Kate Ristau's Blog, page 43

Day Two of Drawing Dragons

Yesterday, I began My Year of Drawing Dragons. The very first thing my husband suggested: you should sketch that in pencil first.

I took his advice today.

I call this one “Blossoming Tail.”

At first, she kind of looked like one of those duck-billed dinosaurs.

I didn’t really want to give her hands. Them are WEIRD HANDS.

Her tail looked weird in the sketch and so I just kept adding more until it didn’t look dumb anymore. I kind of liked it, in the end.

Husband is right; pencil first. It sure does take some time, but it made the head look better.

Oops. Just realized I forgot her other wing…

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My Year of Drawing Dragons

I can’t draw.

I’m really not kidding. I always joke that if you ask me to draw a tree, it will look like a Sasquatch, and if you ask me to draw a taco, it will look like the Apocalypse.

I’ve never been invested in fixing the problem, either…until two things happened.

The first was I went to Wordstock, and had the most amazing event with Jeffrey Brown and Ben Clanton. The workshop was amazing because not only are they really cool, fun guys, they can also draw.

They drew the funniest, weirdest, most imaginative stuff, and I thought: man, this is awesome. I wish I could even remotely draw a mammoth (not to mention a mammoth in a tennis shoe…mine would probably look like a taco).

Photo of me and Jeffrey Brown and Ben Clanton captured by Gail Pasternack. I’m the giddy one in the middle.

So, that was rolling around in my brain, and then Tina Connolly posted this comic, along with seven other friends of mine:

Find more of Sarah Andersen’s awesome work here: http://www.gocomics.com/sarahs-scribbles

Okay, Sarah Andersen, I get it already.  Practice.

I’ve never practiced drawing, so I am going to. All year long. Every day.

And to make it fun for myself, I’m drawing dragons. Because I would really like to be able to draw a dragon that doesn’t look like a furry donkey.

So, that’s how we find ourselves here:

I began simply; I drew a dragon. Without looking at a picture, or asking for help.

I wanted to draw Bob a dragon for his birthday. You know, with it’s tail coiled around a present? But then, well, the dragon kind of SAT on the present. And then I ran out of room for the wings. And the head was too big. And the lines of the dragon were too dark. So I added scales. Too make it look less weird.

I’m not really sure that helped.

What I learned about myself today, and will be the challenge throughout the year — when things start to go wrong, I want to stop. That dragon was looking dumb, and in any other scenario, I would have given up and mocked it. But I finished it, scales and all.

That’s my goal for this year. Just keep drawing dragons.

I’ll keep posting them for you too.

Happy New Year, friends!

Happy writing (and happy drawing too)!

Kate

 

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The Shortest Day

Every year, I return to this poem, for what it says to me about the light and the dark and the revelry. Enjoy, and happy yule, my friends.

The Shortest Day

by Susan Cooper

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died

And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world

Came people singing, dancing,

To drive the dark away.

They lighted candles in the winter trees;

They hung their homes with evergreen;

They burned beseeching fires all night long

To keep the year alive.

And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake

They shouted, revelling.

Through all the frosty ages you can hear them

Echoing behind us – listen!

All the long echoes, sing the same delight,

This Shortest Day,

As promise wakens in the sleeping land:

They carol, feast, give thanks,

And dearly love their friends,

And hope for peace.

And now so do we, here, now,

This year and every year.

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Now Reading: Seriously Hexed by Tina Connolly

Tina Connolly has an awesome new book out

I am a little biased toward Tina Connolly. We’re friends (and partners in non-crime-type-activities), but I loved her books before I knew her. That’s because she’s a smart writer, who develops really interesting characters and fantasy settings that feel like you’re standing right in them.

Her Seriously Wicked series is all kinds of fun. It’s fresh and funny.

I know – fresh is a weird word to use to describe a YA series. But here’s the thing – Connolly’s stories feel real in a way that is eye-opening. Her characters will remind you of actual people.

The Seriously Wicked series is all about a teenage witch…who doesn’t really want to be a teenage witch. Her mother, who is wicked (with an environmentalist bent), doesn’t make her life easy.

In Seriously Wicked, Cam is always getting into trouble for not being a good enough witch. One time, she says, “the witch turned me into a solar panel sales-man and made me go around to every house in a half-mile radius and lecture about alternative energy forms.”

Cam thinks in quirky ways that make me giggle. In the final book in the series –Seriously Hexed – her wit spills all over the page. I begged Tina to read an early copy of this book. I wanted to get lost in a book that would make me happy.

It worked. I laughed out loud more than a few times.

But, at the same time, Seriously Hexed has heart. It’s the kind of book I can’t wait for my son to read. There’s a background of kindness to this series, and an understanding that we are the ones responsible for making our world a better place. And I love that kind of book on my bookshelf…or in my son’s hands.

