new clients right now. The constant emails, the relentless requests…I just can’t right now. Even when I put people off—I’m not booking anything more till November—they come right back with requests for quotes and head shots and other nonessential requests. Even after I explain that I’ve got a deadline looming and just moved from one state to another. I’m tired of it. And willing to lose these potential gigs just to have some peace for a few weeks. I’m thinking about putting an away response on my email so if you reach out to me, you might not hear back for a while…

My essay for Horn Book came out yesterday–you can read it here.

Coronavirus infections are surging across the country, and protests that began in big U.S. cities and small towns have spread across the globe, igniting a movement to end police brutality and the dehumanization of Black people. Some feel optimistic about this moment. I do not, but I have mostly kept my opinion to myself. Living under quarantine has made that fairly easy; as a middle-aged Black woman with asthma, I’m in no rush to go outdoors, and if I’m not presenting for virtual audiences on Zoom, then I’m alone at home writing.

I am tired of mourning. I am tired of raging. I am tired of hoping for change. I am also exhausted by the largely unproductive conversations we keep having about anti-Black racism in publishing. For over a decade I have written and spoken publicly about racial disparities within the U.S. publishing industry. Though many in the children’s lit community cling to the myth of meritocracy (“True talent will always be recognized — just keep trying!”) and favor narratives of gradual progress (“Things are getting better — just give it time!”), all studies show that the U.S. publishing industry is still dominated by Whites who are determined to hold onto — rather than share — power.

look up

Moving is stressful. For a neat freak like me, having my apartment turned inside out is extremely unsettling even though it also creates opportunities to do a massive purge. The other day I couldn’t reach a lock box on the top shelf of my closet so I pulled out the step ladder, hopped up, and immediately rammed my head into the doorframe. I iced it right away and managed to avoid a bump but found it telling that I hurt myself by blindly reaching for something I don’t use or need. One of the things I like least about being an author is selling books but a few years ago, I was vending enough to make a lock box necessary. That’s what this move is making me realize—I have held onto things that no longer serve me. I’m going through my files now and finally threw out the essays I read in graduate school and the writing lesson plans I developed for kids over a decade ago. A poet friend sent a lovely video she made with her husband at the seashore and it ended with the hashtag #imagineblackfreedom. What does it mean to be free? My head hurts and I have more packing to do so I won’t try to answer that question now. But it’s hard to move forward if you haven’t taken time to imagine what it would be like to be free. I watched my favorite real estate show yesterday and for the first time, it made me want to walk out of this house with nothing but an overnight bag. I love beautiful things and enjoy being surrounded by them. I want to buy a condo but I don’t want to fill it with more stuff…I’ve lived nearly half a century and my achievements can’t be measured with things—my books count, of course, but very little else is precious to me. I keep my great-grandparents’ fancy china in the cupboard—I haven’t used it once since my mother gave it to me years ago. I could give it to a cousin or I could commit to using it at least once a month. My desire for a simple life isn’t probably isn’t compatible with my magpie eye for pretty, shiny things. I made the above sign almost twenty years ago and it has been on my fridge all that time—maybe I should let it go and make another that reflects how I see myself now. Tomorrow I’ll have to make another trip to the Goodwill donation center. I’m going to try to find enough quarters to do a final load of laundry, though the pandemic coin shortage makes that tricky. On Friday I took some cookies to my favorite clerk at the post office and sympathized with her fear that the service is being sabotaged by the current administration. We have to plan carefully—NOW—so that we can maneuver around the many obstacles being placed across the path to freedom. And I can’t be agile if I’m weighed down with too much stuff. Time to let it go…

on faith

I did it—I signed a lease on an apartment in Evanston, IL! I am definitely stepping out on faith with this move, but so far things have been falling into place. I’m trying not to tear the place up, but I’ve started packing and purging—the hallway is full of bagged books, DVDs, clothes, shoes, housewares…this is why moving is worthwhile. You realize just what’s worth bringing along as you move forward in your life. I’m letting go of the couch and the dresser my grandfather gave me when I was a kid…I’m FINALLY letting go of the essays I read in graduate school. It’s clear to me that I won’t be teaching the courses I used to teach as a Black Studies professor, so all that material can go. I doubt I’ll ever be a professor again but if I do return to campus, I’ll build new syllabi with new books. That’s the goal right now—try new things. Yesterday I did my first Facebook live reading plus workshop. It’s a lot easier when I can share my screen, and that’s what I’ll do as I develop some writing tutorials for another nonprofit. I still have a few conference calls with film studios scheduled for next week and one last library Zoom presentation. Then I can focus on packing, moving, unpacking, and writing as summer starts to wind down. I’m looking forward to sitting by the lake…and doing research in Chicago for Book 3 in my dragon series. There’s a park I plan to visit with a Garden of the Phoenix—a Japanese garden—and then I found out this week that DRAGONS IN A BAG has been nominated for the Sakura Medal in Japan’s international schools!

