Zetta Elliott's Blog, page 97

ending the denial

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Doesn't this sound like an amazing film?  It's definitely a story that needs to be told, and yet this filmmaker has been denied support from the major cultural institutions in Canada.  If you've got a few bucks to spare, please consider donating to this film project—they're hoping the "crowdfunding" method will work, and you can contribute any amount here.  Learn more about the filmmaker and his project here.

L is for Library

It's time to start taking down the Xmas decorations, I guess.  I've been putting it off because once I take down all the cards displayed on my bookshelf, I'll have to do some *serious* dusting…never mind all the pine needles embedded in my rug!  But this card came at the very end of the year and it will be moving to the photo collage on my fridge—I just wrote a scene that starts at the Brooklyn Public Library; had to find a way to work in that golden phoenix that's on the central branch's facade.  This beautiful artwork is by Selina Alko who has a forthcoming Brooklyn alphabet book…

And speaking of libraries…*after* you make a generous donation to your local library system, why not print out Ari's list of 2011 new releases and make sure that books by writers of color are added to your library's collection?  It's important to get the word out about these books, especially since many won't be widely reviewed.  Stay tuned over the next few weeks because I'll be posting about African American MG/YA releases along with a few author interviews.  I'm anxiously awaiting Arnold Adoff's latest book of poetry since I got to see Greg Christie's illustrations a year ago and they were just stunning…

in good company

I've spent the holidays alone but when I'm writing, it feels like my characters are with me all the time.  Last night, just before 2011 began, I passed the 11,000-word mark on Ship of Souls.  I'd like to reach 15K by the end of the weekend, but find I'm focusing on continuity today instead of pushing forward.  I want the story to unfold within 4 or 5 days, and that means something major happens every single day.  And because one of my characters is Muslim, I have to make sure I've got my facts straight—what would a Muslim student do if he was unable to pray while at school?  You probably follow Amy Bodden Bowllan's SLJ blog; yesterday she honored me by putting my name alongside the legendary Virginia Hamilton and the soon-to-be-legendary teen blogger Ari.  Like so many others, we use our words to create change within the field of children's literature.  I recently learned that my paper was accepted for the Diversity Panel at the ChLA conference this summer; organized by Thomas Crisp and Sarah Park, the panel will feature papers by Uma Krishnaswami, June Cummins, and Abbie Ventura.  Our topic is "resisting Americanization," and my paper will also address the pressure to gather all blacks in the US under an umbrella of "generic blackness" that's really dominated and defined by African Americans.  What happens if you're from the Caribbean, Africa, or somewhere else in the world?  Are you "still black" or must you first strip away or suppress the specific ethnic differences that mark you as a member of the diaspora?  I really admire Virginia Hamilton's mission to widen the range of African Americans represented in children's literature; her characters are urban and rural, from the northeast, the midwest, and the South, and their genealogies are complex.  She had an extraordinary imagination, and I often worry that space no longer exists in the publishing industry for black characters who don't "fit the mold."  My characters are citizens and immigrants to the US; they have a range of religious beliefs, different sexual orientations, and competing visions of the future.  D is a smart kid who's been told he's not black enough; when his mother dies, he's taken in by a white foster mother and wonders if he really is losing his racial identity.  You already know about Nyla; here's a glimpse of Hakeem who's being tutored by D.

"I guess it's good to have a back-up plan in case you get injured or something."

Keem nods, then surprises me by saying, "People think basketball's my world, but…I got other skills."

"Yeah?  Like what?"

Keem fidgets a bit and looks around before answering.  "I cook."

"Food?" I ask like a moron.

"What else?" Keem replies.  "My dad—he's from Senegal.  But my mom—she's Syrian.  So in our house there's lots of different spices and different ways of preparing food."

"Fusion."

"What?"  Keem glares at me like I've just said "fooey."

"Fusion," I explain.   "That's what they call food that blends different traditions."  Mom used to take me to this Ethiopian-Cuban place in the city.  That was the best food I ever had!  But I don't want to think about Mom right now.  I don't need to start blubbering in front of this jock.

"Oh, I get it."  Keem relaxes and starts doodling on a blank page in his notebook.  "Well, I figure if ballin' doesn't work out, I could always open my own restaurant and serve all different kinds of food—maybe soul food but with a twist."

"You're making me hungry," I say with a grin.  Keem almost laughs and we turn our attention back to his test.

