Jeannine Atkins's Blog, page 30
December 7, 2011
The Care Center: Reading and Writing Poetry with Teen Mothers
Today I read and talked about poetry at the Care Center in Holyoke, MA Strollers and car seats were stashed in corridors filled with displays of poetry, photographs, and paintings done by students. Babies and small children are watched downstairs while their mothers take classes to earn a GED or prepare for college. The Care Center was honored by First Lady Michelle Obama last month with one of twelve National Arts and Humanities Youth Program Awards recognizing them for their poetry program and courses in the humanities.
On a bulletin board downstairs, were typed poems that Borrowed Names had inspired. I was given a copy of Nautilus II: Poetry and Art by Young Mothers Studying at the Care Center, which they all signed. Here I am signing books the girls were given as part of the program.
Here are two great writers who lingered after the workshop in which brave people read new words, and there was much mention of love. I liked their tradition of ending a reading with “to be continued…” Works better than “the end.”
And here I am with Tzivia Gover who runs the poetry program. You can click on her link to read more about her experiences working with teen mothers (“Not a Luxury”) or still more in her recently published book, Learning in Mrs. Towne’s House, which I found riveting.
It was wonderful to see a bit of the past touch the present, in a day when the word “inspiration” was heard more than once. Thank you, everyone at the Care Center for the warm welcome and including me in your creative work!
On a bulletin board downstairs, were typed poems that Borrowed Names had inspired. I was given a copy of Nautilus II: Poetry and Art by Young Mothers Studying at the Care Center, which they all signed. Here I am signing books the girls were given as part of the program.
Here are two great writers who lingered after the workshop in which brave people read new words, and there was much mention of love. I liked their tradition of ending a reading with “to be continued…” Works better than “the end.”
And here I am with Tzivia Gover who runs the poetry program. You can click on her link to read more about her experiences working with teen mothers (“Not a Luxury”) or still more in her recently published book, Learning in Mrs. Towne’s House, which I found riveting.
It was wonderful to see a bit of the past touch the present, in a day when the word “inspiration” was heard more than once. Thank you, everyone at the Care Center for the warm welcome and including me in your creative work!
December 5, 2011
The Bones of a Book
I’ve been revising a novel I put away about ten years ago, having been told it was too baggy, full of too much this and that, which can trip up a historical novelist: fascinating, at least to us, tidbits thrown in that send readers scuttling in too many directions. This summer I felt called back by its main character. Without peeking at the old manuscript, I drafted new dialogue and scenes, trying to think of what was most important to the arc of the story. I mused my way deeper into my main character, focusing on what I wanted to show about her life, regardless of historical facts within which she lived. Knowing much of what happened, this time through I tried to feel everything more deeply.
After months spent accumulating a stack of drafted scenes and chapters, I let myself crack open the old manuscript. Plundering good lines or scenes to use, I felt like a happy pirate: my reward for straying away until the new work was done. But now I’m trying to be careful not to sweep up everything in my path, but to be choosy. To salvage some details and old dialogue, but only when they keep to the track I’ve set.
As I sling scenes or chapters out the window or fit them into new places I’m aware of how bulky a novel can be. Changing one part makes another wiggle: and must be lopped off. Working with a keener sense of where turns are coming, I’m planting signs. When the whole shape or shapelessness of the thing feels too much, I go back to concentrate on one small part. It’s coming along, like a great serpent flopping and squirming with bones so small you wouldn’t guess it had them. But I remind myself that they’re there.
After months spent accumulating a stack of drafted scenes and chapters, I let myself crack open the old manuscript. Plundering good lines or scenes to use, I felt like a happy pirate: my reward for straying away until the new work was done. But now I’m trying to be careful not to sweep up everything in my path, but to be choosy. To salvage some details and old dialogue, but only when they keep to the track I’ve set.
As I sling scenes or chapters out the window or fit them into new places I’m aware of how bulky a novel can be. Changing one part makes another wiggle: and must be lopped off. Working with a keener sense of where turns are coming, I’m planting signs. When the whole shape or shapelessness of the thing feels too much, I go back to concentrate on one small part. It’s coming along, like a great serpent flopping and squirming with bones so small you wouldn’t guess it had them. But I remind myself that they’re there.