My latest newsletter went out on Tuesday, but I gave folks the wrong date for my PBS reading of A PLACE INSIDE OF ME. If you missed our episode, you can find it on CampTV.org or you can watch just my read-aloud here. We still haven’t gotten any trade reviews of this timely book, which is perplexing, but the responses on social media have been heartening. I have faith that this book will find its way into the right hands.

CityLine Interview with Tracy Moore

when you’re scared

Last month a child in Toronto asked, “What do you do when you’re scared?” I turned my response into a letter, which you can read (or listen to me read) over at the A Book A Day blog:

Life does get scary sometimes and there’s no shame in being afraid. Everyone feels fear—kids, teenagers, and grownups, too. Lately things have been happening in our country that make me upset. I have anxiety, which means I worry a lot. I always tell kids that “What if…?” is how all good stories begin. But when I’m feeling anxious, asking “What if…?” over and over again just makes me more afraid because I tend to focus only on the bad things that could happen.

I haven’t been blogging much lately. By the time I finish doing “all the things,” I don’t have anything left to say. Today I have nothing written on my calendar but the To Do list still wants my attention. We’ve had 90+ degree weather for over a week so I’m mostly laying low at home with the a/c on. I sent my poetry collection off to my editor last week so I’m going to take a break from writing poems—until next month when I need to write 20 poems for my novel-in-verse. I have an Authors Guild webinar on Monday and another 100+ kid lit event on Friday. On the days in between, I’m thinking about driving out to Evanston. Traveling during the pandemic causes a lot of anxiety but I think there’s a smart and safe way to do it. And if I get scared along the way, I’ll just look for the helpers…

taking my time

When the pandemic started, I thought I would finally have time to do all the things that constant travel had prevented me from doing. But these days, I find I often feel like there simply isn’t enough time. Right now I am writing a poem, revising the finished poems in American Phoenix, preparing a new picture book for self-publication, revising an essay that’s due tomorrow, researching Amish farms and Black supernaturalism, and trying to finish at least one chapter of my novel. I can’t do it all. On top of that, I found out last week that even though the USCIS website says my citizenship application will be processed by October, the Philly office has only just started processing applications from 2017. Which means I had to immediately pay another $540 to renew my green card, and I can’t move forward with my mortgage application until the new card arrives. Which, according to the website, could take up to 10 months. So on that front, the universe is definitely forcing me to slow down. And this week I won’t have time to sit and write because I have a phone conference with an editor tomorrow morning and I’m teaching an online class in the afternoon; the next day I have another live interview for a Toronto morning show called CityLine, and my second poetry class meets that afternoon. The next day I have a meeting to solve a Canadian library’s tech trouble before I’m interviewed by a professor in Texas about radical children’s publishing. The rest of the week is open but I’ve got friends who want to catch up via Zoom and colleagues hoping to talk about shifting fall in-person presentations to an online format. I keep finding requests in my spam folder…folks want videos and poems and blog posts. I can’t do it all. I WON’T do it all. I’m trying to slow down without stopping entirely, which is what I want to do some days. I should have gone for a run this morning, but I didn’t. I didn’t do my usual stretches last night. These are the things that help me feel strong in my body so I know that they’re important. I don’t really miss having a hectic travel schedule but I do miss variety. Yet when I was flying from place to place, I missed having a regular routine and now my daily routine is wearing me down. Still striving to find the right balance! It takes more than time. I need to focus on my priorities because everything doesn’t have equal value. I’ve been doing a *lot* of free gigs and that needs to stop. At least for a while. We’re halfway through July and I have another novel due at the end of August. We’ve got interest from a couple more film studios but at least I can let my film agent handle that. A small publisher reached out after hearing on Twitter that I might have to self-publish the rest of the dragon series, but I’m letting my agent handle that. A PLACE INSIDE OF ME comes out next week and we’ve only had one review in The Globe & Mail, a Canadian newspaper. I’m not dreaming up an innovative way to do a pandemic book launch. I’m proud of that book but I’m going to trust that the folks who are looking will find it in time. The essay that’s due tomorrow is about the twenty-year process of bringing that book into the world. I was angry when I wrote the first draft in December but revised it into something less scathing back in March and now I’m revising it AGAIN in July. For a magazine that won’t be published till the fall…sigh. Today should be a day of rest but instead I’m going to make a mini To Do list and see if I can do just three things that will make me feel strong, safe, and satisfied.

