Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 19

remember when…

A friend posted this on Facebook earlier today and I thought it was brilliant—and just what I need as I sit down to make a plan for the new year and the new decade. I visited my last school of 2019 on Monday and as I told a staff member about my hectic schedule she said, “That’s not sustainable.” And it’s not. Not if my goal is to write full-time. I wanted this life—in Toronto I saw a photo of Black creatives living in NYC and one year later I was living that life. I wanted to become a professor so earned my PhD and did that for a while. Then I wanted to be a writer only, so that’s what I’ve become. I no longer apply for writing retreats because I designed my life to function the exact same way. I quit my job so that writing could be my top priority but twenty years in NYC turned me into a hustler; I got used to generating opportunities in order to generate income. The thing is, a couple of years ago I developed another vision for my writer’s life: less hustling, less traveling, and more time at home to write. I’m fortunate that I’ve reached a point in my career where I can live off my advances and royalties, which means I don’t need to present at several schools each month. Yet I still do. I’ve decided to raise my rates for 2020 and when offers come in, I need to learn to say NO. And I have to be smarter about scheduling the gigs I do accept. January is already eaten up with trips and yet yesterday I agreed to take on five more school visits in Philly and Wilmington, DE. Day trips, but still. Travel is so disruptive that I need almost a week to recover from a trip. And that means that when I get home, I need to have nothing else on my plate so that I can slip back into my writing routine. Right now I feel like I might scream if one more person asks me for one more thing. Even reasonable requests make me growl because I’ve pushed myself beyond my limit. *I* did that so I’m really angry with myself, not the person asking me to do x, y, or z. Today was wonderful—I only had one appointment: a virtual visit with a group of boys and their book club leader in NC. That meant I had the rest of the day to put up my Xmas tree, do my 9-minute workout, bake some more cookies, go to the post office twice, and pick up my prescription at the pharmacy. It was one of those days when I just *loved* Lancaster because everything I needed was within reach. Tomorrow I’ll pick up the book I requested at the library but I won’t open it until I finish the FOUR books I’m currently reading. I have a poem that needs my attention. I have two picture books in production and need to follow up with my illustrators. And I have my four novels vying for attention. I have an essay due at the end of next month and I need to transcribe an interview I conducted a few weeks ago. It’s a lot but I can actually get most of it done if I just make a plan and stay put for a while…give myself the silence and solitude I need to dream, focus, and finish.

My friend Edi reminded me that the winter solstice was coming up and suggested taking a moment to reflect on this transitional time in the calendar. Chani Nicholas offers these questions on her website and I’m going to use them to guide my reflecting and writing:

Some things to sit with might be: How do I want to feel about my work, relationships, body, spiritual life/relationship with myself? What old paradigm do I want to outgrow? What life affirming feeling do I want to grow into? What bonds am I ready to free myself from? What guilt, shame and self-doubt can I lay down? What actions can I take to help my self esteem and quell my self-doubt? What self-care practices can I give to myself considering the nature of my work? How can I give that which I want to cultivate? What do I need to become more sensitive to? What might I need to have a thicker skin about? How can I grow myself up so that I am moving away from thinking that the world owes me something and towards getting curious about what I can give to it?

Think I’m going to start with this one: What self-care practices can I give to myself considering the nature of my work?

in the end

When I got back from NYC on Thursday there were so many packages in the vestibule that I had to make three trips to get everything upstairs to my apartment! I’ve got a holiday book fair in Harlem next weekend and realized at the last minute that I had to supply the books myself. Then I ordered books for the seniors group at Bethel AME since I’ve been invited to present in the new year. I also wanted to donate books to a laundromat literacy program so ordered some copies of the City Kids Series. At this point, when the clerk at the post office sees me coming, she knows I’m going to ask for media rate because I’m always shipping books. But on Friday one book arrived that was just for me—the first finished copy of SAY HER NAME! It came from Tracey, the *third* editor I’ve worked with since Disney acquired the book in 2018. It’s been quite a journey, but the book finally exists and it’s beautiful! When I first started writing poems for this collection, this definitely wasn’t what I had in mind. I’m not really a fan of bright colors so it feels a bit strange to *love* the vibrant yellow that makes this little book catch the eye. Loveis Wise struck just the right balance with their illustrations; when the poems are weighty, the artwork uplifts and adds both magic and whimsy to the page.