December 2, 2011
Gift Tag: Poems for the Holidays
Tis the season in which we think of gifts and try to remember that some can be light enough to slip in a pocket, pure pleasure to track down and pass along. Gift Tag is a digital collection brought together in such a spirit, compiled by Sylvia Vardell, who can track down everything you need to know about poetry for children and teens (click on her link if you don’t believe me), and poet Janet Wong (have I ever worked with an editor who’s made me laugh so much? No.)
We were asked to write very short poems, suitable for appearing on small screens, perhaps for people with short amounts of time to read. The poems were based on photographs taken by Sylvia which appear in the collection before the poem. My favorite holiday rituals include making wreaths and baking cookies.I wrote this short poem:
Surprise!
Sift sugar.
Squish butter.
Stir batter.
Shape spheres.
Sprinkle cinnamon.
Set dough on sheets
to swell in the oven.
Smell goodness.
Share sweetness.
We hope children reading the book will be inspired to write their own poems, and teachers will organize similiar games of poetry tag. You can click on this link to learn more about the collection with wonderful short work by Jen Bryant, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Margarita Engle, Douglas Florian, Helen Frost, Joan Bransfield Graham, Lorie Ann Grover, Avis Harley, David L. Harrison, Sara Holbrook, Lee Bennett Hopkins, Bobbi Katz, Julie Larios, J. Patrick Lewis, Pat Mora, Ann Whitford Paul, Laura Purdie Salas, Michael Salinger, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, Charles Waters, April Halprin Wayland, Carole Boston Weatherford, Robert Weinstock, Steven Withrow, Allan Wolf, Janet Wong and Jane Yolen. Maybe it will be a gift to yourself.
For more Poetry Friday links, please visit Carol’s Corner.
We were asked to write very short poems, suitable for appearing on small screens, perhaps for people with short amounts of time to read. The poems were based on photographs taken by Sylvia which appear in the collection before the poem. My favorite holiday rituals include making wreaths and baking cookies.I wrote this short poem:
Surprise!
Sift sugar.
Squish butter.
Stir batter.
Shape spheres.
Sprinkle cinnamon.
Set dough on sheets
to swell in the oven.
Smell goodness.
Share sweetness.
We hope children reading the book will be inspired to write their own poems, and teachers will organize similiar games of poetry tag. You can click on this link to learn more about the collection with wonderful short work by Jen Bryant, Rebecca Kai Dotlich, Margarita Engle, Douglas Florian, Helen Frost, Joan Bransfield Graham, Lorie Ann Grover, Avis Harley, David L. Harrison, Sara Holbrook, Lee Bennett Hopkins, Bobbi Katz, Julie Larios, J. Patrick Lewis, Pat Mora, Ann Whitford Paul, Laura Purdie Salas, Michael Salinger, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, Charles Waters, April Halprin Wayland, Carole Boston Weatherford, Robert Weinstock, Steven Withrow, Allan Wolf, Janet Wong and Jane Yolen. Maybe it will be a gift to yourself.
For more Poetry Friday links, please visit Carol’s Corner.
November 18, 2011
Shuffling, Spinning, Cutting, Pasting Poems and Prose
Last weekend some friends and I went to a poetry workshop sponsored by Straw Dog Writers Guild . Diana Gordon, author most recently of Nightly, at the Institute of the Possible, and Patricia Lee Lewis have led many workshops, and both their friendship and long practice writing and teaching poetry gave us an afternoon that was organized while still casual and comfortable. We were prodded into new directions, and we had fun. Everything felt in balance as Patricia mentioned her belief that we don’t begin with inspiration, but write toward it. Each suggested ways to get past fear, which Diana said is the most common word they hear in some writing retreats, and ways to get more directly to our unconscious.
Perhaps my favorite exercise was one inspired by on in The Practice of Poetry, edited by Robin Behn and Chase Twichell, a book they recommended. Jack Myers explains how to compose a “cut-and-shuffle poem” by writing one quiet scene, then one active. Then he alternates lines from one scene to the next into a stanza. He continues with variations, but the one Patricia adapted was writing for ten minutes on something that brought her great happiness, then spent equal time, another ten minutes, writing while tapping into anger and fear. She cut phrases from each, then interspersed them. Of course there was editing, but it led to this poem she read to us from her prize-winning book, A KIND OF YELLOW.
