Jennifer Griffith's Blog, page 28

Reading Under the Stars

New experience last night–Reading Under the Stars.

The elementary school in a nearby town asked me to come and be a reader at their event last night outdoors on the baseball fields. Luckily, we live in Arizona and didn’t have the skiff (or piles) of snow that other people in the country are getting this week. Instead, some kids even came without coats. (However, they did shiver. It was 58 degrees, after all.) We sat on the grass and ate popcorn. It was kind of like a summer night in Idaho, come to think of it.

I didn’t know what to expect, having only been to one event like this, and it was a long time ago, and a lot earlier in the evening. I didn’t take a flashlight with me, thinking they’d just have the baseball field lights on so people could see to read. Duh. I guess they really wanted to see stars and meant it. So there I was, in the dark, with my little pile of books and my lawn chair, surrounded by little kids, and no flashlight.

What kind of a person doesn’t keep a flashlight in their truck? This kind. Right here.

But, as the Bard said, All’s Well that Ends Well. Someone came to my rescue with a little lantern. I pulled out my copy of The Empty Pot by Demi, donned my yukata (which is like a summer-weight kimono that I got in Japan), and read. They liked The Empty Pot, which is a fantastic story with beautiful pictures, although the DARKNESS put a damper on the enjoyment of the pics, I must say. I was glad I’d lugged in my ANWA bag a bunch of stories. The kids kept sitting there expecting story after story, which was cute. I kind of thought they’d get bored of me and drift away. Maybe they were too cold to move. Like snakes in the winter.

The favorite story was Pete the Cat. Not a surprise. Seriously, if anyone hasn’t seen that or read it to their kids yet, run (don’t walk) to the Mr. Eric or Scholastic website and download the song now. It’s on there for free to listen to. The kids, in the first reading, were able to chime in and sing along. It’s an instant classic.

It all came to a crashing end when one little boy, whose arms were down inside his jacket, lost his balance and fell forward onto the ground. Poor little guy! The arms, being tucked inside, couldn’t break his fall, and his face hit flat on the dirt. I had to break up the fun and go find his mom. Which seemed like a good time to hit the road and go home and read to my own kids before their bedtime.

I think we might have to do a little Griffith Family Reading Under the Stars over here tomorrow night. That’s good times.

Now, I’d better go locate a flashlight and put it in the truck.

Hulu and the 10-Second “Life” Rewind

True confession: We watch Hulu. That is how we waste our valuable time.

In the last few weeks our version has added a feature with a little button, an arrow at the end of a curly tail. It’s a 10-second rewind. If you missed what the caption said in the Korean drama you’ve been glued to for three weeks, blip, hit that 10-second rewind quickly and there you have it: “I told your mother she could keep her money. A poor nobody like me couldn’t be paid to leave your life. You weren’t worth it to me,” or some such melodramatic declaration. Voila! You’re back up with the story.

Very powerful stuff!

Which made me think how MUCH I actually need something like this in my everyday life.

If only I’d had the 10 second rewind right after I told the newlyweds at choir practice (who’d been lamenting the great demand for their social presence at lots of out-of-town family events), “Oh, just hurry up and have kids. A new baby is a perfect excuse for not being cajoled into going anywhere you don’t want to go.”

Ugh.

But if I had that 10-second rewind, I could’ve just smiled and said, tactfully, “Oh, isn’t it nice to be so popular and loved?” instead. It reminds me of the ominous “Omega 13″ button in the classic sci-fi movie Galaxy Quest. (Does anyone else find themselves quoting GQ about twice a day? Miners, not minors!)

A 10-second rewind button would be the PERFECT remedy for someone like me who finds it impossible to implement any kind of comment filter. My husband happened to ask me the other day, “Do you actually think it out first before you say it, or does it just come out as you’re thinking it?”

The latter, my dear. The latter. This is probably why I like being a writer so much–especially with a word processing program and that amazing “backspace” key. I could really use that in daily life as well.

This sounds like a job for a physicist. Luckily, our oldest son is highly interested in theoretical physics. Maybe I could get him cracking on this technology even before he leaves high school. Although, my husband already called dibs on our son’s first invention–teleportation. But I think as his mom, I should have some say.

I’m sure I’ll be telling him so.