I had a chance to show the PDF to teens in the Brooklyn Public Library Book Match program last week. I gave 6 book talks in three days and each time I was warmly welcomed by folks I’ve worked with for years. At PS 32 in Brooklyn I shared A PLACE INSIDE OF ME for the first time and was happy to see the 3rd and 4th graders interpreting the illustrations and naming important figures from Black history. We didn’t talk about the Black Lives Matter movement but they clearly recognized that the boy was grieving for a friend or family member who had been shot. I’ll have to figure out how to talk about police brutality with kids; a librarian friend pointed out the pushback HE gets as a White man whenever he wears his BLM t-shirt around his colleagues. Our first review—starred—from doesn’t even mention that SAY HER NAME focuses on Black female victims of police violence. The reviewer’s “verdict” was complimentary and I appreciate them emphasizing that the poems are for everyone: “This collection is inspirational, uplifting, and encouraging for readers of all genders. Elliott may not think of herself as a poet, but her creativity and deft wielding of rich language prove otherwise.” But this book isn’t about me. An educator left this glorious review on my Facebook page:

I read it in one sitting & it took my breath away. This [SLJ] review doesn’t do justice to the deep significance and timeliness of your collection of verses. This book is radical. It illuminates. It uplifts. It’s hopeful even as it names the structures of violence constraining erasing negating black lives. Reading your book is a sacred experience. I’ll be sharing it widely and wisely with the youth in my life. Thank you.

That kind of assessment makes my heart soar and I hope many other readers “get it” in the same way. I also hope future reviewers notice the end pages on which Loveis listed the names of Black women killed by police in the US. This isn’t a generic book about the struggles of African Americans…

One more NYC trip and then I can end the year here at home. There are Xmas cookies to be baked and I haven’t figured out where to buy a tree…but I’ve got carols on steady rotation and did a little shopping yesterday. I thought moving to Lancaster would help me travel less but so far that hasn’t been the case. As we head into a new decade, I’m thinking about the changes I need to make now to ensure that I end next year feeling less exhausted…

winding down

Whenever I reach this point in the year, I get cranky. Which is odd because the holidays are my favorite time of year and just hearing a street musician playing Christmas carols yesterday made my heart soar. I’ve been on the road a lot and I’m ready to just be home for a while—that’s part of it. I can’t seem to empty my inbox no matter how much time I spend responding to requests and invitations and deadlines. I’m grateful for the opportunities that are coming my way, and I know I’ve got to hustle now for my books to come out in 2020. But planning so far ahead makes it hard to be HERE, present and at ease in this moment. And that makes it hard to write, which also makes me irritable. I’ve been reading a lot lately to make up for the fact that I haven’t had the headspace to work on any of my novels for the past month. They’ll wait for me, I know they will, but I still resent having to set them aside. November was ROUGH and I’m glad it’s over. But December’s already filling up and two NYC trips mean getting back on the train. I’m wondering what would happen if I decided not to do any school visits for 3 months. Being at NCTE and ALAN made me realize how much I enjoy talking to teachers (this generous educator from Chicago gifted me the poetry book I’m reading now), but I was also very aware that we were talking about kids who weren’t actually part of either conference. When I think about cutting things out of my life, I don’t think removing interaction with kids would help; they energize me but dealing with all the adults required to plan a school visit can be tedious and tiring. If I moved to another country for a couple of months my inbox would probably still fill up every day…we’re so connected via the web that escape isn’t really possible. This time last year I was planning my trip to Sweden. Have I worked on that novel since? Not really. We’re about to enter a new decade and I’m nearing 50…I want to keep the things/people/experience/practices that enrich my life and get rid of everything else. Time to make a plan for 2020 that prioritizes the things that bring me joy!

