Jane Yolen's Blog, page 18

September 28-September 30, 2011

The run down to my return home to the States begins in earnest. As usual, I spent a lot of time moving stuff from one place to another–clothes in different closets, more work on the garden room, getting rid of past sell-by-date food, taking stuff to the recycling, forgetting to take other stuff to recycling. It is a shell game, really.

I wrote a few poems, sold some other poems, got book reviews, packed and unpacked, and dreamed of home, that old drill.

Also the Kingask Cottage people who will be renting out my house, Wayside, while I am gone (short but expensive breaks, no pets, no small children, no students) came to take photos and talk to me about my responsibilities (putting away breakables, etc.)    info@kingask-cottages.co.uk though I am not on their website yet. If I am lucky, the rentals should pay for my Scottish council taxes. But "lucky" is the word, because who knows if the place will rent at all?

I also had tea with friends Marianna and Pete one day, Nora the next, dinner with Claire, tea with Janie, all within three days. The social whirl.

Did I mention packing?

September 25-27, 2011:

What a rush-about these past three days, trying to get the house in order, ready for some friends who will spend next week here, and then the rental agency's clients. Winding down various projects. Seeing all my friends for the last song of the migrating swallow. Summer has returned and is glorious. Since I missed it before (it was in April!) am enjoying it now.

And of course suddenly several editors are sending me last-minute revision questions.

Book stuff:

I worked on the revisions and layout stuff for Bug Off: Creepy, Crawly Poems, Last Laughs: Animal Epitaphs, wrote a new chapter on the first book of The Seelie Wars, new poems for my poem-a-day project, discussed where everything is and what needs to be nudged with my-ever wonderful agent Elizabeth. I also challenged two young Scottish artist/illustrators to send stuff to three editors whose names I gave them. Am reading a friend's page-turner mss. Finished reading Jaques D'Amboise's I Was a Dancer, useful if I ever actually write that ballet novel or do a memoir that's longer than 30 pages.

Am afraid to get stuck into something longer until I'm back home. So I dither and bumble about and feel half-alive as a writer.

Other stuff:

Had a lovely lunch with Deb and Bob, my farewell lunch with them, at a Thai/Japanese restaurant in town we all love. Bento boxes–just saying! Went to the Hepburn Gardens Assn annual meeting, spent a last afternoon in Christine's sitooterie discussing art and literature, and the passage of time.

Here's a poem that I wrote about how I am feeling these days:

The Swallow Says Farewell

Like a strange migrating bird,

I leave at the tag end of your cool summer,

winging my way across the ocean

to a far colder winter than you will ever know.

It defies intuition, this reversed snowbirding,

but since my mind does not work, nor my imagination,

once the temperature soars into the 80s,

this backward migration is what I have to do.

The young readers of the world

will never know how I suffer for my art.

© 2011 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved

September 7-September 24, 2011:

A couple of lost weeks journal-wise because I have been doing lots of stuff, and trying to cycle down in my last month here at Wayside.

Deaths:

To get the sad stuff out of the way, two deaths. One was a neighbor, a man of 59, but that's not the whole story. Actually he lived a full life for someone with his disability. Butch Labee was born with Down's Syndrome but he became a mainstay of our small town, working happily as the janitor for the post office. He'd walk down there every day, rain or shine, or snow, or . . . wearing his Red Sox baseball cap, with his Star Trek pin on, he would wash floors, empty trash, and converse non-stop about his obsessions with the Sox and Trek. He was unfailingly polite and happy, and will be much missed.

The other was the "unofficial mayor of Northampton," Eva Trager, a friend of mine for some thirty plus years. She owned "Country Comfort," the first alternative clothing store in Northampton, MA, where I have dropped a small fortune over the years. I was one of her earliest customers; though we joked that I was actually the first, but I think possibly in the first five anyway. A tiny woman, probably not five feet tall, she loomed large in all our lives. She was unfailingly upbeat, helpful to everyone, even though she had had kidney failure about twenty years ago, been on dialysis till they finally gave her a new kidney which gave her the last good ten years of her life. After her death, her Main Street storefront was overwhelmed by the flowers. One of a kind, Eva dear, and no one can step into those tiny shoes.