Meanwhile, if it suddenly became a feature of Hulu Plus, now that would be a perk worth the monthly subscription price.

Whipped Cream Diet

I forgot how much I hate being on a diet.

It’s been a couple of years since I actually made an effort to diet. I’ve been trying the “exercise instead” plan. But wearing awesome boots and other fantastic high heels has kinda wrecked my hip. So very sad! I weep for the sadness of not being able to wear heels day after day. For one thing, I miss being able to reach the top shelf in my kitchen cupboard like I could when I was wearing heels every day. And I liked hugging my taller husband when I was closer to his height. And standard countertops in America are just made for women who are six inches taller than I am.

I’m convinced a little R&R for the owie hip will be what I need. A week. I’m just letting it rest for a week. And that kills the “exercise instead” plan.

Meanwhile, my father-in-law has been talking a lot about his latest diet. And with good reason. The man has lost almost 120 pounds on it. That’s amazing to me! Kudos to him. And he attributes the latest 17 pounds to this diet he made up, which he calls,

THE WHIPPED CREAM DIET.

He demonstrated it for us when we were visiting two weeks ago. In a way, it’s basically a variation on the Atkins protein diet, but in the evenings he has sugar free jello and puts as much whipped cream on it as he wants. And he used about a half a can of that squirt kind. The next morning he got up and told us he’d lost another pound, to make it 17 pounds in 7 days.

That’s a lot of pounds in seven days.

So, since I’m letting the old lady hip regenerate into a middle-aged lady hip this week, I figured, what can I do to rein in some of the wild cold cereal bingeing I’m apt to fall into, and honor my father in law at the same time? Answer: whipped cream diet. Spshhhhhhh. Can you hear the cream spraying out? Can you see the creamy, foamy goodness in your mind’s eye as it forms into perfect, star-edged mounds? Mmm.

But that’s about the only part of this diet I can look forward to.

I’m a cereal girl. Hot cereal. Cold cereal. All varieties of both. And I’m a bread girl. White, wheat, home made, store bought, bagels, English muffins, you name it. Even delicious air bread that I bought for 88 cents a loaf yesterday. It’s the best for a grilled cheese sandwich.

I could go years without whipped cream. But two days without bread or cereal is starting to make my vision blurry.

Too much meat. Chances are I’ll lose weight because the whole prospect will start to lose appeal within another day.

Or else I’ll just chug-a-lug the whipped cream.

Guest Blogger: Auntie Lehua!

Get out a frosty drink and put on your flip flops, folks. I have a special Hawaiian treat for you today! My fellow JFP author Lehua Parker is here to guest blog about her new book One Boy No Water, the first installment in the Nihui Shark Saga. (Nihui shark means maneating shark, I do believe.) I reviewed the book here a few days ago. It’s a good middle grade read that adults will enjoy as well.

Now sit right back in your Barcalounger and enjoy finding out more about Auntie Lehua, plus and insider’s knowledge of Hawai’i!

Aloha, Jennifer! Thanks for letting me drop by to answer a few of your questions about my MG/YA novel One Boy, No Water, book one in the Niuhi Shark Saga. It’s available from Barnes & Noble and Amazon in hardback, trade paperback, and ebook.

You live in the mountains of Utah, about as far different a climate from the North Shore as possible. What made you choose to write about Hawaii?

At first glance, I’m the last person anyone would suspect of being Hawaiian, but it’s true. My father’s family has been there since the first human spotted an island on the horizon. It’s because I live in the mountains of Utah that I started writing a series set in Hawaii. Totally homesick and beyond weary of snow, ice, and having to wear shoes, I sat down at my computer one day and dreamed about the place I wanted to be. It gets me through a lot of winter days.

Much of OBNW is in Hawaiian Pidgin. Give us a rundown on pidgin. Did you learn it as a child?

Pidgin is the secret language of Hawaii. It grew organically out of all the languages immigrants spoke, developed first as a trade language on the docks and plantations, but soon evolved into its own language with grammar rules and vocabulary distinct from the foundation languages. Most people think Pidgin is broken English; it’s not. But I admit it sometimes sounds that way, particularly as more English words are added to Pidgin vocabulary. Linguists say the structure is Hawaiian and most Pidgin words are merges or adaptations of foreign words into Hawaiian.