So, join me tomorrow at her reading at Powell’s Cedar Hills. Get a book from Tina Connolly, read it, or give it to a kid. It will be good. I promise.

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For my godmother

Sitting in a hotel room in Colorado, big aching sobs, unable to think of anything else while the Food Network played in the background and my notepad lay on the floor. I couldn’t hold it in.

Then I was empty. It was all gone.

People used to tell me to write my feelings down.

That was dumb. I didn’t think I had feelings – not until you talked to me about them. Pulled them out, one by one, and showed me what they meant.

Big, loud feelings. Huge laughs. Weeping sadness. Needling anger. So much sassiness.

You showed me how to hold them all in my hands.

I can’t say I liked it.

Even now, sitting here, feeling all these feelings. Emotions. I liked them when they were smaller. I liked when they fit in my pocket. Zipped up or buttoned in.

Squished.

Mom wrote your eulogy. I wanted to write something, too – a memory of you. One to keep with me. So I would never forget.

But all that comes back is a feeling.

Warm, soft, home.

The last time I saw you, you watched me from the sofa. My son played in the other room. You talked about your grandkids. You asked me about my writing over the blare of the TV. You told me to watch out for the cat hair. We looked at pictures on your phone.

You told me you were proud of me.

You could do that – label your feelings. Share them with the world in a Facebook post or explain them to an awkward teenager.

You did that.

You showed me how.

See? Just like that.

Still, I keep my feelings close. I take this one out, and I think about it, and it’s big. Bigger than me. Too much to hold. Too much to understand.

I keep it in my hands.

I don’t put it away.

It feels like garbage. It feels stupid and big and nothing like you. It feels sad. It hurts.

It’s not a memory. It’s the feeling of losing you.

Oh, there’s spiciness cut in. There’s the tang of a careless comment, the weight of an angry word. But that softens over time, and there’s sweetness laced throughout. The feeling – the knowing – that you loved me. That you knew me when I broke into the world and I knew you when you left it.

My dog died last week. That’s the kind of thing you’d get, you know? It was hard enough to lose you, but to lose him too? The house is colder. His hair is still on the floor. You better give him a couple of extra treats.

I’m not holding that feeling. I can’t. I can only hold so much.

So, for lunch, I’ll have a sandwich. I know you would approve. I’ll put this story up on my website and on Facebook, and I’ll let people see the shape of it. I have no idea how I’ll do it from here.

You taught me that the world is wanting. Wanting to be understood. Wanting to be treated equally. Wanting a sandwich. Wanting a hug. Always wanting.

And sometimes it’s our job to take their feelings in our hands, to learn the shape of them, and tell them they are okay.

Happy. Sad. Angry. Whatever.

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

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Winslow was a great and magnanimous king

On Thursday,  Winslow — the great and magnanimous king — barked for the final time.

We knew he was leaving soon — 15 years! But that doesn’t mean it hurt any less.

Every night, before Rowan goes to sleep, we tell him a story about Winslow. It always starts the same way: “It was well known throughout all of the valleys and all of the vales of the Kingdom of the Valley of the Land of the Puppers that Winslow was a great and magnanimous king.”

I thought today would be a good day to share a Winslow story with you.

This particular story is the beginning of the memoir I wrote this year. It’s all about Rowan’s big adventures. Winslow is there throughout the book — barking along, sniffing the ground, and searching for cupcakes. This is the story of the first time he met Rowan.

Rowan and Winslow were quite the pair. We’ll miss his snuffles, his licks, and his endless barking. We loved him a lot. It was well known.

The Great and Magnanimous King

It was well known throughout all of the valleys and all of the vales of the Kingdom of the Valley of the Land of the Puppers that Winslow was a great and magnanimous king.

Well, one day, Winslow was walking down the deer path, when he heard a little noise.

“Bark!” Winslow barked. It was a loud bark. Very regal. Kingly, even.

Then he sniffed the air, peed on a tree, and shifted his fluffy ears to the sky.

He had never heard such a beautiful sound before. It splashed into his ears like the ocean crashing against the rocks, echoing through the leaves of Treeton’s branches, and finally whooshing toward his heart in a flood of sound and life.

What was that sound? He simply had to find out where it was coming from, didn’t he?

He looked to the left, then he looked to the right, then he stuck his nose into a bush. He jumped through the bush, and then back to the other side, following the sound — that wonderful sound — that made his heart so happy.

He ran up the deer path, as fast as he could, and the sound grew louder, and louder, and louder until it was all he could hear — until it filled him up to the very top.

And that’s when he found himself at the base of a little grassy hill.

He dug his paws into the fresh green grass and sniffed his way up the hill, nose to the ground, until he made it to the very tippy-top.

And there, with the wind blowing through his fur, he found what he was looking for.