To my surprise, it isn't as bad as I thought it would be.  "Half of these answers are almost right, you know."

Keem frowns.  "You don't get points for being 'almost' right."

"I know.  But see this problem?  You got 90% of it right.  It's just the last step you messed up.  I can teach you that in, like, five minutes.  If you'd solved these four problems, your grade would have been a B instead of a D."

Keem stares at the red X marks on his test.  "For real?"

This is my moment to shine.  "For real.  Here—let me show you a little trick I learned in Math Club."

When our hour is up, Keem shoves his books into his bag and slaps a ten-dollar bill on the table.  "Thanks," he says before getting up and heaving the bag onto his back.  "See you on Thursday."

"Sure," I say.  Keem nods, tucks his basketball under his arm, and walks out of the library without saying another word.  I pick up the money and stare at it for a moment.  Mom would want me to put it in the bank, but right now I'm thinking about getting a couple slices and a can of soda.  Without Mom around, there's not much chance of me going to college, anyway.

I leave the library and head straight for the pizza joint.  In my head I'm doing the math: twenty bucks a week times however long it takes to get Keem's grades up.  Three weeks?  Ten?  Maybe the rest of the school year?

By the time my slices come out of the oven, I've already figured out how to spend the money I'll make as a tutor.  I'm so into my dreams and schemes that I don't see this jerk Selwyn standing outside.  Selwyn's in the sixth grade, too, but he isn't supposed to be.  Mom always told me to watch out for kids who got left back.  Most of them are alright she said, but sometimes they turn into crabs in a barrel, willing to drag down anyone who's on his way up.  Selwyn's that kind of kid.

"Hey, look who it is—the brainiac.  You smart enough to get the special?"

"Yeah," I say warily.

"Good—that's one slice for me and one for my boy."  Selwyn grabs the paper bag holding my food.  I don't let go at first, but I've got five dollars left in my pocket and don't plan to fight two kids over some pizza.  Selwyn tugs the bag a bit harder and I let go.  "Thanks, geek," he says with an ugly sneer.

"Hey."  All of us turn and see Keem coming out of a nearby bodega with a brown-bagged drink.  He casually twists the cap off the bottle and tosses it into a wire trash bin on the corner.  "Where you going with my food?  D—didn't I tell you to get me two slices?"

It takes me a couple of seconds to understand what Keem's doing.  But as soon as I figure it out, I slip into my assigned role.  "Uh—yeah, Keem.  And I did, but…these guys said they're hungry, too."  I look at Selwyn and force my lips not to curl up into a smug smile.

"He's with you?" Selwyn asks, amazed.

"Yeah," Keem replies, standing real close so his height is more intimidating.  "He's with me."

Selwyn waits for the punch line but then realizes Keem's for real.  And with those three words (he's with me), I go from being prey to being protected property.  I'm untouchable now!

I can't help but smirk a little as Selwyn hands me back my food and shuffles off, leaving me alone with Keem.

"You alright?"  Keem asks in his usual flat tone.

I just nod since I'm not quite able to look Keem in the eye.  "Thanks," I mumble and extend the bag holding my pizza.  "Want a slice?"

"Nah."  Keem takes a swig from his bottle of Gatorade and looks over my head to the opposite side of the street.

I turn to go and let my eyes roam along the block.  On the other side of the street I see Nyla with some skater kid.  She's watching us.

"There's your girl," I tell Keem, but then I look at his face and realize he already knows she's there.  That's why he helped me—to impress a girl.  Keem's trying to act cool, but I can tell he's feeling hectic inside.  He doesn't know whether he should keep up the tough-guy routine, or try being nice to me.  Keem opts for the second option and puts his arm around my shoulder.

"Come on.  I'll walk you home."  Keem shepherds me down the block like I'm his little brother or something.  I glance across the street and see Nyla smiling at me.  For some reason I feel bold enough to wave and smile back.  For just an instant, Nyla flicks her eyes at Keem.  Then she turns and walks off in the opposite direction.  Keem waits until we reach the end of the block and turn the corner, then he takes his arm off my shoulders.  He exhales loudly like he'd been holding his breath the whole time.   I think he's going to say something about Nyla but instead his voice turns gruff and Keem says, "You got to learn to stand up for yourself, D."

The anger in my voice surprises me more than Keem. "That's easy for you to say—you look like a model, you're built like a giant, and kids at school worship the ground you walk on!"