Two Hundred Wings
You are pregnant, the doctor says, I am sorry, leaves
float golden orange, he turns away, his white coat, his big
shoulders, between twig and ground, are you sure, the girl says,
a hundred starlings, it’s all she can think to say, light
among red oak branches, except then she cries, their voices
like the voices of the thousand leaves, what else to do
You can read the rest of this stunning poem, composed in tercets, here.
Patricia noted that sometimes we write so intent that somebody be the villain or heroine, life be just good or bad, that we don’t mix things up enough, and this exercise of bringing together two different moments and feelings can show life’s complications. I sometimes keep things too muddy or middle ground, and working from different spectrums might correct that. Contrast is always powerful. Besides elegant plotting, part of the power of Suzanne Collins’s THE HUNGER GAMES comes from the tenderness of the baker’s boy – I can’t ever forget how he tossed Katniss the bread – and between her and her cherished little sister, which contrasts with the book’s survival-at-all-costs themes in the book.
This exercise can work just as well writing ten minute bursts of prose. A friend recently wrote of her tendency to protect characters, a trait I share. Maybe we can write for ten minutes about our characters safe, then ten more minutes of them in trouble. Ten minutes of them inside their house, and another ten crossing No Trespassing lines. Ten minutes of the happiest time of a character’s life, ten minutes of the worst. Can we take it another step and look for an image in those ten minutes of free-writing. Can that image be used through the piece, maybe on the first page?
I left that workshop eager to write and reminded of why teachers should keep taking our turns as students, too. I love this field of writing, where there’s always more to learn.
For more Poetry Friday inspiration, please visit Tabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference.
Perhaps my favorite exercise was one inspired by on in The Practice of Poetry, edited by Robin Behn and Chase Twichell, a book they recommended. Jack Myers explains how to compose a “cut-and-shuffle poem” by writing one quiet scene, then one active. Then he alternates lines from one scene to the next into a stanza. He continues with variations, but the one Patricia adapted was writing for ten minutes on something that brought her great happiness, then spent equal time, another ten minutes, writing while tapping into anger and fear. She cut phrases from each, then interspersed them. Of course there was editing, but it led to this poem she read to us from her prize-winning book, A KIND OF YELLOW.
Two Hundred Wings
You are pregnant, the doctor says, I am sorry, leaves
float golden orange, he turns away, his white coat, his big
shoulders, between twig and ground, are you sure, the girl says,
a hundred starlings, it’s all she can think to say, light
among red oak branches, except then she cries, their voices
like the voices of the thousand leaves, what else to do
You can read the rest of this stunning poem, composed in tercets, here.
Patricia noted that sometimes we write so intent that somebody be the villain or heroine, life be just good or bad, that we don’t mix things up enough, and this exercise of bringing together two different moments and feelings can show life’s complications. I sometimes keep things too muddy or middle ground, and working from different spectrums might correct that. Contrast is always powerful. Besides elegant plotting, part of the power of Suzanne Collins’s THE HUNGER GAMES comes from the tenderness of the baker’s boy – I can’t ever forget how he tossed Katniss the bread – and between her and her cherished little sister, which contrasts with the book’s survival-at-all-costs themes in the book.
This exercise can work just as well writing ten minute bursts of prose. A friend recently wrote of her tendency to protect characters, a trait I share. Maybe we can write for ten minutes about our characters safe, then ten more minutes of them in trouble. Ten minutes of them inside their house, and another ten crossing No Trespassing lines. Ten minutes of the happiest time of a character’s life, ten minutes of the worst. Can we take it another step and look for an image in those ten minutes of free-writing. Can that image be used through the piece, maybe on the first page?
I left that workshop eager to write and reminded of why teachers should keep taking our turns as students, too. I love this field of writing, where there’s always more to learn.
For more Poetry Friday inspiration, please visit Tabatha Yeatts: The Opposite of Indifference.
November 15, 2011
The Manuscript Graveyard
Every week, I ask my students to send me reflections on their reading assignments and writing, so I see not only their creative work, but their evaluation of it and the process.
Recently I received a report that after reading the essays and books, a student decided to throw out the novel she’d been revising. Her attempts at reviving it weren’t working. She saw its death as the best way out, and would turn her attention to other things.
Believe me, this wasn’t what I intended or expected. Her bravery took my breath away. Not because I haven’t abandoned novels, but I tend to let them languish in drawers, having moved on to other work, and much later taking them out realizing how limp, lusterless, yes, dead they were. They get late burials.
