Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 42

my voice

I’m losing my voice because I’ve finally caught the cold that has afflicted all my friends. After eating FOUR butter tarts yesterday, I am doing a mini-detox and these strawberries with lemon juice feel good on my raw throat. This morning I turned off the radio and listened instead to my conversation with Sandi Klein, which we taped last month. It’s always uncomfortable to hear your recorded voice, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to reflect on my writer’s life. Sandi’s fantastic podcast, Conversations with Creative Women, gives female artists the chance to talk about their evolution and influences. I don’t often talk about my older brother during interviews, but we started off with my happy childhood and that meant talking about my brother’s failed adoption. He arrived in our home on Halloween, which must have been terrifying; I was two, my sister 4, and Denzil had just turned 6. He had grown up on a small Caribbean island and found it very challenging to adjust to life in Canada. My father, who had been abused as a child, then used corporal punishment whenever my brother acted out, which only made things worse. There were a lot of silences in my family, which contributed to my decision to become a storyteller. As a child, how else do you make sense of your world? If no one gives you language to understand events, you find or create your own narratives…

Heading out in search of soup. Really wanted some grey days this week but will have to write despite the bright sunshine!

blank square

I have three blank squares on my calendar—three days with NOTHING scheduled! I *think* I could finish this neverending novel this week. I spent some time restructuring my outline last night, and eliminated one of the 7 remaining chapters by shifting its content to completed chapters that needed a bridge. In September I wrote just under 11K words—several thousand words short of my 15K-word goal, but “good enough” (as my grandpa would say). My main goal for today is to hammer out another chapter and then visit the garden without coming home with something sweet. ‘Tis the season for curling up with a cup of tea and a slice of pie, but I managed to make it out of the farmers market yesterday with three misshapen apples instead of three cider donuts. Last week it was warm and humid; I went back to wearing summer clothes and then halfway through Wednesday the weather turned. I went straight to Whole Foods and looked for something sweet to have with my tea once I got home; I found chocolate macaroons, which made me think of my grandmother who was the queen of baked goods and used to make those for us. I have one macaroon left so that will be today’s treat. I’ve already had one cup of tea and yesterday I picked up my first tin of Milo. I’ve been thinking of my ancestors lately. If I ever finish these young adult novels, I’ll go back to The Hummingbird’s Tongue and trace my love of sugar back to its origin—the trans-Atlantic slave trade, sugar plantations in the Caribbean, and all those immigrants from the British Isles who brought their recipes (and addictions) with them to the Americas. I’m tempted to bake butter tarts this week (a Canadian delicacy) but know I’d just eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My cholesterol is down six points so I’m trying to be good—or better than I normally am about baked goods. The photo above is of my great-grandmother and her parents. I don’t generally have much interest in my white ancestors except to note that most of them look dour and are known to have mistreated my grandmother for being mixed race. The folks on my maternal grandfather’s side of the family look nicer—and there’s Jenny, my Irish-Canadian great-grandmother, seated on the left. She was a big woman and so many of us inherited her genes and her fondness for sweet treats. Most of my uncles and aunts are diabetic and so that’s something else I need to keep in mind as I scarf down cake every Friday. Last week Joaquin was whipping us with wind and rain but I made it over to Weeksville Heritage Center to meet with a wonderful group of students and professors from Penn State Altoona. The students are developing projects for February’s African American Read-In, and wanted to tour some sites in New York City that have defined the African American experience—Weeksville, the African Burial Ground, Seneca Village. We talked about immigration and what it means to build a home in a place where you’re not wanted…then I raced over to The Weeksville School and shared Dayshaun’s Gift and my other books with the assistant principal. I love sharing my books with kids, but there’s something special about seeing an educator’s face light up when she sees a book she likes. I’m looking forward to presenting there this fall and writing with middle grade students at my residency partner-school MS 584. There won’t be too many blank squares on my calendar this fall so let me get out of the house and over to the garden. There are too many stories I need to weave today. And tomorrow—and the day after…