Tourists seldom hear real Pidgin on their vacations. To work in the tourist-biz, it’s a requirement to speak English well. (Or Japanese. But I digress.) Step off the beaten path however, and you’ll discover that most conversations among locals, among family and friends, are in Pidgin. The characters in One Boy, No Water talk like people in Hawaii do when the cameras aren’t rolling. I actually down played the Pidgin because I wanted people not from Hawaii to get a taste of it without forcing the whole luau at them at once.

I first learned Pidgin in elementary school on Maui where everybody was one generation or less from plantation life, so this dialect of Pidgin had far fewer English words that what’s more commonly spoken today. Pidgin was all anyone spoke, including teachers, shopkeepers, and neighbors. My parents refused to speak it at home because they wanted us to learn proper English. Now that my parents and siblings have all left Hawaii, we sit around the kitchen table and talk in Pidgin. It confuses all the grandkids and spouses!

When I was a kid there was something shameful and lowbrow about speaking Pidgin, but as time marched on, this attitude is changing. Pidgin is as nuanced and rich as any other human language, and I hope people will get a sense of that in my books.

Whoa, horsey! Sorry, I’ll get off my high horse now!

Is there really a condition where a person can be allergic to water? If so, what is it called? How does this affect your character Zader?

Because you asked, I looked it up. It’s called Aquagenic urticarial and it’s very rare. It’s defined as a painful skin reaction resulting from contact with water. I also didn’t know it actually existed until ten minutes ago. (Spoiler alert!) Zader isn’t allergic to water. It’s something Uncle Kahana told everybody when Zader was found on the reef as an infant to keep him away from water and to explain what happens if he does get wet. Everybody understands hives and allergic responses—it’s the perfect cover. So if Zader isn’t allergic to water, what’s really happening? That info I’m keeping under my hat for now.

 

There’s a lot in this about the school system on Oahu. How common is it for middle schoolers to compete for placement at elite private schools? How do parents generally afford this?

In families that value education and consider it key to success, it’s very common for the kids to compete for placement in private schools, and the families sacrifice a lot to keep the kids there. I’ve seen situations where parents take second jobs and grandparents and other extended family members pool resources to meet tuition. Most, if not all elite private schools in Hawaii have endowments and offer a small number of scholarships to top students to help ease the tuition burden. The mere possibility of a scholarship is enough motivation for most families to do whatever they can to give their child the best possible chance.

While Ridgemont Academy is fictional, the opportunities, programs, and educational vision it describes are real. Schools like Ridgemont really do exist in Hawaii, sixth grade is the big application year, and the pressure is enormous. All of the kids in my immediate and extended family back through the generations went through this; some got in to the schools of their choice, some did not. It’s tough. To give you an idea of the level of competition, when I was in sixth grade I was told that there were over 2,000 qualified applicants for the four open spots. I got one of them. It changed my life and opened doors I couldn’t have opened alone. In Hawaii, when people ask you where you went to school, nobody is asking about your college years.

 

One of my favorite aspects of OBNW was the relationship between the Uncle and Zader. Tell my readers a little more about that, would you?

One thing to remember about family in Hawaii is that family is who you—and they—say it is. Kids call everyone they respect “Aunty” or “Uncle,” not just those related by blood. Cousin is another common term used to describe close friends of the same generation. Really close friends sometimes define their relationship as brother or sister, and call all the parents Mom and Dad. This is not an affectation. To name someone a family member is serious business and places obligations on both.

Trying to keep us out of red alert spoiler territory, what I can say is that Zader was purposely left on the reef specifically for Uncle Kahana to find. There is a blood connection through Aunty Lei. Uncle Kahana knows far more about Zader than he’s shared, and in One Boy, No Water he realizes he’s been shirking his responsibility as family mentor, his kuleana as kupuna, toward Zader. That’s the big reason why he starts to give the gang Lua lessons. Like most things in the Niuhi Shark Saga, Lua is more than what it appears to be on the surface; it’s more than simple self-defense lessons. Through Lua Uncle Kahana is trying to teach Zader control, control he desperately needs before—oops! Can’t say more.

Favorite Hawaiian Shave Ice flavor? Best place to get it?

I’m a boring traditionalist. My favorite is plain old strawberry, usually without a snowcap, azuki beans, li hing mui powder, or ice cream in the middle. However I am a stickler on the texture of the ice—it has to be creamy and smooth, not chunky at all—and the quality of the syrup, which should be very fruity and not too sweet.