I admired the conviction of this writer who left no room for anyone to try to convince her otherwise. It was over. I felt sad, though I know every novel is practice for the next. Sometimes recognizing a heart that isn’t beating is wiser than trying to resuscitate or force one in where it was never meant to be. My courageous student wrote that she knows she’s a better writer than she was when she wrote that novel. Instead of thinking of this as failure – always a bad idea – she is focusing on how far she’s come. And of how much she has yet to do, with time to do it now that she isn’t wrangling with this, and she has a clearer vision.
If you can stand more sad stories, Deborah Heiligman, author of the award-winning book about Darwin, Charles and Emma, wrote Breaking Up is Hard to Do on I.N.K. Perhaps a relationship needing to be sundered is a better metaphor than sending one’s work to the morgue, but here’s an honest post about how research taking too many dead ends meant she had to separate from a subject she loved.
Writing: it can break your heart and make your stronger. Sending warm thoughts to all who’ve had to make, or are making, these tough decisions recently.
Recently I received a report that after reading the essays and books, a student decided to throw out the novel she’d been revising. Her attempts at reviving it weren’t working. She saw its death as the best way out, and would turn her attention to other things.
Believe me, this wasn’t what I intended or expected. Her bravery took my breath away. Not because I haven’t abandoned novels, but I tend to let them languish in drawers, having moved on to other work, and much later taking them out realizing how limp, lusterless, yes, dead they were. They get late burials.
I admired the conviction of this writer who left no room for anyone to try to convince her otherwise. It was over. I felt sad, though I know every novel is practice for the next. Sometimes recognizing a heart that isn’t beating is wiser than trying to resuscitate or force one in where it was never meant to be. My courageous student wrote that she knows she’s a better writer than she was when she wrote that novel. Instead of thinking of this as failure – always a bad idea – she is focusing on how far she’s come. And of how much she has yet to do, with time to do it now that she isn’t wrangling with this, and she has a clearer vision.
If you can stand more sad stories, Deborah Heiligman, author of the award-winning book about Darwin, Charles and Emma, wrote Breaking Up is Hard to Do on I.N.K. Perhaps a relationship needing to be sundered is a better metaphor than sending one’s work to the morgue, but here’s an honest post about how research taking too many dead ends meant she had to separate from a subject she loved.
Writing: it can break your heart and make your stronger. Sending warm thoughts to all who’ve had to make, or are making, these tough decisions recently.
November 11, 2011
Worthy, Too Worthy?
All writers get rejection letters, which always hurt, though with passing years at least we gain a wider memory of how one bounces back. The best letters offer advice that we start to see as a gift. Others seem off the mark, and many editors stick to something like “Sorry, not for me,” which can be frustratingly vague but is also wise: how many of us, after all, love the same books?
But a recent note was worded differently than any in my collection. I was told the manuscript was “too worthy.” I felt stung by the two words put together, then wondered about what I could learn from them. I write concisely hoping not to waste people’s time, but some people duck into books for more of dive, a ride that perhaps can feel smoother with words flung more liberally and randomly. I harbor a love of stories that may deepen or widen our view of the world, but I don’t aim to harp on what’s been missing from history. Okay, maybe I preach a bit; I’m preaching here.
I don’t create the sorts of books that will make children roll on the floor with laughter or curl up to dream of romance and its missteps. Like most writers, I want to write the type of books I like to read, and those books are never far from me as I look for the best words and ways to arrange them. Maybe they’re worthy, maybe they’re too worthy. I guess I’m going to have to live with the unknowing, the way I’m sitting in a café I chose for its view of yellow leaves, but where I feel not cool enough. I overhear conversations about kale, cabbage, chickens, and chilled baby pigs who were warmed up with a hair dryer. A little girl in a stroller is asked about her first protest at the White House. Come to think of it, it’s kind of a worthy place. The glass case holds chocolate cupcakes made with squash and frosted with local cream cheese. The whole wheat cherry scones are delicious. I don’t feel like I fit right in, but there we go, isn’t that how most of us feel too much of the time? I get back to writing.
For better or worse, richer or poorer, I think I know my course. All readers must decide the balance of escapism and food for chewy thought, levity and depth, they want in a book or sentence, but “too” and “worthy” glommed together?
