Funny? Me?

My friend Shar Levine - world famous, award winning writer - said something very funny and flattering about me in the Vancouver Sun today. The newspaper gave me the wrong first name, but that wasn't Shar's fault. I'm not sure if you can click on this link, but if not, and if you are careful, you can type it all out!!!!!


http://www.vancouversun.com/group+connects+children+authors+with+their+audience/3566595/story.html

'Bok, Bok' - I'm Ready for my Closeup Mr. DeMille

My publisher recently asked for a publicity photo of me. Now, I'm not one of those people who keep on using the same old photo. The last thing I want is for someone to say, "Oh, you look so much older than in the photo." Nor do I tell the photographer to rub petroleum jelly on the lens to make me look young and ethereal - although I think that sort of trickery only makes the sitter look as if s/he's underwater. Again, I don't want readers to look at me and say, "How come you don't have bad skin in the publicity photo?!" or "Why is there a photo of a drowning woman on the back cover of your book?"
So I asked my husband to take out his camera, whilst I chose a rather becoming navy blue, short sleeved, blouse/tee shirt, grabbed my newly acquired hen puppet (it relates to the book) and posed becomingly. But I'd forgotten something. My sense of balance (related, I'm sure, to my klutz gene, about which more soon). Having yet again bumped into one of the door frames of my house, there was a bruise on my upper right arm. (Can't recall if I've mentioned this already, but when young I used to ride a bike. After ending up in a ditch one too many times I chucked the bike).
So there are two things I can always be relied upon to do. One is rush around the house and not quite centre myself in the doorways (hence endless bruising) and the other thing is that whenever I cook something in my oven I will almost always hit my arm against the hot metal rack inside. Yes, dear friends, I do use oven mitts, which for normal people probably work like a charm. I need oven mitts that work like evening gloves and reach to my shoulder. Anyway, I didn't burn my forearm until a few weeks after the photo session. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Of course my husband was not happy. "People will think I gave you a whack on the arm," he said. "Not people who know you," I replied.
"And how many of your readers actually know me?" he asked. Ahh ... good point. So let me assure you all that my husband is a gentle soul.
The photos all look lovely except for the bruise. My publisher assures me they can air brush.
Next time I'm due to be photographed I'll try to spend a week or two prior to the session walking very slowly around my house, and/or wear long sleeves for the camera.
You'll be relieved to know that the hen looks her very best and needs no airbrushing.

Nudge, Nudge.

Completing a project is always very satisfying, isn't it? Even though you sometimes have to nudge yourself along. I just completed what is probably the tenth edit of the long version of one of my stories. Oh yes, there's a short version and a long version. I've never done that before. Crazy as it may seem I'm actually sending both versions to a publisher. They might not like either version, of course, but that's just one of the prices a writer pays for all the hard slog. I've decided that all will not be lost. I'm going to leave my unpublished writings to a university library special collections department, so one day a dedicated (or desperate) PhD student can plow through every scrap of paper and perhaps write a thesis on me.
Obviously MY final edit is not THE final edit. But a final something is better than an unfinished something, and I should know, because there's way too much unfinished stuff around here.
Yes, it's all slow going, but never give up, my friends. Remember the musical I wrote? The one that's in rehearsal right now? A brilliant musician recently set to music the lyrics of one of my songs. He did an amazing job. I hope I can do it justice. Yes, I'm the one singing it! The pressure is on, but sometimes that's a good thing. It makes a person feel alive. Of course if it happens all the time - pressure I mean - then it can be stressful. But the odd bit of pressure is like a nudge to get on with it. If no one is around to say to you, 'Come on, you can do it,' then look in the mirror and say it to yourself.
Remember what I told you about talking to yourself? You're not crazy, you're a writer.

I'm Back in Vancouver.

When last heard of I was full of trepidation - and a sinus infection. Yes, I chewed gum at take off and on landing, and swallowed two Tylenols a couple of hours before we hit the tarmac. Well, we didn't hit it, thank goodness. We landed smoothly. My ears are still not 100%, but you don't want to read about my health, nor do you want to read a travelogue. This is about turning life into art. Or art into art. I saw a lot of art in London, in the North of England, and in Malta. And I had adventures. Most adventures are daring escapades, or things that go wrong, and are not especially funny while they're happening, but are hilarious when you tell about them later, adding a bit more colour with each telling.
Every day I wrote in my little notebook - the one my friend Joyce gave me. The top half of every page is blank and the bottom half is lined, and even though I am about as far from being an artist as it is possibe to get, I 'sketched' and wrote little bits of information, captions and remarks (coming out of the mouths of my stick people). This helped me remember a lot of the events, impressions and adventures without my spending hours handwriting. Yes, yes, I know. I really should get a laptop or small electronic notebook or something. I'm very out of touch with technology, but I do realize that a)my handwriting is awful and b)because I tire quickly when writing by hand, I don't do my best work that way. ("Please sir, can I be excused from in class-essays? I tire so easily." "No, you can't. However, these are modern times and you may use a laptop.") No laptops in the 1950s, alas. Consider yourselves lucky to be going to school in 2010. If you are going to school, that is.
So for those of you who enjoy doing funny sketches and cartoons with captions, I hope you took my advice and carried a notebook along on your recent travels.
I promised you this would not be a travelogue, so I'll keep it brief.
Malta is a very colourful country, full of history, interesting streets and beautiful doors and door knockers. Also, lots of underground tunnels and hillside caves where you can escape from the 34 degrees Celsius heat.
London has layers of history but still seems new and vibrant.
The North of England has lovely gardens and rugged coastline.
And when I come back home I see Vancouver with fresh eyes.
I hope you have similar experiences. Store them up. One day they'll come in handy.