Best place on ‘Oahu: Matsumoto’s in Haleiwa

Best place on Maui: Ululani’s in Lahaina, Kahului, and Kehei

Best place in Utah: Hokulia Shave Ice, Provo

Runner Up in Utah: Mo’bettah Steaks, Bountiful, Salt Lake City, and Logan

Lehua Parker is originally from Hawaii and a graduate of The Kamehameha Schools and Brigham Young University. So far she has been a live television director, a school teacher, a courseware manager, an instructional designer, a sports coach, a theater critic, a SCUBA instructor, a poet, a web designer, a mother, and a wife. Her debut novel, One Boy, No Water is the first book in her MG/YA series the Niuhi Shark Saga. She currently lives in Utah with her husband, two children, four cats, two dogs, six horses, and assorted chickens. During the snowy Utah winters she dreams about the beach.

NOW THAT YOU’RE CRAVING SHAVED ICE, FIND AUNTIE LEHUA ELSEWHERE ON THE WEB! (MAHALO!)

Facebook author page: www.facebook.com/LehuaParker

Blog: www.LehuaParker.com

Twitter: @LehuaParker

Goodreads: Lehua Parker

 

Too Busy to Write?

Actually, as much as I do love, love, love to write, there are seasons for everything. Right now is by necessity my season to be the mom. Luckily, it’s my favorite season. Like autumn is. I just love wearing great boots and a cozy sweater. It’s the best.

This past weekend I had a super great mom day. My 14 year old son received his Eagle Scout award. We held the court of honor for him at our church in the gym. The neighbors came. The former scout leaders, school teachers, piano teachers, Sunday school teachers. Cousins, aunts and uncles, grandparents, siblings. Other scouts in the troop. Church leaders. I brought doughnuts.

I have to say, the best moments were when the former Scoutmaster was saying nice things about my son. He’s kind of a different kid. Anyone who has met him knows that. However, the Scoutmaster pointed out some of the things that make him different that aren’t so obvious–but are the best different things about him, like the fact that my kid doesn’t ever want to cheat to win. Like the fact that he never had seen my son do anything that would be a bad example to the other boys or to leaders. Like the fact that my son is super self-motivated and is the first one up in the morning and has a plan for his own success.

As a mom, I knew these things. But I knew that most other people don’t see these great qualities. They might just get stopped at the quirks (which I won’t outline because someday he might read this blog. Or worse, his prospective bride might and why stir up anything, right?) It’s hard to really know a person, I think, in general.

Meanwhile, everyone told me good job about his Eagle. But in this case, as the mom I did nothing more than get him through the two merit badges for which I’m the ward’s merit badge counselor. Granted, they’re the two most irritating badges (you scouts and scout parents could probably guess them without a hint). Personal Management and Family Life. Other than that, however, I did suggest one time that he make a couple of phone calls for the Eagle project, and I showed up with McDonald’s breakfast at the project. At his request.

So, I am not busy writing a story, but I am enjoying having some good things to write in the book of my life that I try to journal on Sunday afternoons. It’s really nice to have a joyful chapter to pen this week.

Men Read???

As a prologue to this topic, I have to note that Saturday my 4 year old daughter came dashing into my room. “Mommy! What’s your female address?” She was trying to sign up for a Build-a-Bear account online and needed my female address. Er, email.

In the past I’ve written these books with titles like “Choosing Mr. Right,” and “A Little Sisterly Advice,” and “Delicious Conversation.” Nearly alllllllllllllll the readers of these books have been female.

Surprising?

Every once in a while I’d hear from a man somewhere who’d read one of them. And my response was often, “Why?” Maybe his wife made him. On a few occasions I got negative feedback from a male reader, and I’d answer, “You’re not exactly the intended audience.” Every once in a while a man would tell me he read it and liked it. Mindblowing, but made me feel happy, but maybe a little suspicious that he was lying.

So, now I’ve written BIG IN JAPAN. It’s a sports novel, which is lightyears outside my previous genre. There are still some romantic elements, due to my firm and unshakable belief that every good story ends with a kiss, but it’s a male protagonist, told from a man’s point of view, about … sumo wrestling. Not a girly topic. And there are fight scenes. And shoving. And a few kind of gritty parts. Guy stuff.