 

The Importance of Representation in Children’s Literature on CTV’s Your Morning

voice

Join us tomorrow for the 8th Annual African American Children’s Book Fair hosted by the Reginald F. Lewis Museum. For a long time, this was one of the only book fairs that invited indie authors and this year I’m honored to be on a panel with Just Us Books founders Cheryl Willis Hudson and Wade Hudson. The fair starts at 11am and concludes with our panel at 2pm. Get your free tickets here. We tried and tried to figure out why my mic works but not my camera. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find a solution so I will be audio only, which suits me just fine; I’d much rather have folks listening to my ideas. And that means I can wear my pajamas if I want!

You can also hear my voice in of the Little, Brown podcast. For about forty minutes Victoria and I discussed mentor texts and the mechanics of writing poetry. I also got to share my experience teaching poetry to teens—and my next online class will start on July 7 with the Hennepin County Library. It’s open to teens everywhere but I’m looking to hearing from young poets in Minneapolis. After everything that’s happened in the past month, I imagine they’ll have a lot to share.

american phoenix

What I should be doing: prepping for this morning’s virtual school visit, working on my two novels-in-progress, revising the poems for my second collection, cleaning the house. What I’m doing instead: watching Escape to the Country, dreaming about Chicago, and designing a fabulous cover for my new book of poetry that I haven’t finished writing yet. I did twist my hair, take out the trash, and do a little shopping at the market this morning; I keep waking before dawn so I’m trying to get up and out instead of just lounging in bed. But I find myself working around my work these days, putting small things on my To Do list so I can scratch them off and feel like I accomplished something. I spent about an hour selecting the right font for my book cover last night because that was easier than finishing off the countless poems that I started during the lockdown. I’ve got close to 40 that I think are good enough to publish but only about a third are complete. It’s hard to focus these days—I can read for about 20-30 minutes but then my mind starts to wander. I can get the first two stanzas of a poem down but then I struggle to complete the third. I’ve done a pretty good job managing my depression, I think, though I need to get back to running. I limit my time on social media, I exercise at home, I tend to the pretty planters on my deck. Today I ordered a new feeder so more birds can eat together without making a total mess. I’m writing. I’m Zooming. I’m talking to a mortgage broker today and my film agent tomorrow. Things are happening! But summer has started, we’re getting close to July, and it feels like the window’s closing on my move to Chicago. A couple of months ago I thought I’d made peace with staying put, but now I’m restless and ready to move on. Not just in terms of where I live. I feel like a chapter is drawing to a close—

maybe in my professional life? I’m not sure. I participated in an online rally (#KidLit4BlackLivesCanada) last Friday and felt very much like an outsider next to so many Canadian authors. My publicist in Toronto has kindly scheduled a few more events for me: I’ll be a guest on CTV’s Morning Show on July 9 and I’ve got a writing workshop for kids coming up on July 13. The Raptors basketball farm team hosts a literacy event for kids and DRAGONS IN A BAG will be one of the five books each 5th grader will receive. I think it’s interesting that my fantasy fiction is getting so much attention but SAY HER NAME is not. Is that because my publicist for that book isn’t doing her job, or do Canadians simply prefer dragon tales to poems about police brutality? I’ve been asked to record a reading of A PLACE INSIDE OF ME for WNET in New York. I’m thinking about how to address police violence to this audience—in under ten minutes. Kids in NYC know about the protests. They can probably name a Black person killed by police. So what can I add to their understanding of the Movement for Black Lives? There’s a line at the end of the book that gives me pause: “I am in love with my people/all people”…I wrote it 20 years ago before anyone was saying, “all lives matter.” I wouldn’t write that today. I used to tell kids it was good to have love in your heart for everyone. Not sure I could honestly say that today. I know lots of people feel like we’ve turned a corner in race relations, but I’m not feeling optimistic. Offensive statues are coming down—but we did that a few years ago and nothing changed. People are focusing on symbols and not structures. Round and round we go…the one poem I *did* finish last week is titled “I Am Not Okay.” It felt good to be honest on the page. Then I ordered some Chinese food and my fortune cookies reminded me to hold onto hope…