Garden Room:

Livable now, though still not completely finished as it needs a cold seal for the door and some other small stuff. I'd been told, "It will  be done in ten days though count on three weeks" when I accepted the bid June 1.  First people came to work July 29. And here it is mid-September with bits and pieces still to be dealt with. Arrrrgh. However, I've been sitting out there reading Jacques D'Amboise's memoir I Was A Dancer and loving it. Both the garden room and the book. D'Amboise was at SAB five years before me and I had such a crush on him as a 12-13 year old wannabe balleterina, when he was already part of the New York City Ballet company. (Of course, I never got taller than 5'3 and half and was never skinny, so those dreams died hard.)

Books, Writing, Sales:

A possible one or two middle grade novels selling,  but this is not nailed down yet. Three poems taken by a literary journal. Finished more poems. Did several drafts on several speeches. Adam gave my speech in Minneapolis as a Midwest Book Award winner (Elsie's Bird, thank you very much) and I did a SKYPE presentation at UMass in honor of Dr. Masha Rudman's gift of thousands of children's books.

Three mansucripts turned down by one editor, and then four more turned down. (Win a few, lose a few!)

And my website was hacked.

Fun Stuff:

A three and a half day trip to Aberdeenshire, staying with friends Mike and Susan Gassaway, and going all over the county/shire for the Open Studios days.

Lunch with the STANZA poetry festival director, Eleanor. Garden Room party for those who helped put together the Edwardian day bed. Tea with Janie Douglas at Rufflets Country House. Dinner at Vanessa's. The fantasy writers' luncheon at Elizabeth Wein's in Perth: attending–Debby and Bob Harris, Lisa Tuttle, Anne-Marie Allen Caroline Clough, Alex Nye, and of course Elizabeth and me.

Also, tea with Christine,  and Deb with a St A's UNiversity doctoral student in Edwardian Children's Books here at the house. And Nora for the movie of "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy".

Finally, Marianna and I went to hear the redoubtable Jean Redpath in a bravura performance of Scottish folksongs at the wee Colinsburgh Town Hall.

Whew, are we tired yet?

September 5-6, 2011:

Quick catchup on two days and some thoughts about  the writing game 2011.

Books:

Editor loves new revision of Thirteenth Fey (money). A poem taken for a small upstart journal (no money). Am working on first draft of keynote speech for a Mt Holyoke writing conference (a tiny bit of money).

House:

Tiling begun on garden room (lots of money out when all done).

Quarterly taxes:

Paid. (lots more money out.)

So you see where this is going. Outflow exceeds inflow most times. (Until the royalty payments start up again.) With the death of many bookstores and chains and others flooded in the recent hurricane, publishers are reeling. My new novel Snow in Summer is an interesting example. The editor loved it, wanted to have gold tipping the ends of the pages and a ribbon. Was told she could have one or the other. Chose gold over ribbon and I agreed. Two years later the book is coming out, and we have neither gold nor ribbon and the print run is cut. Publishers figure (probably rightly for midlist authors like me) that it's cheaper to reprint than warehouse a book. And even though my Creepy Monsters/Sleepy Monsters picture book is in its fourth printing in its very first year, it's still not up to what would have been its initial print run, say ten years ago.

So publishing companies are dashing about madly to put everything they can into print on demand and online and apps and electronic rights, without knowing quite how to make the things safe from piracy or how one can autograph such things or whether this is a flash in the pan or the next Guttenbergian five hundred years of storying. And they are offering writers and illustrators even less than before. (Unless, of course, you're one of the handful of superstars. As well, high midlist authors and even some superstars are opting to put their own work out on the web by themselves (sans publishers) practically for free, going out of pocket to pay editors (if they think they need them, though often their choice is not when they actually do!), cover artists, publicity. And spending mammoth amounts of time doing their own publicity.