no hibernation

It’s October already and my fall schedule is rapidly filling up. I’ve been invited back to Weeksville Heritage Center for a second residency (woohoo!) and I’ve just lined up two new partner schools. I’m heading to Baltimore for Kidlitcon on October 10, and then I’ll be in Oakland from 10/19-21. I can’t wait to meet more indie kid lit creators and to brainstorm/hug sequoia with my “rad women” on the west coast. Then I head to London for my birthday and THEN I head to Arkansas for the first week of November. I’m really looking forward to that trip, especially my first scheduled author talk at a juvenile detention facility. The kids there are reading Ship of Souls (on sale on Amazon this month) thanks to a grant from ACTELA. I’ll spend the next day on the ASU campus, and the next day I’ll be in Blytheville. Please stop by That Bookstore in Blytheville if you’re in the vicinity at 4pm on November 3! The conference on Thursday is for educators so if you’re a teacher in AR, I hope I’ll see you there.

the Unknowns

I’m closing in on 110,000 words and this novel is still not done! Yesterday I wrote over a thousand words, inspired in part by this article I found online about the Black baseball teams that competed in Brooklyn prior to and during the Civil War. I knew about the Negro Leagues but I didn’t realize Black men had been playing organized sports in the antebellum period. In a way, I want to shut off my brain and stop absorbing new information about the past because then I feel compelled to put it in the book. But young readers need to know about the Williamsburg Van Delkens and the Brooklyn Monitors and the Weeksville Unknowns. Games between these teams brought the community together, and proved that Black men were every bit as impressive as their white counterparts playing “America’s pastime.” The reporting at the time was full of racist caricatures (read the Brooklyn Eagle article linked to above) so I want to expose and counter that, too. On Monday I had a chance to talk about my books with DNAinfo reporter Rachel Holliday Smith (you can read her article on Dayshaun’s Gift here). She started by asking me how long I’d been writing about Weeksville and I realized I began dreaming about this free Black community back in 2001. If I ever finish this darn sequel, that will bring the total to four books about Weeksville. Later today I’ll be talking to the executive director of the Weeksville Heritage Center about hiring an illustrator for the picture book they commissioned me to write last spring. And a second residency might happen in 2016. Last time I taught a course on historical fantasy, but I think this time around I’ll teach a class on writing for children…

Off to the garden. We have brisk mornings this week…perfect for wandering and dreaming…

another new book!

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Dayshaun’s Gift by Zetta Elliott

“The ‘trouble’ with magic, as it is represented in much of children’s literature, is that it appears to exist in realms to which only certain children belong.” ~ Zetta Elliott, “The Trouble with Magic: Conjuring the Past in New York City Parks,” Jeunesse: Young People, Texts, Cultures, Winter 2013

“The erasure of Black youth from children’s literature… functions as a kind of “symbolic annihilation.” Despite the fact that the majority of primary school children in the U.S. are now kids of color, the publishing industry continues to produce books that overwhelmingly feature white children only. The message is clear: the lives of kids of color don’t matter.” ~ Zetta Elliott, “Black Authors and Self-Publishing,” School Library Journal, 3/16/15

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Summer vacation has just begun and Dayshaun wants to spend Saturday morning playing his new video game. But Dayshaun’s mother has other plans: she volunteers at a nearby community garden and that means Dayshaun has to volunteer, too. When Dayshaun puts on his grandfather’s grubby old gardening hat, something unexpected happens—the hands of time turn backward and Dayshaun finds himself in the free Black community of Weeksville during the summer of 1863! While helping the survivors of the New York City Draft Riots, Dayshaun meets a frail old man who entrusts him with a precious family heirloom. But will this gift help Dayshaun find his way back to the 21st century? Book #2 in the City Kids series.