cold

Mercury is retrograde and I’ve decided the planets are to blame for the misery and misfortune I’ve been experiencing lately. On my way home from Memphis I raced to catch a train in Philly and not only did I show the conductor the wrong ticket, I left my laptop in the seat pocket before getting off at Lancaster. I was able to order a replacement that evening but exactly a week later my debit card was hacked and subsequently blocked. The next morning I woke up to discover that my aunt and her wife were killed instantly in a car crash. My cousin—not my aunt’s daughter—was notified by police in the middle of the night. She shared the sad news with everyone else and then later that same day, her beloved dog died of heart failure. I had two gigs booked in NYC so went ahead with those and decided to stop by the Apple store to have my phone’s battery replaced; they damaged it and so replaced the phone, which meant I had to activate my service but couldn’t do it online and had no phone to call support so spent a few days disconnected. Probably not a bad thing since I was with family in bitterly cold Ottawa for the weekend. When my sister, her partner Khalil, and I entered the church, we were told the blue seats were reserved for family. Yet when we tried to sit, the minister scurried over to tell us we could NOT sit in the reserved section. I assumed he thought three brown-skinned people weren’t family members but that wasn’t it; we weren’t children or grandchildren of the deceased. So we tried to sit in the closest pew and he told us we couldn’t sit there either. “Where do you want us—at the back of the church?” Khalil shushed me and we sat a few rows back, far from the rest of the (White) family. I was seething but it was my aunt’s funeral…one of my cousins came over and offered to switch seats with us and then my eldest female cousin came over and basically said, “F___ him. Sit in the front pew.” So we did, and two other cousins sat next to us; if he told us to move again, he’d have to ask them as well—two White women with little kids. And guess what? Even with us taking up most of the pew, there was enough room for everyone related to my aunt and her wife. I’m sorry that this incident is what I came home thinking about…but it typifies my experience in Canada, and in so-called “progressive” majority-White spaces filled with “good people.” It clearly didn’t cross that White queer minister’s mind that he was banishing the only people of color in the family. I saw two men of color in the choir but that was it—no racial diversity in this “welcoming,” “alternative” church. Sure, they sing to “Mother and Father God” and they welcome LGBTQ folks like my aunts, but the minister didn’t consider the weight of his actions (never mind the optics). I recently read a middle grade novel about a transracial adoptee and I wondered if it would find a wide audience. After all, how many Black girls could relate to scenarios that are specific to having a White family? All Black girls know what it’s like to be misjudged and mistreated, but generally your family understands racism and believes you since they’ve experienced it themselves. That’s often not the case when your family is White. When I entered the hotel lobby, a young woman of color offered to help me check in even though my cousin was already checking us in. It’s a small thing but you never know when it’s going to escalate, which means you’re always on guard. Overall it was great to spend time with my family and we talked a lot about the traits we hope to bury and not pass on to the next generation. I’m working on a poem and will eventually find a way to express my grief. Tomorrow I have a phone conference and then a local newscaster is coming by to film a feature for Black History Month. I just sent notes to my illustrator in Hong Kong who is using our book as a way to distract herself from the escalating political crisis. My agent is once again sending out the two stories I wrote about my Caribbean uncle learning to play hockey in the 1960s. A famous hockey sportscaster just lost his job for making anti-immigrant remarks on air and racism regularly shows up at Canada’s national pastime, but will that move editors to acquire my stories this time around? Time will tell. Thursday I leave for Baltimore and then the holidays begin. Looking forward to getting a Christmas tree and enjoying some solitary, silent nights…

intentional

This morning I slept in and woke up to pouring rain. Around noon the sun came out and I decided to go for a run. The sidewalks were slick with wet leaves so I was watching my step, but when I passed a couple of tweens I heard one of them say, “That’s her—I saw her Friday! She’s famous!” Which made me laugh and I looked over my shoulder to see her rushing back to speak to me. On Friday I presented at Franklin & Marshall College for a great group of 8th graders from Reynolds MS here in Lancaster. I’ve wanted to connect with local schools ever since I got here last summer, and I’m so glad that my book birthday celebration included three book talks last week. I want young people everywhere to know that writers are everyday people—we’re your neighbors! I did a virtual visit with 5th graders in Missouri as well and tried to give them a tour of my apartment when one student asked where I write; not sure if my office and living room lived up to their expectations. On Tuesday one kid told me his favorite author wrote books using a magic typewriter! My beat-up MacBook isn’t nearly as exciting, though the students were impressed when I told them I can type close to a hundred words a minute.