It was a rowan tree.

Now, the thing you need to know about rowan trees is that they are very special indeed. They have long thin branches and tiny little leaves, and big, round, red berries.

But Winslow had never seen a rowan tree before. Sure, he had seen Pinerton, and Treeton. He had met Birch and eaten scones with Maple. He had even taken a journey far south to the Land of Knowing and met Baobab.

Yet in all his journeys, he had never seen such a beautiful tree, or heard such a wonderful sound.

He stopped and listened beneath its branches, letting the sound fill him up, like a pile of frosting atop Frumpo’s raspberry-lemon sweety squishy cupcakes.

After a long time, he felt a tickle on the tip of his nose, and he saw the tree’s branches dancing in the wind, dangling in his fur, and he realized how utterly, incredibly rude he had been.

So, he sniffed the air once more, then he barked his how-do-you-dos, and they did the Dance of the Knowings.

“What is your name?” Winslow barked.

The tree giggled. “Rowan,” it whispered. “I’m a rowan tree.”

“I’ve never seen a rowan tree before. Is that you making that sound?”

“What sound?”

“It’s like the sound of the ocean sweeping the beach clean, or the wind lifting the feathers of a peacock. It makes me feel happy inside.”

“Oh!” Rowan said, his branches swaying with delight. “That is my heartsong. I didn’t know you could hear it.”

“I wish it was all I ever heard. It sounds amazing.”

The rowan tree shifted in the wind. “It’s just me.”

“Well,” Winslow barked, “I am very happy we met. Would you like to go get some tea and cupcakes?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Rowan said, his branches drooping toward the ground. “I’m rooted to this spot, right on top of this hill, and my roots go deep. This is where I stay.”

“Don’t worry, friend. I can bring them to you!”

And so Winslow ran down the hill, and off into the forest, in search of tea and cupcakes to fill his belly and to share with his new friend. As he ran, the gentle whoosh of Rowan’s heartsong filled his ears.

And he was happy.

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Now Reading: Emily Suvada and Jason Reynolds

What I’m Reading: This Mortal Coil and Ghost

My friend Emily Suvada’s new book, This Mortal Coil, comes out in November, and it’s insane (I mean that in a totally good way). Here’s the short of it:

Seventeen-year-old Cat must use her gene-hacking skills to decode her late father’s message concealing a vaccine to a horrifying plague.

The book moves lightning fast, but at the same time, drops in a crazy amount of real science.  Suvada knows what’s up; she’s wicked smart with a background in data science and mathematics. She did her research, but doesn’t make it boring. The book is dangerous, dark, and deadly…in a good way.

This Mortal Coil burns from page to page with crazy pacing and unexpected twists. Biotech and gene hacking crash into the apocalypse and bring Emily Suvada to the future of science fiction. My prediction: Suvada is one to watch. I can’t wait to see what she writes next.

You can preorder the book here now. It comes out in November.

Up Next: Ghost by Jason Reynolds

Ghost was a National Book Award Finalist for Young People’s Literature, and Iam already loving this book. The story feels real, and the voice is so perfect. Plus, Reynolds is an awesome guy — I love how he is writing for kids. He’s gonna change the world. This is a great book for fourth grade on up. More on Ghost soon.

Ghost Summary

Ghost wants to be the fastest sprinter on his elite middle school track team, but his past is slowing him down in this first electrifying novel in a new series from Coretta Scott King/John Steptoe Award–winning author Jason Reynolds.

Ghost. Lu. Patina. Sunny. Four kids from wildly different backgrounds with personalities that are explosive when they clash. But they are also four kids chosen for an elite middle school track team—a team that could qualify them for the Junior Olympics if they can get their acts together. They all have a lot to lose, but they also have a lot to prove, not only to each other, but to themselves…

Find out more on Goodreads.

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It’s school visit time!

School Visits

It’s that time of year again — time for school visits!

I love school visits. Talking with students about writing and books is one of my favorite activities. I tell stories, read my books, and help kids with their own writing. I work with Kindergarten through High School, and my school visits are always free.

It’s my way of giving back — I know teachers and librarians work hard to connect students and get them excited about words. Let’s be clear: I love working with schools to continue sharing that joy.

The Geneseo Republic wrote an article about when I visited my own elementary school. Check out the picture below — those kids are stoked, and so am I!

Credit: The Geneseo Republic

Do you guys get it yet? I love school visits. They are my favorite thing to do.

So, ask me to come talk at your kid’s school. It will be awesome. For reals.

If you are planning an author visit this school year, here are some great tips from Penguin on making it a success:

● Involve the faculty, PTA, and the local community in the planning and events of the day. Make the author feel welcome!

● Make flyers and posters to hang up and distribute at PTA and School Board meetings.

● Read and discuss the author’s book(s) with the students prior to the author’s arrival.