Sorry, not for me.
But a recent note was worded differently than any in my collection. I was told the manuscript was “too worthy.” I felt stung by the two words put together, then wondered about what I could learn from them. I write concisely hoping not to waste people’s time, but some people duck into books for more of dive, a ride that perhaps can feel smoother with words flung more liberally and randomly. I harbor a love of stories that may deepen or widen our view of the world, but I don’t aim to harp on what’s been missing from history. Okay, maybe I preach a bit; I’m preaching here.
I don’t create the sorts of books that will make children roll on the floor with laughter or curl up to dream of romance and its missteps. Like most writers, I want to write the type of books I like to read, and those books are never far from me as I look for the best words and ways to arrange them. Maybe they’re worthy, maybe they’re too worthy. I guess I’m going to have to live with the unknowing, the way I’m sitting in a café I chose for its view of yellow leaves, but where I feel not cool enough. I overhear conversations about kale, cabbage, chickens, and chilled baby pigs who were warmed up with a hair dryer. A little girl in a stroller is asked about her first protest at the White House. Come to think of it, it’s kind of a worthy place. The glass case holds chocolate cupcakes made with squash and frosted with local cream cheese. The whole wheat cherry scones are delicious. I don’t feel like I fit right in, but there we go, isn’t that how most of us feel too much of the time? I get back to writing.
For better or worse, richer or poorer, I think I know my course. All readers must decide the balance of escapism and food for chewy thought, levity and depth, they want in a book or sentence, but “too” and “worthy” glommed together?
Sorry, not for me.
November 9, 2011
Revision: Climbing and Crawling Through the Strata
A student recently sent me a proposal for a revision of her novel noting the too-silent heart she recognized in a draft of her work, which disturbed her. I admired her brisk overview of the task ahead. A lack of feeling may be something an author must see for herself to change it, and what steely-nerved honesty that takes. Most of us take on subjects that mean a lot to us. We believe we’re pouring in all our intelligence, observations, memories, and imagination. But sometimes when we look with a cooler eye, or perhaps a trusted reader points it out, we did a lot right – we have interesting characters, a tight enough plot, sturdy sentences – but the piece still lacks a beating heart.
How do we find it? There might be a thousand possible paths, but all I know is that it’s wise to trust in the revision process. Peeling away layers that feel flat to see if there’s some bit of treasure we can keep that points a way. Or while trying to fill in gaps, do we spot a dusty sign pointing a new way? Can an image be developed until it starts to thud something like a heart? The more of a mess we make in this stage, the likelier we are to find what we’re looking for. If revision sticks to the surface -- cleaning this, moving that – no deeper feeling, which can push the story to the next level, is likely to be found.
I know my student is courageous: it showed in her gritted-teeth assessment of what days before she’d seen as good. She quoted Katherine Paterson: “I must write out of the heat of my own deepest feelings, the sounds of my own heart.” Could there be anything much greater to strive for? I wish all of us luck as we head off with axes and picks, not brooms, chopping away at old terrain, looking for gold.
How do we find it? There might be a thousand possible paths, but all I know is that it’s wise to trust in the revision process. Peeling away layers that feel flat to see if there’s some bit of treasure we can keep that points a way. Or while trying to fill in gaps, do we spot a dusty sign pointing a new way? Can an image be developed until it starts to thud something like a heart? The more of a mess we make in this stage, the likelier we are to find what we’re looking for. If revision sticks to the surface -- cleaning this, moving that – no deeper feeling, which can push the story to the next level, is likely to be found.
I know my student is courageous: it showed in her gritted-teeth assessment of what days before she’d seen as good. She quoted Katherine Paterson: “I must write out of the heat of my own deepest feelings, the sounds of my own heart.” Could there be anything much greater to strive for? I wish all of us luck as we head off with axes and picks, not brooms, chopping away at old terrain, looking for gold.
November 7, 2011
Roger Sutton and Martha Parravano at the Eric Carle Museum
What a weekend at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art, and I didn’t even get to half the events! But I’m glad to have had a chance to hear Horn Book editors Roger Sutton and Martha Parravano talk a bit about their book, which just came out in paperback.
A Family of Readers: The Book Lover’s Guide to Children’s and Young Adult Literature
is a collection of essays from Horn Book contributors offering ways to match books with young readers, along with reminders that every child is different, and when it comes to teens, they deserve privacy in making their own choices.