The point is that NONE of us knows what to do. We spin around and listen to gurus. We dip our toes into various raging waters and hope not to be drowned.

And all the while what we should really be doing is what we do best: Writing. Illustrating. Telling stories.

Or maybe it's just me.

August 30-September 4, 2011:

An interesting week this, which included some writing, some illness, some friend stuff, and a bizarre end to a story of loss.

Let's start with writing:

Having done the big stuff (not terribly big) for the revision of 13th Fey, I began to tackle the smaller stuff, including going through the entire mss. with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. It always amazes me how much I have missed in a novel. But the editor wanted it by September 15th, and got it on September 4th. I love it when I can do that!

I wrote four new poems for the Ekaterinislav poetry book, and the editor cried "More! More!" though I am not sure there is any more to write.

Managed a bit more on the first book of the  Seelie Wars trilogy, and gave a good think to the next couple of chapters from my character's pov.

Last Dragon was chosen by the Science Fiction Book Club, Pretty Princess Pig by the Scholastic Book Club, Creepy Monsters went into a fourth printing.

And I got dis-invited to a conference because I asked them to do what every other conference does–buy my plane tickets instead of me buying them and spending the next few months chasing them down for the repayment. I finally caved and said I would do it, and they cancelled me as being "too difficult". I had already turned down several other conferences who'd offerred to pay twice what this small college was paying. (I did it to honor a dear friend who's name is on the conference.) It has left a permanently sour taste in my mouth for three reasons:  1. I'd accepted this on the cheap as a favor for a friend  2. I know I am a great speaker and give more over that to any conference-goer  3. I am probably about the easiest person in the world to deal with–can sleep anywhere, bring my own tea, get up early and sometimes help set up, stay till the cows come home signing books, etc.  (Not to mention #4, I have now lost the amount of money they were to pay as well as the larger amount that two different conferences that wanted me were willing to pay.)

Personal Stuff:

Had tea with friend Marianna, lunch with Christine and our friend Alex, dinner with friend Elaine on the day that would have been David's and my 49th anniversary, and ran a  birthday party for Christine, with presents and poems about each present. There were five of us at the Fairmont Clubhouse restaurant which has great views overlooking the North Sea. Problem with the last was I ended up eating something that disagreed with me mammothly and spent two days (including today) on crackers and tea.

Surprise:

I was a wee bit early for tea with Marianna and so thought I might just have a little look around for the car keys I'd lost two weeks earlier. I parked the car in the same spot, less than a hundred paces from her studio, and decided to check the verges of the lane even more carefully than the last time. And of course three paces along, on the right hand side, something shiny caught my eye. And there was my key. What I'd spotted was the keychain. Of course when I'd lost the key, it was high summer and in the rain;  the verge was much overgrown and bowed down with water. The day I found it, an early autumn had thinned out the foliage and the warm sun had lifted what leaves remained, Surprise!!!

This is the poem I wrote for the anniversary:

On the Edge

Our forty-ninth anniversary,

the fifth without you.

No cake for either one of us,

no sly memories, winks,

the hum of old songs,

a pinch of history

to season our time together,

only a basting of tears.

I will visit the garden stone

where your ashes are buried,

if the Scottish weather permits me,

listening to the cushet doos

coo in their own connubiality

while I remain regretful and alone.

August 10-August 29:

Life:

My the days go tumbling by, a hurricane of them. And speaking of hurricanes, my house in the States evidently weathered the "Hurricane of the Century" as did my daughter's house next door though she had her basement sump pump running pretty continuously and some small lakes in her front lawn. But other towns in the area, like Shelburne Falls, did not fare as well with the banks of their rivers covering the bridges and overflowong the banks and washing away houses.