DAYSHAUN’S GIFT takes readers back in time to the sweltering summer of 1863 when New York City exploded—not for the first time—with racial tension. Dayshaun learns about the importance of urban farming and self-sufficient communities when refugees from the draft riots seek sanctuary in the free Black community of Weeksville. This story blends the magic of time travel with local African American history, introducing young readers to neglected historical figures like Susan Smith (the first African American woman doctor in NY State). In the era of Black Lives Matter, DAYSHAUN’S GIFT offers children important context for understanding urban uprisings, the ongoing struggle for social justice, and the universal desire to belong.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Zetta Elliott’s first picture book, BIRD, won Lee & Low’s New Voices honor award and was published in 2008; it was named an ALA Notable Book, Best of the Year by Kirkus, and went on to win the Paterson Prize for Poetry as well. Elliott’s next two books, both historical fantasy novels, were published by Skyscape. A WISH AFTER MIDNIGHT (2010) is a time-travel novel set in Civil War-era Brooklyn. SHIP OF SOULS (2012) blends magic and Brooklyn’s Revolutionary War history; Booklist named it a Top Ten Sci-Fi/Fantasy title.

Zetta Elliott has published several illustrated picture books and middle grade novels under her own Rosetta Press imprint; ROOM IN MY HEART (2014) was named a Best Children’s Book of the Year by Bank Street College of Education, and THE PHOENIX ON BARKLEY STREET (City Kids Book #1) was selected by the Children’s Defense Fund for their 2014 summer literacy program.

Zetta Elliott is also a scholar of children’s literature and recently won the Children’s Literature Association’s Article Award for her essay “The Trouble with Magic: Conjuring the Past in New York City Parks” (PDF available upon request). She has worked with urban youth for over 25 years, and was a Black Studies professor for close to a decade. For the past five years Elliott has spoken often and openly about the need for greater diversity in publishing; her latest essay was for School Library Journal.

Born and raised in Canada, Zetta Elliott has lived in the US for over twenty years. She earned her PhD in American Studies from NYU in 2003. Her poetry has been published in several anthologies, and her plays have been staged in NYC, Chicago, and Cleveland. Elliott served as the inaugural writer-in-residence at Weeksville Heritage Center in the spring of 2015. She currently lives in Brooklyn.

ABOUT ROSETTA PRESS:

Rosetta Press is committed to publishing books that reveal, explore, and foster a Black feminist vision of the world. Rosetta Press publishes books for children with the following objectives:

To generate culturally relevant stories that center children who have been marginalized, misrepresented, and/or rendered invisible in children’s literature.
To produce affordable, high-quality books so that families—regardless of income—can build home libraries that will enhance their children’s academic success.
To produce a steady supply of compelling, diverse stories that will nourish the imagination and excite even reluctant readers.

Like all Rosetta Press titles, DAYSHAUN’S GIFT is available at zettaelliott.com, Amazon, Baker & Taylor, Ingram, and bookstores everywhere, including nonprofit Teaching for Change. E-book is available in the Kindle Store.

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DAYSHAUN’S GIFT

By Zetta Elliott

Rosetta Press

Publication Date: September 20, 2015

Paperback; $7.00; 88 Pages

Age 8+

something new

Somehow, despite consuming a pint of ice cream yesterday, I’ve managed to reach my “target weight.” I’m feeling a little stressed out this week and since I was feeling blue earlier this month, I’ve been careful to keep up with my exercise routine. I run every other day but after yesterday’s ice cream lapse, I went again today thanks to a friend who texted me to meet her at the park. Today’s craving? Chocolate. When it comes to weight, I generally take one step forward and two steps back; on Friday I’m having my cholesterol tested again so chocolate after ice cream (and pumpkin bread on Tuesday) probably isn’t a good idea. But it WILL happen if I write 500 words this afternoon. My Fitbit battery is about to die, so I’ll add a few thousand steps on my way to the hardware store and grab something sweet on the way home. It’s about balance, right? I’ve been feeling off kilter lately because I started a new teaching job on Saturday and then socialized quite a bit on Sunday, and then tried to wrap up three new book projects while maintaining my 500 words per day quota. The illustrated middle-grade novel has just been submitted for review and I hope to have a copy in my hands by Monday. Final art came in from my illustrators in London and Hong Kong, so my designer is busy putting those picture books together, too. I wonder what it will be like once the new books are done and I have nothing to distract me from this novel-in-progress…

Something else that’s new is an exciting blog, Reading While White, developed by a group of radical librarians (several of whom I am proud to call “friend”). The first post by Allie Jane Bruce should make clear why this is a very necessary endeavor:

“But if we White people talk about racism as if we are not part of the equation, we are the problem. We have a responsibility not just to boost marginalized voices as much as we can, but also to examine ourselves and our Whiteness. And we must create all-White spaces in which we can do this work without burdening non-White communities. People of color and First/Native Nations have enough work to do in analyzing how racism has impacted their lives. To ask them to also educate us on our Whiteness is White privilege in the extreme.”