London Here I Come

I'm trying to look on the bright side. Surely I shall wake up on Saturday morning fit and well and ready to take on the world - or at least parts of it. It's been over two weeks now and my sinus infection has not totally disappeared. My ears feel as if they have been stuffed with cotton wool, and when I lie down at night there are sounds inside my left ear that make me think there's a bug inside doing a soft shoe shuffle. I've been told that if I want to avoid a burst ear drum as my plane leaves the tarmac (I do, I do) I should chew like crazy (lucky for me I've become addicted to Glee gum), drink water or suck cough candies. Just to be on the safe side, I think I'll do all three at once.
So, if all goes well, or as near to well as possible, on Sunday I shall be schlepping my one suitcase to a hotel in Bloomsbury (that's right, home of Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury Set, the literati etc.)ready for a week of CULTURE. I'm taking my pen and a little notebook on the plane (the old fashioned kind of notebook that you write in) and my musical script (to learn, even though I wrote it) and a novel (to amuse and entertain me when I get sick of looking at cloud formations). I've also got a rather interesting little travel reading lamp which I'm hoping doesn't get confiscated at the airport and blown up by the security guards. It does look a little James Bond-ish.
Are any of you going somewhere different? Don't forget to take a notebook. If you can sketch why not do that instead of only relying on a camera? I'm a terrible artist but I still give it a try, just to get up close and personal and notice details.
Things to think about. What's different or the same about the new place? Does it smell or sound a bit different from your home town? Do people speak a different language or have a different way of speaking English. Do they use their hands more when they speak? And don't forget to mention any little adventures you might have while in the new location.
Bon voyage and remember, 'It's ALL material.'

There's No Business Like Show Business, etc.

We had the first read through for the musical that I wrote. What a lovely feeling. We all sat around and read the script, and of course it became clear to me that I needed to make yet more changes - but still, it sounded so good! I have a great cast and two amazing directors (my talented husband, bless him, and a professional actor, dancer, director who has a way of getting her actors to do all kinds of inventive things). You can't imagine how gratifying it is to have my words come to life and then have people make the characters their own! It's as if I've passed the ball to someone and they've run with it. For those of you who are dabbling with playwriting I have to say that even though you create characters, the actors and directors flesh them out in ways you might not have thought possible. I'm surprised at the way I'm willing to let that happen, but it might be because I didn't flesh out the characters as much as I might have when I wrote the show. In this particular show I wanted the actors to help more than usual with the creative process. If I write another play it might not work quite that way, but this is a little like workshopping, even though I've written the entire show already. Oh yes, and yesterday I even wrote another song. Well, not the music, but some rather witty lyrics which I hope will be set to music very soon. And in my key. Because the song is for me. There's a dance rehearsal this weekend and I plan to go, though I'll stay on the back row, because I don't want to distract the real dancers. I'm not very good at following other people's choreography. I'm sure it's because choreography is probably learned on the math side of the brain, and that's the side I don't have.
Anyway, if any of you are toying with the idea of writing for the stage, simply do what I did and take one of your unpublished stories and work it into a one act play. It's worth a try. Oh yes, and write a few songs to go with it. Or find a friend who can and will.
In other news, I've seen some more sketches for my upcoming picture book. They're terrific. I love what the artist is doing. That's a great feeling. Sometimes publishers match up writers and illustrators who seem to be on the same wavelength, and thank goodness it happened with this book. To celebrate I went to Vancouver Kidsbooks and bought an expensive, plush and cuddly puppet to use when I read the book to children. You'll have to wait until next year to see a photo of me with the book and the puppet, but I can assure you it will be well worth the wait.

Not Another Falcon! And Yet ...

I think I have created a monster. No, not my son - my friend Pam. I love both monsters (son and friend) so it's not as bad as it sounds. I'm not Mary Shelley or Rabbi Loew of Prague, and if you don't know the references you'll just have to look them up! In case I haven't told you, I'm off to Malta, all being well, in July. If I've told you all this (and as usual I'm not going to scroll down and double check, because it's midnight and I'm tired)then you can press the little x in the corner. If not, prepare to be astonished and amazed.
I invited myself to my friend's home in Malta and said, very casually, 'Who knows, I might be inspired to write a story set there.' After all there's a ton of history just begging to be fictionalized. So Pam rolled up her sleeves and set to work as my unofficial research assistant. Now don't forget I'm not only in the middle of working on my Musical, I also have a back-burner on which there are the following short novels on simmer: The dog story, the smuggler story, the highwayman story, the Canadian history story, Harold the Hero, a murder mystery (written under a pen name so none of my friends will read it and recognize themselves)and the medieval French doctor story. Also a few picture book stories. I'm 63. You do the math. Time is not my friend.
I sent the dinosaur story away this week AGAIN. Nothing ventured nothing gained, as my mother would say. Harold the Hero has now grown to 6,000+ words. He'll be going somewhere soon, and I hope he doesn't come back until he's printed and bound and there's a cheque in the mail. One can dream.
I don't want to disappoint Pam. She's sent me enough book titles and information website links to choke a horse. I feel I cannot live up to her high expectations. But I must try. I owe her that much. And once I'm actually in Malta, slathered in sunblock, rushing from museum to church to synagogue to art gallery (with breaks for lunch and cups of strong tea) to mosque to historical site and back again, I'm sure I'll experience an epiphany. And with luck maybe Pam will have created a monster - ME!