As for me in Scotland, except for two nights at a friend's house on the far side of Edinburgh and two lovely days at the Festival in the town, a bunch of dinners and teas and one movie (Cowboys & Aliens–I went in with no great hopes of a fine movie, just wanted to be entertained, and so was not disappointed) I have spent a lot of time writing, doing house stuff, taking long walks, and thinking about my life.

Writing:

I did a small (quite small) revision for the editor for Thirteenth Fey. Editor of B.U.G. said the revision for him (4th or 5th) was fine. Did a bunch of stuff on various poetry book revisions. Wrote three new poems for the Ekaterinslav collection.

Sold several poems and reprints of poems.

Creepy Monsters, Sleepy Monsters has gone into a fourth printing. Last Dragon has sold to the Science Fiction Book Club. Pretty Princess Pig has sold to the Scholastic Book Club. I signed contracts for You Nest Here with Me (picture book with Heidi) and Grumbles from the Town (poetry collection with Rebeeca Dotlich).

Wrote the SKYPE speech to be given for the opening of Masha Rudman's newly-gifted children's book collection at the UMass library.

Have kept up with my Poem a Day since January 1. Also signed up again for the November Poem a Day raising money for charity, The Center for New Americans in Northampton.

Life and How It Sometimes Sucks:

Well, there was the hurricane, of course.

The deaths of Georgess McHargue,Marty Greenberg, and William Sleator. Elaine Alphin after a mammoth stroke is still in a coma.

Bunnies have totally overrun my Scottish garden.

And because of a comment I wrote after a Tea Party senator in Wisconsin used one of my Dino books for a photo op at a health center (when he and his cohorts are trying to privatize health care across the state), I have been besieged by the Know-Nothing No-Nothings around the country all threatening to boycott my books. Not that I think any of them read my books before. Most of the messages border on the illiterate, being both mis-spelled and grammatically trashed.

Of course none of this–except the deaths of friends and the loss of lives/houses in the hurricane–have any real meaning.

So onward:

I have books and poems to write. Speeches to craft. A month left on my Scottish sojourn. Friends to fete. Babies to kiss. (Three friends are new grandparents.) And a garden room I am hoping to move into before I leave. It's going so slowly that may not happen. But I live in hope.

Interstitial Moment:

I want to talk some more about revision because this summer alone I have revised a novel with my son Adam (B.U.G.), a novel of my own (about the family of Shouting Fey, though the title itself is still in flux), three books of children's poetry (GRUMBLES FROM THE FOREST, BUG OFF! and THUNDER UNDERGROUND), two books of adult poetry (THINGS TO SAY TO A DEAD MAN,  and EKATERINISLAV) and a bunch of individual poems as well.

And what I have learned that I can use permanently?  The answers to that may surprise you.

I have learned:

1. To read the revision letter several times before responding or reacting. One's first response is always that desire for unconditional love. Don't tell me what's wrong, tell me what's right!

2. Revise the revision before you send it out. Your first thoughts may be best, of course, but they may need titivating, a word I learned in Scotland and adore. As one Scottish friend defined it: "flower arranging." Of course, it may sometimes be more like arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic!

3. Forgive yourself small infelicities even as you fix them. We are none of us perfect, so why should our prose (or poetry) be perfection?

4. Say thank you to the editor though you may not feel it at the moment. Wait until you do. Publishing works best when it is a cooperative venture, not an antagonistic one.

5. Remember that we are lucky as writers. The mistakes we make won't kill us and we can always change things later.

And other than those five things, I actually can carry little over from one novel to the next, one poem to the next, one picture book to the next, one nonfiction book to the next. Each book has its own problems, own peculiarities, own mishaps. I guess the important message I have for any of you about to embark on a revision–even if it's the second or twenty-second round–is try to love your book as if you are meeting it for the very first time. And for the last.