I packed my bag that evening since I had to get up early on Saturday to catch the train to Philly. I walked from 30th Street Station to Tiffany’s Bakery at 10th St. and the Black women who prepared my photo cake were just lovely—all very interested in the book and wanting to get a copy for their kids. I caught a Lyft up to Uncle Bobbie’s and the events manager Munirah had everything set up. My friend Marilisa drove in from Easton and helped me cut the cake as guests started to arrive. I didn’t do much of a presentation but I read from both dragon books and talked a bit about my kawandi quilt made by the Siddi Women’s Quilting Cooperative. The kids loved holding the dolls Erica Turner crocheted, and then I signed books, hugged friends, and wrapped things up! I’m much more comfortable presenting in a dark auditorium with my slides behind me, but I think the launch was a success. I was struck by one mother who said she was reading the book to her four kids and could see just how intentional I am with my storytelling. That’s the best possible compliment because it makes me feel seen not just as a writer, but as a thinker. A librarian on Twitter said something similar last week, and those three tweets were perfectly timed and much appreciated because I finished yet another picture book on Monday and realized I now have 19 unpublished manuscripts. Even with an agent sending work out and even with the ability to self-publish my own books, I don’t seem to be getting enough of my work out there. But I *am* publishing stories that matter to me—and to my readers. And that has always been the goal. Not to be famous, but to make a living writing stories that reflect my Black feminist worldview. It helps that I have a network of BIPOC feminist scholars and artists who support me on this journey. My Philly friends came out to the launch and treated me to lunch afterwards. Then I walked along the river and took the train back to Lancaster. My phone was lit up with notifications and birthday messages…I usually prefer to celebrate my birthday on my own, but it was lovely to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. Books bring people together…

 

3, 2, 1…launch!

THE DRAGON THIEF is my 35th book for young readers! It’s my 7th traditionally published book but there’s really no difference when it comes to promotion—even if your publisher assigns you a publicist, the onus is still on the author. I don’t get that excited about a book’s “birthday”—you hope your book will have a long life and it doesn’t make much sense, after 30+ books, to make a fuss every time a new title goes on sale. So I was busy but low key. I lined up a couple of school visits here in Lancaster and the students were just wonderful (3rd graders at Hamilton Elementary pictured below). I was running around for much of the day so it meant a lot that my friends and fans on social media did much of the work for me. Librarian Christina Carter made this lovely graphic and posted it on Twitter, which I very much appreciated because it made it easy for me (and everybody else!) to retweet. Kid BookTuber Jazz, whom I met at Nerdcamp last summer, featured THE DRAGON THIEF on Snazzy Reads! I definitely felt the love for my dragons online and in person.

After my second school visit ended it started to pour; luckily friends gave me a ride to a local foundry where we celebrated the Commonwealth Monument Project and I got to meet Lenwood Sloan! Unfortunately I had to leave early so I could grab a bite to eat before our webinar with Embrace Race. Midway through our stimulating conversation about race and fantasy fiction for kids, I felt my head start to pound; I went to bed with a headache and woke with a migraine this morning. So I’ve been enjoying a day of silence and just got some more good book news that I can’t yet share…my book’s official birthday is over but I have another Lancaster school visit on Friday followed by a virtual visit with some book club kids in Missouri who filmed a birthday message and emailed it to me. On Saturday I’ll take the train to Philly, pick up my photo cake, and head to Uncle Bobbie’s. Bookstore events are always a gamble but since it’s also my own birthday, I won’t worry if it’s just me and my friends hanging out and eating cake! By the time this week ends, I will know that I’ve done my duty by my new book and will just let it live…and hopefully thrive! Another author friend on Facebook let me know that our books are in good company over at Amazon…

back to school!

Yesterday I spent a glorious fall day in Philly. The train from Lancaster ran express so I reached 30th Street Station in an hour and walked over to the nearby post office where I was greeted by a postal clerk who recognized me as a regular (and correctly predicted that I was mailing books). As I walked over to my first school my editor called to say we were *so close* to sending to print. I was able to get wifi at the school and sent off some last minute emails…and within a couple of hours the galley was out the door and on its way to the printer! The finished illustrations are SO beautiful—vibrant and funky and mesmerizing. Here’s a sample spread by Loveis Wise. I seriously hope she gets award recognition for her contribution to this book.

My first book talk was at a school that has lots of resources; my second visit was at a school that has far fewer resources and I left feeling a little demoralized. One 3rd grader told me her mother couldn’t afford to get her glasses so could I please make books with larger print. I couldn’t get into these schools when I lived in the neighborhood, but Sibylla at A Book A Day finally opened the door for me. I think what I do matters—the kids at both schools were captivated by my stories—but what am I doing to challenge structural inequality? Giving free book talks and donating books to schools in low-income communities feels like a drop in the ocean. I need to think about this some more. Redistribution has been on my mind a LOT lately and we’ve got to do something about the disparities in our schools.