For this reason, it shouldn’t surprise me to hear back from men who have read the book (for one) or that they enjoy it a lot (for another), but it does. Every time.

Last week I got a sweet facebook message from a lady who said she bought BIG IN JAPAN and took it on a fishing trip with her husband. He grabbed it away while she was putting a pole in the water and she didn’t get it back from him for two days.

Another friend said she insisted her husband just read a few pages, and then he was up until 2 a.m. finishing it.

A few days ago a man tweeted about it, telling people, “Seriously, you need to read this book.”

A guy in his 50s read it a few weeks ago and sent me an email to reminisce about Japan, a place he’d lived in the 1970s. Reading BIG IN JAPAN, he said, was familiar, and the terms I’d used made him feel like he was back there.

How satisfying is this?

Very!

And mystifying at the same time. At lunch last week a friend said, “This is your first novel with a male protagonist, isn’t it.” I nodded yes. “Well, you nailed it.”

Yippeeeee! Or would a man say booyah?

But I have a secret.

I couldn’t have done it on my own.

In order to get my male character right, I received a lot of help from a few, select male beta readers. They went through and said, “Uh, Jen, NO guy would say this,” or, “You’re going to have to make this less girly,” or whatever, about the dialogue and some of the content.

There’s a place where one of the sumo wrestlers is talking about the heroine and my original text was something flattering and very complimentary and rather dignified and respectful. My beta reader said, “Nnnno.” His suggestion instead? “That girl can really hang a kimono.” I blushed as I typed it. As a true blue through and through girl I just think differently from a man. Buck wouldn’t have been Buck without guidance.

(This could segue into a whole new topic about why boys need dads, but I won’t go there today.)

So there’s a reason it even approaches “guy novel” status. Guys helped guide it.

So, in honor of them, here’s a shout out to my incredible male beta readers: Paul Johnson (aka The Good Greatsby), D. Corey Sanders (author of Shinar 54), Chris Stewart (author of a zillion bestselling novels) and candidate for U.S. Congress. There were girls too, but today I’m here to celebrate the men who read.

May all their days end with a kiss.

Suckered at The Gap

Totally got suckered at The Gap on Monday.

I never should’ve set foot in there. That stupid sign out front that said 40% off should not have made me blink, but it held preternatural power over me and I floated in and tried on a pair of jeans in my normal size.

They were too big! What? I didn’t think I’d lost weight. I mean, yeah, I’ve been running. A lot. But I’m pretty sure I’ve been able to keep up with any exercise by maniacally upping my calorie intake (a full sleeve of Ritz crackers with a tablespoon of peanut butter on each cracker last night, anyone?) Surely I wasn’t a size smaller.

So I went a size smaller. An 8.

The 8 was…too big.

Holy crap. I was the incredible shrinking woman. The salesgirl brought me a 6. I put them on.

They fit. !!!! (How many exclamation points can I fit in this blog? !!!! to the 1000th power insert here.)

Me? A size 6? Shut. Up.

Then…drum roll, please. Salesgirl says, “There’s this other style, and I think you’ll really love them. They run a little big, so I’ll bring them in a 4.”

I snorted. A four. Please. I haven’t been a size four since the 7th grade, and it was for a split second. But she brought them anyway. The style was called, “Long and Lean.” The size was 4. I chuckled as I put them on and slid them over my hips then actually cackled when they fit.

I mean, really. A size four?

Not.

And worse, I’m 5’1″ tall. And (full disclosure, and I choke to type it 138 pounds). There is NO universe in which I can be described as either “long” or “lean.”

Come on.

But there they were. Size four.

If they’d been cuter than the size six jeans, I’d SO have put them on the debit card and skipped out of the store whistling that song fromWest Side Story. “I pity every girl who isn’t me tonight.”

Meanwhile, I more than happily forked over the cash for the size sixes. I mean, it was 1994 and I’d just come home from Japan (where there wasn’t a lot of food that tempted me to gorge myself) the last time I was a size six.

Seriously the vanity sizing worked its insidious manipulation on me. Even after I checked the receipt this morning and saw that this particular pair of jeans was NOT 40% off, after all. Sheesh! Bait and switch, people. Bait and switch.