July 26-August 9, 2011:

The last fortnight–with the exception of two gorgeous sunny days–has been bucketing rain alternating with light rain, occasional showers, gales, and cold. One of the rainiest summers on record here in Scotland. And yet for me that is much better than living in heat over the 90-100 degree range. So all in all, pleasant to be here.

What hasn't happened: the new garden room. Though finally the last couple of days, the old floor has been removed, concrete poured, framed for the glass wall and doors put up. But as rain moved in again, the workmen have moved out. Sigh.

What hasn't happened: the novel revision sent out (Thirteenth Fey) hasn't been read by the editor and won't be–she tells me–till after the beginning of September. The two revised collections of poetry (Grumbles from the Town, Thunder Underground) haven't been read yet,  but I expect that editor to be a bit faster. I haven't heard from Barbara Diamond Goldin about what I have done for Girls' Bible. Son Adam has been dragging his feet on the first book of our trilogy, but then we don't have the contract yet. No new picture books sold after the three reported below (but I can't be greedy now, can I? Yes, I can!) and the contracts for the fantasy trilogy and the new Holocaust novel aren't here yet so I don't want to sell another novel till those are written. I'd like to sell some of the stuff already written, actually.

What has happened: Finally paid for the latest DINO books (Christmas, Hannukah) long overdue since they were accepted last year. Got the second round of contracts for How Do Dinosaurs Eat Cookies, since the first signed ones were lost in the mail. Mike Cavalarro is almost finished with the pictures for Curses! Foiled Again , just 31 pages to go, and they are terrific! I was surprised by a new picture book based on my friend Tara Chang's artwork, and she is busy working away at a book dummy and a sample art piece. It is called The Trouble with Taking Trolls To Tea.Lots of poetry written and some ideas for new ones. The poem a day project is still going strong.

And along the way, I have had tea at Marianna's studio (and lost my car keys, another long story), dinner with friend Claire at the Byre Theater, visited Balcaskie House with friend Christine and wandered the gardens, had several meals with Debby and Bob at their house where we solved the troubles of the world (wine helps!), tea with Nora at the North Point, went to the opening of the Pittenweem Arts Festival with Christine, and had friend Marianna staying over two nights at Wayside.

A quiet, but lovely few days actually, despite the weather. Read a mystery, a book of short stories, a lot of poetry.

July 13-26, 2011:

It has been a while, mostly because I have been mammothly busy with writing and friends and visiting relatives. So here's a quick catch-up.

Writing:

I had written in the Interstitial Moment above, saying that having many manuscripts and proposals out at once can mean you get many rejections on one day (been there, done that, got the tee-shirt) or you can sell that many all at on a single day. Well, on a single day, I won an award, got a grand review, and SOLD THREE PICTURE BOOKS. The picture books were all sold to the same publishing company–Boyds Mills. They consisted of two poetry collections, one a sequel called Grumbles from the Town with Rebecca Kai Dotlich, and one of just my own poems called Thunder Underground. The third is a picture book in rhyme with my daughter Heidi called You Nest Here with Me which has a long and interesting history. Short version: editor Liz Van Doren of Harcourt originally bought the manuscript close to ten years ago. We spent a couple of years revising it for her. Then Harcourt hiccuped, was vastly undercapitalized, solved this by dumping editors right and left (including the wonderful aforementioned Liz), and sold itself to Houghton Mifflin. The few editors left were either not interested in the book or kept passing it around in a kind of editorial shell game. But nearly five years later, we were able to get the mss. back from them. Meanwhile Liz (are you following this?) had several editorial posts elsewhere, not appropriate to children's books, and eventually ended up at Boyds Mills which only produces books for young readers, a good fit. She called me up and said, "The committee agrees with me that this is a wonderful book and we are buying it!" There's a moral here. You figure it out.

Also got my first copy of my graphic novel Last Dragon. The color proofs of Take Two, the book of twin poems by J. Patrick Lewis and me arrived, as did a copy of Self-Portrait with Seven Fingers which is the Chagall poem that Pat Lewis and I also wrote. And the ARC (Advanced Reading Copy) of Things to Say to  Dead Man, my book of adult poems about my hisband David's last days and the aftermath of mourning arrived.