Roger Sutton and Martha Parravano talked about things to look for while showing us some favorites from the past year. Martha began reading Little White Rabbit, a picture book by Kevin Henkes, with its quite perfect structure of wondering and action, an artful balance of words and pictures, and a happy but unpredictable ending. She thinks a wordless picture book by Chris Rashka, A Ball for Daisy, also has a satisfying shape and just enough tension.
Both praised some new ways of offering nonfiction, with Martha wondering whether this is because readers need to be hooked more or are writers just having more fun? Creative approaches include the simple text, mixed graphics, and adherence to the point of view of Jane Goodall as a child in Me… Jane by Patrick McDonnell; the elegance of Swirl by Swirl by Joyce Sidman illustrated by Beth Krommes, and the ingenuity and joy throughout Four Balloons Over Broadway by Melissa Sweet. For older readers, Amelia Lost: The Life and Disappearance of Amelia Earhart by Candace Fleming begins dramatically, alternating a dangerous present with flashbacks, while making use of fascinating original research. Allen Say’s Drawing from Memory and Kadir Nelson’s Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans will inspire readers of many ages.
Roger mentioned that emerging readers often like small books with chapters that reflect the structures of adult books, but that books such as the Little Bear series by Elise Minarek and illustrated by Maurice Sendak aren’t published much now. But he finds the Elephant and Piggie books by Mo Willems excellent introductions to reading, and for those slightly older, he showed us Phillippe Coudray’s Benjamin Bear in “Fuzzy Thinking” designed as comics with a story on every page and Atinuke’s Good Luck, Anna Hibiscus! and others in her series with short chapters and honest confrontations with life in present-day Africa, where cell phones are more predominant than lions.
Aware that time was passing, Roger and Martha swiftly recommended a few novels for middle readers (The Trouble with May Amelia and Breaking Stalin’s Nose), trying to limit their delighted quotations and commentaries. Moving on to books for young adults, Martha talked faster and waved her arms a bit, as if desperate we get the message -- so many good books, so little time. We got it and tried to listen faster She said that the opening of Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos made her both laugh and think a lot about history and the power of reading and people in your life. Her enthusiasm for The Scorpio Races by Maggie Steifvater is clear in a starred review in the current Horn Book (“Steifvater sets not one foot wrong as she takes readers on an intoxicating ride of their own.”) But there was something about seeing Martha raise her voice and wave the book that made us certain we’d be very sorry to miss this one.
I’m sorry my photo is cloudy, ant that you have to click on it to see Martha, but I love the books that sprawled further around their feet as the hour passed. Roger concluded with showing us “the faux interactive” pleasures of Press Here by Tullet Herve, and reminding us of how printed paper can bring together children and adults. I left with some autographed copies of A Family of Readers (great gifts for new parents!), a list of new books to find, renewed esteem for ones I’ve already read, and happy to be part of a world in which reading is so treasured.
Roger Sutton and Martha Parravano talked about things to look for while showing us some favorites from the past year. Martha began reading Little White Rabbit, a picture book by Kevin Henkes, with its quite perfect structure of wondering and action, an artful balance of words and pictures, and a happy but unpredictable ending. She thinks a wordless picture book by Chris Rashka, A Ball for Daisy, also has a satisfying shape and just enough tension.
Both praised some new ways of offering nonfiction, with Martha wondering whether this is because readers need to be hooked more or are writers just having more fun? Creative approaches include the simple text, mixed graphics, and adherence to the point of view of Jane Goodall as a child in Me… Jane by Patrick McDonnell; the elegance of Swirl by Swirl by Joyce Sidman illustrated by Beth Krommes, and the ingenuity and joy throughout Four Balloons Over Broadway by Melissa Sweet. For older readers, Amelia Lost: The Life and Disappearance of Amelia Earhart by Candace Fleming begins dramatically, alternating a dangerous present with flashbacks, while making use of fascinating original research. Allen Say’s Drawing from Memory and Kadir Nelson’s Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans will inspire readers of many ages.