I got some more good news yesterday—well, I’ve known for a while but had to keep it under wraps. The Ontario Library Association officially announced its nominees for the Forest of Reading,  and DRAGONS IN A BAG is a Silver Birch Award Express nominee! I’m thrilled that so many Canadian kids will now be reading my book. My dragons were also selected for a school-wide reading program in Columbia, MO and by a city-wide program on the west coast—but I can’t share that until November 1. Here’s some information about the Forest of Reading. I don’t think we had this when I was a child in Toronto…

The Forest of Reading® is Canada’s largest recreational reading program! This initiative of the Ontario Library Association (OLA) offers ten reading programs to encourage a love of reading in people of all ages. The Forest helps celebrate Canadian books, publishers, authors and illustrators. More than 270,000 readers participate annually from their school and/or public library. All Canadians are invited to participate via their local public library, school library, or individually.

The Forest of Reading Award Programs are where children and young adults pick the winner! Readers choose a program that they would like to be a part of, usually based on their age or grade, and simply begin reading! They can read all ten of the titles, or pick and choose to read only the ones they are interested in. Participants are encouraged to read at least five of the ten titles to be eligible to vote in April. This program aims to encourage a genuine and life-long love of reading among readers of all ages.

coming soon!

I got my first copy of THE DRAGON THIEF yesterday—the finished art by Geneva B is amazing! I’m hoping to do a few school visits here in Lancaster on the pub date of October 22, and that evening I’ll be part of the Embrace Race webinar with Marti Dumas. It’s free and you can register here:

“Fantasy fiction has always been about more than cool abilities and alternate universes. Whether the heroes are seemingly regular kids, mermaids, cyborgs, witches or what-have-you, the stories are often propelled by issues of power and justice, and they often empower readers to expect and imagine possibilities that upend conventions. But why then does a genre known for upending conventions still insist on making the vast majority of its heroes and main characters white? Whether we’re talking Harry Potter or Frozen, the lack of inclusion (and not just racial) in a form often structured as a challenge to a fictionalized status quo is striking.

Join us for a conversation with Marti Dumas and Zetta Elliott, two fantastic children’s book authors, about how inclusive fantasy fiction empowers all young readers. They argue that magic is ultimately about power, that ALL children need to know that they can make–and unmake–worlds, both real and imagined. Marti and Zetta will also read from their books, suggest inclusive fantasy fiction titles for the kids in your life, and take your questions.”

On October 26—my own birthday!—I’ll be doing a launch event at Uncle Bobbie’s in Philly. Will see if I can come up with some gluten-free, nut-free dragon treats. Please join us if you can!

when I close my eyes

This week I flew with my eyes closed. I didn’t have a book and the magazines a flight attendant gifted me just weren’t holding my attention. So on the plane I shut my eyes and let myself dream instead. I’ve said before that crises activate my imagination, and sometimes going back to Toronto feels like a kind of crisis. This time I was helping my mother move into a retirement home, which meant purging and packing her belongings. My mother is something of a hoarder—not the stacks of newspapers from floor to ceiling type, but she had twenty vases. Seriously—20. She had tons of chachkas and decorative holiday napkins and things my grandparents had given her that she didn’t need but found it hard to give up. I’m fairly ruthless when it comes to “stuff” and don’t feel bad at all when I donate or regift something I no longer want or need. But I still came home with three fancy Royal Doulton teacups and saucers, a crystal dish, a Limoges candy dish I used to admire as a child, and a precious Xmas ornament that would have been lost forever if my mother wasn’t such a hoarder. Most of the packing I did over the past week was for stuff going to the charity shop and it was tedious and tiring. I was in introvert overload mode because, of course, I needed a break from packing and taking care of my mother and so I tried to see as many folks as possible during my 5-day trip. I finally got up to Picton to see my friend’s beautiful farm, and I spent a day downtown meeting with publishing people. I talked a lot and I didn’t write at all (though I tried to stay on top of my inbox, which always seems to fill with requests as soon as I leave town). I didn’t write but I did dream—especially when I was on the plane. And because I flew out of Harrisburg, I had a stopover in DC before reaching Toronto. The two flights were short but the dreams were vivid and intense—it was almost like using a remote to flip through TV channels. Each “show” was more interesting than the last so I kept going back and forth between book projects. When I got home this afternoon, I turned the computer on and tried to write down at least one of the scenes that had played out in my head. It’s a YA novel in verse that I pitched to a young editor I met with yesterday. It’s a bit risky and I certainly don’t want to cause her any grief in her new job, especially when she’s working hard to get Black writers through the door. But then I think—she knows what she’s getting with me. And if I am FINALLY going to get published in Canada, then I want that first book to be authentic. Daring. Difficult. I have so much work to do but I’ve already decided to give myself as much silence and solitude as I need over the weekend. And if I need to sit in this armchair and close my eyes for a while, then that’s what I’ll do. Because dreaming is part of the work—not the hardest part, but it still counts.