"Yeah—when they're not calling me a terrorist behind my back.  Think I don't know what they say about me as soon as I step off the court?  Or what it means when they sit up in the stands and tell me to 'blow up' the competition?  We all got our battles, D.  We all got to fight for respect."

Before I can think of anything to say, Keem mutters "later" and heads down the block.  I sink onto the stoop and eat my cold pizza alone.

a note for the new year

May you have

a resilient spirit,

and a compassionate heart,

the desire to heal,

and the will to forgive.

May you never exhaust

your capacity for kindness.

May you always find peace

in your home and in your mind.

May your eyes be awake

to the beauty all around you.

May your ears be tuned

to the hush of falling snow.

May your arms always be ready

to embrace those needing comfort,

and may even the simplest blessings

fill your heart with gratitude.

I wish you joy, health, and prosperity—

for this season, and for the new year.

~ ZE

under the weather

Sometimes there's beauty buried beneath disaster.  NYC has been digging out from a difficult blizzard; people lost their lives, thousands were inconvenienced, and now there are allegations that the sanitation workers deliberately "slowed" their removal of the snow just to send a message to the mayor.  I pray that's not true…but until the investigation is completed, I'm going to focus on the positive—the spirit of the city can't be crushed by a bit of snow!  I walked to the post office today and it was packed, yet everyone was in a good mood.  On the way over, folks would step aside and wait for others to pass since the sidewalks aren't much clearer than the roads.  Inside, a man with a booming voice hollered, "I ain't had no mail for four day–FOUR DAYS!  Where you suckers been?"  And I thought, oh Lord—he's going postal.  But then he burst out laughing and wished everyone a happy new year!  And at least half the people in line turned and wished him a happy new year, too.  The postal clerks were in a good mood despite the long line, and were joking with one another about how they managed to get to work that morning.  I headed over to the garden afterward and tried taking some photos with my phone; wasn't able to zoom, but can you see the heron perched on the left tip of the Torii?  Lovely…the snow wasn't fresh; kids had made snowmen here and there…but it was still beautiful and those of us walking the cleared paths smiled as we passed one another.  I had just congratulated myself on not getting a single cold this season, and now I'm coming down with one—of course.  So I stopped at my favorite soup spot (El Gran Castillo) and got a big container of their delicious chicken noodle soup (noodles AND potatoes AND cassava, plus giant carrots); decided to take the train home but had no money left on my metrocard and so just missed a train.  Added money, noted the fare hike, but went down to the platform and within ONE minute another train arrived.  We were stalled for a minute, but the city is up and running again…

Came home and was thrilled to learn that Wish was named favorite historical fiction novel over at Starmetal Oak Book Blog.  Thanks!

I also got an email from the AmazonEncore team letting me know that if you have a Kindle edition of Wish, you can now SHARE IT with your fellow book lovers:

Some of you have undoubtedly heard the rumors that the kindle will soon allow book purchasers to lend their content out to their friends and family.  Today is that day…

Kindle books can be lent to anyone with a kindle or a free kindle app, this includes IPad, PC, Mac, BlackBerry and more.  You can tell a book is lendable by looking at the "Product Details" section half way down the Amazon Product Details page…

All of us know the joy and excitement of reading a good book and passing it on to someone else, now this can be experienced with the kindle as well.

If you have more questions about this program please check out our help pages section for lending.

Looking Back at 2010

It's that time of year again…I don't have photos from all my school visits, so I apologize to anyone who was left out! Thanks to my friends, family, and fellow book lovers for making 2010 such a success!

Create your own digital slideshow

new work

The universe is clearly on my side—or on the side of my new novel!  On Sunday we got hit with a blizzard and when I woke up Monday morning, I had NO internet access and NO cable.  What's a girl to do with no web and no TV?  Write, of course.  I'm past the 9000-word mark on Ship of Souls and thought I'd share a little with the world.  My friend Marvin spent part of his Christmas Eve emailing me German curse words—I needed to know how Nyla would say, "Keep your filthy effing hands off me, you effing prick!"  If you happen to speak German, let me know if this translation works for you.