Diversity in children’s literature always ends up being a panel of marginalized writers talking about their struggle to get published and/or stocked in bookstores and/or taught in schools. But the truth is, the children’s literature community is dominated by one group: white women. They make up the majority of teachers, librarians, and editors in this country. So if we hope to address the inequality within our community, we must have support from those who are largely responsible for the disparities that exist. I have no problem whatsoever with white women librarians creating a space where other white people can talk about privilege and bias and power—and guilt and shame and resentment and anxiety and all the other emotions that powerful, privileged people too often try to deny or simply don’t know how/where to talk about. I’ve already written one short essay about white women and white supremacy in publishing and would like to write another, but I know that my voice will never carry as much weight as the voices of other white women. So I commend these allies and offer my full support—and urge you to check out their site.

planting seeds

I’ve often written about seeds this past year, so it’s fitting that one of the last books I publish this year, Let the Faithful Come, will feature this gorgeous illustration by Charity Russell. I know some people think it’s unwise to release so many books at once. With the traditional publishing industry, an author sells a manuscript and waits 1-2 years (or more) for the hardcover edition to come out. Then another year passes before the book comes out in paperback. By that point, the author may or may not have another book ready for publication, but that model doesn’t work for me. I’d rather put a book/seed out into the world and trust that over time it will take root and grow. My illustrator in Hong Kong finished up the four remaining illustrations for Billie’s Blues and I think I’m going to release that book this fall as well. That will bring the total number of titles for 2015 to seven, if you include the Spanish translation of Max Loves Muñecas! Too much too soon? Readers, teachers, and librarians are clamoring for diverse books, so how can I justify rationing my titles? Especially when still I’ve got 15 manuscripts sitting on my hard drive. I got another ridiculous rejection letter last week but I also heard from an agent who wants to talk later this month. I’m realistic about my prospects, and will try to stay focused on finishing my novel in progress. Because I know that what’s urgent to me isn’t urgent to everyone else…

Dayshaun’s Gift

Last night I wrote an afterword for Dayshaun’s Gift, but this morning I’m thinking it would make a better blog post so I’m pasting it in here. We have a draft cover; I’m not crazy about the color scheme, so we’re going to play around with that, but the book is just about ready to go! I expect to release it on the 15th.

***

My grandparents were very proud of their gardens. My father’s parents dug up their front yard so that they’d have more room for growing tomatoes, and they made cider out of the apples that fell from the tree in their backyard. My mother’s parents grew more flowers than I could name as a child, and I still think of my grandmother whenever I see an aster. My mother inherited her parents’ love of flowers, and my father dug up our backyard to plant his own vegetable garden. I grew up in a miniature Eden: there were plum and apple trees, rhubarb and raspberries, tiger lilies and snapdragons, Swiss chard and carrots, and—of course—tomatoes!

Now that I am an adult and a naturalized New Yorker, I realize that though I love city life, I come from a long line of farmers. My mother’s African American ancestors bought their freedom and migrated to Canada sometime before 1820; my great-great-grandfather acquired a farm that stayed in the family for generations. My Caribbean father also came from a family that lived off the land. If I go back far enough on either side of my family, I find ancestors who were forced to work the land as slaves but then chose to continue farming once they were free.

I’m not a gardener but I spend a lot of time in the Brooklyn Botanic Garden and Prospect Park; nature nourishes the soul and provides endless inspiration for a writer like me. But when I left Canada and moved to Brooklyn twenty years ago, I fell in love with the dense urban blocks lined with stately brownstones. Brooklyn felt very modern but there was still clear evidence of its history—something I never found in suburban Toronto. I could walk the streets of Brooklyn and pass churches that had helped fugitive slaves to reach freedom, and there were trees that seemed to be more than a hundred years old. Brooklyn was full of untold stories, and as a storyteller I immediately felt at home.