the clash

I’m listening to The Clash right now and “Police & Thieves” has a ska beat, if I’m not mistaken (just checked—it’s a cover of a reggae song by Junior Murvin). Last week I went to a Basquiat exhibit on police brutality at the Guggenheim and I’ve since written one poem about my 12-year-old character’s take on the provocative paintings. Today’s task is to write a poem about the first time he hears The Clash after a White friend gives him a mixtape. We sold a middle grade novel-in-verse a few weeks ago but the project hasn’t been announced so I’m keeping mum for now. I’ve got a few things under wraps—Dragons in a Bag is part of two big literacy initiatives but I’m not allowed to share details until October 15 and November 1. All week I’ve had to spend 2-3 hours clearing my inbox because trips have to be planned and invitations accepted or declined. It’s kind of a tedious way to start the day, but it’s also heartening to know that my work is circulating and resonating with more people. Still, it’s easy to mistake all this email correspondence for the work itself and it’s NOT—books still have to be written and so I made a writing agenda yesterday to help keep me on track. I think I can finish the MG novel by the end of October IF I focus for the next few weeks. But, of course, as I worked on my agenda, I came up with another idea for a YA novel-in-verse. Carlisle isn’t too far from Lancaster and I’ve been thinking about the residential school there that traumatized so many Native American children. Not my story to tell but…I have a YA dystopian novel that touches on how a group’s culture is broken so I’ve already done a little research. And what if a Black girl in the 1880s somehow met up with a runaway from the residential school. There seem to be so many obvious overlaps. Will think about it some more. An editor in Canada just reached out about collaborating so will see how she feels about that idea. Then there’s Daughters of Zion—I’ve compiled the names of ten Black women from Lancaster County whose voices need to be heard. #7 is Hannah Bosley, a formerly enslaved woman who ran a boarding house in Columbia. Her portrait is so intriguing—did she bring those items as a way of showing her status or wealth? Or were they accessories she needed in her profession? Why have a muff *and* mitts—unless the mitts were for handling something hot. Is her basket wrapped in something like duct tape? Did she sell hot pies? So many possibilities…

I’m hoping to have at least a few of the dramatic monologues written by the end of the year because Franklin & Marshall College will be hosting Sonya Clark as artist-in-residence and I’ve been invited to contribute to their programming. I haven’t been in Lancaster for two months and I feel like I keep getting signs that moving here was the right decision to make at the right time. I wanted to travel less, which means I’m “bundling” gigs when I do go out of state. And because my cost of living has been drastically reduced, my fall income is going a lot farther. I went to church last Sunday (!!!) for the first time in decades; everyone at Bethel AME was welcoming and now I’ve got more potential collaborators. The burial ground next to the church includes several women and infant girls from the Moton family…think I’ll add at least one of them to my book. It almost seems too easy, the way things are falling into place. But a Black feminist artist friend reminded me that sometimes struggle is all we know and all we’ve come to expect. It isn’t like that for everyone. It doesn’t have to be like that for me.

Last week The Conscious Kid kindly hosted the cover reveal for . I have a lot of respect for that duo so it meant a lot that they were moved by my poems. A Black woman scholar who will be moderating one of my panels at NCTE read it as well and called SHN “glorious.” I’ll be talking about the book at YALSA in Memphis and then again at NCTE in Baltimore. Yesterday I attended a webinar on the Harriet Tubman Museum and Education Center in Maryland; Edi and I are going to try to drive out there during the conference. And, of course, the film‘s coming soon…

Thought I would write out on the deck this afternoon; there’s a cool breeze making my wind chime sing, and I hear birds chattering in the pine trees. They haven’t discovered my bird feeder yet but I’m still hopeful. Sadly my wifi doesn’t seem to be working back here so I’ll have to go inside to publish this post. Tomorrow I head up to Toronto for a few days. Doubt I’ll get much writing done but I have an interview with the kid lit columnist for The Globe & Mail—that counts as work! And will try to pen a few haiku since I see butterflies everywhere and they’re certainly worth 17 syllables…

butterflies cast the

smallest shadows as they dance

in September sun