Nyla's a sculpture made of onyx and silver.  She wears skintight clothes—mostly black—with strategically placed holes held together by safety pins.  She came to school one day with a full head of hair; the next day, the sides and back of her head were shaved, leaving a silky horse's mane on top of her head.  Nyla flipped it to the side so a curtain of black hair fell over her right eye.  Next day the mane was cropped short, spiked, and streaked with red.  I can't even count all the piercings Nyla's got.  Rings loop up the outside of her ears and huge black plugs fill her earlobes.  She's got both eyebrows pierced, a diamond stud in her nose, and a silver ball that rests under her lower lip.  I think her tongue might be pierced, too, but I'm not sure 'cause Nyla's never spoken to me.

One day this creep slipped his arm around her waist as she walked down the hall and Nyla threw him against the lockers and cursed him out: "Du Drecksack!  Nimmt Dein dreckige Finger weg Du schwanz."  That's right—Nyla cursed him out in German.  He's lucky she didn't slug him—with all those silver rings on her fingers, she'd have left a serious dent in that prettyboy's face.  Nobody messes with Nyla.  She's beautiful, but she's fierce.

On Thursday I come out of the lunch line with my tray of crappy food and Nyla smiles at me.  That's right—at me.  I smile back and then Nyla nods at the empty stretch of bench to her left.  To her right is a loud group of misfits, all of whom seem to belong around Nyla.  At first I think it must be a mistake—is Nyla really inviting me to sit next to her, or is she just stretching her neck?  I don't want to look like a total reject, but Nyla's eyes are locked on mine and her smile grows wider as I start walking over to her table.

"Hey, D.  Grab a seat," she says.

I know I'm smiling like an idiot, but I can't think of anything cool to say.  I take a seat next to Nyla and try to look at the other kids she's hanging with.  Regine's a track star.  Melvin rules at chess.  A couple of kids are in the drama club, and the others—combined—have almost as many piercings as Nyla.  As soon as Nyla opens her mouth, they all quiet down and wait to hear what she's going to say.  "Hey, everybody—this is D."

The other kids turn and look at me.  Some smile, some nod, some say "hey," and one girl with blue extension braids gives me a salute.  Then a seventh-grader with the biggest Afro I've ever seen points at me and says, "Hey—I know you."  I shove at least half my corn dog into my mouth so I don't have to say anything.  I'm pretty sure that sitting next to Nyla doesn't come with automatic immunity from insults.

"You're in the Math Club," he says.  When I nod, he goes on.  "My sister says you're, like, some kind of kid genius—a total Math freak!"

I look down at the carton of milk and bowl of canned pineapple on my tray.  Aside from Nyla, these kids aren't exactly what I would call "cool."  But they clearly know and like one another—they're friends.  Which puts me on the outside.  I brace myself for the usual nerd jokes.

Then Nyla slips her arm around my shoulder.  "A Math freak, huh?  Then it's official—you're one of us, D."

I smile at Nyla but I'm not really sure how to feel.  Should I be proud that I belong with a bunch of self-proclaimed freaks?  Or should I try to salvage my social reputation by getting up and sitting somewhere else—even if that means eating alone?  I finally decide that I'd rather be seen with the wrong kind of kids than be totally invisible.

A skinny kid wearing preppy clothes suddenly whispers, "Hottie alert!" and everyone at the table quiets down.  I'm so busy looking around for a cute girl that I don't notice Keem's heading over to our table.

"Hey, D.  What's up?"

I nearly choke on a chunk of pineapple but manage to cover my mouth before a piece of half-chewed fruit flies out and lands on Keem's new kicks.  I feel like I must be dreaming—two of the most popular kids in school talking to me on the same day!  "Not much," I stammer nervously.  "Just having lunch."

Keem stands there awkwardly.  He glances at Nyla but she's flicking a bottle cap along the tabletop.  The girl with the blue braids watches the cap zoom right off the end of the table and yells, "SCORE!"

Keem finally gives up on trying to make Nyla notice him.  "See you later, then.  Four o'clock, right?"

"Right.  I'll meet you in front of the library."

Keem nods, glances at Nyla one last time, and then walks away.  Crushed.

I turn to Nyla and find her watching Keem's back.  "Friend of yours?" she asks with her eyes still glued on Keem.

"Tutee," I say before cramming all the remaining pineapple into my mouth.  I don't want to talk about Keem.

The kid with the giant Afro says, "Two tea?  What's that mean?"

"I'm tutoring him in Math.  I'm his tutor, he's my tutee."

Afro-kid nods like he's impressed.  "What'd I tell you?  The kid's a Math genius."