● Have the students learn what they can about the author before the appearance as well as prepare a question or two if the author includes a Q&A in their presentation. This will ensure there will be no awkward silences!

● Do creative writing and illustrating projects and display them for the author when they visit.

● Utilize social media during your visit!

Let me know if you have any questions!

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Portland Young Writers – Submit to VoiceCatcher!

In a twist of joy, I am the Young Voices Editor for VoiceCatcher. VoiceCatcher is an online journal that supports, inspires, and empowers female-identified writers and artists in the greater Portland, Oregon and Vancouver, Washington areas.

Raise Your Voice

For Young Voices, we are particularly interested in hearing from female-identified writers between the ages of 14-18.

If you fit that category, you have from now until October 15th to submit your short stories, poems or essays to Voicecatcher.org. Click there for their submission guidelines, or check them out below.

Feel free to ask me any questions. I heard so many great Young Voices in the Spring Issue, and I look forward to reading many more!

VoiceCatcher Submission Guidelines

Submissions are open for the Fall 2017 Issue from September 4th through October 15th, 2017. VoiceCatcher accepts submission of poetry, prose, or art, according to the guidelines laid out below. Submissions are always open for the Community Site, an online collection of craft essays, book reviews, and interviews. To submit an essay, review, or interview to Community Site, please scroll to the bottom of the web page.

Submissions are blind and accepted electronically through Submittable. Please read the guidelines carefully before hitting Send.

VoiceCatcher publishes new writing that has not appeared in print or online. If you’ve published a piece on your own website, blog or self-publishing site, please remove it before submitting to us.

We accept simultaneous submissions, but ask that you notify us immediately if your work is accepted elsewhere.

We only accept submissions from female-identified and non-binary writers and artists who consider themselves residents of or strongly connected to the greater Portland, OR and Vancouver, WA areas.

We love to support returning voices, but if your work was published in our most recent issue, we ask you to wait at least one cycle before submitting again. This keeps the journal fresh and allows us to support as many new and emerging voices as possible.

If your work is accepted, you agree to grant us First North American Serial Rights and Electronic Archival Rights. At publication, all rights revert back to you. If your work subsequently appears in print or online, you agree to give credit to VoiceCatcher. We agree to contact you for permission to reprint your work.

See more at VoiceCatcher.org.

 

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Waiting on Wonder Woman

I just saw Wonder Woman for the first time.

I know; it’s been out for months.

It seems crazy that I would wait. I mean, I watched those trailers over and over. I went to the store in April looking to buy a Lasso of Truth. I even crossed the Hell Mouth into Hot Topic. I came home with a Wonder Woman jacket.

Guys, I have been waiting for this movie since I was a little kid.

So, why did I wait? Why wasn’t I the first one in line — jacket on despite the heat — chewing on my Milk Duds?

Simple: I was waiting on Wonder Woman.

You see, I was supposed to go see Wonder Woman with my neighbor. She’s a teenager, and she’s all kinds of awesome. She’s smart and funny and looks at the world with optimism and possibility.  I’ve been lucky to watch her grow up right across the street.

But she was leaving on a school trip for the whole month of July. We weren’t going to see it in time.

So I waited. And I waited.

She hiked across Italy for a month. I was full of envy. Waiting at home, I read her blog, and thought about how much this was going to change her. How different the world would look when she got to the other side of this trip. How things would seem unreasonably big, or impossibly small.

This week, we finally got to go. I got my Milk Duds, she got her M&Ms, and we sat down to watch Wonder Woman.

And there is so much cultural commentary I could make here, but the thing I want to focus on — the thing that matters to me — happens in the opening of the movie.

“Princess Buttercup,” she whispered.

I smiled. Yes, that was Princess Buttercup. Only now she was a general.

I’m sure there are some that argue that General Antiope is a new story, in a new multiverse. But we can’t look at the General without considering the Princess.

I always wondered how Buttercup’s story would end. When they road off into the sunset, what if Buttercup’s love for Wesley turned into love for herself? What if she changed her story? Instead of The Princess Bride, what if she became Buttercup? Still a woman, still strong, still a princess, still a bride, and still something more — all at the same time?

That’s what I saw in the General. I saw a glimpse of what is possible if we let our characters outside of their boxes — if we let them fight and train and live. And yes — if we let them love. Wholly, bigly, and entirely.

If we let them love themselves.

I saw a glimpse of that at Wonder Woman. I saw the possibility and the power. And that’s what I want to pass on to all the women in my life. That you can be the general and the princess, the fighter and lover. You can be yourself, whomever that is. You can be Wonder Woman.

And that’s what I want my neighbor to know. That wherever Wonder Woman or the General or the Princess fails, it doesn’t matter. You are wonder yourself. You are a woman.

 

 

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