Roger mentioned that emerging readers often like small books with chapters that reflect the structures of adult books, but that books such as the Little Bear series by Elise Minarek and illustrated by Maurice Sendak aren’t published much now. But he finds the Elephant and Piggie books by Mo Willems excellent introductions to reading, and for those slightly older, he showed us Phillippe Coudray’s Benjamin Bear in “Fuzzy Thinking” designed as comics with a story on every page and Atinuke’s Good Luck, Anna Hibiscus! and others in her series with short chapters and honest confrontations with life in present-day Africa, where cell phones are more predominant than lions.
Aware that time was passing, Roger and Martha swiftly recommended a few novels for middle readers (The Trouble with May Amelia and Breaking Stalin’s Nose), trying to limit their delighted quotations and commentaries. Moving on to books for young adults, Martha talked faster and waved her arms a bit, as if desperate we get the message -- so many good books, so little time. We got it and tried to listen faster She said that the opening of Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos made her both laugh and think a lot about history and the power of reading and people in your life. Her enthusiasm for The Scorpio Races by Maggie Steifvater is clear in a starred review in the current Horn Book (“Steifvater sets not one foot wrong as she takes readers on an intoxicating ride of their own.”) But there was something about seeing Martha raise her voice and wave the book that made us certain we’d be very sorry to miss this one.
I’m sorry my photo is cloudy, ant that you have to click on it to see Martha, but I love the books that sprawled further around their feet as the hour passed. Roger concluded with showing us “the faux interactive” pleasures of Press Here by Tullet Herve, and reminding us of how printed paper can bring together children and adults. I left with some autographed copies of A Family of Readers (great gifts for new parents!), a list of new books to find, renewed esteem for ones I’ve already read, and happy to be part of a world in which reading is so treasured.
November 6, 2011
Growing Every Which Way But Up: The Children's Book Art of Jules Feiffer
On Saturday Peter and I enjoyed the opening reception of Growing Every Which Way But Up: The Children’s Book Art of Jules Feiffer at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art. Jules Feiffer was awarded a Pulitzer Prize for his cartoons, which ran in the Village Voice for 42 years. He also wrote plays and screenplays before illustrating a novel written by Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth. More recently he’s illustrated picture books, beginning with Meanwhile …, an adventure about a kid who wrote comic books. (and a fun way to study ellipses, Nancy Brady, a local librarian, told me).
The show starts off with a few works Jules did as a child and were saved by his mother, who did fashion sketches: a pencil drawing of a lion and a rendition of a superhero comic cover. Some illustrations were from books he both wrote and illustrated, such as I’m Not Bobby and The Daddy Mountain, and several were written by his daughter, Kate Feiffer, with a focus on dogs. I think my favorite picture was from Some Things Are SCARY written by Florence Parry Heide. A sentence about waiting to be called on for being on a team was illustrated with a wide-eyed, hunkering boy eclipsed by long, sharp-angled shadows. I had to get a copy of this book to show my students the eloquent ways an artist can respond to single lines, but I hope they’ll visit the show as well: not only were the boy and menacing shadows in my face, but my neck and torso, too.
Children’s book historian Leonard S. Marcus, author of The Minders of Make Believe, the annotated Phantom Tollbooth, and twenty other books curated the show and posed questions to Jules in the auditorium. (I love the way Carle openings let you look and mingle, then sit back and listen to the artist.) Jules spoke of how he doesn’t want readers to think of what are the words and what are pictures, but combine them, “so that the reader is not really aware of where one stops and the other begins. They blend completely.” He likes pictures that look as if the artist wasn’t thinking about how they were drawn, that don’t show the effort that was put into them. A comparison was made to dancing like Fred Astaire. Jules mentioned how some artists may start with a free hand, then later tighten up. “The true professional gets the looseness and freedom of an amateur into the finished work.”
This apparently was how he came to work with Norton Juster, who just over fifty years ago lived on another floor in a Brooklyn Heights apartment. Norton read Jules parts of what would be published as The Phantom Tollbooth, and he started doing sketches feeling almost as if it were an accident, which he considers the best sort of way to draw: “The brain is the last thing you want to use for creativity.”
Jules Feiffer remembered being a boy who couldn’t trust some adults around him, but trusted books, and has since aspired to write with a voice that seemed that reliable and honest. The show will remain up until January 25. And there’s more! Click on the museum link above for related events, including a conversation between Leonard Marcus and Norton Juster and other events to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of The Phantom Tollbooth, and a conversation between Jules Feiffer and his daughter, Kate Feiffer.