I have begun the massive revision of the novel The Thirteenth Fey which the editor sent back with many notes. (There is likely to be a title change, too.) It will take me a while. But in the interstices, I was surprised by a picture book based on a picture posted by an illustrator friend on FaceBook, Tara Chang. So I finished about five drafts in record time (it rarely happens, but when it does, I adore it) and she is busy working on a book dummy and a finished picture. It is called The Trouble with Taking Three Trolls Out to Tea. And in-between the interstice (are you still following all of this?) Rebecca Dotlich and I have been shooting poems back and forth for the Grumbles collection.

Yeah–a LOT of book stuff these fourteen or so days.

Other Stuff:

Of course life goes on as well. So in this two weeks I  saw the Harry Potter movie (thought Neville was about to jam the sword down on the bridge and proclaim YOU SHALL NOT PASS! ala Gandalf). Had a dessert party here at the house for fifteen or so friends. Hosted my young cousins (second cousins? thirds?) Paul and Ellen Vercesi and their delicious young daughters Ava and Francesca (Chezie) for five days. Had several meals at Bob and Debby's and a lovely meal out that the Vercesi family took me to. And the building began on the garden room. So lots going on outside of bookmaking, book writing, and being bookish.

Interstitial Moment:

I always tell writing students of mine that they should try and have seven things (at least) working for them at all times and yesterday showed me once again why this is significant. Yesterday, I received notification that Elsie's Bird (Philomel), published last year has won a significant award. Though I am not yet at liberty yet to say what award. In another email almost at the same time, I heard that Creepy Monsters, Sleeping Monsters (Candlewick)–even before it was officially published–had to be reprinted! And that after I'd gone to sleep here in Scotland, but still during the editorial day in the States, an email told me when I awoke this morning that a poetry collection with Rebecca Kai Dotlich called Grumbles from the Town (Boyds Mills) had been bought. And there's a strong possibility, though by no means a certainty, that the same editor at Boyds Mills may be buying a second book of poetry from me on Monday.

I tell, you this not to boast. Okay, okay, honesty propels me to admit it: I'm boasting a little. But mostly I mention those things because it reminds all of us that if you only have one thing out there, it could (literally) take years before you hear anything at all. Publishing is a slow death by inches unless you are self-publishing. And then you have to spend your writing time being an editor, art director, type designer, marketing specialist, publicist, and pay for the damned thing besides. Frankly, I'd rather be writing which is what I do best and leave the rest to the real experts.

This is what I usually have out making the rounds at any one time: single poems to anthologies or journals or online magazines or magazines, maybe as many as half a dozen. Short stories if I've been asked for them, it's rare that I write them on spec these days. Picture book manuscripts (as many as 20) going to particular editors who's editing style I admire and who's lists appeal to me. Usually between 3-8  novel proposals (though having recently sold a single book and a trilogy as proposals, I only have two other things out there now–a completed animal fantasy and the proposal for the third book in my graphic novel series Foiled, and will wait until I am further down the line with those books before sending anything else out. And about 10 poetry collection proposals, all pretty well along.

While those take their long winding paths through the thorny publishing woods, I am at work on the books under contract. So I don't have to worry if what I have making the rounds takes its usual snailing way. I always know what my next day's work will be. This means I have no down time between projects, no emotional slough of despond, no going months, even years, without hearing something. And most important, by spreading out the variety of things I can do, I am fad-proof. Yeah–I may not be the latest flavor of YA or kid's book, but at 72 I don't expect to be. Still my books are coming out every year and probably will long after I'm gone. I promise to haunt the hallowed halls of publishing, though, because I will be so dang curious to see what the books look like, whether they get good reviews, win awards, get reprinted before they are actually published. Oh yes, and if stuff left behind gets sold by my kids as "Mom's Last Book."