A skinny kid cradling a skateboard says, "Yeah—and look what they make him do: teach the dumb jocks how to count to ten!"

"Keem's not dumb."  I'm not sure why I said that, but it's too late to take it back now.

Nyla turns to the skater kid.  "What's the Freak's Golden Rule, Jamal?"

He drops his eyes and mumbles, "Don't be a prick."  Then he looks at me and says, "Sorry I dissed your friend, D."

I'm about to say, "Keem's not my friend" when a girl with a shaved head and a bolt through her nose says, "My brother plays ball in the park with Keem.  He gets mad respect—on and off the court."

The girl with blue braids looks straight and Nyla and says, "He also gets any girl he wants."

Nyla sucks her teeth, but her eyes find Keem sitting with the other jocks on the far side of the cafeteria.  "We'll see about that," she says, then gets up and carries her tray over to the trash.

The noise level in the cafeteria seems to drop a notch as Nyla walks down the main aisle and out into the schoolyard.  Some of the freaks get up and follow their leader.  Others stay and finish the crappy school lunch.  A quiet girl with long locks slides along the bench and asks if I can help her with her math homework.  I say "sure" and think maybe I really do belong here with the rest of these outcasts.

a holiday tradition

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Ok, this isn't MY holiday tradition, but I have a NYC friend who always turns to channel 11 to let the yule log burn while her family celebrates Christmas.  I'm writing today and am tempted to put on Lord of the Rings, but if I want to avoid distraction, the yule log might be a better bet.  I hope you enjoy the day, whether you celebrate Xmas or not.  I think Thai food's in my near future…

Christmas gift

THIS is the kind of gift that makes my spirit sing…

Happy Holidays, Zetta…Just wanted you to know that you have been such an inspiration that I did in fact order more of the books and the 2nd class is reading [Wish] now.  I knew it would be a hit, but the confirmation came from another teacher who tells me that the class is telling her about the book.  Although we didn't get a chance to work together, I feel your spirit when I have them read in class and hear their excitement.

Please let me know if/when you are in the city you can grace us with a visit.  I know they would love to get a chance to "Meet The Author."

I am SO THERE!  And I owe those kids because I was supposed to teach a class at their school and then it didn't work out.  I'm just back from the park where I gathered more details and ideas for my new novel—tentatively titled, Ship of Souls.  I *love* these new characters, esp. Nyla who's an Afropunk, German-speaking, military brat…wrote over 4000 words yesterday and will try to do the same today.  I hope you're all feeling festive and having fun!  WNYC's playing gospel Christmas songs…

take a chance

I'm tempted to break out my Best of Abba CD, but won't.  I do hope, however, that you'll take a chance on one of the many titles AmazonEncore published this past year; you can find the entire list here, and when you click on any title you'll find that from now until 1/31 you'll get 50% off the price of all Encore books and Kindle editions are priced at $3.99!  If you find an e-reader stuffed in your stocking this Christmas, I hope you'll consider trying out Wish or Page from a Tennessee Journal by Francine Thomas Howard, or Crossing by Andrew Xia Fukuda.  Jodie over at Book Gazing included Crossing and Wish on her list of top reads for 2010—thanks, Jodie!  And thanks for supporting Encore's mission of bringing unheard voices to the fore.

Have you ever stopped reading a book because you couldn't bear for it to end?  That was my experience reading Hiromi Goto's Half World.  I was on the train and I was totally absorbed in the narrative—would Melanie make it across the bridge of crows?  Would she find the nerve to bite off the baby's finger to pay the toll and open the portal?  This book is intense—yet it's also funny at times, and poignant at others.  Melanie hasn't been all that happy in her fourteen years of life: her single mother's weak, unable to work for long, and eventually turns to alcohol; the mean girls at school chase her through the street and hurl rotten fruit at her; she's never known her father, and her only companions are the many crows that flock to the coast of British Columbia in search of food.  Ms. Wei, a local storeowner, offers Melanie shelter from the bullies and food for her family's empty fridge—and when Melanie's terrifying adventure begins, it is Ms. Wei who offers a gift that sustains the teen through her many trials (Jade Rat).  I don't want to give anything away, but if you're looking for a novel about a teenage girl who is empowered and made more compassionate by her own suffering—this is the book for you!  Sacrifice is a major theme in the book, and in a recent interview with Ari, Goto assured readers that a sequel is underway…