While teaching in an afterschool program in Bed-Stuy in 1998, I took a group of 8th graders to the Brooklyn Historical Society where we learned about Maritcha Lyons. Her memoir contained vivid descriptions of the NYC Draft Riots of 1863, and her account of northern mob violence stayed with me for several years until I wrote my first young adult novel, A Wish After Midnight. Maritcha was a teenager when she survived the riots, and my novel is about a contemporary African American teen who opens a portal in the botanic garden and lands in the free Black community of Weeksville just before the Emancipation Proclamation takes effect on January 1, 1863. Seven months later, Genna has to run for her life as the draft riots spread from Manhattan to Brooklyn.

Slavery ended in 1827 in New York State, so by the time Black families started settling in Weeksville, they were (mostly) free to choose how they wanted to live their lives. I wrote Dayshaun’s Gift after spending two months as the inaugural writer-in-residence at Weeksville Heritage Center during the spring of 2015. I had just completed a picture book about Weeksville and I felt that older kids might appreciate a longer story that blends magic and history. But how could I write about a race riot where whites killed African Americans without terrifying my young readers?

I decided to write around the riots. Dayshaun is a kid from Brooklyn who loves to blast zombies, but his mom wants him to take an interest in gardening. Because his parents are divorced, Dayshaun spends alternate weekends with his dad who has urged his son to focus on moving forward. But Dayshuan goes back in time when he puts on his grandfather’s grubby old hat; in 1863 he meets two kids from Weeksville, Susan and Teddy, and Dayshaun joins them in helping the survivors of the riots who are camped out in the woods. So Dayshaun sees the terrible consequences of the riots, but the focus is on his ability to act using the knowledge he has gained in the 21st century. He has learned about 9/11 in school and recognizes the same traumatized look on the faces of the survivors. He also stands up for Susan when Teddy tells her she can’t be a doctor because she’s a girl. Susan Smith (right) grew up to become the first African American woman doctor in New York State, and her commitment to serving her community is shown in the novel. The story also touches on the uprisings in Ferguson and Baltimore, and the problem of “food deserts” in many low-income communities.

Illustration by Alex Portal

I read the story over last week and worried that kids might find it boring or preachy. But my trusted friend Kate, who’s a writer and mother of two avid readers, sent me her thoughts about the book this morning and I was so relieved:

I read Dayshaun’s Gift last night. I probably sound like a broken record, but I think it is a great story. It flows well – you are so good at narrative flow. I did not find any typos or things I would change…Love the way you work in so many interesting pieces of history. It’s educational, but in a quiet, interesting and fun way. Your questions for discussion at the end are excellent too. Nice, realistic relationships in the book, great juxtaposing of past and present issues. You address social issues, but also personal ones that kids may struggle with (divorce, friendships, belonging). Kids are really drawn to the comic book illustrations… I think that was a good call to draw in readers.

I’m aiming for a 9/15 release date and will send out another newsletter, so stay tuned! And if you’d like a review copy, just let me know.