The show starts off with a few works Jules did as a child and were saved by his mother, who did fashion sketches: a pencil drawing of a lion and a rendition of a superhero comic cover. Some illustrations were from books he both wrote and illustrated, such as I’m Not Bobby and The Daddy Mountain, and several were written by his daughter, Kate Feiffer, with a focus on dogs. I think my favorite picture was from Some Things Are SCARY written by Florence Parry Heide. A sentence about waiting to be called on for being on a team was illustrated with a wide-eyed, hunkering boy eclipsed by long, sharp-angled shadows. I had to get a copy of this book to show my students the eloquent ways an artist can respond to single lines, but I hope they’ll visit the show as well: not only were the boy and menacing shadows in my face, but my neck and torso, too.
Children’s book historian Leonard S. Marcus, author of The Minders of Make Believe, the annotated Phantom Tollbooth, and twenty other books curated the show and posed questions to Jules in the auditorium. (I love the way Carle openings let you look and mingle, then sit back and listen to the artist.) Jules spoke of how he doesn’t want readers to think of what are the words and what are pictures, but combine them, “so that the reader is not really aware of where one stops and the other begins. They blend completely.” He likes pictures that look as if the artist wasn’t thinking about how they were drawn, that don’t show the effort that was put into them. A comparison was made to dancing like Fred Astaire. Jules mentioned how some artists may start with a free hand, then later tighten up. “The true professional gets the looseness and freedom of an amateur into the finished work.”
This apparently was how he came to work with Norton Juster, who just over fifty years ago lived on another floor in a Brooklyn Heights apartment. Norton read Jules parts of what would be published as The Phantom Tollbooth, and he started doing sketches feeling almost as if it were an accident, which he considers the best sort of way to draw: “The brain is the last thing you want to use for creativity.”
Jules Feiffer remembered being a boy who couldn’t trust some adults around him, but trusted books, and has since aspired to write with a voice that seemed that reliable and honest. The show will remain up until January 25. And there’s more! Click on the museum link above for related events, including a conversation between Leonard Marcus and Norton Juster and other events to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of The Phantom Tollbooth, and a conversation between Jules Feiffer and his daughter, Kate Feiffer.
November 4, 2011
Poetry, Picture Books, and P*Tag
Teachers, sometimes feeling awkward, sometimes blasé, ask our students to do things we find impossible. In my writing for children class, we cover a form every week, so students leap between writing parts of novels and chapter books to poetry and picture book manuscripts. Sometimes I remind them to be kind to themselves by remembering that the picture book they write and revise in a week may not be as strong as they hope. Maurice Sendak said, “I’ve never spent less than two years on the text of one of my picture books, even though each of them is approximately 380 words long.” And Dr. Seuss, who spent about a year writing The Cat in the Hat said, “I know my stuff all looks like it was rattled off in twenty-three seconds, but every word is a struggle.”
These words are consolation to someone who writes slowly as I do. Still, I give my students due dates, and they often come up with treasures. And sometimes I give myself a push, too. It’s good to know your process, but also to switch it up now and then, which was what I did playing Poetry Tag. I was honored to contribute to this digital poetry anthology for teens compiled by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong, which includes poems from many poets I admire. We were asked to choose from some photos she’d taken, take a few words from another poet’s work, and compose within 48 hours before tagging another poet. The results are in P*Tag for teens, available as a Kindle download for $2.99.
You can enjoy reading the array of poems – on your phone! on your computer! -- or play along, challenging yourself to write fast and from your ever-present teenage heart.
For the Poetry Friday roundup, please visit Laura Salas’s blog, Writing the World for Kids.
These words are consolation to someone who writes slowly as I do. Still, I give my students due dates, and they often come up with treasures. And sometimes I give myself a push, too. It’s good to know your process, but also to switch it up now and then, which was what I did playing Poetry Tag. I was honored to contribute to this digital poetry anthology for teens compiled by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong, which includes poems from many poets I admire. We were asked to choose from some photos she’d taken, take a few words from another poet’s work, and compose within 48 hours before tagging another poet. The results are in P*Tag for teens, available as a Kindle download for $2.99.
You can enjoy reading the array of poems – on your phone! on your computer! -- or play along, challenging yourself to write fast and from your ever-present teenage heart.
For the Poetry Friday roundup, please visit Laura Salas’s blog, Writing the World for Kids.