The brilliant people at The Gap now have my money, I’m a size six. I can wear a four, but sixes look better. They’re happy. I’m happy, everybody wins. Everybody wins with vanity sizing, folks.

Book Review: One Boy No Water

It just launched Saturday, and I want to be among the first to post a review of this brand spanking new tome! Me first, me first, me me me me mememeeeeee! Heeere goes:

REVIEW: ONE BOY NO WATER

I’m really excited to review the newest release from Jolly Fish Press, One Boy No Water, by Lehua Parker, a.k.a. Auntie Lehua.

Set in Hawaii on the island of Oahu, One Boy No Water tells the story of Zader, a kid who desperately hopes to get into a good private high school so he can stay with his best friend and adopted brother, Jay, but his grades might not merit it. And he doesn’t think he has any special talent to turn the heads of the admissions board.

Zader is a foundling, and he is being raised by a very nice family who treat him like their own, but he has some burning questions about the mystery of his birth. Every year on his birthday a very expensive gift arrives in the mail, and his mother helps him place it in a safe place. He wonders about who sends it and why.

Since his earliest memory, Zader is plagued with dreams of a beautiful girl, Dream Girl, and a man eating shark. Surely the dreams mean something relevant to the mystery of Zader’s origins.

He’s a typical kid—on the inside. Zader would spend a lot more time on the beach with his super-surfer brother if it weren’t for one major obstacle: his skin is allergic to water. In Hawaii. Worse, when water hits his body, his skin bubbles and makes him look monstrous.

This does not make him popular—either with the bullies of the neighborhood or with his potential friends’ parents. Luckily, Jay has his back—but Jay might be gone soon. Zader will either have to learn lua, Hawaiian kung fu from his uncle Kahana, or else he’s going to be mincemeat.

Several things make this book unique. One is the setting. I feel like I’m on a trip to Hawaii. Like I’m on the beach watching the waves roll in; like my hand is in the tide pool; like I’m watching the sunset on the beach, eating the sushi, feeling the vibe. It takes me there. And she handles the Hawaiian superstitions about surfing and sharks very well.

Another is that a lot of Ms. Parker’s story is in Hawaiian pidgin. The semi-foreign language is liberally sprinkled throughout the book, and she teaches a term at the top of each chapter. My favorite is “Sprunch”—the pidgin term for Sprite mixed with Hawaiian Punch. Mmm. I love when I come away from a book feeling smarter!

But it’s more than just the pidgin language that’s well done. The language Auntie Lehua uses is challenging and engaging. She trusts the reader to understand her meaning, to understand her characters, to grasp the nuances. It’s gratifying to read a middle grade book that does this so well. No wonder it’s up for a literary award!

Zader’s character sprinkles gems of wisdom throughout. I love his thought process. It’s good to see a young kid in fiction who isn’t reduced to the sum of his snarky comments.

Best of all is the interaction between Zader and his kindly Uncle. Uncle Kahana seems to know exactly what a boy would need, how to help nurture the boy through the rocky shoals of adolescence. It’s gently done, and I found myself feeling nurtured by him as he helped Zader wrangle his artistic heart into that of an athlete and a fighter. It’s good. Very good.

I found this an enjoyable read, and I am looking forward to the future installments of this Nihui Shark Saga—to discover the mystery of the shark and the Dream Girl and to see how Zader fares in his next chapter of his life.

ONE BIT OF READER ADVICE:

The only thing I’d say to readers who would like to pick up this book is this note—there is a glossary included at the end of the digital version of the book. So if you like to flip back and forth to a glossary, a tangible book copy might be more to your liking, unless you have a super easy page flipper on your e-reader. Plus, on the tangible copy, you can look at the awesome art by Cory Egbert every time you set the book down. It’s ingenious.

I’ll be interviewing her on this blog soon, so, yeah. Look forward to that!

BUSINESSY STUFF: 

One Boy No Water by Lehua Parker is available on Barnes and Noble dot com and at their brick and mortar stores, as well as on Amazon. It’s also available as an ebook.