back-to-school blues

If I looked back at my September posts for the past five or six years, I suspect I would find that writing about end of summer depression has become an annual tradition. I love to teach so I never really dreaded the start of the fall semester, but when summer ends certain windows close—literally and figuratively. I’m ready for fall weather. As much as I love looking at the crisscrossing tan lines my sandals have left on my feet, I’m ready to bundle up and disappear beneath woolen sweaters and tights. I miss having a cup of tea every day, even though that tends to increase my sugar consumption because I can’t have tea without cookies. I know I have the blues because I haven’t been craving sugar lately; I’ve maintained my Friday cake consumption, but the last slice didn’t really satisfy. I’ve lived with depression and anxiety since I was a teen, so I think about my mood on a regular basis; I’ve never had to hide my condition because some of my friends live with depression, too, and we tend to check in on each other if someone withdraws or otherwise shows sign of distress. But sometimes no one else sees the signs. I had a fairly productive summer: I wrote a middle grade novel, 2 picture book stories, and I added 12,000 words to the sequel that shall not be named. Yesterday I churned out 1500 more words and completed a sixth chapter. That still leaves seven unfinished chapters but it’s progress, right? My sister, who is a psychologist, once told me that mental illness needed to be treated once it started to interfere with a person’s ability to function. But what if depression and anxiety enhance rather than diminish your productivity and creativity? I’ve tried therapy and I would try medication if my mental illness ever did start to interfere with my ability to write. Until then, I’ll continue to shape my life in a way that minimizes stress and maximizes my dream time. I think September gives me the blues because it makes me think about family, the one area of my life where I do feel like a failure. I’m generally okay with being a spinster but when I get the blues, I do look at this writer’s life and wonder if it will always be enough. I manage my anxiety by avoiding many of the things that make me anxious—like my family!—but the universe will only let you dodge your fears for so long. I turn 43 next month and soon won’t have the option of having a baby. I’ve thought about adopting for a long time but I haven’t built a life that could accommodate or provide for a child. So what’s a girl to do? Visit the garden, finish another chapter, and let this annual blue period run its course, I guess.

slacker/reset

I haven’t written a word for the past two days, but I’m trying not to be too hard on myself. My back’s giving me trouble, sciatica is keeping me up at night, and I’ve gone right back to my old habits after making it through just 2 weeks of my attempted 3-week junk food/fast food fast. Last night I woke at 3am and realized I’d made a mistake in I Love Snow! that will likely set my former English teacher’s hair on edge. None of my pre-publication readers caught it, so maybe my insomnia made the issue larger than it really is. I wasn’t able to fall back to sleep, so I just let my mind ruminate over the possible consequences. Will some librarian or blogger call me out for not hiring an editor to review my books? What does it say about my character if I know about the error but choose not to fix it? Because this is a story I wrote in 2002, there’s a part of me that just wants to let it stand as a testament to how I was writing at the time. And that same part of me knows that kids probably won’t notice or care. I’ve self-published 12 books at this point and three more are in production. Yesterday a librarian in Detroit asked about other books in the City Kids series; I have one that will be ready next month and another that I will try to finish before the winter holidays. With so many new books in progress, I don’t want to agonize about minor imperfections. And I think that is part of my character now. Or maybe I’m finally becoming that person after aiming for—and stressing out about—perfection for most of my life. I also found a small inconsistency in one of the illustrations in A Wave Came Through Our Window but decided to let it stand. It might be fun to ask kids if they can spot it as we read the book aloud. And at the end of the day, I don’t want to be known for writing perfect books (if there even is such a thing). A friend read my recent newsletter and suggested that my name ought to be more prominently displayed on my book covers, but I think picture books largely succeed or fail depending on the illustrations. I’m not trying to minimize my own role, but storytelling succeeds because of a number of different factors. I don’t really remember the books that my mother read to me—I think I grew into an avid reader because I remembered nestling against her large, soft belly and feeling safe, comfortable, and absorbed in another person’s world for at least fifteen minutes each day…

I had tea with friends last night and we talked about the steps we take to sustain our productivity as writers. I realize I might seem prolific to others, and just read a brilliant essay by another friend about how our Facebook posts can create a false image of the writer’s life. It isn’t as glamorous or fun as our photos and announcements might suggest, and this can be especially misleading for emerging writers who look to elders for an example of how to live in the world as a working artist. It’s Friday night and I’m doing laundry while blogging so that I can at least claim I did *some* writing today. Next I’ll go back to the novel-in-progress and try to stop grumbling about how this book feels like a chattering monkey I can’t get off my back. I’ve been cursing a lot lately and that likely won’t stop until I’m back in the classroom and this novel is finally done. I have managed to run in the park every other day, and will get back to my stretches so that the sciatica/back pain doesn’t make sitting in front of the computer such a pain. I’m going to try a 4-day cleanse that worked for a friend of mine; I don’t have all the food on the limited menu (and I hate fish so that’s not going to happen everyday), but I’m still going to give it a try. And if cake happens again next Friday, so be it. I’m human!