Aunty Lehua’s Book has Docked in Hawaii

Pretty excited for my friend Lehua Parker. Her book One Boy No Water launches today, and right now, as my fingers tap these keys, she’s off signing books at the Barnes and Noble in Layton, Utah. It’s probably really pretty and autumnal there, with colorful leaves, and people are probably wearing sweaters and cool boots as they stroll through the book-lined shelves sipping toasty warm drinks from the B&N cafe. Sigh. I love fall. I wish I could have fall. We don’t have fall.

Still, even those fallish luckies are now picking up their copies of Ms. Parker’s book and flipping through the pages and instead of being so thrilled about the prospect of sweaters and boots, they’re being transported off to Hawaii through her prose and the really sweet illustrations by Corey Egbert. That’s right. One Boy No Water is illustrated. How fun is that?

 

In case you haven’t come across it yet, it’s a middle grade novel about a boy growing up in Hawaii, a foundling, and he’s got a strange reaction to water–his skin can’t handle it. Imagine being in Hawaii and not being able to enjoy the waves and the surf. Super duper bummer.

Well, anyway, I’m not going to give my full review today. I’ve read it and it’s great. There are sharks and kung fu and legends and lots of stuff. But I’ll post the review another day. And I’ve got a very interesting interview with Lehua waiting in the wings as well. She’s quite the storyteller! Instead, today I’m kinda just wishing I were either somewhere autumnal with my navy blue sweater and my boots or else somewhere Hawaiian with the sugar sand beneath my feet and a frosty drink cooling in my hand.

Instead, I’m here in hot Arizona eating delicious salsa and lazing about reading a novel.

Okay, well, I guess life’s still pretty good.

Stop (Book) Clubbing Baby Seals

I love those meme posters that prove that grammar can save the world. One features a pic of a baby seal on a disco floor, with the caption, “Stop clubbing, baby seals.” How commas change everything.

So, yeah. I had the very cool expierence last night of attending a book club where the featured read of the month was BIG IN JAPAN. Yeah, my very own book. Kind of a wacky feeling! But the ladies were really super nice, and I came away having received some insights I didn’t expect. I mean, I thought I’d just show up and answer questions any ladies had about sumo or Japan or the writing process. And I did that.

However, I didn’t realize the book discussion would end up so honest.

The topic that seemed to generate the most emotion (even after the club’s main discussion was over, since I showed up an hour after the start so they could talk amongst themselves honestly about their assessment of the book) was the topic of body image and self confidence.

In the story, sumo unexpectedly offers the MC the chance to change his perception of his body image. One lady pointed out that Buck’s self-image shifts radically the moment he realizes that he’s suddenly not just the invisible fat guy, but that fat can be awesome. “We all have this culturally ingrained perception of what’s acceptable. But I say, ‘Says who?’”

And she’s right. If I were to suddenly transport myself to 17th Century Europe, my curvy curves would be au courant, it would seem from art of the time. Rich women had enough to eat (like moi), and were the attractive set, hips and all.

Everyone agreed that we’ve all felt out of place for one reason or another. We all have a physical feature we dislike, whether it’s our weight or not. They said almost anyone could identify with Buck for that reason.

The emotional part came when we all began mentally applying the situation to our children. The women there were all mothers, I believe, and could see the lack of confidence in one form or another in our children. In the story, Buck is lucky. Sumo becomes the catalyst that changes him from a chump to a champ. The painful part came as we discussed what to do if our children have not found their sumo yet, what to do to help them find that one activity or event that helps them realize they’re okay and can forget themselves and get on with the business of serving others and being the best person they can be, unhampered by the debilitating self-absorbtion that is low self-esteem.

It’s tough! As a mother, I find myself wondering this daily. What will be “the sumo” for my kids? Sports, music, academics, an art contest, scouting, hiking, a huge community service project? Being a punctuation expert and well-known grammar sheriff who helps people know where to put the comma so they don’t club baby seals? Where will that brief, external validation come from that will solidify their suspicions of self-worth? Some are just born with it, but I suspect most people need to have it reaffirmed a few times at least before it sinks in. I wish as a mother I could simply bestow it on them. But a mother’s love, though vital, rarely seems sufficient. Sad–very sad, but true.

For myself, it’s pretty easy to pinpoint the four or five life events that helped me change from an introverted bookworm who didn’t dare sit by anyone at lunch to the talkaholic who thought everyone on earth was just dying to have a conversation with me and secretly wished they could be my friend (jk, but seriously.)

One of them was going to Japan.